Delta: A Spy Novel

Chapter Eleven

            Between him and the elderly lady sat a girl who looked like she was around eighteen years old. She was clutching her bag possessively, looking like she expected to be robbed any second. Glancing around, I could understand why. Sitting across from us was a young man of about twenty one. He wore a coat with the collar turned up despite the heat, a hat perched cockily on his head, and with a self-satisfied smirk on his face that reminded me forcibly of Jay.

            He didn’t exactly look like my idea of a dangerous character, but then he looked at me with a strange look on his face, and I understood the girl’s nervousness. Pierre apparently caught the look too; he put an arm around me in a domineering grip, glaring daggers at the guy, who didn’t look at all disconcerted, but merely went back to staring at the other poor girl.

            Gritting my teeth, but liking the way Pierre held me, I didn’t say anything. For a moment there was silence as we all looked around at each other – and then there was a noise from the adjoining apartment. As one, all four of us agents looked through the glass to see who it was. Three men were striding through the other compartment, wearing dark suits, their hands thrust deep in their pockets. They looked like your typical secret agent from all the movies – you know, heads down low, eyes moving quickly, hands obviously gripping weapons…could be either the bad guys, or the good guys.

            Three guesses as to what they were.

            Personally, I was surprised, and a little offended, that they had made it this obvious. Did they think that because they were on a train that they didn’t have to use caution? What happened to the snazzy disguises?

            We stood as one, Pierre shoving me towards the back of the train. My hand was already in my pocket, reaching for my gun. I didn’t know if I’d be able to shoot Jay if he was one of the three, but I didn’t want to take any chances. We had just reached the emergency door when the men started to run toward our compartment, slamming open the door and snapping, “Stop there!”

            I pushed open the emergency door as Charlie and Josh whipped their guns at the men. “Sorry, buddy,” I called, “but I don’t follow orders.”

            “Stop – or she dies!”

            That threw us all – usually, that “she” would be me, but seeing as I was halfway out the escape hatch, that notion seemed impossible. I froze, turning slowly back to the compartment to look at the man. He had an arm around the neck of the high school girl, his gun pointed at her head. His face was dark, eyes merciless and cold.           

            The other two men slid the door closed once more and spread out through our cubicle, pointing their guns at us, having decided that the other passengers weren’t dangerous enough to put up a fight. Strangely enough, even with the danger of the situation, the only thing I could think was, I’m glad Jay’s not here.

Pierre looked like he wanted to leave anyway, but I hissed, “We can’t let that girl die. You know he’ll kill her.”

            I held his gaze until he nodded reluctantly, the frustration plain of his face, and then I shoved past Josh and Charlie, who tried to grab my arm. I shook him off. “All right, what do you want?” I asked the man, still holding my gun level to his and searching his face carefully. He was dark and swarthy, with thick eyebrows. In other words, typical bad guy. This in itself was perplexing.