The high-speed luxury of Carriage A suddenly felt like a gilded cage. Outside, the world was a green-and-gray blur; inside, the digital speedometer flickered to 96 MPH.
"Precinct is on the line," Madison whispered, her face pale but her hands steady. She held her phone out so Michael could hear.
"Mann, it’s Hicks," the Sergeant’s voice crackled through the speaker, sounding frantic. "We just got a signal spike from the Rail Hub. Someone’s bypassed the emergency overrides for V-Link 402. We’re trying to get a secondary bridge to the brakes, but if we force it, the computer might think it’s a malfunction and trigger a hard stop."
"Don't touch the brakes, Hicks!" Michael barked. "There’s a kinetic trigger. If we hit eighty, this thing is a crater. Clear the line ahead of us. I want every freight train and commuter switched to a siding from here to the terminal. We need a straight shot."
"Copy that. Miller is already at the Hub with a tactical team. Stay frosty, Michael."
Michael hung up and looked at Madison. She was already tucking her hair back, her "socialite" mask sliding into place over the fear.
"The caller said he was watching us," Michael said, his voice low. "Which means he’s on board. He’s not going to hide in a closet; he’s going to be somewhere he can see the carnage. We need to walk the cars. Every passenger is a suspect until proven otherwise."
"And the bomb?" Madison asked.
"Carriage C," Michael said, glancing at the door. "The Buffet Car. It's the center of the train. If it goes, the whole line buckles. I’ll handle the hardware. You handle the people."
Carriage B – 4:50 PM
CURRENT SPEED: 98 MPH
They stepped through the pressurized seal into the second car. This was 'Business Class'—rows of people buried in laptops and noise-canceling headphones. The air was filled with the rhythmic clack of keyboards.
"Remember," Michael whispered as they entered. "Look for the outlier. Someone who isn't looking at a screen. Someone who’s looking at us."
Madison took the lead, swinging her empty boba cup and putting on her best 'annoyed traveler' persona. "Ugh, Michael, I told you the Wi-Fi on these trains is a joke! I can't even get my feed to load!"
Michael followed, playing the role of the exhausted husband. "I'll find the attendant, honey. Just sit down."
They scanned the rows.
Suspect #1: A man in a sharp navy suit, his leg bouncing nervously. He was clutching a thick, leather portfolio. Michael watched his eyes. The man looked at his watch every ten seconds, but his gaze never left his laptop. No, Michael thought. Too genuinely stressed about a deadline.
Suspect #2: At the back of the car, a young man with a shaved head and a heavy tactical-style backpack sat alone. He had no phone out, no book. He was just staring out the window, his jaw clenched.
Madison drifted toward him, pretending to look for a charging port. "Excuse me, is this seat taken? My phone is like, at two percent and I'm literally dying."
The man looked up. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked at Madison’s designer clothes, then at Michael. "Move on," he grumbled, his voice thick with a foreign accent. "I don't have what you're looking for."
Michael stepped in, his hand grazing the small of Madison’s back. "Is there a problem here, sir?"
The man looked at Michael’s hands—trained, calloused, and currently balled into loose fists. A flicker of recognition passed through the stranger's eyes. "You're the cop from the news. The bodyguard."
Michael didn't blink. "And you're a long way from home. What's in the bag?"
"Documentation," the man spat, pulling the bag closer. "I am a whistleblower, Detective. Not a terrorist. If you want to find the man you're looking for, check the staff. The one with the scar behind his ear."
Before Michael could press him, a sudden jolt shook the train. The passengers cried out as the V-Link leaned hard into a curve. Above the door, the numbers began to tumble.
92... 88... 85...
"The curve!" Madison gasped, grabbing a headrest for balance. "The automated system is slowing us down!"
"Not on my watch!" Michael lunged for the wall-mounted emergency intercom, ripping the plastic cover off. "Hicks! Miller! Tell the Hub to bypass the safety sensors for the Dover Curve! Give us full power or we’re going to hit eighty in ten seconds!"
Through the window, Michael saw a sparks flying from the rail as the magnetic stabilizers struggled against the speed. The train felt like it was about to fly off the tracks.
83... 82...
"MICHAEL!" Madison screamed, her eyes locked on the digital display.
Suddenly, the motors let out a high-pitched, metallic scream. The train surged forward, pinning them against the seats as the acceleration kicked back in.
84... 89... 95.
Michael let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He looked at the whistleblower, but the man had disappeared toward the back of the train.
"He's heading for the Buffet Car," Michael said, his eyes darkening. "And he's not the only one. We have a ghost on this train, and he just tried to kill us with a curve."
Madison gripped her multi-tool in her pocket. "Then let's go find him. I'm done shopping, Michael. I want to hit something."
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