Sky Key. James Frey

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      They’re running. Sarah is in the lead and Jago has made it a point of pride to catch her. He pushes himself, pumping his legs as fast they’ll go, and he still can’t touch the Cahokian.

      No one has followed them.

      Sarah’s elbows swing and her shoulders sway as she clutches the rifle in her hands. The only light in the tunnel comes from the train signals, red and green at intervals, and the headlamp strapped to Sarah’s forehead. It’s on the weakest setting, only 22 lumens, a red filter over the white plastic.

      The red halo of light bounces along the walls. Jago finds it strangely mesmerizing.

      “SAS, you think?” Sarah yells over her shoulder, not even out of breath.

      “Sí. Or MI6.”

      “Or both.”

      “Four at the door, two at the window, sniper support.” Jago counts them off. “How many you think in the van out front? Or at HQ?”

      “Three or four in a mobile unit. Twenty or thirty at ops.”

      “Probably a drone too.”

      “Probably. Which means—”

      “They saw us come in here.”

      “Yep.” Sarah skids to a halt. Water pools around the soles of her shoes. The tunnel forks. “Which way?”

      Jago stops next to her, their shoulders touching. He memorized these tunnels as part of their escape plan. Went over it with Sarah back in the hotel. Maybe she wasn’t listening. Maybe her mind was elsewhere, like it’s been these last days.

      “We talked about this, remember?” Jago says.

      “Sorry.”

      “North goes to the High Street Kensington station, which is basically outdoors. South is a service bypass,” he reminds her.

      “Then south.”

      “Quizás. But these tunnels will be crawling with agents soon. It’s only been”—he checks his watch—“four minutes and three seconds since we came underground. We might be able to make the station, get on the next train, and disappear.”

      “We’d have to split up.”

      “Sí. We’d meet at the rendezvous. You remember the rendezvous?”

      “Yes, Feo.”

      They both know this is imperative. Renzo, who’s unaware of this little hiccup, will be at the airstrip in the afternoon to pick them up. This was their plan. But now that Sarah and Jago have been made, they need to get out of the UK ASAFP. Every extra second they spend in the tunnels will be an extra second that the authorities can use to catch them.

      Jago points to the rightmost tunnel. “If we go to the service bypass, it’ll take us longer.”

      “Why?”

      Jago sighs. He’s disturbed by how much she’s forgotten, or how much she didn’t listen to in the first place. Players don’t forget or miss things, especially things like escape routes.

      “Because,” he says, “we’d have to use the—”

      A slight breeze cuts off Jago.

      “Train,” Sarah says casually.

      Without another word, Sarah takes off into the north fork. Decision made. The wind picks up at her back, the tunnel begins to glow. She sees one of the cutouts used by workers to avoid moving trains. She dashes to it and slides in. It’s big enough only for her, but directly opposite is another. Jago fits into it just as the cacophony of the approaching train fills their ears.

      The vacuum riding the front car takes Sarah’s breath and pulls her hair around her neck. Her eyes are level with those of the seated passengers on the Tube. Sarah picks out a few in the blur of glass and metal and light that passes less than a foot from her face. A dark-skinned woman with a red scarf, a sleeping elderly man with a bald spot, a young woman still dressed in last night’s party clothes.

      Regular unsuspecting people.

      The train is gone. Sarah gathers her hair together and remakes her ponytail.

      “Let’s go.”

      As they approach the station, the light in the tunnel brightens. She switches off her headlamp. The station comes into view. The train that just passed them pulls away from the platform. From their low angle they see the heads of a few people making for the exits.

      They go to the short set of stairs that leads to the platform, being careful to stay in the shadows. Sarah raises her hand, points out the cameras closest to them, one of them hidden behind a grate.

      “They’re going to see us once we’re on the platform.”

      “Sí. We wait here for the next one.”

      Jago unscrews the small bolt securing the scope to his rifle. He belly-crawls up the steps, as close to the platform as possible without appearing on camera, and peers through the scope.

      Just the usual early morning scene. A few people waiting, swiping at smartphones, reading tabloids and books, staring at nothing. A businessman appears in the middle of the platform. Brimmed hat and dark shoes, a rolled newspaper tucked under his arm. He looks disappointed. He’s just missed his train.

      “Coast looks clear.” Jago lowers the scope.

      “We’ll have to leave the rifles.”

      “You still got that pistol, though, right?”

      “Yep.”

      Jago rescans the platform. A young mother holding the hand of a three-year-old. A blue-collar worker in a jumpsuit. The businessman, who’s now reading his paper.

      Jago СКАЧАТЬ