The hour passes. I watch the crowd, track patterns, and catalog exits. Isabella sits beside me in silence. Not fidgeting, not asking questions. Just present. Waiting.
When the time comes, I stand. "Stay close. If I tell you to run, you run. Don't look back, don't wait for me. There's a hostel afew blocks east, cash only, no questions. You hole up there until I contact you."
"You really think Lazarev's smart enough to stake out a dead drop?"
"Yes, but my having a tracker in my boot makes it a certainty."
We move through the station toward the lockers. I keep Isabella on my right this time, my hand at the small of her back. Guiding. Possessive. Harder for anyone to grab her from that position.
Locker 247 is in the back corner. Out of the main traffic flow, limited sight lines. Fitz knows his tradecraft.
I punch in the code he would have used, pull open the locker. Inside: a phone, a thick envelope of euros, and two sets of identity documents. Monaco passports, good quality forgeries. I pocket everything, close the locker.
"Now what?" Isabella asks.
"Now we get on that train to Vienna."
"I thought that was a decoy."
"It was. Now it's not."
Her lips quirk. "You're very confusing."
"I'm very alive."
I guide her toward the platform. The Vienna train is boarding soon. Plenty of time.
We're halfway there when I see him.
Not Lazarev. One of his crew. Tall guy, Slavic features, scar through his left eyebrow. I remember him from Yemen. An explosives expert, solid with det cord and timers.
He's scanning the crowd. Hasn't seen us yet.
I shift direction, my hand firm at Isabella's back as I steer her toward the opposite platform. "Change of plans."
"What—"
"Don't look back. Just walk."
She does. Trusts me without question.
We're almost to the opposite platform when Isabella speaks, her voice low. "The man with the scar. He just turned toward the Vienna platform. We would have walked right into him."
I glance at her. She's not looking back, eyes forward, but she caught it. Processed the threat without me spelling it out.
Maybe she's more than just learning.
The train on this platform is headed to Budapest. Not ideal, but better than being cornered on the Vienna platform.
We board just as the doors are closing. I find us seats in the middle car, away from the exits. I keep Isabella by the window, positioning myself on the aisle where I can see both directions. She sets her messenger bag on her lap, protective.
The train pulls out of the station.
Isabella looks at me. "Are we actually going to Budapest?"
"For now."
"And then?"
