The Shot: Traincoach of Death, Book 1 Page 3

  She put on two black leather bracelets, amethysts embedded in a Celtic pattern in the center of each one, and a set of thin gold bracelets on the other wrist. A leather belt, consisting of three lengths wrapped around and three buckles, and a place for her pistol on the lower third of the belt which rested on her hip, finished her ensemble.

  The effort proved worthwhile when she noticed Bill’s look of appreciation. She smiled slightly but turned her head to look at the Earl. “Who are we seeing first, Father?” she asked. “The station master or the accountant?”

  Victoria did not like the speculative look she thought she saw in his eyes before he looked at Bill with his business smile. “You two saw what I want, and so far, I’m impressed with your teamwork,” he replied.

  She struggled to keep her mouth from dropping open in the uncouth manner of a large bass, but her father had complimented her in an arena related to business. “Tha...” she cleared her throat, “Thank you.”

  “What if I meet with the accountant, and the two of you meet up with the station master? I’ll meet you both at,” he paused and looked at the Rolex affixed to his wrist, “say five o’clock for an early dinner? We can discuss what we found then.”

  “Sounds like a good use of time, sir,” Bill said. “I’m willing if Victoria is?”

  Victoria was willing for a lot more pleasurable uses of their time. Before she could come up with a less obvious response, her father started to speak.

  “Victoria will do as I say,” the Earl replied before she answered. “Including freshening up before seeing the station master. Now, I’m off. See you two at five-thirty.”

  Victoria felt her cheeks flame and hoped her makeup hid most of it. When her father left, she spun around and went back to her room, mumbling something to Bill as she passed him. She would not cry in front of the debonair man. Bad enough she let her father hurt her again.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to forestall the tears. When she had herself under control, she went back to the shared car and gave Bill a small smile. “Sorry you saw that. He’s been so good this trip; I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be attacked.”

  “I’m sorry. Are you ready?” Bill asked quietly, indicating the door. A quick look at his face revealed his sympathy for her but also something else.

  She nodded and preceded him out the door, all the while trying to figure out the something else she’d seen on his face, in his eyes. When they were walking down the platform and into the glass building, she paused. “You’re angry,” she told him in wondrous tones. “But you’re not angry at me. You’re angry that my father said those cruel words to me.” She stared at him, almost daring him to deny it.

  “After we finish with the station master, I’ll take you to lunch. Then we can discuss things. I’m not putting you off. I want more time then the few minutes it will take us to get to the station master. Now,” he said, taking her hand and tucking it under his so she held his arm as they walked.

  Satisfied he wasn’t ignoring her, she walked with him, automatically taking stock of the cleanliness of the station and the overall feel of the people waiting. Were they uncomfortable, impatient, frustrated, and did any of that have a bearing on the station’s service to them? She did it without noticing. It was a habit from her early years when she traveled with her mom. Listening to her explain what to look for, why, and how it involved the running of the railroad had entranced her from the time she turned five years old.

  She adored the old world feel of all their stations. Despite the glass outsides, most of the buildings boasted hard wood finishing inside and were decorated much as nineteenth century Victorian stations to keep the ambiance, with a touch of Early Edwardian finishing it off. Even the modern electronic devices were gracefully intertwined with the heavy beams and other décor. It possessed all the contemporary conveniences, yet the average passenger said it didn’t have the impersonal feel other competitors exhibited at their stations.

  She loved railroad stations and often painted them on scene. Never the same picture twice because the people always changed, and the people could change the mood. Or maybe it was just her moods that changed? Whatever it was, her paintings of the rail stations remained her favorites.

  They followed the signs to the office where they met up with a barricade. Her name was Fiona.

  “My associate and I are here to see the station master,” Victoria said formally, adding, “Fiona,” after seeing the girl’s scrolled name plate on the desk.

  “I’m sorry,” Fiona replied, barely glancing at them as she juggled papers and small hand-held devices of various sorts. Victoria recognized most of them but not all.

  “Excuse me,” Victoria said, incredulous at being dismissed as a fly might be.

  This time Fiona did stop what she was doing and peered at them with abject boredom. “You’ve come here for no reason. The station master sees no one without an appointment, and I don’t let just anyone spoil his work day.” Fiona’s pierced eyebrow lifted as if to say, So what are you going to do about it?

  Grateful Bill stayed silent and let her handle it, Victoria studied Fiona carefully. Her dark hair contained teal green and white highlights, all of it wound in a complicated knot at the top of her head, with a few tendrils framing her face. Not only did she have a pierced eyebrow, but her ears, nose, and lip also sported various jewelry glittering at them. They made Victoria feel as if even Fiona’s body decorations were laughing at her. Anger pulsed through her at the woman’s rudeness, but at the same time, she recognized that Fiona was only doing her job. She smiled at the girl dressed similar to herself, only in cotton fabrics. Preference or paycheck, she couldn’t be sure. Fiona didn’t strike her as the type to waste her good threads at the office. Victoria would also bet that Fiona’s boots sported more metal than her own. Her father refused to allow her the latest trend in so much metal adorning her footwear. What she wouldn’t give to wear that much metal whenever she felt like. Soon. She would be twenty five and then she’d see what she’d wear.

  “You like the personal you’re giving off?” Victoria raised an eyebrow at her. “Seems demeaning to me. But what do I know?” She shrugged as if to say, it takes all sorts and stared Fiona down.

  Fiona looked startled and sat back in her chair. The bored, helpless chick act disappeared, and it delighted Victoria to see the intelligent woman surface.

  “You’re doing a wonderful job, Fiona,” she added in a quiet voice, putting the smile back on her face. “In fact, if I weren’t here for the purpose I’ve come for, I might even have left, and I’m pretty stubborn. But, you see, I’m not just anyone. I’m Victoria Hastings.”

  Victoria watched the realization of who she was drop over Fiona’s face, from the slight widening of her eyes to the faint blush creeping up her cheeks.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Hastings. I’ll check if he’s in,” Fiona said, picking up one of the gadgets which looked like her TabPad. She punched a few symbols into it and sent it. “We get so many people coming in to see the station master. Sometimes, all they need is to know where the loos are. It’s quite exasperating, if you know what I mean.”

  “I can guess,” Victoria replied. Suddenly, a hole in the wall appeared. Victoria blinked. Before the door opened, it had been invisible, skillfully crafted into the woodwork design elements and partially hidden by tall plants near the door.

  Victoria found herself looking down on a toupee. It had to be a toupee. Real hair couldn’t possibly be so tousled when that short, could it? By the time he turned his face up to hers, she managed to compose her face into a polite countenance—she hoped.

  “Fiona, what do you mean Victoria Hastings is here?” The man’s voice thundered out, surprising Victoria further. “The Earl never lets her out alone. Oh...hello,” he said ruefully, finally noticing her.

  Everyone knows how my father disrespects me? Her polite mask slipped for a brief moment, before she shoved the hurt aside. This morning has been one for shocks, not all of them good. Sh
e should have known, though.

  “Hello,” she said, putting out her hand, ruthlessly thrusting the hurt child in her aside. “I’m Victoria Hastings and this is my”—she mentally stumbled for a brief moment—”friend and coworker, William Howell, head of our Louisiana office’s Passenger Division.”

  She gave the station master credit for keeping his cool under the circumstances. “I’m Gary Thompson,” he said, giving her hand a quick business-like shake and then removing a handkerchief from his suit jacket breast pocket and dabbing his forehead with it.

  “Pleased to meet you. My father and I are here on a surprise tour of the station. He’s with the accountant now. May Mr. Howell and I take a few moments of your time?”

  Victoria didn’t miss the speculative look Mr. Thompson gave Bill but chose to ignore it. After having more than fifty men thrown at her feet, she could hardly expect it to be a secret the Earl wanted her married off to someone, anyone.

  “Of course. Come right in,” he said and motioned for them to precede him into the room. “What can I do for you?” he asked as they sat on the comfortable seats located nearest the door.

  “I’d appreciate it if you would give me a run through of a typical day and the security precautions you have in place. I would also like your reports, going back two years, on any items, lost, found, and any complaints or disturbances.”

  Mr. Thompson gave her a shrewd look, and then typed in some information into his desktop computer. In less than five minutes, papers were printing out on the printer behind him. He did not even glance at them. Instead, he met Victoria’s gaze. “You’re different than your pictures make you out to be. Can I ask why the sudden interest in my station?”

  “We are on the passenger train currently at platform nineteen and thought it would be a good time to take a look around,” she said mildly.

  “Of course, I’m sorry. It’s not my place.” He turned and picked up the papers. “Here are the reports you asked for. Would you like to see our security system? I have a whole security division, but I can access the cameras from here.”

  “I would,” Bill interjected. “I admit to some curiosity on how we really can monitor a station this size.”

  Mr. Thompson’s eyes lit up. “Oh fantastic! You must see this, then.” He pressed a bunch of keys, moving this and that with the mouse and parts of the station appeared before them on the screen. He grinned like a kid at Michaelmas. “Here’s a sample of what our security guards can see. I only possess one monitor connected to this service, but they have eight. Each monitor shows a split screen of four different places at any given time. The cameras take pictures in short intervals. Let’s look at the security office. They don’t monitor that one much, eh,” he added, his jovial countenance lighting up like a Christmas tree.

  Thompson pushed a few more buttons, and Victoria saw pictures of monitors from two angles and the guard’s face from two more. “Why do you need four videos in the security office?”

  “Everything is controlled from there. All emergency measures, the green lights for the trains, the consoles, even the engine computers can be run from there. In the event of terrorists or other emergencies, we require the ability to see that room from all angles.”

  Victoria nodded her head, impressed with the safety measures. As this happened to be her first time seeing the measures in person, she didn’t know if everyone took this step or not. She knew all the stations maintained security, but she made a mental note to check the rest of the stations for the added protection in the security office. She glanced through the incident reports, noting his attention to detail, and wondered if Fiona had anything to do with it. Maybe he specifically hired Fiona because she could keep up with his demands.

  “What the hell!” Mr. Thompson exclaimed. He rapidly punched in more keystrokes and his monitor zoomed in on a dark figure cloaked in a coat very similar to Victoria’s own but with a hood of some sort obscuring their features. Mr. Thompson must have turned the sound on as well because she could hear different noises now. She gasped as the figure pulled something out of the overcoat. They heard a popping sound before the guard slumped over the computer consoles.

  Mr. Thompson called 999, and Bill leaned over to the screen for a closer look. The intruder reached a hand out and hit a few buttons on the console before they turned and left. At no time did they look up to the cameras and reveal any clue to their identity.

  While the televocals rang for the police, he pressed another button on one of his gadgets. “Fiona, press the emergency button. Lock down the station.” Immediately a red light started flashing from a small silver ball on his desk.

  “Scotland Yard? Yes, I’m the station master at the New Yorkshire station. There’s been a murder.”

  After Mr. Thompson gave the police the small bit of information they possessed, he pressed more buttons and set the televocal in its cradle. “They want me to stay on the line,” he explained. “However, I’ve muted it. I’m sorry if this is disturbing to either one of you, but I’m afraid I need to play back that tape to see what buttons he or she pressed after killing the guard.”

  Both Victoria and Bill murmured their acceptance, but neither left the area. They watched again as the figure killed the guard. Mr. Thompson slowed the forward motion, screen by screen, until he arrived at the part he wanted to see, then did a freeze-frame. He pulled out his handkerchief again and dabbed his forehead. “I’m very sorry you had to see this,” he said. “I can’t see how this person was able to get into the locked security office. I will need to sift through all the footage until I find the right one.”

  “The security office is locked as well?” Bill asked intently. At Thompson’s affirmative nod, he continued. “Then this was planned and executed with far too much precision to not have been practiced before.”

  “What?” Thompson asked sharply, looking closely at Bill.

  “This person managed to break into a secured office, shoot a guard, and leave the security office unmolested. It’s really only their bad luck we happened to be looking at the time. What would you normally have been doing without the interruption of our arrival?”

  He frowned in concentration. “I’d be going over the numbers the accountant just sent. I’ve been looking at them weekly lately. Something’s not right about them. Our accountant feels the same way, but neither one of us can pinpoint the problem.”

  “In other words, paper work. Do you have a time you normally do a physical check on the building?” Bill persisted.

  “Yes, if I do one, it’s in between the guard’s rotation. They do one every half hour and when major passenger trains come in. It helps for customers to see the security personnel actively watching for trouble. Seems to avert most problems before they begin.”

  Bill looked at the digital clock on the computer console shown in the freeze-frame. “Not only did you have a passenger train arrive, but it’s also at the half hour. Whoever planned this took no chances of having more than one guard in the control room at the time. You have so many guards, they needed to make sure they wouldn’t run into more than they could handle. Just a suggestion, and I know you’re trying, but make sure you know exactly which buttons that person pressed and what they do. Whoever planned this went to a lot of trouble to make it happen.”

  Victoria put her hand on Bill’s shoulder as he leaned over next to Thompson. She wanted to give and receive a small token of comfort. The murderer could be anyone out there. The cloak managed to disguise even the sex of the person, leaving nothing to go on. What could they do? Put out on the intercom to look for a person wearing a dark, lightweight coat with a hood, features unknown, sex unknown, but watch out because they could kill you? Sure, and next they could scream fire into the intercom system.

  The door opened, and Fiona popped her head in. “Station is locked down, sir. One guard is near the entrance ready to let Scotland Yard in, and the others are watching the waiting passengers and doing a check on the building and all the exits.”

 
“Thank you, Fiona. From this point on we’re on Protocol Fire Storm.”

  “Yes, sir. Shall I notify you when Scotland Yard arrives?”

  “Yes, please do. I expect they’ll wish to talk to me immediately.”

  Fiona nodded and left the office, closing the door behind her.

  “Both you and Fiona are remarkably cool headed,” Victoria noted.

  “She’s the most levelheaded person I’ve ever met,” Thompson replied. “We had a woman deliver a baby in the office while we waited for an ambulance, and Fiona didn’t bat an eyelash. Just calmly walked the woman through her breathing practices and delivered the baby. I held the woman’s hand, and she nearly crushed my fingers. That’s the extent of help I am in a medical emergency. Fiona’s brilliant.”

  “Not freaking out and helping to calm the patient can’t be overrated, Mr. Thompson,” Victoria said. “I’m sure you helped both the woman delivering her child and Fiona with your calm demeanor.”

  “Thank you, Victoria,” he replied, but he sounded distracted. He pressed his face closer to the screen and mumbled some words.

  “Scotland Yard is on their way, sir. Are you still there?” the disembodied voice asked, startling them for they had all peered closer to see what the person on the screen was doing.

  Thompson hurriedly pressed the un-mute button. “Yes, I’m here,” he said. “Thank you. My guards are waiting to let them in.”

  “Can you contact your father, Victoria? Since he’s the owner and on location, I’m sure they’re going to want to talk to him,” Thompson requested.

  “I will let him know, although I’m sure he’s having a fit over the emergency lock down and will be along presently. Who has jurisdiction?” she asked. “I thought Scotland Yard’s jurisdiction didn’t include interstate railways and airbuses.”

  “They passed an act of parliament, setting up a new division in Scotland Yard. They’re in charge. Unless it’s terrorism, then I don’t know how they divvy up the mess. I just call Scotland Yard and let them worry about who has control of what criminal offenses. It’s still my station, regardless of what they say. As long as they catch the crooks, I have no care as to how they split the work.”