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Billy was nowhere near the exit. If he ran, he'd never make it in time. Could he jump?
No, twenty feet to the traffic-filled street below. He'd break bones.
Billy decided he'd just have to bluff. He had a city employee ID, which would pass fast examination, but one call to downtown and they'd find out it was fake. He also had legitimate ID, which was, technically, a breach of the Commandments.
Thou shalt remain unidentifiable.
But, of course, that wouldn't work. One radio or phone call and they'd find out who he really was.
He'd have to go on the offense. He'd pretend to ignore the men until they were right next to him and turn, smiling. Then he would shove one, or both, onto the tracks. He could escape in the chaos afterwards.
A messy plan. Clumsy and dangerous. But, he decided, there was little choice.
The men were getting closer now. Smiling but Billy didn't trust that expression for a second.
The train was near now. A hundred feet away, eighty, thirty ...
He looked for guns on the men's hips, but they hadn't unbuttoned their coats. He glanced toward the exit, judged timing and distance.
Get ready. The big one. Push him first. Lincoln Rhyme's buddy.
The train was almost to the platform.
The taller of the two men, the one who was about to die first, nodded as he caught Billy's eye.
Wait, wait. Give it ten seconds more. Eight, seven, six ...
Billy tensed.
Four, three ...
The man then smiled. 'Eric?'
'I'm, uhm, I'm sorry?'
'Are you Eric Wilson?'
The train rushed into the station and squealed to a stop.
'Me? No.'
'Oh, hey, you look just like the son of a guy I work with. Sorry to bother you.'
'No problem.' Billy's hands were trembling, his jaw too, and only partly from the cold.
The men turned and walked away, toward the train, which was now discharging passengers.
Billy walked onto the subway car, choosing a spot to stand that was close enough to the men to hear their conversation. Yes, he realized, they were just as they seemed to be - businessmen who'd finished some meeting uptown and were heading back to their office on Madison Avenue to write up some reports about how the meeting had gone.
Brakes released, and with a grind the train started south, rocking, squealing through the switches.
Soon they were in Manhattan, and diving beneath the surface. The Underground Man was in his world once again.
It had been a risk, taking the subway, but at least he'd minimized the danger. And apparently won. Rather than take the Number One train or the Number Four - the next one east - or even the B and D, he'd sped the several miles to the Allerton Avenue station, to catch the Number Two train. He'd assumed that someone - well, Lincoln Rhyme of course - might have ordered officers to the closer stations. But even the NYPD didn't have the resources to search everywhere. He'd hoped his brisk pace would put him beyond the reach of a manhunt.
Apparently this was so.
As they sped south, Billy reflected: You're not the only one who can anticipate, Captain Rhyme.
