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The train’s brakes began to squeal and Cremer again looked out the window. He could see a few men standing on the platform, two in dark gray suits and black fedoras, one in the blue uniform and cap of a railway employee.
The train, with the locomotive coming even with the station, was now barely rolling along. There were no more brake squeals.
As the first of the passenger cars reached the station, the two men in dark suits began running alongside. In no time, they were outside Cremer’s window—Grossman now saw them, too—and he pulled the curtains closed for a moment. The car rolled past them, and when he cracked open the curtains again and looked back he saw that the men had matched the speed of the train and were now, one at a time and with some difficulty, jumping onto the metal platform where the last two cars were connected.
Cremer’s stomach knotted.
Those aren’t postal clerks, he thought.
“They just jumped on the train,” he said.
Grossman got to his feet, picked up the leather pouch from the table, slipped it into his suit coat pocket, and went to the door. He put his ear to the door but heard nothing unusual.
The train began to pick up speed, and when Cremer looked out the window this time he could see that they were leaving downtown.
He stood up, too, and when he instinctively reached in his pants pocket, making sure the Walther pistol was still there—it was—he noticed that his palms were starting to sweat.
Grossman opened the door a crack and looked out. Then he pulled it open more, looked toward the car behind them, then to the one ahead, and then stepped out into the hall. He glanced at Cremer before walking to the back of the car.
Cremer watched as Grossman positioned himself to the left of the rear door’s window, out of sight of anyone in the other cars, and peered back into them.
Grossman saw that the two men—one taller and clean-shaven, the other with a mustache—were going through the farthest car, systematically knocking on the door of every compartment.
Each time, the man with the mustache would stand outside the door, covering the taller man as he went in. After about a minute, the taller man would then come out and they would move to the next compartment and repeat the process.
At the fourth compartment, one of the passengers, a slender male of about thirty, came out into the hallway. He gave his wallet to the man with the mustache, who then appeared to ask a few questions as he inspected what looked like identification papers.
The man with the mustache gave back the wallet, nodded curtly, then went with his partner to the next compartment.
Grossman had seen enough. He carefully and quickly made his way back to the compartment.
Cremer closed the door once Grossman was inside. “What did you see?”
“Two men, maybe local police but probably state or FBI, clearing the train compartment by compartment. They’re checking passengers’ papers.”
“Well, our papers are not a problem,” Cremer said evenly. “My driver’s license is the same as I had when I lived in New Jersey.”
“Mine also.” Grossman’s eyes darted around the compartment. “But I do not like how this is happening. This is no routine investigation. There probably are more police waiting in Oklahoma City.”
He went to the suitcase and pulled out the other black pouch.
“What the hell do you intend to do with that?” Cremer said.
“How far from Oklahoma City are we?”
Cremer looked at him, made the mental calculations, then said, “Fifteen minutes…maybe less.”
Grossman held up the pouch he had taken from the suitcase.
“This is the one with the ten-minute fuse. I am going to place it in the passenger car behind us. It will take them no more than ten minutes to work their way up to it. Meanwhile, we will go forward, and when it blows, and the train stops, we will get out. By that time, the train will be in the city and we can slip away in the chaos.”
Cremer, thinking, stared at him.
I don’t want to believe it, but he may be right.
Hell, he is right.
Why else would a couple of cops suddenly jump on a train, if they weren’t looking for us? The damned radio has been nothing but nonstop reports about Dallas.
