Derailed

Jason felt a pulsing beneath him, rhythmic, cadenced. Bright lights began as a blur in his eyes, then as his vision cleared, he could see them illuminated above him. The fluorescent beams above blinded his unadjusted eyes. His head began to pound, and his body ached. He lay still, confused, unaware of what had happened. The pulsing continued, his eyes cleared and adjusted, his thoughts came in steady waves now. He was laying on the floor, somewhere…foreign. He reached up to touch the back of his skull, felt a large knot. He had no recollection of how he'd hurt his head. He tenderly stroked the injured area, assessing the injury. His neck began to feel irritated. He moved his hand to what felt like an insect bite. The pulsing beneath him continued steadily. Carefully, he began to stand. A large window was to his right. A city streaked by, glowing by artificial light in the dark of the night. Jason's senses began to overload as his awareness grew. His breathing intensified, growing rapidly, uncontrollable. Both hands were now on the window as he leaned, trying to catch his breath. He looked up at the city speeding past. Sweat began to bead on his brow. He turned around, looking at his surroundings. The room was a box full of luggage and metallic supply crates. It was a storage room of some sort. He turned back to the window, then again to the room; he was on a train.

Confused, Jason began to pace about the room trying to put the pieces of memory back together, but all he got was static. He looked around, trying to find something familiar, something he knew, but everything was alien to him, foreign, unknown. Sweat rolled into his eye. He wiped it with his sleeve, then grabbed the bottom of his shirt to wipe his dripping forehead. He looked at the shirt and saw it was covered in blood. He quickly ripped it up to see what had happened to him, but his torso had no lacerations or wounds, just bruising around his ribs. If the blood wasn’t his, then whose was it? In a panic he looked around the compartment again. Behind a shiny crate in the corner, he could see two feet sticking out beside it. He approached with caution. As he came closer, he saw a body was hidden behind the crate, the face bloodied and pronounced bruising around the neck. The eyes were still open, bulging, staring at nothing. Jason could see the shock and dread on the face of the dead man. In haste, he ripped off the shirt, throwing it in the corner with the dead man. He made his way to the luggage racks and began to search through for a clean shirt. Finding one that would suffice, he put it on and put the luggage back on the rack. He had to find his way out of the compartment and figure out what was going on.

Camille awoke gently. She stretched the stiff sleepiness from her body and yawned. She lay her head again on the tall back of the chair. She smiled, not remembering the last time she’d slept that well. In fact, she hadn’t even recalled sitting down and falling asleep. Her eyes burst open, she grabbed the arms of the chair, her hands as a vice, her manicured nails digging into the soft fabric of the furniture. She jumped from the chair and examined the room around her. She did not recognize this place. She could feel the earth moving beneath her at great speed. She looked to the window and saw the cityscape passing by. A bed was next to the window. I’m on a train…why am I on a train? What is going on?

She exited the room and entered the hall of the compartment. Doors to sleeping chambers lined the hall. There was no one else around. She seemed to be the only living soul in the car. She felt an itch on her neck. She looked around, trying to find a lavatory, finally seeing one at the end of the carriage. She entered, flicked the light on. Her eye makeup was smeared, her bright red lipstick smudged, her shoulder length black hair tousled. She could see a bright red bump on her neck; it looked like a mosquito bite, but it was much too large to have been from a small insect. She turned on the water and cleaned her face as much as she could, wiping the makeup from her face and calming down her stressed out hair. She looked in the mirror, panic trying to consume her. She closed her eyes and began to breathe deeply. Breathe in, 1 ,2, 3, 4. Out, 1, 2, 3, 4. Now in control, she left the lavatory and looked for the door to the compartment.

Jason walked through what looked to be a dining car. The only person there was a bartender, polishing a crystal bourbon glass. The bartender looked up. He had one blue eye and one brown. A smile emerged from his clean-shaven face. His perfectly coiffed hair had a dark shine.

“Good evening, sir. Anything I can help you with?” He continued to polish the glass and smiled at Jason. His accent was thick. Jason couldn’t quite place it. German, maybe?

“Uh, maybe just a glass of water, please.” Jason’s voice was gravely and rough. He’d not realized how dry his throat was. The glass of water was set in front of him atop a napkin. He nodded to the barkeep and took a drink. The cool rush of water washed away the dry, sandy feeling. He coughed, clearing his throat and took another drink. “Where is this train headed?” he asked, his voice now sounding more normal.

The bartender gave him a curious look. “You’re the second person to ask me that question.”

Jason choked on the water in his mouth. “Excuse me?”

“The young lady over there, with the dark, short hair, she asked me the same question. Quite strange.” He motioned towards the woman, sitting alone at a table. The bartender looked at Jason, still smiling and polishing the glass.

He grew uncomfortable and awaited an answer from the bartender. It didn’t come. Rather than ask again, he stood and walked over to the lady, her back to him. As he approached, he saw a red spot on her neck. He put his hand to his neck and felt it. It was like his. He sat down across from her. She jumped, startled by his sudden appearance.

“Do you know how you got here?” he asked, point blank.

The woman looked at him confused. As he moved his hand away from his neck, she saw the mark. Her eyes opened wide. “You don’t know either?”

“What happened to your neck?” Jason inquired.

“I don’t know. What happened to yours?” she responded, beginning to sense that she wasn’t alone in this nightmare.

“I’m not sure. I woke up in the luggage compartment with a splitting headache, this mark, and a dead body in the corner.” He rubbed his face violently, hoping he would just wake up from whatever hell this was. “You?”

“I was alone in the sleeping car.” She continued to look at him, trying to see if she could recognize him. Something was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. “Where are you from?” she asked.

“I live in Washington, D.C., in the United States. You?” She seemed familiar to him as well. She was a splintered memory coming in fragments, the images blurred.

“London, England.”

“The bartender said you asked him where we’re headed. He told me after I asked him the same question. What did he tell you?”

“He said it was strange I’d be on a train to where I know not, then just smiled at me, polishing a glass.” She sighed deeply. “I don’t know what’s going on.” Her gaze drifted to the speeding cityscape, lost in thought.

“Name’s Jason. Jason Porter.”

“Camille Devonshire,” she replied. “What’s the last thing you remember, Jason?”

The answer did not come. His memory was shattered across his conscious. “Uh, let me think.” He closed his eyes, trying to put the broken images together in his mind. “I was…I was in France…”

“You’re CIA?!” she exclaimed.

He sat up straight, shocked. France was becoming clearer. Things started to come together. An image of a woman, the woman across from him. “British Intelligence?”

“MI6, yes.”

They both sat in silence another moment, piecing together the last few hours of memory.

“We had a scheduled meet, a café near the Seine…Paris. We were in Paris.” Jason could see the café overlooking the river. “I can’t remember why.” He continued working with the bits of memory he still had, thinking. “A van…I remember a black van. It came to the café during our meet…”

Jason could see the memory clearly now, playing back through his mind like a film. He and Camille had come to the scheduled meet. He was still foggy on the details of that meeting. A van came to a screeching halt at the curb. Four men in masks jumped out; they were armed. Automatic rifles, high-end Kevlar vests and tactical gear…these were professionals. They put their hands up as ordered. Two men came around behind them, one behind Jason, one behind Camille. Jason pulled a knife from his belt and stuck the blade between the armor on the vest. He seized the assailant’s rifle, repeatedly beating it against the masked man’s face. Then he felt a sharp stab in his neck. That’s where the memory ended. He woke up in the luggage car covered in blood. The dead man in the corner was the man in the mask. He snapped out of the memory and looked at Camille.

“I remember how we got here. We were drugged.” He put his hand on the spot on her neck. “Right there, that’s the injection point. It’s a new drug, scrambles your memory from about 24-36 hours prior to injection.” Jason grabbed his head. All the memories rushing back had begun to give him a headache. “We need to figure out why we were meeting.”

“Maybe if we check out the other cars the pieces will be put back together.”

The two walked through the various cars on the train. Starting from the back, working their way forward. Near the back of the train, they encountered a locked door to what looked like it could be a storage car. Camille took a close look to see if the lock could be picked. She knelt down and pulled a pin from the clasp of her shoe. She caught Jason’s glance.

“A girl must be ready for anything,” she smiled. She turned her attention back to the door. Jason kept lookout. Click! The pins released and the door unlocked. Camille carefully opened the door. She poked her head through the opening. No signs of anyone. She opened the door fully. “Oh my God…Jason…look!”

Jason turned and his eyes opened wide. The whole car was lined with explosives. Explosive barrels with charges sat in the middle of the car. The train was rigged to blow. They split up and began investigating the explosives, looking for ways to disarm the bombs.

“This is strange…” Jason said. “There are no detonators…there’s nothing connected to the explosives. These aren’t stable explosives either. Any exposure to heat and they’ll go off. Why wouldn’t you need…” Jason stopped mid-sentence.

“What is it?” Camille asked nervously.

“I think I know why they don’t need a detonator.” Jason said.

Camille approached. “Why don’t they need…” She saw what Jason said. It was the crew of the train. All of them had been tied up and executed.

“They don’t need a detonator because we’re on it.” Jason looked at Camille. “We need to stop this train!”

They bolted from the storage room, speeding through each car. They had to find out what was happening and find a way to stop the train. One by one, car by car, they made their way closer to the front. They entered into a lounge car and stopped. They looked at the people, all of them terrified.

Jason looked at a middle-aged man wearing a nice suit. “What’s the matter?” The man looked at him confused. Crap, he doesn’t speak English…Jason asked the man again in French. The man began to respond frantically.

“What’s he saying?” Camille asked.

“The train is going too fast. We have gone through all the stops. He hasn’t seen anyone from the crew…he’s afraid.” Jason took a step towards the window and looked out. Another memory pieced itself together. “We’re on the new monorail…”

Camille looked at Jason. “We’re still in Paris? This is the new high-speed train. The last stop on this line is…. French Parliament.”

Another memory flashed through Jason’s mind, reconstructed. Four men in suits, shaking hands. One was from the Middle East. The other three looked European. Jason saw a lapel pin on one suit, it was the American flag. It was a peace delegation between Iran, England, France, and the United States. The talks had been going on for the last six months trying to end the tension between the countries. Any wrong move now could ignite a global conflict. Russia and China would side with Iran, three global powers with nuclear armament.

“The peace delegation…how were they supposed to get to Parliament?” Jason, sweat running down his face, looked intently at Camille.

Camille closed her eyes, trying to remember. “Uh, they…they were going to go in a diplomatic escort…they changed plans…at the request of the Iranian ambassador…he wanted to see the new clean-energy monorail running through Paris.”

The final memory fell in place for Jason. “I remember now…I was sent in to meet with you about the potential terrorist attack on the French Parliament, and our ambassadors were also targeted. Iran was against the peace talks, Russia never showed, China was coerced not to come. We were here to uncover and prevent any potential threats. We planned our meet once we learned of the change in travel plans, but somehow our covers were blown. It had to have been a mole…” Jason turned and looked at Camille who was now pointing a gun at him. A scream came from the passengers. Her breathing was labored. She was terrified, though she attempted to keep a calm appearance.

“Well done, Mr. Porter. I was hopeful that your memory would remain fragmented, but now, here we are. What are we to do about this…unfortunate situation?”

Jason saw her hand have the slightest tremble. She kept angling her right ear toward her shoulder…as if trying to hear better…someone was using her. Someone was talking to her. “Camille, who’s controlling you?” He could see the shock register on her face. “Who’s talking in your ear?”

“Never you mind. You know too much. As lovely as this little adventure has been, Mr. Porter, this is where it ends.”

Jason, hands up, took a step forward. “We are on the brink of global war…what are they offering you that you think could possibly survive a global conflict? Money? Every economy is going to be destroyed. Safety? They’ll probably kill you anyway.” He saw the tear well up in her eye. “No, it’s something more personal.” He quickly secured the gun from her and fired it into the floor, three shots. Terror rose up from the passengers in the car, screaming and panic. He pushed her into the wall and pulled the earwig from her right ear. He fired two more shots before stepping on the device destroying it. He came in close and whispered in her ear. “Was that the only device?” She shakily nodded, yes. He put the gun in the back of his waistband and held her shoulders. “Who do they have?”

“My son…they have my son.” She trembled and fell apart in his arms. “They know everything about me…everything.”

“Where is he? Is he on the train?”

She nodded.

“You knew we were going to be on the train?”

She nodded again, sobbing.

“Did you know it was rigged to blow?”

She shook her head, no. “I had no idea. I thought they wanted you as a bargaining chip, that’s what they said. They were going to use you and accuse you of attempted assassination of the Iranian ambassador. They were going to use you to start the war.”

“Who?” Jason asked.

“The Russians and the Chinese. That’s why they’re not here.”

“Okay, we worry about that later. Right now, we stop this train and get your son, okay? You with me?”

She nodded again. “Yes…I’m with you. I’m sorry, I didn’t know…”

“Later. Right now, we stop this.”

Jason and Camille continued towards the front of the train trying to reach the controls. They peered through the window of their current car and saw armed guards outside the next compartment. He needed a plan.

“Punch me,” he said to Camille.

“What?!” she responded.

“I have a plan, but I need you to punch me really hard in the face.” He gave her a look of impatience.

“Fine, but this was your idea.” She reeled back and hit him in the nose. Blood flowed from the wound.

Jason held back a yell and bent over in pain. He worked to regain his composure. “Perfect,” he said through gritted teeth. “That should do.” He opened the door to the next compartment, holding his nose.

The two guards saw him approaching, bloodied, and holding his nose. They stepped forward to stop him.

“Help!” he cried with a French accent, “I need help! Some guy with a gun just hit me in the lounge car. I think he’s American!”

The two guards moved past Jason. He grabbed one, putting him into a chokehold. Camille came through the door and delivered a devastating blow to the throat of the other man. As Jason choked out the one, Camille took the other man to the floor, seized his weapon, and struck him over the head. Both guards were incapacitated. They each took the guards’ rifles, ready to storm the next car. Without hesitation, Camille threw open the next car door. Men in suits stood, shocked. They raised their rifles, but too late. Jason and Camille opened fire, dropping the men in the car. They stopped to reload and moved to the next car. They were near the front. Before they could move, a bullet came through the door window and grazed Jason’s arm. He went to a knee and returned fire. Camille took cover as Jason continued to fire and move forward. He fired in three round bursts, keeping his enemy hidden. He made his way to the door and took cover beside it. He waited and the door opened. Two men ran out and were quickly shot in the back. Jason turned and entered the car. Standing in front of him was a man holding a gun to the head of a young boy. He surveyed his surroundings. He saw the four ambassadors tied up sitting along the wall. The car was lined with more explosives.

“Take another step,” spoke the man with the gun in a thick Russian accent, “and the boy gets bullet to brain.” The man pulled the hammer back on his semi-automatic handgun.

“Okay, okay!”

“Put gun on floor,” the Russian ordered.

Jason knelt and looked at the kid. “What’s your name, pal?”

“Put gun down!”

“I’m Kevin,” answered the young boy.

“Kevin, I’m Jason, and I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

“Put gun on floor!” demanded the Russian, who now aimed the gun at Jason.

Jason set the gun on the floor, his hand still around the grip, finger in the trigger well. “It’s not nice to point,” he said and pulled the trigger. The bullet entered the front of the Russian’s shoe, blood sprayed onto the floor. With a shriek the Russian fell back. Kevin bolted, and Jason ended the Russian’s life with a double tap to the chest.

Camille burst through the door. “Kevin!” she cried. The young boy ran to his mother and embraced her.

“You two stay here,” Jason ordered. He went through the final door into the locomotive of the train. He looked at the controls and found the throttle and pulled it back. The train was not slowing down; the controls had been tampered. He went back to the previous car. He had an idea. Camille was still holding her son. She saw Jason and the distress on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Jason began to check the pockets of the dead men. He found a cell phone and tossed it to Camille. “Call your agency. Have them evacuate Parliament.” He took a block of the explosives from the wall.

“What are you going to do with that?” Camille shrieked.

“I have to disconnect the cars. I can’t stop the train. Call now, evacuate Parliament!”

“Jason, no!” she cried.

“The rest of the train should lose momentum once the engine is detached.”

Camille looked at Jason. She knew this was the only option. She took his hand and pulled him close. She kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, for everything.”

Jason set the charge on the on the connection between the two cars. He shut the door to the rear car and approached the controls in the locomotive. He took the pistol from his waistband, took aim, and fired. The blast separated the two cars. He continued to speed on as the rest of the train already began slowing down as he sped on.

Camille could see the new government square ahead, the locomotive speeding towards it. She felt the train continuing to slow. She watched as the engine sped into the square and collided with the station and derailed. A fire erupted from the locomotive.

“Very good, well done,” she said into the phone. “I have the diplomats with me, they’re safe.” She hung up the phone. The job had been accomplished. She looked on, the train now at a full stop. Emergency crews rushed to the locomotive, now consumed by hot flames.

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The peace delegation stood on outside of the Parliament building, a week after the attempted assassinations. They announced sanctions against China and Russia, trade restrictions, high tariffs on imports, and embargoes on their trade routes. Their economies would pay the price for their attempt to ignite a global conflict. Peace talks could now begin.

Camille stood, watching as history was made. The new government square in Paris gleamed, a picture of the new peace between nations. She watched the diplomats shake hands, publicly declaring the peace treaties between the nations. She applauded along with the world. As the applause rang out, she turned. Her heart skipped a beat. Applauding behind her was Jason Porter. She turned completely and the two made eye contact. He smiled at her. Camille went to approach and was cut off by a man with a camera. As he passed, she looked for Jason. He was gone.