Read Chapter 34: The Countdown

The alarm inside the engine compartment was deafening—a shrill, mechanical scream that drilled straight through Mercer’s skull. Red light flooded the narrow space, pulsing in rhythm with the klaxon. On the console before him, a timer had appeared on the cracked display screen, counting down from just under ten minutes.

“Self-destruct,” Vernet breathed, her face bloodless. “He wired it to the dispersal system’s power source. If it cycles, the charge will blow through the undercarriage.”

“How much time?” Mercer’s voice was hoarse from smoke, from shouting, from the last hour of running on adrenaline and bad decisions.

“Less than ten minutes. The train will be at the midpoint of the tunnel when it detonates.”

“Can you disarm it?”

Vernet’s hands hovered over the open panel, trembling. “I can try to slow the cycle, but disarming remotely was never part of the design. The charge is wired into the main power bus. I’d need to physically cut the line, but it’s armored and fused. There’s no way through without the right tools.”

“Then we evacuate.” Mercer grabbed her arm, pulling her toward the door. “Every passenger on this train needs to reach the rear cars. The maintenance bay doors at the front are the weakest point. If we punch them open before the blast, the force will vent backward through the tunnel rather than through the carriage.”

Vernet stared at him. “You’re talking about opening the train at speed. The pressure differential will suck anyone near the door out into the tunnel.”

“I’m talking about giving everyone a chance,” Mercer said. “Better than drowning in fire.”

He hit the radio. “Camille. Camille, respond.”

Static. Then her voice, crackling and strained: “I’m here. Sokolov’s down. Permanently. What the hell is happening?”

“The train’s rigged. Self-destruct. Under ten minutes. We need to move every passenger to the rear cars and open the maintenance bay breach doors before the charge blows.”

A pause. “The breach doors are on the locomotive housing. I can get there, but I’ll need to pass through the first-class galley and the dining car. There are still gala guests everywhere.”

“That’s the job. Split up. I’ll take the forward cars, you take the rear. Use the service intercom to announce the evacuation, but don’t say ‘bomb.’ Say there’s a mechanical failure and the train is being sealed for emergency decompression. People will move faster if they think they’re suffocating than if they think they’re about to explode.”

“Camille here. Understood. I’m on my way to the service panel.”

Mercer turned to Vernet. “Can you work on slowing the timer from here while we evacuate?”

She was already crouching by the console, a small multi-tool in her hand, the kind of thing she must have kept in a hidden pocket. “It’s not designed to be slowed. But nothing is designed to withstand the kind of electrical insanity I’m prepared to inflict on it. Give me five minutes.”

“You have four.”

Mercer was through the door before she could argue.

The train swayed beneath his boots as he moved forward. The carriages were a blur of velvet upholstery, brass fittings, and terrified faces pressed against windows that showed nothing but black tunnel wall. The alarm had spread. People were already moving, but aimlessly, crowding the corridor between seats, clutching champagne flutes and evening bags as if the cocktail hour might resume once the screaming stopped.

Mercer grabbed the first waiter he found, a young man with a name badge reading ANTOINE and a face gone the color of old linen.

“You speak English?”

“Yes—yes, sir.”

“Good. You’re with me. I need you to move these people back. Through the galley, through the dining car, all the way to the rear of the train. Do not let anyone stop. If they ask why, tell them it’s an emergency ventilation procedure. Got it?”

“Ventilation procedure,” Antoine repeated, steadying himself against the luggage rack. “Yes. I can do that.”

They swept through the first-class lounge in tandem, Mercer’s voice cutting through the din, loud and commanding, the voice of a man who expected to be obeyed. “Everyone. Please remain calm. The train has experienced a mechanical fault. We are evacuating passengers to the rear cars as a precaution. Please follow the staff member. Leave your belongings. Move now.”

Most moved. Some froze. A woman in a silver gown clutched a jeweled clutch to her chest and refused to let go of her seat. “I haven’t collected my coat from the cloakroom.”

“You’ll freeze before you reach the cloakroom,” Mercer said, not unkindly. He helped her up, guided her into the flow of bodies pressing toward the rear.

Smoke drifted through the carriage from somewhere forward—not the black, choking smoke of fire, but a thin gray haze from the engine compartment, carrying the sharp tang of burning insulation. Passengers coughed, covered their mouths, moved faster.

Mercer counted heads as they passed. One carriage cleared, then another. In the dining car, tables had been overturned in the rush, silverware scattered across the carpet, a single high-heeled shoe abandoned near the bar. He kicked it aside. No time for sentiment.

He checked his watch. Four minutes left. Maybe less.

The radio crackled at his collar. “Mercer.” It was Camille.

“Go ahead.”

“Rear cars are clearing. I’ve got the service intercom patched through. They’re moving. But there’s a problem—the last carriage, the one directly ahead of the locomotive’s tail coupling. There’s a group of staffers who’ve locked themselves in the baggage hold. They think it’s safer.”

“It’s not safer. It’s directly above the fuel lines.”

“I know. I’m heading there now. But it’s a dead bolt from the inside. I can’t get through without breaking the door down, and I don’t have tools.”

Mercer’s mind raced. “Check the maintenance panel in the corridor. There’s a key override for the hold doors. It should be marked with a red tag.”

The line went quiet for three interminable seconds. Then: “On it. Stay alive.”

The train shuddered, a deep groan traveling through the chassis. The lights flickered. Somewhere behind him, Mercer heard glass shattering—a champagne tower, or a window, or someone’s final hope.

He reached the forward galley just as the last stragglers from the first-class carriages funneled through. Antoine was at the far door with another waiter, directing a stream of panicked guests toward the dining car. Mercer pushed against the flow, fighting his way forward, toward the engine bay.

He caught a glimpse of Doctor Vernet through the open door of the engine compartment. She was hip-deep in wires, sparks showering over her shoulders, one hand wrapped in her own blouse as insulation against a live conductor. The display above her showed the timer.

Three minutes, twelve seconds.

“Tell me you’re winning,” Mercer called.

“I’ve rerouted the charge through a secondary capacitor bank. It’s bleeding off voltage, but not enough. It’ll buy us maybe another ninety seconds.”

“Ninety seconds isn’t enough.”

Vernet turned to look at him, and for the first time since he’d met her, she seemed old. Worn down by secrets and conspiracies and the weight of knowing too much. “It’s either enough, or it isn’t. There’s no more time to make, Alec. There’s only time to spend.”

He understood.

Mercer raised the radio again. “Camille. Status on the hold?”

“Almost through. I found the override. It’s a mechanical key turn. I’ve got the lock open—just getting the door swung wide. There are six of them in here, scared half to death.”

“Get them moving. Two minutes and counting.”

Another shudder, stronger this time. Overhead, a panel popped loose and swung down, hanging by a single screw. The tunnel was getting hotter, the air thick with the smell of ozone and diesel.

Mercer turned and ran back through the carriage, clearing the last remaining passengers from the forward sections. A young couple huddled beneath a table, the woman crying, the man holding her hand. Mercer crouched down.

“We have to move, both of you. Now.”

The man looked up, eyes wet. “What’s happening to the train?”

“It’s not going to reach Paris,” Mercer said. “Not this trip. And neither will you if you stay under that table.”

They came out eventually, shaking but upright, and he propelled them toward the rear with a broad hand on each back.

The train’s intercom crackled to life. Camille’s voice, calm and controlled, filled the carriages. “All passengers, please remain calm. Final evacuation to rear cars is in progress. This is not a drill. If you can hear this message, move to the rear of the train immediately.”

Final evacuation. The words hung in the stale air like ash.

Mercer reached the boundary between the forward dining car and the rear lounge. Through the connecting glass, he could see a wall of bodies pressing toward the rear doors, but the crowd was too dense. People were bottlenecking at the far coupling, unable to move through the narrow passage fast enough.

He checked his watch.

One minute forty seconds.

The explosion clock was still ticking.