Part 89 (1/2)

The lead carriage was fitted out with toilets, six sleeping compartments, a small private study c.u.m bedroom reserved for Bull, and closest to the loco, the room housing the computer workstation, the radio equipment that kept Bull in touch with Cloudlands and the railway control system, and the battery of small videoscreens linked to the tv cameras that displayed views of the roof, sides and underside of the train and the track beneath.

Steve helped Fran out of her dress and caught the sullen look in her eye. 'Don't tell me you're still upset about - ' 'The race? Of course not. While you were down the line, I had to listen to my mother telling me what a wonderful person you were, and how they both couldn't wait for me to marry you.”

Steve concealed his own feelings. 'Would that be so terrible?”

'It would if I had a baby.”

'Which is what they want .... '

'Don't try to pretend you didn't know.”

'I didn't. And you've got to believe that. None of that means anything to me.”

'Not even the child you had with Clearwater?”

Steve shrugged. 'That was an accident.”

Fran gave him a searching look. 'Yes, well, all this mother, wife and baby talk has given me a headache.”

She hung up the yellow dress then flopped down onto the bunk bed and vented her exasperation by pummelling the mattress.

Steve opened the-door, placed the 'Do not disturb' sign into the eye-level slot, then looked back and smiled. 'See you later.”

Emerging into the corridor, he walked past the other sleeping compartments, knocked on the door of Bull's stateroom then, receiving no reply, entered and went on through to the communications room. One of the two ensigns detailed to watch the screens turned in his swivel chair. 'Can I help you, sir?”

Steve looked around the room. There was another door on the far side, marked 'Toilet'. 'Is Captain Chisum through there?”

'No, sir. I haven't seen him in a while.”

'Okay, thanks.”

Steve closed the door behind him, exited from the stateroom and checked the other five sleeping compartments.

One of the doors was shut, the other four were empty. He knocked on the locked door. 'John . . . ?”

No reply. He knocked again, but there was no response.

Pausing in the doorway to the crowded centre carriage, he surveyed the interior then walked through into the last carriage.

In the crowded galley, some of the Mute staff were catching a late lunch while others washed up the dishes from the picnic. He went past the guard's cabin, towards the door that led to the rear observation platform. It had a gla.s.s panel in the top half with a view of the track running away into the distance behind them. He opened it, fully expecting to find John Chisum admiring the view.

The platform was empty. Where the h.e.l.l had he got to...?

There was only one answer - Chisum had to be in the second occupied sleeping compartment. And if he hadn't answered, it was because he'd got lucky and didn't wish to be interrupted. So why hadn't he put out the 'Do not disturb' sign?

Steve felt his stomach tighten. He had started out with the idea of pinning down Chisum for that promised talk while Fran was asleep and out of the way. The observation platform would have been ideal. But now a more alarming idea was creeping into his brain. He went back inside, checked the guard's compartment, baggage room, store and galley on his way through.

As he came back into the centre carriage he suddenly felt giddy. He steadied himself in the doorway. Ahead of him was a sea of blurred, animated faces. Their laughter sounded tinny and their voices echoed sharply - as if the sound was coming down a long tunnel. And then other voices filled his head, a growing whisper that swelled to a warning crescendo like the wind building to a storm-force gust. Steve suddenly realised what he had to do, and knew he had only seconds in which to do it.

He stepped across to the nearest free-standing armchair, grabbed hold of its female occupant, threw her aside, picked up the chair, hurled it through the nearest window then, to a chorus of startled cries, launched himself head-first through the gaping hole in the shattered gla.s.s.