They descended towards the platform. Joe’s soft Russian accent always put Charlotte at ease, no matter the level of her screw up. Joe was ex-KGB, and had been in the business since before it was really a business.

They took seats in a car near the middle of the train. “How did you know Blue Jacket was watching us?” she asked.

“Hard to say. A spy develops a third eye, or sixth sense, or whatever you will call it. Those who try to blend in always end up standing out.”

“But what if you had been wrong? What if someone else had been following us?”

He patted the outside of his overcoat, just over the left side of his chest. “Walther PPK , cleans up all messes,” he said, giving Charlotte a rare, toothy grin. A Russian agent with a fondness for British handguns.

“So I should know when someone doesn’t… seem right?” she asked.

“That is right.”

“Like the man at the head of the car with the brown bag?”

Joe leaned forward to peer over the seat in front of him. “Yes,” he whispered, “just like him.”