“I heard him tell the driver to go to the private terminal.”

“The one by the harbor?” I asked.

“Yes,” Lucas said. “The one with the yellow logo on the gate.”

In the background, I heard a deep, familiar voice bark a command.

“Who are you talking to back there?” Daniel asked.

The audio cut out.

The call ended.

I stared at the blank screen of my phone.

The train began to slow down as it entered the next station.

The yellow lights of the platform flickered past the dirty windows.

As soon as the doors slid open, I pushed my way through the crowd.

I ran up the concrete stairs, my boots slapping against the wet steps.

The autumn air outside was cold and smelled of wet asphalt.

I ran to the curb and waved my hand at a yellow cab.

The cab pulled over, its tires splashing water from a puddle.

I scrambled into the back seat and slammed the door.

“The executive airfield,” I said. “The private terminal on the north side.”

“That is twenty minutes away,” the driver said, looking at me in the rearview mirror.