The agents were only twenty feet away now. One of them leveled a finger at Zhao.
"Stop! Federal agents!"
Zhao saw the gap between the closing doors. It was starting to close.
He put his shoulder down and lunged like a sprinter hitting the finish line.
He tumbled into the train just as the thick rubber edges closed shut.
*THUD.*
One of the agents slamd into the glass window from the outside, his face twisted in anger. He banged on the door, but the gears were already locked.
The train began to move. Within seconds, it pulled away from the platform, disappearing into the dark tunnel.
Zhao sat on the floor of the moving train, breathing hard, watching the station lights fade into the dark.
Back at the precinct, Pala looked at screen.
"Signal lost," she whispered, leaning back in her chair. "The satellite can’t penetrate that deep. He’s off the grid. Move to the next station."
The agents didn’t waste a second.
"Platform team, move!" the lead agent barked into his radio. "Get to the 59th Street station! Block every exit. He’s on the Red Line, third car from the front!"
Two minutes later, the express train screeched to a halt at the next platform.
Before the doors even slid open, the agents stood waiting.
"Everyone out! One by one!" the lead agent shouted.
The commuters inside looked up, terrified. Wondering what was going on. Slowly, they began to step off the train.
They looked into every face, searching, but Zhao had disappeared.
"Check the train! Move!"
"He’s not here!" another agent said into the radio.
"Search the back! Check the conductor’s cabin!"
They tore the train apart, looking into the gaps between the cars. They even checked the overhead vents.
Nothing.
Back at the precinct, Pala stared at her monitors in total silence. She checked the station’s exit caras, nothing. She checked the thermal scanners, nothing.
"He’s gone," she reported. "He never made it to the next stop."
The lead agent stepped off the train and looked back into the pitch-black tunnel they had just co from.
Before long, the agents sward the tunnel with flashlights. They kicked in maintenance doors and searched every crawlspace.
Nothing.
Up on the street, the helicopter circled and the satellite zood in.
"We have a total blackout," Pala radioed from the precinct. "He’s not in the tunnel, and he’s not on the street."
Zhao had vanished. It was like he had turned into smoke. He must have had an escape plan ready for this exact mont. He was gone.
John walked into the room and stood behind Pala. He looked at monitors showing empty tunnels.
"What’s going on?" he asked.
Pala didn’t turn around. Her eyes stayed on the screen.
"Oh, he finally decides to show up."
"I’m sorry. I had so things to do."
Pala spun her chair around. Her face was tight with a mix of anger and exhaustion.
"We are a team, John. Try and rember that."
"Did we lose him?"
"He’s gone," she said, pointing to the satellite feed. "The Eye is blind. He went into the subway and didn’t co out at the next stop. The agents are searching, but nothing."
John looked at the screen.
"Who are we chasing exactly?"
"I don’t know so tech Guy apparently the feds have been after him for years. They say he steals from banks."
Pala grabbed her bag and stood up.
"Wow," John muttered, still staring at the empty tunnel on the screen.
"It’s over anyway," Pala said, her voice sounding tired. "Look, I’m beat. I’m going ho."
John blinked, surprised. "Aren’t we waiting for the next team to take over?"
"Mike and Jim are already downstairs," she replied, heading for the door. "They went to get snacks. They’ll be back in a second."
John took one last look at the "Signal Lost" blinking on the screen.
The most sophisticated surveillance system in the world had been beaten by a guy in a subway tunnel. He sighed and followed her toward the elevator.
"Alright," he said. "Let’s go."
An hour later, John arrived at his doorstep. As soon as he opened the door and stepped inside, he froze.
Two n were sitting comfortably on his coffee table, drinking coffee.
His heart hamred against his ribs.
He reached for his gun, and but suddenly, he felt cold tal against the back of his head. It was a gun barrel.
Before he could react, his weapon was snatched away.
"Don’t even think about it," a low voice whispered into his ear.
John stood perfectly still and raised his hands. The two n on the sofa didn’t move. They looked at him like he was not a threat at all. One of them pointed to a chair.
"Sit, John. Let’s talk."
John lowered himself into the chair, slowly. "Who are you? What do you want?"
"Relax," the man said. "If we wanted you dead, you would be dead already. Now, tell us the truth. Why did you order a police raid on the city warehouse?"
John’s heart skipped a beat. He tried to keep his face calm, but his hands were shaking.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said. "The warehouse raid was a standard operation. We had a tip about stolen goods."
The man sitting on the left put his coffee cup down on the table. The sound of the ceramic hitting the wood was loud in the quiet room. He leaned forward.
"Who tipped you off," he asked.
John tried to act cool. He shrugged his shoulders. "I cannot tell you my sources."
"Not even to save your life?" the man asked.
The man did not look angry. He just looked bored.
"If you don’t tell us the truth, things will get very ugly real quickly for you," the man added.
John swallowed hard.
"I am a police officer," he said. "If I go missing, the whole departnt will co looking for ."
The n only laughed.
"Your departnt won’t look for you," the man said. "By tomorrow morning, there will be a letter on your captain’s desk. It will say you quit your job and left the city. We already have your signature."
John felt his blood run cold.
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