He couldn’t get on an airplane with all that money; his luggage would be X-rayed, so he had to do something else. He thought about driving his rental car to New Jersey, but that presented too many opportunities to get arrested. Then he remembered something: there was a train. The Silver Bullet—no, something else . . . Meteor, the Silver Meteor. He found a website and checked the Amtrak schedule. The train left Miami at four o’clock; he checked his watch: one forty-six. There was a stop at Lauderdale, and he found a map to the station on the website; the train departed Lauderdale at four-forty. He found a reservation button, clicked it, and looked at the choices: there was a roomette, but it looked very small. He moved up a notch to a suite. Bigger, and available. He made the choice, typed in a credit card number, and after a long, long minute’s wait, got a “Reservation Confirmed” message.

He took a last look around the room, then took a hand towel and wiped down everything he could see. He was ready to leave the room at two o’clock.

He checked outside for flashing lights, found none, then walked out with his bags and the empty duffel and put them all in the trunk. He drove to the office and checked out, paying in cash, then he drove to Fort Lauderdale International Airport, turned in his rental car, tossed the empty duffel into a waste bin, and caught a cab to the train station. He had an hour-and-twenty-minute wait, and it was hard. He got a sandwich and a Coke from machines and made himself consume them slowly. He bought a New York Times, put on his glasses, and pretended to read the newspaper. Then two uniformed cops walked into the station and began a stroll around the waiting room, checking everybody out.

Ryan knew that, with his two suitcases and wearing glasses, he looked like any middle-aged guy, and if they braced him, he still had his badge to fall back on. They gave him a hard glance, then moved on.

At four-twenty, the train was called, and he picked up his bags and walked onto the platform. No train yet. He put down his bags and opened the paper again. A lifetime later—ten minutes—the train rolled into the station and a dozen people began to get on. A porter took his bags and led him to his suite, which turned out to be pretty nice, just big enough for a couple of easy chairs that turned into a berth and an upper berth that swung down for a second occupant. He stowed his bags, sat down with the paper, and turned to the crossword puzzle. The train began to move.