Undercover cops? He had a feeling they were. They might not have been part of the actual manhunt – were here investigating a drug deal, maybe – but they’d heard the alert, and now believed they had the Underground Man.

One made a brief call and Billy had a feeling that it had been placed to Lincoln Rhyme. No basis for this, but instinct told him the cop was a friend and colleague of Rhyme’s.

A train was approaching but was still two hundred yards away. The men whispered something to each other and then walked his way, steadying themselves in the wind.

He’d been so careful, so smart in escaping from the doctors’ office building. Was he about to get caught because of a coincidence? Two cops who happened nearby.

Billy was nowhere near the exit. If he ran, he’d never make it in time. Could he jump?

No, twenty feet to the traffic-filled street below. He’d break bones.

Billy decided he’d just have to bluff. He had a city employee ID, which would pass fast examination, but one call to downtown and they’d find out it was fake. He also had legitimate ID, which was, technically, a breach of the Commandments.

Thou shalt remain unidentifiable.

But, of course, that wouldn’t work. One radio or phone call and they’d find out who he really was.

He’d have to go on the offense. He’d pretend to ignore the men until they were right next to him and turn, smiling. Then he would shove one, or both, onto the tracks. He could escape in the chaos afterwards.

A messy plan. Clumsy and dangerous. But, he decided, there was little choice.

The men were getting closer now. Smiling but Billy didn’t trust that expression for a second.

The train was near now. A hundred feet away, eighty, thirty …

He looked for guns on the men’s hips, but they hadn’t unbuttoned their coats. He glanced toward the exit, judged timing and distance.

Get ready. The big one. Push him first. Lincoln Rhyme’s buddy.

The train was almost to the platform.

The taller of the two men, the one who was about to die first, nodded as he caught Billy’s eye.

Wait, wait. Give it ten seconds more. Eight, seven, six …

Billy tensed.

Four, three …

The man then smiled. ‘Eric?’

‘I’m, uhm, I’m sorry?’

‘Are you Eric Wilson?’

The train rushed into the station and squealed to a stop.

‘Me? No.’

‘Oh, hey, you look just like the son of a guy I work with. Sorry to bother you.’

‘No problem.’ Billy’s hands were trembling, his jaw too, and only partly from the cold.

The men turned and walked away, toward the train, which was now discharging passengers.