Roses Are Red

for a while. But we agreed that was too dangerous for the hostages.
    The Handie-Talkie went dead again.
    “Fuck!” Doud exclaimed.
    “Do we throw the money bags out?” Walsh yelled over the rumble of the train and the rushing wind.
    “No! Wait!” I yelled at him and Doud, who was leaning precariously over the train’s edge. “Wait for their instructions! He would have told us to throw the money off. Don’t throw the bags!”
    “Son of a bitch!” Betsey shouted as she swung her arm around in a fast, hard arc. “They’re messing with us. They’re laughing at us right now.”
    “Yes, they probably are,” I said. “Let’s keep our cool. We have to keep it together.”
    The FBI was going crazy trying to track the channel the kidnappers were using for the two-way radios. It wasn’t working. The two-ways were state-of-the-art, the kind the military used. The scrambler chips in them were encoded to change the frequency each time they were used. It was even possible that the kidnappers had several two-ways and were discarding them after each call.
    Betsey was still incensed. Her brown eyes flashed. “He’s thought of everything, including not giving us time to plan. Who is this bastard?”
    The Handie-Talkie crackled again.
    “Open the door! Get ready to heave the bags out,” the radio voice suddenly commanded again.
    I grabbed two bags full of twenty- and fifty-dollar bills. My heart was in my throat as I rushed to the open door a second time. The wind outside roared.
    The train was hurtling through deep woods now, elms and pines and thick brush. I saw no houses — or anyone lurking in the woods. It seemed like a good spot for the drop-off.
    The Handie-Talkie went dead again!
    “Assholes!” Agent Doud yelled at the top of his voice. The rest of us groaned and dropped to the floor.
    The voice repeated the drill eleven times in the next hour and a quarter. Three times we were made to move all the money to different cars on the train.
    We were sent all the way to the last car — then we were immediately ordered back to the front again.
    “You guys are good. Very obedient,” said the radio voice.
    Then the two-way was silent again.

Chapter 64
    “I CAN’T STAND THIS!” Betsey yelled. “Goddamn him to hell! I want to kill that bastard.” The money bags were oversized and heavy; we were exhausted from lugging them through the train. We were covered with perspiration and dirt and soot. Jumpy and on edge. The constant rattle of the train was noisier than ever.
    The Amtrak train was rushing through deep woods again. Its horn blared loudly. Agent Walsh was keeping track of the stations we’d passed.
    Then the Handie-Talkie came to life again. “Get those bags of money and diamonds ready. Open the doors now! And when you toss them — throw them out close together. If you don’t, a hostage will be shot! We’re watching every move you make. You’re very pretty, Agent Cavalierre.”
    “Yeah, and you’re a geek,” Betsey muttered to herself. Her pale blue T-shirt was stained darker with sweat. Her black hair stuck close to her scalp. If she’d had an ounce of fat on her before, she’d lost it during the jarring train ride.
    “False alarm,” the voice on the radio said with obvious glee. “As you were. That’s all for the moment.”
    The two-way went dead again.
    “Shit!”
    Everyone collapsed onto the duffel bags and lay there breathing heavily. I was trying to keep my brain working in straight lines, but it was getting harder after each false alarm. I really wasn’t sure if I could make another run to the other end of the train.
    “Maybe we should get off the train with the money bags,” Walsh spoke from his perch on the bags. “Screw up their timing, at least. Do something they don’t expect.”
    “It’s an idea, but too dangerous for the hostages,” Betsey told him.
    Walsh and Doud cursed loudly when the two-way came on again. We had almost reached our limit. What
was
our limit?
    “No rest for the wicked,” the voice said. We could hear the pop of a soft drink or beer can being opened. Then a sigh of refreshment. “Or maybe the line should be, rest for the wicked?”
    The radio voice screamed at us. “Throw out the bags now! Do it! We’re watching the train. We see you! Throw the bags or we kill all of them!”
    We had no choice; no options had been left open to us. It was all we could do to try to throw the bags off close to one another. We were too tired to move as fast as