You toss the travel bag onto the over head rack. It strums the emergency chord above the sliding window. The bag is light. Just your business suit and passport. The photo’s current. Bright teeth, dark hair.
The train compartment is vacant, save for a copy of today’s newspaper. It’s folded to an article on the upcoming peace summit. Picking up the paper, you ease into one of the facing leather seats.
The paper the stranger dropped is in the old dialect. It says something about northland guards. A plot against one of their own diplomats at the summit. Blame the south. An excuse for civil war.
A wounded stranger enters, then exits.The words blur. You’ve long forgotten the dialect. Still, the old word for pickle pops to mind. Cucumber crunch, something like that. It will have to wait. There is a commotion in the adjoining compartment.
Investigate the commotion? Check whether the corridor is clear? Wait and ask someone at the border stop to translate the document?
That was my last commute up north,
you sigh with some dismay.
Tension between the lands is high.
It is not safe to stay.
To my compartment comes a man
holding onto his side.
Message… contact… password…, he coughs.
In you I must confide.
He talks of plot at a peace summit,
but then a shout next door.
The paper dropped, he staggers out.
Blood drops upon the floor.
The stranger was bleeding and may have left drops. You cast a furtive glance down the corridor. A tell-tale trail leads along the linoleum to your compartment. It leads to a conspicuous drop on your shoe. That won’t bode well with the guard working his way down the corridor.
Open a window and toss out the document? Exit the compartment with the document? Toss the document into the corridor and lock the door?
To avoid an awkward search, this might be a good time to relocate. You take the document and leave the sitting compartment. In the hallway, you recognize the captain’s distinctive hat and suit. Although interrogating another passenger, the captain’s attention will soon pass this way.
Step into the lavatory on this car for privacy? Take the initiative and give the note to the captain? Walk to the dining car in hopes of a crowd?
Muffled talking filters down from the corridor. The captain could look up at any moment. The lavatory is only steps away. You glance about, then make a dash.
The restroom smells like a mixture of hospital antiseptic and stale cigar. Reaching for a wad of paper towel, you wet it in the sink, then glance in the mirror. The stall behind is open and unoccupied.
Wipe off shoe with the wet towel? Wipe off shoe with toilet paper? Write a note for help on toilet paper in the stall?
Dry paper might smear the blood. You wet it. The wet wad works in a couple swipes. You pocket some extra dry paper towel and notice the cabinet. Opposite the dispenser is a cabinet containing cleaning supplies.
Take the bottle of hydrogen peroxide? Take the broom and bar of soap? Take the mop and bucket?
You pick up the bottle of bleach. Hydrogen peroxide was probably in the lavatory as a disinfectant, but it is also a mild bleach. Dribbling it over the sanguine spots makes them disappear. Working a few paper towels around with your foot soaks up the evidence. Opening the large window, you toss out the used towel.
Blot the message from the document with the bleach? Photograph the document, then toss it out the window? Toss out the document while the window is open?
The message has to be delivered, but perhaps by another medium. You take a picture of the document, then slide it out the window, then pop out the black memory chip of photos from your camera. It clinks like a coin against your ring.
Stash the photo chip in your travel bag? Hide the chip on your person? Put the chip inside the newspaper?
Black on black, dark of night, hide the chip out in plain sight. The black chip is inconspicuous in your black hair. Good thing, because the train pauses at the border for baggage checks.
Afterward, you doze until the train pulls into the terminal.
On street level, a girl holds up a handful of tulips and an open palm. “Da nebe saltube,” she exclaims with a smile. Beside her a beggar with a tin can, cries “rejaz mehe cucrunch.” Further down a boy with a stack of newspapers barks “cha ipse brineta.”
Give the photo chip to the girl? Give it to the boy? Give it to the beggar?
What was that the beggar said? Cucrunch? Cucumber crunch. Anybody watching might think its just a coin making that metallic “ploink” as the photo chip drops into the beggar’s cup. The old fellow rises and vanishes into a nearby alley.
Over the weekend you monitor the news for fear of any foul play at the summit. The ambassador returns safely. The summit ends without incident. Somewhere along the line, you ended up with a bar of soap.