Seat Twenty-Seven Part 2
Seat 63 knew that question would go unanswered for some time - it was part of the plan. Seat 27 was his assignment, and it was 63's job to assure 27's success, at all costs - and without disclosing his own identity. 63 looked at his passport and discovered that he was Mark Freams, a denizen of Les Plaines, Louisianne. He was in Londres on a business trip for his company PDor, Pièces Dorris, supplier of the Dorris Motorworks. At least, that's all that any interacting with him would know. He knew that his hotel room was booked on the same floor as 27, and that when the time came, they would complete the task upon which they were set.
Ahead he could see the train conductors walking through, checking tickets and passports walking toward him and 27 from the far end of the coach. "Mesdames, Messieurs, vos billets, s'il vous plaît." Freams readied his papers and looked up the row. These were not just conductors, they were customs officials - odd for a train travelling between Normandy and England. Something about them didn't seem right, nor did the scrutiny with which they examined the passports they collected and slowly returned. He could barely hear their conversation over the rumble of the train picking up speed toward their final destination of Wilhelm III Station, but as they drew closer, it became clear. They were looking for Scotch separatists - but their scrutiny of his papers and 27's wouldn't help. Freams began to formulate a plan.
As the officials reached the seats nearer to 27, a scuffle broke out and the Scotch separatists revealed themselves, leveling guns at the officers sent there to capture them. Gasps and cries filled the coach, and the Scotch separatists began waving their guns at the passengers. "When we stop at the station, no one gets off this coach! Draw the window blinds!"
Freams obediently did so, but this turn of events did not play into the plans, not one bit.
