The man stopped paying attention to the synthetic female voice as she boasted again something about the perfect service that the metro offered to its users. It’s not like there are other metros, thought Leonardo as he boarded the train.
It was almost 18.15, and the train was filled to the brim by men and women leaving their offices. Tail me now if you can, he smirked and strengthened the hold on his briefcase.
Leonardo squeezed himself between a fashionable young lady talking into an earpiece implanted next to her cheek and an older guy who wore a nightmare-inducing colorful tie. So much for Milan being the capital of fashion. But his main feeling was relief. Almost half of the people on the train carried a small briefcase, usually plain and black like his own.
As they reached the stop next to train station, a river of people went off, and Leonardo with them. Instead of joining the stream and heading to the station he stayed within the metro, and changed the line. He mounted on a red line train, sitting on a plastic seat and checking his watch. He knew that his colleagues were probably doing the same. Good. My plan is working. Identifying and following me here would be a nightmare. And even if they managed, well, good luck finding out which one us has the real briefcase.
At the next stop a group of youngsters headed in, almost all of them sporting colorful neon tattoos. He had seen those tattoos before, they lighted up in the dark revealing new designs. A group of men and women boarded the train, all sharply dressed, all busy with something, some of them wearing obvious cybernetic enhancements. He caught the smile of a lady – a model, perhaps? – wearing a fashionable pair of lavender-colored eyes and he briefly wondered how could women hop on and off with ease wearing high heels.
Then everything went dark. The train stopped with a screech, and someone bumped into him. Perfect service my ass. He clutched at his briefcase immediately, only to realize he had been less than a second too slow. He patted his briefcase, the model was identical but it was not his own, he was sure of it. He looked around frenetically. The guys with the luminescent tattoos were laughing and looking at the shapes the dark had just revealed: a skull where once there was a face, flames surrounding what used to be a plain looking flower, a cat becoming a tiger.
Leonardo adjusted his vision to the dark. People complained about the situation, but he couldn’t care, couldn’t be distracted: it was impossible to tell who had exchanged the suitcase, but until there was no electricity, they were stuck in that wagon with him.
A few seconds later the lights came back on and the train started running again on its tracks. The voice said something about apologizing for the inconvenience, but he focused on the train passengers. At least ten different people could be holding his suitcase, and the next station was drawing near. Could it be the man with a badly knot tie talking to his mother over the phone? Or the annoyed woman busy with her book? Maybe the nervous-looking girl who looked out of the window?
Leonardo sighed. Only one way to know.
“I apologize for the inconvenience.” he said to no one in particular, then he activated a switch embedded in his wrist. His briefcase exploded. People screamed and made way as he reached the man who had taken his briefcase. A man in his fifties who Leonardo had barely noticed before: he was kneeling in pain next to the remains of the briefcase. The hand that held the briefcase had been caught in the explosion, and the wires at his wrist explained why there was no smell of burnt meat, only of burnt circuits and plastic.
“And now, my friend, you’re gonna tell me who do you work for.”
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