CHAPTER NINETEEN
“You must be kidding,” Karina said flatly.
“This is a commuter train.” Zero glanced out the window as cool air whipped by. “We can’t be going more than… fifty, maybe fifty-five miles an hour.” And there was grass along the train tracks on the stretch of rails between the airport and the city proper, which was preferable to concrete.
Karina muttered a slew of curses in both Polish and Ukrainian, weaving in and out of the two languages in such a way that Zero only got the gist of her rant, which seemed to vaguely amount to “I honestly have no idea how I’m still alive after following this man,” but despite her protests she got up on the bench seat and swung a leg over the window frame, clutching the top of it from the inside with one arm.
“Listen,” he told her, “when you
