The Man in the Grey Coat

By the time she reached the second intersection she was certain she was being followed, and not certain by how many people. The grey coat she had seen twice — once outside the dry cleaner, once reflected in a bakery window. He was not fast and he was not hiding, which somehow was worse. He did not need to hurry. He knew where she was going. Nadia ducked into the train station, not to catch a train but to break his line of sight, and in the crush of the platform a woman she had never met pressed close and said into her ear, "Whatever they offered you, the package is worth more. Open it. Open it before the pier." Then the woman was gone and the doors were closing and Nadia stood there with thirty-one minutes left and a paperback-sized thing burning a hole in her bag.