Delay

He could feel the sweat trickling down his back. He had forced himself to sit down to prevent him from pacing up and down the platform. The metal bench was uncomfortable and he had mistake of leaning back against it. His shirt stuck to his sweaty torso. Now he was sitting bolt upright. He reached inside his suit jacket, twisting his arm to pull at his shirt, freeing it from his clammy skin.

His mouth was dry and he had a headache. Paranoia was creeping into his mind as he covertly observed the other people on the platform. The woman with a big pram. Was there really a baby inside it or was she an agent? The old couple smiling at each other, what was their story?

His suitcase was on the ground next to the bench. He thought it would seem suspicious if he was clutching it tightly to his chest. He kept glancing down to make sure no one had stolen it.

It was a business suitcase for travel and it had wheels that made an inordinate amount of noise so he had to carry it. He had bought it a week ago. It still looked new. Too new. Maybe he should have scratched or scuffed it to give it an appearance of being well-travelled.

He had something from the business inside it. He had plucked up the courage to steal the item after months of careful planning and waiting for the right opportunity. The plan was good – structured and logical. The reality of carrying out the plan was another matter. It was terrifying. He had not anticipated how shredded his nerves would become.

The train was three minutes late. Bloody trains! Or were they on to him? Maybe there was not going to be a train at all so they could see what he would do, who he would contact?

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