A buzzing sound started up again, a static like voice.
"Player, when is the next stop?"
"8 minutes and 43 seconds, 42 seconds, 41 seco-"
"Thats enough, Player, I get it."
"Thats GREAT to hear"
"You try spending the night on a slow airplane to then go on an equally slow train."
The voice and buzzing went quiet again, just as he expected it to. The suspect is known to be a gal of few words, and even fewer encounters. It was a strain to just track her down and get on the west bound train under an aliace, hoping she wouldn't flea like a startled fledgling. The blonde turned away from the dark, blurry window, scanning the red and, what he assumed wooden, dingy cart. There were not that many people on board, mostly tired farmers and coal miners. "The egg is about to hatch" he whispered into his pen as he pretended to adjust his A.C.M.E. assigned glasses.
Right on time, the train slowed to a rough stop, the passengers already starting to stand, his watch on the Crimson thief becoming skewed. He shot up out of his seat, looking around for any sight of hope. Nearly falling out of his booth, he saw a glimpse of her auburn hair clip around and out the rusty door. The folk were almost moving in slow motion, like it was just another day. For which it was for every innocent person there. He must stay on the low down in order to get close.
"Next Stop, Cherokee" Droned the speakers as the undercover agent scrambled to find any sign as to where in the world is Carmen Sandiego.