CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Rochester, New York.

April 29th.

1030 hours.

Derek again checked the gauges and buttons that adorned the control panel within the cabin. This was no ordinary task for him; it was a well-practiced routine. The imminent arrival of Train Eleven weighed heavily on his mind as he scanned the glass doors ahead. Like worker bees, the passengers hurriedly filed in, their faces devoid of emotion, as if controlled by some unseen force, their sole purpose being to reach their desired destinations with unwavering punctuality.

A faint, high-pitched squeal pierced through the confines of the cabin, confirming the radio's activation. He deftly picked up the receiver from its specially designed cradle on the control panel, handling it with a sense of purpose and determination.

It was Jacks typically low nasal voice: 'Base to Eleven. Over.'

'Eleven to Base. Good morning, Jack. ' Derek emitted with a smile.

'Base to Eleven. You never try sounding formal.'

Derek chuckled: 'Eleven to Base. You should
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