The Malice Box - Extract from Trial by Earth by Martin Langfield

As soon as they began to move, the sliding door connecting the car to the rest of the train banged open. A figure dressed entirely in black, face masked by a balaclava, ran toward Robert so quickly that he barely had time to stand before it was on him.
Instinctively Robert lowered a shoulder and leaned into his assailant, trying to hold his ground. With a crunch of bone against bone, he felt himself lifted into the air and slammed against the metal door at the end of the train.
As soon as he hit the floor, Robert felt a knife at his throat, a hand gripping the top of his head. He gasped with pain and fear as the cold metal pressed into his flesh, his ribs and spine screaming. An acrid smell filled his nostrils, the sweat of desperation. His assailant might be more afraid than he was. But of what?
“Give it to me.”
He tried to get a reading on the voice. It was hoarse, dangerous. He knew it. Did he? Brisk, confident, but distorted somehow.
“You want my wallet?”
“The cache.”
“That’s fine. Take the cash.”
“What you found in the cache. Give it to me. Where is it?”
“I’ll have to reach into my jacket pocket.”
“Which?”
“Inside left.” (...)
Fingers reached in, found nothing. Robert’s head exploded with pain.
“Where is it?”
The assailant wanted Robert’s link to Adam. No way. He wouldn’t give it up. Robert chose his moment. A detached calm came over him, and he pushed up violently with his legs, connecting with soft tissue. The breath shot out of his attacker.
But it didn’t work. Powerful hands twisted him round, and he took punches on the mouth and nose. He went down on one knee, scrambling for footing.
Then suddenly he began to feel dizzy, and the quality of the light around him began to change. A tenuous yellow halo, richer and darker with each second, seeped into the air around his attacker. Robert’s face started to go numb, a fist gripped his mind with cold, and he was back in the dream ... geometric shapes … lightning bolts … searing pain stabbed behind his eyes. It was evil (...)
Hands went through his other pockets, found the bullet casing and took it.
Robert felt himself hauled to his feet. Then he was suddenly watching the scene from above, from far away. He thought of Katherine, tried to gauge whether he was going to die or not. He thought he was.
Then just as suddenly it stopped. His mind was released. His knees gave way. The man was walking back toward the rest of the train, stashing the bullet cartridge in a pocket on the sleeve of his jacket.
“No!”
Robert, with a sheer act of will, launched himself at the man as he slid open the metal door that led to the next carriage. He forced them both out into the narrow metal and chain-link cage between the cars. The metal platforms shimmied and bucked beneath their feet. Rushing air tore at his skin.
He looked into his assailant’s eyes, and it was like looking into a malignant sun. He was staring again into the face of death from the night of the fire. The face spat hatred, arcing and warping into a single black hole, drawing him in and down … They grabbed each other by the throat, banging against the doors and metal harnesses hanging between the cars. They roared through the closed subway station at Cortlandt Street, directly under the Ground Zero site, thrown from side to side, their shoes slipping on the metal plates. The tracks rushed beneath their feet.
Closing his eyes to block the bilious yellow light, Robert twisted out of the stranglehold and took one of his assailant’s wrists with him, turning it until it was between the attacker’s shoulder blades. He jammed a hand into the zippered arm pocket and grabbed back the bullet casing. Then he slammed his assailant’s head against metal and forced it over the chains toward the speeding tunnel wall.
“Who are you?” he shouted. “Who are you?”
No reply.
He forced his assailant’s head and torso further out into the tunnel.
“Who are you?”
...

(This extract varies slightly from the published version - ML)