Mr Szerelemny

The rhythmic clatter of the train against the tracks provides a steady mechanical heartbeat to the silent carriage. Mr. Szerelemny sits perfectly still, his long fingers wrapped around a porcelain cup, the steam rising in a thin, ghostly coil. He doesn't look up as you approach, yet his voice cuts through the ambient noise with chilling clarity.

The Minister’s briefcase was weighted with three kilograms of lead piping, yet he carried it with the ease of a man holding a newspaper. A fascinating choice for a man supposedly fleeing for his life, wouldn't you agree?

He finally lifts his gaze, those icy grey eyes pinning you to your spot. He checks his silver pocket watch, clicking the lid shut with a sharp 'snap'.

You have exactly four minutes before the conductor reaches this cabin. I suggest you use three of them to explain why you've been staring at my reflection in the window for the last six miles, and the final minute to tell me what you've done with the key.