During the flight a movie was shown depicting ordinary citizens taking up weapons and violently resisting representatives of the state's authority. Most of the passengers seemed to enjoy it.
The two men who had attracted Samurai's attention at Volgograd had boarded also, and were sitting together several rows behind him. He was now certain that their presence was no accident; they were keeping him under observation.
He reflected on their probable plans. The flight was due to arrive at Novosibirsk at 4:40 a.m., after a long haul from Volgograd. At that time of the morning, in the cold and dark of midwinter, airport activity would be at its lowest, with relatively few staff on duty and those at a reduced level of alertness. Response times by the local authorities in the case of a possible hitch would be greatest. There, Samurai concluded, was where the reception for him was -being prepared. What, then, would be his plan?
His best strategy would be to reduce the odds against him by eliminating the two who were on the plane from the equation before having to tackle the rest. That much seemed eminently simple and basic. However, it would be better to avoid killing people from his own side if he could help it, he decided. Besides being a messy way to go about things in a foreign country, it was likely to create complications when he got back. He sat quietly, staring at a magazine and considering his options.
When the movie ended, the lights remained dim and most of the passengers settled back with pillows and blankets to snatch a few hours sleep. Samurai took down his briefcase, ostensibly to put back the magazine he had been reading and to take out a few others; but while doing so, he removed a pack containing another of his specialized devices: a spring-operated syringe with an assortment of needles and nozzles, which among other things could -inject various lethal or incapacitating substances. Slipping the pack in his jacket pocket, he strolled back to the toilet, noting on the way that one of the two agents seemed to be asleep and the other was reading. There were some empty places in the row behind them, and the people in the occupied seats were asleep.
On emerging again, instead of returning to his own seat, Samurai went to another, farther back, from where he could observe. When the agent who was awake began turning his head curiously to see what had become of him, he saw Samurai stretched out with a blanket about him, apparently having moved to be by some empty seats in order to sleep more comfortably. The agent returned to his book, but seemed restless. Samurai carried on watching him. Eventually the agent put down the book and went back to use the toilet.
In the shadows, Samurai sat up and looked around. Of the few people awake, no one was paying any attention. The only visible flight attendant was back at the far end of the next cabin, talking to a colleague. Samurai fitted a long, large-bore needle to the syringe, which he had already loaded while he was in the toilet. He folded the blanket aside, rose, and, taking one of the magazines, moved into the aisle. A couple of steps brought him behind the agent who was asleep. Nobody in the row behind stirred. For the benefit of anyone who might be watching, Samurai dropped the magazine and, in the process of going down to retrieve it, moved into an empty space in the row behind the sleeping agent. He positioned the needle carefully behind the soft backrest, slightly to the left of the spine, then quickly slipped a hand around and cupped it over the agent's mouth while he drove the needle home. The spring trigger did the rest, and he felt the body go limp after four or five seconds. He straightened up again, holding the syringe under cover of the magazine, then continued forward to return the items to his briefcase in the overhead bin above his original seat. By the time the agent in the toilet came out, Samurai was back once again in the seat that he had moved to before, with the blanket pulled over him.
When the lights brightened and the cabin staff began moving around to awaken the passengers in preparation for landing at Novosibirsk, Samurai got up and returned to his original seat. Behind him, the efforts of the agent to rouse his companion drew the attention of the flight attendant. She tried, equally unsuccessfully, and called a companion. The agent was still out cold when the plane touched down. When the doors were opened, Samurai collected his things and began moving nonchalantly to the forward door with the other deplaning passengers. Behind him, the agent who was left assessed the situation frantically while three of the cabin crew fussed over the unconscious form next to him. Whatever was wrong with him, there was nothing to be done that would add to what was being done already, he decided. The important thing was to maintain contact with the target.
"No, we're not together," he said in answer to one of the flight attendants. "I just got talking to him, that's all. I guess he'll be okay, eh? You'll take good care of him." With that he grabbed his coat and carry-on bag and hastened after Samurai, who by now had disappeared from the aircraft.
By the time he reached the exit ramp, the last of the passengers were out of sight. He hurried along after them, and on the way passed a service doorway leading to a cupola where an external stairway went down to the tarmac outside. Samurai stepped out behind him and pulled him back into the cupola without a sound. He emerged alone ten seconds later with his coat and briefcase, checked that nobody had observed, and resumed walking toward the arrival gate. As he did so, he put on a pair of heavy dark glasses.
Two down, but an unknown number to go.
When Samurai came through the gate, the gaggle of arrivals and the few people out to meet them at that hour of the morning were already thinning. The three men still scanning the jetway anxiously from the far side of the hall gave themselves away instantly. Samurai ignored them and walked on by, following the other passengers. The three exchanged puzzled looks when the two who were supposed to be following him failed to materialize. But then, after a moment's hesitation, the leader gave a curt nod; they turned and followed at a quickening pace.
A long corridor led toward the arrivals concourse. Halfway along it, two of them moved up alongside Samurai while the third closed in behind. Guns pressed into Samurai's ribs from both sides.
"One wrong move and you're Swiss cheese, buddy," a voice muttered. "Just make for the door in front there on the right, and we'll all be okay." They steered him through the straggle of people to a door with a staff only sign. Inside was a storage room of some kind, with a passage and stairway leading down. The last of the three closed the door.
"Now reach high, nice and easy."
As Samurai brought his right hand out of his pocket to obey, he let go the flash grenade that he had been holding primed, and closed his eyes tight. Even behind his dark glasses, the four-million-candlepower detonation was blinding. For the other three, it was devastating—a couple of days was usually necessary for vision to return to normal. It was an easy matter to dispose of them in such a condition, after which he checked their pockets, in the process finding the means of relieving his cash situation appreciably. Then he paused to reflect on what their intentions might have been.
Why had they brought him in here? Most likely, it led to an exit that would have enabled them to get him away without risking a public spectacle. He followed the stairs down and found a passage leading past more rooms to, sure enough, what looked like an outside door. One of the rooms to the side had a window. Samurai moved over to it cautiously in the darkness and peered out. There were two cars outside, one empty, the other with a man standing by the open driver's door. It was a service road, deserted and dark except for a few orange lamps. That suited Samurai just fine: if whoever was trying to stop him had the airports covered, it wouldn't be a good idea to carry on any farther by air.
He explored along the building until he came to another door, well beyond where the cars were, in the shadows. It was locked, and took him a few minutes to open. By then, the man waiting by the car was getting worried. He stood anxiously, directing all his attention toward the building . . . and oblivious to the shadow stealing up through the night from behind him.
The keys were in the car. Samurai hauled the unconscious form inside the door that the others were supposed to have come out of, and was on his way less than a minute later. He found his way to the main airport exit and stopped in a parking area to check the glove box for maps. He found some, and the tank was not far off full. It was not yet 5:30 in the morning; the distance to Semipalatinsk was roughly 400 miles. Depending on driving conditions and assuming that whoever was responsible did a reasonable job of keeping the main road clear, he should still be able to make it by late afternoon or evening, he estimated. That didn't give him as much time as he'd hoped to figure out how he was going to deal with Ashling. But having gotten this far, he wasn't about to quit now.
News of the debacle didn't reach Washington until a couple of hours later, by which time it was midnight and Grazin was just about to go to bed. He called Colonel Hautz at once on an emergency circuit.
"He wiped out your whole squad," Grazin fumed. "Now will you believe what I told you about this guy? How many more people do you have out there?"
Hautz was stunned by the news. "The rest of the group at Novosibirsk are still functional. And we've got the backup team arriving in Semipalatinsk in the next eight hours."
"Well, amend your field orders," Grazin instructed. "Forget any notion of trying to apprehend or immobilize. A lot of people over here would be more than happy if he never set foot in the country again, anyhow. Kill him on sight, then get your men out."