“And they will have the death reserved for pigs!”, concludes Zaytsev. Then he enters another bathroom, closing the door. Once away from prying eyes he extracts a small, dull gray metal container from a pocket. The inside is clad with a rubbery, self-modeling substance, in the center of which there is a single tiny vial. A label shows a statement in Cyrillic fonts. The flask is of thick glass and contains a transparent liquid that seems to be just simple water. With a sigh, the man pulls out a syringe from another pocket and unwraps it with a bite. Then he spits it down the toilet. Carefully he inserts the needle into the tiny rubber section of the vial’s seal and draws the content, making sure not to leave a single drop. When finished, the man throws also the vial in the toilet and flushes it, waiting to make sure everything is actually gone. Zaytsev then lifts the syringe in front of his eyes, looking at the liquid in back-light, trying to discern something microscopic inside.
Such immense power, concealed in a few milliliters…
God is truly great!
The subsequent events take place quickly.
The Chechen comes out of the bathroom and heads for Amr, who is still in front of the mirror and shows him his back.
Focused on his goal, Zaytsev doesn’t notice the man in the yellow shirt just coming out from one of the bathrooms to his right, until it collides with him.
“Hey, what the fuck! Watch your steps man!”, the black man yells at him, pushing him away with a big and greasy hand, glaring for a moment as he heads for the exit.
Amr absently looks at the scene from the mirror with half a smile on his face, then he continues to pretend to wash his hands.
Pyotr tightens his lips. His left hand whitens and contracts into a fist, as he struggles against the temptation to slay the man on the spot. Holding his breath he waits till that unwanted presence is gone, then without a word he comes close to Amr, focusing on the next move. With a quick move he grabs with his left hand the throat of his friend, pressing hard with his fingers in the neck points at the base of the jaw. Simultaneously he inserts the syringe needle into the man’s right arm and presses the plunger.
The other tries to break free, but has just enough time to take a mixed look of surprise and disbelief. It’s only an instant before his eyes flip down and his body collapses to the ground.
“It’s just a precaution, sadiqi. After all, you were right: we live in dark times”, says Zaytsev in Arab, as he watches the empty syringe whose needle is broken. Then he bends towards the lifeless body of Amr and, keeping an eye on the front door, rummages in his jacket with quick movements, pulling out a plane ticket. He reads it for a moment, then he puts it back in the pocket of his accomplice with a smile of satisfaction, and briskly heads for the exit.
MOSCOW
A tall and slender woman, short haired almost as a boy, very athletic and with beautiful deep green eyes, looks out of the door of a control room in which a feverish activity takes place. Her voice sounds almost robotic, like a prerecorded message.
“Sir, we have a report from Cape Town.”
The Russian intelligence’s heart seems to freeze for an instant, all eyes look at the woman pointing to one of the screens.
The display shows the airport entrance. The footage rewinds then stops on a frame. The image zooms, an edge outlines a face.
“Son of a bitch”, exclaims Leonidovich. “He’s our man. Anything else? Scan all airport surveillance footage, we must trace his movements.”
The man keeps giving orders, without taking off his eyes from the screen, almost to impress that face deeply in his memory and lock the man in place by the force of his will. “Morozov, who do we have in Cape Town?”
Without waiting for an answer, Leonidovich keeps giving orders. “Send all the available men. When was this footage filmed?”
“9:15 am, today sir”, replies one of the officers, a brunette woman, with a deep voice and an almost masculine face.
Leonidovich slides instinctively his sleeve to check the time: it’s just a little past 14. “I want a list of all departing flights, take into account the smallest margin for boarding operations starting from 9.15 am.”
“Sir, should we alert the local authorities?”, asks one of the agents. Leonidovich looks at him uncertainly, as if he’s checking his options, then, without answering he moves to another screen that’s showing one of the surveillance footages.
The minutes pass by slowly, while several video clips, filmed by many cameras at the airport, are being closely checked by the operators.
“Sir, we have a match!”, says one of the agents. Leonidovich, red in his face, almost flips a workstation while he rushes to look.
The footage shows Pyotr Dmitri Zaytsev approaching and talking to a man.
“Hold the picture and zoom on the face of the other man”, orders Leonidovich. The operator hastes to obey, zooming on the smiling face of Amr.
“He may be an accomplice: the two men seem to know each other. Go ahead, see what happens.”
The display shows the two talking for a while. Afterward, one of them checks the time and a second later they split, heading for different directions and going out of range of the camera.
“It seems like he just asked a passerby the time, sir.”
“That’s what they want us to believe, but no one grabs you by the arm to ask the time, and the behavior of the other man isn’t that of someone who is suddenly grabbed by a stranger. They know each other.”
Meanwhile, one of the operators traced the position of the two men inside the airport, based on the elements in the scene.
“That’s the clip of the surveillance camera B-9”, exclaims the operator, who traces an invisible path with a pen on the display, “our man headed for that direction. The bathrooms are in that zone.”
“Trace also the movements of the other man, I want to know where he’s gone. Do we have any footage of that area?”
He is another operator to answer: “Negative, sir, we have no direct view, however, there is a clip of a camera on the other side of the room. The entrance to the bathroom is far away, but…”
“Great, what are we waiting? Come on, people, we may be able to close this thing quickly.”
“I found it Sir! The other man headed to the cafeteria.”
Leonidovich approaches another workstation, where he sees a footage that shows Amr drinking from a cup, smiling and whispering with one of the girls behind the counter.
“Save a picture of that woman’s face, she may be involved too. Morozov, where the hell are our agents?”
“Galkin is already at the airport, sir. Nikitin and Ryabov will be there within minutes”, announces a voice-over.
After a short time, Amr moves out of the view-field of the camera inside the bar. At the same time he reappears in another clip.
“He seems to head for the bathrooms too, sir.”
“I was sure about it! Damn motherfuckers, it was a maneuver not to get any attention. Jump ahead with the footage, I want to see when they come out. Get me in contact with Galkin, now!”
“Sir, we have a match. I’m sending it on-screen.”
All eyes lock on one of the main display, where Zaytsev is passing the checkpoint before heading for a less crowded area of the airport.
“Where the hell is he going?”, asks Leonidovich impatiently.
“That zone is the boarding area for private flights, sir.”
“Sir, I have a match from the A-12 camera.”
“Galkin online, sir.”
Leonidovich takes a deep breath.