"A true Russian. Not many of us left these days. In that case, try this instead. I like to make these bottles disappear from time to time."
He reached into the cabinet and removed a bottle of Rodnik Vodka, which Anatoly knew for a fact would cost nearly $500.
"If I flew this jet, they would all go missing. Many thanks, comrade. I have the perfect occasion in mind for this bottle.”
"Ground is ready for you to disembark, Mr. Pavlenko," the co-pilot said, sticking his head into the doorway.
The pilot turned to the door and pulled a small handle to the left, breaking the door's airtight seal. Reznikov watched him lower the door, which served as the staircase, slowly to the tarmac. A gust of wind whipped rain inside the cabin, and Reznikov hiked the backpack over his shoulders. He stepped forward and saw Gennady standing at the bottom of the stairs struggling to hold an umbrella, a useless gesture given the sideways rain. It was a good sign, nonetheless. The money paid to Gennady had left an impression. Wasting no time, he walked down the stairs.
"Put that ridiculous thing away, and help me with my bag."
"Your bag is already taken care of," he said.
"Then, let's get the fuck out of this rain," Reznikov said, still holding the vodka bottle as Gennady led him to a door reserved for "special" customers.
Once inside the door, Gennady turned to Reznikov with a worried look. They stood in an abandoned, poorly lit reception area outfitted with a couch and table set. The room opened into a hallway that led further into the terminal and likely emptied into a discreet area where certain customers could disappear without any official fanfare.
"We have a problem. Two gentlemen arrived about an hour ago asking questions about you. They had basic flight information and used the name Reznikov."
"Russian?"
"Barely. I'd guess Chechen by the looks of them. Filthy, dark-skinned Muslim mongrels. Out of Moscow probably. They had rough details and a picture of you. Unfortunately, they were spreading money around, and people here were talking."
"So much for a private terminal," Reznikov said.
"The money was just a formality. Everyone here knows what they are, and nobody wants to be dragged out behind the terminal for a private conversation," he said.
"Where are they now?"
"Waiting inside the terminal for you," Gennady said.
"Where is my car?"
"Already checked out and waiting for you in the private parking lot."
"I need you to do something for me. I want you to tell them where my car is and suggest that they wait for me in the parking lot."
"Are you crazy?"
"Just do what I say, then get back to Novosibirsk."
"I don't like the sound of this. I don't need the Chechens on my ass. And what about the rest of my payment?" he said.
"I can transfer the rest to you in Novosibirsk, or you can collect it here…but only after you convince the men to wait for me in the parking lot," Anatoly said.
"I don't like this."
"Then don't get paid. It's your choice."
"I need a kicker for doing this. Fucking with these people is serious business," Gennady said, "and you never mentioned they were involved."
"They weren't. This is a simple job for them, nothing more. You'll be fine."
"I'm not fucking with them unless you double the remaining fee," Gennady said.
"Double? I'll give you one and a half times the remaining fee," Reznikov said.
"You have it here?"
"Yes. You'll get it after I deal with these guys. I have your cell phone number. I'll call you when it's done and I’ll drive around to the terminal to meet you," Reznikov said.
"You better not fuck me over on this," he said.
"Gennady, this has all gone very smoothly so far. I've paid you as agreed, and you've delivered the goods. I just need you to help me get out of here. You'll get your money, and then you can disappear to Novosibirsk. It's a win-win situation. No blood on your hands."
"We'll see about that. I'll call you when they're on their way to the parking lot. Until then, stay right here," he said and walked briskly down the hallway.
When Gennady closed the door, Reznikov took the suppressed GSh-18 pistol out of his backpack and thumbed the safety off, sliding it back into the cushioned compartment normally reserved for a laptop. He would need to access the pistol quickly. He removed a second eighteen-round magazine from a smaller compartment on the backpack, and stuffed this into one of his coat pockets. He left the top of the backpack open and stood up, straightening his coat. He walked down the hallway to the same door used by Gennady a few minutes earlier and opened it.
He found himself in a sparsely furnished, windowless office with an access door to the outside. The room's only source of light came from a small, translucent window on the door, which barely cast enough light to see into the furthest reaches of the room. Fresh rain pooled on the floor just inside the door, and he could hear the rain drive against the outside walls. If Gennady betrayed him, they would come for him through this doorway. There would be too many witnesses on the tarmac for the men to enter through the runway door.
He closed the door leading back into the hallway and positioned himself behind the desk, which sat in the darkest corner of the room to the right of the hallway door. He kneeled down below the top of the desk and took out his cell phone, switching it to vibrate. After returning the phone to an inside pocket, he reached into the backpack and withdrew the semi-automatic pistol, holding it steady in his right hand.
Five minutes later, his phone buzzed. After the third extended vibration from his coat pocket, he heard a crash beyond the hallway door and was glad he had trusted his instinct regarding Gennady. He knew the man wouldn't have the balls to go through with his plan. He wondered if Gennady had intentionally turned on him, or if the Chechens had simply given him no choice. Either way, it didn't matter. If the men sent to the airport were indeed Chechen mafia, then Gennady couldn't return to Novosibirsk.
The sudden appearance of the Chechens meant one thing to Reznikov: Al Qaeda had quickly discovered that he'd escaped from Kazakhstan, and they desperately wanted him dead. He could understand why. He had left their makeshift laboratory eight hours ago, with two self-cooled cylinders that they had fully intended to recover upon his execution. Now, he was on the run with enough virus capsules to poison two cities, and Al Qaeda had no idea what he planned to do next.
He'd overheard enough to know that Al Qaeda planned to strike several European cities with the virus, and he'd been fortunate to memorize several addresses where containers would be received and held for a coordinated attack. He wasn't sure how he could use this information, but was certain that it would hold some value if he was ever captured. He'd also heard plans for shipping the virus overseas to the United States, through a medical supply distribution company in Germany.
It all added up to a major attack on the West by Al Qaeda, which is why they wanted him dead. The last thing they needed was for Reznikov to release the virus first, putting the World Health Organization and every other major international health ministry on high alert for further attacks. The capsules were specifically designed to poison municipal water supplies, and an isolated attack would lock down every water facility throughout the world, leaving Al Qaeda with few viable deployment options for their virus.
He didn't care one way or the other whether Al Qaeda succeeded with their plans. He had a specific target for his own virus capsules and that was all that mattered. If he could escape from the airport, he'd be at his target city within three days. Less than a week after that, the Russian government would watch helplessly as the city of Monchegorsk was put out of its misery.