The thundering laugh and applause of more than a hundred men follow his words.
Nooria is already behind the kingpin and his bodyguards. Sultan replies to the cheering crowd by darting his fists into the air.
“Sultan! Sultan! Sultan!”
He repeats the triumphant gesture as the crowd shouts his name. Nooria knows: if she stabs him, a jerk in Sultan’s body would inevitably follow. If stabbed at the right moment, this gesture might hide the convulsion. It could be done in a second — just stab, turn the blade around, pull it out and hide it. With Sultan being now only a few steps away, her stomach is in knots. She swallows to get rid of the nausea mounting in her throat.
“Yes! Onward to the New Zone, brothers!”
Not even the cheer of the crowd can make Nooria ignore the wild thumping of her heart when Knuckles finally notices her and gives her a bow. Then he turns his eyes towards the crowd again. After sliding through two bodyguards behind Sultan, she is at last there, right behind him.
Apparently done with addressing his followers, Sultan waves his hands once more.
Nooria recognizes the now or never situation. Standing right behind Sultan, her right hand slips under her coat and reaches for the blade in her belt.
A steely hand grabs at her arm. Looking up, Nooria sees the Bandit who gave them the suspicious gaze upon arrival.
“No!” he whispers, audible only to her through the cheer the Bandits are giving to their leader.
She still could do it as long as the cheering lasts. Determined not to waste this last chance, Nooria uses her free hand to unsheathe the blade.
Suddenly she feels as if someone has punched right into her stomach. Insurmountable nausea comes over her and forces her to bend forward and grab at Sultan’s coat. The exoskeleton-clad Bandit lets go of Nooria’s arm.
The kingpin turns around. Immense surprise appears on his face when he sees Nooria vomiting and desperately clutching at his spoilt trench coat.
Sultan gives one of his jovial laughs. “Margarita! Airsick already? We didn’t even lift off!”
He fishes a pack of paper tissues from his pocket. Seeing that she is still suffering from the cramp and utterly embarrassed as well, he cleans her face up without hesitation.
“Congratulations on your speech, boss,” Jack says. “Especially the suckling on tits part.”
“That was from Gladiator, one of my favorite movies. Educate yourself, Jack… but first clean up this mess.” Sultan lets the tissue fall into the pool of vomit at Nooria’s feet. “You don’t want to fly with this tin can smelling like this, do you?”
An excited Bandit appears. “Sultan! Someone has whacked Zhyogal and two other Chechens!”
Sultan darts an angry look at Jack. “What the hell is going on in your outfit?”
“Dunno, boss,” Jack says looking up while wiping Nooria’s vomit from the metal plate. “Must have been that darkie who whacked Zhyogal’s brother.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Nooria’s buddy did it. A darkie looked at her in the wrong way, or so the man told me.”
Sultan grimaces. “Chechens, huh? The air smells much better without them. I could never trust them… one can’t turn away from them without the feeling of getting stabbed in the back the very next moment.”
He turns to Nooria who has more or less recollected herself in the meantime. “You all right, Margarita?”
“Yes, Sultan,” she replies avoiding his eyes.
“Good. Tell your buddy he has my gratitude for that Chechen job. Where is he?”
Before Nooria could even think about a fitting reply, a voice in English bellows at the ramp.
“What the fuck happened here?”
Sultan gives the tall man in a Stalker suit a curious look. His steel-blue eyes sparkle with anger under dark, bushy eyebrows and gray hair. Another Stalker is standing next to him, barely reaching to his waist but with a similarly defiant look on his young face.
Sultan’s bodyguards have already aimed their rifles at them. “Step back!”
“They are with me,” Nooria quickly says and gives the Top and Pete a faint smile to let them know she is all right.
“Was it this big guy who broke that Chechen’s neck?”
“No.”
“I wonder what this giant would be capable of,” Sultan says looking the Top up and down. ”It’s good to see that you are in safe hands. You still have my present, I suppose?”
Nooria has to cough. “The gun? It is… a friend is taking care of it.”
“Good God, that was expensive! Don’t give it to anyone. It might get stolen with all this cutthroat scum around!”
Respectfully, Knuckles touches his boss’ arm. “Sultan, the chopper’s ready to take off.”
“Excellent. Margarita, I’ll insist on seeing that friend of yours when we have more time. I always have a good business proposal for men who can easily whack three darkies. And as you see, I keep my word — the helicopters will bring you and our brothers to Minsk first and then a cargo airplane to the New Zone. I hope you were right and we’re not running into trouble at Charikhar.”
“It should be safe, Sultan.”
“I trust you will also come up with your end of the deal. Matter of honor, yes?”
Nooria suddenly turns away from the kingpin to wretch once more. Jack slaps his face and cusses in Ukrainian. Amused, Sultan claps.
“Let’s get moving, patsani! Davai, uhodim!”
Seeing Sultan and Knuckles moving down the ramp, Nooria calls after him. “You don’t come with us?”
Sultan waves his hand, smiling. “See you soon, Margarita!”
Lined up in long rows the Bandits move into the Mi-26. The cavernous cargo compartment is only dimly lit by the three bullseye windows on either side and the slightly domed, dark grey fuselage appears like a church interior. Their helicopter is a version designed to haul vehicles and goods, and therefore lacks any seating, causing the Bandits to exchange a few swears as they hustle for space. A Belarusian aviator, probably the crew chief, attempts to keep order but is brusquely pushed aside.
Among the Bandits comes Tarasov with the balaclava pulled over his face. He quickly joins Nooria and the two Americans flanking her. The three of them were lucky enough to occupy a place by the two bigger windows behind the pilots’ compartment.
“You… what were you thinking, huh?” Tarasov says in a low voice when he takes his place next to Nooria. “Don’t give me that look! I know what you were up to!”
“I hate him,” Nooria whispers.
“What if you succeed and his henchman tear you to pieces?”
“I had a plan.”
“Did you want more than a hundred Bandits to start shooting at us?”
“No.”
“Did you forget that this is the only way back to the New Zone?”
“For a moment, I did. I’m sorry, Misha.”
“Gospodi,” Tarasov sighs and shakes his head. “Never ever do that again, please. You scared us shitless!”
“Aw mate, ye know how wimin are,” Pete says with a smile, imitating Finn Sawyer’s accent.
“Guess there’s no flight attendant to serve us breakfast,” Hartman says. He smiles, apparently amused over Tarasov’s half-hearted attempt to reprimand Nooria, and takes a dry sausage from his rucksack. “Havchik, anyone?”
The Mi-26’s massive twin turboshafts begin to howl.
“Your Russian is improving,” Tarasov says accepting a slice of sausage. He is about to bite into it but then offers it to Nooria who gladly takes it.
“Yeah… but that’s about it. Chances are I won’t hear your lingo for a long time,” Hartman replies.