Brushing his longish black hair from his forehead, Lee pulled a purchase order from his pocket and pretended to read it. He whistled as he walked onto the dark tarmac. He saw the winking lights of the small jet as it rolled toward the hangar for refueling, its tanks nearly empty after the 4,500-mile journey. He watched as the ground crew rolled the hose from the tank, and Lee knew then that the plane was carrying contraband. The crew was working faster, with more serious efficiency than usual. They'd been paid off.

From the corner of his eye he saw car headlights. That would be Sawara. As planned, he'd pull off to the side and wait-- just in case Lee needed backup. The FBI agent intended to walk up to the plane, tell the crew foreman he was told to check for a faulty fuel switch, and while they took up the issue with the pilot he'd swing inside and have a poke around the cargo.

The Toyota pulled up beside Lee, pacing him. Lee stopped, confused, as he looked down at the driver's-side window. Then the window rolled down, showing Sawara's expressionless face.

"Can I help you?" Lee said to Sawara in Japanese, though with his wide eyes and a severely pinched brow he was actually asking, What the hell are you doing?

In response, Sawara lifted the.38 Special Model 60 revolver from his lap and pointed it at Lee. With speed and instincts that were uncanny, the agent dropped flat to his back on the tarmac an instant before the gun flashed.

Yanking his own.38 from its holster, Lee swung it across his chest and shot out the passenger's side front tire, then rolled to his right as Sawara tried to back away for another shot. The bare rim sparked and screamed as he slammed the car into reverse, one hand on the steering wheel, the other still holding the gun out the window. His second shot caught Lee in the right thigh.

The turncoat bastard! Lee thought as he put three bullets through the car door. Each shell entered with a dull clung and Sawara's third and fourth shots flew wild as Lee's bullets struck him. With a moan, the Japanese soldier arched to the left, toward the window, then his forehead drooped against the steering wheel. The car sped up, turning at crazy angles, as the wounded man's foot sat heavily on the pedal. At least it was moving away from him, and Lee watched as it collided with an empty luggage cart. The Toyota rode up on the side of the cart, crunching it down and going nowhere as the tires were lifted off the ground.