The question was what exactly was happening. Was this just bad luck—the not-so-surprising result of wandering around a bad neighborhood at an hour when the skinheads were just heading home to sleep it off? Or was it something more?

“I’d suggest you move on, son,” Smith said in German. “We don’t have anywhere near enough money to make this worth your while.”

The one on the right, probably no more than mid-twenties, seemed to hesitate. He was undoubtedly accustomed to generating a lot more fear in the couples he mugged. The one on the left just stared hungrily at them with wet eyes reflecting the glow of a security light behind them.

“Maybe there’s more money in this than you have in your wallet. And I think we will enjoy the woman very much,” the nervous one said, then glanced behind him at a car parked at the edge of the intersection. Smith had noticed it earlier, but until now hadn’t seen the figure standing in front of it.

With the question of whether this was just an unfortunate coincidence answered, it was probably time to move on to just how they were going to stay alive.

“I can guarantee you that she won’t be as fun as you think.”

The men at three and nine o’clock stopped a few paces away and the footsteps behind went silent at what Smith estimated to be five meters. It was a practiced pattern designed to deal with bolting prey—almost certainly perfected over a number of years of petty muggings.

“What do they want?” Randi said in Russian, feigning terror and checking the faces around them for comprehension. The Soviets hadn’t controlled the country since before these men were born and it appeared that none of them could understand the language of their former masters.

Smith responded soothingly in the same language, reaching out and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. “The one to my left is probably seventeen and the one behind is too far to do much quickly.”

“Surprise is on our side,” she said, making her words sound like panicked babble. “But once they move in, we’ve got problems. I say we take out the leader and Crazy Eyes. That might be enough to make the others decide the paycheck isn’t big enough.”

“Speak German!” the one she’d dubbed “Crazy Eyes” shouted.

“She doesn’t know how,” Smith said, again trying to sound soothing. He wanted to find a way out of this without killing anyone. They were young and had no idea what they were into. The problem was that flying commercial had left them with no guns and Randi was right about the dangers of letting them attack first. “Now, I’m asking you again. Move on.”

They all laughed—the humorless braying of young men who enjoyed violence when they were confident in their superior position.