45.

New York, United States

Fisher gets off the plane from London, busy reactivating the signal on his mobile phone. The flight was slightly delayed, and he wants to confirm his arrival with Macmillan as quickly as possible. Focused on his screen, he doesn't notice the four men approaching against the human flow heading towards the terminal.

When a hand lands on his shoulder and he hears his name called in a dry voice, his reaction is purely reflexive, honed by years of training. With a body twist, he slips from the grip. Immediately, he notes the presence of the three other men. All are dressed in civilian suits, yet their posture betrays professional moves. He bends and, headfirst into the stomach of the one who had just approached him, flips him over his shoulder. Already, the unfortunate agent's three companions pounce on him. But the crowd pouring from the plane plays in the mercenary's favor. He is swept along by the human tide, dodging outstretched arms trying to grab him.

With a sharp movement, he sheds his small travel backpack, letting it fall behind him to hinder his pursuers' progress. At the same time, he unceremoniously shoves a couple against the corridor's windows. Using elbows and gripping passengers to throw them to the ground, he rushes amid the confusion to pass through the automatic gates separating the disembarkation zone from the terminal.

The agents, slowed by all his tumult, are now a few dozen yards behind. Fisher further widens the gap by jumping over the railing of the escalator heading down to the baggage claim central hub. He immediately goes towards one of the stationary luggage belts. His pursuers just manage to see him disappear, crawling under the rubber flaps concealing access to the staff-only area. One of them signals the fugitive's position, while the other three hurry down the escalator four steps at a time to climb onto the stationary belt themselves and rush through the carousel opening leading to the tarmac.

Fisher quickly assesses his surroundings. The vast hangar is quiet, few belts are operational. Only one baggage tractor towing two long trailers full of suitcases is parked. One of the two workers busy unloading its contents notices him and calls out. The mercenary finishes emerging from the narrow opening through which he crunched, and finally stands up. Decisively, he heads straight for the baggage handler and, without engaging in conversation, delivers a powerful punch that leaves the other on the ground. The second employee immediately backs off, indicating he doesn't want to be involved. Without taking his eyes off him, Fisher climbs into the tractor's seat and accelerates. The vehicle lurches forward as luggage spills out in a thunderous crash.

Emerging one by one into the hangar, the agents rush towards the trailers. Fisher receives the first with a kick to the shoulder and swerves sharply. The man who fell to the ground has to roll over to avoid being crushed by the trailers following the driver's lead. The other two agents wisely cling to the side of the last cart. Now moving at twelve miles per hour, the convoy heads towards one of the warehouse's large sliding doors left wide open.

Fisher emerges onto the tarmac. Pedal to the metal, the loaded vehicle can't exceed heighten miles per hour. A modest speed, but enough to ensure the men still walking won't catch up to him. A glance backward tells him the two survivors of the chase are starting their slow climb along the last trailer, clinging to the iron bars holding the luggage. Fisher abruptly turns right, then just as quickly to the left. A surreal ballet begins where the two agents try not to be thrown off by the sudden changes in direction while attempting to progress towards the tractor. They move along the serpentining convoy at low speed amid the steel-winged giants parked neatly in their respective spots.

Fisher knows the airport security cars will easily catch up to him once they start their pursuit. He follows the terminal and looks for a fence he could climb over to leave the tarmac on foot. But JFK is one of the world's largest airports, and he doesn't see its boundaries. He turns to examine the first trailer's hitch system. A sizeable bolt connected by a chain secures a big tightening handle in place. If he can dislodge the metal rod and loosen the system, the tractor will be freed from its heavy burden. He'll gain speed while getting rid of the two stubborn agents.

Shifting his eyes back to the tarmac while continuing to zigzag, Fisher flips the seat next to him, revealing a narrow emergency storage box. With quick glances at the box's contents, he identifies a short steel stake ending in a nut head. The wheel loosening key is attached to one of the interior sides. With a swift movement, the mercenary pulls it out of the small clips holding it in place. Using it as an improvised hammer, he hits the bolt.

Turning sideways to continue his task, he can now see the two agents reaching the gap between the first and second carts. His actions have become too mechanical and the two men can anticipate the swerves to speed up their progression.

Fisher sharply steers to surprise them. One almost falls and ends up hanging from the grid holding the luggage in place, caught by one hand. His colleague must intervene to help him climb back up and not go under the wheels. The mercenary takes advantage of this to continue straight and finish knocking off the bolt with three key strikes. The bolt slips, then suddenly held back by its small chain, snaps against the trailer's frame to dangle useless, pointing towards the asphalt whizzing below.

Already, the first agent has crossed the gap between the first and second carts, and the other one is about to do the same. Fisher resumes his surreal jig to slow them down. He slides the key under the latch and pulls violently. Nothing happens for a few moments, then abruptly the tightening handle releases, shooting up completely. The key slips from Fisher's grasp. It bounces on the tarmac with metallic noises and a few sparks. A hand reaches for him. An agent swinging on the frame tries to climb onto the tractor. The mercenary swerves so closely twice that the last cart dangerously tilts, two wheels leaving the ground and shedding numerous pieces of luggage.

The force applied is sufficient, and the first cart's frame detaches from the tractor. Immediately left to their momentum, the trailers skew in a shower of sparks, flinging the second agent like a rag doll. The other had time to cling to Fisher's backrest. He now struggles not to let his feet drag on the asphalt.

Freed from its excess weight, the tractor picks up speed amid the growing roar of its engine. Fisher smashes the agent's fingers with a violent elbow strike against the backrest. The latter lets go and rolls on the tarmac. But already, behind him, the mercenary perceives the sirens of the security cars. Focusing all his attention on driving, he floors the accelerator. The vehicle, pushed to its limits, barely reaches thirty miles per hour, accompanied by the recurring click of valves under too much strain. The three cars following him, in a triangular formation, quickly close in.

Fisher then heads towards a plane slowly backing up. Ignoring the desperate gestures of a ground crewman ordering him to stop, he goes under the wing, passes under the fuselage, and slips between the landing gear. Behind, the cars, too tall, have to make a wide detour.

In the open field, the mercenary can't outrun the intervention vehicles, but his low-slung tractor, specifically designed to sneak under fuselages, gives him a definite advantage if he continues to zigzag under the crafts. Fortunately, most of them are parked in this boarding area along the terminal. Fisher then starts a slalom where the planes serve as poles and thus climbs a good part of the terminals while maintaining his lead.

Ahead of him, a large cleared space soon appears as the buildings on his right vanish. No more obstacles to slow down the chase this time, but if his lead is sufficient, he could reach the fence he spots some seven hundred yards ahead.

The mercenary has made his decision. He will charge at the fence, cross it, and continue fleeing on foot. The high embankment behind the barbed wire will prevent the cars from following him. Jaws clenched, bracing for the impact with the fence, he sets a course and dashes towards the empty area.

As soon as the parked planes cleared, the three vehicles resume their formation and accelerate. Fisher occasionally looks sideways, anxiously. He tries to gauge their progress and whether or not he will have time to reach the saving embankment with enough lead to escape.

He doesn't have the chance to identify the mass suddenly blocking his path. He instinctively steers and brakes to avoid a collision. The tractor spins out as the fire truck that has just appeared on a perpendicular trajectory now slows down. Fisher attempts to straighten the trajectory, but his low-slung vehicle doesn't have the same inertia as a car. It halts abruptly, rears up on two wheels, remains balanced for a moment, seemingly hesitating to overturn, then falls back on its four wheels with a dull noise. Clinging to the steering wheel, the mercenary spreads up to cushion the impact with his legs. He knows his race is over for him. The tractor has stalled, the intervention cars surround him, and the fire truck has stopped in front of the fence, definitively blocking his path. With a resigned gesture, he raises his hands in the air.