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The private plane rolled down the runway a little after ten o'clock. From where he stood in the departure/arrival lounge, Paul saw Shihab strut down the stairs of the jet as if he owned it. Behind him was the man who would pull the trigger in the very near future. He was a small man, slightly balding, and walked with a limp. His eyes were piercing''not necessarily evil, but the message was clear. He was not looking to make a friend. It was as if his eyes were connected to a brain that might possibly deliver emotion''but not today.