She had slept for about three hours flying out of Tokyo. She blotted her face with astringent-soaked cotton; slid on just a few drops of moisturizer, then some colorless lip gloss. She ran her hands through her hair, fluffed it, smoothed it, settled it. She brushed her dress with a small clothing brush, checked that the wrinkles were to a minimum. She looped a pale lavender silk scarf around her neck, twisted it into a distinctive knot, slid it around until it pleased her. She dug into her travel satchel, zipping and unzipping until she found an amethyst ring. It was the only jewelry she wore. Most of the other passengers in the first-class section of the Northwest Airlines 747 were gathering papers, closing up laptops, checking pockets. And then checking out Laura as she walked to the last row of first class. She was the only woman; all the international businessmen enjoyed the sight of a beautiful woman at the end of the long flight. When the plane had taxied up to the departure tunnel, the businessmen started to collect in the aisles.
