The Italian died first, with a fist to the throat.
His killer had spun him around, then jammed the blade of his hand under his nose. It forced the Italian's head back, exposing the throat. Three punches later and he was shoved back into the airplane's toilet to enjoy his crushed windpipe. He eventually suffocated.
The killer closed the door and looked to either side of him. No one had seen him, or even paid attention to him. Bystanders would have only seen his arms disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before he closed the door.
Thankfully, he only had two more people on his target list: The Spaniard and the Indian. He moved forward casually, walking through the plane's cabin as though he belonged there.
The Indian was easy to locate. He was already in the aisle, coming out of the middle toilet.
The killer smiled, and murmured, “Figures.”
The killer jogged forward a little to catch up to his target. From what he remembered of the plane's layout, he would just be able to catch up to the Indian by the time he reached the curtains that marked the mid-plane galley, and just out of sight of anyone seated in coach or business class. As for anyone in the galley, he would deal with them when he caught up.
The killer grabbed the Indian on both sides of the head, judo-threw him into the galley – the body followed the natural center of balance. The killer threw himself after the Indian, landing on him like a lion overcoming a gazelle.
The Indian landed heavy, and the killer's knee was in his back so fast, he didn't even have a chance. The Indian's neck was thin, and it made a sound like a snapping twig when the killer grabbed and pulled.
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