David Golemon - Primeval

"Well, needless to say, I was caught red-handed by none other than the senator himself as he was giving a tour of the vaults to the director of the General Accounting Office."

"That must have made your day."

Niles smiled at the memory. "Yeah, three weeks of house arrest in my own room on level eight, then a disciplinary letter in my file." Niles turned and looked at Jack, still smiling. "You know what the old man did?"

"I'll bite, Niles, what did he do?"

"The next month he promoted me to the department head of Computer Sciences, and on that day he allowed me to transport the remains of Genghis Khan back to Mongolia and rebury it. That was my very first and only real field expedition."

Jack smiled and nodded his head. He didn't really know why the director told him that story, but it placed a far more human face on Niles Compton.

The director nodded his head, lightly patted the acrylic chamber, and then looked at the remains of Amelia Earhart for probably the last time.

"Senator Lee promoted me because he found out on that day that I had an imagination. He said that was a deciding factor in me getting Computer Sciences. He said you need an imagination to be a leader." Niles held Jack's eyes with his own and then continued. "Sometimes I hate history, Jack. It's not fair in a lot of cases." Niles placed the signal message from the navy department on the chambers top and then slid it over toward Collins. "Just hide the orders in a not-so-obvious place on her remains."

Collins looked from the letter to his boss. He nodded just once.

"Now, Jack, do you want to fill me in as to why you stopped and visited your sister at the CIA? A sister you never listed as a family member in your file?"

"How in the hell did you know that?"

"I just happen to have a best friend with the title of president of the United States. He wouldn't allow the director at Langley to use one of my people without the courtesy of informing me as to why. I agreed with allowing you to cooperate with them for the simple reason you know what your sister's thoughts are. "

"The director of the CIA told the president?"

"Your sister and the operation she's currently running is the reason for your interest in seeing to it that Amelia here gets her just rewards, isn't that right?"

Jack was astounded at what Niles knew about what was happening in his life. He decided to come clean about his sister and her situation. It took a half an hour, but Jack felt better for doing it.

Niles had listened in silence and then he stood and turned away, and was just about to leave when he turned once more to face Jack.

"Keep me posted on your sister, Jack." Niles smiled. "And by the way, your letter of reprimand regarding the theft of national treasures will be placed in your file also, just like the senator did me." Compton then abruptly turned and stepped over the high threshold of the vault and disappeared into the massive hallway.

Jack Collins smiled for the first time since he heard what his baby sister was up to. Then he slowly and carefully lifted the cover of Earhart's enclosure, and placed the navy signals message and history back into the proper and correct perspective.

The rented Audi sat parked as it had for the past two hours in front of the large cast-iron gates that led to one of the most famous structures in Montreal. The estate was as old as Canada itself, and historians claimed it was actually designed by Marquis Louis-Joseph de Montcalm, the commander of all the North American French forces during that country's battle with the British Empire for control of the Americas — the French and Indian War of 1754–1763. The woman sitting in the rented car knew better. She had done her homework and was aware that the estate hadn't been built until five years after the Marquis's death. Her proof was in the CIA archives in Langley, Virginia. The French Canadians perpetrated the rumor to lure tourist dollars into their city.

The man in the driver's seat lowered his binoculars and looked out into the warming spring day.

"You know, we're sticking out like a sore thumb here. I mean, anyone could look out of any one of those two hundred gilded windows and see us."

The dark-haired woman didn't say anything as she silently watched the house that sat a hundred yards up the long drive. Her blue eyes never leaving the stone facade of the mansion. She panned to the right and looked through the window at the city almost ten miles away. There were a few pillars of smoke from the riots but it looked as though the Canadian government had quelled most of the protests and violence concerning the recent push for French speaking independence.

"This place is fast becoming a mess," she mumbled.

"Maybe we should—"

"We'll stay right here." The woman finally afforded the older man a glance. Her features were soft and she spoke to her partner as if she were a teacher instructing a slow student even though his years of service far outweighed her own. "I don't give a damn if they see us, Mr. Evans. They need to know they are being watched and that old sins are not forgiven — at least by the United States."

The man knew the young woman was tired. She had flown into Montreal just six hours before and she was out of sorts. He just hoped the head of the northeast field desk wasn't making an error in judgment. He knew as well as she that the two men inside that house were two of the most ruthless killers that had ever worked for the old KGB. The field operation was made possible only because of an anonymous tip and a package delivered to her desk that had very unexpectedly brought the golden child, the wunderkind of the agency, out from behind her desk at Langley. Tired as she was, Lynn Simpson looked through the man alongside her. He knew from her reputation — an impressive one for someone as young as she was — and realized that she didn't care what he thought. She played her own game and did it very well.

"We have a vehicle approaching from Tenth Street, followed by a van," came a voice over the earpiece in both agents' ears.

"Thank you, unit two, they are expected company," Simpson said into the microphone located just under her jacket collar.

"Who are they?" Evans asked as he looked from the beautiful young woman and then into his rearview mirror.

"CSIS," she said as she removed the field glasses from his hands and looked through them at the house.

"Why would we bring in the Canadian Security Intelligence Service if we're just watching and verifying if that's really them inside? We don't have anything on Deonovich or Sagli, no warrants at least."

"You'll have to excuse me if you weren't informed of everything that comes across my desk, Agent Evans. Right now the Canadian authorities have them entering Canada under false passports and thanks to an anonymous source, we also have them coming into Seattle with those same false papers. Now, can I assume you're armed?"

"In the glove box. Will I need it?" he asked, not liking the way this thing was shaping up.

Agent Lynn Simpson lowered the field glasses, but didn't look at Evans when she handed him the binoculars. Keeping her eyes on the house, she reached for the glove box, opened it, found the Glock nine-millimeter, and then handed it to him.

"You are currently qualified with that, I presume?" she asked him with the first touch of a smile to cross her lips that morning. "I'm just kidding, Evans, just keep it close. I couldn't get my weapon into the country."

"Wait, didn't you fly in by a company plane?"

"Commercial," she said as she opened the car door but looked back before she stepped out. "I needed the travel miles."

Evans watched her as she closed the door and then walked to the rear of the rented Audi as the car and van approached. He closed his eyes and cursed, now realizing the assistant director wasn't here under any kind of authorization from the company. He chambered a round into his nine-millimeter, making sure the safety was on, and then threw open his door.