David Golemon - Primeval

"The circle of victims proves beyond a doubt that Deonovich and Sagli did this. That circle thing is definitely their calling card. Head to head, that's the way they always leave their victims, symbolizes completeness, or so our psych people tell us."

"And this third photo?" Alexander asked, as he flipped the page and saw a clear shot of Sagli and Deonovich. The long ponytail of Sagli and the distinctive crew-cut hair of Deonovich were visible, and the size difference between the two was clear as Deonovich towered over the smaller Sagli.

"That was taken at Sea-Tac Airport and sent to me by that anonymous source I mentioned. We assume it was taken upon their arrival in country."

"This anonymous source is quite disturbing to say the least," Alexander said as his eyes went from the picture and fixed on Lynn.

"It could be anyone: FBI, even the Seattle PD. It's not like these two aren't camera shy — every law enforcement agency on the planet knows about them."

Punchy Alexander closed the file and tossed it on the trunk of Lynn's rental car. The large man pursed his lips and then lowered his head in thought.

"My hackles are rising, Agent Simpson." He held up a hand when she started to say something. "This is squirrelly. They know they are vulnerable when they travel. And you receive this photo out of the clear blue? Surely, you and your area director suspect that this may be a setup? I mean, this location, it's so far from everything, and out in the open like this. No, this isn't right and your boss should have known it."

"Why would they do that?" she asked pointing to the first picture of the dead Serta. "They murdered an old man in Seattle, this Valery Serta, obviously of Russian descent, and killed his entire house staff, for what? They're ruthless killers, Punchy, but that just isn't their style."

"And you're an expert at avoiding the obvious. But let me say this, it doesn't really matter, they're here and they're not leaving Canadian soil." He turned and got the attention of his agents. "You men deploy by twos, all with strength of cover positions, and get me more men in here. Get the descriptions of Deonovich and Sagli to every man, and do not hesitate to use deadly force if positive identification is made."

"Punchy, the agency would like them alive if possible; they have a lot to answer for," Lynn said as she followed Alexander to the trunk of his car.

"Look, Agent Simpson," he said, getting very official. "I like you, and I damn well have the deepest respect for your family, but you're well out of your territory and on foreign soil, your higher management people don't even know you're here, just your assistant director of Intelligence — if you want to keep it that way, let me handle this. If not, get back into your car and either get to the airport or to the American consulate."

"You know these two guys are mine, Punchy. I have case files on them all the way back to 1978."

"Yes, I know, and they also know." Alexander let out a breath, calming himself. "They know as much about you as you do them. You're in danger by even showing up here. And you put the operation in danger as much as you put yourself at risk. You should have done all of this by phone from Langley." He saw a look of frustration flicker across her face. "Okay, don't give me that look, your brother always tried that crap on me, and believe me, little girl, you're not him. You and your team, even the two you have watching us right now, are to observe only."

"Listen—"

Lynn never finished her protest. The chateau disintegrated in an explosion that was powerful enough from a hundred yards away to implode the windshields on the two cars and van. They were all knocked from their feet as the pressure wave hit them. As the fireball and debris moved high into the air, Lynn, Evans, and Alexander scrambled on hands and knees to get to the far side of the rental car. Soon, stone, mortar, and burning wood started striking around them. Men and their equipment were sprawled over the roadway as debris from the massive mansion rained down. Amid the din and chaos, they heard the first crackle of automatic weapons fire.

"What in the hell?" Evans asked covering his head just as several bullets slammed into the Audi's rear quarter panel.

It was then that Lynn heard it: the harsh whine of a Bell Ranger helicopter as it came in low over the street. The van suddenly erupted with a crumpling sound coupled with fire and wind, sending Alexander into the Americans, as they were all three pushed from cover by the blast from the exploding van. The automatic weapons fire continued from both open doorways of the attack chopper as the assassins inside took careful and deadly aim at the thirteen prone people on the ground. Lynn rolled out from under Alexander and looked up just as several pieces of burning wood and debris struck the single rotor blade of the Ranger high above her. The rotors shook off the assault and danger and kept shooting down at them. Lynn realized whatever happened at the chateau was secondary to what she now knew was a murder raid. The Russians knew they were there and they were out to kill them.

"We need to—"

Alexander had just come to his knee and drawn his weapon when one bullet nicked his shoulder and he was thrown backward. Lynn saw Punchy hit his head hard on the pavement. Evans yelped; she was then splattered with his blood. Without really thinking about it, she reached out, grabbed the Glock nine-millimeter, and then quickly rolled until the large curb that lined the street stopped her momentum. Above all of the noise she thought she heard the sound of approaching sirens.

"Bastards!" she yelled as she took quick aim and then fired up into the belly of the Bell Ranger. The small slugs punched holes into the aluminum bottom but had no effect. She quickly emptied the Glock and all she had to show for it was to add new venting to the helicopter's flooring.

The CSIS men were succumbing quickly to the murderous fire from above just as two Montreal police cruisers skidded to a stop behind the burning van. Lynn tried in vain to warn the patrolmen off as the two jumped from their respective cars, but she couldn't be heard over the gunfire. The two police officers never knew what hit them as slugs slammed into their bodies and riddled them with holes.

Lynn screamed into the microphone that was still attached to her coat collar, screaming for cover fire from her observation team based at the far end of the street. That was when she realized the fire from on high had stopped and she could only hear the sound of the hovering helicopter. As she looked up through the smoke and flying dust, the Ranger moved off slowly. She then knew that the whining turbine sound had not left with it. Her eyes moved to the rear of the departing assault helicopter and that was when she saw another. This one was a French-built Aerospatiale Gazelle attack helicopter. It began a quick decent to the smoking and smashed street.

Lynn came to her knees and started running when she realized the assault wasn't over. As she stumbled past the burning van, the Gazelle swooped in and, with its powerful three bladed rotors, dusted Lynn until she couldn't stand against the force any longer and fell. She tried to stand once more but fell again as the Gazelle came in even lower. As she covered her head, she thought to herself that this was the end, when the Gazelle slammed hard onto the street, the skids missing her head by only five feet. As she rolled over and searched hopelessly for one of the Canadians' fallen weapons, hands grabbed at her. She tried to fight them off, but a blow to her face slowed her reactions down to a crawl.

Lynn Simpson felt the blood flowing freely from a three-inch gash opened on her lower lip as she felt herself being held upright by two sets of hands. Through the noise and her pain, she saw a face come at her from the rush of smoke and dust.