David Golemon - Primeval

"What does this have to do with—?"

"If you interrupt me once more, we will send your agent back to you in many pieces."

Grogan was silent as she tried desperately to focus on the voice in the dark.

"We want the name of the thief of these artifacts delivered to us. We will recover the property ourselves. This should not be too difficult to obtain for an agency of your renown."

"That could be impossible. The case may be ongoing in Denver and the name could be—"

A small box thumped against her leg and fell to the flagstone walkway.

"Our intentions toward your agent are inside the box. In twenty-four hours you will place an advertisement in the Washington Post in the lost-and-found section of that paper. A lost female puppy, a Yorkshire Terrier that goes by the name of Lynn. Please contact — here you will give the name of the thief that we seek, and his address. Once we have recovered what it is we seek, your agent will be returned to you whole, well, minus some weight, but otherwise intact. There will be no interference from the authorities at this thief's location. If you interfere, we will have no choice but to relieve the local civilian population of their lives. We have the manpower and the weaponry to achieve this. Are you clear on your instructions?"

"Yes."

As she waited, she could tell the large man had gone. The air around her grew less heavy as she took a deep breath. She was frightened for the first time in her adult life as she realized these people knew where she lived. That information was classified and a breech such as that was totally out of the realm of possibility.

She reached down slowly and before touching the small box, she tapped it with her toe. It moved easily, meaning there was practically no weight to it. Then she picked it up. If they wanted to kill her, they could have done it quickly and quietly just now in her own front yard, so she gently shook it. There was something loose inside.

"Jesus," she mumbled as she placed her large bag on the walkway and then tore the brown packing tape from the top of the box. As she turned the box toward the weak front-porch light, she almost dropped it.

"Oh, God," she said as she saw the human finger with the red nail polish on it.

Nancy Grogan was still shaken as she sat beside Stan Rosen in the director's office. On the speaker phone was the forensics lab far beneath the main floors of the complex.

"The fingerprint match has been confirmed as that of Agent Simpson. Blood type is the same as on file and we are currently running a DNA match from a sample she gave two years ago to alleviate any chance of print alteration."

"What are the chances of that?" the director asked as he tossed down the pen he was holding onto his desktop.

"The old KGB had become quite adept at the science, but in this case, we figure it's Agent Simpson's finger. We can say that the agent was alive when her finger was amputated."

"Thank you. Please send me the results of the DNA match as soon as you get them."

Director Easterbrook looked from the speaker box to Nancy Grogan's pale face.

"Okay, what have we got on this theft in Denver?"

"Stan Rosen is helping out on that end; he has an operations agent in the Colorado Bureau of Investigation. It was your influence that opened that particular door for Stan. The CBI will hopefully have whatever the local authorities have on the robbery."

The phone buzzed and Easterbrook's secretary came on.

"Sir, Director Grogan has a call from Montreal."

"Put it through."

"This is Grogan," she said leaning forward in her chair.

"If my superiors knew I was making this call, you know what would happen. As it is, they didn't think to bug a hospital phone line."

"Mr. Alexander?" Nancy asked.

"You have my regrets for not being able to better help Agent Simpson."

"This is Director Easterbrook, Mr. Alexander. You have our sincere apologies for this accidental foray onto your turf; I can assure you that this will never—"

"Mr. Director, I have very little time and a very sore shoulder and back. Those bulletproof vests are not all that they are cracked up to be. Now, our people have picked up something that may help you, but this information comes with a warning. We believe Sagli and Deonovich were after two items, one of which they recovered from the chateau; the other, as you may already know if you have had contact with them, was stolen quite some time ago on your side of the border."

"How were you able to come across this in a burnt-out hulk of a mansion?"

"We may not have all of your resources, but we still have reasonable deductive prowess, Ms. Grogan. The explosive charges were set in a specific room of the chateau. It housed only one exhibit, the personal artifacts belonging to Jenson P. Lattimer of Boston. This material is what was known on the museum tour as the Lattimer Papers. That coincides with your homicide in Seattle, Washington, of one Valery Serta, a logging magnate. The cause of death was brutal, the details of which you can, get from the Seattle PD. We don't know why he was killed; however, cross-referencing his name in our data banks we came up with these Lattimer Papers and something about the man's father and his arrival into North America sometime after the turn of the century. This information is pretty ordinary and we were able to obtain copies of the brief mention of his name, but the real prize was an incomplete artifact called the Petrov Diary. This diary somehow ended up in the hands of this Lattimer character of Boston, an old blueblood who placed them on exhibit in honor of a long lost uncle."

"You have saved us a lot of valuable time, Mr. Alexander; we are very grateful."

"Ms. Grogan, if this case leads back to Canadian soil, you and your agency are to stay home, I have convinced my superiors to let me handle the case from here. There will be no publicity on this side and I am working totally autonomously."

"Why would you think it will lead them back to your country?" Director Easterbrook asked, showing his anger.

"Because Mr. Easterbrook, the Lattimer Papers referred to a lost treasure in the Canadian wilderness, and we suspect that is what Sagli and Deonovich are after."

An hour later, just moments before Director Easterbrook lifted the phone, it buzzed.

"Sir, the president is on line one," his assistant said from his outer office.

"Yes, sir," he said as he lifted the receiver.

"Harmon, I just read this damn mystery novel you sent over. This has got to be a joke. Are you telling me these two Russians risked their lives to come to a hostile country for the sake of a treasure map?"

"We are still collating data as we speak, Mr. President. We can't be real sure of anything at this point, at least not until we can get a line on who stole that diary from Colorado."

"Well here's a little nugget for you. With the Canadian Prime Minister threatening to go public with our little foray onto Canadian soil, he has cut off the flow of information from his end. You were lucky this Punchy Alexander here has closer ties with us than his agency does."

"Yes, sir, that is the one break we have gotten."

"Now, evidently we have an agent who may or may not be dead. I have a decision to make here, Harmon. I owe her brother a lot. Hell, everyone in this damn country does."

"Maybe I can help you with it if you would allow me to look at this man's file."

"Forget it, no one sees the file on Jack Collins; don't ask again. As it is, he has ties everywhere within our government. Now, I have to get word out to his boss to make sure he doesn't get directly involved any more than his sister already has him. With what Agent Simpson passed along to you, it's obvious we may have to flush a bad guy out of our own cornfield. Until we know what these bastards are up to, I'm going to keep Collins in the dark, no matter what his sister has asked him to do for her. Now you did good, Harmon, by bringing me and Jack's boss onboard with this thing when you did, but the situation has now changed."