Primeval: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  She looked straight at the much larger Canadian and tilted her head and raised her left eyebrow.

  “Okay, I’ll leave it alone.” He knew the problems of big brother, little sister because of the career path the latter had chosen. His old friend wasn’t happy his baby sis had opted for the intelligence end of things. Alexander cleared his throat and then looked up at the château. “Now, you’re not standing in front of Château Laureal because of the early season tourist rate, so what are you doing in the great white north, Agent Simpson?”

  “Gregori Deonovich and Dmitri Sagli,” she said as she held the Canadian intelligence officer with her stark blue eyes.

  All humor and goodwill left his features. He looked at Lynn and then immediately turned toward the giant house and then without looking away from the structure gestured for his men to exit the car and van.

  “I take it you were informed of their arrival by a contact from my country who works for you?”

  “Let’s not get territorial, Punchy, I was informed anonymously and then I immediately called you people.”

  Alexander unceremoniously removed the field glasses from Agent Evans and raised them to look at the château, allowing Evans a chance to glare at the larger man.

  “You’re sure it’s those murderous bastards?”

  “They didn’t even bother to disguise themselves coming through the airport. It was like they wanted to be seen.”

  Alexander lowered the glasses and fixed Lynn with a look.

  “You know, they knew you would be called in any event. Of all the people in the world, they would want to confront you.”

  “Am I missing something here?” Evans asked.

  “Yes. If I know your boss, you’ve missed everything. The two men of Slavic origin inside of that house have a file on them in every Western intelligence service and those files are over a foot thick. And somewhere in those reports you will find a reference to your Ms. Simpson. She’s dogged them since the time she was first assigned to the desk she now occupies. Altogether these two Russians have killed five American, six British, one New Zealander, three Germans, and two Canadian intelligence people, and that’s all after their time at the KGB ended.”

  “So what have they been doing since?” Evans asked looking from Alexander to Lynn.

  “Don’t you brief your field people?” Alexander asked, sparing Lynn a cold look. “They are the joint heads of the largest organized crime syndicate in Russia. That’s what KGB retirement means nowadays. The last I heard, they were expanding into the Ukraine and Kazakhstan, which is why I’m so concerned about them coming here where they don’t own the intelligence agencies or the police. Besides, with all of this rioting going on and with a major coup in the offing if things don’t calm down, them being here makes a mess, just a larger mess.” Alexander raised the glasses again and watched the house. “May I assume that your FBI and even your own director don’t know that you and your boys are in Canada?”

  “My immediate boss thought we could take care of this on our own, Punchy, without bringing both of our agency heads in on it; the legalities involved would have taken too much time. With what’s happening here we thought a low profile was best. Look, Sagli and Deonovich are here for a reason, and no matter what that reason is, them being in that château uninvited is what we call, in the States, probable cause.”

  “I came across an obscure report generated by your NSA that says these two maniacs may have finally pushed the Russians into acting against them. It seems they were alerted to certain illegal activities by someone in the American intelligence community, and this person may have actually forwarded incriminating evidence of murder to the Russian authorities. Them being here may be the end result of that report so they may finally be on the run. Do you know who may have sent the Russians that report, Agent Simpson?”

  Lynn held Alexander’s gaze for a moment and then nodded toward the château. “Now tell me, Punchy, what is in that monstrosity of a house that would make them risk coming to the one continent where they would immediately skip trial and be unceremoniously hanged if caught?”

  The glasses came down again and Alexander took in a deep breath, knowing it was exactly as he thought—Lynn had forwarded the report to the authorities in Moscow.

  “Nothing new, antiques for the tourists to ooh and ah over. Maybe . . . Fuquay?” he called out to the small group of men he had brought along.

  “Yes, sir,” said the man in a heavy French Canadian accent. He stepped away from the group of ten Canadian agents and slung an automatic rifle over his shoulder.

  “Wasn’t there something about an exhibition on historical gold mining stopping off at the château?”

  “Actually, we did receive a detailed report on the security for the exhibit. Nothing substantial so we didn’t become involved. It’s just some old mining equipment, letters home to wives from miners, that sort of thing. Turn-of-the-century items.”

  “You’re kidding? Why would those two killers have interest in that?” Lynn asked.

  Alexander nodded for the man to return to the A-Team of Canadians.

  “They shouldn’t be interested in anything that we’ve heard of in there. And that in itself is enough to worry me.”

  Lynn turned and leaned into the rental car, retrieved a file, and handed it to Alexander. “This was sent to us by our Seattle field office—they ‘borrowed’ it from the Seattle PD.”

  Alexander opened the file and the first thing he saw was a crime scene photo of an old man stretched out on a bed. A hole had been punched through his head on the man’s right side. The bed he was lying on was soaked through with blood. Alexander turned the page and looked at the second, far more disturbing image taken by the Seattle police department showing twelve individuals, tied and gagged. Each one had been shot execution style and placed in a circle, feet pointed outward.

  “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, a
nd 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 château 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 château 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 Aérospatiale 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.

  “Predictable, Agent Simpson. Now, if you will come with us, our transportation is waiting.”

  Lynn gathered herself and spit as far as she could toward the dark-haired Dmitri Sagli. The blood struck the small man’s leather coat. He smiled and then with his right hand, backhanded her across the face, making her angrier, but still just as helpless as before.

  “You Americans have always been fond of the term, to kill two birds with one stone.” The former Russian KGB assassin looked about at the dead Canadian agents and smiled. “Now we have managed to kill a whole flock of Canadian geese and catch one American songbird with one stone.”

  As the Russian watched Lynn being loaded into the waiting Gazelle, he shook his head in wonder at how stupid the West was becoming. They thought everything revolved around dead ideologies dating back to the Cold War, and that was what made their actions predictable. The game had changed for the ex-KGB men and the West just couldn’t follow along. It was now all about personal power, not ideology.

  As Dmitri Sagli turned for the helicopter, he saw Punchy Alexander move a few feet away from him. He slowly walked up to the prone Canadian agent and placed his foot at the back of his head and then pointed the same automatic weapon he had used to kill Serta in Seattle, he turned and smiled at Lynn Simpson, almost as if making sure she was watching, and then he fired three times into Alexander’s back. He then moved off toward the Gazelle, putting the weapon away and buttoning his coat as he did.

  As the Gazelle lifted free of the street, it left behind three dead American field officers and eleven Canadians, the largest massacre of Western intelligence personnel in history.

  The Bell Ranger soon overtook the French-built helicopter to escort it, and together they both headed toward the border, flying south toward New York.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  Assistant Director of Intelligence Nancy Grogan eased herself into one of the two chairs facing the director’s desk. Harmon Easterbrook eyed her as she sat and placed a red-bordered file on the desk’s edge. Briefly, she looked to her left at Assistant Director of Operations Stan Rosen, and then quickly nodded. Rosen in turn did not grant her the favor of his own greeting. She ignored the snub and listened to the one-way conversation going on in front of her.

  “Yes, sir, we’ll get a full report of everything we have over to you as soon as we can gather the Intel. Yes, Mr. President, a full accounting.”

  As the director hung up the phone, he kept his fingers on the handle for the briefest of moments; it was as if he were thinking about his words
before he spoke them. He then half smiled, but the humor was lost somewhere between the eyes and the mouth. He looked directly at Grogan.

  “Needless to say that was the president. Can you guess what was on his mind this morning?”

  “The incident in Montreal would be my guess, and a pretty accurate one I—”

  “I was asking Nancy, Stan,” Easterbrook said, his eyes never leaving the fifty-two-year-old woman.

  “I take full responsibility for what happened. Simpson was there with my full knowledge.”

  “With three of my field agents, now dead,” Stan Rosen said glaring over at his intelligence counterpart.

  “Look, if we thought it was anything more than just a sighting, we would have been there in force; as it was, it was an anonymous source that let us know Sagli and Deonovich were in the country. We had nothing other than some grainy photography that it was even them. So, Lynn asked if she could go and investigate. She did it by the book, went through channels and—”

  “Got a Canadian CSIS field team wiped out, an American responsible for northeastern American intelligence kidnapped, and three of my people killed.”

  The assistant director lowered her head for the briefest of moments, but then gathered herself.

  “Lynn is the brightest person I have in my entire department. Hell, she’s easily my replacement, she outthinks everyone here at the Farm and you know it. This is something more than just Sagli and his buddy being here for theft.”

  “Explain,” Easterbrook said, motioning for Rosen to be quiet.

  “We don’t even know why they were in Canada. And the mass murder in Seattle? The Seattle authorities are saying a possible motivation was theft, but as of yet they are saying nothing is missing from this Russian’s apartment. Now we have Sagli and Deonovich breaking into what amounts to be a museum in Montreal for theft once more? As I said, not their style. There’s something more here than we know at the moment.”

  “It’s my understanding that your person has been making life very miserable for Sagli and Deonovich for more than three years, at least since I put her there after her stint in Afghanistan. Hell, she may be responsible for them being on the run; what’s worse, they know it’s her putting pressure on them from this end. Now, let me know, is this a vengeance thing or something else? Operations has to know so we can treat this accordingly.”