"What the hell am I doing back in England," Dianne grumped to herself, staring out her armoured office window that overlooked the Thames. There were active cases all over the world and especially in the States right now.

So what if the Queen had come close to being killed? Their intelligence arm had been able to predict that an attack of some kind would take place in England and the Mounties at the Canuck embassy had been warned. Dianne had seen too many people die (and had been used to kill too many) to feel much of anything for the men and women who had died.

But the attack had come close, so Her Majesty's Government had insisted that top people in the PDG war be called in to make sure it was truly stopped.

"Well we have stopped them here, so I ask again: What the hell am I doing back in England?" Dianne might have asked this last in the silence of her own mind if she had seen who had come into her office.

"You're here because I God damn need you to be here Ms. Smith!" snapped the gruff voice behind her.

Dianne spun around, snapping to her feet and saluting out of sheer surprise even though she was technically a civilian and didn't have to salute General Max. Max had been a solider for a long time and had that "fuck off and do what you're told" voice that comes from years of command.deserved and earned command that is.

"Yes Sir, General Sir." Dianne would have gone on, but the man standing beside max brought her up short. Long brown boots, polished to a mirror shine. Dark black riding pants with a yellow strip up the side. Deep crimson coat with gold and black trim, the left breast sporting an impressive assortment of medals. A broad brimmed brown hat topped the entire mass.

A Mountie, an honest to God red coat, baggy pants wearing Mountie! And the body in question was not bad either. 'Not bad at all,' Dianne thought to herself. He was about the same age as Max, she thought, and she normally didn't go for older men. But the more she looked the more she thought that it might be time for a change of taste.

He had dark blue eyes, a tanned face with deeply chiselled lines, and wavy silvery hair that gleamed in her office lights. And he was built too; practically poured into that uniform. She didn't realise that she was staring until the General cleared his throat. She jumped a bit and then found herself blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Harrrumpph! Agent Dianne Smith of the Australian Internal Security Force, meet Commissioner David Brian MacKenzie, commander of her Majesties Royal Canadian Mounted Police." Max tried to keep the slight smile off his face. Damn, Mackie had this effect on a lot of women.

Mackenzie stuck out a hand and shook Dianne's with a strong firm shake. Then he smiled and Dianne felt her heart flutter as somebody loosed a whole squadron of butterflies in her tummy. She gave herself a shake; 'you're far too old and professional for this nonsense' she told herself.

But she was missing Special Agent Orlando very much, and damn this man was gorgeous!

"Commander, good to meet you. May I offer my condolences on the death of your people? It's a shame to loose people, but they put up one hell of a good fight." She might be a little callused, but she did mean the words.

"Thank you Ms. Smith. Your intelligence data was very timely, I just wish we had known that so many of them were to attack at once. We never figured on a suicide mission, and didn't have enough fire power. I'll not make that mistake again." Gorgeous he might be, but there was a cold light in his eyes that spoke of a man who could be very hard when he had to be.

"That's the reason, among others, that were here Diane. The Commissioner just provided me with some information that I think you need to hear as well. I want to hear your assessment of this data." General Max nodded to Mackenzie, who pulled a thick folder out from under his arm and handed it to Dianne.

She looked down at it and whistled in surprise.the cover had a maple leaf surrounded by a "W" level clearance. That was the highest she had ever seen, usually reserved for NATO nuclear weapon control personal. She herself was several levels lower than that.

"Before I allow you to open this Ms. Smith, I want you to understand the gravity of that seal." MacKenzie looked her straight in the eye, and Dianne could see the dead seriousness in his.

"Only 6 people in the world, besides those covered in this file, know about this. That includes myself and General Max. I want your word young woman that you will never reveal this to another living soul."

Dianne thought this was a bit dramatic, but the General sure seemed to take it seriously. "Of course Commissioner, I give you my word that it will never leave this office."

"I don't think you understand; if I ever hear of you so much as mentioning even a hint of this to anyone outside of Max and myself you will wish your mother had never met your father. Do you understand me?" Dianne's fluttering butterflies suddenly slowed down from the chill in the air.

"Commissioner, I am an experienced field operative. I doubt I would be here if you didn't already think I should hear this. I gave you my word, and that still means something to me." She looked straight back into his eyes; she had not been a field officer for this long without having a good portion of steel in her own spine.

Mackenzie and Dianne held that way for a few minutes. Then he smiled and the butterflies started up again. "You're right Max.she's free of the drug. Sorry about that Ms. Smith; I had to be sure."

Then he opened the file and took out several smaller folders, spreading them on her desk.

"Dianne Smith, allow me to introduce you to The Watchers."

Jenny looked at herself in the mirror, satisfied that she looked sexy without looking too sluty.

Barbanne had been royally pissed off that they had missed the Queen. She was even madder that those Mountie pigs had become heroes. Instead of causing morale to crash in England, the repulsed attack had stiffened MI-6's resolve as well as cementing a strong relationship between the Mounties and the rest of the special teams that were fighting the PDG.

So Barbanne had ordered a special operation against the Canadians in general, and the Mounties specifically.

She couldn't help but laugh that their enemies had given them the perfect cover. They were so determined to keep the existence of the PDG secret that they had blamed the attack on the IRA. So she intended to leave some false evidence of the IRA at this attack. The nermals would fall for it, and the PDG Defence command would be driven nuts not being able to blame who was really responsible.

She smiled, feeling for the specially built super slim gun taped to her right thigh. She was going to snuff one of the 3 survivors of the anti-terrorism team that had stopped the attack in London.

Her target was Constable Richard Mercer, a lonely bachelor, who was mourning the loss of his friends. That had given her an in road to the man. After all, she had excellent credentials; a top line forensic technician in the Ottawa crime lab. When she had told several of her colleagues that she would like to meet him, it was very natural for them to arrange it.

Men were so fucking predictable. They had fallen all over themselves to arrange a meeting for their friend with the blond beautiful lab tech. She had gone to his hospital room several times, and now they had a date where she would be able to get him alone.

Men really were idiots, always thinking with the wrong head. Well he wouldn't be needing it after tonight anyway.

She opened the door to her apartment, setting the locks and alarms. Anybody who broke into her apartment was in for some very ugly surprises. She started off down the street, heading towards the Parliament buildings in the distance.

She walked past several police as she went. The Canadian government was being cautious with all the revenge threats from the "IRA". They were really only part of her plan. Not only did it lay a false trail; it also cut down on the people available to guard her target.

She was about to hail a cab when she heard a soft voice speak quietly behind her.

"Excuse me Ma'am, can y'all tell me the way to Sparks street?" The voice was that of man from the southern U.S.

'Fucking tourists,' she thought to herself, turning to tell the pest to piss off.

She turned, and then gasped in surprise as a wet tearing pain suddenly lanced through her belly. She stared down at the large knife imbedded to the hilt in her stomach and then up at the man who had just signed her death warrant.

She would have been stunned with surprise at the face looking back at her, but at that moment he yanked the hooked and serrated blade out of her stomach with a savage pull to the left and a twist.

She tried to scream in agony the pain was like white hot metal being poured into her guts. But all that could be heard was an awful wet splash as her diaphragm was sliced open and several feet of her intestines where yanked out to land on the sidewalk, sliced to ribbons by the razor sharp blade.

She folded to the ground, blood and fecal matter puddeling around her. She tried to hold in her life with her hands, but it was no use. The man had gutted her like a pig in one swift move.

Through the agonising haze of pain she looked up at her killer. His eyes were cold as ice and he stood there with the knife in his hand. Amazingly he had not got even a drop of blood on himself. An expert, some dim part of her professional assassins' mind told her. Then the pain become too much and the world became a red fog.

"The Mounties always get their man," she heard dimly as the last of her life fell into a burning pit of raw pain.

The quiet man quickly searched her, found and pocketed the special assassins' gun and then used his knife to cut her panties away. He did a quick search of her pussy, and then satisfied walked back the same way he had come. No one had seen him, and it would be several minutes before she was found.

"You were right," he said, holding the gun out to his partner, "she was with the PDG."

"Of course I'm right, since when have I been wrong?"

"Always a first time. Come on, let's got tell Mercer that he can stop pretending to like the bitch. Then we better get him over to head quarters to start training."

Dianne leaned back in her chair as MacKenzie began to talk.

"It began back in the 1800's," MacKenzie started, "when Queen Victoria wanted to know what the Yanks were up to."

"At first the old North West Mounted Patrol really didn't have much to do with it. It was mostly run by operatives from her Britannic Majesty's secret intelligence service. After all Canada was still part of the Empire then."

"But the trouble was that the Brits stuck out like a sore thumb, and soon they had to recruit a few dozen Canadians to do the dirt work for them. We spied on the Yanks for years still do in fact and the field people did a very good job. Much better than the 'professionals' that had been sent from London."

"So Victoria decided that the 'Colonials' could run their own affairs, and she officially founded a secret intelligence service under the command of the Mounties. She did this without notifying parliament by the way."

"We weren't in the assassination business then, so mostly what they did was plant spies in lots of different places and watch just about everything that happened in North America. Well pretty soon the Brits started calling this new intelligence service 'The Watchers."

"They weren't the biggest, but they were among the best in the world. Broke a lot of cases, found spy rings etc all the usual things. During World War II it was the Watchers who broke the sabotage ring at Dorval airport as well as finding several German and Japanese spies in both Canada and the States. They were respected and liked in those days."

Dianne was looking at the covers of the smaller folders, and two caught her attention. They were much thicker than the rest, and she could see a name on each folder. One was Reaver, and the other was Spectre.

"But when the cold war started up, the Commissioner in those days made a pretty fatal mistake. A lot of people want to become Mounties, but they don't meet the requirements. So he figured that he should recruit from these people. They wanted to be Mounties, and this was a way to be one. Just about anybody who wanted to was allowed to become a Watcher."

"I guess he figured that they would be loyal to The Watchers because of the chance it gave them. What he really did was open up The Watchers to a lot of KGB moles. Within 20 years The Watchers had had so many leaks and wild goose chases that they lost all respect and were pretty much crippled."

"Finally they were so useless that in the mid 80's Parliament dissolved their charter. After 135 years their own government did in The Watchers. A special commission was established to dismantle The Watchers and establish CSIS, the Canadian Security Intelligence Service."

The last four words were spoken with complete contempt. Dianne didn't have to be a mind reader to know how MacKenzie felt about CSIS. Then again almost every intelligence service in the world felt the same way about them. They were actually good men and women, but they were de-balled by their government.

"But the Chief of Defence and the Commissioner of the Patrol in those days saw an opportunity in this, and so did I. I was a Staff Sargent in those days, and I was given the task of dismantling The Watchers. And that is exactly what I did. Made a lot of Mounties very mad at me. But when I was done, I knew every profile of every man and woman in The Watchers. I knew who was straight up, and who needed a lot more than just a dismissal."

"That's how this," MacKenzie said, pointing to the files, "really began."

"The Commissioner gave us status as members of the Patrol, as well as giving us access to all the computer networks the government had. Actually being Mounties gave us some clout as well. You'd be surprised how far you can go by waving a Mountie badge in the right faces. Even if the person you're waving it at has no idea just what kind of Mountie you are."

"The Chief of Defence gave us access to military grade armour and weapons, as well as legitimate military security clearances. That let us be able to "requisition" military transport and satellite data without having to explain to anybody who we were."

MacKenzie was no longer looking at her. His eyes were staring far away at things she could only guess at.

"And I Ms. Smith? I showed my people how to get deep inside a place without being seen, and how to get back out with whatever was needed. I showed my people how to move, how to breathe, and how to see things others would miss."

"And I showed them how to do one more thing: I showed them how to kill."

Then he reached for the two files marked Spectre and Reaver.

"God damn it," screamed Barbanne, slapping the woman who had just brought her the latest figures from Canada. "I don't want to hear 'unknown operatives disposed of our assets' one more time!"

"Find out who the fuck these people are and take care of them! Do you hear me? If even one more of your dumb bitches in that frozen back ass country blows her assignment I'm going to use you to roast marshmallows over? Do you understand!?" Barbanne's voice rose several octaves, and she flung a paperweight at the cringing woman, striking her square in the forehead.

"AHHHH!! . yes m-m-ma'am, I-I-I-I understand . I'll see to it myself." The trembling woman all but ran from the room.

What the hell was going on? Barbanne thought to herself. The operation had been going so well in Canada. They had been stirring the flames of Separatism in Canada for months. They almost had those idiot Separatists convinced that they could survive better alone, even though they were already in debt up to their necks. And the PDG had also manipulated the press to fan the hate of the Anglophone Canadians. By manipulating the next vote in Quebec, she could have set in motion the beginnings of a Canadian Civil War.

And with that, the American's would be sure to invade to protect their own land from spill over. That would rupture the NATO Alliance and the spill over just might ignite the entire world.

But in the month or so her operatives were being killed, one by one. And in some very brutal ways. Three had been gutted, several had been garrotted, 4 had been hung and one had been thrown from a third story window onto a iron fence. Barbanne's mind flashed an image of the pain and fear that that woman would have felt and her nipples hardened.

But it was not enough to take her mind off what was happening. Somebody was sending her a message, a very pointed one.

"Fuck off and leave Canada alone . or pay the price."

What made it worse was that despite her anger at the head of her Canadian sector, she knew that these agents were all smart and experienced people. And all of them had had their covers blown and then been killed as if they were rank amateurs.

And this was not like what had happened in Texas and England. There were no reports of monsters, no strange and sudden disappearances. And this had not happened over night. By calculating the times of deaths of her agents, she had worked out that more than enough time happened between the killings to show that somebody was travelling across Canada, eliminating her people one by one.

So this was not those damn shape shifting aliens . even though she could not find where they hell they had gone either. They had left many of her people alive, though they had forced them to turn themselves in. Every one of her Canadian agents has been ruthlessly slaughtered.

No there was a new player in the game, one she had not counted on. One that was organised and very very good.

"Charlene," she yelled to her secretary, though she could have used the intercom, "get your ass in here!"

Charlene came through the door immediately, carrying her note pad. "Yes Ma'am, what is your pleasure."

"My pleasure is you tied to my bed and begging for mercy.but we'll get to that tonight. For now I want you to find Hecate and tell her to get ready for a trip. I'm sick of this Canadian mess, I want our best killer to send a message to the Canucks."

"Hecate? You assigned her to take care of Pope Tobias Dominatius, should I wait until that is completed?"

"No PoToDo can wait. He's just a foolish old man who has no idea what he's getting into. Get Hecate off to Canada I'll let her know personally who I want sent to hell."

"Yes Ma'am, I'll take care of that at once." Charlene headed out the door, thinking that the earlier successes of the PDG were making Barbanne more than just a little over confident. That foolish old man was damn dangerous. 'Just as well for me I suppose' Charlene thought, dialling the special secured cell number that would get in contact with Hecate.

Barbanne, alone in her office felt her anger rise higher and higher as she calculated the amount of damage that the loss of those agents had done to her plan. Then she thought about Hecate.

"Okay then," she said the empty room, "you back ass lumber jacks and fishermen want to play rough? You'll get rough!"

Spectre woke from a light doze and turned to his partner.

"Where are we?", he asked.

"Just coming into Ottawa. Your nap do you any good?"

"Yeah, I'm feeling just peachy," he replied with heavy sarcasm. "Jesus 27 missions in 35 days: even for us that's hectic. Any leads to our target yet?"

Reaver looked over at Spectre. The ice-cold eyes still chilled him even after 15 years of working together. He would have been surprised to know that most of the other Watchers got the same chill when they looked at him.

"No. But we know she was pulled off the Pope for this one. If she's that good she won't have left much of a trial. We'll have to figure out her target, and stick by whoever that is. Once I'm close enough I can pick her out."

"You're better then me at that, so you take point. I'll back you up." Spectre was still was amazed at Reaver's abilities. He also trusted them.

"One thing Charlie. When we find her; she's mine. Got that?" Reaver turned back to the window, cold eyes starting out into the dark Ontario night sky.

"Sure . I understand." Reaver never used his real name unless it was real serious. "You want to borrow my knife?" Spectre held up his hooked and serrated gutting knife.

"No," Reaver replied in a voice that could have frozen a lake. "I want this to last awhile.and I want it to hurt."

Spectre felt his spine shudder. He knew how just how much pain this knife could give. 'God,' he thought to himself. 'I could almost feel sorry for this Hecate bitch.'

Reaver continued to stare out at the night sky.