Cameron's pride and joy was his gun collection. Over the years, he had steadily built it up to the point where it now, totaled more than a hundred pieces. Since he had bought them wisely and they had appreciated greatly over the last two decades, the collection was now worth a small fortune.

Despite all of this, Cameron was deeply embarrassed by one fact. He had never killed another human. Villaume was right – Cameron had always sent someone else to do the dirty work. Now that Cameron had officially broken with the CIA, and he was dealing with hired killers like Villaume and Duser, he felt it was time to make a statement. This was how he had rationalized his decision to be the one to pull the trigger on the Jansens. He was in a dangerous line of work where a peer's respect for one's talents could someday mean the difference between life and death. Deep down inside, however, Cameron knew the real reason. He had wondered for years what it would be like. He had spent thousands of hours shooting at inanimate targets with weapons that were designed to kill living things. Many of them designed specifically to kill human beings. The competitions had always taken place under closely controlled and regulated circumstances. The only variables were often the wind and the humidity. His passion had never been taken to that final level, and now it was time.

Cameron, it turned out, was beginning to realize it was, a good idea he had brought Villaume along for the job instead of Duser. The man was a meticulous planner, like himself, and in the end someone with far more practical field experience. Cameron had brought two handguns, a sniping rifle, an assault rifle, and a submachine gun. He had had it in his head that he would take the Jansens from a safe distance of five hundred to six hundred meters with his Walther WA 2000 sniping rifle. Villaume didn't like this idea. The Walther fired a. 300 Winchester Magnum cartridge, and the shot would sound like a cannon up in the mountains. They wanted to get in and out of Evergreen without attracting any attention. Villaume, used to trying to make things easier rather than more difficult, had pointed out to Cameron that they could take up a position two-hundred meters from the Jansens' front door.

At 4:45, the van stopped half a mile down the road from the Jansens' house. Villaume and Cameron got out and started their trek up the mountain. Lukas and Juarez pulled the van off the road and onto a small trail, where they monitored the surveillance devices and waited. If Cameron failed, and the Jansens' got past, they were to block the road with the van and hose down the Jansens' vehicle with their silenced MP-5s.

It had taken Cameron and Villaume longer than they had wanted to get into position. Villaume was not happy about this. At fifty-two, he was far from in top shape, but compared with Cameron, he felt like an Olympic decathlete. At least, he seemed to know his weapons, Villaume thought. It was almost 5:30 by the time they settled into their spot underneath a towering pine tree. They were on the other side of the Jansens' driveway and down a bit toward the road. They had a clear view of both the house and the garage. Cameron had planned his first kill meticulously and brought everything that would give him an edge. In addition to the bed of soft needles that he was lying on, he had brought a padded mat and a roll. He was wearing a camouflage sniping suit and was nestled in behind a Stoner SR-25 assault rifle. Threaded onto the end of the weapon's free-floating barrel was a customized silencer, and attached to the fore end was a spring-operated bipod for added stability. In essence, the weapon was an M-16 modified to act as a sniper support weapon. Unlike the M-16, though, it fired a heavier 7.62-mm cartridge. The weapon could be fired in single shot or burst mode. Cameron had the selector switch on single shot and was looking through the times-six telescopic sight.

When Jansen appeared from die house at 6:00 A.M., Cameron was not surprised. Mary Juarez had already informed them that it sounded as if they were ready to leave. The warning didn't help. Cameron's heart began to beat harder even before the front door opened. Despite the cool morning air, sweat formed on his brow, and his breathing became short. Cameron swung the rifle from left to right as Jansen walked to the garage. The cross hairs stayed centered on the side of the target's head for less than half the trek. Cameron couldn't believe how nervous he was. His normally steady aim was anything but. Talking himself down, he reminded himself of the backup that was in place. If he missed, everything would be fine. Lukas and Juarez would take care of things.

This approach did not work. Cameron knew he had a relatively easy shot, and if he missed it, Villaume would see it as proof of his amateur status. When the car started to back out of the garage, Cameron took a moment to close his eyes and wipe a layer of sweat from his forehead. Counting backward from one-hundred, he concentrated on his breathing in an attempt to slow his pulse. Everything needed to be brought back down into the zone, and he would be fine.

Villaume whispered in his ear, «I'll let you know if the woman comes out. Keep the guy in your sights.» The car backed out of the garage and turned around in the driveway. When the driver jumped out and ran back into the house, Villaume said, «This is it. When he comes back out, wait as long as you can to shoot until she comes out, but don't let him get behind the wheel. We don't want to have to shoot up the car if we don't have to.»

Cameron did not reply. He felt better. His breathing and pulse had slowed. He could feel himself falling into the zone. The cross hairs stayed centered on the open front door. He kept counting down, slower and slower. His breaths were shallow and taken through the nose. When Jim Jansen appeared on the porch a minute later, Cameron was not startled. He simply followed the man as he walked toward the rear of the wagon. After throwing several bags in the back, Jansen reached up and slammed the tailgate closed. The action left his face perfectly bisected in the black cross hairs of the scope. Cameron's right forefinger sat poised over the cold trigger of the Stoner rifle. He heard Villaume start to speak, and at that moment the target turned his head toward the front door. Cameron knew immediately what Villaume was saying, and without waiting another second, he squeezed the trigger in one smooth, constant motion.

SCOTT COLEMAN BROUGHT the pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked down on the Jansens' house. It looked as if they were getting ready to go someplace, and it appeared they were in a hurry; Keeping the binoculars up, he turned his head toward the sliding glass door and in a hushed voice said, «Dan, get the truck out of the garage. We'll come back and sanitize the place later.»

If they hurried, they could beat them down to the main road and block them from getting into town. If things could be handled peacefully, they could talk them into coming back to Washington. If they couldn't cut them off, they'd have to follow, and things could get tricky.

Coleman watched as Jim Jansen came back out of the house and threw two large duffel bags into the back of the Subaru station wagon. Jansen's mouth was opening, as if to say something, and then his body lurched violently away from the car and thudded to the gravel driveway. Coleman instinctively crouched several inches lower and moved the binoculars toward the front door. For the briefest of moments, he saw Beth Jansen alive and staring, her mouth agape, at the limp body of her husband lying on the ground. Before she could overcome the shock of watching her husband struck down, a bullet hit her in the forehead and sent her into the bushes next to the porch steps.