Dimitri Patrovski was glad to have a few minutes to himself before his family came back home from soccer practice. It had been a bad day. He sorely needed the time to be alone even if it were just the drive to the suburbs.

He's being forced to lay low because of increased security in the capital due to strange deaths. If that's not bad enough, there's a new player in town with a small army crossing lines with utter disregard of how delicate the black market's balance is in this country. The balance is even more pronounced, in this city, the capital of America, where security is the tightest.

Everybody on alert is not a good thing. It meant that every single move he was making is being watched. It meant that the slightest move could be a received as a threat and the smallest mistake could be an act of war. It meant that things could get bloody, for everyone including the authorities.

Dimitri did not come to this country to fight another war, he came to make money.

Heavy traffic was a blessing not a curse today. "What's going on?" he asked, curiously looking out the window seeing only red and blue lights in the distance.

"Scanner says there's a shooting, boss," his driver replied. "Police have closed the street."

"Oh?" Dimitri frowned. More complications. "Anyone we know?"

"If we do, the man has a death wish. Says he tried shooting at FBI," came the answer fro the front.

"Organised Crime Unit?"

"No word on the scanner which unit, boss."

Dimitri Patrovski sighed. His phone hasn't rang yet which is a good thing. He hoped this was nothing. Although, when the FBI is involved, he knows it's rarely for nothing.

000-0000-

"Penelope got a hit on the unsubs phones," Derek Morgan reported. "Looks like they all went home. Seaver and I are on our way there with a SWAT team."

"Good," Aaron Hotchner replied, judging the lady infront of him carefully. "Morgan, remember the profile. Don't take them lightly. They've used various hidden methods for murder."

"Don't worry. I'm already assuming the place to be booby trapped," Morgan answered. "Is Reid okay?"

"He's being checked by a doctor now," Hotch replied. "Be careful."

"Got it."

Aaron Hotchner couldn't help but glare at the Director of the DPD. This cold room of steel and glass might be her office but the people out there being placed in danger were his. "Did we not make the victimology clear for you? Was there something lost in translation when we said that the operatives at risk are the ones that are normally in this office but gone from approximately July 10 to July 20, 2011?"

"You did," Joan Campbell replied calmly.

"And you decided to let Jai Wilcox accompany one of my agents knowing full well that he was a target?" Hotch tried as hard as he could to maintain his neutral expression although he knew that he might be failing.

"The local police had secured a two block perimeter," Campbell reasoned. "You also profiled that he might be an operative. Now we know where he's from- Belarus," the director pointed out. "You have to understand Agent Hotchner, operatives leave when they've been made. That's protocol."

"You brought us here for-"

"Now, Agent Hotchner, it's also worth mentioning that it is not the CIA's job to secure the scene," Campbell argued firmly.

"The issue here is that Jai Wilcox fit the victimology which you conveniently ignored," Hotch repeated. "Your blatant disregard has not only endangered my agent but also every law enforcement personnel and civilian in the area. Not to mention the case of the now missing Dr. McKenzie, who we promised to protect, but is now out there on her own without our support due to a decision that your agency has made without our knowledge" he continued raising his voice slightly, not allowing the her to argue.

The director rounded her table with an air of defiance, leaning forward on her desk. "What are you saying Agent Hotchner?"

"With all due respect, ma'am, you're wasting our time," Hotch placed it bluntly. "I'm already getting calls from the FBI asking when my available because gang activity in the city has increased in the last week. If your and your operatives have no intention of actually cooperating, then let us do our jobs elsewhere. We have other cases needing our expertise. There are other people who need our help who are willing to listen."

000-0000- -

Patrovski loosened his tie once he entered his house while his men parked the car. He went straight for his office shutting the door behind him, wanting nothing more but to have some quiet time. He shrugged off his suit jacket and threw it on the sofa then decided to make himself a drink on the minibar.

"You're not suppose to drink anymore, old man. Remember when I said you're not allowed alcohol?" He heard a familiar voice say from his own chair in fluent Russian. "And did you know your skylight wasn't locked down?"

Dimitri spun around, ready to pull the gun from underneath his bar but decided against it when he saw who it was. He sighed at the young lady's disapproving expression. "You, my young McKenzie-" he replied in his mother tongue, wagging a finger at her as he reached for the soda water instead, "- You're supposed to be a doctor, are you not? But here you are trying to give me a heart attack."

"Please. It's your liver that's the problem, not your heart," the girl grinned, rising from the chair to settle herself on a stool on the bar.

The man ran a hand through his graying hair, leaning against the back counter with his drink on hand. So much for his alone time. But then, he could think of a hundred different people who could do worse than this girl. At least she didn't exactly have an agenda to end him or get even or get him into trouble or anything of the like.

He wasn't naïve. He knew that she had friends who worked for governments and institutions but he also knew she had friends in not so legitimate circles as well. She was friends with black hats and white knights alike. And he was sure that she had her own share of enemies otherwise she wouldn't always be armed with some sort of a blade.

His family, however, owed her their lives. The doctor had saved them from a shapeshifter several years back in Seattle. Then managed to save his eldest son studying in the University of Washington from a drunken brawl just the year before. He had asked for her second opinion about some medical scans of his mere months ago.

Oddly enough, she never came to collect on any of it. But by way she repeatedly stabbed the slice of lemon in her soda, he was sure that things were about to change. "What's wrong, little one?" he asked, concerned.

"You heard about the thing in my hospital a few days ago?" she asked tentatively.

The old Russian smirked. "The one they say is a gas leak? But that many police-" he shook his head. " Someone wanted a patient dead, yes? And the patient is in the protection of Uncle Sam?"

" I was the one who found out about the attempt," the girl admitted. "I kind of got mixed up in it..."

Dimitri's face fell. "Summer," he chastised, "You can say no."

"Ex-boyfriend and friends and... Peer pressure got to me," she reasoned with a sigh.

"You are not a superhero, child. You are mortal. You cannot keep tempting death like this," he warned her. "I should know. That's why I have bodyguards and informants."

"I know, Dimitri. And I really didn't want to. But now I'm kind of stuck," she replied.

"And you need protection?" Dimitri guessed.

"No. I need information," she corrected, placing a plastic bag with a shell casing inside on the table. "Someone tried to shoot through my apartment. I had a person do a quick job on it. It's a 7.62mmR."

The man paled realising it was her apartment shooting that caused the traffic. He knowing the implication of what she was saying. The bullet was common only in the former Soviet Union... "I assure you, McKenzie, I did not know about it. It is not any of us. I would have warned you myself if I knew that you were in trouble."

"I'm not saying it is, Dimitri," she said with a small smile. "Relax. There is signs of rusting in the cartridge. It's either an old bullet or an old rifle or both," She took a tablet out of her bag and handed it to him. "I'm sure you know about this."

Dimitri nodded, sliding his finger to turn the page. These were the very deaths that have been bothering people in his line of work. "We did not do this. We have no quarrel with these people," he said defensively, handing the tablet over. "What kind of information do you seek exactly?"

The girl shrugged looking equally confused. "I don't really know," she said honestly. "All I know is that these dead people used to be government agents and the way these people were killed sounds exactly like the stories my dad and his friends told me about what went on during the Cold War. Then there's this bullet that has Soviet written all over it," she continued. "You're ex-KGB and you know...a big boss. Did I miss something?"

And suddenly everything clicked in his head. The new player, the increased security, the deaths in the DC... He cursed, leaning forward on the bar and held the girl's hand. The new player was not a new player at all. The deaths were all assassinations. And his young friend somehow managed to get in the middle of such messy business. Dimitri sighed. "Summer, I think I know what's going on," he said, before he rounded the bar and took a seat on the stool beside hers. "I'll tell you everything I know."

The doctor gave him a surprised look. "You will? Isn't that dangerous... in your part... considering maybe there are some things I shouldn't know. Because you're... mafia?"

Dimitri chuckled. "This is one of the rare times that maybe we can help the authorities get rid of a problem for us," he replied, showing her a picture of the new man in town on his phone. "What do you know about how Cold War immigration?"

She shrugged. " People got out by lottery or people paid money...?"

The ex KGB mobster nodded and took a sip of his drink. "Correct. But there was another way to get out," he revealed, "By way of future service."