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agents converged on the site. They were already securing a perimeter.
    The mourners Philips passed by had begun to turn toward the scuffle. She noticed small children with many of them and shouted, “Evacuate the area!”
    Several responded by saying, “I’m a police officer,” and followed her.
    In half a minute Philips had pushed her way up to a dark-suited man with a radio earpiece. He was part of the security cordon around the still-struggling knot of two dozen men.
    Philips displayed her NSA credentials and spoke calmly but firmly. “I’m a federal officer. You must evacuate this cemetery as soon as possible. These mourners are in great danger.”
    The thick-necked agent didn’t bother to examine Philips’s credentials. He just looked at her. “Stand clear, ma’am.”
    “Damnit, let me speak with the agent in charge! I have firsthand knowledge of an impending attack!”
    He smiled humorlessly and spoke with an indistinct accent. “We’ve got it under control. Thanks.”
    Suddenly gunshots crackled in the cold air. People in the crowd screamed and ducked. The mourners began to flee like a spooked herd—except for the dozens of police that remained behind, drawing weapons and heading toward the shots. Philips knew they’d be agents from the FBI, DSS, DEA, ATF, and a host of state and local police. Scores of them advanced using the tombstones for cover.
    Philips faced the approaching agents and police and held up her credentials. “Stay back! Stay back! You’re in danger!”
    The first wave of officers had already reached her, their various weapons pointed upward but ready. A distinguished-looking man in his fifties, a take-charge type without a weapon, came right up to Philips. “What the hell is going on?”
    Before Philips could answer, everyone turned to see another black-suited, clean-cut man approaching from within the dense knot of operators who’d started the disturbance. The man held up credentials with a familiar logo on them—Korr Security International.
    “This is a top secret DOD-sanctioned operation, gentlemen.”
    The senior agent frowned and examined the operator’s ID. “I’mS-A-C of the FBI’s Kansas City office. I don’t take instructions from private security contractors.” He pushed past, along with scores of other federal agents and local police, guns still at the ready.
    They pushed through a couple dozen plainclothes men with radio earpieces and submachine guns pointed skyward.
    “Jesus H. Christ, who the hell authorized a takedown in the middle of a thousand innocent people?”
    Philips followed on the senior agent’s heels.
    Korr officers held up their hands. “Sir! You can’t come in here!”
    “I’m in charge of the FBI’s Kansas City office, and until I see some government badges, I’ll go where I damn well please!”
    The swarm of police and federal agents broke through to the center of the Korr team. The scene there shocked everyone.
    Six bodies lay steaming on the frozen grass in a pool of blood, with more blood spattered over nearby headstones. One was a wounded Korr officer gulping air and being tended to by his colleagues. The other bodies looked to be Daemon operatives—one of them a young woman—lifeless eyes staring skyward. Philips noticed hundreds of footprints trampling the ground, indicating a mighty struggle.
    The FBI SAC stood agape. “Mother of god …”
    A tall, muscular Korr officer came up to him, showing credentials. “Sir, this is a top secret military operation. I need you to call—”
    Suddenly there was a high-pitched whistle, followed by a sharp
thwack
. Everyone stared in horror at a dagger-shaped steel point that now protruded from the Korr officer’s left cheek. Blood ran from his nose and a large steel dart now extended from the top rear of his skull, like a sinister plume, with an antenna rising out the back. The stricken Korr officer staggered with a surprised look on his face. Servomotors on the vanes of the dart whirred