The violent shock wave knocked Sølvi straight back into the pantry, where she crashed into Grechko.  As the pair tumbled to the floor, five more explosions rocked the apartment.

Her training kicked in and she rolled over, completely covering the Russian defector with her body.  They were under attack.  There was no time to figure out by whom.  Her only job was to keep Grechko alive.

She waited for a seventh explosion and when it didn't happen, she leapt to her feet, pulling a 9mm CZ pistol from her holster.  Her head was throbbing from the blasts.  The air was obscured by smoke and debris.

After quickly assessing Grechko, she gestured for him to stay put and stay quiet, while she peeked out into the kitchen.

Approaching the pantry door, she readied her weapon, held her breath, and risked a glance.

The kitchen and dining and living rooms were on fire and had been I completely ripped apart.  The bloody, shrapnel-riddled upper half of Martin's body lay only feet away from the pantry door.  Where his bottom half lay was anyone's guess.

Fighting back her shock, she glanced in the direction where she had last seen him - standing by the large living room windows.  But as the curtains of smoke parted, she received an even bigger jolt.

A black-clad, four-man assault team, complete with ballistic helmets, full face masks, and H&K G36 automatic rifles, had rappelled down from the roof and were making entry via the shattered windows.  None of them were members of Martin's security team.

Sølvi retreated into the pantry and helped Grechko to his feet.  "Stay right behind me and don't say a word."

When the Russian nodded, she led him into the adjacent laundry room and stopped at the door to listen for any sign of activity from the other side.

She couldn't hear anything, but she didn't know if that was because there was nothing, or because her hearing hadn't fully returned after the explosions.

Gesturing for Grechko to take a step back, she cracked the door and was about to peer out when the hall erupted in a barrage of automatic weapons fire.

She leapt back, kicked the door shut, and pushed Grechko out of the way just as a line of bullets pierced the wall and went straight through the laundry room.

That exit was out of the question.  They would have to take their chances in the living room.

The good news, at least for the moment, was that judging by the back-and-forth tempo of the gunfire, some of Martin's six-man team had survived and were still in the fight.

Steering Grechko back into the safest part of the pantry, she once again instructed him to stay put and stay quiet.  This time she was going to do more than just peek into the kitchen.  Much more.

Squatting down, she did a press check to make sure her pistol was hot, and then, counting to three, she swung into the kitchen and, ignoring Martin's corpse, kept her attention focused forward as she used the long, marble-clad island for cover.

Gunfire could be heard from up and down the main hallway - as if the assaulters were going room to room.  In between bursts, it was quiet.  No one was firing back now.  That was a bad sign.

Moving to the end of the island, she made sure to use the cabinets for support and not the floor, which was pebbled with shards of broken glass.  She was absolutely silent.