The Marching Season

her the previous night, speaking softly beneath the screaming television in their hotel room. Wait until they're all out of the car. You kill the last DSS man, and I'll take care of the ambassador and Michael Osbourne.
    She wondered whether she had the strength to do it. And then she thought of Gavin Spencer and Kyle Blake and the men who had died at Hartley Hall because Michael Osbourne and his
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    father-in-law had deceived her. She checked the action on the Beretta and chambered the first round.
    One of the limousine's doors opened, and the DSS agent climbed out. He walked around the back of the car and pulled open the rear door facing the Osbournes' house. Michael Os-bourne came out first. He glanced around the street, his gaze settling on the Volvo for an instant before moving on. The ambassador emerged, followed by Elizabeth Osbourne.
    Rebecca opened her door.
    Michael turned to the DSS man and said, "Where are the other agents?"
    The DSS agent raised his hand to his mouth and murmured a few words. When he received no response he yelled, "Get back into the carl Now!"
    It was then that Rebecca Wells stepped out of the Volvo. She stood, arms braced on the roof of the car, and started firing at the DSS agent—one shot after another, just as Jean-Paul had told her.
    Michael did not hear the shots, only the shattering of the limousine's rear window and the thud of the 9-millimeter rounds piercing the trunk. Instead of obeying the DSS agent's instruction to get into the car, Michael, Elizabeth, and Douglas had instinctively fallen to the pavement of N Street.
    Michael suspected there was something wrong about the woman in the Volvo station wagon, but he had been too slow to seize upon the possibility that it might actually be Rebecca Wells. Now, as he crouched over Elizabeth and Douglas, the final seconds of the DSS agent's life flashed through his mind. The
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    agent had tried to raise the other men but could not. That's because someone else has already killed them, Michael thought. Then he thought of the information Gerry Adams had given him earlier that night. Rebecca Wells had been looking for a professional assassin to kill Douglas. Her hired killer was probably somewhere close.
    Michael pulled out the Browning automatic. The driver was still behind the wheel of the limousine, ducking for cover below the top of the seat. Michael grabbed Elizabeth and Douglas and said, "Get into the carl"
    Elizabeth crawled into the backseat. One of the shots struck the DSS man in the head, sending a shower of blood and brain tissue through the shattered rear window. Elizabeth looked at Michael helplessly and tried to wipe the blood from her face.
    Then her eyes grew suddenly wide and screamed, "Michael! Behind you!"
    Michael turned and saw a figure, standing high atop the curved steps leading to the entrance of the house. The man's right arm swung up and he fired twice one-handed, his silenced weapon emitting no sound, just a tongue of fire from the end of the barrel.
    Even in the dim light of Georgetown, Michael knew he had seen that distinctive handling of a gun before.
    The man on his front steps was October.
    The first shot ricocheted off the roof of the car. The second struck Douglas in the back as he lunged into the car. He collapsed onto Elizabeth, groaning in pain.
    Michael pointed his gun at October and fired several shots, driving him back into the house. On the quiet street, the high-powered Browning sounded like artillery.
    "Go! Go!" he screamed at the driver. "Get them out of here!"
    The driver sat up and gunned the engine.
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    The last thing Michael saw was Elizabeth, screaming through the shattered rear window.
    "The children, Michael!" she cried. "The children!"
    Michael dived between two parked cars where he was shielded from Rebecca Wells and October, at least for a few seconds. He peered upward toward the entrance of the house and saw October emerge. Michael aimed the Browning and fired several shots. October ducked back inside. Then, windows in the cars around him started to shatter. The woman was firing at him.
    Lights had come on all along the street. Michael turned and saw Rebecca Wells, standing behind the open door of the Volvo station wagon, firing across the roof. He pivoted and thought about returning her fire. He realized that if he missed, a stray round could enter one of the neighboring homes and kill an innocent person who had come out to