The Mark of the Assassin

the
    windshield. Michael flicked the wipers. The lights of Cannon Point
    burned across Shelter Island Sound. The images of the last weeks played
    out in his mind--Flight 002, Colin Yardley, Heathrow, Drozdov, Muhammad
    Awad, Eric Stoltenberg, Astrid Vogel, October. They were like pieces of
    a melody he could not complete. He was certain the Sword of Gaza had not
    carried out the attack. He believed it was the work of another group, or
    individual, which did it in the name of the Sword of Gaza. But who? And
    why? October was a contract killer only; if he were involved it would be
    at the behest of others. The same was true of Astrid Vogel; the Red Army
    Faction had neither the resources nor the motive for staging the attack.
    Michael suspected he knew the truth, or at least part of it: The man
    called October had been hired to eliminate the team that carried out the
    attack. The ferry docked at Shelter Island. Michael turned over the
    engine and drove off. Shelter Island Heights was deserted, shops and
    Victorian cottages dark. He sped along Winthrop Road, through a tunnel
    of leafless trees, and skirted the edge of Der-ing Harbor. In the summer
    the harbor was filled with sailboats; now it was deserted except for the
    Athena, bobbing at her mooring in the whitecaps off Cannon Point.
    Michael also suspected he had been the target on the Channel ferry, not
    Muhammad Awad. Who was the man beneath the balaclava? Was it October? He
    had seen October use his gun, in person on the Chelsea Embankment and on
    videotape, and it didn't appear to be the same man. He had to assume he
    was still a target, and he had to consider the possibility they now
    would send October, one of the world's best assassins, to do the job. He
    would have to tell Carter and Monica Tyler everything; he needed their
    protection. He would tell Elizabeth everything too, but for very
    different reasons. He loved her more than anything else and he
    desperately wanted to regain her trust.
    Cannon Point appeared before him. Michael stopped at the security gate,
    lowered his window, and entered the code. The gate rolled open, and
    lights came on in the caretaker's cottage. Michael drove slowly up the
    long gravel drive. A clan of white-tailed deer, snacking on the dead
    grass of Cannon's broad lawn, looked up and eyed Michael warily. He saw
    a shaft of light and heard dogs barking. It was only Charlie, the
    caretaker, walking toward him, retrievers yapping at his heels. Michael
    shut down the engine and got out. Lights came on in the main house, and
    the door swung open. He saw Elizabeth framed in the light, shrouded in
    one of the senator's old coats. She stepped outside, watching him, arms
    folded beneath her breasts. Wind blew hair across her face. Then she
    came to him in a few careful steps and hurled herself against his body.
    "Don't ever leave me again, Michael."
    "I won't," he said. "God, I'm so sorry."
    "I want to talk. I want you to tell me everything."
    "I'll tell you everything, Elizabeth. There are things you need to
    know."
    THEY TALKED for hours. Elizabeth sat on the bed, knees beneath her chin,
    fidgeting with an unlit Benson & Hedges. Michael roamed and paced, now
    sitting at her side, now staring out the window at the waters of the
    Sound. True to his word, he told her everything. He felt the tension
    release with the unburdening of each secret. He wished he had never kept
    things from her in the first place. He always told himself it was for
    Elizabeth's protection, but he realized now that was only part of the
    truth. He had lived a life of secrets and lies so long he knew no other
    way. Secrecy was like a disease, an affliction. His father had caught
    it, and it had driven his mother mad. Michael should have avoided the
    same mistakes. She was silent for a long time after he finished. Finally
    she said, "What do you want from me?"
    "Forgiveness," he said. "Forgiveness and understanding."
    "You have that, Michael." She put the unlit cigarette back in the pack.
    "What's going to happen tomorrow at Langley?"
    "They're probably going to put a loaded forty-five in front of me."
    "What are you talking about?"
    "I'm going to be in serious trouble. I may not survive it."
    "Don't toy with me, Michael."
    "There isn't a lot of work out there for disgraced spooks."
    "We don't need the money. You can take some time off and do something
    normal for the rest of your life." She saw the impact of her words on
    his face and said, "God, Michael, I'm sorry.