The Mark of the Assassin

don't know. Someone blew up that jetliner, and did it for a very good
    reason. Look what's happened in the interim. The Mideast peace process
    has collapsed; arms are pouring into the region like never before."
    Michael thought, And a wounded president came from behind and won
    reelection, and this country is about to build a costly missile defense
    system. "Good God, Michael. Surely you're not suggesting any kind of
    linkage."
    "I don't know all the answers. What I'm suggesting is that we seriously
    consider the possibility other forces were involved in the attack and
    broaden our investigation accordingly."
    Adrian Carter finally spoke. "I thought Michael was off the mark when he
    raised this with me the first time, but now I believe I was mistaken. I
    think the Agency should do as Michael suggests."
    Monica hesitated a moment. "I reluctantly concur, Michael, but I'm
    afraid the investigation will go forward without your involvement." She
    treated herself to a long sip of her coffee. "You have uncovered
    potentially valuable intelligence, but your means and methods have been
    inexcusable and, frankly, unbefitting an intelligence officer of your
    experience.
    I'm afraid I have no choice but to place you on suspension, pending the
    outcome of a disciplinary review. I'm sorry, Michael, but you've left me
    no other option."
    Michael said nothing. He had expected it, but still a shock wave shot
    through him when Monica spoke the words. As for your concerns about your
    personal safety, you can be certain that the Agency will take every step
    necessary to protect you and your family."
    "Thank you, Monica," Michael said, and immediately regretted it.
    Assurances from Monica Tyler had the permanance of a sonnet written on
    the surface of a lake.
    THE CHAUFFEURED CAR bearing Mitchell Elliott arrived at his town house
    on California Street shortly after 8 P.M. It had been a very long day,
    much of it spent on Capitol Hill twisting arms. Elliott had been around
    politics long enough to realize euphoria has a tendency to wear off
    rather quickly in Washington. Promises made by presidents often die the
    death of a thousand cuts in committee. It would be many months before
    the national missile defense came before Congress for a vote. The
    tragedy of Flight 002 would be a distant memory by then, and Beckwith
    would be a lame-duck president. It would be left to Elliott to make sure
    the program didn't fall by the wayside. He had spread millions of
    dollars around Capitol Hill; half the members of Congress were indebted
    to him. Still, he realized it was going to take every ounce of his
    influence and imagination to see the project through to the end. The car
    stopped at the curb. Mark Calahan got out and , opened the door. Elliott
    went inside the house and walked upstairs to the library. He poured
    himself a glass of scotch and went into the bedroom. The bathroom door
    opened and a woman entered the room, dressed in a terry-cloth robe, hair
    damp from the shower. He looked up. "Hello, Monica darling, tell me
    about your day."
    "HE UNDERESTIMATES ME," she said, lying next to him in bed. "He plays me
    for the idiot. He thinks he's smarter than me, and I detest people who
    think they're smarter than me."
    "Let him underestimate you," Elliott said. "It's a fatal mistake, in
    this case literally."
    "I had to reopen the investigation today; I had no other choice.
    Osbourne has managed to uncover quite a lot of your little game."
    "He's only scratched the surface, Monica. You know that as well as I do.
    And besides, there's no way he'll ever see the whole picture. Osbourne
    is trapped in a house of mirrors."
    "He knows the identity of your assassins, and he thinks he knows why
    they're killing."
    "He doesn't know who's behind them, and there's no way he ever will."
    "I had to put out a worldwide alert for them, Mitchell."
    "Who controls the distribution at Langley?"
    "Everything comes to me eyes only," she said. "Theoretically, no one
    else in the building will see it. And I sent McManus out on an errand,
    so the Bureau is completely in the dark."
    "And Michael Osbourne will never know what hit him. Good girl, Monica.
    You just earned yourself a nice bonus."
    "I had something else in mind, actually."
    December.
    CHAPTER 34.
    Northern Canada.
    THE GULFSTREAM DROPPED below radar cover over the Davis Strait and
    landed on a remote flare-lit road along the eastern shores of Hudson
    Bay. Astrid and Delaroche ambled down the stairway,