The Mark of the Assassin

Michael
    committed the name and number to memory; he would call later to make
    certain the place was real.
    He ran down the hill to M Street and crossed Key Bridge. Wind gusted
    high on the bridge and made rippled patterns on the surface of the river
    below. It was like two different rivers. To Michael's right a wild river
    stretched northward into the distance. To his left lay the waterfront of
    Washington: the Harbor Place complex, the Watergate, the Kennedy Center
    beyond. Reaching the Virginia side of the river, he looked over his
    shoulder for any sign of surveillance. A thinly built man in a
    Georgetown baseball hat was a hundred yards behind him. Michael put his
    head down and ran faster, past Roosevelt Island, through the grass along
    the George Washington Parkway. He climbed up onto the Memorial Bridge
    and looked over his shoulder down the parkway. The man with the
    Georgetown cap was still there. Michael stopped and stretched, looking
    down from the bridge at the footpath below. The hatted man continued
    running south along the river, toward National Airport. Michael stood up
    and resumed running. During the next twenty minutes he saw six men with
    caps and three men he thought might be October. He was jittery, he knew.
    He ran hard the rest of the way back to Georgetown. He stopped in
    Booeymongers, a sandwich shop popular with students from the university,
    and ordered a coffee to go. He sipped it as he walked along N Street and
    let himself into the house. He showered and changed and went out. He
    telephoned Elizabeth at the office from his car. "I'm going to Langley,"
    he said. "I have a little housekeeping I need to take care of." There
    were a few seconds of silence on the line, and Michael said, "Don't
    worry, Elizabeth, I wouldn't miss this afternoon for anything in the
    world."
    "Thank you, Michael."
    "See you in a couple of hours."
    Michael crossed Key Bridge once more and turned onto the George
    Washington Parkway. He had made this drive thousands of times before,
    but now, as he headed to Langley to clean out his desk, he saw it all as
    if for the first time. There were giant poplars, tributaries leaking
    from the rocky hills of Virginia, sheer bluffs overlooking the Potomac.
    At the front entrance the guard punched in Michael's identification,
    frowned, and told him to pass. Michael felt like a leper as he walked
    through the harshly lit corridors toward the CTC. No one said a word to
    him; no one looked in his direction. Intelligence services are nothing
    if not highly organized cliques. When one member contracts a disease,
    the others stay away, lest they catch it too. The bull pen was quiet as
    Michael stepped through the door and walked to his desk. For an hour he
    picked through the contents of his drawers, separating the personal from
    the official. A week earlier he had been feted because of his actions at
    Heathrow. Now he felt like the kicker who had just missed a game-winning
    field goal. Every once in a while someone would come forward, lay a hand
    on his shoulder, and move quickly away. But no one spoke to him. As he
    was leaving, Adrian Carter poked his head into the bull pen and gestured
    for Michael to come into his office. He handed Michael a gift-wrapped
    box. "I thought it was only a suspension pending an inquiry," Michael
    said, accepting the package. "It is, but I wanted to give you this
    anyway," Carter said. His drooping eyes made him look more morose than
    ever. "Open it at home, though. Some people around here might not
    understand the humor."
    Michael shook his hand. "Thanks for everything, Adrian. See you around."
    "Yeah," Carter said. "And Michael, take care of yourself."
    Michael walked outside and found his car in the parking lot. He tossed
    Carter's gift in the trunk, climbed inside, and drove off. Passing
    through the gates, he wondered if he would ever be back again.
    MICHAEL MET ELIZABETH at the Georgetown University Medical Center. He
    left the Jaguar with the valet and took the elevator to the doctor's
    office. When he walked into the waiting room there was no sign of
    Elizabeth. For an instant he had the sinking feeling that he had missed
    the appointment, but a moment later she walked through the door,
    clutching her briefcases, and kissed him on the cheek. A nurse showed
    them to the examination room and left a gown on the table. Elizabeth
    unbuttoned her blouse and skirt. She looked up and noticed Michael
    staring at her. "Close your eyes."
    "Actually, I