The Mark of the Assassin

was thinking about locking the door."
    "Animal."
    "Thank you."
    Elizabeth finished undressing, slipped into the gown, and sat down on
    the examination table. Michael was fooling with the knobs of the
    sonogram machine. "Would you knock that off?."
    "Sorry, just a little nervous."
    The doctor came into the room. He reminded Michael of Carter: sleepy,
    disheveled, a look of perpetual boredom on his face. He wrinkled his
    face as he read Elizabeth's chart, as though torn between the mahi mahi
    and the grilled salmon. "The beta count looks very good," he said. "In
    fact, it's a little high. Why don't we have a look with the sonogram."
    He raised Elizabeth's gown and covered her abdomen with a lubricating
    jelly. Then he pressed the wand of the sonogram against her skin and
    began moving it back and forth. "There it is," he said, smiling for the
    first time. "That, ladies and gentlemen, is a very nice-looking egg
    sac."
    Elizabeth was beaming. She reached out for Michael and grasped his hand
    tightly. The doctor manipulated the wand for another moment. "And here
    is a second very nice-looking egg sac."
    Michael said, "Oh, God."
    The doctor shut down the machine. "Get dressed and meet me in my office.
    We need to talk about a few things. And by the way, congratulations."
    "AT LEAST WE WON'T NEED to buy a bigger house," Michael said, trailing
    Elizabeth upstairs to the bedroom. "I always thought a six-bedroom
    Georgetown Federal was too big for just the two of US."
    "Michael, stop talking like that. I'm forty years old. I'm beyond high
    risk. A lot of things could go wrong." She lay down on the bed. "I'm
    starving."
    Michael lay beside her. "I can't get the image of you covered with
    lubricant out of my mind."
    She kissed him. "Go away. You heard the doctor. I need to stay off my
    feet and rest for a few days. I'm at my most vulnerable right now."
    He kissed her again. "I won't argue with that."
    "Go downstairs and make me a sandwich."
    He climbed off the bed and went down to the kitchen. He made Elizabeth a
    sandwich of turkey and Swiss cheese and poured her a glass of orange
    juice. He placed the sandwich and drink on a tray and carried it
    upstairs to her. "I think I could get used to this." She took a bite of
    the sandwich. "How was it at work today?"
    "I've obviously been declared an untouchable."
    "That bad?"
    "Worse."
    "Who gave you that?" she asked, gesturing at the giftwrapped box.
    "Carter."
    "Aren't you going to open it?"
    "I thought I could live without another set of Cross pens."
    "Gimme," she said, tearing at the wrapping while she chewed an enormous
    bite of the sandwich. Beneath the wrapping paper was a rectangular box,
    and inside the box was a sheath of documents stamped MOST SECRET.
    Elizabeth said, "Michael, I think you need to take a look at this."
    She thrust it at Michael, and he flipped through the pages quickly.
    "What is it?"
    He looked up at her. "It's the CIA case file on a KGB assassin
    code-named October."
    CHAPTER 36.
    The U.S.-Canadian Border.
    DELAROCHE WAITED for first light. He had found a secluded spot in the
    woods, well off the highway south of Montreal, about three miles from
    the border. Astrid slept next to him in the back of the Range Rover
    beneath a heavy woolen blanket, body hunched against the cold. She had
    begged Delaroche to run the heater from time to time, but he refused
    because he wanted silence. He touched her hands as she slept. They were
    like ice.
    At six-thirty he rose, poured coffee from a thermos flask, and made a
    large bowl of oatmeal. Astrid came out ten minutes later, swaddled in a
    down parka and fleece hat. "Give me some of that coffee, Jean-Paul," she
    said, taking the oatmeal and finishing the rest. Delaroche placed their
    supplies into a pair of small backpacks. He gave the lighter one to
    Astrid and shouldered the other himself. He placed the Beretta in the
    front waistband of his trousers. He quickly went through the vehicle
    from end to end to make certain they had left nothing that might
    identify them. The Range Rover would be left behind; another was
    supposed to be waiting on the American side of the border. They walked
    for an hour through the mountain ridges above Lake Champlain. They could
    have made the crossing by staying to the frozen lakeshore, but Delaroche
    deemed it too exposed. Two pairs of snowshoes had been left in the Range
    Rover, but Delaroche thought it was best to use only hiking boots since
    the ground lay beneath only a few