The Mark of the Assassin

BEEN TOO LONG in checking in. Usually, each man gave
    continuous updates of his progress by radio. Cooper had checked in from
    the west guest cottage and from the back of the main house, but Jacobs
    had not heard from him since he started toward the bulkhead and the
    beach. Jacobs snatched up his radio and tried to raise Cooper, but there
    was no response. He was about to get out and go look for him when he
    heard the passenger door open. He turned and said, "What the hell
    happened to you?"
    Then he looked at the face: short-cropped hair, very pale skin, two
    pierced ears. Jacobs didn't even attempt to go for his gun, just said
    softly, "Oh, Jesus Christ."
    Delaroche raised his Beretta and shot him three times in the face. Then
    he reached across the seat and took the radio from the dead man's hand.
    ASTRID STAYED in the trees. Delaroche climbed out of the car and softly
    closed the door. They retraced their route along the eastern boundary of
    the property, keeping to the trees once more. Delaroche ejected his
    half-spent ammunition clip and inserted a full one. There were two
    entrances to the main house, a front door overlooking the gravel drive
    and a large screened porch overlooking the water. Delaroche planned to
    use the rear entrance. The trees twisted in a gust of sea wind.
    Delaroche used the loud rushing noise to cover the sound of their
    approach. He took Astrid's hand and hurried through the treacherous
    ground between the trees. They passed behind the cottage, where a porch
    light burned. Delaroche considered entering the cottage and killing the
    occupants. But there had been no activity on the grounds, no sign that
    their presence had been noticed, so he passed behind the cottage and
    started across the rear lawn. A dog barked, then another. He turned and
    saw a pair of large golden retrievers running toward them. He chambered
    the first round in his Beretta and raised the gun at the advancing dogs.
    THE DOGS awakened Michael. His eyes opened wide, and he was suddenly
    alert. He heard the first dog, then the second. Then both fell silent.
    He sat up in bed and swung his feet to the floor. On his bedside table
    were the Browning automatic, a portable radio, and a multiple-line
    telephone. He snatched up the radio and said, "This is Osbourne. Anyone
    there?"
    Elizabeth stirred. "This is Osbourne. Is anyone there? I heard dogs
    barking."
    The radio crackled and a voice said, "The dogs are fine, sir. No
    problem."
    Osbourne set down the radio, picked up the telephone, and dialed the
    number in the caretaker's cottage. He let the phone ring five times
    before slamming the receiver back into place. Elizabeth sat up in bed.
    Osbourne quickly dialed a special emergency number at Langley. A calm
    voice answered.
    "This is Osbourne. Shelter Island security detail is off the air. Call
    the local police and get some more men out here now. Move it."
    He hung up the phone. Elizabeth said, "Michael, what's wrong?"
    "He's here," Osbourne said. "He's killed the security team and he's got
    their radio. I just spoke to the bastard. Get some warm clothes on.
    Hurry, Elizabeth."
    CHARLIE GIBBONS HAD BEEN THE CARETAKER at Cannon Point for twenty years.
    He was born and raised on Shelter Island and could trace his ancestry to
    the whalers who worked from Greenport three centuries earlier. He lived
    only ninety miles from New York City but had been there just once.
    Charlie could hear the telephone ringing in his cottage as he walked
    across the lawn in his bathrobe, shotgun in one hand, flashlight in the
    other. He spotted the dogs a moment later and ran clumsily toward them.
    He knelt beside the first and saw his yellow coat was soaked with blood.
    He turned the beam of his flashlight on the second and saw it was in the
    same condition. He rose and shone his flashlight toward the bulkhead. He
    played the beam back and forth for a few seconds and spotted something
    bright blue. The security men had been wearing blue waterproof jackets.
    He ran toward the fallen figure and knelt beside him. It was the man
    named Matt Cooper, and he was clearly dead. He had to wake Michael and
    Elizabeth. He had to telephone the Shelter Island police. He had to get
    help quickly. He got to his feet and turned to run back to the cottage.
    A tall blond woman stepped from behind a tree, a gun in outstretched
    hands. He saw the muzzle flash but heard no sound. The rounds tore
    through his chest. He felt an excruciating pain, saw a flash