The Mark of the Assassin

you
    make me hunt you down like an animal, I'll kill her too."
    Michael said nothing, just listened to October's progress through the
    first level of the house. After a moment October said, "I remember that
    night in London too, Mr. Osbourne. I remember the sound of your screams
    along the river. She was a beautiful woman. You must have loved her very
    much. It was a pity she had to die. She was the first and only woman I
    ever killed, but I will not hesitate to kill your wife if you persist in
    this nonsense. Give yourself up, or she dies with you."
    Michael felt anger rising within him. Just hearing the man's voice after
    all these years filled him with horror. He tried to suppress it; he knew
    that was exactly the reaction October was trying to incite. If he lost
    his composure--if he acted with emotion instead of intelligence--he
    would die. He also knew October had no intention of allowing Elizabeth
    to live. "It must have hurt very badly to lose your lover like that,
    shot down like a dog, right before your eyes," October said. "I heard
    they had to pull you from the field. Send you back to headquarters. I
    heard it ruined you. Just think how you'll feel if I kill another one of
    your women. You won't want to live after that, I assure you. So just
    give yourself up, Mr. Osbourne. Make it easy for both of us."
    Michael heard a scream from the guest cottage: Elizabeth's scream.
    "Sounds like things are getting interesting outside, Mr. Osbourne. Pick
    up the telephone, call the cottage. Tell your wife to give herself up,
    and she won't be harmed. You have my word on that."
    Michael walked across the room and pressed the TALK button on the
    intercom. Very calmly he said, "Your word means nothing to me, Nicolai
    Mikhailovich."
    "What did you call me?" October yelled back, after a moment's
    hesitation. "I called you Nicolai Mikhailovich. It's your real name, or
    did the wonderful people of the KGB keep that information from you?
    Nicolai Mikhailovich Voronstov. Your father was General Mikhail
    Voronstov, head of the First Chief Directorate of the KGB. You were his
    bastard child. Your mother was his mistress. As soon as you were old
    enough, your father gave you to the KGB to raise. Your mother ended up
    in the gulag. Would you like me to continue, Nicolai Mikhailovich?"
    Michael released the button and waited for October's reaction. He heard
    a door being kicked open, a ceramic lamp crashing to the floor, the dull
    thump of a silenced weapon being discharged. Michael was getting to him.
    "Your teacher was a man you knew only as Vladimir. You treated him like
    a father. For all intents and purposes, he was your father. When you
    were sixteen you were infiltrated into the West through Czechoslovakia.
    You were ordered to kill your escorts. One of them was a woman, which
    makes you a liar as well as a murderer. You buried yourself in the West.
    Ten years later, when you were a man, you started killing. I could name
    most of your victims if you'd like, Nicolai Mikhailovich."
    Michael heard a window shatter and more rounds embedding themselves in
    the wall. He heard an empty cartridge fall to the floor and a fresh one
    rammed into place. Then he heard sirens a long way off and another
    scream from the cottage. He pressed the intercom again and said, "Who
    hired you?"
    More shots. "Who hired you, goddammit? Answer me!"
    "I don't know who hired me!"
    "You're lying. Your entire life is a lie."
    "Shut up!"
    "You're trapped here. You'll never get off this island alive."
    "Neither will you, and neither will your wife."
    "Astrid's been gone a long time. I wonder what's keeping her."
    "Call the cottage. Tell your wife to give herself up." Michael set down
    his cellular telephone and picked up the receiver of the regular
    hard-line phone. He heard October pick up an extension. The telephone
    rang once and Elizabeth answered, breathless. "Michael! My God, she's
    dead. I killed her. I shot her with an arrow. Michael, God, I don't want
    to be here with her. Oh, Michael, it's horrible. Please, I don't want to
    stay here with her."
    "Go to the dock. Take the dinghy out to the Alexandra. Wait there until
    the police arrive."
    "Michael, what are you--"
    "Just do what I say. Go to the Alexandra! Now."
    ELIZABETH SET DOWN THE TELEPHONE and walked to the window. She had known
    Michael more than ten years. He had sailed on the boat countless times
    with her father. He knew it was called the Athena, not the Alexandra. It
    was possible he