The Mark of the Assassin

from his hand and clattered along the dock. Michael
    fell onto his back. His right arm went numb; then he felt an intense,
    searing pain in his chest. The rain beat down on his face. Tree limbs
    twisted in the wind, and in his dementia Michael thought they were giant
    hands clawing at his body. He drifted toward unconsciousness.
    He saw Sarah walking toward him on the Chelsea Embankment, her long
    skirt dancing across buckskin boots. He saw her exploded face. He heard
    Elizabeth's voice, calling from a long way off, incomprehensible.
    Finally, it cut through the fog of shock. "Michael! He's coming.
    Michael, please, God! Michael!"
    Michael lifted his head and saw October slowly advancing toward him. The
    Browning lay on the dock, a few feet away. Michael tried to reach out
    with his right hand, but it would not obey his command to move. He
    rolled onto his right side and reached out with his left hand. He felt
    the cold metal of the Browning, the butt slick with rain. He grabbed
    hold of it, slipped his finger in the trigger guard, and fired down the
    dock.
    DELAROCHE SAW THE MUZZLE FLASH of Osbourne's gun. He raised his Beretta
    as the first series of shots whizzed harmlessly past and took aim at
    Osbourne's prone body. He took a step closer. He wanted to shoot him in
    the face. He wanted to avenge Astrid's death. He wanted to leave his
    mark. Osbourne fired again. This time a bullet ripped through
    De-laroche's right hand, shattering bone. The Beretta tumbled from his
    grasp and fell into the swirling water below the dock. He looked down
    and saw fragmented bone jutting from the ugly exit wound on the back of
    his hand. He wanted to kill Osbourne with his one good hand--break his
    neck or crush his windpipe--but Osbourne still had his gun, and the
    police had entered the grounds. He turned, ran quickly down the dock,
    and leaped into the dinghy. He pulled the starter cord four times until
    the little out board motor turned over. He untied the line and guided
    the boat away from the dock into Shelter Island Sound. Cannon Point was
    ablaze with flashing lights. Sirens filled the air. Above it all,
    Delaroche heard one thing the screams of Elizabeth Osbourne, begging her
    husband not to die.
    CHAPTER 47.
    London.
    "IS OSBOURNE GOING TO LIVE?" the Director asked, from the library of his
    home in St. John's Wood. "His condition stabilized this evening,"
    Mitchell Elliott said. "There was some additional bleeding around
    midday, so the surgeons had to go back in. Unfortunately, it looks as
    though he's going to survive."
    "Where is he?"
    "Officially, his location is secret. My source in Langley confirms
    Osbourne is in the intensive care unit at Stonybrook Hospital on Long
    Island."
    "I hope you realize Osbourne is untouchable at this point. For the
    moment, at least."
    "Yes, I realize that, Director."
    "He's survived two attempts on his life. Under no circumstances is there
    to be a third."
    "Of course, Director."
    "He is a very worthy opponent, our Mr. Osbourne. I have to say I admire
    him very much. I wish there were some way to entice him into working for
    me."
    "He's a Boy Scout, Director, and Boy Scouts don't fit well into your
    organization."
    "I suppose you're right."
    "What's the status of October?" Elliott asked. "I'm afraid he received a
    rather rude welcome from the extraction team."
    "And the advance payments we made to his Swiss bank account?"
    "All gone, I'm afraid. It seems October transferred the money from the
    account as quickly as it came in."
    "That's a pity."
    "Yes, but surely a man of your means isn't worried about a little loose
    change like that."
    "Of course not, Director."
    "There's still one target to be dealt with."
    "I've already set those wheels in motion."
    "Excellent. Do it skillfully, though. There's a great deal at stake."
    "It will be done very skillfully."
    "Mr. Elliott, I know I don't need to remind you that your first duty at
    this point is to protect the Society at all costs. You must do nothing
    that would place the Society in any harm whatsoever. I know I'll have
    your cooperation on that matter."
    "Of course, Director."
    "Very well. It's been a pleasure doing business with you. I only hope it
    wasn't all for naught. It's going to take all your considerable skills
    to ensure the survival of your missile defense contract."
    "I'm confident that goal can be accomplished."
    "Wonderful. Good night, Mr. Elliott."
    "Good night, Director."
    The Director replaced the receiver in its