The Mark of the Assassin

stepped out onto the
    sunlit patio, breathing the chill October air. The media droned on about
    his power, but even the jaded Washington press corps would be shocked by
    Paul Vandenberg's real influence. Most of his predecessors had believed
    it was their job to help the President arrive at decisions by making
    certain he saw the right people and read the right information.
    Vandenberg saw his job differently: He made the decisions and sold them
    to the President. Their meetings never strayed far from the script.
    Beckwith would listen intently, blink, nod, and scribble a few notes.
    Finally he would say, "What do you think we should do, Paul?" And
    Vandenberg would tell him. He hoped this morning would go the same way.
    Vandenberg would write the script and choreograph the scenes; the
    President would deliver the lines. If they were damned lucky, and if
    Beckwith didn't fuck it up, they just might get a second term.
    ELIZABETH OSBOURNE stood on the corner of 34th and M streets, dressed in
    a colorful warm-up and running shoes. It was still early, but traffic
    poured over Key Bridge into Georgetown. She bent over and stretched the
    back of her legs. A man in a passing car blew his horn and puckered his
    lips at her suggestively. Elizabeth ignored him, resisting the
    temptation to make an obscene gesture of her own. Carson arrived first,
    scampering down the short hill from Prospect Street. Susanna arrived a
    moment later. They waited for the light to change, jogging lightly in
    place, then headed down to the C&O Canal. They crossed the canal over a
    narrow wooden footbridge and started running along the tree-lined
    towpath. Carson trotted ahead of them, barking at birds, chasing a pair
    of terrified squirrels. "Where's Michael this morning?"
    "He had to get to work early," Elizabeth said. She hated lying to
    Susanna about Michael's work. They had met at Harvard Law and remained
    close friends over the years. They lived a few blocks apart, ran
    together, and saw each other regularly for dinner. Their relationship
    had grown closer after Susanna's divorce from Jack. He was a partner at
    Braxton, Allworth & Kettlemen, and Elizabeth found herself in the
    unenviable position of serving as unofficial mediator while the two
    disentangled their lives.
    "And how's Jack?" Susanna asked. Their conversations always got around
    to Jack at some point. Susanna had been madly in love with him, and
    Elizabeth suspected she loved him still. "Jack's fine."
    "Don't tell me he's fine. Tell me he's miserable."
    "All right, he's a lousy lawyer and a complete asshole. How's that?"
    "Much better. How's his little cookie?"
    "He brought her to an office cocktail party last week. You should have
    seen the dress. God, I'm jealous of that body, though. Braxton could
    barely keep his tongue in his mouth."
    "Did she look cheap? Tell me she looked cheap."
    "Very cheap."
    "Is Jack being faithful?"
    "Actually, the gossip mill says he's been having an affair with one of
    our new associates."
    "Wouldn't surprise me. I think Jack's physiologically incapable of
    fidelity. I give his marriage to the cookie three years at the most."
    The trees broke and they entered bright sunshine. Elizabeth removed her
    gloves and her headband and stuffed them in the pocket of her jacket. A
    mountain bike roared past them like a bullet. To their left, on the
    river, a Georgetown crew pulled gracefully upstream against the gentle
    current. "What happened yesterday at the doctor's?" Susanna asked,
    broaching the subject cautiously. Elizabeth told her everything; there
    were no secrets between them, only Michael and his work. "Does he think
    in vitro will work?"
    "He doesn't have the faintest idea. It's like throwing darts at a board.
    The more you learn about infertility treatment, the more you find out
    they really don't know too much."
    "How are you doing?"
    "I'm fine. I just want it over and done with. If we can't have children,
    I want to get it behind us and move on with our lives."
    They ran in silence for a few minutes. Carson came back, dragging a
    three-foot-long branch he had pulled from the trees. Susanna said, "I
    want to violate an unspoken rule of our friendship."
    "You want to ask me about a case our firm is handling?"
    "Not a case, really. A client. Mitchell Elliott."
    "He's Braxton's client. As a matter of fact, I'm having dinner with him
    tonight."
    "You are?"
    "Yes, he's in town. Braxton ordered me to attend."
    "I know he's in town because he had dinner