The Mark of the Assassin

to himself. The last thing she needed was more
    pressure. They arrived on the island and drove through the village of
    Shelter Island Heights, the streets dark, the shops tightly shuttered.
    It was late autumn, and the island had returned to its normal quiet
    state. The Cannon compound lay a mile outside the village on a finger of
    land overlooking the harbor on one side and Gardiners Bay on the other.
    As they pulled into the drive, Charlie came out of his cottage,
    flashlight in hand, retrievers at his heels. "The senator turned in
    early," he said. "He asked me to help you inside."
    "We're all right, Charlie," Elizabeth said. They kept clothing at the
    house so they could come up for weekends without bothering to bring
    luggage. "Get back inside before you freeze to death."
    "All right," he said. "Good night to both of you."
    They crept into the house quietly and walked upstairs to their large
    suite of rooms overlooking the harbor. Elizabeth opened the shades; she
    loved to wake up to the sight of the water and the purple-orange light
    of winter dawn.
    A PASSING SHOWER awakened them sometime after midnight. Elizabeth rolled
    over in the dark and kissed the back of Michael's neck. He stirred, and
    she responded by taking his hand and pulling him on top of her. She
    wriggled out of her flowered flannel nightgown. His warm body pressed
    against her breasts. "God, Michael, I wish I could have a baby with you
    like this."
    He entered her and her body rose to his. Elizabeth was surprised at how
    quickly she felt her body release. The orgasm washed over her in wave
    after wonderful wave. She held him tightly and began to laugh. "Be quiet
    or your father will wake up."
    "I bet you say that to all the girls."
    She laughed again. "What's so damned funny?"
    "Nothing, Michael. Nothing at all. I just love you very much."
    DOUGLAS CANNON LOVED to sail but hated taking the boat out in the
    summer. The waters of Gardiners Bay were jammed with big sloops,
    Sunfish, speedboats, and, worst of all, Jet Skis, which Cannon regarded
    as a sign the apocalypse was at hand. He had tried to have them barred
    from the waters around the island but failed, even after a ten-year-old
    girl was struck and killed off Upper Beach. Michael had hoped to spend a
    relaxing afternoon by the fire with a stack of newspapers, a book, and a
    good cabernet from Cannon's vast cellar. But at noon the rain ended and
    a weak sun shone through broken clouds.
    Cannon appeared, dressed in a heavy rag-wool sweater and oilskin coat.
    "Let's go, Michael."
    "Douglas, you've got to be kidding. It's forty degrees outside."
    "Perfect. Come on, you need some exercise."
    Michael looked to Elizabeth for help. She was stretched out on the
    couch, working over a stack of briefs. "Go with him, Michael. I don't
    want him out there alone."
    "Elizabeth!"
    "Oh, don't be such a whiner. Besides, Dad's right. You're getting a
    little soft. Come on, I'll see you boys off."
    And so twenty minutes later Michael found himself aboard Cannon's
    thirty-two-foot sloop Athena, bundled in a fleece pullover and woolen
    coat, pulling on a frozen jib line like some fabled Gloucester
    fisherman. Cannon barked orders from the wheel while Michael scrambled
    over the slick foredeck, readying the sails and securing lines in the
    twenty-mile-per-hour wind. He stubbed his toe on a cleat and nearly
    fell. He wondered how long he would survive in the frigid waters if he
    went overboard. He wondered whether the seventy-year-old Cannon could
    react quickly enough to save his life. He took one last look back at the
    house as wind filled Athena's sails and the hull rose from the water and
    heeled gently to starboard. On the lawn he could see Elizabeth with her
    bow and arrow, standing 150 feet from the target, drilling one
    bull's-eye after another.
    CANNON SET THE ATHENA on a broad reach across the bay. The boat heeled
    hard over to stern, flying across the surface of the gray-green water
    toward Gardiners Island. Michael sat on the windward side of the boat,
    hoping the sun would warm him. He struggled to light a cigarette,
    succeeding after two minutes of contorting his body against the wind.
    "Jesus Christ, Douglas, at least put her on a beam reach so we won't
    feel the wind so much."
    "I like it when she heels!" he said, shouting over the wind. Michael
    looked over the boat and saw water breaking over the bow gunwales.
    "Don't you think we should heel just a little less?"
    "No, this is perfect. She's