The Mark of the Assassin

system. Graham had a perfect ear and probably could have
    been a concert pianist if the service hadn't got their hooks into him.
    His talent had atrophied over the years, like an unspoken second
    language. He tinkered on his Steinway grand once or twice a week, while
    Helen murdered his dinner, and he listened to other men play music.
    Michael could hear a witness describing the blue-suited traveler who
    killed one terrorist and subdued another.
    "I need to phone Elizabeth, and I didn't want half of London Station
    listening in. Mind if I use your telephone?"
    Graham pointed to the telephone on the coffee table. Michael said, "I
    need something a little more private. She's not going to like what I'm
    about to tell her."
    "Bedroom's down the hall."
    MICHAEL SAT DOWN on the edge of the bed, picked up the telephone, and
    dialed. Elizabeth answered on the first ring, voice agitated. "My God,
    Michael, where have you been? I've been worried sick."
    It was not the way he wanted the conversation to begin. His first
    instinct was to blame it on the Agency, but Elizabeth had long ago lost
    patience with excuses about the unique demands of his job. "Wheaton told
    me he'd talked to you. By the time I was able to get to a telephone,
    you'd already left for New York. Besides, I wanted to use an unmonitored
    phone."
    "Where are you now?"
    "With Helen and Graham."
    Elizabeth had spent a fair amount of time with the Sey-mours and liked
    them very much. Two years earlier, when Graham had come to Washington
    for some counterterrorism liaison work, the four of them had spent a
    long weekend together at the Shelter Island house. "Why aren't you on
    your way home? My extraction is scheduled for ten A.M. I need you to be
    here."
    "There are no more flights today. I won't be able to make it home in
    time."
    "Michael, you work for the Central Intelligence Agency. They can get a
    plane. Tell them the circumstances. I'm sure they'll be very
    understanding."
    "It's not that simple. Besides, it costs tens of thousands of dollars.
    They're not going to do that for me."
    Elizabeth exhaled heavily. Michael could hear the flick of her cheap
    lighter, and she stopped talking long enough to light another Benson &
    Hedges. "I've been watching CNN all day," she said, changing subjects
    abruptly. "They talked to some witnesses who said a passenger took down
    one of the terrorists and killed another with his own gun. The man they
    described sounded suspiciously like you."
    "What did Wheaton tell you?"
    "Oh, no, Michael, I'm not going to let you two get your story straight.
    What happened? The truth."
    Michael told her. "Jesus Christ! You couldn't just stay down and wait
    for it to end? You had to pull some stunt? Play hero and risk your
    life?"
    "I wasn't playing hero, Elizabeth. I reacted to a situation. I did what
    I was trained to do, and I probably saved a few lives as a result."
    "Well, congratulations. What would you like me to do?" Her voice
    trembled with emotion. "Stand up and lead the applause for nearly making
    me a widow?"
    "I didn't nearly make you a widow."
    "Michael, I had to listen to a stranger on television describe how one
    of the terrorists had a gun aimed at your head and how you were able to
    kill him before he killed you first. Don't lie to me."
    "It wasn't that dramatic."
    "So why did you kill him?"
    "Because I had no other choice." Michael hesitated. "And because he
    deserved to die. I've been pursuing people like him for twenty years,
    but I've never had a chance to see them in action. Today, I did. It was
    worse than I ever could have imagined."
    He was not playing for sympathy, but his words softened her anger.
    Elizabeth said, "God, I'm sorry. How are you, anyway?"
    "I'm fine. I nearly broke my hand punching him, and somewhere along the
    line I must have banged my knee because it hurts like hell. But
    otherwise I'm fine."
    "Serves you right," she said, then quickly added, "but I'll still kiss
    you all over when I see you tomorrow."
    Michael hesitated. Elizabeth, radar at full power, said, "You are coming
    home tomorrow, aren't you?"
    "Something's come up. I need to spend another day here."
    ""Something's come up." Come on, Michael, you can do better than that."
    "It's the truth. I wish I could tell you what it was, but I can't."
    "Why can't someone else do it, whatever it is?"
    "Because I'm the only one who can." Michael paused. "There's one thing I
    can tell you--the orders come directly from the President."
    "I don't give a