The Mark of the Assassin

through Awad's chest and embedded themselves in
    Michael's bulletproof vest. Awad collapsed onto the deck. Michael
    reached inside his coat for the Browning, but the Palestinian girl was
    ready first, gun leveled in outstretched hands, feet apart. She fired
    twice quickly, blowing the hooded gunman off his feet. Awad lay on the
    deck, glaring at Michael, blood in his mouth. He held up his right hand,
    showing Michael the bomb trigger. Michael dived through a doorway into
    the passenger-lounge. Graham Seymour was there, weapon drawn. Michael
    grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to the floor as the bomb
    exploded and glass shattered overhead. For a few seconds there was
    almost complete silence; then the wounded began to moan and scream.
    Michael scrambled to his feet, shoes slipping on shattered glass, and
    charged onto the deck. The force of the explosion had obliterated Awad.
    Odette, the Palestinian girl, lay on the deck, blood streaming from a
    head wound. The hooded gunman must have been wearing a vest because he
    had managed to jump over the rail, and the motor yacht was making its
    way toward him. One man stood on the flying bridge, two on the aft deck.
    Michael raised his Browning and opened fire on the craft. The two men on
    the aft deck produced automatic weapons and returned fire. Michael dived
    for cover. Odette had pulled herself upright and was sitting with her
    back to the rail. She held a gun in her outstretched hand, leveled at
    Michael, her face very calm. Michael rolled away as she squeezed off the
    first shot. The round struck the deck, missing him. She fired twice more
    as Michael scrambled helplessly for cover. Suddenly, her body shuddered
    violently and she slumped forward. Graham Seymour stepped out onto the
    deck, gun in hand, and knelt down beside her. He looked at Michael and
    shook his head.
    Michael got to his feet and ran to the rail. The motor yacht was idling
    in the choppy seas. The two men aft were pulling the gunman from the
    sea. Michael raised his gun, but it was an impossible shot; the ferry's
    forward progress had carried it about a hundred yards past the
    stationary yacht. When the gunman was safely on board, the yacht turned
    away and disappeared behind a curtain of fog.
    CHAPTER 26.
    New York.
    THE IN VITRO FERTILIZATION PROGRAM at Cornell Medical Center had an
    assembly-line quality that reminded Elizabeth of the criminal courts in
    any big city. She sat on the scratched wooden bench in the hall outside
    the procedure room, surrounded by other patients, as technicians moved
    silently about, gowned and masked. Only Elizabeth was alone. The other
    four women had husbands clutching their hands, and they eyed Elizabeth
    as if she were some spinster who had decided to have a child with the
    borrowed sperm of her best friend's husband. She consciously held her
    left hand beneath her chin to reveal her wedding band and two-carat
    diamond engagement ring. She wondered what the other women were
    thinking. Was her husband late? Was she recently separated?
    Was he too busy to be with her at a time like this? Elizabeth felt her
    eyes begin to tear. She was using every ounce of self-control in her
    possession to keep from crying. The double doors of the procedure room
    opened. Two technicians wheeled out a sedated woman on a gurney. Another
    was wheeled inside from the changing room nearby to take her place on
    the table. Her husband was dispatched to a small dark room with plastic
    cups and Playboy magazines. A small television hung on the wall,
    silently tuned to CNN. The screen showed a live shot of a smoking ferry
    in the English Channel. No, Elizabeth thought, it's not possible. She
    stood up, walked over to the television, and increased the volume." ...
    Seven people killed ... Appears to be the work of the Islamic terror
    group known as the Sword of Gaza ... Second attack in two days ...
    Believed responsible for yesterday's deadly terror attack at London's
    Heathrow Airport "
    She thought, My God, this can't be happening!
    She went back to her spot on the bench and dug inside her handbag for
    her cell phone and her telephone book. Michael had given her a special
    number to be used only in extreme emergencies. She tore through the
    pages, feeling the stares of the other patients, and found the number.
    She dialed, punching the keypad of the phone violently, as she walked to
    a private spot on the stairwell. After one ring a calm male voice said,
    "May I help you?"
    "My name is