The Mark of the Assassin (43 page)
“Okay, be careful.”
“Thank you for stopping, gentlemen.”
Delaroche waited for the soldiers to vanish from sight. He took hold of the bike by the handlebars and brought it upright. He was angry and excited. He had never blown an assassination, and he was angry with himself for not reacting better. Osbourne had proven himself a worthier opponent than Delaroche expected. His dash toward Delaroche demonstrated both bravery and cunning. His second decision, to escape rather than fight, also demonstrated intelligence, for Delaroche surely would have killed him.
That was why Delaroche was excited. Most of his victims never knew what hit them. He appeared unexpectedly and killed without warning. Most of the time his work was less than challenging. Obviously, that would not be the case with Osbourne. Delaroche had lost the element of surprise. Osbourne was aware of his presence, and he would never allow Delaroche to get near him again. Delaroche would have to bring Osbourne to him.
Delaroche remembered the night on the Chelsea Embankment. He remembered shooting the woman named Sarah Randolph three times in the face and hearing the anguished screams of Michael Osbourne as he slipped away. A man who lost a woman in that manner would do almost anything to prevent it from happening again.
He mounted the bicycle and pedaled north toward Key Bridge. He dialed Astrid’s number. She answered on the first ring. Delaroche calmly told her what to do as he cycled over the bridge toward Georgetown.
Michael reached the shoulder of the George Washington Parkway. At midday there was little traffic. He crossed the parkway and ran up another hillside. The glass and steel office buildings of the Rosslyn section of Arlington stood before him. He found a public telephone outside a convenience store and rapidly dialed his own number.
Max Lewis answered the phone.
“Get me Elizabeth, now!”
She came on the line a few seconds later. “Michael, what’s wrong?”
“They’re here, Elizabeth,” Michael said, gasping for air. “October just tried to kill me on the Mount Vernon Trail. Now, listen very carefully and do exactly as I say.”
45
WASHINGTON, D.C
Elizabeth rushed into Michael’s study and threw open the closet door. The briefcase was on the top shelf, a brown rectangular box so ugly it could only have been created by the Agency’s Office of Technical Services. The shelf was beyond her reach, so she ripped Michael’s chair away from his desk and rolled it into the closet. She stood on the chair and pulled down the briefcase.
Max was in the bedroom. Elizabeth sat at the foot of the bed, pulled on a pair of brown suede cowboy boots and then went to the closet and put on a thigh-length leather jacket. For some reason she looked at her face in the mirror and ran a hand through her uncombed hair.
Max looked at her. “Elizabeth, dammit! What the hell’s going on?”
Elizabeth forced herself to be calm. “I can’t explain everything now, Max, but a man just tried to kill Michael while he was running. Michael thinks that man is coming here, and he wants us to get out now.”
Max looked at the briefcase. “What the hell is that?”
“It’s called a jib,” she said. “I’ll explain in a few minutes. But right now I need you to help me.”
“I’ll do anything, Elizabeth, you know that.”
“Now, listen to me carefully, Max,” she said, taking his hand. “We’re going to walk out the front door very slowly, very calmly, and we’re going to get in my car.”
Two minutes after hanging up with Delaroche, Astrid Vogel saw the front door of the Osbournes’ house swing open and two figures emerge into the December sunlight. The first was Elizabeth Osbourne—Astrid recognized her photograph from Delaroche’s dossier—and the second was a white man of medium height and build. The woman carried a man’s attaché case, the man nothing. They climbed into a silver E-class Mercedes-Benz—the woman in the passenger seat, the man behind the wheel—and started the engine.
Astrid considered what to do. Delaroche had told her to wait for him to return; then they would enter the house and take the woman hostage. She couldn’t allow the woman to escape. She decided to follow them and tell Delaroche where they were going.
The Mercedes pulled away from the curb and entered the quiet street. Astrid started the engine of the Rover and followed them. She punched in Delaroche’s number and quickly brought him up to date.
“He’s here!” Michael yelled into the phone.
“Who’s here?” Adrian Carter said.
“October’s here. He just tried to kill me on the Mount Vernon Trail.”
“Are you sure?”
“Adrian, what kind of fucking question is that? Of course I’m sure!”
“Where are you?”
“Rosslyn.”
“Give me the address. I’ll send a team to collect you.”
Michael looked for a street sign and gave Carter his location.
“Where’s Elizabeth? I’ll pick her up too.”
“She was at the house, but I told her to get out.”
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because October and Astrid Vogel have been working as a pair throughout this thing. She’s probably here too. If I didn’t get Elizabeth out of there, Vogel would have gone in and grabbed her. I’m sure of it.”
“What’s your plan?”
Michael told him.
“Jesus Christ! Who’s the driver?”
“Her secretary. Kid named Max Lewis.”
“Goddammit, Michael. Do you know what October’s going to do to that guy when he finds out?”
“Shut up, Adrian. Just hurry up and bring me in.”
Elizabeth pulled down her sun visor and glanced into the vanity mirror as they headed south on Wisconsin Avenue. The black Range Rover was there, a woman behind the wheel, talking on a cellular telephone.
Max said, “Who are we running from?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“At this point I’d believe just about anything.”
“Her name is Astrid Vogel, and she’s a terrorist from the Red Army Faction.”
“Jesus Christ!”
“Make a left, and drive normally.”
Max made a left onto M Street. At 31st Street the light changed from green to yellow when he was fifty feet from the intersection.
Elizabeth said, “Go through it.”
Max punched the accelerator. The Mercedes responded, dropping down a gear and gaining speed rapidly. They swept through the intersection to the angry blare of horns. Elizabeth glanced at the mirror and saw that the Range Rover was still there.
“Shit!”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Just keep driving.”
At 28th Street, Max had no choice but to stop at a red light. The Range Rover pulled directly behind them. Elizabeth watched the woman in the vanity mirror, and Max did the same in the rearview mirror.
“Who do you think she’s talking to?”
“She’s talking to her partner.”
“Is her partner Red Army Faction too?”
“No, he’s a former KGB assassin code-named October.”
The light turned green. Max pressed the accelerator so hard the tires squealed on the pavement.
“Elizabeth, the next time you ask me to come to your house to work, I think I’ll decline, if that’s all right with you.”
“Shut up and drive, Max.”
“Where?”
“Downtown.”
Max headed east on L Street, the Range Rover shadowing them. Elizabeth toyed with the handle of the briefcase. She remembered Michael’s words.
Get out of the car, then throw the latch. Make sure the case is right side up. Walk calmly away. Whatever you do, don’t run.
The traffic thickened as they moved deeper into downtown Washington.
Get out of the car, then throw the latch. Make sure the case is right side up. Walk calmly away. Whatever you do, don’t run.
The traffic thickened as they moved deeper into downtown Washington.
“You sure that thing is going to work?” Max asked.
“How the hell should I know?”
“Maybe it’s been in the closet too long. See if it has an expiration date on it or something.”
Elizabeth looked at him and saw he was smiling.
“It’s going to be all right, Elizabeth. Don’t worry.”
He turned right on Connecticut Avenue. The midday traffic was heavy, cars rushing at high speed along the broad street, big trucks double-parked outside the exclusive shops. A half-dozen cars had slipped between them and Astrid Vogel.
Elizabeth said, “I think this is our spot. Make the right onto K Street. Use the service lane.”
“Got it.”
He punched the accelerator and turned the wheel hard to the right.
Astrid said to Delaroche, “They just made a right on K Street. Dammit, I can’t see them!”
She made the turn and spotted the Mercedes slipping from the service lane into the heavy traffic on K Street.
“I have them. They’re heading west on K Street. Where are you?”
“Twenty-third Street, heading south. We’re very close.”
Astrid followed the Mercedes westward, across 20th Street and then 21st Street.
“I’m getting close, Jean-Paul. Where are you?”
“M Street. Wait for me at Twenty-third.”
She crossed 23rd Street and stopped on the northwest corner. The Mercedes drew away. She looked north on 23rd Street and saw Delaroche pedaling at high speed, legs churning like pistons. He stopped, leaned the bike against a lamppost, and climbed into the Range Rover.
“Go!”
Elizabeth settled into the back of a taxi for the ride to the Hertz rental car outlet. Michael’s gadget had worked just the way he said it would. Max stopped the car; Elizabeth climbed out and pulled the latch. A figure rapidly inflated, amazingly lifelike. Max drove quickly away, and Elizabeth walked into the lobby of her building. She was tempted to walk upstairs and hide in her office, but she remembered the janitor with the expensive haircut and Special Forces ring and knew her office was no longer safe. She waited behind the glass until the Range Rover sped past, and then she stepped out and flagged down the taxi.
The taxi dropped her outside the Hertz outlet. She walked quickly inside and went to the rental counter. Five minutes later an attendant brought a gray Mercury Sable to the front of the garage. Elizabeth climbed in and pulled out into the downtown traffic.
She drove west across Washington through Georgetown, then onto Reservoir Road. She took Reservoir down to Canal Road and followed it north along the banks of the C&O Canal. After ten miles she came to the Beltway. She followed the signs north to Baltimore.
Her purse rested next to her on the passenger seat. She pulled out her cell phone and dialed the Mercedes. After five rings a recorded voice informed her that the cellular phone she was trying to reach “was not in service at this time.”
Max Lewis drove across Key Bridge and turned north onto the George Washington Parkway. He had lost the Range Rover somewhere in Georgetown. He looked across at the figure seated next to him, a tall rather attractive man with dark hair and a clean shave. He realized the figure looked something like Michael Osbourne. He glanced up into the rearview mirror. Still no sign of the Range Rover. For a mad instant he was actually enjoying himself. Then he thought of Elizabeth and how frightened she had been, and he regained a healthy dose of nerves.
Elizabeth had told him to drive straight to the main entrance of the CIA. Someone would meet him there and take him inside. He pressed down on the accelerator, and the speedometer needle jumped to seventy-five. The Mercedes flowed easily over the rolling hills and gentle turns of the parkway. The Potomac sparkled below in the brilliant December sunlight.
Max looked at the mannequin again. “Listen, Mr. Jib, since we’re going to be spending some time together, I think now would be a good opportunity to get to know more about each other. My name is Max and, yes, I’m gay. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”
He looked into the rearview mirror and saw the flashing blue light of a Virginia state trooper. He looked at the speedometer and saw he was driving nearly eighty miles per hour.
“Oh, shit,” Max said, gently pressing the brake and pulling into a scenic river overlook.
The trooper climbed out of the car and put on his hat. Max lowered the window. The trooper said, “You were driving well over seventy back there, sir, and probably closer to eighty. May I see your driver’s license please.” Then he noticed the inflatable figure on the passenger seat. “What’s that, sir?”
“It’s a very long story, Officer.”
“Your driver’s license, please.”
Max beat the breast pockets of his coat. He had rushed out of the Osbournes’ house so quickly he had forgotten his briefcase and his wallet. He said, “I’m sorry, Officer, but I don’t have my license on me.”
“Shut off the engine and step out of the car, please,” the officer said in a dull monotone, but at that moment he was distracted by the sight of a black Range Rover pulling into the overlook.
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