The Mark of the Assassin

reelection campaign to
    deal with the responsibilities of his office. James Beckwith, leader. He
    looked at his reflection in the mirror one last time. Great men are not
    born great. Great men become great because they seize opportunity.
    CHAPTER 3.
    Washington, ELIZABETH OSBOURNE had been dreading this moment all week.
    She turned her silver Mercedes into the parking lot at Georgetown
    University Medical Center and found a space not far from the entrance.
    She looked at the dashboard clock. It was four-thirty; she was fifteen
    minutes early. She shut off the engine. A tropical storm had moved up
    from the Gulf of Mexico and settled over the city. Heavy rains fell all
    afternoon. Gusty winds uprooted trees all across Northwest Washington,
    shut down National Airport, and drove the tourists from the monuments
    and museums along the Mall. Rain drummed on the roof and ran in rivers
    down the windshield. After a moment, the rest of the world vanished
    behind a blurry curtain of water. Elizabeth liked the sensation of being
    able to see nothing else around her. She closed her eyes. She liked to
    fantasize about changing her life, about slowing down, about leaving
    Washington and settling somewhere slow and quiet with Michael.
    She knew it was a silly, unrealistic dream. Elizabeth Osbourne was one
    of Washington's most respected lawyers. Her husband, while professing to
    be an international business consultant, was a senior officer at the
    Central Intelligence Agency. Her cellular phone rang softly. She picked
    up the handset, eyes still closed, and said, "Yes, Max."
    Max Lewis was her twenty-six-year-old executive secretary. The previous
    night, sitting alone in her bedroom with a glass of wine and a stack of
    legal briefs, Elizabeth had realized she spoke to Max more than anyone
    else in the world. This depressed her greatly. "How did you know it was
    me?" he asked. "Because you and my husband are the only people who have
    this number, and I knew it couldn't be him."
    "You sound disappointed."
    "No, just a little tired. What's up?"
    "David Carpenter's on the line from Miami."
    "Tell Mr. Carpenter I'll call him as soon as I get home. It's been my
    experience that conversations with David Carpenter should rarely be
    conducted on cellular telephones."
    "He says it's urgent."
    "It usually is."
    "What time should I tell him to expect your call?"
    "About seven o'clock, but it may slip a little bit depending on how
    things go here."
    "Braxton's secretary telephoned."
    Samuel Braxton was the managing partner at Braxton, All-worth &
    Kettlemen and the firm's biggest rainmaker. He had served two Republican
    administrations--once as deputy White House chief of staff and once as
    deputy secretary of the Treasury--and was on the short list to be
    secretary of state if Beckwith managed to win a second term. He viewed
    Elizabeth with suspicion because he didn't like her politics; her father
    was Douglas Cannon, a liberal Democrat from New York who served four
    terms in the Senate, and she had twice left the firm to work for
    Democratic senators. Braxton routinely referred to her as "our in-house
    lefty." At meetings, when working his way around the table on an issue,
    he frequently managed to break up the room by turning to Elizabeth and
    saying, "And now, with the view from the ACLU, Elizabeth
    Cannon-Osbourne."
    There was a more serious side to her conflict with Samuel Braxton; he
    had fought to prevent her from making partner and had relented only when
    the other partners convinced him he would be setting the firm up for a
    gender-discrimination lawsuit. Now, three years later, their
    relationship had settled into an uneasy truce. Braxton generally treated
    her with respect and made a genuine effort to consult her on all major
    decisions concerning the future and direction of the firm. He regularly
    invited her to social functions, and last year, at the White House
    Christmas party, he referred to her as "one of our real stars" when
    introducing her to Chief of Staff Paul Vandenberg. "What does Lord
    Braxton desire, Max?"
    Max laughed. She would trust him with her life. It was mutual. Six
    months earlier Max had told her something he had told no one else--he
    was HIV-positive. "The Lord would like you to attend a dinner party
    Thursday evening."
    "Is it being held at the manor?"
    "No, one of his big clients is throwing it. The Lord's secretary made it
    sound as if attendance was not optional."
    "Who's the client?"
    "Mitchell