'So, if you want the lifestyle but not the wife, get somebody to kill her.'
He laughed. 'You Texans,' he said. 'I don't want to end up the subject of some TV movie-of-the-week.'
It occurred to her that Washington might make a nice change of scene, at the moment. She could rent a car and drive down. 'Oh, it can be done quite discreetly,' she said. 'I can arrange it.'
'What?'
'You'd be at a Security Council session, or someplace with a lot of witnesses. She'd be the victim of a burglary gone wrong, or something like that. No one would ever be able to connect you to it.'
'You can arrange it?'
'I'm a resourceful person. I was thinking of traveling to Washington, anyway. It would be my pleasure.'
'That sounded as if you wanted to do it yourself.'
'I have some experience at these things.'
'What sort of experience are you talking about?'
'I lied to you, Jeff. I'm not a Texas matron, I'm a professional assassin.'
Purdue laughed heartily. 'I'm not sure I can afford you,' he said.
'I'll work cheap. Tell you what: Allow me the use of your suite through the weekend, and she'll be dead by the middle of next week.'
'You sound serious,' he said.
'And you sound interested.'
He stopped eating. 'All right, I'm interested,' he said warily. 'Tell me why we wouldn't get caught.'
'Because you and I have no history together that could be discovered later, and because I have no motive to kill your wife. Also, when I leave New York for Washington, I'll no longer be Darlene King, but someone else, who will disappear the moment she's dead.'
He set down his plate. 'Ah, the stuff that dreams are made of,' he said wistfully.
'I imagine you'd be a very eligible man as a widower – handsome, well connected, and, finally, rich.'
'That's perfectly true. But, if you're what you say you are, why are you confiding in me? I could walk down the hall, rap on the door of the presidential suite, and tell the director about you. I'll bet he would be interested.'
'Oh, you couldn't do that, Jeff: You'd have too much to explain. You'd end up having to explain it to your wife, and she might react badly. You might find yourself living on your State Department salary. No, I'm perfectly safe confiding in you.'
'Convince me you're what you say you are,' he said.
Marie-Therese set her plate on the room-service cart and got out of bed. She walked over to where her purse rested on a chair, dug out her little silenced pistol, walked back to the bed, and pointed it at Purdue's head.
Purdue's face froze.
'Oh, relax,' she said, 'I'm not going to shoot you.'
'What kind of gun is that?' he asked, fascinated.
'An assassin's weapon. It was made by your very own CIA,' she said.
'And how did you come into possession of it?'
'By means too convoluted to explain.'
'If you shot my wife with that, could the gun be connected to other murders?'
'No, it could not. You'll have to trust me on that.'
'Well, I'll be damned,' he said.
'You think it over,' she replied. 'I'm going to have a shower.' She walked into the bathroom, taking her purse and the pistol with her.
Carpenter closed her phone. 'The NYPD has given up on La Biche's returning to the Carlyle suite, so they're going to concentrate on our local headquarters,' she said to the meeting, 'in the belief that she might watch the place again. They're stationing snipers on the rooftops nearby.'
'I don't see what else can be done,' the director said. 'My people are watching the airports, train and bus stations. We've circulated her description to the car rental agencies, too. What identity was she using at the Carlyle?'
'Mrs. Darlene King, of Dallas, Texas,' Carpenter replied. 'She's apparently stayed there before under that name.'
'I don't suppose she'd be so foolish as to use it again,' he said.
'I doubt it. She's abandoned the suite at the Carlyle, and I expect she has abandoned that identity for another.'
Mason leaned over. 'Look, if you don't need me anymore, I want to go back to the office and pick up some fresh clothes.'
'Go ahead, but watch yourself,' Carpenter said.
Marie-Therese checked herself out in the mirror. She looked very good in Mrs. Purdue's Armani pantsuit, she thought, and she felt clean and fresh in her underwear, too. She walked back to the bathroom, where Purdue was shaving.
He looked at her reflection in the mirror. 'Hey, you can't wear that,' he said. 'That's my wife's.'
'She's not going to be needing it, is she?'
He continued shaving. 'Let's drop this little game,' he said. 'You're no assassin, and my wife is not going anywhere. Now put on your own clothes and get out of here. You're a great fuck, but we're not going to be seeing each other again.'
His tone annoyed Marie-Therese, not to mention that he was talking with his back to her.
'Well, Jeff, I was going to do you a favor, but since you take that attitude, I think I'll do your wife one, instead.' She took the pistol from her purse and fired once into the back of his head. The soft-nosed bullet splattered his face all over the bathroom mirror.
She hung her dress carefully in the closet, so as to blend in with Mrs. Purdue's things, dropped her dirty underwear in the hamper, and walked out of the suite, closing the door behind her. The guard from the night before was still on duty. 'Good morning,' she said sweetly.
'Good morning, ma'am,' he replied, pushing the elevator button for her.
Another man came down the hall and stood with her, waiting for the elevator. When it arrived, they both got on.
'Good morning,' he drawled.
'Good morning,' she said, looking at him for the first time. 'Well, upon my word, if it isn't Mason!' She laughed aloud.
He squinted at her. 'How do you know that name? Have we met?'
'No,' she said, 'but your reputation precedes you.' She fumbled in her handbag, as if she were looking for her lipstick. When her hand was on the pistol, she pressed the emergency stop button on the elevator.
'What are you doing?' Mason demanded, then his face fell as he realized who she was.
'I'm getting off here,' she said, withdrawing the pistol from her bag. 'You're going all the way down.' She shot him twice, then stepped off the elevator, reached back inside, and released the car.
57
The meeting in the presidential suite was just breaking up, when an FBI agent walked quickly into the room and whispered something in the director's ear.
The director's eyebrows went up. 'You cannot be serious,' he said.
'I am perfectly serious,' the man replied.
The director turned to Carpenter. 'Your man, Mason, has just been found dead in the elevator, shot twice.'
Carpenter stood up; she wasn't sure why. Before she could say anything, her cell phone rang. Automatically, she answered it. 'Yes?'
'It's Stone. Dino and I have just arrived at the Waldorf. We'd like to meet with you and the director.'
