BILLY HAD JUST finished his breakfast when a movement on the Grosvenors’ terrace caught his eye. He trained the binoculars and saw a tall man in a good suit stride out onto the terrace. A maid came, handed him a newspaper, and spoke briefly with him.

Billy opened the briefcase containing the sniper’s rifle that he had built for himself. He assembled it, then unscrewed the head of a fat golf umbrella and shook out the thirty-six-inch barrel that he had made for longer shots. It took only a moment to screw it in place. He rolled the room service tray table into the hallway, put the DO NOT DISTURB sign out, and locked the door. He pulled a chair from the desk to the window, set up a short tripod, then screwed the silencer into the barrel and sat down.

He had not quite got set up when Barbara appeared on the terrace in a dressing gown.

—

BARBARA TOOK HER seat opposite Charles, who looked up and smiled at her. For some reason, it annoyed her; he was always smiling at her or kissing her forehead or patting her ass in a proprietary way. She had found all this charming at first, but it had palled as the marriage wore on.

“Busy day today?” Charles asked.

“A board meeting and lunch at the museum,” she said. “I may develop a cold, I haven’t decided.”

“How will they ever get on without you there?”

“How will they ever paper over the cracks in their budget without my checkbook at the ready? That’s all they care about—certainly not my opinion.”

—

BILLY USED THE telescopic sight, now. He checked a flag on top of her building and it hung slack. He got comfortable and set the rifle on the tripod. This was looking good.

He sighted, and discovered that at least three-quarters of Barbara was behind her husband; he waited for one of them to move.

—

BARBARA FINISHED her melon. “I’m going to take my coffee and paper to bed,” she said. “I’m more comfortable there.” She got up and walked into the living room.

—

BILLY HAD NO more than an instant for a shot at her, but she was moving, and a sheet of newspaper on the table suddenly blew off with a puff of wind. Then she was inside, carrying her coffee and newspaper. He had missed his opportunity.

“Shit,” he said aloud.

His cell phone began to ring, and he answered it. “This is Billy Burnett.”

“Good morning, Billy, it’s Peter. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you, Peter.”

“We’ve got that casting session you set up at three this afternoon. Will you be here for it?”

Billy had nearly forgotten. “Yes, Peter, I’ll be there after lunch.”

“See you then.”

Billy hung up and began dismantling the rifle. This was going to have to wait, probably until after the weekend.

Chapter 50