Talons of the Falcon (10 page)

Almost afraid of what she might see in his eyes, she lifted her head and looked down into their onyx depths.

Her lips trembled slightly. She felt his warm breath against her face, as though he were begging her to bridge the small space between them. If they kissed, she might finally know who this man really was. That was what she had been sent here to discover. Yet she realized that whether or not he was Mark Bradley, she cared about him. And suddenly she didn’t want to know.

His eyes focused on her lips. To lose himself in the warmth of her caress was infinitely tempting. Surely in the intimacy of that mingling he would know where her allegiance lay. But it was too dangerous. He could already sense his control slipping to the point of no return. Could he resist her, even if he knew she might ultimately be responsible for his death? It was simply too great a risk.

The moment passed.

“You’d better leave.”

“Will you be all right?”

His laugh was hollow. “No. But go anyway.”

* * *

E
DEN SLIPPED
back into her own bed and pulled the sheets up around her neck. They felt cold against her heated skin. She was torn between duty and desire, anguish and elation. What had just transpired between herself and Mark played back through her mind. She had been a coward. Or had she taken her cue from him? They had both wanted something more to happen. Yet powerful forces had kept them from crossing an imaginary boundary line.

On the other hand, maybe she should count her victories instead of her defeats. For a few brief moments the man in the other room had risked his vulnerability. He obviously wanted to trust her. And that was something to build on.

He had taken a risk. She must do the same. Tomorrow she was going to change the rules between them. It might lead to disaster. But if she didn’t seize this opportunity, they might never get another one.

Chapter Six

F
ive hundred miles away, at the Aviary, the Falcon tapped on a section of the library wall with his silver-headed cane. The richly polished wood panel slid open to reveal a very modern and efficient-looking office quite out of keeping with the colonial elegance of the rest of the inn. Against the far wall clocks displayed the local time in Hong Kong, Berlin, Moscow and Cairo. Below them Constance McGuire was seated at a computer terminal typing travel orders.

“I’ve got one of our best operatives lined up for you,” she said without turning around. “Michael Rome is on his way to Savannah now to start making contingency plans.”

“Excellent.” As he spoke, Gordon slowly crossed to a wide mahogany desk piled high with computer printouts and folders—along with a telephone and a crystal decanter of Napoleon brandy. He pulled out the comfortably padded executive chair and eased himself down into it. His damn knee was acting up again. But he supposed he should be grateful that he could walk at all.

“I despise sitting here on the sidelines waiting for something disastrous to happen,” he grumbled.

“Maybe you’re getting too old for this type of work,” his assistant observed dryly.

Her words had the desire effect. “Don’t count on it. You’ll be the first to know when I’ve reached senility.”

She laughed appreciatively and turned to look at him over the top of her gold-rimmed half glasses. “You’re so stubborn you’ll probably find a way to run this operation from the grave.”

They exchanged warm looks. The gibe was familiar, and so was the rejoinder.

Deliberately Gordon reached over and poured a shot of brandy into the cup of steaming coffee Connie had set out for him. He was thinking about the Roman playwright Plautus and his advocacy of patience. Was it really the best remedy for every trouble? But then Plautus specialized in comedies, not tragedies.

The Falcon took a thoughtful sip of his fortified brew before continuing. “We’ve played waiting games with the best of them. The trick is being prepared to move when the time is right—and in this case it won’t do us a damn bit of good to get Bradley off that island unless Eden is convinced that it’s really him—and if it is him, that he hasn’t been compromised.”

Connie turned back to the computer terminal for a moment, running her fingers lightly across the keyboard. Through it she was tied in to every major information source available to the U.S. government—and a few the government didn’t even know about. Yesterday evening one of those contacts had paid off.

“Well, we’ve got Hans Erlich’s name now,” she said. “At least Eden can see what effect that has on the colonel.”

The Falcon’s cane slammed down against the polished mahogany desk top, making the telephone receiver jump in its cradle. “Hans Erlich! God, would I like to get my hands on that sadistic bastard!”

* * *

L
AST NIGHT
Eden’s decision had seemed very clear-cut. This morning as she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt rather than her usual daytime garb, she had a few second thoughts. Leveling with her patient was taking a big risk. Yet if she wanted to help him, she had to take the chance.

Sitting down at the small dressing table in her room, she hastily wrote a few words on a small slip of paper torn from her notepad. After folding it in half, she stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans. She had to restrain the impulse to jam her hand in after it as she headed for the dining hall. Through breakfast, the note seemed to burn a hole in her pocket. She felt almost as though she were carrying around a grenade that was about to go off. And in a way she was.

When it was finally time for her morning session with Mark, she did have to stuff her hands into her pockets to keep them from trembling as she waited for the elevator in the medical wing.

The metal door wheezed open and Dr. Hubbard stepped out. He gave Eden a friendly nod and then peered at her more closely. Despite his vow to remain aloof, he had come to think of Eden Sommers as one of the few bright spots in this uncomfortable assignment.

They’d been forced to work closely together. In less than two weeks he’d gotten to know her pretty well—although he recognized that there were certain compartments of her life that were off-limits. But that was true for him, as well.

Maybe because she saw him as a sort of father figure, she’d shared some glimpses of her childhood. One afternoon when he’d referred to himself as “an old sawbones,” they’d discovered they were both
Star Trek
fans. He had watched the original series back in the midsixties. Eden and her younger brother, Billy, had gotten hooked on the reruns ten years later. Hubbard hadn’t been able to resist brightening up his days a bit by using Trekkie terminology as a little inside joke between himself and Eden.

“You’re looking a little under the weather this morning,” he observed now. “If you don’t feel better by lunchtime, stop by sick bay and let me or Nurse Chapel take your temperature.”

Eden forced a smile. She was too keyed up to enjoy the
Star Trek
patter right now. “I’m sure I’ll feel better once I get outside with Colonel Bradley.”

“Oh, that’s right. Major Downing did mention something about this being the big day.”

“Yes.”

“Well, I think the patient’s up to it. He’s been showing a lot of improvement with his walking over the past week.”

Hubbard sounded pleased with the way things were going, but still cautious. “If I were you, I think I might take a cane, just in case. We don’t want him to fall down and have a setback.”

Eden waited while he issued the suggested equipment.

When she opened the door to the therapy room, Mark was in his usual chair. But instead of slippers he was wearing tennis shoes with his blue jeans and T-shirt. Even though she could tell he noted her presence, his eyes avoided hers. Did he want to be sure she wasn’t making any presumptions after last night?

There was no time for questioning his motives now. She had to go ahead with what she had planned. “Did Sergeant Marshall tell you we have a little outing scheduled for today?” she asked.

She hadn’t expected an answer to that question. It was strictly for the benefit of whoever was listening in.

“I think you’re going to enjoy getting outside,” she continued, reaching in her pocket and pulling out the piece of paper. Unfolding it, she held it in front of Mark’s face.

We are being monitored. Don’t ask any questions now. Come outside where we can talk. I have a message for you from the Falcon.

Mark’s face jerked upward. His dark eyes seemed to drill into hers.
What the hell!
How had she gotten hold of that name?

Last night he’d made a mistake by letting her past his defenses. But what were you supposed to do when a warm, willing body tempted you beyond endurance? He might have lived through hell, but he wasn’t dead yet. The irony of the situation had kept him awake for hours. This morning he had been prepared to redouble his efforts to resist temptation. But now, what did he do with this new piece of information? Eden Sommers could have come by that name by a variety of devious means. To his knowledge she’d never been part of the Peregrine Connection. And his information sources had been quite good. Who was she
really
working for, for Lord’s sake? He was going to have to play along, at least until he found out.

She put her finger to her lips. Did she actually think he was stupid enough to say something here? Instead, he nodded.

She visibly relaxed and offered him her arm. “Dr. Hubbard suggested that you might need a cane,” she continued, as though the spoken part of the conversation was all that had passed between them.

Mark shot her a contemptuous look and reached for the walking stick. For a moment he simply held it. Then he shifted it back and forth in his hands as though he was testing its weight.

He noted Eden’s quizzical look and her raised eyebrow. But reactions could be faked. Methodically he ran his fingers along the smooth wood. Near the bottom there was a barely detectable notch, which he pried up with his nail. Holding the cane out, he showed her the tiny transmitter nestled inside the small cavity.

Eden’s eyes widened. Quickly he closed the recess back up and stood.

“Ready?” she asked, trying to sound chipper and enthusiastic. Suddenly the room—and all those hidden ears listening in—seemed to be pressing in against her.

They made slow progress down the hall. And as they passed the physical therapy room, Eden saw Sergeant Marshall scowl in their direction. Evidently the male nurse didn’t share the doctor’s enthusiasm for taking Mark out.

“You know, Colonel Bradley tires awfully easily,” he called out. “Are you sure you don’t want me to be nearby in case you run into trouble? After all the progress we’ve made, I’d hate to see him slip back.”

“We’ll take it very easy today,” Eden promised.

“Just so we understand where the responsibility lies for any setbacks,” he mumbled, looking down at the papers on his desk.

“He’s a real sweetheart,” Eden whispered as they moved farther down the hall. She could have said the same for Price, or almost any of the other men here at Pine Island. Then she looked in horror at the cane.

Mark shot her a warning look.

For the next five minutes she kept her expression neutral and her comments to herself. When they reached the front door she turned to her patient. “The beach certainly looks inviting. Let’s walk down that way.”

The outside air was hot and moist as usual, but the breeze blowing off the water seemed to cut through the heat. Eden watched as Mark took in several lungfuls of the salty air. It was the first breath of freedom he’d had in months. But she could see him fighting not to show any emotion. Together they threaded down the gravel path through the flower beds where hibiscus and day lilies were still holding their own with the sea grass.

They had progressed a few feet into the sand when she stopped as though a sudden thought had just occurred to her. “You know, that cane seems to be sinking in. I think it’s actually making it harder for you to walk. Just drop it here and we’ll pick it up on our way back.”

Following her cue, Mark pressed the end of the walking stick into the soft sand and twisted it down below the level of the transmitter. She could just picture the little grains wrecking the delicate mechanism. Then he tossed the cane aside.

* * *

A
T THE MAIN HOUSE
there was a burst of static before two separate receivers went dead. At both locations, the malfunction was followed by a string of curses.

“We’ll have to take the mobile unit out,” Price growled downstairs in the security room.

“Too bad nobody took a course in lip reading,” Yolanski quipped. “I’ll toss you for the detail. Heads you go. Tails I stay here and man the inoperative equipment.”

Price didn’t laugh. But then he hardly ever did.

* * *

“L
EAN ON MY
shoulder if you’re having trouble walking,” Eden suggested as they crossed the deserted beach.

Mark ignored the offer and struck off doggedly by himself. Apparently he wanted to put some distance between himself and the main house before they got down to business. Eden noted he was walking now with just the barest trace of a limp. Though his body was still thin and angular, he had gained a bit of weight since her arrival, and his muscle tone had improved considerably. His shoulders were back and his head was up as though the fresh air was having a strong reviving effect.

Eden glanced back over her shoulder. Yolanski, who was ambling down the garden path in their direction, had also decided to take a stroll. He had on what looked like a jogger’s radio. Of course, after the cane incident, she could believe that might be some sort of receiver, too.

Mark headed toward the breakwater, where a wall of piled stones separated one part of the beach from the other. As they approached the line of crashing surf, the noise level increased. Eden hid a smile. He knew what he was doing. They were going to have trouble hearing each other talk, and it would be next to impossible for someone else to pick up their conversation.

“Sergeant Marshall’s right. You don’t want to overdo it. Maybe we’ve gone far enough,” she observed, watching as Mark shaded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun on the water. They were as close as they could get to the crashing surf without becoming wet from the waves rolling up the beach. He stood for a moment looking at a flock of gulls circle over the water. The breeze from the ocean whipped his dark hair back off his forehead. And in the bright sunlight the scar tissue on his face and neck was painfully apparent.