Talons of the Falcon (21 page)

When Eden and Mark were united again in the upstairs solarium, they each had two well-traveled American Tourister bags and outfits that spoke of casual upper-middle-class comfort. Mark was wearing a lightweight navy blazer and gray slacks. Although it didn’t show, around his waist was a money belt full of gold coins—a necessity for efficient clandestine travel through a number of different countries.

Eden had selected an orchid-colored shirtwaist dress. When she had seen it hanging on the rack, the color had brought to mind last night with Mark.

When Mark saw her standing there in the same color that she had worn to his room, a flash of responsive memory flared. He knew she had deliberately wanted to remind him she was the same woman, even if on the surface she was different. Her honey brown hair had been cut in a softly layered style that framed her face. Artfully added blond highlights provided a glow that he found warmly appealing—even with the makeup job that gave her oval face a more angular look.

As a finishing touch she wore oversize tortoiseshell glasses with the initials N. M. in the corner of one lens. For the next fifteen hours she and Mark would be traveling as Mr. and Mrs. Frank McKay.

Eden returned Mark’s appraising stare. His appearance was even more noticeably changed than hers. The Aviary makeup technician—or the Master of Disguises, as he was fondly known—had decided to age Mark more than a decade. His hair was now a vibrant silver, and the scars on his face were hidden behind dark makeup.

Although his new look was at first unsettling, Eden found it attractive. This was how Mark might look in twenty years. Would they still be together? Her heart gave a little tug of sadness. There was simply no way to speculate about the future until they solved the uncertainties of the past and the present.

“Will I do?” he questioned.

She was startled by the richness and confidence in his voice—remembering how different he had sounded that first day on Pine Island. He was back in his element again, finally in a position to make things happen. That alone was cause for exhilaration.

“You’ll do,” she said warmly.

Michael drove them to Dulles International Airport. From the back seat Eden studied his profile. She’d known him a little more than two days. But she’d quickly come to admire his loyalty and his reliability. She could bet that he and Mark had made a good team when they had worked together. And she couldn’t help wishing that he was going farther than to the airport with them.

As they pulled into the unloading zone, he reminded them of the Falcon’s final instructions. “Get in the left-hand line for international flight clearance. Our guy will be on duty there.” He looked at Eden in the rearview mirror. “Try to look excited—like you’re going on a holiday. Not like you have a date with the executioner.”

She forced a smile, but inside she was trembling. These two men had years of training and experience behind them. She was a rank amateur in the high-risk world of international espionage. Even though she had insisted upon being included on Mark’s assignment, she couldn’t help feeling uncertain. She only hoped she could carry off this new masquerade as well as she had the last. But she’d been playing herself then. Now she had a new name, a forged passport, and a man at her side she knew so well and yet didn’t know at all.

After a quick hug for Eden and a solid handshake and “Good hunting” for Mark, Michael left them on their own. Eden looked at Mark and smiled nervously. “You know how petrified I am about flying, Frank.”

He grinned. “You could always stay home.”

She gave him a meaningful look. “Not after you’ve already paid for the tickets, dear.”

Checking in kept them occupied for the first few minutes. But after they had cleared airport security and were waiting in the departure lounge, Eden found herself reading the same page of her paperback novel over and over again.

When their flight was held up for half an hour, Mark put a soothing hand on her trembling arm. “I hate these delays too, honey,” he admitted. “But it happens all the time. Don’t let it get to you.”

When flight 580 was finally called for boarding, there was another bad moment. They followed instructions and got in the left-hand line. But just as they were approaching the barrier, the uniformed official checking passports was called away and replaced by another. Had the man who was supposed to pass them through just left, or was he the man coming on duty? Eden glanced back questioningly at Mark. He gave her an imperceptible push forward. They couldn’t both step out of the line now without looking suspicious.

“Are you traveling for business or pleasure?”

Mark had heard this question often enough to summon up an automatic response.

“Pleasure,” he said, looking as though he meant it.

Eden took her cue from him. Ten minutes later they were finding their seats on flight 580. She couldn’t suppress a sigh of relief. So far, so good.

Once they were in the air, she leaned her head against Mark’s shoulder. Even with his problems, his basic strength was something she could cling to. He had been through an experience that would have destroyed most individuals. Almost anyone else would have been damn glad to get out with his life. But the man beside her was volunteering—no, demanding—to go back and finish the job.

“Why don’t you try to get some sleep,” he suggested.

Neither one of them had gotten much last night—or the two nights before, for that matter.

“How about you?”

“Maybe later.”
I’d rather look at you.

She closed her eyes and snuggled against him. He didn’t wake her when the flight attendants came around with drinks and the usual processed food. But he ordered himself a double Scotch and sat sipping it. There was a lot he had to think about.

When Eden awoke, his face came into focus, and she blinked. It took a moment for her to remember their transformation.

He grinned. “You go to sleep for an hour and wake up next to Rip Van Winkle.”

“You must have spent the whole time I was napping coming up with that line,” she said.

“Guilty as charged.” He had anticipated her reaction and had come up with the perfect rejoinder. But it had been the one amusing note in a grim succession of thoughts. Despite his reply to the airport official, this wasn’t going to be any pleasure trip. He squeezed Eden’s hand. “I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered. It was true, but her presence was still causing him more than a few twinges of guilt.

She seemed to understand. “I’m here because I
want
to be with you,” she assured him again.

* * *

T
HE MAN IN
Washington put down the summary report from Major Downing at Pine Island. Behind the solid oak door of his private office, he was looking a bit green around the gills. The report was bad news, very bad news. Suddenly he had to fight to keep the panic in his chest from bubbling up and making a mess all over the glass-covered mahogany desk.

For a crazy moment he considered simply walking out of his office and not coming back. In a matter of hours he could be on a flight to Bern, and from there to Moscow. But he had a feeling the Kremlin wasn’t going to welcome him with open arms. Things were too critical with project Orion.

He sighed heavily. He was going to have to deliver, or else. But at least, he consoled himself, he had access to these highly confidential reports through regular U.S. military channels. He’d worked hard for fifteen years to maneuver himself into the right place. And he’d been smart about it. Otherwise he’d have been in deep kimchi long ago.

Even now, there was a measure of luck on his side. Downing had accepted Marshall’s version of recent events. It could still turn out that the FBI would catch Bradley and Sommers and nail them for murder.

He found his usually logical thoughts scattering in a dozen different directions—and his mood swinging from optimism to despair and back again. Maybe he was indulging in wishful thinking, after all. It was beginning to look as though they’d gotten away. If so, someone had helped them. He wished he knew who.

Bradley on the loose was a threat to everything he’d so carefully set up in the Pentagon. Right now the colonel was probably slipping out of the country. The logical mode of transportation for someone in Bradley’s shoes was a slow freighter to Tierra del Fuego. But somehow he didn’t think Bradley was South America-bound. He’d bet his Senior Executive Service bonus that the man in question was on his way to Berlin.

The thought made him reach into his desk for the bottle of tranquilizers that he’d sworn he wasn’t going to touch again.

He had to get a message to Moscow—fast. And that meant he couldn’t wait for his biweekly drop at the National Gallery of Art concerts. He was going to have to risk an international call to his contact in Lisbon. But then, what was the risk, really? If Bradley picked up that incriminating evidence in Berlin, he might as well measure himself for a pair of cement shoes.

Maybe a long lunch was in order—one where he could make that phone call. As he pushed back his chair, he was already starting to compose the message.

“I’m afraid your prize German shepherd has gotten out of the kennel and is on the loose with his mate. I know it’s a disappointment, but you can get another one just like him in Berlin—or maybe sooner if you act immediately.”

* * *

T
HE
L
ISBON CONTACT
dutifully set an international search in motion. Luckily, the Falcon had chosen well when he’d decided to send Mark and Eden via Shannon. They landed a good two hours before word had even reached the agent assigned to keep an eye out for them. After collecting their luggage and clearing customs, they slipped away from the rest of the tour group and headed across the airport to the Emerald Rent-a-Car counter.

The request for the car reserved for Mr. and Mrs. Frank McKay brought an instant alertness to the young clerk.

“If you’ll wait out there, our driver will fetch you in a moment,” she said, pointing toward a covered pickup area.

Almost as soon as they’d set their bags down by the curb, a dark sedan pulled up in front of them. The driver was a rough sort who looked as though he might have stepped right out of an IRA brigade—even though they were far from Northern Ireland. Eden gave Mark a questioning look. But he didn’t seem worried.

“How’s the weather been up the coast?” Mark asked.

“Misty as usual,” the driver replied in a lilting brogue that she found a bit hard to understand until she caught the rhythm of the cadences.

“Perhaps it will change.”

“I wouldn’t bet a bottle of Guinness on it,” came the good-humored reply.

To any eavesdropper the exchange would have seemed casual enough. But Eden suspected that if each word had not been precise, Mark would never have opened the door of the car and the young man would never have started stowing their luggage in the boot. His name, she learned, was Ryan O’Connor.

There were a lot of things that surprised Eden about the ride. It was disorienting driving on the left side of the road—and zipping right past the Emerald Rent-a-Car building to head for the countryside. In almost no time at all, they were barreling along a two-lane road at speeds more appropriate for a superhighway. Ryan apparently took great delight in driving like a lunatic. Eden hung on to the door and tried to think about the scenery instead of the probability of crashing into one of the low stone walls that hemmed in the narrow road.

The land was incredibly green. But the open fields were strewn with rocks and boulders. Eden knew where the building material for all those walls had come from.

Only a few kilometers from the airport they were forced to stop and wait for a herd of sheep being ushered across the road. To Eden’s amazement the fleece on their backs looked as though it had been marked with a patch of red spray paint. Other flocks she saw in the distance were similarly adorned in blue.

The donkeys Gordon had promised were also a prominent part of the rural scene. And more than once she saw a wayward cow being guided back to its herd by a farmer riding a bicycle.

She had plenty of time to take in the scenery. The men were sitting in front, and their low-pitched conversation didn’t include her. She might have found this annoying if she had not realized that Mark was cultivating their local contact. By the time they had pulled up in front of a stone cottage with a traditional thatched roof, the two men were on easy terms.

The house, which sat well back from the road, was nestled against a small hill, with green fields spreading down toward the coast. In the distance she could see the jagged shoreline and the blue-gray of the ocean.

In the side yard was a neat pile of what looked somewhat like dark bricks. Eden eyed it questioningly.

“Peat,” Ryan explained. “I’ll wager this place is a bit more primitive than you’re used to. But at least you’ve got running water inside.”

“Just so it’s private,” Mark said.

Ryan grinned. “Oh, we use this cottage when lads from the battle up north need somewhere to lick their wounds.”

So she’d been right about this fellow all along, Eden thought. Apparently the Falcon had friends in all sorts of unlikely places.

The young man carried their luggage inside. “The larder’s stocked with a fortnight’s provisions,” he advised Eden. “I’ll show you how to use the stove. And if you want a wood fire in the evening, there are split logs out back.”

When he had finished with the domestic explanations, he turned to Mark. “You’ll feel safer with this,” he advised, pulling a rather formidable-looking revolver out of a kitchen drawer. “I assume you know how to use it?”

Mark nodded and inspected the weapon, noting the well-oiled condition. “Thanks.”

When Ryan had finally driven off, Eden turned to Mark. “Surely out here we’re not going to need that gun.”

“I hope not, but it’s always best to be prepared. We’ll move it to the bedroom so it will be close by, just in case.”

Eden watched him look for a new hiding place for the gun. Finally he settled on a drawer in the bedside table. She was glad he hadn’t felt it necessary to put it under the pillow. The idea of sleeping so close to a deadly weapon unnerved her. She hadn’t fired a revolver since her air force basic training, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to do so any time in the future.