Talons of the Falcon (27 page)

“
Gott im Himmel!
I thought it was odd that Herr Gordon gave me strict orders not to inform the colonel. That must be why. Herr Gordon knew he would be upset.”

Eden stared at him dumbly. Finally she whispered, “Yes,” knowing it was a lie even as she said it. The Falcon had certainly considered Mark’s reaction to Downing. But that wasn’t his primary concern. No, he was hedging his bets. He didn’t know how Mark would respond to Erlich if the German doctor showed up. And he wanted to make sure there was someone else on hand to pull his chestnuts out of the fire if Mark tossed them in.

And they were under strict orders not to tell Mark. God in heaven—she unconsciously echoed Gustav’s exclamation—she felt like a traitor, part of a conspiracy against the man she loved.

The Falcon had given his orders. She could choose to disobey them. But she knew she wouldn’t. Ever since they’d talked about Mark’s second phone call yesterday, she’d been helping him get ready. Knowing about Downing was a distraction he didn’t need.

“All right,” she told Gustav resolutely, “we’ll play it according to Herr Gordon’s rules.”

He nodded. “I’ll tell Berdine we’re ready to begin the strategy session.”

A few moments later the four of them pulled up chairs around the kitchen table. Again Berdine had set out the makings for hearty sandwiches so that they could enjoy a meal while they talked.

“The auction is scheduled for 1100 hours tomorrow. Because it’s such a big event, it’s being held at a gallery instead of Schultz and Stein’s regular location.” As Gustav spoke, he pulled out an illustrated catalog and handed it to Eden.

This was the first she’d known about the change of location. She took the catalog and began to thumb through the pages. Apparently a great deal of money was being lavished on this sale in expectation of high returns. Besides the diaries, there were various historical letters—a number dating back to the Bismarck era—some art prints and a good deal of Nazi memorabilia—including early architectural sketches by Albert Speer.

“I didn’t realize so many things were included in this auction,” Eden murmured.

Gustav had put a marker on the page where the diaries were featured. Eden studied the photograph. They were three burgundy leather-bound volumes that looked rather ordinary.

“I thought somehow they’d be etched in gold,” she observed.

“It’s not the exterior that makes them of particular interest to most of the bidders,” Mark remarked dryly. “Remember, I picked those diaries up nine months ago for a relatively modest sum.”

Berdine set down her wurst sandwich and nodded. “There are more showy items in the catalog, but this collection so far has drawn the most interest. The other exhibits going on the block will be available for inspection starting at 0800 hours. But the diaries are sequestered in a special room. They’ll only be on view from 0930 to 1030 hours. Gustav inquired and found out that they’ll be in a glass case—with a special guard.”

Frustration was deeply etched across Mark’s forehead. “Well, at least the East Germans and the Russians won’t be able to look for the microdot before I do. Of course, I still don’t know when I’m going to get a crack at it, either.”

“Actually, the situation isn’t quite so grim. We’re going to have a friend on the premises tomorrow,” Gustav remarked, obviously enjoying the revelation.

Eden shot him a startled look. What was he talking about? He wouldn’t tell Mark about Downing, would he?

The German met her gaze for a moment before turning back to the other man at the table. “Because of the value of the collection, the gallery has hired extra security guards.”

Mark shot him a questioning look. “Does one of them work for you?”

Gustav chuckled. “Yes. Wolf Felder does a bit of moonlighting for us. After the bidding on the diary begins, Herr Felder will make sure he’s on guard duty. He has agreed to let you have a few minutes of privacy with the diaries. But you’re going to have to be quick, and I had to promise that nothing would happen to the material. Otherwise, his job could be in jeopardy.”

Eden felt the electric tension in the room. These people were sitting around the table as though they were discussing plans for a bird-watching expedition the next morning. Yet in fact they were hatching a very dangerous, high-risk scheme, and the stakes were equally high. If everything went off as planned, this little group had the opportunity to tip the balance of world power. Berdine was enthusiastically slathering spicy mustard on her second sandwich. Apparently the discussion had made her hungry.

But if the moment was heady for the two Germans, it was even more so for Mark. Eden could see the gleam of excitement in his dark eyes. What he’d gone through to protect the information hidden in that diary would have killed most men. But Mark Bradley wasn’t most men, and now he had the opportunity to make it all count.

She reached under the table and squeezed his knee. He looked at her, his face giving nothing away. But when he pressed his fingers over hers, she could almost feel the adrenaline pumping through the artery at his wrist.

“Schultz and Stein think they have a hot collector’s item. If they had the slightest idea of what’s really in those diaries, they’d have them under lock and key in Spandau Prison, rather than on the premises. Lucky for us they don’t.” Mark’s voice was vibrant with an undercurrent of triumph.

They went on to rehearse their parts for the next day’s activities. While Mark was getting the dot, Eden was to be out front with the well-heeled collectors literally buying him time by bidding on the diaries.

As the intricate plot unfolded, she couldn’t keep the look of doubt out of her eyes. Again she was going to be asked to play a role for which she hadn’t auditioned, and Mark’s life might depend on how well she could pull it off.

“Don’t worry about how high you have to go. I can guarantee the Russians will keep topping you,” Mark assured her, misreading her concern. “All you have to do is keep the bidding going for at least ten minutes. If I can retrieve the dot while everybody’s attention is focused on the auction, the Russians will never know it’s missing until months later, after they’ve examined every bit of that manuscript under a microscope.”

Eden suddenly realized just how critical the time factor was in all this.

“Once I get the dot, you can drop out,” Mark added. “Just buy me those ten minutes. It won’t take any longer than that.”

But what if it does, she wanted to shout. She felt as though she were being swept along by a tidal wave. The espionage trio at the table had built a lifeboat. If it withstood the storm, they were heroes. If it didn’t, God help them all.

Berdine interrupted her thoughts. “Gustav will be waiting in a car for the colonel, since he has to get out of the gallery instantly with the material. But don’t worry. By the time you get to the door, I will be there to pick you up.”

Mark glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. “We’d better turn in,” he said. “We have a busy day tomorrow.”

That was the understatement of the year, Eden thought as she followed him upstairs.

When he had closed the bedroom door, he turned to her. “Okay, I was picking up some strange vibrations from you down there. What’s wrong?”

Eden swallowed and sat down on the edge of the bed, avoiding his penetrating gaze. At this moment Mark reminded her of the quarterback on a team going into the Super Bowl the next morning. He might have his secret doubts, but for her he was putting on a great show of confidence.

Yet there were so many unknowns—including the way Mark Bradley was going to react tomorrow if Erlich showed up.

She would have liked to use this time to reinforce the posthypnotic suggestions they’d worked on yesterday. But she couldn’t. If she suggested he needed any help now, she could make him lose the fine edge of his self-confidence. That was the last thing she wanted. But there were other issues she could address.

“Mark, have you stationed me in the auction gallery because I can really help out there? Or is it just a ploy to keep me out of your way?”

He sat down on the edge of the mattress beside her and took her hand. “Eden, I’ve got to be honest. The last place I want you tomorrow is that gallery. But I know you won’t have it any other way.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, somebody must keep that bidding going. So you really are an important part of this. But if you hear any shooting, run the other way with the rest of the crowd.”

How could she tell him she’d run away? Yet, as she studied his anxious face, she knew that was what he needed to hear.

“All right, I promise to stay out of the line of fire. But nothing’s going to happen, is it?”

“I’m positive it’s going to go off like clockwork.”

They were both lying to each other now.

His fingers were caressing her shoulders, feeling the tense muscles. The massage felt wonderful, and she tried to let it work the worry from her mind. Although in one sense it relieved her tension, in another sense it did little to relax her. Mark’s touch was awakening familiar sensations of wanting and needing.

His lips caressed her hair. His tongue explored the delicate whorl of her ear, and she shivered in response.

He felt the reaction. In one swift motion he turned her to him, and his lips found hers in a hungry kiss that told her he felt as she did. And now there was a new element that gave this night an ever-sharper focus.

She understood what it was: the knowledge that if anything went wrong tomorrow, this might be their last time together. She realized with sudden painful insight that it had been this way for Mark that night five years ago before he’d left her. She hadn’t known what was generating the intensity. Now she understood perfectly, because she felt it too.

She was running before the destructive force of the tidal wave, desperately trying to outdistance it. The shelter she sought was in Mark’s arms. As her body molded itself to his and her fingernails dug into his back, she knew that their coming together tonight would have the force of the tidal wave itself.

Chapter Sixteen

T
he auction gallery was located on Kurfürstendamm, not far from the Europa Center. The avenue, one of Berlin’s main shopping areas, reminded Eden a bit of Forty-second Street in New York with its mix of shops, restaurants and hotels. But the German penchant for orderliness created a somewhat different effect than she would have encountered in an American city.

The gallery itself was definitely in one of the more prosperous buildings. It had a stone front and a circular drive. Carefully manicured evergreens in huge cement pots flanked the Roman arch at the entrance.

Gustav was driving the bakery van and would let Mark off a few blocks away from the gallery at a restaurant where he regularly delivered pastries. Then he would change vehicles.

This morning Eden had helped Mark smooth out his scarred face with the makeup he’d worn for their flight to Ireland. She hoped fervently that the makeup and his silver hair would be enough to protect him from recognition by the Russians and the East Germans.

As the Hofmanns’ green Volkswagen pulled up at the gallery’s main entrance, Berdine reached over and gave Eden’s hand a quick squeeze. “Good luck,” she whispered.

“Thanks.”

The small automobile looked out of place in the line of Mercedeses letting off passengers. But once Eden stepped from the car, she fit in very well with the rest of the sophisticated auction/gallery crowd. Her gray-blue suit provided by the French connection had simple lines—but with “designer” stamped all over it. White kid gloves, matching gray pumps and bag and a conservative picture hat completed the ensemble. She only hoped no one would look past the props. Inside, she was quaking. It took an effort to walk through the doors into the gallery as though she had nothing more on her mind than adding a German lithograph to her collection.

As Mark had suggested, she stood slightly back at first, observing the rest of the assemblage. An atmosphere of excitement seemed to charge the air. Around her, conversation swirled in a dozen different languages. From what she could gather, a number of items coming up for sale were of great interest.

There were a few other women in the crowd, most of them dressed to the teeth. All except Eden seemed to be accompanied by men. In fact, the majority of the patrons were male. But then, that was to be expected with all the war memorabilia being offered.

Her gaze scanned the room as though she were looking for someone she had come to meet. A few men tried to make eye contact, but she dismissed them with a cool lack of interest. Yet she couldn’t help wondering the reason for the attention she was receiving. She knew it wasn’t unnatural, since she was a good-looking, unaccompanied woman. But each man—or woman—in the room was also a potential enemy. She might even have something to fear from the armed guards who stood at the doors and at intervals around the walls. It suddenly occurred to her that if Gustav could get a man inside, the East Germans and the Russians might be able to do the same thing.

She’d never thought that she’d actually hope to see Ross Downing again. But strange as it was, as her glance moved around the room, she was hoping for just that. At least, if the Falcon was right, the man was on their side. Her spirits dropped when she didn’t see anyone who looked like the Pine Island security chief. Perhaps he was there but in disguise.

She was also looking for someone else, someone she prayed she wouldn’t see. So far she’d encountered no one who fit Mark’s description of Herr Doktor Hans Erlich. Maybe he hadn’t been able to slip across the heavily guarded border. Or perhaps he had decided that the game he was playing was too dangerous, after all, and he wasn’t going to show up. It was hard to believe he’d give up now. But his absence, at least for the time being, helped bolster her confidence.

Her first real task was to register, using the false passport she’d originally acquired from the Falcon. Unlike the one she’d used in France, it matched her present appearance. While the young clerk studied her picture, she felt her heart pounding as though it might break through the wall of her chest. But when he returned the passport, he simply smiled and handed her a card with her assigned number.