Talons of the Falcon

by Rebecca York

  Talons of the Falcon

  Rebecca York

  To Lydia, who shares our love of adventure, and dares to take a risk.

  CAST OF CHARACTERS

  Eden Sommers—No training prepared her for what she saw in Mark Bradley’s eyes.

  Lt. Col. Mark Bradley—His face was changed, his records missing. Had he been brainwashed, or was he really a deadly imposter?

  Amherst Gordon—“The Falcon” was alive and well…and very much a player.

  Constance McGuire—The Falcon’s assistant couldn’t help worrying when their agents were in danger.

  Hans Erlich—What had the East German doctor planted in Mark’s mind?

  Maj. Ross Downing—He ran the Pine Island facility by the book.

  Dr. Hubbard—If he carried out orders, he’d destroy what was left of Mark Bradley.

  Sgt. Wayne Marshall—The male nurse took his assignments very seriously.

  Captain Walker—Had his minority status made him bitter toward the Defense Department?

  Lieutenant Price—He saw Eden’s presence on the island as grounds for a turf battle.

  Captain Yolanski—Did his smart-aleck character hide ulterior motives?

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  We were delighted when Harlequin Intrigue told us they would be republishing our Peregrine Connection trilogy. They are some of our favorite stories, and we had a wonderful time creating daring women and dangerous heroes and catapulting them into plots swirling with high-stakes intrigue and jeopardy.

  With the fall of the Berlin Wall, the collapse of the Soviet Union and the restructuring of Eastern Europe, the world has changed at warp speed over the past eight years since the Peregrine novels were written. Yet with spy scandals at the upper echelons of the CIA and even a terrorist attack at the World Trade Center, themes of preserving peace and the balance of world power are just as relevant today as they were in the eighties when the Peregrine Connection was written.

  In 1985, when we wrote Talons of the Falcon, we wanted to create a different kind of thriller—a romantic adventure featuring heroines just as strong as the heroes. We also reached into our own backgrounds and drew on travel experiences. For example, since Eileen grew up near Robins Air Force Base and could vouch for the strength and courage of the men and women in blue, we gave psychologist Eden Sommers and Lt. Col. Mark Bradley air force careers. Eileen also used her memories of family vacations at Jekyll and St. Simon’s islands off the Georgia coast to create the feel of the fictional Pine Island facility where Eden is sent to assess Mark’s condition.

  On a research trip to Europe, Ruth discovered a wealth of details that added to the richness of the story—such as finding the right rocky secluded spot on the coast of Ireland for Mark and Eden to hide before escaping to France. The IRA is also featured in the story. Ruth got the idea for using the organization one evening in an Irish pub when the guy at the next table asked her and her husband if they’d like to make a donation to buy guns for terrorists.

  Ruth’s familiarity with the Washington, D.C., milieu, and Eileen’s career with the Defense Department also helped bring an authenticity to the novel’s compelling portrayal of politics and power.

  After reading Talons of the Falcon—and all the upcoming books in the Peregrine Connection—we were pleased with how well the books stood the test of time. We hope you think so, too.

  Rebecca York (Ruth Glick and Eileen Buckholtz)

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Prologue

  “What if Eden Sommers gets herself killed on this little assignment of yours?”

  “Now, really. You’re acting as though the Pine Island business were some personal whim of mine and not a matter of national security,” Amherst Gordon grumbled.

  The thin, aristocratic-looking woman pursed her lips but said nothing. She knew from long experience that Amherst wasn’t finished, and there was no sense trying to interrupt the man once he got started.

  “Besides,” he continued, “you should think more positively about Ms. Sommers. The woman’s not only got spunk, she’s got exactly the background we need. Isn’t that so?” As he spoke, he reached up to rub the curved beak of the red and green parrot that perched on the shoulder of his tweed jacket. The bird regarded him with one shiny black eye, but it didn’t answer.

  Constance McGuire looked down through her half glasses at the computer printouts spread among the teacups and jam pots on the wrought-iron table, and she sighed. A query of their extensive data base had produced only four candidates for this very dangerous assignment—each with a Ph.D. in clinical psychology and a unique set of strengths and weaknesses. But in the end there had been one overriding consideration, one factor that set Eden Sommers apart. “You’re right,” she conceded. “This woman has never worked undercover before, but everything else is damn near perfect—including that fortunate stint at Griffiss Air Force Base four years ago.”

  Gordon kept his lined features impassive. His assistant never swore—unless she was worried about the safety of one of their people. And although he would never admit it to her, this time her worries were justified. To the outside world Pine Island was nothing more than an oceanographic monitoring station. But he and Connie knew that the supersecret installation was really an isolated, well-fortified interrogation facility. Its handpicked staff had a single mission—to squeeze the information they needed out of one Colonel Mark Bradley. And damn the cost to the U.S. government—or Bradley himself.

  Gordon was more of a pragmatist than Constance. He knew there was simply no alternative to the course of action they were setting into motion. Eden Sommers had to come through on this one for them. If she didn’t, Bradley could kiss his twenty-year military career—and maybe even his life—goodbye. But there was a great deal more at stake here than one man’s life—or one woman’s, for that matter. Otherwise he and Connie wouldn’t be contemplating this admittedly risky plan.

  “What’s Sommers’s ETA?” Gordon asked, pushing himself stiffly out of the chair and reaching for the silver-headed cane he’d picked up on one of his tours of duty in Britain. The parrot fluttered its wings momentarily as he rose, but remained on his shoulder.

  His administrative assistant was all business now. “She should be arriving at 1300 hours. She left Vermont just before breakfast.” Constance glanced at the gold watch on her narrow wrist. “Jim’s probably pulling up at National Airport in the Aviary courtesy van just about now—unless the traffic on Route 50 was unusually heavy this morning.”

  “Good. Very good,” Gordon murmured. He could always count on Connie to take care of the details. Whether she approved of an operation or not, she did what needed to be done.

  For the first time that morning, he permitted himself a slight smile as he slowly crossed the flagstone floor of the solarium and paused to look out one of the French doors that gave access to the well-manicured lawn. The irony of running a top-secret operation called the Peregrine Connection from an elegant Virginia country inn never failed to amuse him. But then, hadn’t he picked the Berryville location—and supervised the restoration of this perfect cover site—himself?

  Long ago he’d developed the philosophy that anything worth doing was worth doing right, and so any
stinginess in government funding for this site had invariably been rectified with his own resources.

  Unconsciously he flexed the rebuilt kneecap that had made it possible for him to walk again. A lot of people in the Intelligence community would be surprised to know that the Falcon was still alive. That was the way he and the Secretary of Defense wanted it. If he didn’t exist anymore, he couldn’t be doing anything illegal. And if he did happen to get caught at it, the secretary would deny the association.

  There was the troubling issue of morality, of course. Like Saint Jerome, he had thought long and hard about ends justifying means. But Gordon, in his role as the Falcon, had come to terms with all that long ago. There were some operations that the attorney general could never approve. Yet that didn’t mean they weren’t vitally necessary.

  “Don’t you think it’s unfair to send Dr. Sommers in there with only part of the picture?” Constance questioned from behind him, unconsciously echoing his own momentary twinge of conscience. Apparently she felt compelled to point out the doubtful ethics of this situation one more time.

  Despite his resolve, Gordon’s brow wrinkled. Connie was right. What they were about to do to Eden Sommers was a little like dropping an angelfish into a tank of piranhas. But if they told her the whole story, they would prejudice her judgment. What they needed from Dr. Sommers was not only her expertise but also her unbiased opinion.

  “The other side doesn’t play fair, Connie,” he reminded her. “And that means sometimes we can’t afford to play fair either.”

  Chapter One

  Nothing Amherst Gordon could do or say would make her take this job, Eden Sommers told herself as she settled more comfortably into the courtesy van’s padded seats and tried to relax.

  “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” remarked the wiry young man who’d picked her up an hour and a half ago at National Airport. These were the first words he’d spoken in almost an hour. He had been chatty enough as he’d swung her overnight case into the custom vehicle and headed out of the airport parking lot, but when she’d tried to pump him about his employer, he’d suddenly developed an absorbing interest in a rock station.

  Eden had been left alone with her uncertainties. In the atmosphere of secrecy that surrounded the whole affair, those uncertainties had only multiplied. This was the oddest private-duty assignment she’d ever been summoned to. Only the knowledge that the request for her specialized services came from the highest echelon of the government had made her agree to hear out this man called Amherst Gordon. But she had no doubt that as soon as he’d spoken his piece she was going to head back to the safety of the private clinic in Burlington, Vermont, where she’d been working ever since she’d left the air force.

  The van pulled off a secondary road and turned into a narrow drive flanked by redbrick columns and a wrought-iron fence. A beveled white sign announced:

  THE AVIARY

  NO VACANCY

  Eden craned her neck for a better view as they made their way up the long, curving driveway. Despite her apprehension, she couldn’t help being impressed by the understated elegance of the setting. The winding lane led up through a stand of red oaks and Southern magnolias toward a wide and well-manicured greensward. At the top of the hill, commanding a view of the surrounding countryside, was a stately red brick manor house that looked as though it had been there since plantation days. But if the facade had ever been scarred by age, it was now meticulously restored. The triangular pediment at the roofline gleamed with a new coat of white paint, as did the carving around its bull’s-eye window, and the antique brick had been repainted.

  The surrounding topiary contributed to the well-tended effect with hundred-year-old boxwoods that had been sculptured into the shapes of large birds that now proudly guarded the building.

  Eden had barely stepped out of the van when a tall, distinguished-looking woman emerged from the house. She walked quickly down the steps, projecting a sense of energy and purpose.

  “Dr. Sommers,” she said, offering her hand. “So good of you to come. I’m Constance McGuire, Mr. Gordon’s assistant. Would you like to freshen up before your interview?”

  “Thank you,” Eden murmured. She wasn’t going to mouth the usual platitudes about being glad to be here when she certainly wasn’t.

  As Eden stood in the bright sunlight giving the Aviary the once-over, Amherst Gordon noted the strong set of her jaw. Even with the slight distortion of the closed-circuit monitor, he could tell that she resented being here. Good for her, he thought. At first glance, those wide-set blue eyes and that shoulder-length light brown hair might give an impression of innocence. But there was more to this woman than met the eye. He had expected that from reading her service record.

  Gordon continued to study Eden as his assistant led her down the hall toward the powder room. She was slender and of medium height. Even under what must be very trying circumstances, she carried herself with a sense of confidence. His gaze flicked back to her almost classic profile as she closed the door. Her air force picture hadn’t done Eden justice. She was a damned attractive woman. And that wasn’t going to make things any easier for her down on Pine Island.

  Behind the closed door, his visitor was making her own last-minute observations. “Remember,” she told her reflection sternly as she compensated for what she saw as her lack of color with a bit of lipstick and rouge, “you’ve got control of your own life. Nobody can make you do something you don’t want to do.” She’d used the line often enough with her patients. She only hoped she believed it herself now.

  The pep talk had a salutary effect. When she emerged a few moments later, she had convinced herself she could deal with whatever persuasive techniques Amherst Gordon was going to try.

  He was waiting for her in the solarium. The huge sunny room was splendid with potted ficus and schefflera trees and alive with the sounds of tropical birds. A flutter of red and green caught Eden’s eye. As she watched, a parrot winged its way from one of the trees to the slightly stooped shoulder of a man standing near an ornate bird cage apparently feeding a pair of cockatoos.

  Gordon turned and smiled in her direction. His left hand gripped the head of a cane. There were deep lines etched between his mouth and his nose—and at the corners of his eyes. His thick hair was almost entirely silver. But it was the eyes that really drew her attention. They were an unusual shade of green, with a keen intelligence that seemed to see right through the mask of composure she had affected.

  His first words, however, were not for her but for the bird on his shoulder. “Thank you for announcing Dr. Sommers’s arrival, Cicero.” The parrot squawked and flapped its acknowledgment.

  “Settle down so you don’t scare her,” he warned.

  Obediently the bird nestled against the gray tweed of his jacket.

  “Won’t you have a chair?” he asked Eden, gesturing toward a cushioned seat beside a wrought-iron table. As he moved forward, he leaned heavily on the cane. So that, at least, was no affectation, she thought, smoothing out the skirt of her blue suit as she sat down.

  She was sure the rest of the scene had been carefully calculated to create a certain mood for Mr. Gordon’s purposes. However, Eden wasn’t going to allow him to slowly feed her bits and pieces of information the way he had been feeding the cockatoos.

  “Exactly what is all this about?” she challenged.

  He smiled. “Anxious to get started?”

  “Anxious to hear what you have to say so I can go back to Vermont.”

  “Second thoughts already? And you haven’t even heard my proposition.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  Gordon cleared his throat. “The bottom line is that I need the services of a psychologist who’s rehabilitated victims of, shall we say, stressful enemy captivity.”

  “I’ve already guessed that much. But if you’ve looked at my records, which you obviously have, you know I haven’t accepted a case like that in two and a half years.”

  Gordon nodded, reachi
ng up to stroke the parrot’s beak. “I’m hoping I can persuade you to make an exception. Let me tell you a little bit about the individual involved.” He paused. “By the way, I’ve had your Alpha clearance reactivated, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to disclose this information.”

  Eden’s eyes widened. She’d have thought reinstating her clearance would have taken months, not less than twenty-four hours. Before she could comment, Constance McGuire appeared with a tray of small sandwiches, an ornate silver teapot and cups and saucers.

  “I thought you might like some refreshment after your trip,” the woman volunteered.

  Eden thanked her and took a chicken salad sandwich quarter. She’d been too nervous to stomach the congealed eggs and greasy sausage on the plane that morning. She watched as Constance poured three steaming cups of tea and then took a seat at the table.

  Gordon waited while the food was served, and Eden found herself wondering if he were trying to heighten the anticipation. “The story really starts eleven months ago, with a highly classified air force weapons project,” he finally began, as though he were an old-time radio announcer embarking on a tale of suspense.

  Despite herself, Eden leaned forward slightly. “And?” she prompted.

  “There was evidence that some of the details of the project were showing up in unfriendly hands, so I was asked to put a man on the team who could double as an engineer while he discreetly investigated the security leak.”

  Why had Gordon—and not air force security—taken on that duty, she wondered, but suppressed the urge to ask. If she wasn’t going to work with this man—and she probably wasn’t—she was better off knowing as little as possible about him and his high-placed connections.

  “I had the perfect agent for the assignment,” Gordon went on. “He was a brilliant air force engineer who had been integral to a number of high-tech projects. He had also worked for me on several occasions, although his official orders always covered any suspicious absences from regular duty. He was everything I needed—loyal, dedicated and smart. More than once I’d put him in the uncomfortable position of having to choose between his personal life and service to his country. And he never failed me when I needed him.”