Talons of the Falcon

by Rebecca York

  Still nothing.

  Eden knelt down on the floor so that she was in his line of vision. She half expected him to glance away, but instead he seemed to look right through her. Was he deliberately tuning her out? Unfortunately, there were other possibilities that might account for the wall that seemed to separate them—torture-induced psychosis, for example.

  “Mark,” she tried again, “we can take this slow and easy, but you’ve got to give it— You’ve got to give me a chance to help you.”

  She felt his awareness of her come to the surface as though he were a deep-sea diver being forced upward by lack of oxygen.

  There was an unexpected flash of anger in his obsidian eyes.

  “Get out of here. Leave me alone,” he rasped. The gravelly quality of his voice sent a chill up her spine. The Mark Bradley she remembered had spoken in deep and resonant tones. This man could barely whisper. Yet if he had been silent for six months, that made sense.

  Despite the sound of the words themselves, Eden was elated. As far as she knew, he had consciously responded to no one since he had been here, even during Downing’s tough interrogations. That meant she was even more of a threat to him than the security team was. Would that be possible if she were a total stranger? She doubted it. She held on to that doubt, unwilling to consider the other possibility Dr. Hubbard had suggested.

  She was just about to use the opportunity Mark had given her, when she heard a bloodcurdling scream from somewhere else in the building. At the same time, the lights went off, plunging the room into semidarkness. Instinctively, Eden gripped Mark’s knees and felt him tense as she struggled to her feet.

  “What the hell...?” Sergeant Marshall’s voice sounded in the hall. She whirled around just as he flung the door open. The light was dim but she could still make out one riveting feature of the silhouette in the doorway. In his hand was a standard service revolver. And it was pointed directly at Mark Bradley.

  Chapter Four

  “All right,” the large man ordered. “Stay put until they let me know what’s going on.”

  “I trust that means I’m allowed to sit down,” Eden countered with more bravado than she felt.

  Marshall nodded tightly. “We can’t get downstairs, anyway. Move a chair over by the colonel so I can cover you both.” He gestured with a flick of the revolver.

  After Eden complied, he eased his muscular form onto a wooden folding chair. From the way his feet were braced against the ground, she knew he was ready to spring up at a moment’s notice.

  Eden cast a sideways glance at Mark. His shoulders were rigid and he was looking in the sergeant’s direction. Otherwise, he hadn’t moved. She wanted to reach out and lay a reassuring hand on his arm. Or perhaps she wanted to reassure herself by the physical contact.

  “Isn’t this carrying things a bit too far?” Eden ventured.

  “Security precautions,” Marshall snapped. The warning note in his voice signaled Eden to keep the rest of her questions to herself.

  She repressed a flash of anger. The situation was bad enough, but this man’s attitude made it worse. If he thought this was an escape attempt, she could understand his concern. But he knew perfectly well that Mark was in no shape to go climbing down a second-story drainpipe—if he could have pried the heavy metal bars off the windows.

  Was the sergeant simply the kind of man who enjoyed exercising power? Or was he compensating for the job title “male nurse”? She didn’t know him well enough yet to go beyond speculation.

  Time seemed to crawl by. Eden tried to keep from looking at the gun, which seemed like an extension of Marshall’s hand. Every time her gaze encountered the blue-black steel of the weapon, it seemed to have increased in size. Despite the air-conditioning, which was still running, Eden felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her neck and into her collar. She didn’t move to wipe it away. In the dim light, she risked another glance at Mark. She could detect tension in the way he was rubbing the pad of his thumb against his ring finger.

  Her mind flashed back to information she had found tucked into the back of his file, information that had made her want to bang her fists against the desk. The men she’d met at lunch had systematically subjected Mark to six- and eight-hour inquisitions. They’d taken two-hour shifts. Even though Mark had been in terrible physical condition, they’d denied him sleep and used every trick possible to try to trap him into compromising himself. He hadn’t broken.

  Was being held at gunpoint just another ploy? Or did it have some unknown sinister meaning?

  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity but was probably less than five minutes, the lights flickered on. Marshall looked up approvingly, but he didn’t put the gun away.

  Now there wasn’t any excuse for being treated like this. “I believe the drill is over, Sergeant,” she observed, starting to get up.

  “We’ll wait for official word,” he shot back.

  Eden sighed and dropped back down in her chair.

  Again the minutes dragged by. Below them Eden thought she heard movement and muffled voices. But she couldn’t be sure of that, or anything else.

  Finally the elevator door wheezed open. Moments later Corporal Blackwell was standing in the doorway.

  “You’re to come with me right away,” he said, looking directly at Eden.

  “What’s this all about?”

  “You’ll have to ask Major Downing,” Blackwell clipped out.

  Eden stood up and faced the nurse. “I assume I’m free to leave?” She was unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

  “Naturally, if the security chief wants to see you,” he answered blandly before turning to Blackwell. “Is everything secure?”

  “Yes.”

  Only then did Marshall lower his weapon and relax his posture.

  Eden repressed a shudder. Staring down a gun barrel had frightened her—and she had masked that fear with anger.

  What effect had this little drama had on Mark? She wasn’t free to try to find out right now. Instead she followed Blackwell down the hall and into the elevator. Not a word was exchanged between them. Once they reached the first floor, she almost had to run to keep up with the young man’s long strides. Eden had the feeling that the concessions she’d won that morning had been wiped away by some unlucky event beyond her control.

  As they strode down the hall, another framed poster caught her eye. It showed a marksman riddling the center of a bull’s-eye with bullets. “Keep security on target” the message read. Eden felt her lunch curdle. Living with propaganda like this must have affected the way the men down here viewed Mark. He had come to Pine Island labeled “enemy.” They seemed determined to prove it.

  Downing was conferring with Captain Walker, the new member of the security team, when she entered the room. Immediately the low-pitched conversation stopped and both men looked up in her direction.

  “Sit down,” the chief of station ordered, gesturing toward a chair opposite the one Walker occupied.

  “I think I have a right—”

  “Sit down.”

  Eden sat.

  “Thank you.” Downing’s pale blue eyes never left hers as he reached down and brought out a familiar-looking plastic appliance. One end was blackened and charred.

  “Is this your hair dryer?” he asked.

  Eden was suddenly even more confused. “Yes. Why do you have it?”

  “Because it damned near killed one of my men and shorted out the whole upstairs. Or didn’t you notice that the lights were out?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She had certainly noticed the lights. But she still didn’t understand what he was talking about.

  Both security officers watched her reaction intently.

  “Airman Ramirez went to your room to move your belongings to your new quarters,” Downing explained. “When he tried to unplug the hair dryer you’d left on the sink, it gave him a rather nasty jolt—and second-degree burns up his arm. Dr. Hubbard’s working on him now.”

&
nbsp; Eden stared at the appliance that had suddenly been transformed into a weapon. “There was nothing wrong when I used it last night,” she protested.

  Captain Walker’s mahogany brow wrinkled. She sensed that this interview was as uncomfortable for him as it was for her. “That may be so,” he conceded. “But this afternoon when Ramirez inadvertently switched it on, it certainly wasn’t working properly.”

  “Are you trying to tell me it wasn’t an accident?” Eden challenged. And then, from the peculiar way they were looking at her, another idea took hold. “Are you suggesting that I’m responsible?”

  Walker’s eyes never left her face. “There’s a special policy here at Pine Island,” he began, apparently ignoring her question. “Every duty station is monitored by at least one other individual.” He paused for a moment to let that information sink in. “I’ve checked with all stations. No one was away from his post at any time today. So if someone tampered with the hair dryer after you left your room in the morning, I don’t know when it could have happened.”

  Eden considered his words. “Yes, but what motive would I have to injure one of your enlisted men? And come to think of it—” she turned to Downing “—you never told me my luggage was going to be moved. I expected to do my own packing.” As the implication of her own words sank in, she felt suddenly as though the wind had been knocked out of her. “God, if Ramirez hadn’t come in there to move my things, I’m the one who would have been burned,” she whispered.

  The expression on the faces of the two men sitting across from her gave nothing away. In fact, either one of them could have set the trap.

  For several heartbeats, no one spoke. “None of this makes much sense,” Downing finally mused. “But I think it’s worth noting that the incident coincides with your arrival.”

  “And what inferences do you draw from that?” Eden managed.

  “I never jump to conclusions,” the chief of station returned evenly. For a moment they stared at each other. Neither might want to admit it, but they both recognized that the incident had stirred up a bubbling cauldron of possibilities.

  It was Eden who finally broke the silent exchange. “While you’re making up your mind, I’d like a lock installed on my bedroom door,” she said.

  “That won’t be necessary. The rooms in the medical wing come equipped with locks. Blackwell’s already moving your things, except the hair dryer, of course, to the room next to Colonel Bradley’s.”

  His words held a note of dismissal, and Eden was grateful. She wanted to be alone to think about this frightening new development.

  * * *

  EDEN HAD PLANNED to spend the afternoon drawing up a formal schedule for working with Mark. But after returning to the office Dr. Hubbard had given her, she found she couldn’t concentrate. Finally she put her papers aside and went back upstairs.

  As Blackwell unlocked a door near the end of the hall and handed her the key, she caught him looking at her strangely. Was he holding her responsible for what had happened to Ramirez? Briefly she considered bringing the issue out into the open. But in this case, she decided with a sigh, further discussion would probably do more harm than good.

  After closing the door, she looked around the room, trying to focus on something besides the frightening incident that had marred her first day here. To her surprise the large, airy bedroom was a lot more pleasant than the one on the other side of the main house. Apparently the original furnishings had been retained up here. The bureau, double dresser and easy chair were real antique white wicker. The four-poster double bed with its beautifully crocheted spread carried out the theme. It matched the draped swag curtains at the window.

  Had Marshall or one of the other enlisted men been moved out of here? Eden wondered with a grin. She could just imagine they’d been quite willing to escape this frankly feminine setting.

  One door led to a walk-in closet, the other to a white-tiled bath with both a claw-foot tub and a shower stall. A second door of the bath connected her room to one that was evidently Mark’s. Eden stood for a moment looking at his quarters. This bedroom was quite different, with heavy mission oak furniture and a wide-planked pegged-pine floor. But its most distinguishing characteristic was utter lack of personality. She had almost expected to see Mark’s air force jacket draped over the valet in the corner, but the valet was bare. The dresser top, too, was completely clear. The barrenness gave her an eerie feeling, as though the man who lived here had no personal possessions whatsoever.

  When she stepped back into the bathroom, she realized that, except for a toothbrush, toothpaste and a hair brush, there were none of the usual toilet articles she might expect to find. It seemed they weren’t trusting him with a razor.

  Even though the quarters were nicely furnished, the environment was claustrophobic. She could leave when she wanted. Mark was locked up every night. How must that make him feel?

  She had returned to her own room and begun unpacking when she heard the outer door to Mark’s quarters open. With the doors to the bathroom still ajar, Marshall’s words floated to her quite clearly.

  “I will say you’re walking a lot better, when you make the effort. But you’re going to have to stop dragging that right leg if you want to compete in a marathon, Colonel,” he needled.

  There was no reply. But the male nurse must be used to the one-way conversation.

  “I understand they’re moving Dr. Sommers’s things into the room next door,” he went on. “She’s sure a looker, even if her hips are a little narrow for my taste. But her breasts make up for it, don’t you think?” The speaker paused and chuckled. “Just about every guy here would give a month’s pay to get into her pants. But then we’re a pretty horny bunch.”

  Eden felt her cheeks burning. It was one thing to sense the reaction to her from the all-male staff. It was quite another to overhear a monologue best suited to a men’s locker room.

  Marshall was still talking. “So, are you going to find out what turns the good doctor on, now that you’ve got a connecting room?” he asked, laughing. He answered his own question. “Not likely,” he said. “If you ever had what it takes to be a man, you don’t anymore.”

  Eden held her breath, waiting for some reaction. But there was no reply to the crude comment.

  When she finally heard Marshall’s footsteps fading down the hall, Eden put her hand on the doorknob. Yet her training and experience stopped her from rushing into Mark’s room and letting him know that she had overheard. As with any other returnee from hostile captivity, it was imperative to go slowly. What she needed was to establish a bond between them during their therapy sessions before leading him into anything that might be painful.

  Turning back to her own room, she forced herself to go on with her unpacking. But while her hands were busy, so was her brain—grappling with everything that had happened since she’d arrived.

  Over the next few days nobody mentioned the hair dryer again, and Ramirez appeared back on duty with a bandaged hand but no comment. It was as if the incident had never happened, except that she was now drying her hair with a replacement model Walker had silently handed her one day after lunch.

  She couldn’t help feeling isolated. Even though Downing had introduced her to the men, the enlisted staff was coolly polite, nothing more. And the officers seemed to guard their words in her presence. More than once she walked into a room and found that conversation had suddenly ceased.

  It didn’t take Eden long to realize why the duty here was so taxing. The staff members were just as much prisoners as Mark. There was no time off for good behavior. Even on weekends, one day was pretty much like another. And no one could go into town on leave to break the monotony.

  During this time, however, she did achieve an important goal—setting up the agreed-upon communication link to the Falcon.

  “Would it be possible for me to make a trip to the medical library at Augusta?” she casually asked Downing one morning after breakfast.

  “Why?”

/>   “A colleague is about to publish some research that might be important to this case. I’d like to check it out.”

  “I’m sorry. You can’t leave the base.” His blue eyes challenged her. “But we can call and have it sent,” he added.

  Eden hadn’t expected the concession, and for a moment she was thrown off-balance. “That could take days. Besides, I’d like to see what else is available.” She paused for a moment. “If I had access to a computer terminal, I could get what I need from a medical data base.”

  “You mean something like the Medlars system Dr. Hubbard uses occasionally?”

  Eden marveled. Was he actually taking the bait so easily? “You have a terminal here?”

  “Oh, we’re not quite as isolated from the outside world as our location would suggest,” he said with some pride. “We have a modern communications center with several terminals and over a dozen outside links.”

  “I’m impressed. Does that mean it would be convenient for me to use the Medlars system periodically?”

  “Yes. Dr. Hubbard can handle that. Tell him I’ve given you clearance.”

  Eden smiled gratefully and then turned away quickly before the chief of station could see her look of triumph.

  The computer terminal was in an alcove off the communications center. As Eden accessed the data base with its up-to-the-minute wealth of medical information, her fingers trembled slightly on the keys. Getting permission to use the computer had been relatively easy. Pulling off this deception was another matter.

  She resisted the impulse to glance to her right at the stocky, barrel-chested Captain Yolanski, one of the senior security officers. He was at his own terminal, apparently writing a report. If he got up and strolled in her direction, she didn’t want anything suspicious on the screen.