Talons of the Falcon

by Rebecca York

  The first item on Eden’s agenda was tapping into the Medlars network. But as it turned out, the Falcon had already initiated a communication.

  At breakfast Ramirez brought her a folded sheet of paper. She was aware of Downing’s and Price’s eyes on her as she opened the printed message.

  Dr. Goldstein can comply with your request for a teleconferencing session today at 9:00 a.m.

  “Problems?” Downing inquired.

  “No. That doctor who’s been doing research in our patient’s area has agreed to a consultation.”

  “You know that the details of this case are classified.”

  “I’m aware of that.” Her voice was crisp. But inside she was full of dark anxiety. The Falcon was breaking his own rules. He wouldn’t be doing it unless the situation had deteriorated substantially.

  “Then you’ll act accordingly,” Downing reminded her.

  “Most of the information will be coming from Goldstein. I’m only going to talk about my case in the broadest general terms.”

  At the appointed hour Eden reported to the communications center and logged on to the medical system.

  “Dr. Goldstein” was on the line and ready to transmit as soon as she connected. She hadn’t known exactly how this thing was going to work, but it soon became clear. On the surface, they conducted a perfectly normal question and answer session in which he used their agreed-upon conventions to quiz her about Mark. As best she could, she filled him in on her certainty about Mark’s identity. But she held back Mark’s own doubts about what might have been done to him in Leipzig. She knew that was not telling Gordon the whole truth. But then, how truthful had he been with her in the beginning?

  There was, however, another purpose to the communication, as well. The Falcon had some important information for her, which he once again encoded in the last line of each page of their dialogue. While they conducted their “professional” interchange, Eden hastily copied down the scrambled text. It took twenty minutes to get four lines. And by the time she had signed off, Eden felt as though her insides had turned to jelly. She had to decode this quickly before her morning session with Mark on the beach, because that would be her only opportunity to speak privately with him all day.

  This time, luckily, she was more familiar with the procedure. But as the words emerged from the garbled text, she knew the blood had drained from her face. Her worst fears had been realized.

  * * *

  EDEN WAS LATE for her session with Mark, and she could see the tension on his face.

  “I’m sorry I was delayed,” she said, trying to put all the empathy she felt for him into her face. “Let’s go out and get some sun. Maybe you’ll even be up to wading in the waves today.”

  He shot her a questioning look, but she shook her head. She couldn’t say more now.

  Outside he headed directly for the breakers. And as soon as he reached the water’s edge, he turned to her.

  “Something’s happened.”

  “Yes. The Falcon sent me an emergency message this morning. Somebody’s been riffling through my air force personnel file in Washington.”

  “Then your cover’s been blown. Whoever reads it will see we were together at Griffiss.”

  She nodded. “The Falcon’s pulling us off.”

  “Then he’s taking a chance on Mark Bradley.”

  “I vouched for Mark Bradley.”

  The conviction in her voice brought him a brief, bittersweet satisfaction. Staying on the island now was unthinkable. But leaving it wasn’t going to be a picnic, either.

  “Tell me the plan.”

  She laughed. “Could I interest you in a moonlight swim?”

  “All the way to the Georgia coast?”

  “No. Someone is going to pick us up in the water about a mile from here, either tonight or tomorrow night, whichever we can manage. Do you think you can make it that far?”

  “I guess I’ll have to.” He was thoughtful for a moment. “But how is the guy with the boat going to find us?”

  “It seems that the antique pin I brought in with my luggage is a transmitter, and my manicure instruments turn out to be burglary tools. Gordon says you’ll know how to use them to get past the lock at the stairway.”

  A half smile played around his lips. She could see that his mind was already focusing on the escape itself. It must be exhilarating to be able to finally act after months of ineffective waiting.

  “So all we can do till tonight is sit tight.”

  “I guess so.”

  * * *

  THAT PREDICTION didn’t prove to be correct. After lunch, the chief of station called Eden into his office. There was an ominous chill in the air as he asked her to sit down.

  “Dr. Sommers,” he began. “I’m not satisfied with the progress you’ve been making. So you won’t be having your afternoon session with Colonel Bradley today.”

  Eden stared at him, forcing herself not to betray the heavy thudding of her heat. “Why not?”

  “As ordered from Washington, I’m going to go ahead with the drug therapy we discussed last week.”

  Somehow she had known what he was going to say, but the casually spoken words still hit her like a wrecking ball. Oh, God, not today. “I think that’s a mistake,” she countered.

  “It doesn’t matter what you think anymore. Bradley is my responsibility in the end.”

  “And if you destroy his mind without getting what you want?”

  “As I said, I’ll take that responsibility.”

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to shout out her defiance. But she kept her composure. It wouldn’t do any good to argue with the man. Downing had made up his mind. And the only thing she could accomplish by continuing the discussion would be to arouse his suspicions.

  Automatically she stood up. “Thank you for telling me, Major.”

  “Not at all.”

  Chapter Nine

  Eden clamped her teeth together and marched grimly toward the medical wing. Her first thought was to find the supply of RL2957 and destroy it. If the chief of station used it on Mark this afternoon, there was no telling what the outcome might be. Downing could be the Russian agent. And if he was, Mark would probably never leave that session alive. A convenient overdose of an unstable drug—who would question that? Even if Downing weren’t operating with a hidden agenda, a session with that deadly compound could turn Mark’s mind into raw hamburger meat. The possibilities made her fight down the panic that rose like bile in her throat.

  But when she reached the other side of the house and saw Blackwell sitting at his desk, the flimsiness of her half-formed plan hit her. That drug was locked up, either here or in Downing’s office. She couldn’t get to it.

  Blackwell looked up from the file sheets he was counting and she turned away. She had to think, and think sensibly. Then it hit her. Maybe Dr. Hubbard could do something—if he wasn’t the enemy agent.

  God, she was getting paranoid. But who wouldn’t be? Someone down here had almost certainly tried to kill her. Was it one of the obvious people like Downing, Price, or Marshall, who had shown their animosity? Or was it someone much more unlikely—Walker the quiet observer, or Yolanski the smart aleck. Ramirez could even have arranged that accident for himself to divert suspicion. She didn’t have a clue who the enemy might be. But if she read the Falcon correctly, he or they were getting ready to try something again.

  But that didn’t eliminate the danger for Mark. If she was going to abort the chief of station’s plans for the afternoon, she needed the doctor’s cooperation, even though she was taking a terrible risk in asking for anyone’s help. If Hubbard couldn’t buy her some time, the whole game was up right now, just when she’d dared to hope that she and Mark were going to get out of this alive.

  When she came into his office, Hubbard put down the medical journal he was studying and smiled. “I thought you’d be getting ready for your afternoon session with our patient.”

  “Do you have a moment?”

 
“Certainly.” He took in her pale complexion. “What’s the problem?”

  “Major Downing has just informed me he’s going to use that experimental truth serum on Colonel Bradley this afternoon.”

  The doctor sighed. “I knew it had arrived. He wouldn’t tell me when he was planning to use it.”

  You knew and you didn’t tell me, she wanted to shout. But she bit back the accusation. “You can’t let him do it,” she said instead.

  “You and I both know there’s nothing I can do to stop the major when he has his mind made up.”

  “Dr. Hubbard, I’m on the verge of getting something from Colonel Bradley, quite possibly today. If Major Downing gets his chance with him first, I may not be able to pick up the pieces.”

  Hubbard nodded. He’d read the reports on what that drug had done, and the effects weren’t pretty.

  “You’ve got to put the major off at least until tomorrow,” Eden insisted.

  The doctor studied her tense features. What was it about this woman that made him want to help her, despite the personal cost? “Why is one more day so important to you?”

  Could she risk telling him? No. “It just is. Please.”

  “Downing’s made it clear that he doesn’t want to hear my opinion unless there’s some medical problem involved.”

  “Could there be one in this case? Something. Anything.”

  Hubbard pursed his lips. “I’ve been reading up on the literature. Most clinicians recommend administering the drug on an empty stomach because it sometimes causes nausea. And in the patient’s drugged state, he could aspirate vomitus.”

  “And choke to death?”

  “It’s not likely but it could happen. Maybe I can insist that Downing keep the colonel on a liquid diet for twenty-four hours before he goes ahead.”

  “Would he listen?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Eden glanced at her watch. “Downing’s preempting my therapy session at 1500 hours. That’s less than two hours from now.”

  “All right,” the doctor said resignedly, pushing himself up out of his chair. “I’ll talk to him now.”

  “I’ll wait here for you.”

  Hubbard nodded, suddenly remembering all the Star Trek banter he and Eden had exchanged. Right now he felt a little like Captain Kirk preparing to beam aboard a Klingon warship. But then hadn’t Kirk always beaten the odds? As he left the room, he gave Eden’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

  In response she found herself offering up a silent prayer.

  She tried to relax. But there was no way she could keep her glance from flicking to the large clock on the wall, which gave a whir and a click every time the second hand passed twelve. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes. Downing must be arguing with Hubbard. She gnawed on her lip, imagining the scene, imagining the chief of station’s biting displeasure, the doctor buckling under and giving in.

  For a long time, she realized, she had felt like a rabbit caught in the talons of a falcon. Amherst Gordon had snatched her from her safe surroundings and dropped her here. But he wasn’t the only bird of prey who had her—and Mark—in his clutches. Hans Erlich was hovering in the background like a vulture waiting to feed on the terrible uncertainties he had planted in Mark’s mind. And on Pine Island, Ross Downing had the power to terminate her mission just as effectively as an eagle suddenly dropping its victim to the rocky floor of a canyon.

  When the door of Hubbard’s office finally opened again, she jumped and then anxiously inspected the physician’s features. His face was gray, but his jaw was set.

  “Tell me,” Eden demanded.

  “He didn’t like it.”

  “Then he...?”

  “He agreed to think about it.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The doctor sank wearily back into his chair. “I told him I wouldn’t certify the patient as medically ready until tomorrow afternoon, and that my failure to do so could raise serious procedural questions back in Washington. That worried him.”

  “When do I find out?” Eden couldn’t keep the tension out of her voice.

  “At your afternoon therapy session. Bradley will either be there—or he won’t.”

  Eden had thought waiting for the doctor to come back was unbearable. It was nothing compared to what she suffered during the next hour and a half. She had done what little she could. Now there was no way she could sit still. After thanking Hubbard for his efforts, she slipped out of the house and wandered down to the beach. She looked for the lines of footprints in the sand where she and Mark had walked earlier as they had discussed their escape plans. Seeing that the waves had obliterated their tracks brought a lump to her throat. This morning she had been so confident of getting out of this hellhole. Now the wide expanse of beach seemed claustrophobic, as though someone had dropped an impenetrable plastic dome over the whole island. She and Mark might never be able to claw their way out of here now.

  A little before 1500 hours she turned and made her way back to the main house. She didn’t notice the speculative look Blackwell gave her from the desk by the elevator, or the exasperated expression on Marshall’s face as she crossed in front of the physical therapy room. All her attention was focused on the closed door to the room where she and Mark had been working together. What if Downing had just wiped away all the real progress they had made? Her hand hesitated on the knob. She was afraid to open the door.

  When she stepped into the room, her eyes flicked to the chair where Mark usually sat. It was empty. Her heart gave a lurch inside her chest. And then she saw him standing with his hands behind his back looking out the window. He turned as he heard her close the door.

  “I saw you walking on the beach.”

  She couldn’t answer. All the control she had been holding on to so tightly finally snapped. In a second she was across the room throwing herself against his chest. Automatically his arms came up to steady her.

  “Eden, don’t,” he whispered against her ear.

  She didn’t speak. Instead he felt her body shaking. She was crying, muffling her sobs against the cotton knit of his shirt.

  He could only stand there, trying to soothe her, his hands stroking her back, his lips against her hair. The frustration building inside him felt like a pressure cooker on high. He was the kind of person who had always taken action rather than sitting around waiting for things to happen. Now, because of those prying microphones in the room, he couldn’t even comfort Eden properly.

  He had a damn good idea what the problem was. Eden might have thought she could stall Downing forever, but he was a realist. The knowing look on Marshall’s face at lunch—and the way he’d rushed him through the meal—had sent up a red flag. Mark had started mentally preparing himself for a struggle if the security team came to get him. They were going to be surprised at how much of his muscle tone he had back. He’d faced two-to-one odds before and come out on top. The question was, how many men would they call in to restrain him?

  But the plans had changed abruptly, and he didn’t know why. He could only guess that Eden had spent the morning moving heaven and earth to buy this reprieve. But he had to assume the stay of execution was temporary. That meant he and Eden had to get out tonight.

  He continued to hold and stroke her, waiting for the storm to pass. Finally he felt her quieting. Stepping back, he looked questioningly into her eyes, and she seemed to draw strength from that exchange.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  She nodded.

  He led her to the couch and handed her the box of tissues. Despite the grimness of the situation, the simple gesture made her smile. A box of tissues was standard issue for therapy sessions. But they were usually for the convenience of the patient, not the therapist.

  She blew her nose. “Thanks.”

  He put his finger under her chin and tipped her face up so that their eyes could meet again. I know. He mouthed the words. And then, Don’t worry. For a moment he held her hand between his larger ones before se
ttling back on the couch.

  “What do you want to hit me with this afternoon, Doctor?”

  The rest of the session would have won a pair of Academy Awards for Best Performance Under Duress.

  * * *

  SERGEANT MARSHALL knocked on the door to the security conference room and shifted his weight imperceptibly from one foot to the other. The last thing in the world he had been anticipating was this summons. But then, the past twenty-four hours had been full of surprises, not the least of which were Downing’s orders and subsequent counterorders for Bradley.

  When he stepped into the room, there were three other men present besides the chief of station: Yolanski, Price and Walker.

  “Have a seat, Sergeant.” Downing waved his hand in the direction of an empty chair. Then, without preamble, he began. “I’ve called you all here for a strategy session.”

  Marshall looked around the room. This was the first time he’d been invited to sit in on a planning meeting with the Pine Island inner circle. He couldn’t help being flattered yet also a little wary.

  “This seems like a good time to check in with each other and pool some information,” Downing continued. And make a reassessment of your strengths and weaknesses, he added silently.

  “Let’s start with the Comms Center.” He turned to Price, who was in charge of monitoring the security logs for that facility. “Has there been any unusual activity?”

  Yolanski was glad the chief of station’s eyes were not on him at that moment. He’d made a few unauthorized connections, the most innocuous to a dirty-joke bulletin board at Berkeley. But he was pretty sure he’d covered his tracks.

  He wasn’t the only one in the room bothered by the question. Price looked uncomfortable. Those logs piled up every day. And going through them was worse than proofreading the phone book. Did he lie to Downing and say nothing had happened? Or did he admit he’d scribbled his name at the bottom of every third page without reading it? Suddenly the conversation over Eden’s garbled message popped into his mind. At the time he’d chosen not to raise any alarms. But had someone been looking over his shoulder?