Talons of the Falcon

by Rebecca York

  He couldn’t offer her any assurances. But for now he could lay old ghosts to rest in her arms. Tenderly he nuzzled his face against hers, remembering her words of love. More than once he had wanted to confess his own feelings. That hadn’t seemed fair before. But maybe now it was better to tell her, especially since he was planning to complete this mission without her. That way, she might be able to forgive him for leaving her behind even if she couldn’t understand his motives.

  “Eden, I love you,” he murmured. “I’ve loved you for a long time, even before I admitted it to myself.”

  “Oh, Mark, you don’t know how I’ve longed to hear you say that.”

  He drew back and looked into her azure eyes that brimmed with tears. “I shouldn’t be telling you now.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because of the life I have to lead. Because I can’t offer you any security. You have roots. Working for the Falcon means it isn’t fair to tie myself to anyone.” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Even if I could have admitted that I loved you five years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything differently. I would still have left you and accepted the Middle Eastern assignment, knowing full well how dangerous it was. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes. But what I’m trying to tell you is that I’m willing to settle for whatever we can have together. No strings attached.”

  He was about to answer when the faint noise of footsteps on gravel outside made him freeze. Years of training had sharpened his senses.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  He put a finger to his lips. “Someone’s out there. I’m going to find out who. You stay put.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Mark doused the lamp, then reached into the drawer of the bedside table for the gun. How many men were outside? How were they armed? And who were they? He’d better leave the gun with Eden, in case he didn’t make it.

  He pressed the weapon into her hand. Her eyes were wide with fear. Yet his calm, matter-of-fact manner couldn’t help but steady her.

  “Be careful,” she whispered.

  He slipped into the kitchen and took a carving knife from one of the drawers. Under the circumstances it was the best he could do. There was no back door, but he could get out through the window. Perhaps they wouldn’t be expecting him to circle around the house.

  Outside, he listened again for any clues to where the intruders might be. He could hear the crunch of gravel off to the right, then something solid hitting the ground. It could have been a body. In the protective shadows of the stone-walled cottage he moved toward the action. A few feet from the house one man was kneeling over another. Friend or foe? And which one? His only option now was to attack first and ask questions later.

  He judged the distance carefully, then sprinted forward. The kneeling man looked up, startled. He had just been slipping the butt of a gun back into the waistband of his pants. When he saw someone bearing down on him, he automatically grabbed for it again. Before he could get off a shot, the weapon was wrestled from his hand.

  Mark flung him to the ground, and their eyes met. It was Ryan O’Connor.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Mark rasped.

  “There wasn’t time to warn you, lad. Someone’s on to you.”

  Mark jerked his head toward the man on the ground.

  “Followed him across the moors from the village,” Ryan explained. “He’d been acting like a nosy parker all day.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Struck him over the head with my pistol.”

  “Better tie him up, then, and gag him. There’s rope in the living room.”

  Ryan raised questioning brows, but Mark didn’t explain. Together they dragged the unconscious man toward the front door. Ryan shoved it open with his shoulder, straightened and turned. “Holy mother of God!”

  Panic gripped Mark. Something had happened to Eden. He dropped the unconscious man’s feet and pushed past Ryan.

  Eden was standing in the tiny living room, her bare feet braced and both arms extended with the heavy revolver pointed straight at the door.

  A wave of relief mixed with admiration washed over him. “Don’t shoot. We’re the good guys.”

  She tried to smile. But her arms were trembling as she lowered the weapon and surrendered it to Mark. “What happened?”

  “An uninvited caller,” Ryan volunteered. He and Mark were already tying the fellow up. Only when they were satisfied that he was immobilized did they search him for identification. There were no labels or laundry marks in his clothing—which looked European rather than American. His passport was Swiss, and there was a Beretta in a shoulder holster under his arm.

  “Did he have an accent?” Mark questioned, handing the weapon to Ryan.

  “British. He should have known that was only asking for trouble in the oppressed provinces.” He laughed harshly. “You’ve got to get out of here tonight. Where there’s one bloody rotter, there’s bound to be more.”

  Mark nodded. Unfortunately, Ryan was right. Someone had found their hideout, and he had no way of knowing who. The sooner he left, the better.

  “I’ve arranged for a small lorry. It will be here in less than an hour. Better get your things together.”

  Mark opened his mouth to object and then closed it again. His plans for the next two weeks had not included Eden. But when he had made them, he had thought this place was safe. Now he knew he had to get Eden out of here, too.

  The man on the floor began to stir. Without a second thought, Ryan helped him back to sleep.

  Eden winced. The young Irishman was obviously used to playing rough. He was also quite well connected: the lorry, which sported a bicycle repair shop logo on the side, arrived on schedule. Mark and Eden had only time to stuff a few belongings into a canvas tote. Ryan’s comrades would take care of removing any evidence that they’d occupied the cottage.

  The van took them southeast to Rosslare Harbour, where they would catch a boat for Le Havre. It was a seven-hour trip across the country. Eden was grateful that the back section had been fitted with mattresses. If she had felt like a fugitive before, that was nothing compared to the tension gripping her stomach now. There was no way to see out, and as the vehicle bounced along the narrow roads, she kept wondering if someone else with a gun was going to stop them. However, they reached County Wexford without incident.

  They were unloaded directly into a cavernous warehouse near the busy port. Though it was the middle of the night, this particular way station was a beehive of activity. Rifles were being individually wrapped in heavy plastic and packed in flour barrels—doubtless for shipment to Northern Ireland.

  Ryan grinned as Mark and Eden looked around at the operation.

  Mark’s hand gripped hers. “Necessity makes odd bedfellows,” he whispered.

  Eden knew he was right. It wasn’t for them to judge with whom the Falcon had chosen to deal. They were being hunted by the East Germans, the Russians and even the Americans. They had to accept help where they could get it.

  “We have a pipeline that will have you on the continent before tomorrow night,” Ryan assured them. “I hope you don’t mind traveling in a crate designed to hold a restaurant freezer. It’s really not any worse than the lorry.”

  Mark nodded. “At the moment it sounds like the only way to go.” He gave Eden a quick glance. But she didn’t protest.

  Ryan turned to her. “Godspeed, darlin’. Anytime you want to join the cause, give us a word. We can use a good fighter like you on our side.”

  Eden acknowledged the compliment with a smile, remembering how Ryan had ignored her at the beginning. “Glad you’re on our team,” she said. Then, silently, she let him help her inside the rough wooden planked crate stamped with large letters: This End Up in English, French and Dutch.

  The crate offered less room than the lorry had. But whoever had designed this conveyance was obviously aware of what was needed. Besides a thin mattress and blanket, there was a s
mall cooler of food and drink, a compact chemical toilet and a powerful battery-operated flashlight. But Mark knew they would have to use the light sparingly. The batteries had to be preserved, and the illumination could give away their hiding place if it showed through the air holes.

  As they were nailed inside, Mark felt Eden shivering. He knew he had to be calm for her sake. Yet he was fighting his own claustrophobic reaction. It was going to be a long time before he completely got over the horror of being locked up at night. But there was more to his apprehension, he acknowledged. He didn’t just want to go to Berlin. He needed to go there, and he didn’t like the way the feeling had taken hold of him—like a compulsion. Was he acting on his own desire to complete this interrupted mission? Or was some master puppeteer jerking his strings? That fear made him want to claw his way out of the darkness.

  The box gave a lurch and they were thrown into each other’s arms in the dark.

  “Just the crane,” Mark whispered.

  Eden pressed her face against his shoulder. In the blackness, he stroked her hair.

  His uncertainties were magnified by the guilt of dragging her into more danger. Yet at the same time, having her with him was a source of strength. The two emotions seemed to be pulling him like the rope in a tug-of-war.

  They waited in tense silence while the crate was lowered into place in the hold. Once the ship began to move, Eden felt Mark’s lips against her ear.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “I wouldn’t want to make a habit of traveling this way.”

  “The no-frills European tour. You can’t see anything. But hopefully, they can’t see you, either.”

  She laughed nervously.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “The time that my Dad took me to an amusement park when I was seven. We went on one of those rides in the dark where your car jerks around on a little track and you keep stopping in front of scary scenes with fluorescent paint and black light. You know, spiders jump out at you and witches cackle in the dark.”

  “Yeah, there was one of those at Euclid Beach in Cleveland. I remember it smelled like a machine shop.”

  “Did the electricity ever go off while you were inside?” He felt her tense at the memory.

  “No.”

  “You’ve probably guessed we weren’t so lucky. Everything came to a grinding halt, and we were trapped inside in pitch-blackness. Dad wouldn’t let me get out of the car because of all the machinery. I don’t know how long we sat there, but it seemed like forever. I kept imagining all sorts of things creeping up and grabbing us in the dark.” Even now, over twenty years later, her skin crawled when she talked about the incident.

  “What happened?”

  “The guy running the equipment apologized and gave us tickets for free rides later. But I didn’t want to go. You wouldn’t get me inside one of those things again if my life depended on it.”

  The words had made her realize again the gravity of their situation. Under normal circumstances she would never have allowed herself to be nailed inside a box like this.

  Mark felt her reaction. “I don’t like it much, either.”

  “Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Eden suggested.

  “I’ll vote for that.” There was a moment of silence, and then Mark’s warm laugh filled the blackened chamber.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking about at least one compensation this travel compartment offers.”

  “What?”

  “Unless there’s another passenger in the next crate, I believe we have quite a bit of privacy here.”

  “That’s a compensation?”

  “It is if you have unfinished business. Didn’t you ask me to make love to you before we were so rudely interrupted by the scuffle outside the cottage?”

  That seemed like a world away now. But inside this packing crate they were in a little world by themselves. Above the vibration of the ship’s motor she could feel the steady beat of Mark’s heart and his breath against her hair.

  “Of course,” he murmured, nibbling at her ear, “if given the choice, I wouldn’t opt for making love to you in the dark. I’d much rather be able to look at you. But in my mind I can see the way your eyes turn smoky blue-gray when you want me and the way your lips pout when they’ve been very thoroughly kissed.”

  “Mark.”

  In the blackness, his voice was sensual and coaxing, sending her own imagination racing. She felt his hands tracing up her ribs and then moving higher still to cup her breasts.

  Despite the terrible knowledge that they were fleeing for their lives, or maybe because of it, she felt her own desire kindling to meet his. She was beginning to understand that danger could be a very potent aphrodisiac. For all she knew, this crate could end up as their coffin. But with the heat of Mark’s body pressed to hers, for the moment all that existed were the two of them and what they could give each other.

  * * *

  RYAN HAD WARNED them to expect a wait on the dock at Le Havre. But they weren’t prepared for the argument that erupted between two rough-sounding men about an hour after their crate had bumped to a standstill on the unloading platform. The exchange was in vernacular French. But Mark understood enough to know their hiding place was the subject of the altercation.

  “The guy who had to get this thing into a warehouse wasn’t expecting us so soon. He’s not sure he can make the arrangements,” he whispered to Eden.

  The disagreement was punctuated by loud Gallic curses that even Eden had no trouble interpreting. She and Mark waited tensely, feeling the heat from the strong September sunlight raise the temperature inside their traveling compartment. Mark reached for the gun that was never far from his side now. She had no doubt that he was prepared to shoot their way out if necessary.

  A few minutes after one set of feet stamped off, the remaining man outside tapped on the side of the crate.

  “Your early arrival necessitates a change in plans, monsieur.”

  “Yes?”

  “Additional funds will be needed. Can you handle it?”

  “Yes.” They were in a hell of a position to be negotiating. Yet he knew from experience that gold coins spoke a language all their own.

  An hour later they were in another warehouse. As the first nails were drawn out, Mark sheltered Eden in back of him. When light penetrated their darkness, it glinted on the revolver in his hand.

  “No need for that, monsieur,” a more cultured French voice assured.

  “As long as I have the money.”

  “Let us not be crass. But also do not forget that this operation doesn’t run on charity.”

  Mark nodded tightly. He had felt a kinship with Ryan but was reluctant to trust these thugs. However, he was also a realist. Right now he and Eden didn’t have any choice.

  As it turned out, Eden thought, they got quite a bit of value for their money—two new Canadian passports, airline tickets to Berlin and several Yves St. Laurent outfits for her. These people might be mercenary—and obviously on the wrong side of the law—but they were efficient. She wondered who their usual clientele were. Drug smugglers? Spies? Terrorists? They probably weren’t too picky. Yet she was reassured by a feeling of honor among thieves. Once they took your money, they weren’t going to knife you in the back. That might be bad for repeat business from a patron as generous as the Falcon.

  She would be traveling to Berlin as the wife of a rich Canadian industrialist meeting her husband at the German Industry Exhibition held every year in September. Mark was an architect making a pilgrimage to the Bauhaus Museum to study the roots of modern design. They had to pretend to be total strangers. It made Eden nervous that they wouldn’t be seated together. She would be flying first class, and Mark would be half a plane away in the tourist section.

  The flight was scheduled to leave from Paris that evening. Once again, preparations were hectic. This time, after Eden had been outfitted in a dark wig and heavy makeup
that made her look like the sleek, sophisticated woman in the passport photograph, she hardly recognized herself. She hoped the same would be true of anyone interested in her arrival in Berlin.

  Mark still sported his silver hair. But now his scar-covering makeup made him look prematurely gray rather than aged. His clothing was tweedy—almost professorial. There was a well-used pipe in his pocket and a pair of wire-framed glasses on his nose. Even his brown penny loafers were well scuffed.

  The idea of clearing customs alone and under an assumed identity was terrifying to Eden. But the instructions she received before they left for Orly were excellent. As far as she could tell, no one gave her a second glance. She crossed her fingers that Mark had fared as well.

  Unfortunately, there were a lot of people on the lookout for one Col. Mark Bradley, and they now had agents posted at all European airports with flights into Berlin. Despite all precautions, he was recognized at Orly. One international phone call and agents in Berlin knew he was on his way.

  But the Falcon had prepared for such an eventuality. After the plane landed at Tegel and they’d cleared customs, Mark slipped into a busy men’s room, where he was able to exchange part of his clothing, pipe and glasses with a man in the next stall who was a dead ringer for the architect. Luckily, the decoy drew the reception committee. By the time the pursuers realized they were following the wrong man, Mark and Eden had changed cars twice and were in a bakery delivery van on the way to Meinekestrasse.

  This time there was only a narrow bench along the wall of the van amid the metal trays of hearty brown bread and Pflaumenkuchens. In fact, for authenticity, they made two delivery stops at restaurants in the city.

  The bakery itself turned out to be their ultimate destination. It was run by Gustav and Berdine Hofmann, a couple in their forties who had worked with Mark on his last assignment in Berlin. Both had the solid look of the German working class. Gustav was a ruddy, brown-haired man of medium height. Berdine had probably been an attractive blond fräulein. Her face, topped by blond braids in a coronet, was still pretty, but her ample figure attested to years of sampling her own baked goods.