by Rebecca York
Gritting his teeth, Mark focused on the pain in his leg, willing that to slice through the power Erlich was trying to wield. In one sharp, agonizing maneuver he rolled over the body of the guard.
“Colonel Bradley! You will do as I say!” Erlich screamed.
In a matter of seconds, Mark’s hand had closed over the cold metal of the man’s revolver. He felt a stab of elation that he had resisted Erlich’s command.
As Günther came around the corner, Mark squeezed the trigger twice. From the string of profanity he heard, he knew at least one slug had done some damage. But despite his own injury, the East German got off another round before jumping back.
Mark heard spitting noises above his head as wood shattered around him. At the same time he felt a searing pain in his shoulder, then something warm trickling down his arm. Sweat broke out on his forehead. The only consolation was that the second hit was on the left side. It wouldn’t affect his ability to aim a gun.
Dimly he heard other feet and then a sharp command in Russian. God, was he going to have to fight off Rozonov too?
* * *
OUT IN THE GALLERY the auctioneer’s voice had taken on the fervency of a man who knows he is presiding over a drama of high excitement. “Thirty thousand marks, I have a bid of thirty thousand marks. Do I hear thirty-five?” He looked expectantly from Eden to the Russians who had been systematically topping her bids.
The offer of thirty thousand had come from the East German in the back. Eden stole another glance at her watch. A minute to go to make ten, but she was going to give Mark more time, just in case. After all, she thought with almost hysterical logic, he was supposed to get the money from the sale since the diaries belonged to him.
She raised her gloved hand.
“I have thirty-five,” the auctioneer announced. “Do I hear...”
His words were drowned in a series of small explosions from the back of the building. Most of the audience reacted with stunned silence.
Eden saw Downing leap up and dash toward the exit at the rear of the hall just as another loud report rent the air.
“Artilleriefeuer!” a man shouted.
“Terrorists,” another man screamed. It took only a moment for panic to break out. All at once the well-dressed patrons were scrambling over each other in their haste to get out of the building. Eden was on her feet, too. But her intentions were quite different.
However, as the human wave swept forward, she was helplessly dragged along with them and carried through the exit. Once in the hall, she somehow managed to press herself against the wall. She couldn’t let herself be propelled out of here along with the rest of the frightened patrons. Mark had told her to run the other way if there was trouble. She’d known then as she knew now that she wasn’t going to do it. She had to get to him.
Another volley of shots rang out. Instinctively she turned in that direction and edged along the wall. Someone grabbed her shoulder and shouted, “Stoppen!” She wrenched away and continued down the hall. When she was free of the crowd, she started running toward the gunfire, afraid of what she might find.
* * *
ROSS DOWNING had beat the mob out of the room and was several minutes ahead of Eden. Like Mark, he had cased the building earlier that morning. He couldn’t picture a gun battle going on in the little room where the Ludendorf material had been sequestered. So where was it?
The only other possibility was the staging area by the loading dock. He had no idea what he was going to find there, but he reached the door with his own revolver already drawn.
A flicker of motion in a gilt-framed mirror caught his eye. He whirled in that direction and in the reflection saw Mark Bradley pulling himself up against a row of filing cabinets. His slow movements indicated that he was wounded. There was a ping from somewhere to the left, and a bullet whizzed past his own ear. Automatically Downing ducked for cover behind a suit of armor.
Another slug exploded into the desk to his left. It was followed by the screech of a ricochet off the armor. The careening bullet hit a mirror, sending up a burst of glass shards. One hit Downing just below the right eye and he gasped. Then two shots rang out from the right, drawing the fire that had been directed at him. It was the tall, military-looking man he’d pegged earlier as a KGB agent. He’d assumed the guy was here to finish off Bradley. But he wasn’t shooting at the colonel, he was aiming at two other men near the exit—one dark and tough looking, the other blond and more aristocratic—who were shooting at both him and Bradley. The Russian was drawing fire away from Bradley and himself.
What in the name of God was going on? Ever since Pine Island he’d been trying to put the pieces of this crazy puzzle together. Was Bradley a pawn of the Russians, the East Germans, or just a poor son of a bitch trying to fight his way out of a death trap? He’d thought he’d been able to fit some of the picture together. But now he felt as though someone had just kicked the table and sent the pieces of the puzzle flying across the floor of this impromptu shooting gallery.
Downing peered out from behind the armor’s metal shoulder. Where did he fit into the picture? He was on strict orders to bring Bradley back alive. And for the moment, that was going to have to take precedence.
Another volley of shots rang out. A crystal chandelier crashed to the floor, sending more glass flying. And then Bradley fell backward, vanishing behind the cabinet.
The men who were heading toward the door sprinted from behind the cover of a marble statue. Downing fired in their direction. So did the Russian. Marble chips flew as one man went down. The other made it through the door, but Downing noted with satisfaction that he was doubled over. A trail of blood marked his progress across the floor.
The Russian, his hand bleeding, was out from behind his cover and running forward as the bulky man slumped to the floor. “This one’s finished,” he growled. Downing saw him remove something from the man’s hand and pocket it. The Russian looked back at him. “You help your man, I’ll go after the one who got away.”
“Wait,” Downing began, oblivious to the blood trickling down his own cheek. But the Russian didn’t stop. He was already out the door.
Downing took a step in the Russian’s direction. Then he heard Eden Sommers call, “Mark! My God, Mark.”
She must have been watching the battle from the doorway. She was across the room and kneeling behind the cabinet before he could put a restraining hand on her arm.
“Get an ambulance,” she ordered. “He’s going to bleed to death if you don’t get an ambulance.”
Now that the rain of gunfire had stopped, the room was suddenly full of German police. Then in the distance there was the wail of a siren.
Downing could see Eden cradling Bradley’s head in her lap. She was leaning over him murmuring something too low for anyone else to catch.
“Eden...” the voice was barely audible, but there was a look of triumph in his eyes. “I gave Erlich the wrong one.”
She leaned closer to catch his words. The wrong what?
“In my breast pocket...the microdot in a metal case. See that the Falcon gets it.”
“Mark, you’re going to make it,” she promised, even as she took the metal case. Then her fingers entwined with his, trying to give him her strength.
His eyes fluttered closed. With what appeared to be a great effort, he opened them again and looked up at her. “I love you,” he whispered, just before he lost consciousness.
Chapter Seventeen
It was amazing that even halfway around the world an American military hospital waiting room still looked the same, Ross Downing thought as he opened the door and glanced toward Eden Sommers, who was sitting with her eyes closed on a hard plastic couch. From the rigid way she held her body, however, he knew she couldn’t be asleep.
For a moment he studied her. She was still dressed in the same designer suit she’d been wearing eighteen hours ago when he’d first seen her at the auction gallery. Only now it was rumpled and stained with Bradley’s blood acro
ss the bottom of the skirt.
The woman had guts, he thought again. She had been right all along, and now he was going to have to say something to her about it.
He rubbed the bandage on his face where the flying glass had cut him. It hurt, and the pain was a reminder of unfinished business. Nevertheless, he hated apologies, especially when he had to make them.
Just hours ago, over the secure military communications link between Berlin and the Pentagon, he’d had a most informative conversation with the Under Secretary of Defense. He had a pretty good idea that until a few hours ago the Secretary hadn’t known what was going on, either. The insight didn’t make him feel any less of a fool for his own part in this colossal fiasco.
“Dr. Sommers?” he began tentatively.
Her eyes flew open, and for an unguarded moment she seemed to flinch away from him. Then she visibly pulled herself together.
“How is Colonel Bradley?” he asked, taking the seat beside her.
“Lucky to be alive. He lost a lot of blood, and it seemed as though he was in surgery half the night. But he’s resting fairly comfortably now, and they’ve told me he’s doing much better.”
“Have you seen him?”
“For ten minutes. But he was pretty much out of it from the anesthetic.” She glanced at her watch. “They’re going to let me go back in when he wakes up.”
“I’m glad.”
She searched his face. “Then you’ve changed your mind about Mark?”
“Yes.” That might be as close as he came to an apology. “I have a message for you,” he continued. “The information Colonel Bradley gave you has been delivered.”
A weight had been lifted off her shoulders. “Mark almost died getting that evidence. I hope it was worth it.”
“It looks like it. There was an arrest in Washington this morning. Someone you’ve probably never heard of named Humphrey Strickland. But he was right up there in the inner circle at the Pentagon.”
“They can arrest someone that quickly?”
“In a case like this. The evidence Mark had on that microdot proves Strickland was a Russian agent, and an extremely effective one because he was so trusted. Apparently that was why Bradley was assigned to the Orion weapons project in the first place—to expose the spy.”
Eden nodded, as though the information were some sort of revelation. It was better not to give away how much she knew.
Downing paused and then seemed to make a decision. “Strickland was in my chain of command, too. He’s the one who was pressing for me to get results down at Pine Island.”
Their eyes locked for a moment. Both of them understood very well what those results would have meant for Col. Mark Bradley.
“And was he the one who ordered you to use the RL2957 on Mark?” Eden asked quietly.
“Yes.” The former chief of station would never be able to look back on that particular episode without feeling uncomfortable. He wanted to argue that he’d just been doing his job. But he knew that in future he would be less likely to blindly obey commands that might be immoral. Maybe if he’d listened to Hubbard, the two of them could have done something. But he’d been too arrogant to take the doctor seriously, and now Hubbard was dead. That, too, was a regret he’d have to live with. The thought triggered another.
“I didn’t know it at the time, but Strickland also pulled some strings to get Wayne Marshall on the Pine Island medical staff,” he admitted.
The mention of that name made the blood drain from Eden’s face. Suddenly Downing wondered just what had happened on that beach before she and Bradley had escaped. He’d only heard Marshall’s version of the incident. Now he remembered the pair of handcuffs at the foot of one pine tree and the ropes around the trunk of another. God knows what the male nurse had done to her.
The woman sitting across from him was clenching her hands tightly in her lap. Wayne Marshall was one person she hoped she’d never see again. Now she wondered if she might end up facing him in a courtroom. “I presume he’s under arrest now, too,” she ventured.
Downing shook his head. “No, he vanished from the hospital at Robins Air Force Base. The Pentagon is pretty sure he’s on his way to Moscow—and good riddance.”
She nodded. It was almost a relief to hear he’d skipped the country. But at the same time, she couldn’t help wishing that he was going to be locked up and the key thrown away.
The major shifted slightly in his seat. He’d been shaken to the core when he’d found the installation at Pine Island had been infiltrated, and by more than one agent. In retrospect, he was damn grateful that one of them was on the right side—although he still didn’t have the vaguest idea where Dr. Eden Sommers’s orders had originated. The idea that there was some supersecret Intelligence agency almost nobody in the U.S. government knew about was preposterous on the face of it. Yet he had the evidence of its existence sitting next to him. “I’d like to know who you were really working for,” he remarked. “But I’ve been too indoctrinated in security precautions to ask.”
Eden managed a slight smile. “I wouldn’t want to damage your record. Besides, I’ve had my own indoctrination.”
“I understand.”
While they were speaking, the door had opened and a stout, blond German woman came in carrying a canvas tote.
“Eden.” The name was spoken with respect, and gentleness.
She looked up at Berdine Hofmann.
“I know you don’t want to leave the hospital. So I’ve brought you a change of clothing.”
Eden’s emotions were so close to the surface that the thoughtful gesture brought tears to her eyes.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
The two women embraced.
“Will you excuse me?” Eden asked Downing.
“Of course.” Who was the German woman? he wondered, as the two of them left together. Another idle question that would never be answered.
Getting out of the rumpled suit had a reviving effect on Eden. She saw Mark several times. But he was still too weak to have much of a conversation.
The waiting set her nerves on edge, but she wanted to be there when he needed her. The staff seemed to understand and did everything they could for her. They even let her spend the night in an empty room on the same floor as Mark’s. But it was almost impossible to sleep. She tossed and turned for hours on the hard, narrow bed thinking about Mark and praying that he was going to be all right. She finally fell asleep just before dawn. But the clatter of morning activity in the hall woke her when the sun came up.
She felt as though she’d been run over by a truck. Sighing, she decided she might as well get up. Just after she’d gotten dressed again, a cheerful-looking nurse came in with some good news. “Dr. Sommers, Colonel Bradley is awake and asking for you.”
Her eyes lit up at the news, and suddenly she felt much better. As she followed the nurse down the hall, she noted that the MP who had been at Mark’s door yesterday was on duty again. Even though he’d seen her before, he asked to see her temporary hospital identification card.
As she entered the room, she looked quickly toward the metal bed in the corner. The last time she’d seen Mark’s scarred face, it had been almost devoid of color. Now he looked almost imperceptibly better. She noted the change and rejoiced.
However, his eyes were closed and his chest was still swathed in bandages. She knew from the raised outline of the covers that there was a cast on his left leg. The needle from an IV bottle was firmly taped to his left arm. She could see a clear liquid flowing down the tube.
Quickly she crossed to the chair by the bed. As she sat down, Mark opened his eyes and looked at her. Something in their depths seemed to come alive as he focused on her.
“Eden.”
“How are you this morning?” she whispered, leaning over and stroking her hand down his cheek.
“Better...now.”
Her fingers groped for his. “They told me yesterday that the Falcon got the information, and they’ve arreste
d the mole in the Pentagon.”
He pressed her fingers. “Good.”
For a few moments they sat without speaking. Words weren’t necessary for the two of them to communicate now. Bringing his hand up, she pressed it gently against her heart, wanting to affirm the physical contact with this man she loved so much. She had almost lost him so many times. Two days ago at the auction gallery he might have been killed. Now she was greedy for his touch. Even in this unlikely setting, her senses stirred in reaction, and she knew from the look in Mark’s eyes that he felt it.
“I didn’t think I was very dangerous right now,” he said, his voice rough with emotion.
“For me, you’re always very potent. But then, I do love you so much.”
“I wish I deserved it.”
“Mark, how can you say that?”
“Why don’t you ask how I could have left you five years ago?” She heard the self-accusation in his voice.
“I think I understand why. But that’s all in the past. Just promise me one thing now.”
He waited, his eyes questioning.
“That you won’t just disappear again without telling me. I love you. I want us to try to work things out together.”
“That’s what I want, too.”
She brought his fingers to her lips. “Thank you.”
The silence lengthened again, but now there was an understanding that seemed to flow between them.
“How does beating Erlich make you feel?” she finally asked.
Despite the pain and the injuries, he grinned weakly. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Yes.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.” He knew that wasn’t just an idle observation.
“You trusted me enough to let me help.”
His eyes closed again. She could see that even this short visit was tiring him. She should let him sleep. “You need to rest.”