Talons of the Falcon
Page 7
She saw Downing lean imperceptibly forward. Though his face was neutral, a muscle in his face was jumping.
“At first,” she went on, tapping the eraser of her pencil against the notepaper, “I was afraid his withdrawal was the result of a severe personality breakdown—actually a catatonic reaction. But after additional observation, I’m convinced it’s more treatable.” She paused for effect, and watched as three sets of eyes drilled into her. “He seems to be suffering from what used to be called a hysterical reaction—like blindness or paralysis. In other words it’s a conversion reaction in which symptoms of some physical malfunction or loss of control appear without any underlying organic pathology. In the colonel’s case it’s a sort of self-punishment in response to what he sees as a failure on his part.”
“Do you mean like what happens to soldiers sometimes when they’re terrified of going into combat?” Walker questioned.
“That’s one example. It’s a way of coping with the stress of war without feeling guilty about not wanting to go into combat.”
“So how does this apply to Bradley? Do you mean he feels guilty about spilling his guts to the East Germans?” Yolanski asked bluntly.
Eden hesitated. These professional security specialists obviously weren’t stupid. And it was a little unsettling that Walker had zeroed in on the correct page in his abnormal-psych textbook. In fact, the whole security team had probably been put through a good deal of psychological training. But almost certainly their course work had not been oriented toward diagnosing mental illness. And that gave her an edge, especially with Dr. Hubbard absent. Downing might be scornful of the doctor’s abilities, but Eden had been impressed with his acute powers of observation. More than once, to her later alarm, Eden had allowed Hubbard to draw her into discussions of Mark’s psychological problems. The doctor’s perceptions had been surprisingly sharp. But since Downing obviously didn’t value his opinions on the subject, he hadn’t bothered to voice them.
Eden considered how best to answer Yolanski’s question. “Feelings of guilt aren’t necessarily in proportion to real wrongdoing,” she began. “In Colonel Bradley’s case, simply having allowed himself to be captured could be the source of his guilt. Of course, we won’t know for sure until his condition improves.” It amazed Eden that she was able to discuss these hypothetical symptoms so convincingly.
“But how could he have avoided it?” Walker questioned, obviously ready to follow where she was leading.
“Maybe he thinks he didn’t take sufficient security precautions when he left Berlin. For all I know, maybe he didn’t. But in any event, you can’t assume that he’d be reacting normally.”
“And just how do you know all this without having talked to the man?” Price’s voice cut through to the heart of the matter like a hot knife through butter.
The chief of station gave his junior officer a sharp look, and Price flushed.
Eden noted the byplay even as she struggled to keep her outward composure. She had gone to great pains not to mention the fact that Mark was still almost completely uncommunicative. But eager-beaver Price had just slipped and let her know what she had been cautioned to assume—her sessions with Mark were being carefully recorded and monitored.
“Experience with dozens of cases like this, Lieutenant. I can tell a lot just from the kind of response he’s trying to hide.”
“So when do you expect him to improve?” Downing asked.
“That’s a fair question. And the answer partly depends on your cooperation. As you know, the colonel has come back from six months of enemy captivity. Other men in his position have been treated like heroes. He, on the other hand, has simply substituted one kind of captivity for another.”
“If you’re suggesting that we turn him loose, you can forget it,” Price said.
Eden gave him a dismissive look and continued. “I believe the first key to getting through to him is opening up his claustrophobic environment. He needs to get outside, away from the constant reminders of his status here.” And away from your listening devices, she added silently.
“But our security isn’t set up to handle that,” Yolanski objected.
Downing looked thoughtful. “Oh, I hardly think the colonel is going to jump into the ocean and swim back to the mainland. Maybe with sufficient safety measures we can give him a little more freedom, if that’s what Dr. Sommers thinks he needs.”
“Thank you,” Eden said, surprised that the chief of station had jumped in to support her. “Conducting my therapy sessions outside ought to help. Once I open a wedge, I think I can widen it. And I’d also like to suggest that Sergeant Marshall take advantage of the swimming pool here for some of the colonel’s physical therapy.”
Downing gave her a steady look. “I’ll think about it.”
Eden nodded. Better not press for more concessions.
“Do you think I’m driving you and everybody else so hard because I enjoy seeing Bradley sweat?” the chief of station surprised her by asking.
Eden resisted the urge to say yes.
When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Let me remind you that Bradley may have compromised a major U.S. weapons system. We’ve got to find out what he told the East Germans. You have two more weeks to start getting something out of him. After that we’ll have no alternative but to try an experimental drug therapy.”
So it was out in the open now.
“What experimental drug therapy?” Eden asked.
“I’m afraid your clearance doesn’t give you the need to know that.”
But she did know. Amherst Gordon had warned her. Downing was going to try a new “truth serum.” The trouble was, it was also an unstable hallucinogen that made LSD look like cotton candy.
* * *
A REPORT OF what had happened in the confidential meeting went out later that day.
The contact at Pine Island picked up the phone at the prearranged time.
“What’s the news on the hurricane watch?” the man in Washington asked.
“Two tropical storms have potential for trouble.”
“Let’s have it, then.”
“Sommers has made her preliminary diagnosis.”
“Go on.”
Succinctly, the local observer summarized the meeting between Eden and the security staff.
“Why is she getting two more weeks?” the man in Washington challenged.
“At this stage it should look as if she’s been given a real chance to do something.” The man hesitated for a moment. “You know, even though she hadn’t made any obvious progress, there’s something that makes me uneasy about this Dr. Sommers. There may be more to her being here than meets the eye.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“No, it’s just a bad feeling. Maybe you ought to check your sources and see what you can find out.”
“I’ll get back to you on that.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “There’s one more thing I want to ask. What about your own evaluation of the patient? What do you think? Is he really Mark Bradley or not?”
“He’s tight as a clam. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“You’re pretty sure Sommers can’t get anything out of him, either?”
“For now, anyway.”
“But if she does, they’re both expendable. Can you take care of that?”
“Yes.”
“This won’t be like that fiasco with the hair dryer, I trust.”
The man at Pine Island flushed. “I’ve got everything under control now.”
“You’d better. Moscow doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” There was a click, and the red phone went dead.
* * *
EDEN COULD have joined the officers in the library or the wardroom after dinner that evening, but as she often did, she went right up to her room instead. There was a good supply of books and magazines on her bedside table. But they were only for show. Mostly she spent the evening thinking—and keeping an ear peeled toward Mark’s room.
As a child she’d believed her father had all the answers. Even as a young woman, following in his footsteps had seemed the right thing to do. Major Sommers had been proud of her then. But he hadn’t understood her need to get out of the service. And though she’d officially discharged her air force obligation, he’d reminded her more than once how much the U.S. government had spent on her “high priced” education.
Though Eden had done her best to soothe his disappointment, relations between them had been strained ever since. And her mother had felt compelled to support her husband’s stand, even though she’d had misgivings. Now, maybe because Eden was getting nowhere with Mark, she longed to reach out and restore those older relationships. But that was impossible for the time being. Security on Pine Island precluded unofficial calls or letters to the outside world.
She was daydreaming about the weekend her whole family had come up to Cornell when she’d been awarded her Ph.D. Her younger brother, Billy, had been an undergraduate at Michigan State. He’d tried not to act overawed. But when she’d come down the aisle in that black gown with the special hood and the crimson stripes on the sleeve, she knew he’d been impressed. They’d all been in such good spirits. And it was typical of the many memorable times they’d spent together. That special family feeling she’d had before the rift had enabled her to know what she was looking for in a life partner.
Five years ago she’d thought she’d found it with Mark Bradley. But she’d been wrong. Now she couldn’t help wondering if she’d been wrong about a lot of things.
Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard the door of Mark’s room open. Marshall was getting his patient ready for bed. She supposed she ought to be grateful for small favors; at least the male nurse had curtailed his sarcastic remarks. Apparently, as soon as he’d realized she had been officially installed, he’d become more circumspect.
After the attendant left, Eden made her own bedtime preparations. The confrontation with Downing and his staff had been exhausting. And she had a busy day ahead, too. Once the lights were out, she heard Mark get out of bed and begin moving around. He did that most evenings. From the muffled grunts and labored breathing she heard, she had to assume that he had started a supplementary exercise program of his own. The knowledge gave her a measure of hope. Even if he was maintaining his unresponsive demeanor with her, he apparently did have some private goal in mind.
Eden had been asleep for several hours when she was startled into instant alertness by a different sound. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was close to three a.m. What had wakened her? Her heart began to pound. But in the next moment a groan drew her attention toward Mark’s room. She hesitated, listening intently. The groan was followed by another—and then a strangled exclamation. Had Downing broken his word and sent for Mark in the middle of the night?
Throwing a light robe over her satin gown, Eden hurried through the connecting bathroom and quickly pushed open Mark’s door. After her eyes had adjusted to the dim light, her gaze searched the room for intruders. There were none. But a muttered curse drew her attention to the far wall. There, shafts of moonlight coming in through the barred window cast the bed in stripes of pale light and shadow, and she could make out Mark’s restless form. The tangled covers had slipped to one side, and she could see that his body was naked from the waist up. Eden quickly crossed the room, drawn by moans interspersed with words that made no sense.
She watched Mark struggle against the twisted sheet that held him prisoner. There was a sheen of perspiration on his bare torso. Evidently he was in the throes of one of the nightmares Downing had mentioned.
Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest. What torture was he remembering?
“Mark, Mark, you’re safe. You’re only dreaming,” she murmured, sitting down on the edge of the bed and grasping his shoulders to quiet him. The gesture didn’t have the calming effect she had hoped for. He was still caught in the grip of the frightening dream. Now that she was closer she could see his features. His teeth were clenched and his eyes tightly shut. The pain written on his scarred countenance was almost too much to bear.
Despite her efforts to hold him down, he began to struggle against her hands with more strength than she would have thought possible, given his supposedly weakened condition.
“Damn it. I don’t know. I just don’t know,” he groaned, flailing out at her with an arm that suddenly twisted free from the restraining sheets. His hand struck Eden’s shoulder, almost knocking her off the bed. At the same time, a string of muttered imprecations filled the air.
Under other circumstances she would have taken a moment to nurse the spot on her shoulder that would certainly be a bruise by morning. But that would have to wait.
She tried again. “Mark, it’s Eden. I’m here. You’re safe with me.”
Her words apparently didn’t penetrate into whatever hell he was reliving. But he seemed to know there was someone else with him in the room, and his struggles redoubled. One large hand grabbed Eden’s wrist and began to shake her arm back and forth as though he were trying to break it. This time her cries of pain mingled with his muttered oaths.
Calming Mark had suddenly taken a back seat to freeing herself from the punishment he was intent on meting out. Changing her position, she maneuvered herself on top of him and tried to clamp his arm to his side. Luckily, his other arm was still tangled in the sheet, so he wasn’t able to throw her off. But his body began to twist and turn under hers as though he were desperate to escape the restraining weight.
“Mark,” she pleaded. “Wake up. It’s Eden. Don’t you know me?”
She must have repeated the words half a dozen times before she got any response. His dark eyes snapped open, focused on her at first uncomprehendingly.
“Eden?” She heard her own name gasped, heard the raspy, unused quality in his voice that she had noted before.
“Yes.”
At last he seemed to understand, and she felt his body go completely still. Sprawled along the length of his suddenly motionless form, she raised herself up so that she could look down into his face. His dark eyes were wide now and still staring at her. She saw that the fear haunting his dream had not been dispelled. Or was there something different now?
“You were having a nightmare,” she whispered, reaching up so that she could stroke his cheek as though comforting a child. “But it’s all right now.” She waited, almost afraid to breathe.
She could feel her own heart racing—and his, too. She was suddenly very aware of the warmth of his naked chest pressed against her breasts through the thin fabric of her gown. Was he going to push her away? But he didn’t seem to have the will to do it.
His tight grip on her wrist shifted, and she winced.
“I’ve hurt you.” His fingers probed lightly against the delicate bones.
“It’s not too bad.”
“You shouldn’t have come in here.”
“You needed me.”
“No.” God, yes!
In two weeks of silent fencing, they hadn’t exchanged this much dialogue. As a psychologist she might have tried to keep him talking. As a woman she knew that words weren’t always the most important form of communication.
His hand slipped up her arm to her shoulder so that he could pull her more tightly against his chest. He had been telling himself that he didn’t need her. But he had been longing to hold her like this—no matter how dangerous it might be to his own survival. Despite his own inner warnings, his fingers moved in small circles along the velvety expanse of her back, reveling in the soft, feminine feel of her skin.
Ede
n shivered with growing awareness. She had calmed other patients who had awakened from terrors in the middle of the night. On those occasions she had offered the simple warmth of human contact. This was much more than that.
She felt his fingers move up to tangle in the soft disarray of her hair, sifting through the strands as though they were spun of the rarest silk.
She moved her head slightly against his hand, increasing the contact. She wanted to touch him, as well—to trace the strong shape of his jaw, to feather her lips along the line of his dark brows, to know again the warmth of his mouth merged with hers. But she dared not. The last time she’d taken the initiative, he’d pulled back and withdrawn even more tightly.
Almost afraid of what she might see in his eyes, she lifted her head and looked down into their onyx depths.
Her lips trembled slightly. She felt his warm breath against her face, as though he were begging her to bridge the small space between them. If they kissed, she might finally know who this man really was. That was what she had been sent here to discover. Yet she realized that whether or not he was Mark Bradley, she cared about him. And suddenly she didn’t want to know.
His eyes focused on her lips. To lose himself in the warmth of her caress was infinitely tempting. Surely in the intimacy of that mingling he would know where her allegiance lay. But it was too dangerous. He could already sense his control slipping to the point of no return. Could he resist her, even if he knew she might ultimately be responsible for his death? It was simply too great a risk.
The moment passed.
“You’d better leave.”
“Will you be all right?”
His laugh was hollow. “No. But go anyway.”
* * *
EDEN SLIPPED back into her own bed and pulled the sheets up around her neck. They felt cold against her heated skin. She was torn between duty and desire, anguish and elation. What had just transpired between herself and Mark played back through her mind. She had been a coward. Or had she taken her cue from him? They had both wanted something more to happen. Yet powerful forces had kept them from crossing an imaginary boundary line.