by Rebecca York
On the other hand, maybe she should count her victories instead of her defeats. For a few brief moments the man in the other room had risked his vulnerability. He obviously wanted to trust her. And that was something to build on.
He had taken a risk. She must do the same. Tomorrow she was going to change the rules between them. It might lead to disaster. But if she didn’t seize this opportunity, they might never get another one.
Chapter Six
Five hundred miles away, at the Aviary, the Falcon tapped on a section of the library wall with his silver-headed cane. The richly polished wood panel slid open to reveal a very modern and efficient-looking office quite out of keeping with the colonial elegance of the rest of the inn. Against the far wall clocks displayed the local time in Hong Kong, Berlin, Moscow and Cairo. Below them Constance McGuire was seated at a computer terminal typing travel orders.
“I’ve got one of our best operatives lined up for you,” she said without turning around. “Michael Rome is on his way to Savannah now to start making contingency plans.”
“Excellent.” As he spoke, Gordon slowly crossed to a wide mahogany desk piled high with computer printouts and folders—along with a telephone and a crystal decanter of Napoleon brandy. He pulled out the comfortably padded executive chair and eased himself down into it. His damn knee was acting up again. But he supposed he should be grateful that he could walk at all.
“I despise sitting here on the sidelines waiting for something disastrous to happen,” he grumbled.
“Maybe you’re getting too old for this type of work,” his assistant observed dryly.
Her words had the desire effect. “Don’t count on it. You’ll be the first to know when I’ve reached senility.”
She laughed appreciatively and turned to look at him over the top of her gold-rimmed half glasses. “You’re so stubborn you’ll probably find a way to run this operation from the grave.”
They exchanged warm looks. The gibe was familiar, and so was the rejoinder.
Deliberately Gordon reached over and poured a shot of brandy into the cup of steaming coffee Connie had set out for him. He was thinking about the Roman playwright Plautus and his advocacy of patience. Was it really the best remedy for every trouble? But then Plautus specialized in comedies, not tragedies.
The Falcon took a thoughtful sip of his fortified brew before continuing. “We’ve played waiting games with the best of them. The trick is being prepared to move when the time is right—and in this case it won’t do us a damn bit of good to get Bradley off that island unless Eden is convinced that it’s really him—and if it is him, that he hasn’t been compromised.”
Connie turned back to the computer terminal for a moment, running her fingers lightly across the keyboard. Through it she was tied in to every major information source available to the U.S. government—and a few the government didn’t even know about. Yesterday evening one of those contacts had paid off.
“Well, we’ve got Hans Erlich’s name now,” she said. “At least Eden can see what effect that has on the colonel.”
The Falcon’s cane slammed down against the polished mahogany desk top, making the telephone receiver jump in its cradle. “Hans Erlich! God, would I like to get my hands on that sadistic bastard!”
* * *
LAST NIGHT Eden’s decision had seemed very clear-cut. This morning as she pulled on jeans and a T-shirt rather than her usual daytime garb, she had a few second thoughts. Leveling with her patient was taking a big risk. Yet if she wanted to help him, she had to take the chance.
Sitting down at the small dressing table in her room, she hastily wrote a few words on a small slip of paper torn from her notepad. After folding it in half, she stuffed it into the front pocket of her jeans. She had to restrain the impulse to jam her hand in after it as she headed for the dining hall. Through breakfast, the note seemed to burn a hole in her pocket. She felt almost as though she were carrying around a grenade that was about to go off. And in a way she was.
When it was finally time for her morning session with Mark, she did have to stuff her hands into her pockets to keep them from trembling as she waited for the elevator in the medical wing.
The metal door wheezed open and Dr. Hubbard stepped out. He gave Eden a friendly nod and then peered at her more closely. Despite his vow to remain aloof, he had come to think of Eden Sommers as one of the few bright spots in this uncomfortable assignment.
They’d been forced to work closely together. In less than two weeks he’d gotten to know her pretty well—although he recognized that there were certain compartments of her life that were off-limits. But that was true for him, as well.
Maybe because she saw him as a sort of father figure, she’d shared some glimpses of her childhood. One afternoon when he’d referred to himself as “an old sawbones,” they’d discovered they were both Star Trek fans. He had watched the original series back in the midsixties. Eden and her younger brother, Billy, had gotten hooked on the reruns ten years later. Hubbard hadn’t been able to resist brightening up his days a bit by using Trekkie terminology as a little inside joke between himself and Eden.
“You’re looking a little under the weather this morning,” he observed now. “If you don’t feel better by lunchtime, stop by sick bay and let me or Nurse Chapel take your temperature.”
Eden forced a smile. She was too keyed up to enjoy the Star Trek patter right now. “I’m sure I’ll feel better once I get outside with Colonel Bradley.”
“Oh, that’s right. Major Downing did mention something about this being the big day.”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think the patient’s up to it. He’s been showing a lot of improvement with his walking over the past week.”
Hubbard sounded pleased with the way things were going, but still cautious. “If I were you, I think I might take a cane, just in case. We don’t want him to fall down and have a setback.”
Eden waited while he issued the suggested equipment.
When she opened the door to the therapy room, Mark was in his usual chair. But instead of slippers he was wearing tennis shoes with his blue jeans and T-shirt. Even though she could tell he noted her presence, his eyes avoided hers. Did he want to be sure she wasn’t making any presumptions after last night?
There was no time for questioning his motives now. She had to go ahead with what she had planned. “Did Sergeant Marshall tell you we have a little outing scheduled for today?” she asked.
She hadn’t expected an answer to that question. It was strictly for the benefit of whoever was listening in.
“I think you’re going to enjoy getting outside,” she continued, reaching in her pocket and pulling out the piece of paper. Unfolding it, she held it in front of Mark’s face.
We are being monitored. Don’t ask any questions now. Come outside where we can talk. I have a message for you from the Falcon.
Mark’s face jerked upward. His dark eyes seemed to drill into hers. What the hell! How had she gotten hold of that name?
Last night he’d made a mistake by letting her past his defenses. But what were you supposed to do when a warm, willing body tempted you beyond endurance? He might have lived through hell, but he wasn’t dead yet. The irony of the situation had kept him awake for hours. This morning he had been prepared to redouble his efforts to resist temptation. But now, what did he do with this new piece of information? Eden Sommers could have come by that name by a variety of devious means. To his knowledge she’d never been part of the Peregrine Connection. And his information sources had been quite good. Who was she really working for, for Lord’s sake? He was going to have to play along, at least until he found out.
She put her finger to her lips. Did she actually think he was stupid enough to say something here? Instead, he nodded.
She visibly relaxed and offered him her arm. “Dr. Hubbard suggested that you might need a cane,” she continued, as though the spoken part of the conversation was all that had passed between them.
<
br /> Mark shot her a contemptuous look and reached for the walking stick. For a moment he simply held it. Then he shifted it back and forth in his hands as though he was testing its weight.
He noted Eden’s quizzical look and her raised eyebrow. But reactions could be faked. Methodically he ran his fingers along the smooth wood. Near the bottom there was a barely detectable notch, which he pried up with his nail. Holding the cane out, he showed her the tiny transmitter nestled inside the small cavity.
Eden’s eyes widened. Quickly he closed the recess back up and stood.
“Ready?” she asked, trying to sound chipper and enthusiastic. Suddenly the room—and all those hidden ears listening in—seemed to be pressing in against her.
They made slow progress down the hall. And as they passed the physical therapy room, Eden saw Sergeant Marshall scowl in their direction. Evidently the male nurse didn’t share the doctor’s enthusiasm for taking Mark out.
“You know, Colonel Bradley tires awfully easily,” he called out. “Are you sure you don’t want me to be nearby in case you run into trouble? After all the progress we’ve made, I’d hate to see him slip back.”
“We’ll take it very easy today,” Eden promised.
“Just so we understand where the responsibility lies for any setbacks,” he mumbled, looking down at the papers on his desk.
“He’s a real sweetheart,” Eden whispered as they moved farther down the hall. She could have said the same for Price, or almost any of the other men here at Pine Island. Then she looked in horror at the cane.
Mark shot her a warning look.
For the next five minutes she kept her expression neutral and her comments to herself. When they reached the front door she turned to her patient. “The beach certainly looks inviting. Let’s walk down that way.”
The outside air was hot and moist as usual, but the breeze blowing off the water seemed to cut through the heat. Eden watched as Mark took in several lungfuls of the salty air. It was the first breath of freedom he’d had in months. But she could see him fighting not to show any emotion. Together they threaded down the gravel path through the flower beds where hibiscus and day lilies were still holding their own with the sea grass.
They had progressed a few feet into the sand when she stopped as though a sudden thought had just occurred to her. “You know, that cane seems to be sinking in. I think it’s actually making it harder for you to walk. Just drop it here and we’ll pick it up on our way back.”
Following her cue, Mark pressed the end of the walking stick into the soft sand and twisted it down below the level of the transmitter. She could just picture the little grains wrecking the delicate mechanism. Then he tossed the cane aside.
* * *
AT THE MAIN HOUSE there was a burst of static before two separate receivers went dead. At both locations, the malfunction was followed by a string of curses.
“We’ll have to take the mobile unit out,” Price growled downstairs in the security room.
“Too bad nobody took a course in lip reading,” Yolanski quipped. “I’ll toss you for the detail. Heads you go. Tails I stay here and man the inoperative equipment.”
Price didn’t laugh. But then he hardly ever did.
* * *
“LEAN ON MY shoulder if you’re having trouble walking,” Eden suggested as they crossed the deserted beach.
Mark ignored the offer and struck off doggedly by himself. Apparently he wanted to put some distance between himself and the main house before they got down to business. Eden noted he was walking now with just the barest trace of a limp. Though his body was still thin and angular, he had gained a bit of weight since her arrival, and his muscle tone had improved considerably. His shoulders were back and his head was up as though the fresh air was having a strong reviving effect.
Eden glanced back over her shoulder. Yolanski, who was ambling down the garden path in their direction, had also decided to take a stroll. He had on what looked like a jogger’s radio. Of course, after the cane incident, she could believe that might be some sort of receiver, too.
Mark headed toward the breakwater, where a wall of piled stones separated one part of the beach from the other. As they approached the line of crashing surf, the noise level increased. Eden hid a smile. He knew what he was doing. They were going to have trouble hearing each other talk, and it would be next to impossible for someone else to pick up their conversation.
“Sergeant Marshall’s right. You don’t want to overdo it. Maybe we’ve gone far enough,” she observed, watching as Mark shaded his eyes against the glare of the morning sun on the water. They were as close as they could get to the crashing surf without becoming wet from the waves rolling up the beach. He stood for a moment looking at a flock of gulls circle over the water. The breeze from the ocean whipped his dark hair back off his forehead. And in the bright sunlight the scar tissue on his face and neck was painfully apparent.
The last time they had been on a beach together, he had looked different—carefree and happy. That had been on Cape Cod, where the two of them had spent a long Columbus Day weekend. The water had been too cold for swimming, but neither of them had minded. They’d spent hours walking along the sand, arms around each other to ward off the nip of autumn in the air.
She longed to put her arm around him the same way now. Instead she sighed and sat down. After a long moment he lowered himself a bit stiffly to the sand beside her. She watched as he dug his fingers into the soft grains and then let them cascade through his fingers. The gesture made her vividly aware once again that this was the first time he’d been out of close confinement in months. She would have liked to let him enjoy the freedom. But there was so little time.
“Do you know who planted the bug in the cane?” she finally asked.
He hesitated. He had kept his own council for so long that it was hard to share even obvious information. “Downing at least,” he finally replied in the raspy voice that was already becoming familiar. “Who knows who else might be listening in.”
Eden shuddered, yet at the same time she couldn’t suppress a surge of joy. Now that they were away from prying ears, he was actually going to talk to her. There were so many questions she wanted to ask. But he didn’t give her the chance.
“All right, let’s have it. What’s the Falcon to you?” he challenged.
“He sent me here to help you.”
“Convince me.”
Eden looked at him blankly for a moment. She’d hoped the Falcon’s code name would be sufficient password. Apparently Mark needed more. “How do I do that?”
“Let’s see how you answer a few questions. What’s the Falcon’s name?”
“Amherst Gordon.”
“And what about Karen McGuire?”
“Constance McGuire, his assistant,” she corrected.
“And his valet Cicero.”
She had to laugh at that one. “His parrot, you mean.”
“And where is their operation?”
“The Aviary is in Berryville, Virginia.”
“I still can’t be sure whether you’ve met him or you’ve been carefully coached.”
The matter-of-fact statement made her review their exchange in another light. Suddenly she realized the same could be true for the man who was quizzing her. He might have been trying to trip her up. Or he might have been verifying crucial facts. If he wasn’t Col. Mark Bradley, she’d probably just confirmed Intelligence information that was only supposition in some East German file.
A shiver went through her body, and it wasn’t from the wind blowing off the ocean.
For endless moments they sat in the sand looking at each other searchingly. In the intensity of the exchange, Eden had forgotten all about the crashing of the breakers against the rocks. Now they sounded like a symphony of dissonant percussion instruments. The tide was creeping in and the waves were getting closer. Overhead a gull circled.
The expression on the face of the man across from her was unreadable. But doubt a
nd hope fought for control of Eden’s countenance. She had anticipated so much from this first private meeting. But it wasn’t going the way she had expected.
It was her perplexed vulnerability that triggered his decision. He might be a fool to trust her. But even if she really wasn’t on his side, he reminded himself, he might be able to use her. “All right,” he relented. “I’ll assume that you’re an ally until you prove otherwise.”
She hadn’t known she was holding her breath. Now it came out in an audible sigh of relief. “Mark, I have to make another report to Downing in a few days. And I’ve got to show some evidence that he’s going to be able to get what he wants out of you.”
“He’s never going to get what he wants out of me!”
She shuddered at the vehemence in his voice. But all the resolve in the world wouldn’t help him against what Downing had planned. “Do you know what RL2957 is?”
“No.” But he did, although he thought the Joint Chief of Staff had scrapped that particular project.
“It’s an experimental truth serum—with some devastating side effects like acid trips that last forever. Downing has the okay to use it on you.”
“When?”
“He’s given me two weeks to change his mind. That’s why you’ve got to help me convince him that my therapy is working.”
“So what was your diagnosis of the patient?”
Quickly she summarized yesterday’s exchange with the security team.
When she was finished, he laughed hollowly. “Is that what you think about me?”
“No.” I still don’t know what to think. She reached over and touched his wrist. She could feel the heat of the sun on his skin. With those scars and his incarceration, he was probably going to burn. Next time she’d try to remember to bring some lotion.
“Please trust me,” she whispered.
“I want to.” God, if only I could.
A strong incoming wave suddenly lapped at their clothing and they both jumped up.
Eden turned to see Yolanski standing fifty yards away up on the rock wall. He was looking intently down at them, all pretense of a morning stroll abandoned.
