by Rebecca York
“Come to think of it, I was curious about activity on line number seven,” he said. “But I have to go back and review my records.” He was going to be up till midnight checking the blasted backup tapes.
Next the chief of station turned to Marshall. “You’re right in the hub of activity in the medical wing. Have you picked up any suspicious—” he hesitated as though searching for the right word “—vibrations?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I mean, I have the feeling that something fishy is going on over there. It looks to me as though Sommers has subverted Hubbard. Or maybe she’s just using him for some private purpose of her own. Do you have any impressions that might help me form an opinion?”
What a question. And what the hell was the best answer? Marshall played for time. “Sir, I’d rather not make accusations about superior officers.”
“Sergeant Marshall, your loyalty is commendable. But let me remind you that your first duty is to your commanding officer, not Doctors Hubbard or Sommers.”
The nurse remained silent, and the chief of station drummed his fingers against the uncluttered surface of the conference table. Downing was thinking that perhaps he had been arrogant in placing too much faith in locks and security systems, even if they were the best that money could buy. If Bradley escaped, it was Maj. Ross Downing’s head that would be on the chopping block. But he wasn’t going to share the insight.
“Starting today, I’d like the four of you to rotate evening duty in the medical wing. The man who draws the assignment will sleep in one of the infirmary beds. That way he can report any suspicious nighttime activity to me.”
“Might I ask what you’re expecting, sir?” Walker asked. Things were taking an unexpected turn, and one he didn’t much like.
The chief of station shook his head. “I simply don’t want to take any chances.” Downing concluded the meeting with a general pep talk about security precautions.
After the major left, Price shook his head. “What do you suppose has gotten into him?” he asked, addressing no one in particular.
“His ego is all wrapped up around this job,” Yolanski observed dryly.
Price started to redirect the blame. “Yeah, well maybe if you were a little more on top of things...” He wasn’t the only one who’d been derelict in his duties. Yolanski was a positive slob about paperwork. Why hadn’t Downing asked him about the duty station reports, for example? He had a suspicion that Yolanski simply faked them.
“Knock it off,” Walker broke in. “We’re all on edge. But this can’t go on forever.” From where he sat it looked as though things were going to break soon. He just hoped that one of the flying pieces didn’t land on him.
Marshall observed the byplay from his seat in the corner. They were officers. He was an enlisted man. And he’d better not overstep any boundaries.
“Okay, let’s flip a coin to see who draws the new duty first,” Walker suggested.
Price won—or rather, lost. With a sinking feeling he wondered how he was going to go through those Comms Center tapes and logs if he had to spend the evening baby-sitting the medical wing.
The group broke up, but one of the other men remained behind. “Listen, I get the feeling you’d rather not take that duty tonight.”
“What choice do I have?”
“I don’t mind taking it. You can do me a favor sometime.”
Price looked genuinely appreciative. “Thanks, I owe you one.”
* * *
IT WAS AN EFFORT for Eden to go about the rest of the day’s activities with some semblance of normality. She was thankful that she had established the pattern of going to her room soon after dinner. Tonight, however, on her way to the medical wing, she made a stop in the kitchen. She knew that Mark had been put on a liquid diet and must be hungry. So she fixed him a thick roast beef sandwich and added a scoop of the cook’s excellent potato salad and a glass of ice tea.
Blackwell, who had the duty station at the end of the hall, commented on the tray as she waited to go up in the elevator.
“Sometimes I get hungry after you lock us in,” she explained casually. “And I’m not taking any chances tonight.”
Blackwell sympathized. “I know what you mean about midnight snacks.” He paused for a minute. “Dr. Sommers, if you’re going up now, would you mind if I made my room inspection and lock check early?”
He had made the request before and Eden had always agreed. She knew that after the elevator and the gates at the top and bottom of the stairs were secure, he was free to go. And she hadn’t minded building up a little goodwill by letting him off early. Tonight it suited her purposes perfectly.
In her quarters, Eden set down her tray on the desk and sat in the chair by the window while Blackwell made his inspection. It took only a few minutes. But she allowed several more minutes before getting up and changing her clothes. Instead of underwear she put on a light swimsuit that fit like a second skin. Over that went casual attire.
Mark was in his room. He looked up in welcome when she opened the connecting door and stepped across the threshold. Like her he was dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt.
She came bearing gifts. Besides the tray of food, she also had the ornate pin and the manicure kit. Mark accepted the food gratefully. While he ate, they examined the equipment. There was a glint of approval in his dark eyes as he inspected the burglary tools. Next he held the pin up to the light and, with one of the instruments he’d just examined, turned an almost invisible dial in the back. Apparently that was how the transmitter was activated. Then he pinned it securely to her T-shirt.
She pulled a pad and pencil from her pocket.
He nodded.
We’re being picked up at 1:00 a.m. she wrote.
He grinned, and she caught the excitement that simmered below the surface of his controlled manner. She was trying to hold her terror at bay, while he was actually thriving on the danger. But then why not? After months of being at other people’s mercy he was taking control of his own fate. She could believe what he’d said about getting out of this place or dying in the attempt.
We’d better sit tight until after midnight.
She glanced at her watch. They had three hours—an eternity. She could imagine spending that time in his arms. She wanted his lovemaking to help her forget the knot of fear growing tighter in her abdomen. And she knew her expression told him that.
He reached out and stroked her cheek regretfully.
She turned her face so that her lips brushed his fingertips. Weeks ago he had snatched his hand away at the same gesture. Now he moved his fingers against her lips as though sealing the promise that there would be time later for the intimacy they both wanted.
It was strange, she thought, how their roles had reversed. When she’d first come here, she was the strong one. She had used the force of her will to pull Mark out of his depression. Now she was way out of her depth, and he had taken charge. If they got out of this alive, it would be due to his efforts, not hers.
Mark turned to the paper again. You lie down and get some rest. I’ll stand guard.
She glanced questioningly back toward her own room. He shook his head and pointed toward his bed.
She understood. He needed her close by just as much as she needed to stay with him. Slipping out of her shoes, she lay down. Mark crossed the room, unfolded the cover at the end of the bed and tucked it around her. He had planned to go back to his post at the window. Instead he sat down on the edge of the mattress.
She looked up at him trustingly, and he reached out to smooth a wayward strand of hair back from her forehead.
When they’d been lovers five years ago, he’d glimpsed many of the special qualities in her, but he’d never known the depths of her courage. She’d risked her career to come down here and help him. She’d held her own in dealing with the gang of brigands who ran this place. Now she was putting her life on the line to help him get away.
He remembered how leaving her before had
torn him into a thousand aching pieces. But he had taken the coward’s way out and simply disappeared from her life because he hadn’t been able to ask her to share the crazy existence he led. After what had happened to him in Leipzig, a future for them together seemed even more impossible.
She could quote any textbook psychological theory she wanted, but he knew in his gut he was damaged goods. If he didn’t want to hurt her any more, the smartest thing he could do once they got out of here—if they got out of here—would be to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. It might be hard to make her understand that. But she’d be better off without him.
“Try to sleep,” he whispered against her ear. The warmth in her eyes almost made him turn away in despair.
Only if you kiss me good night.
He complied, but it was the gentlest of kisses.
When he got up, Eden closed her eyes, moving her head against the pillow. It smelled of the clean scent of Mark’s body. She could almost imagine that he was still here beside her. She wouldn’t have thought that she could sleep, but the emotional turmoil of the day had taken its toll in exhaustion. The next thing she was aware of was Mark’s hand shaking her shoulder.
He covered her mouth with his fingers when she might have given a startled exclamation. From the expression on his face, she knew it was time to leave.
Mark opened the door and looked into the hall. Stepping silently out, he motioned for her to follow. They were careful to walk lightly, but they drew a few inevitable squeaks from the worn boards. However, when they stopped and listened, there seemed to be no response.
At the locked stairway, Mark pulled out the manicure set. One of the tools turned out to be a miniature infrared light, which he handed to her. Then he began to work on the padlock. Of course it wasn’t a standard lock, any more than Pine Island was a standard installation. The mechanism was sophisticated. And he realized at once that without the high-tech tools the Falcon had provided, they might as well have gone to bed and waited for Downing to come in the morning. As it was, he was beginning to wonder if he’d lost his touch, but eventually the mechanism yielded.
At the bottom of the stairs Mark repeated the procedure. Before he’d tackled the first lock, he’d been afraid there might be a guard down here. Now he understood why the chief of station hadn’t bothered with something so fallible as a human watchdog.
There was still one more door at the end of the medical-wing hall. He studied it from several angles. When Eden reached for the knob, he pulled her hand back and pointed to the vibration sensor she had never noticed beside the glass panel. Mark bent to the floor and felt for the connector. In a quick maneuver she couldn’t see, he rendered the alarm ineffective.
It was then Eden thought she heard a noise from one of the unlit rooms off the hall. She put a warning hand on Mark’s shoulder, and for a moment they both held their breath and listened. But there was nothing except the wheeze of the air conditioner. Mark gestured for her to follow, and they stepped outside.
The warm night air had never felt so good, Eden thought as they crossed the threshold. She wanted to shout for joy. They had actually made it out of the building. Although she wasn’t looking forward to a long swim, she couldn’t help feeling that in one sense the hardest part was over.
Silently she followed Mark across the garden. Moonlight silvered the foliage and crumbling statues, but under the circumstances the effect was an eerie beauty. She half expected figures to emerge from behind every shadow.
Once past the garden, Mark avoided the stretch of beach that had become their own and struck out instead for the other side of the island, where a wide bay separated them from the mainland.
It wasn’t until they were about a quarter of a mile from the house that he slowed his pace.
“Let me see your watch.”
She turned the illuminated dial in his direction.
“I’d be happier if the guy with the boat were going to be here a half hour earlier, but we’re just going to have to start swimming, anyway. The sooner we get off this hellhole, the better.”
Eden heard the undercurrent of fury in his voice. Now that he was free from captivity, he was beginning to admit just how awful this experience had been. She reached down and twined her fingers with his. “We’re going to make it,” she whispered.
A dark grove of pines guarded the bay. Eden had to repress the wild notion that something—or more precisely, someone—might be lurking there to block their escape. Mark sensed her hesitation. This time it was he who offered reassurance.
“Almost there,” he told her.
They threaded their way quickly through the pines and emerged about fifty feet from a rocky beach. The waves here were much gentler than those on the ocean side of the island. At least they wouldn’t be swimming through huge swells. Mark let go of her hand. “Wait here while I check out the shoreline.”
She pressed her back against one of the pine trees. The rough bark at her back was somehow reassuring. In the moonlight she strained to make out Mark’s figure. When he disappeared momentarily, she had to force herself to keep breathing normally.
“All clear,” Mark called out.
She took several steps out onto the beach and then began to remove her shirt, revealing the maillot underneath.
She was bending down to retrieve the pin from her T-shirt when something closed painfully around her arm.
It was a hand as large and hard as an anvil.
She screamed, and Mark whirled around.
“What is it?” he called out urgently, running back in her direction.
Eden didn’t answer because the hand was now clamped over her mouth. And she could feel the butt of a gun pressed against the small of her back.
“That’s right. Over here. Hurry up,” a sharp voice commanded. “Or your girlfriend is dead.”
Chapter Ten
Eden didn’t have to turn in the moonlight. She knew who it was, and that made her redouble her struggles. Run, Mark, her mind screamed. He’ll just get you, too. But he was oblivious to the silent entreaty.
“Let go of her, you bastard.”
Sergeant Wayne Marshall laughed. “You’re not in any position to be giving orders, Colonel,” he gibed. “Just hold it right there while I secure your chick.” The gun that had been in Eden’s back was now pointed at Mark.
As Marshall spoke, he maneuvered Eden toward one of the pines. She heard the clink of metal, and then one cold bracelet of a handcuff set was snapped around her right wrist. Marshall looped the connecting chain over a branch and secured the other cuff to her left wrist. She was effectively immobilized with her arms pulled up over her head. The position was painful. She knew it would get worse.
She could see the tension in Mark’s body. He was looking for a chance to spring, but Marshall didn’t give him one. “Now it’s your turn, Bradley,” he spat out.
Mark struggled to hold himself in check. All his emotions urged him to charge, even if it meant suicide, but his training told him not to argue with a gun. He didn’t care about himself, but if he were dead, Eden wouldn’t have a chance.
The sergeant smiled, his eyes flicking momentarily to the neighboring trees and then settling on one about ten feet from Eden. “I think this will do nicely—close enough for you to see the action but too far away to do a damn thing about it.”
He gestured with the gun. “Over there.”
Mark had no choice. He complied—and then backed up to the tree and reached around it as Marshall had ordered. With a few swift but professional strokes Marshall secured his captive’s wrists and ankles with rough cord.
“I want you to know that this little show will be for your benefit as much as mine, Colonel,” Marshall taunted as he stuffed a handkerchief in his captive’s mouth and secured it with tape. “Think of it as a repayment for all the hours I’ve played nursemaid, lugging you around, spoon-feeding you—all on orders from Moscow.” The raw bitterness in his voice matched the malice in his eyes.
When Marshall turned back toward Eden, Mark tested the bonds. They were tight. He moved his arms as far as he could up and down the tree trunk and then felt a stab of hope. Marshall hadn’t noticed, but there was a sharp metal projection in the bark above his wrists—a nail or a marker. Given time, he might be able to saw himself loose. But time might be in very short supply.
He shuddered as Marshall reached out and put a hand on Eden’s breast. She kicked him in the leg, and he cried out in pain, taking a quick step backward.
“That wasn’t very smart,” he observed, regaining his composure. “Let me show you what that gets you.” He crossed back to Mark and hit him with several hard jabs to the stomach. Mark groaned and doubled over, sagging against the bonds that held his arms.
“Now, you wouldn’t want that to happen again, would you?” Marshall asked, turning back to Eden.
She shook her head frantically. In the shadowy darkness he towered over her like an apparition.
“Would you?” he asked again, a threatening edge in his voice.
“No.”
While Marshall fumbled with the button at her waistband and unzipped her jeans, she forced herself to stand rigid. He pulled the denim pants down her legs, leaving them pooled around her calves and ankles. “Get a good look, Colonel. It may be your last chance.”
Marshall tossed the gun casually down on the ground and reached into his pocket. Eden heard a click. A moment later a long switchblade knife was in his hand, its sharp edge glittering in the moonlight. She held her breath as he pressed the point against the fabric at the top of her bathing suit. Was he going to kill her now? Instead he ran the razor-sharp blade down the front of the suit.
Mark strained against his bonds. Watching the knife slit Eden’s suit was like feeling his own flesh cut. He had been tortured mentally and physically for months, yet this was worse. Seeing Eden helpless in the hands of this madman and being powerless to save her made him seethe. He redoubled his efforts on the rope, heedless of the way the rough bark scraped his wrists.
