by Rebecca York
“I assumed your cool exterior was just for me.”
“No, for the whole world. I think now that’s why the turmoil you stirred up in me was so disturbing. It was something I couldn’t ignore and couldn’t control.”
“I didn’t know how to fight my reaction to you either. Even knowing the risks to both of us.”
His hand stroked the silky skin of her lip. With his new understanding of the special gift she’d given him alone, it was impossible not to luxuriate in her closeness. He had been isolated for so long that loneliness had become part of his existence. The years had muted it into a dull background ache—until he met this woman. Then suddenly the knowledge of what he lacked had swelled into a fierce, piercing agony. He pressed his face against her soft breasts, almost shutting out the knowledge of what it would be like to exist without her now.
She sensed his need, and again it mirrored her own. Even when she felt him drifting into sleep, she kept her arms around him.
It was close to two in the morning when the phone rang. Her eyes open, she turned automatically to reach toward the bedside table. His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.
“Don’t answer it.”
The ringing stopped, then started again.
He sat up and flung the covers off them. “Get dressed. Someone suspects we’re here. We have to leave—right now.”
Chapter Fifteen
Instead of heading directly for the southeastern edge of the city, they took the beltway around to Rockville. By the time they arrived at the park-and-ride Metro station, the first wave of early commuters had already filled the closest rows of the lot. Though there was a risk of discovery if they stayed in the Washington area, Aleksei had insisted on remaining near the capital.
“The Peregrine Connection has to be somewhere close by,” he’d argued. “I must stay here.”
She looked at him with concern as they made their way to the station. To help fade into the crowd, he’d sacrificed the comfort of the sling. If someone on the train jostled his arm, it was going to hurt.
But no casual observer would know what he’d been through recently, she thought with satisfaction. Even in just a few days, she’d been able to put some of the weight back on his spare frame. The July sun had given him the beginning of a tan. And she’d trimmed his longish hair, making it more respectable. The mustache she’d left alone, because she found she liked it for a number of reasons. When she looked at him, she felt a surge of possessiveness. To the outside world his features might be hard. But she knew they could melt to infinite tenderness when she took him in her arms. He belonged to her in the most elemental way, and she belonged to him.
He was wearing slacks and a sport jacket she’d purchased over the weekend at a shopping center near the beach. They were a good fit, she noticed as she gave him a quick inspection out of the corner of her eye. Her own bright sundress, wide-brimmed hat, and sunglasses had been acquired at his suggestion. “Find an outfit you’d never buy, something that’s completely out of character,” he’d advised.
On the drive back to D.C., he’d suggested they stay in a large, prominent hotel. “It’s arrogant. Like Poe’s ‘Purloined Letter.’ Hide something in full view where no one will think to look,” he pointed out.
She laughed and he raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Back in Madrid, when I felt caught between you and Cal Dixon, I thought of Poe, too,” she explained. “Only it was ‘The Pit and the Pendulum.’”
“I see. Which was I?”
“The pendulum, I think.”
From her list of candidates he selected the Mayflower, which was centrally located just a few blocks from the White House.
But as the subway train sped along the tracks into the city, she felt her anxiety rising. KGB agents might be waiting for him here. Suppose he was delivering himself into their clutches?
Despite his calm, matter-of-fact manner at the registration desk, she had to clasp her hands behind her back to keep them from trembling as he signed in a Mr. and Mrs. James Gunderson and left a cash deposit.
It wasn’t until the bellboy had set her suitcase on a luggage rack and closed the door behind them that she felt a small measure of safety. The room was beautifully appointed with a dark wood Queen-Anne-style armoire, desk, and bed. The velvet sofa and chairs that formed a conversation group in an alcove by the window were done in green and mauve. The same color scheme was picked up in the drapes and bedspread.
“Capitalist luxury,” he observed dryly as he noted the phone and hair dryer in the bathroom. But when he saw her tense expression, he quickly crossed the room and put his arm around her shoulder. She pressed her face against his chest, letting his familiar scent and warmth envelop her.
“Our second time in a hotel room together,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
“I ached to make love to you then.”
She tipped her face up so that her dark eyes could meet the cobalt of his. There was a basic, unalterable honesty between them now that no one could ever take away.
She smiled. “Even then, even when I was afraid of you, I went to pieces every time you touched me.”
“I felt it. It drove me wild with need for you.”
Their lips met in a long, lingering kiss. Their lack of any other liberty made the freedom to love each other all the more sweet. His fingers were sensuously stroking the back of her neck when a knock at the door made her jump in alarm. Though Aleksei’s body stiffened, he didn’t remove the arm that clasped her to him.
“Yes?” he called out, his now steely blue eyes focusing on the painted wood as though he could pierce it.
“Housekeeping. Do you need any extra towels in the bathroom?”
“No. Thank you.”
There was a pause and they heard a knock at the next door down the hall.
Julie let out the breath she’d been holding.
“It’s all right,” he said. “We’re both jumpy.” His fingers stroked her shoulder. “But maybe you should get ready to leave. The sooner you finish the business we discussed, the sooner you’ll be back.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, resisting the inevitable. But he was right—tracking down her missing shipment of household goods was probably going to take some time. She couldn’t make the calls here.
“Will you rest while I’m gone?”
He nodded and turned to fold down the bedspread. Then he took off his jacket, and she saw him wince as he moved the injured arm. She tried not to watch as he unbuckled his shoulder holster and transferred his gun to the drawer beside the bed.
After adjusting the pillows, he lay down. It looked like a lazy pose, but his eyes were alert as he studied her appearance.
She noticed his appraisal and pirouetted. “Will I do?”
“Very well. I’d have to look twice to know you were Julie McLean.”
“I was taught the art of disguise by a crafty Russian.”
“Your lover?” His light tone matched hers. He was determined to send her out into the city feeling confident.
Her eyes locked with his. “Yes. Definitely my lover.”
“When you get back, he’ll order room service—champagne and caviar for two.”
“And what for dessert?”
“Something very delectable, I’m sure.”
The moment the door closed behind her, his manner changed. After securing the safety chain, he picked up the early edition of The Washington Post he’d purchased at the subway station.
When he turned to the classified section, his lips thinned. At the top of the page was a notice explaining that due to an unrecoverable computer error, a number of ads called in on Saturday had been lost. The management apologized for any inconvenience this might have caused and offered to run any ad that was lost for an extra day.
Quickly his eyes scanned the “Animals for Sale” section. No mynah birds. Chyort! He couldn’t wait another day.
Getting off the bed he started to pace the room. Every minute wasted m
eant the Topaz documents were more likely to fall right back into KGB hands. He had to get to them first. The fact that he didn’t even know where they were made him feel as impotent as a Soviet negotiator at the SALT talks. The walls of the expensive hotel room seemed to close in around him. His first instinct was to get out of there and do something. But until he found out where that Russian wolfhound was, there was really nothing he could do. Hopefully, Julie would find that out for him. Then her part in all this would be over. Once he knew where the film was, he was going to leave her here so she wouldn’t get caught in any cross fire.
* * *
AFTER STEPPING OUT into the muggy Washington air, Julie walked to a nearby Metro stop. Picking a destination at random, she got off at Van Ness Center. Then, armed with several dollars in quarters, she found a phone booth and started making calls. As she’d expected, she was shuffled from office to office. No one seemed to have the information she wanted. But each secretary was sure that another department would be able to help. On the tenth call she reached the supervisor at a warehouse in Newport News.
In her best State Department manner she inquired about the status of the missing shipments. A rough voice on the other end of the line said “Just a minute,” and she was put on hold. Five minutes later the voice said, “Part of McLean’s stuff has arrived. Part of it’s still in transit. That’s why it hasn’t been sent. So tell the pushy broad to stop bitching that her stuff wasn’t waiting on the doorstep when she arrived home early.”
“I wasn’t aware of a prior complaint.”
“Well, someone up there must be raising bloody hell. This is the third call we’ve had today about her damn stuff.”
Julie stared at the receiver, her face gone white.
“No one else has been authorized to follow up on the shipment.”
“Like I told the rest of them, honey, if you want any of those boxes before they’re scheduled to be delivered, you’re going to have to show me a signed SB34G.”
“Just exactly where are you?” Julie probed, trying to keep her voice steady.
“Are you new at this or something? It’s always Building Seven.”
Hanging up, Julie gave in to a few moments of panic. Suddenly she realized that despite all Aleksei’s elaborate precautions to hide their whereabouts, she’d been hoping that the men he had battled in the airport parking lot were the only ones after him. Now here was cold hard evidence that they weren’t. Before she realized what she was doing, she had dialed the private phone number in her uncle’s Senate office.
“Julie, where are you? Are you all right?” His tone was strained.
“I’m fine,” she lied.
“The State Department’s frantic to get in touch with you.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Your town house has been vandalized. Julie, I was down there. It’s a mess. And there’s blood all over the living room. What kind of trouble are you in? Whatever it is, I can help.”
The offer was so tempting. Maybe he could give them sanctuary. But then she remembered the way Aleksei had looked when the knock on the door had penetrated their hotel room. It was better not to trust anyone, even her uncle. “This is something I have to work out by myself.”
“Don’t hang up.”
“I’ve got to. Your line may be tapped.”
“In the Senate Office Building? It better not be!”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Bill.”
“Please let me help,” he said.
“If you want to do something, don’t talk to anyone about me. All the people who are showing concern may be the same ones who tore my house apart.”
“Good God, what do you mean?”
She wanted to tell him. But anything she said could be just as dangerous to Aleksei as the KGB agents after him. With a sick feeling, she realized that she never should have made the call. Instead of giving away anything more, she simply hung up.
* * *
SLAVA BOGOLUBOV set down the sheaf of reports that had arrived that afternoon and turned from the desk in his temporary command post under the embassy. “Good,” he murmured. “Very good. Our inquiries have paid off.”
Yuri Hramov, who had been shuffling a pack of cards at a square wooden table, paused. “So we’re going to make our move,” he observed quietly. The calm control in his voice belied the feeling of power that suddenly pumped through his body. He’d been cooped up in this hole with the general for days now, and he’d quickly found he couldn’t stomach the man. But he’d also learned to read the old toad. Slava had acquired caution in Madrid. He wouldn’t risk defeat now. So he must think the odds were in his favor.
Bogolubov’s gaze flicked to Hramov’s large, square hands and the blue-and-white deck that now rested between them on the table. The slapping, almost gurgling noise of shuffling cards had come near to driving him mad. He’d tried to close his eyes and pretend he was listening to a babbling brook deep in a cool pine forest. It hadn’t worked. How could a human being sit there mindlessly shifting and manipulating little pieces of shiny cardboard? More than once he’d pictured himself jumping up and knocking them to the floor. He’d been stopped by the certain knowledge that he’d end up down there too. But the ordeal was almost over now. With an air of command, he handed the assassin a sheet of paper and watched as his eyes flicked across the lines of Cyrillic, amazed once again that the big gorilla could actually read.
“Has transportation been arranged?” Hramov asked.
“Naturally.”
“And you authorize me to proceed as I think best.”
The general hesitated. Before he could speak again, Hramov stood up and walked toward him. It took every ounce of will to hold his ground against the maniacal look in those close-set eyes. “Don’t you think I want to bring him in alive?” Hramov grated. “Don’t you think I’d rather take him on with a knife instead of a gun? Or perhaps a length of piano wire slipped over his head from behind. I wouldn’t choke him to death. At the last minute I’d let him gasp for breath. Then I’d turn him so that he could see my face.”
Bogolubov swallowed convulsively. For a moment he felt that wire around his own throat.
“I will bring him to you alive,” Hramov promised. “Unless it’s a choice between him and me. And what about the girl?” he asked. “Do you want to question her too?”
“Yes.”
“I know how to make women talk.”
The general had a strong stomach, but he didn’t want to hear the details behind the icy assurance in those words.
* * *
THERE WAS A STRANGE feeling of elation at being back at the Aviary, Colonel Mark Bradley, USAF, thought as he pulled out a wrought-iron chair and sat down. As always, the lush tropical foliage and the squawking parrots seemed so out of place at the headquarters of an intelligence operation. Yet as soon as Amherst Gordon’s silver-headed cane hit the flagstones of the solarium, Mark could feel that familiar surge of excitement associated with a new mission. Ever since his narrow brush with death in Berlin had earned him a promotion and a new assignment in the situation room at the Pentagon, Mark had been itching to get back to field duty with the Peregrine Connection.
“I’m glad Eden accepted my job offer,” Gordon began affably. Mark was glad too. Eden Sommers had put her life on the line to free his mind from control of the East German sadist Hans Erlich. Mark was now married to Eden. There were few women who would be willing to stand by him through the dangerous episodes that would always be a part of his life. Her acceptance of a job as staff psychologist at the Aviary was just more evidence of her commitment.
“Yes. But frankly I’ve been a little jealous lately.”
“Oh, nothing exciting happening on your watch at the Pentagon?” Gordon asked as he pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Not much. Hijackings, terrorist attacks.” His dark eyebrows lifted. “Two KGB agents illegally in the country who decide to shoot it out at a local airport.”
Gordon hid a grin. “Funny you should menti
on that last.”
“I’ve seen the CIA reports. They can’t explain it. I have the feeling maybe you can.”
At that moment Constance McGuire came in with a tray bearing a silver coffee service and a thick manila folder. She set the pot in front of Gordon and handed the dossier to Mark.
“One of you can pour while the other reads,” she explained.
Mark had read only a few paragraphs when she heard him whistle between his teeth. “So Rozonov was working for you all along.”
“You understand why I had to keep that information under wraps.”
“Of course.”
“Well, now you have the opportunity to return the favor he did for you during that gunfight in Berlin.”
“He saved my life by drawing Erlich’s fire. What can I do for him?”
Quickly Gordon briefed him on the recent developments in the Topaz affair and what role he wanted Mark to play.
“Have you gotten the CIA to lay off?” the colonel asked.
“I tried. I don’t know. Once they get a deep cover operation going, it feeds on its own momentum. I suspect the people in charge lose control.”
“I suppose you have a way to give me the authority I’ll need.”
“The secretary of defense is working on that now.”
“How do we bring the Raven in?”
“I’m waiting for an ad in The Washington Post. Meanwhile, I want you to familiarize yourself with Aleksei’s and Julie’s files.”
Early that afternoon Mark was still in the library reading when the critical-message alarm sounded.
Connie was tearing the message off the computer terminal as he and Gordon arrived in the shielded office.
“This has got to be the break we’re looking for. A woman whose voice matches McLean’s pattern called Warehouse Seven in Newport News and located part of her shipment. She called back an hour ago to ask them to have it ready tomorrow morning.”
The Falcon turned to Mark. “That means that Aleksei must be planning to get it out of there tonight, so you’re going to have to hustle.”
