Talons of the Falcon (16 page)

“When do I find out?” Eden couldn’t keep the tension out of her voice.

“At your afternoon therapy session. Bradley will either be there—or he won’t.”

Eden had thought waiting for the doctor to come back was unbearable. It was nothing compared to what she suffered during the next hour and a half. She had done what little she could. Now there was no way she could sit still. After thanking Hubbard for his efforts, she slipped out of the house and wandered down to the beach. She looked for the lines of footprints in the sand where she and Mark had walked earlier as they had discussed their escape plans. Seeing that the waves had obliterated their tracks brought a lump to her throat. This morning she had been so confident of getting out of this hellhole. Now the wide expanse of beach seemed claustrophobic, as though someone had dropped an impenetrable plastic dome over the whole island. She and Mark might never be able to claw their way out of here now.

A little before 1500 hours she turned and made her way back to the main house. She didn’t notice the speculative look Blackwell gave her from the desk by the elevator, or the exasperated expression on Marshall’s face as she crossed in front of the physical therapy room. All her attention was focused on the closed door to the room where she and Mark had been working together. What if Downing had just wiped away all the real progress they had made? Her hand hesitated on the knob. She was afraid to open the door.

When she stepped into the room, her eyes flicked to the chair where Mark usually sat. It was empty. Her heart gave a lurch inside her chest. And then she saw him standing with his hands behind his back looking out the window. He turned as he heard her close the door.

“I saw you walking on the beach.”

She couldn’t answer. All the control she had been holding on to so tightly finally snapped. In a second she was across the room throwing herself against his chest. Automatically his arms came up to steady her.

“Eden, don’t,” he whispered against her ear.

She didn’t speak. Instead he felt her body shaking. She was crying, muffling her sobs against the cotton knit of his shirt.

He could only stand there, trying to soothe her, his hands stroking her back, his lips against her hair. The frustration building inside him felt like a pressure cooker on high. He was the kind of person who had always taken action rather than sitting around waiting for things to happen. Now, because of those prying microphones in the room, he couldn’t even comfort Eden properly.

He had a damn good idea what the problem was. Eden might have thought she could stall Downing forever, but he was a realist. The knowing look on Marshall’s face at lunch—and the way he’d rushed him through the meal—had sent up a red flag. Mark had started mentally preparing himself for a struggle if the security team came to get him. They were going to be surprised at how much of his muscle tone he had back. He’d faced two-to-one odds before and come out on top. The question was, how many men would they call in to restrain him?

But the plans had changed abruptly, and he didn’t know why. He could only guess that Eden had spent the morning moving heaven and earth to buy this reprieve. But he had to assume the stay of execution was temporary. That meant he and Eden had to get out tonight.

He continued to hold and stroke her, waiting for the storm to pass. Finally he felt her quieting. Stepping back, he looked questioningly into her eyes, and she seemed to draw strength from that exchange.

“Do you want to sit down?”

She nodded.

He led her to the couch and handed her the box of tissues. Despite the grimness of the situation, the simple gesture made her smile. A box of tissues was standard issue for therapy sessions. But they were usually for the convenience of the patient, not the therapist.

She blew her nose. “Thanks.”

He put his finger under her chin and tipped her face up so that their eyes could meet again.
I know.
He mouthed the words. And then,
Don’t worry.
For a moment he held her hand between his larger ones before settling back on the couch.

“What do you want to hit me with this afternoon, Doctor?”

The rest of the session would have won a pair of Academy Awards for Best Performance Under Duress.

* * *

S
ERGEANT
M
ARSHALL
knocked on the door to the security conference room and shifted his weight imperceptibly from one foot to the other. The last thing in the world he had been anticipating was this summons. But then, the past twenty-four hours had been full of surprises, not the least of which were Downing’s orders and subsequent counterorders for Bradley.

When he stepped into the room, there were three other men present besides the chief of station: Yolanski, Price and Walker.

“Have a seat, Sergeant.” Downing waved his hand in the direction of an empty chair. Then, without preamble, he began. “I’ve called you all here for a strategy session.”

Marshall looked around the room. This was the first time he’d been invited to sit in on a planning meeting with the Pine Island inner circle. He couldn’t help being flattered yet also a little wary.

“This seems like a good time to check in with each other and pool some information,” Downing continued.
And make a reassessment of your strengths and weaknesses,
he added silently.

“Let’s start with the Comms Center.” He turned to Price, who was in charge of monitoring the security logs for that facility. “Has there been any unusual activity?”

Yolanski was glad the chief of station’s eyes were not on him at that moment. He’d made a few unauthorized connections, the most innocuous to a dirty-joke bulletin board at Berkeley. But he was pretty sure he’d covered his tracks.

He wasn’t the only one in the room bothered by the question. Price looked uncomfortable. Those logs piled up every day. And going through them was worse than proofreading the phone book. Did he lie to Downing and say nothing had happened? Or did he admit he’d scribbled his name at the bottom of every third page without reading it? Suddenly the conversation over Eden’s garbled message popped into his mind. At the time he’d chosen not to raise any alarms. But had someone been looking over his shoulder?

“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.”

* * *

I
T 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.