Talons of the Falcon (17 page)

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

E
den 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.

Eden heard a deep guttural growl of protest and knew it came from Mark.
God, Mark!
This had to be as bad for him as it was for her. He was helpless to stop whatever might happen. She tried to cancel that last thought. She didn’t want to contemplate what Marshall might have planned for her, but she was too well trained.

Even in her terror, her mind was racing—remembering what she had overheard when she’d been unpacking in the room next to Mark’s. Marshall had been taunting Mark about her proximity, insinuating his patient might be impotent. All at once it came to her. Maybe the male nurse had been projecting his own anxieties. Maybe he had been talking about himself.

Was
Marshall
impotent when it came to normal sexual relations? The question didn’t give her any comfort. She could imagine the frustration and rage building up inside the man and forced herself not to think about the possibilities. She had to play for time, and maybe that wouldn’t be so difficult. It was clear now Marshall was the enemy agent who had been watching Mark. He had achieved considerable success in his covert role, but there had been no one with whom he could share his victories.

“So you have us where you want us,” she forced herself to remark, surprised at the matter-of-fact tone of her voice.

“Yes.”

“I can’t help feeling some admiration for your achievement—in a purely intellectual way, you understand.”

He laughed, his eyes raking over her body. “You mean as one covert operative to another—although you’re strictly in the amateur class, and I’m a trained professional. That’s why you’re hanging from that tree limb.”

She forced herself not to look away.

He grinned. “I’ve had this whole place bugged for months—the security room, Downing’s office, even your bathroom,” he went on. “That cane was the best that Downing could come up with. But I’ve got transmitters that are light bulb filaments, chair casters, even toilet paper holders!”

Across the small clearing she caught Mark’s eye momentarily before he looked meaningfully down at the gun on the ground. He knew what she was doing. And more important, his arms were moving in back of the tree trunk. Maybe he could free himself. But she had to keep Marshall’s attention on her, away from Mark.

“Your pitiful little performance won’t make any difference in the end,” the sergeant was saying.

“I understand, but can’t you at least tell me how you did it?” Her arms were aching now, but she ignored the pain as she focused on her adversary.

She saw the glint in Marshall’s eye. Perhaps he couldn’t resist the opportunity to brag some more, after all.

“The hair dryer, how did you manage the bit with the hair dryer?” she prompted.

“Oh, that. Rewiring it was easy. It was getting over there to the room without being seen that was the real trick.”

She waited, holding her breath as he took a step closer to her again.

“You know the upstairs door that separates the medical wing from the rest of the house?—well I can unbolt it,” he went on in a conversational voice. “That’s how I got over to your old room while I was supposed to be on duty, and that’s how I got into your hallway the night before last when the two of you were going at it with each other.” The last words were a snarl. She knew she had probably guessed right about Marshall’s problem. She had to get him off that subject.

“And you did it all alone. I’ll bet the people in Moscow don’t even appreciate your achievements.”

“You’re right. A Russian agent who’s burrowed into the Pentagon gets all the credit.” He began to touch her again, invading her in ways that made her want to scream.

“While I was waiting on good old Colonel Bradley hand and foot, I could have slipped him a lethal overdose of medication,” he continued. “But Moscow wanted to make sure he hadn’t talked.” The last words were punctuated with a jab of his finger into her resisting flesh. Then he gave her a direct look. “I know what you’ve been doing, Dr. Sommers—stalling for time. But time is up—first for you, then for the Colonel. He’s going to watch me have some more fun with you, and then he’s going to watch you die. And the whole thing is going to look like he went berserk and killed you and then killed himself.” A malevolent look shone in his eyes now as his hand found her again. She couldn’t prevent herself from wimpering.