Talons of the Falcon by REBECCA YORK

they’re terrified of going into combat?” Walker questioned.
    “That’s one example. It’s a way of coping with the stress of war without feeling guilty about not wanting to go into combat.”
    “So how does this apply to Bradley? Do you mean he feels guilty about spilling his guts to the East Germans?” Yolanski asked bluntly.
    Eden hesitated. These professional security specialists obviously weren’t stupid. And it was a little unsettling that Walker had zeroed in on the correct page in his abnormal-psych textbook. In fact, the whole security team had probably been put through a good deal of psychological training. But almost certainly their course work had not been oriented toward diagnosing mental illness. And that gave her an edge, especially with Dr. Hubbard absent. Downing might be scornful of the doctor’s abilities, but Eden had been impressed with his acute powers of observation. More than once, to her later alarm, Eden had allowed Hubbard to draw her into discussions of Mark’s psychological problems. The doctor’s perceptions had been surprisingly sharp. But since Downing obviously didn’t value his opinions on the subject, he hadn’t bothered to voice them.
    Eden considered how best to answer Yolanski’s question. “Feelings of guilt aren’t necessarily in proportion to real wrongdoing,” she began. “In Colonel Bradley’s case, simply having allowed himself to be captured could be the source of his guilt. Of course, we won’t know for sure until his condition improves.” It amazed Eden that she was able to discuss these hypothetical symptoms so convincingly.
    “But how could he have avoided it?” Walker questioned, obviously ready to follow where she was leading.
    “Maybe he thinks he didn’t take sufficient security precautions when he left Berlin. For all I know, maybe he didn’t. But in any event, you can’t assume that he’d be reacting normally.”
    “And just how do you know all this without having talked to the man?” Price’s voice cut through to the heart of the matter like a hot knife through butter.
    The chief of station gave his junior officer a sharp look, and Price flushed.
    Eden noted the byplay even as she struggled to keep her outward composure. She had gone to great pains not to mention the fact that Mark was still almost completely uncommunicative. But eager-beaver Price had just slipped and let her know what she had been cautioned to assume—her sessions with Mark were being carefully recorded and monitored.
    “Experience with dozens of cases like this, Lieutenant. I can tell a lot just from the kind of response he’s trying to hide.”
    “So when do you expect him to improve?” Downing asked.
    “That’s a fair question. And the answer partly depends on your cooperation. As you know, the colonel has come back from six months of enemy captivity. Other men in his position have been treated like heroes. He, on the other hand, has simply substituted one kind of captivity for another.”
    “If you’re suggesting that we turn him loose, you can forget it,” Price said.
    Eden gave him a dismissive look and continued. “I believe the first key to getting through to him is opening up his claustrophobic environment. He needs to get outside, away from the constant reminders of his status here.” And away from your listening devices, she added silently.
    “But our security isn’t set up to handle that,” Yolanski objected.
    Downing looked thoughtful. “Oh, I hardly think the colonel is going to jump into the ocean and swim back to the mainland. Maybe with sufficient safety measures we can give him a little more freedom, if that’s what Dr. Sommers thinks he needs.”
    “Thank you,” Eden said, surprised that the chief of station had jumped in to support her. “Conducting my therapy sessions outside ought to help. Once I open a wedge, I think I can widen it. And I’d also like to suggest that Sergeant Marshall take advantage of the swimming pool here for