Talons of the Falcon by REBECCA YORK Page A

some of the colonel’s physical therapy.”
    Downing gave her a steady look. “I’ll think about it.”
    Eden nodded. Better not press for more concessions.
    “Do you think I’m driving you and everybody else so hard because I enjoy seeing Bradley sweat?” the chief of station surprised her by asking.
    Eden resisted the urge to say yes.
    When she didn’t answer, he continued. “Let me remind you that Bradley may have compromised a major U.S. weapons system. We’ve got to find out what he told the East Germans. You have two more weeks to start getting something out of him. After that we’ll have no alternative but to try an experimental drug therapy.”
    So it was out in the open now.
    “What experimental drug therapy?” Eden asked.
    “I’m afraid your clearance doesn’t give you the need to know that.”
    But she did know. Amherst Gordon had warned her. Downing was going to try a new “truth serum.” The trouble was, it was also an unstable hallucinogen that made LSD look like cotton candy.
    * * *
    A REPORT OF what had happened in the confidential meeting went out later that day.
    The contact at Pine Island picked up the phone at the prearranged time.
    “What’s the news on the hurricane watch?” the man in Washington asked.
    “Two tropical storms have potential for trouble.”
    “Let’s have it, then.”
    “Sommers has made her preliminary diagnosis.”
    “Go on.”
    Succinctly, the local observer summarized the meeting between Eden and the security staff.
    “Why is she getting two more weeks?” the man in Washington challenged.
    “At this stage it should look as if she’s been given a real chance to do something.” The man hesitated for a moment. “You know, even though she hadn’t made any obvious progress, there’s something that makes me uneasy about this Dr. Sommers. There may be more to her being here than meets the eye.”
    “Can you be more specific?”
    “No, it’s just a bad feeling. Maybe you ought to check your sources and see what you can find out.”
    “I’ll get back to you on that.” There was a pause at the other end of the line. “There’s one more thing I want to ask. What about your own evaluation of the patient? What do you think? Is he really Mark Bradley or not?”
    “He’s tight as a clam. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
    “You’re pretty sure Sommers can’t get anything out of him, either?”
    “For now, anyway.”
    “But if she does, they’re both expendable. Can you take care of that?”
    “Yes.”
    “This won’t be like that fiasco with the hair dryer, I trust.”
    The man at Pine Island flushed. “I’ve got everything under control now.”
    “You’d better. Moscow doesn’t suffer fools gladly.” There was a click, and the red phone went dead.
    * * *
    E DEN COULD have joined the officers in the library or the wardroom after dinner that evening, but as she often did, she went right up to her room instead. There was a good supply of books and magazines on her bedside table. But they were only for show. Mostly she spent the evening thinking—and keeping an ear peeled toward Mark’s room.
    As she’d settled into the station’s monotonous routine, her feeling of isolation had only increased. There were times now when she found herself wishing she could call her father and ask his advice. She missed her family more than she had in years. Bill Sommers had been an air force career man, and because the family had lived all over the United States, their “roots” had been their reliance on each other.
    As a child she’d believed her father had all the answers. Even as a young woman, following in his footsteps had seemed the right thing to do. Major Sommers had been proud of her then. But he hadn’t understood her need to get out of the service. And though she’d officially discharged her air force obligation, he’d reminded her more than once how much the U.S. government had spent on her “high priced” education.
    Though Eden had