Talons of the Falcon Read Online Free Page A

opened a black stamp pad. Taking her right hand, he rolled each finger in turn across the spongy surface and then pressed it to the form. He didn’t comment on the coldness of her skin. The procedure made her feel like a criminal being booked, not a well-trained professional on a sensitive assignment. She suspected it was supposed to have that effect. Major Downing obviously wanted to create a certain impression at her reception. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he had unnerved her.
    Just as she was wiping her hand on a paper towel, another blue-jeaned young man arrived with a luggage cart. Small and compact with an olive complexion and coarse dark hair and brown eyes, he fit the description of Airman, Third Class Ramirez. But, as with Blackwell, she’d better not use his name until she’d been officially introduced.
    “I’m to take you to your quarters,” Ramirez announced laconically, as he began to load her belongings. No one here was making an effort to be friendly.
    “If Major Downing is going to be tied up for a while, perhaps I could speak to Dr. Hubbard,” she ventured.
    “That won’t be possible until after you’ve talked to our chief of station.”
    The cart’s wheels crunched against the gravel path as she and Ramirez made their way between moss-hung live oaks toward the main compound. Besides the pink stucco house there were tennis courts, a pool that might have been designed for a Hollywood celebrity, and lush gardens in obvious need of attention. In fact, as she drew closer, Eden could see that the whole estate was somewhat neglected. The net on the tennis court was little more than a few sagging strings, and several of the statues around the pool were crumbling.
    They were almost at the main house. Glancing up toward the red-tiled roof, she noted that the upper windows were covered completely by black, intricate grillwork that looked as effective as prison bars. Further to the right and left were several other buildings that might have been enlisted-men’s quarters or offices. Heavy curtains blocked any view of the interiors.
    As her guide opened the wide front door, Eden was hit by an inviting gust of air-conditioning, but it was one of the house’s few modern improvements. The furniture had obviously come with the total package. While it must have been luxurious in its time, it was now showing the ravages of the wet climate. A faint mustiness tinged the air. Eden could imagine there was an enlisted man assigned to scraping the mildew off the overstuffed chintz-covered furniture and carefully oiling the old oak tables and chairs so they wouldn’t crack.
    Her room was upstairs on the front. Once Ramirez had left, Eden quietly closed the door. Now that she no longer had to maintain a controlled demeanor, her hands trembled slightly as she looked around at the sparse surroundings. Upstairs, the fading antiques had been replaced by standard government issue. The only furnishings besides the narrow bunk were a tall chest of drawers, a night table and a desk—all of olive drab metal. Not very cheery—and a far cry from the colonial elegance of the Aviary, where she had spent the night before.
    Reaching up with long fingers, she massaged her temples and forehead. She hadn’t realized what a strain it would be trying to act as though this were just another job. After the brusque reception her insides were churning like a rotary mixer.
    Her first inclination was to pace back and forth until she was summoned, but by allowing her tension to build like that, she’d be playing right into Downing’s hands. From his file, she knew that he was good at his job. And that included finding any weakness in an opponent and exploiting it. Apparently he wanted her off-balance during their first interview.
    Her suspicions were confirmed when Ramirez knocked on the door again about twenty minutes later. He was holding a covered tray.
    “I’m sorry, the chief of station sends his