In Search of the Dove (21 page)

Blackstone’s director was serving cocktails on the terrace. When Moonshadow made her entrance, the other guests were already assembled under the striped canopy festive with softly glowing lanterns. Xavier was talking to Barahona, the chief of police. Though the expression on the chemist’s face was carefully neutral, his tension was betrayed in the death grip he had on his highball glass.

The other three men who, like Xavier were all in white dinner jackets, turned appreciatively in her direction as she stepped through the French doors. She gave them a slight nod, acknowledging their admiration as her due. The guest she didn’t know must be Franco Garcia. She had learned from the maid who made up her room that he was a Brazilian planter. However, if Jackson was trying to impress the man, he must be more than that, and she wanted to know what he was doing here.

From under long ebony lashes, she studied him with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. Obligingly he returned her interest with an avaricious smile. She wasn’t vain, but she knew few men could refuse what she set her mind on getting from them.

The byplay wasn’t lost on Talifero. Coming over, he took Moonshadow’s arm and escorted her across the patio.

“My dear, I’d like you to meet our guest of honor.” The introductions were made graciously. “Franco is quite interested in your exceptional talents.”

I’ll bet he is,
the priestess thought.

Gorlov took her offered hand and raised it to his lips. He rather liked playing the role of the South American aristocrat. It was a damn sight more gratifying than haggling over Soviet wheat deals, which had been the cover assignment in Madrid that hid his role of a KGB operative.

“Jackson has told me you’ll be performing a special ceremony for us. I’m looking forward to it.”

She allowed herself a side glance at Talifero’s impassive face. This was the first she’d heard of a voodoo ceremony. What else had Jackson promised this man? But her well-modulated contralto conveyed none of her inner speculation. “I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

Talifero nodded approvingly and took a long swallow of his planter’s punch. Now that he had Moonshadow where he could keep an eye on her, he was a lot more confident of his ability to keep her in line. He wasn’t even particularly concerned that she was discreetly starting to pump Gorlov for information. What did it matter now really? Things were back on track.

Even if he did have to sell a couple of Renoirs to make the first payment to the Russians, he had Xavier back in the fold. The little bastard was going to make up for his defection by working twenty-four hours a day from now on. Too bad producing Dove was such a delicate procedure. If the stuff had lent itself readily to mass production, he’d have jettisoned the obstreperous chemist months ago. But whatever Xavier’s faults, he wasn’t a liar. If the process wasn’t handled with kid gloves, half the island—and all of his ambitions—could go up in flames.

Chapter Fourteen

T
he trip from New Orleans to Washington was one that Jessica would never forget. Once she’d agreed to become part of the operation the Falcon was conducting, it was like being initiated into some sort of secret society. Only this society was a hush-hush intelligence organization called the Peregrine Connection.

On the small private jet, Eden gave her a very comprehensive overview of the Dove case. It was fascinating to see how the details she and Michael had uncovered were intertwined with the intrigue at the Blackstone Clinic on Royale Verde.

But Jessica got more out of the discussions with the sympathetic psychologist than mere information. There’d been no one she could talk to about her relationship with Michael. Now, under Eden’s gentle questioning, she found herself opening up to a surprising degree. Even though she held back some of the details, it was evident that Eden understood her dilemma, and Jessica felt better after unburdening herself. They had just begun to talk about how she might cope with her problems when the copilot opened the cockpit door to tell them the Falcon was waiting to speak to them via microwave link.

In addition to its plush customized interior, the plane contained sophisticated teleconferencing equipment. A panel in the front of the cabin slid up to reveal a large TV screen on which the Falcon’s imposing visage appeared. It was like watching a news program on which a commentator in New York interviewed a guest in the Los Angeles studio—only now Jessica was part of the action.

The silver-haired man, who introduced himself as Amherst Gordon, projected an aura of gruff charisma and keen intelligence. As he spoke, Jessica sensed that he’d sacrificed any sort of normal private life for the cause of freedom he believed in so strongly. It wasn’t hard to see why he inspired such personal loyalty among his staff.

“Ms. Duval, your help has already been invaluable,” he summed up. “And I’d like to officially welcome you to the team.”

“Thank you.”

“Now that I know you’re on board, I’ll bring Michael up to date on the new developments, and we will be prepared to move on as soon as you arrive.”

Shortly after he’d signed off, the plane landed at Dulles International Airport, where Jessica and Eden were met by the Aviary’s courtesy van and driven to the Peregrine’s Berryville headquarters.

As a resident of the carefully preserved city of Annapolis, which had become a thriving center of commerce more than two hundred years ago, Jessica was no stranger to colonial charm. But she still wasn’t quite prepared for the splendor of the Aviary, which rivaled the best Maryland’s capital had to offer. Even more impressive, she knew from Eden that the country inn had been restored with strictly private funds.

The Peregrine staffer had also been quite good at providing a thumbnail sketch of Constance McGuire, Gordon’s assistant and confidante. When the willowy, gray-haired woman came down the steps to greet them, Jessica felt almost as if they’d already met.

Connie’s first words were for the psychologist. “So, Eden, your persuasive talents are still intact,” she remarked.

Turning to Jessica, she offered her hand. “Let me add my welcome to the one I know Amherst has already extended.”

Inside the Georgian mansion, the atmosphere wasn’t quite so cordial. As Constance led them down the wide center hall, Jessica could hear an angry voice. It belonged to Michael Rome.

“I think it’s a stupid idea to send an amateur like her into that jungle down there.”

“Michael, you’re not thinking—you’re just reacting.”

As Jessica entered the conference room, the DEA agent caught sight of her, and his face softened for just a moment.

The newcomers pulled up seats at the large table where the two men sat. After a moment’s hesitation Jessica took the chair opposite Michael.

It was impossible for him to keep his eyes off her. She wore the navy-and-yellow Indian print dress and distinctive brass necklace that he had first seen her in. Over the past few days she’d been on his mind a lot, and not just because he was writing reports that included the information she’d given him. But until a half hour ago, he’d been telling himself that it was best for her if he never saw her again.

Now, here she was back in his life, as fresh-faced and appealing as she’d ever been. Damn. He was suddenly irrationally happy, buoyant. He squared his shoulders, struggling to suppress his emotions.

“How are you, Jess?” His voice was strained and a bit husky.

“All right. And you?” She studied the face that was so familiar and yet so remote. In this elegant setting, he’d chosen to wear faded jeans and a chambray work shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The outfit made him appear more uncompromising than ever. Yet the way his gray eyes darkened when he looked at her told her as much as the tense set of his shoulders.

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I couldn’t come to your brother’s funeral.”

“I understand. Eden explained that you were called back here.”

They were both very aware that the other people in the room were observing the encounter.

“We were just discussing your role in this operation,” Gordon informed her. “I think we all agree that our first priority is to rescue Jed Prentiss—and Gilbert Xavier, if possible. And since you’ve already established a link with Jed, I’m hoping you’ll be able to fill us in on some of our intelligence gaps.”

“It wasn’t much of a link,” Michael cut in. “Just something that was mixed in with what was happening with me. Maybe she’s lost it. And if she has, there’s no reason to involve her further.”

The Falcon gave his operative a considering look. “A good point. Perhaps we should test the hypothesis right now.” He turned back to Jessica. “Would you be willing to try to reestablish communication with our agent on Royale Verde?”

Jessica looked around at the four faces registering various states of curiosity and anxiety. “I’m really not used to—”

“An audience,” Eden supplied. “I’m sure you’d be more comfortable in my office.”

“Quite right.” The Falcon turned back to Jessica. “I understand you like to work with personal possessions of the individual you’re trying to envision.”

“Yes.” She appreciated his straightforward approach. This wasn’t like working with the police who’d been half in awe, half suspicious of her.

“Apparently Talifero had Jed’s luggage taken from his room. But he’d left his passport at the hotel desk, and I had an agent down there retrieve and send it.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small blue book with the gold U.S. seal. “Would you like to use it?”

“Thank you. That should be very helpful.”

The Falcon looked at Jessica expectantly, but she didn’t reach for the document.

“I, uh, I’d rather not touch it until I’ve been able to clear my mind.”

Eden took the passport. “Maybe we’re pushing you too hard. Do you want to rest for a while?”

“I’d like her to do it now while she’s under some stress,” Michael cut in.

In response to his combative tone, everyone’s head swung in his direction.

He shrugged. “Out in the field she’s not going to be able to take a nap when we need some information.”

Jessica gave him a measured look. “All right, I’ll see what I can do now.”

“I’ll come along,” Michael insisted.

Eden raised an eyebrow.

“I’ve seen what can happen when she does this. You haven’t,” he answered her unspoken question.

“Is that all right with you?” Eden asked Jessica.

She nodded.

The psychologist led the way down to the lower level of the building that housed Peregrine support activities. Her office was off a cheerful sitting room at the end of the hall.

“I’d like you to wait outside,” she informed Michael, gesturing toward one of the leather armchairs.

“Keep the door ajar.”

Eden hesitated.

“I won’t interfere unless I’m needed,” the DEA agent assured her.

Eden glanced at Jessica. Again, the other woman nodded her assent.

Looking resigned, Michael lowered his angular frame into one of the chairs and reached for a magazine on the coffee table.

Inside Eden’s office, Jessica glanced around with interest. In addition to the wide desk and leather swivel chair, there were several padded armchairs and a comfortable-looking couch.

Eden pulled the door almost closed. “Where would you like to sit?”

“A chair would be fine.”

“It would be helpful if I could record this. Would you mind?”

“I don’t think it will interfere.”

Jessica seated herself in a light-green armchair. Eden put the passport on the table beside her. “Whenever you’re ready, then.”

The other young woman looked at the document and flexed her fingers. They felt hot and tingly, and the same sense of apprehension that had assailed her when she’d seen the voodoo charms washed over her now. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, making her mind a blank. Then she reached out and picked up the small blue book.

When there was no immediate reaction, the tight muscles in her shoulders relaxed a bit. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe her thoughts of Jed Prentiss had been just a fluke. Opening her mind, she tried to coax a picture. She had the feeling of great distance.

“He’s so far away,” she murmured. “There are miles of water between us—and walls and barriers.”

None of her previous psychic experiences had been like this. All at once she felt as if she were traveling above the earth, not in an airplane but on the very air currents themselves. She saw ocean waves lapping gently on a curved shoreline. After what seemed a long while, she swooped closer to the ground where she looked down on white stucco walls surrounded by tropical vegetation and armed guards. Then she was sailing over the walls and moving toward a two-story Spanish-style building with a red tile roof.

Unaccountably, her vision seemed to take her right through the wall of the building and into a stuffy, windowless room furnished only with a padded table. She felt as if she were hovering somewhere near the ceiling, looking down on the empty scene.

As she watched, the door was flung open and two burly attendants dragged a prisoner into the room. He was a tall man with light-brown hair and broad shoulders. When he struggled against his guards, one held his arms while the other casually delivered a blow to his abdomen with a billy stick. Though she had never seen the prisoner before, she knew immediately that it was Jed Prentiss.

It took a rain of blows to quiet him. But finally the two men strapped him down on the table with his arms and legs secured to metal rings at the corners. The sight of his athlete’s body abused so harshly made her want to squeeze her eyes shut. But she wasn’t seeing this with her eyes.

One of the guards left and returned a moment later with a hypodermic.

“This is your last chance, buddy. Are you sure you don’t want to talk?”

The prisoner shook his head.

“The tricarbotane will make you wish you had.” With that he swabbed some alcohol on the man’s arm and plunged the needle into his vein.

The door closed with a loud clank. The man on the table was alone, and Jessica felt her disembodied self descending toward him. Some instinct toward self-preservation made her struggle against the contact. She watched in horror as his features contorted in a grimace of pain. His teeth clamped together, and she knew it was to hold back a scream.