Assignment- Tyrant's Bride

by Will B Aarons

  plus weapons and ammunition. For payment, they gave me ivory they had poached and gold, the loot of war. Simple?”

  "Simple,” Durell said. "You stole the weapons from your country and kept the payment for yourself—do you realize how much ordinance the Ndolo could buy with this stuff?”

  Ogwang’s face twisted in a rage, and he shouted, "They can’t have it! It’s mine! I only came back to get it!”

  Durell was astounded, but then he wondered why. He had seen from the first that Ogwang was rotten. How could the Company have made such a stupid error as to believe that he was still fit to lead anything? It wouldn’t have, except for Dager—and his father, the senator, Durell thought bitterly. "But why did you demand Teresa as part of the package?” he asked. "You didn’t need her for this.”

  "Yes I did. Don’t you see? I couldn’t have got into Kipora without her. These idiots hate me!” Ogwang’s voice lowered, hastening. "Ausi’s threat against the Ndolo gave me the one chance I’d ever have to recover millions, because it was important enough to make the U.S. government steal Teresa back for me, if I asked it to—and it made her believe I came here to help her people, even if she did reject that in the end. It all worked out, see? I used you and her both.”

  "You deceived us from the beginning. . . .All the effort, all the dying! Just for this!”

  Durell’s fury burned the last restraint, and he brought his pistol up sharply—but something slammed against his back. He heard Indrani’s scream, shouts, and he went down under a pile of Ogwang’s men. Blows rained on him. He fought back, kicking and elbowing, tasting blood. He rammed a heel into the nearest groin, heard a guttural cry. Someone had him by the hair and slammed his head against the cobblestones, and sparks flew before his eyes. There were too many of them. A punishing kick knocked the wind out of his gut. Suddenly there came the simmering hiss of incoming artillery, and he clenched his teeth, feeling the weight lift as men scrambled up and darted for cover. Then there was thunderous explosion. The ground heaved him into the air amid a deadly buzz of shrapnel. He heard screams, the crash of a toppling wall.

  He was alone, groggy, bloody. . . .

  Beside him lay a dead man, his guts spilled out.

  Smoke hung in the damp air; fire crackled.

  Senses still numbed by the explosion, he reared to his knees, sifted through the grit for his gun. A scuffling sound touched his awareness, and he peered through the gloom to see Ogwang and one of his men fighting over a truck. Ogwang knocked the other down and mounted the driver’s seat. The engine roared, and the big vehicle lumbered away from the loading dock.

  Durell felt the cool steel of his pistol come into his hand just as brilliant headlights burned against his eyes, blinding him. He fired twice, quickly, and was left only a fraction of a second to leap out of the path of the unrushing tires.

  Then Ogwang was gone.

  Durell stood and cursed: he had lost his chance to save Deirdre. The truck came into view again as it hurtled up the incline of the bridge’s immense approach ramp, soaring above roofs and tangled wreckage. The lurid glow of fire turned everything the color of hot coals.

  "Sam?” It was Indrani’s voice coming plaintively from the shadows. She stepped tentatively into view.

  "So you didn’t go with him after all,” Durell said.

  "No.” She shook her head. "You made me see. I thought I loved him, but no more—” Suddenly her eyes widened. She stared toward the bridge.

  Durell looked at the same moment he heard the shriek of twisting girders. The gold-laden truck had strained the damaged framework past the breaking point. More than a hundred feet above the city massive pylons swayed and seemed to stagger, then the roadway between them simply dropped, swinging down like a giant trapdoor on a scaffold, and spilled the truck into the air in a shower of debris. It spun end over end once and smashed into the beach beside the black river. Durell saw it slam down, bounce like a toy and tumble to a halt, crumpled as a ball of paper. And then there came Ogwang’s terrified scream—as if from the grave, for he was already dead by the time the sound traveled the distance.

  Durell just stood there.

  "Sam, I’m scared,” Indrani said.

  "Come here.”

  She ran to him, and he held her trembling warmth close. "There,” he soothed. For the first time in days he felt he had a moment to spare. Burning timbers hissed and snapped.

  Indrani said: "Do you think... you and I... ?”

  "I’m tempted,” Durell said, his voice kind. "But my woman is back, Indrani. Back from the dead.”

  "I have no one.”

  "Maybe you need no one; if you do, he’ll turn up.” "Are you so sure?”

  "For you, I am positive.”

  "Give me some of the gold. I have nothing.”

  "Don’t ask me; it’s not mine.” He smiled.^

  She studied his face, not quite trusting, to judge by her narrowed green eyes. Then she bent and scooped up coins and small gold bars, filling the patch pockets on her trousers with all she could carry.

  "Come on,” he said. "I’ll take you to the bridge. The footpath seems to be intact.”

  "What about—Albert?”

  "You don’t want to see. I’ll take care of it.”

  When they reached the ramp, she said, "Kiss me?”

  "I don’t think I’d better.”

  "Just goodbye. You really are the reason I could not go with Albert: I love you.”

  "That can be only part of the reason. You had grown up and left Ogwang behind, before tonight. You truly are ready to leave the nest, Indrani. Go. Make something of your life.”

  He turned and went down the ramp, and she went the other way, not looking back. He watched until she vanished in the deeper darkness.

  He followed the grassy baseline of the ramp down to the riverbank, then clambered down to the beach, in the muted darkness beneath the bridge. The truck was there, bent and shattered. It lay on its side redolent of oil and dribbling gasoline. Gold glowed and gleamed where the impact of the drop had scattered it like so much trash on the sand. Elephant tusks made sinister pale arcs against the earth.

  Durell found General Ogwang curled a few yards from the wreckage, his neck twisted at an unnatural angle. The water lapped his boots. He was dead.

  He wasted no more time. Withdrawing the broad-bladed panga knife from his belt, he pressed the flaccid flesh of the dead man’s chin out of the way and hacked the head off. Then he threw the bloody panga onto the sand and headed for the north wall, the grisly burden hanging from his grasp.

  28

  "I don’t understand,” Deirdre said, huddling in Durell’s embrace.

  He made a regretful face. "The first thing to understand about Azo Ausi,” he said, "is not to trust him, ever.”

  "Then he won’t keep his word and release us?” "We’re right back where we started: to be executed at dawn.” He looked around the tent in which they were held prisoner. Some light came dimly through the walls; there was none inside. The shadow of the sentry moved along the canvas, larger than life.

  Deirdre said, "I’m almost beyond caring.”

  "I care enough for both of us.”

  "What can we possibly do?”

  He felt her trembling, beneath her tattered suit. "Take my jacket,” he said.

  "Darling Sam.” Her hand found his cheek and turned his face down, and she kissed him. Her embrace was like being home again. "Dearest, sweet Sam,” she breathed.

  "I should never have let you come on this crazy mission.”

  "You couldn’t have stopped me.” Her voice was not argumentative, just factual. "What do you suppose Teresa is doing? Will the Ndolo help?”

  "They can’t help us, if they can’t help themselves.” His tone was gloomy. He started to pace.

  "Come here. Just hold me awhile,” she said. "It’s so good to be with you again.”

  The air held the rich odor of fresh canvas. From beyond the wall came the myriad noises of insects calling under the moon
. A howitzer thundered.

  Deirdre sounded very tired. "At least you didn’t kill General Ogwang. You didn’t murder anybody. I’m glad for that.”

  "It was a thin line,” he said.

  "What did Ausi say when you brought the—the proof that he was dead?”

  "He told me my usefulness was past.” Durell sucked an angry breath. "He thinks his troubles are over with Ogwang dead, but I’ll tell you something: Wells is probably more dangerous. He had extensive experience over here as a mercenary leader, and not too long ago, either.”

  "Then everything wasn’t in vain.”

  "That remains to be seen. Superficially, it is a shambles. If I ever get my hands on Dager. . .”

  There came a rustle of canvas and a familiar voice: "Someone mention my name?”

  It was Kenneth Dager, coming through the tent flap. "What the hell... ?” Durell gave up words and just stared; Dager wore a brown pinstripe business suit and a tie he had dug up somewhere; he had shaved, and his limp blond hair had been carefully combed. Only the sun-darkened face, seen by the guard’s lantern, reminded of the trip through the bush. He was being shown in courteously, not the way the army normally treated prisoners. "Thanks, pal,” he told the guard. The next instant he whipped out a dagger and plunged it into the guard’s chest, and the man’s legs went out from under him. Dager caught the lantern deftly.

  He turned, his close-set, intelligent eyes sizing them up quickly. "We have to get out of here fast; are you able?”

  "We’re all right.”

  Deirdre was transfixed with horror at the sudden slaying of the guard. Dager saw this, and told her, "Sorry I had to do that, but it was safer in here. Saved me dragging him inside, too. I’m Ken Dager.”

  "Save the introductions,” Durell said. "Let’s beat it.”

  They went cautiously, moving as rapidly as they dared up another of those serpentine gullies that furrowed the rise of land on top of which Kipora stood. The moon was low in the west by the time they wormed their way into the shadow of the crenelated wall and were admitted into the city. Beyond the gatekeeper and the Ndolo manning the wall the city seemed deserted.

  "How did you manage it?” Durell asked.

  "I pretended to be a representative of the American embassy in Ruwidi and demanded to see the Americans they were holding.”

  "So that’s why the suit. And they let you, just like that?”

  "Sure.” He sounded cocky.

  Durell stopped, faced him and said, "Why don’t you try the truth for a change?”

  "Okay,” Dager said, "however you want it, wise guy.”

  There was a quick intake of Deirdre’s breath. "Sam, he’s got a gun!” she cried.

  Dager held his big .45 on them. His lips were hard and pale in the feeble light. "You want the truth? The truth is, I didn’t come all this way just to save a few niggers. Let them eat one another, for all I care. But how did you know?”

  "I don’t know anything,” Durell said, "but you couldn’t have gotten into that camp tonight without proper credentials. Even Ausi isn’t that stupid. So you must have been siding with him all along—which explains who put him onto me way back in Kenshu. I thought it was Jerry Chase. But Jerry would have told him why I was there—to steal Teresa away—and Ausi didn’t have that information. Nor did you.”

  "Keep walking,” Dager said. "Don’t put your hands up, but be careful: I don’t want to have to kill you— yet.” He chuckled without humor. "You’re right, so far: Ausi and I had a deal. I got the idea in a flash—one of those divine inspirations—when I found out by the grapevine that Ausi was planning an offensive against the Ndolo. I knew he had wanted Ogwang dead for years. I told him I’d go to the U.S. government. Maybe we could get it to draw him out of hiding to lead the Ndolo. Once out, I’d kill him.”

  "And what were you to get out of it?” Durell asked, headed toward the river.

  "Well, that’s the joke. Ausi was to pay me a hundred thousand dollars, plus a bonus if I got you, too, Durell.” Dager snorted disparagingly. "But that was chicken feed.”

  "I know,” Durell said.

  "Sure. You can figure it out, because you’ve seen old Ogwang’s treasure. He must have been loading it to get it out of town when you found him and killed him. And you’re going to take me there, right now.”

  "We’re already on our way,” Durell said. They were approaching the river, following a twisting alley downhill. The air stank of burned things. Durell was aware of sweat running down his ribs.

  Dager’s voice was expansive, smug. "I found out years ago that Ogwang had stashed a king’s ransom somewhere, but no one knew where. I thought maybe he would help the Ndolo, maybe he wouldn’t, but one thing for sure: if I could provide him with a reasonably secure escort to get back into the country—meaning a K Section team—he’d make a beeline for that loot, and I would be right behind him, to kill him and take it.”

  "So the gold and ivory were all you ever wanted.” The river was right before them. It made a smooth black plain stippled and ribboned with light. "Then why did you trouble dealing with Ausi at all? Why not come straight to K Section?”

  "So that if anything went wrong, and we were caught in Mobundu, I’d be covered. You guys would be the only ones standing in front of a firing squad.” Dager gave his dry chuckle again. "I never had to worry about Ausi, only about getting Ogwang into Kipora—which turned out to be problem enough, thanks to Indrani.” Durell followed the embankment of the bridge ramp down toward the river. "When you failed to kill Ogwang by the time he had reached Kipora, Ausi thought you’d blown it. Anyhow, he wanted some insurance. That was when he used Deirdre to pressure me into doing it. How did you explain the delay?”

  "By telling him I’d been waiting for Ogwang to lead me to the treasure.”

  "You told the truth for once?”

  "Only partly. I told him I’d split it with him, if I could get to you in such a way as to have your confidence and talk the location out of you. That’s why the embassy bit.”

  "But then you double-crossed him, killed the guard and helped us escape,” Durell said.

  "You don’t think I really intended ever to split with that bastard, do you?”

  Durell turned to help Deirdre down the bank and saw the muzzle of Dager’s .45 staring him in the face. "What if I hadn’t known where the stuff was, Dager?” he asked.

  Dager shrugged his lean shoulders. "Then I gave it my best try; what else can I say? I’ve got to admit, you’re being lots more cooperative than I’d expected.” "I know enough to cooperate with a loaded gun,” Durell said, his voice gloomy.

  On the beach Dager held back a few yards, his gun ready. He saw the truck and said, "How come the wreck?”

  "Look in the truckbed. Look all around, on the sand.”

  Dager’s thin mouth hung open; his eyes widened with delight. Gold and ivory lay everywhere around the vehicle. Then his face went stem. "Where’s the head?” he demanded.

  Deirdre abruptly gagged and turned away from the sight of Ogwang’s headless corpse.

  "Give me my jacket,” Durell told her. "I’ll cover it up."

  "Hold it, Durell. Right there,” Dager snapped

  The panga knife Durell had left by the corpse was only a liquid reflection on the sand. He spoke quietly, gently. "Think of the lady. Let me put something over that.”

  "Why bother?” Dager snorted. "I’m going to stretch both of you out beside it.”

  "Oh, Sam. . .!” Deirdre’s mouth went round in her pale face.

  "What about the rest of the treasure?” Durell asked. A taste of copper lay on his tongue; everything had come down to the next few seconds.

  "Time’s run out,” Dagger said. "I’ll be satisfied. I guess your time has come, big man.” He raised his pistol.

  Deirdre screamed.

  Durell dived, heard a shot, ripped the panga knife out of the sand. The explosion of another shot shattered the air as he rolled and came up on his knees, solidly planted. He knew he had only
one chance. He cocked an arm and threw.

  "Hooof!” Dager coughed.

  The reflection of his falling gun made a silver thread in the night. His knees buckled, his lips skinned back, and he flopped onto his face.

  Durell turned him over and said, "He’s dead. It’s finished. All we have to do is walk across the bridge.”

  29

  A tiring trek of a night and half a day passed before Durell could file the necessary reports from the American embassy in the capital of Ruwidi. Then he and Deirdre flew by East African Airways to Dar es Salaam, and from there out to Chole Island, an Indian Ocean hideaway of palms, coral and blue water favored by big-game fisherman.

  Weary and emotionally battered, they began their holiday with a long rest lulled by the monsoon winds, followed the next morning by an enormous breakfast eaten at a leisurely pace on the patio.

  "I hope you’re refreshed; I don’t think an earthquake could have wakened you,” Deirdre said.

  "Miss me?” He tilted a glass of light Allsops beer to his lips.

  "I can’t sleep the way you do,” she said. She smiled her special, loving smile and took his hand. She was wan, not. fully recovered yet, but she had finally disposed of her tattered suit and looked beautiful in a snug-waisted, full-skirted thing of layered silk.

  "I’ll make it up to you,” he said, and watched as the breeze shook copper sparks in her raven hair and made the shade of casuarina boughs dance on the terrace. The hotel, built of rough lumber and coral blocks, was on his right, and on his left breakers tumbled against a shell-strewn beach bordered with seaweed left by the night tide. He wished to stay here forever, unmolested by the demands of the larger world. But he knew that was impossible, and he was only mildly irritated when a white-jacketed waiter approached with an extension phone, and said: "Bwana Durell, kuna simu kwa ajili yako.”

  "Oh, no,” Deirdre groaned. She pulled the sunshades in her hair down over her gray eyes, as if to mask her annoyance.

  It was General Dickinson McFee, the boss of K Section, calling from Washington, D.C. "Congratulations, Samuel.”