Assignment Madeleine

by Edward S. Aarons

  “Who are they?”

  “Frenchmen,” el-Abri said flatly. His voice rang harshly in the barren hut. “The types who, in their own way, are as bad as the rebel fanatics. The wealthy, the conservative territorials, landowners, businessmen with vested interests in Algeria, who seek only to crush our reasonable aspirations with brutal force to keep us subservient. The day for that sort of thing is over, do you understand? There are elements in the extremists who might be called fascist, nationalist, racist, and there is a parallel element among the French.”

  “Where does the money come into it?”

  “This certain French element wishes the money to be found publicly, under certain circumstances that would indicate your government is financing the extremists.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Who would believe it?”

  “Enough in France would believe it to whip up a frenzy of hate and violence. There would be a call to greater effort to crush the rebellion with force, terror, any brutal way at all. Conciliation, contact and negotiation would end. There would be no hope at all for a reasonable peace.”

  “It’s a lot of money to throw away for that,” Durell said.

  “These people are rich. The money means nothing.”

  “It means something to L’Heureux. Has he planted it? Is that what you mean, Hadji? Is it ready to he discovered?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you know where it is?”

  “I can find it. For a price.”

  “For Charles L’Heureux?”

  The Kabyle nodded. His eyes were bright and hard.

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t let you have him,” Durell said.

  The guerrilla was silent for a moment. “We have been friends, Durell. You choose to be an enemy. Do you understand?”

  “It is not my choice.”

  “I will have L’Heureux,” el-Abri said. “You will not reach the coast with him. Not tonight or tomorrow. Not ever.”

  Durell stood up. The guard walked back and forth in front of the mechta. The night had suddenly grown colder. He went to the door and looked at the stars shining over the rocky desert. He looked at el-Abri.

  The Kabyle chieftain stood straight and tall, a dangerous man. His topaz eyes looked like stone in the cold light coming from the black sky.

  “Will your driver take me back to the hotel now?” Durell asked.

  “You came in peace. You may depart in peace. After that—” El-Abri shrugged. “I do not understand you at all, Durell. It is a small thing. A worthless life, against the saving of many lives.”

  “I have my job to do,” Durell said.

  “Then I shall have to kill you,” the Kabyle said softly.

  Chapter Eleven

  JANE LARKLN was awake and dressed when Durell returned to the hotel. It was two o’clock in the morning. She heard the truck stop in the market place, and she looked down into the starlit darkness and saw Durell get out, followed by the slighter figure of Captain DeGrasse. A driver remained in the truck cab. The two men walked into the hotel entrance under her window.

  Jane turned and looked toward the bed. “Chet?”

  He lay on his back, hands clasped under his head. He staged at the ceiling and didn’t reply.

  “They’re here, Chet. I'm sure he’s going now, tonight.”

  “Good for him,” Chet said.

  “I’m going with him.”

  “No, Jane.”

  “With you or without you,” she said.

  He still didn’t look at her, and that was the worst of it, she thought. “Please, Chet. We've quarreled all night. It’s enough.”

  “We’ve quarreled all our life together.”

  That’s not my fault.”

  “Is it mine?”

  "l don’t know. I'm sorry."

  She wondered what she was sorry about, really. Why should she feel like crying?‘ It was over now, irrevocably finished. The dreams of girlhood, of one man forever, the scorn she once had of friends who married and divorced as it on a merry-go-round of thin and hysterical emotion. She had sworn it wouldn’t be like that with Chet and herself. They would be different. Even old-fashioned. There was nothing wrong in being old-fashioned it meant staying with one man for the rest of your life.

  But it hadn’t worked out like that. Everything was different. She hated this place, she was homesick, she hadn’t reached that place in Chet where he lived and worked and laughed. She could have stayed in Algiers. Algiers wasn’t so bad. The French officers were charming, attentive. The shops on the Rue d’Isly were fun. But he had insisted that she meet him here in this god-forsaken village, halfway to the oil fields. The quarrel tonight had been the very worst, too. But nothing would change her mind. Even Algiers wasn’t good enough now. She was going home, back to where things were safe and secure. With Chet or without him. If it had to be that way, then she couldn’t help it. She wanted to hate him for his stubborn calm; but she wanted to weep.

  She spoke to his silent figure. “I’m going to talk to Durell. I'm going to insist that he take me with him.”

  “All right,” Chet said quietly.

  “What do you mean, all right?”

  “All right, I’ll go with you.”

  “I thought you said your job—”

  “You win,” he said. “I’ll quit. Are you satisfied?”

  She wasn't. She didn’t understand why she felt this stab of disappointment. She had won. She was going to have her way, after all. Chet would come back to Houston with her. But all at once she knew that this wasn’t right, either. She didn’t like this sudden, meek surrender.

  Daddy would have taken her over his knee and smacked some sense into her, according to his principles. But not Chet. Chet was always too gentle.

  Damn, she thought, what’s the matter with me?

  She went into the corridor when she heard Durell’s footsteps. He was with DeGrasse. Both men looked tense and angry, as if they had been arguing. Captain DeGrasse halted and his mouth smiled briefly.

  “Mrs. Larkin. I thought you would be long asleep.”

  “I can’t sleep. Neither can my husband. This raid tonight was the last straw.” She was aware of Durell’s eyes objectively appraising her. She heard the sound of her voice go on as if she accused DeGrasse of personal responsibility for the war here. “Please, captain. You told me yourself that Mr. Durell is going to try to reach the coast tonight.”

  “Not tonight,” DeGrasse said.

  “You have a truck out there. That’s what it’s for, isn't it? I insist you take my husband and me with you."

  “Mrs. Larkin, you do not appreciate the dangers —”

  “I can’t stay here another minute. It’s important. My daddy is worried enough already, and my husband’s work here is finished, anyway. We’ve been waiting to go for days, and we won’t be put oil any longer.”

  “You have waited because I could not spare a detachment of men to safeguard your passage to Algiers. And I still cannot spare the men."

  “But Mr. Durell is going.”

  “That is Durell’s business. That is his job.”

  “I don’t mind the danger. It can’t be worse than right here."

  DeGrasse looked helplessly at Durell. Durell hadn't spoken yet. He knew about the Larkins. Their presence in Marbruk had been worrying the Frenchman. On the way over in the truck, DeGrasse had tentatively asked if he would consider taking the Americans out of the danger zone, as a personal favor to him. Now Durell looked beyond Jane and saw Chet Larkin open his bedroom door and step into the hotel corridor. He appraised Chet quickly and accurately.

  “I could use another gun,” he said, “it Larkin understands the risks and is willing to accept them.”

  Chet Larkin nodded. “I know the dangers.” He looked at Jane and then at DeGrasse. “The rebels will be busy in the hills tonight, licking their wounds. Now might be just the time to run for it. We could he in Algiers by noon.

  DeGrasse looked harassed. “There is no open road. It
will be most difficult. There may be an ambush waiting. How could I explain this to headquarters? It would be calamitous if anything went wrong.”

  “You needn’t worry about us, captain,” Chet said quietly. “We’re willing to take our chances. My wife is very anxious to get back to the States in the shortest possible time." He looked at Durell. “You said you could use another gun. I’m a pretty good shot.”

  “You may have to be very good,” Durell said.

  All right, then. I’m very good.” Chet paused. “We’re all packed and ready to go. I have no carbine, but I’ve a .38."

  DeGrasse nodded reluctantly. “I can give you some automatic weapons. And you will need a driver. Talek, my man in the truck, knows all the routes to the coast. I can spare him.”

  Durell looked down the hallway. Madeleine Sardelle’s door was only a few steps away. A new guard was on duty there. He turned back to DeGrasse. “Is Mlle. Sardelle safe?”

  DeGrasse looked angry suddenly. “There are some things you could explain, you know. The first guard was knocked unconscious. You returned to the hotel a few moments afterward, and then Felix discovered you had gone out again and had locked the Sardelle girl in her room. Felix told me of all this. You were missing for almost two hours, m’sieu.”

  “Yes.”

  -“Where did you go?”

  “I visited an old friend,” Durell said.

  “Of the rebels, perhaps?”

  “No.”

  “Then it was el-Abri.”

  “Perhaps.”

  DeGrasse looked coldly furious. “He has not surrendered yet, that type. I doubt if he will. It was all a trick. Or did he offer to negotiate again with you?”

  “Not exactly,” Durell said. “In any case, I gave my word not to speak of where I was or who I saw.”

  “I understand that my business is to fight the rebels,”

  DeGrasse said bitterly. “I leave the politics to Paris, whatever mess they make of it. It is not for me to conduct mysterious expeditions to confer with old friends about old times. This belongs buried in the past.”

  “The roots of the past sometimes bear surprising fruit,” Durell said. He looked at Jane Larkin. “You and your husband better get ready. I’ll meet you both in the lobby in fifteen minutes.”

  Madeleine was awake. She sat on the edge of her bed, wearing slacks and a thin sweater against the dawning chill of the desert. She twisted to face Durell as he came in and closed the door.

  “You’re back, then,” she said quietly. “Have you seen Charley?”

  “I have him with me,” Durell said. “We’re going now.

  Her body stiffened for an instant. She looked surprised, then displeased. “Now? Tonight? But the countryside be too dangerous. Unless the plane has been repaired. . .”

  “We’re going by truck. Durell’s voice was flat. Get ready now, please.”

  She demurred again. “But the rebels are aroused. I cannot see that Monsieur Brumont ordered us to risk the prisoner’s safety by hurrying our departure this way. In a day or two, the situation will be clarified, the countryside around here will be pacified—”

  “Were you counting on that?” Durell asked.

  She met his gaze, then looked away. She drew a deep breath. “Durell I want to explain why I was in your room earlier.”

  “You don’t have to explain. I know why you were waiting for me, the way you were. It might have been interesting. It’s regrettable that we had no chance to learn who could win on your field of battle.”

  She flushed. “No, you do not understand. I was lonely. I wanted—companionship. I was thinking of Charley. Where there is so much smoke, there must be fire, as you would say. Perhaps I’ve been blinded, because I care for him. But my job and my duty to Brumont—”

  “Are you saying you have a Change of heart?” he smiled.

  “Is it not possible?”

  “Not with you, honey,” he said. “We’ve been operating under a truce, you and I. But I’m calling it oft, as of now. Until we’re in that truck, you don’t leave my sight. You don’t telephone or get in touch with Charley’s friends. “Very well.” She stood up and picked up her small suitcase. Her red hair was coiled in two thick braids at the nape of her neck. Her slanted eyes regarded Durell with sudden wry amusement. “Our journey is not ended. Perhaps we can yet engage on my field of battle. Or are you faithful to your Miss Padgett?’

  “Perhaps.”

  “You Americans are such fools when it comes to morality. What I was willing to offer was in loneliness, in search of simple friendship. With no strings attached. You do not believe what I say about Charley. You call us enemies now.”

  “Just so I know where I stand,” Durell said shortly.

  “Let’s go, shall we?”

  Jane Larkin was aware of an odd excitement. She had walked outside to the hotel terrace with Chet, where the canvas-covered truck was parked facing the market place, and she had stood beside Chet in the chilly night air as their suitcases were placed in back of the vehicle. The heavy tarpaulin over the troop carrier had been pulled open by the back flaps, and although she hadn't tried to peek, she had glanced inside.

  She had been shocked to see Charles L’Heureux' pale, blazing eyes. She saw his face, his pale hair and scowling dark brows, and then she saw the quirk of his strong wide mouth as he laughed down at her and said softly, “Hi, baby. You’re the Americans in town, huh?” His Maine accent was unmistakable. “Good to see a fellow traveler, it you don’t mind mixing the terms.”

  She didn’t know what to say. His grin was sardonic as he held up handcuffed wrists. “I’m the prisoner you heard about, all right. No need to be afraid of me though, baby. Glad you’re coming along. It might be a long, lonely ride.”

  “Where are they taking you?” Jane asked. She knew the question sounded inane. Somehow she hadn’t thought about the prisoner as a tangible man. Certainly she hadn’t expected him to be this big, arrogant man. “I mean, there have been all kinds of rumors about you. They say you shot another American here in town—”

  Chet spoke angrily. “Jane, get away from there. Don’t talk to him.”

  Something in his sharp tone made her suddenly contrary. She leaned forward over the truck tailgate to see the prisoner better in the interior dimness. He was sitting on one of two parallel benches running the length of the truck body under the canvas top.

  L’Heureux grinned down at her. “Everything you heard about me is lies, baby. Do I look like a killer? I’ve been framed. It’s only for political reasons, see? So who’s the creep who gives you orders?”

  “My husband,” Jane said. She smiled. “We’re riding to Algiers with you.”

  Chet pulled her away from the truck with an angry hand. “Jane, what’s the matter with you?”

  “I'm only talking to the man,” she protested.

  “You’ll ride up front with Durell, understand?”

  “Why can’t I talk to him, Chet? What are you afraid of?”

  “He should have been stood up against a wall and shot days ago. Just stay away from him, that’s all,” Chet said.

  Jane moved away from the truck and sat down on the stone wall of the hotel terrace. The stars were beginning to fade in the segment of sky she could see over the Catholic convent across the market place. She heard L'Heureux’ mocking laughter from the truck and remembered the glitter of his feral eyes. The bold and arrogant way the man had looked at her was strangely exciting. She shivered, but it was not from the chill desert wind that had sprung up recently. Then Chet returned to her.

  “They say we’re going to start off by heading south.” He seemed troubled, and he carried a carbine DeGrasse had given him. He looked different, too, Jane thought. Chunky and somehow unreal with that rifle in his hand. As if it were all a game they were playing, unreal but exciting. Chet went on, “Durell thinks we ought to go in a wide circle and sweep back to the coast on the Farita road by daylight. He thinks well avoid any guerrilla ambushes that way, by startin
g out in the opposite direction.”

  “That sounds smart,” Jane said.

  Chet hesitated, “Jane, listen, I don’t like any of it. We’re safe here in Marbruk. This is crazy, rushing away before things settle down.”

  “Can you guarantee it will?”

  “No, but—”

  “Chet, I want to go home. I’m sick of this place. I’m up to here with it.” Jane’s voice sounded shrill, and she tried to soften her words. “I don’t mind the danger. Besides, I’m sure nothing is going to happen to us. By tomorrow we’ll be in Algiers and on the plane to France and then home.”

  Chet looked at her with an expression she did not understand. His jaw looked square and hard and angry. “Does home in Texas mean that much to you, lane.”

  “Of course.”

  Durell was coming down the steps from the hotel. Madeleine was with him. “If you’re all ready,” he said, “we can get started.”

  Chapter Twelve

  CHET requested that Jane sit up front in the cab with Durell and the goumier, Talek. The Arab driver was a small, slight man with a narrow face and a bad scar over one eye, but he looked smart and military in the uniform of the special native troops used by the French Army. Durell watched Madeleine greet Charley as she climbed in the back with Chet. Their words were brief and cool, a meaningless exchange of formalities. He wished he could see the girl’s face more clearly, but the interior of the truck was too gloomy. He ordered Madeleine to sit across from L’Heureux, and told Chet privately to keep them that way. Chet sat near the tailgate, where he could watch the road unwinding behind the truck.

  The air blowing through the open cab windows was cold, but the light was strengthening in the east. With the rising sun, the weight of the Sahara heat would return in full violence.

  Talek’s carbine was in a rack in the cab ceiling; overhead. Durell kept his rifle in his lap. Jane peered t rough the windshield, but she could see nothing alarming in the landscape. Her few attempts to question Durell about the prisoner in the truck were met with quiet evasions.