Assignment Golden Girl

by Edward S. Aarons

  "The longest on the way to the coast?"

  "Yes, it is."

  To rebuild a blown bridge, a critical bridge like this tne, to hold Old 79's 175-ton weight would hold them up to the point of disaster. He thought of Nam Sring's remark that Yi and his two companions had been carrying canvas-covered packs. Plastic explosive didn't take up much room. If Yi's two men were demolition experts—

  "Come on," he said tightly.

  He moved wtih a long stride along the edge of the track, moving away from Mokhehle Station. Sally kept up with him. She stumbled once and almost fell, but he caught her and felt her body press hard against him in an unnecessary gesture. He paid no attention to it, but he was aware of her, remembering in the back of his mind her nakedness in the Pakuru River Hotel room. He wondered briefly where Khwama and Company might be. Then he caught a glimpse of wide water ahead. He slowed his pace and made a careful approach to the river-bank.

  It was as wide and tortuous as Sally had predicted. The banks of the river were twenty feet above the water level, and the wooden trestle bridge soared high above the river's surface. There was only a narrow walkway along the tracks built of rough-hewn planks and tied together with vines. Durell could not see the true bank of the other side of the river opposite. It was as Sally had said, a drowned delta of islands, mud and sank banks, dark channels. The water was probably alive with crocodiles and snakes, he thought.

  "Stay here," he told the girl.

  "No. I don't want to wait alone."

  "It would be safer."

  She shivered. "I can't find anywhere that's safe, Sam, except with you."

  He shrugged and started along the walkway of the bridge. The water seemed very far down. Moonlight lanced tiny slivers of silver off the sluggish current. The flimsy boards creaked underfoot. The rails nearby were very rusty. Water purled against the thick pilings twenty feet below. It was about five hundred feet to the first river islet, a grove of trees that towered high into the golden sky around the full moon. Durell did not like being exposed like this on the open bridge. But there was no way to hide his approach. He moved in a fast crouch and jumped off the catwalk to the solid ground of the river island. Sally was only a moment behind him. He waited and listened, but nothing happened. He heard only the stirring of birds above him and the wind in the trees and the murmur of the sluggish African river. Then something hit the water with a sharp crack, and he looked downstream and saw the ripple of a black snout moving away in alarm. He walked on beside the tracks to the opposite island bank. Another river channel stretched away ahead of him, crossed by another bridge. For a moment he thought he saw something move on the strip of sand down below on the embankment across from him. He wasn't certain. It could have been the shadow of a branch moving in the faint, rancid breeze. It could have been an animal. It could have been a man.

  "Stay here," he said again.

  "I'm afraid to be alone—"

  "This time I mean it."

  He started out across the second stretch of catwalk on the high trestle bridge running fast, keeping his body low. Halfway across he thought he heard a faint click of metal on the rail some distance ahead, perhaps on the second island. The river current was faster in this channel. Oozy mud bubbles streamed away from the bridge pilings. He kept on, reached the second island bank, and jumped down. A small branch cracked under his foot, disturbing him. He froze where he was. There was no sound in return. No evident alarm. Then he saw the wires.

  They hung in a long loop under the bridge from about the middle of the section he had just crossed. He could not see the explosive charge in the shadows under the bridge, but he knew it was there. It might be a contact charge or perhaps one that had to be triggered as the train approached. It didn't matter. Either way, if it were allowed to remain. Old 79 and the refugees would be blown sky-high and then dropped down into the river twenty feet below. And that would be the end of it all.

  There was no wind in the underbrush, and he began to weat, then dried his hand on his thigh, and got a fresh grip on his gun. Somewhere ahead was Colonel Yi and his two demolition experts. He was certain of it now. Maybe there was a timer device on the explosive. Even if just the bridge was taken out, it would be effective enough. It would take a platoon of construction men several days to rebuild the high trestle. Enough time to delay the train until the Neighbors overran Mokhehle Station and took them. Enough time to die in, he thought.

  The tracks moved straight across the small, overgrown islet. Again the moon was hidden by the foliage overhead, making only slight, dappled coins of silver on the thick himius underfoot. He scanned the brush carefully. Something gleamed on the muddy ground ahead. It was the wire from the bridge. He traced it with his eyes until it vanished into the thick brush. Slowly then he got up and walked along the wire toward its end. Something snicked off a leaf over his head. An instant later he heard the flat sound of a shot. He threw himself down and heard a man laugh somewhere up ahead. Footsteps ran to his right. Another set of steps ran to his left. They were fanning out to flank him—

  "Durell!"

  He lay still, smelling the rich muck and ooze of the jungle floor. More footsteps sounded in the black growth around him. The one to the right was closest. When he lifted his head, he could see the third channel of the Mokhehle River. The water glimmered faintly through the big leaves of wild banana plants. The island was small. Not more than a few hundred yards wide in either direction. He could not retreat. If he went back on the bridge catwalk, he would present himself as a wide-open target. He was caught here with Yi and his two men.

  ''Durell!"

  The call came again from ahead. His name echoed oddly in the night. There was amusement in the sound and malicious triumph. A gloating and a waiting. He did not reply. He listened more carefully to the sounds on his right. The man was too sure of himself. Durell turned his head carefully and waited. Presently he caught the movement of a darker shadow in among the foliage. He saw the loom of a round head, heavy shoulders, then the gleam of moonhght fleetingly on a gun barrel.

  Come on, he thought. Just a couple of steps more. The thoughts of Mao won't help you now, old buddy—

  He struck quickly, silently. He glimpsed a round Chinese face, thunderstruck—^no Oriental stoicism here— and the only sound was the thud of his gun against the man's head. Quickly he caught the sagging body and lowered it into the brush, then picked up the man's snubby-barreled automatic rifle. It was a Russian-type, Chinese-built AK-47. The magazine was full. He stared down at the anonymous man, saw a trickle of blood running down the cheek, and rolled the unconscious body farther away under a spiky-leafed bush.

  A slight sound, the whisper of the footfall, made him whirl. The second man was right behind him, grinning. Durell did not hesitate. His finger closed on the trigger of the AK-47 in a quick, sharp burst that aroused bedlam in the trees above. The man twisted and jolted backward against a tree, clutching his belly, and sat down dead.

  The echoes of the burst of gunfire moved away across the river channels along with the flapping wings of a thousand disturbed birds. Somewhere on the tiny island Colonel Yi was hstening, alert. He would recognize the sound of the Russian gun. He would assume that one of his men had found him. Or would he? Durell stood silently in the shadows, watching, listening.

  Nothing.

  He studied the rails at the end of the trestle bridge. The tracks just nicked the end of the island. Nothing moved there. So Yi had to be in the jungled area toward the lake. Good. He moved toward the tracks, caught the gleam of the detonating wire alongside the rail.

  "Colonel Yi!" he called.

  His voice echoed as the other's voice had sounded, a taunting challenge. He moved as soon as he called the other's name and ran fast toward the track, picking up the trace of the wire again. He saw the detonator box a hundred feet beyond. He checked himself.

  "Colonel, you can't blow the bridge now!" he shouted.

  He waited, hoping the detonator would draw the enemy like a m
agnet. But there was no sign of the other man. The island was too small for him to remain hidden indefinitely. Unless Yi came for the detonator, the Chinese would have to give up his plan to get Durell and blow up the bridge.

  Moonlight shone on the little black box in the grass. The river purled softly between the high trestles of the bridge behind him. He turned his head. The wires were plainly visible, leading to the charge under the crisscrossed timbers. He looked at his watch and waited two minutes. There was a small clearing with high grass and then a screen of bamboo, black in the moonlight, where the high bluff of the islet's opposite bank dropped down into the river. He looked up and down the wires. They were out in the open tempting them. If he could cut them, the danger to the bridge was ended. But if he stepped into the open, he would be a clear and evident target for Yi.

  Stalemate.

  From far in the distance he heard men's voices, a low murmuring like the movement of water around the island. A bird called. Something rustled in the tall grass between himself and the black box. Not a man. He studied the bamboo thicket on the other side of the clearing. A black pattern of stalks like a Japanese print. The wind soughed in the thick, pendant leaves of a wild banana plant. Where was Colonel Yi? They were both trapped by circumstances. If Durell left, Yi could get to the detonator. If he stayed, Yi could circle around to the bridge, cut him off, perhaps reach—Sally.

  He heard her footsteps running on the catwalk of the bridge. Her voice, high and Ught, was Uke a birdcall. He sensed terror in the words he could not understand. Again a rustling in the tall grass. He backed up a little. He looked at the black detonator box. So near. If he retreated, would the Chinese make a run for it, explode the charge, send the bridge roaring into the black night sky? He did not underestimate the man from the Peacock Branch.

  "Sam? Sam!"

  A trick. He could not trust her. She could be a decoy for Colonel Yi. He pulled back another step into the sheltering brush.

  "Sam, please—!"

  Sally's voice ended in a wail of terror. Durell sweated. He kept his eyes on the black box. A run of sixty, seventy steps. A minute? He could do it in half. But there was a gun waiting. Eyes watching. He was sure of it. Where? He had to know.

  To the right of the clearing, beyond the tracks the island ended in its steep bluff like the prow of a ship breasting the sluggish river current. A few low bushes made black humps against the dim reflections of the water's surface. A few square yards of soil and brush, nothing more. Yi would not be there. He looked to the left to the larger part of the islet. Banana leaves, bamboo, a soaring mahogany tree. His eyes followed the branches up into the moonlit sky. The leaves made a pattern of eyelets through which the moonlight dripped in silver droplets. Something there. A little farther down. Like a cat in a tree, a black hump on the branch. Maybe only a few twisted limbs, a clump of leaves. Maybe a man. Sally's footsteps had left the bridge now. She was on the island running toward Durell from behind him. In a moment she would be on him calling his name, exposing him as a target. Or worse. She might run out into the clearing toward the detonator.

  No choice.

  He lifted the AK-47 carefully. His left leg trembled. He waited a moment, heard Sally very near now, but did not turn his head. He watched the bulky shadow in the mahogany tree, then gathered himself, and ran out into the clearing. The box was an endless distance away. He heard the shot, saw the flame, swung his gun toward the tree; his finger tightened, the metal frame jerked and jolted in his hand. The bullets sprayed upward. The noise filled the universe. Something tapped his left shoulder. A sensation of burning. He was halfway. He suddenly fell, stumbling, rolUng over. He kept the gim up and sprayed another burst at the tree. The shadows moved and jerked, and the tree limb detached itself and started down in slow motion, not a limb at all but a man, arms and legs flung wide, body twisting. Up again. The grass was head-high here, whipping his face. He got up again. Somebody screamed. Sally? He felt another tap, this time on his left thigh, and his leg went out. He fell forward and hit his face on something hard and metallic, a corner of the detonator box. He dropped the gun and tore at the wires and flung them aside. His breath made a harsh sound that he could not recognize as his own.

  He rolled over on his belly, facing the mahogany tree looming tall at the edge of the clearing. "Stay back, Sally!" "Sam? Oh, Lordie—"

  She stood at the edge of the clearing, uncertain, searching for him. He saw the grass waving and fired the AK-47 again. The noise ripped like claws at the fabric of the jungle night. Something grunted. There came a crackling in the brush, a lunging sound. Durell got to his knees in in the grass beside the detonator. He reversed the gun and smashed at the box with the butt. It was solid, resisting him. He smashed again. The hard shell cracked suddenly like an egg, and worms sprang out, tiny wires, a clock face, a plate of printed circuits, a battery. He struck at the ruin once more with the gun and was satisfied. The bridge was safe.

  He got up and ran toward the mahogany tree, his left leg feeling awkward. The lump of shadow was gone. He heard more crashing at the other end of the islet. The brush made a kaleidoscope of shadows before his face. The lake suddenly opened up all black and silver, stretching to the horizon. There was something in the sky, droning up there, a silver gnat in the moonlight. He saw Colonel Yi. The man's shadow looked enormous against the low hanging moon. He fired again. Two shells ripped out, then nothing. The clip was empty. Colonel Yi still had a fully loaded gun. Then the Colonel disappeared. He fell or dived off the high embankment of the island's shore and went down into the river. Durell heard the splash, then there was nothing, and the night became quiet again.

  "Sam?"

  Her voice was plaintive. He turned his head briefly and saw Sally standing a dozen paces behind him. Her hands were empty. He looked at them first, at her face, then at the river.

  "Sam, are you all right?"

  "No."

  "Sam, what happened?"

  "He nicked me. Twice."

  "Yes, I can see that. You're all bloody."

  "It's not as bad as it looks," he said. He kept watching the river. Sally said, "What about Colonel Yi?"

  "I don't know."

  "Didn't you kill him?"

  "I don't know, Sally."

  He watched the river. Nothing. He was sure the Chinese had gone into it—jumped or fell, he couldn't be sure which. Had he surfaced? Was he hiding under the sand and mud bluff? He looked up at the sky. The plane was there, coming closer, pontoons gleaming in the moonlight, high up, circling. Sally looked up at it. The plane made two more circles.

  "Sam—"

  "Wait."

  "Let me take care of you, Sam."

  "In a moment."

  The plane circled once more over the wide lazy river delta. It flew lower this time. He could see no markings on it. Apparently the pilot was looking for a signal. Then he tilted his wings and went off low over the surface of the lake, flying north, going away, leaving Colonel Yi somewhere—alive or dead—down there in the water.

  Durell slowly let out his breath and walked back toward Sally.

  Twventy-Twvo

  "WE HAVE to get back to the train," he said.

  "Not yet. Sit still."

  "What are you crying for?"

  "None of your business."

  "It's all right now. The train is safe. The bridge is safe."

  "I know all that."

  "Then stop crying."

  "I'm scared," she said.

  "But it's all over."

  "So now I'm scared! Don't you allow that, you monster? You killed two men! I don't care who they were or what they were doing. You killed them!"

  "That's right."

  "And maybe you killed Colonel Yi, too!"

  "I hope so."

  She gulped and swallowed and blew her nose like a chUd. She was very beautiful. They sat in the tall grass at the end of the bridge leading back from the island to Mokhehle Station. They could hear the sounds of men chanting as they chopped wood and an
occasional clink of steel on steel. It all seemed far away. Durell looked at the moon. It had lifted appreciably over the horizon into the black African sky. Insects sang. The river made purling sounds. He felt Sally's hands on his thigh, his shoulder. She had torn strips of bandage from her dress and applied them expertly. The wounds were only flesh wounds. They would hurt and stiffen tomorrow and then be all right. The refugee doctor on the train had no more antiseptic, but with luck they would be at the coast this time tomorrow, and there would be a Portuguese doctor to take over.

  He touched Sally's long, soft black hair. She started at his touch. The weeping had left long streaks on her soft face. She looked defenseless, vulnerable. She hadn't been hurt. She sat with her head turned slightly aside. She sighed, her shoulders lifting. Her dress was badly torn. She had lost the long, looped earrings from her left ear. When she raised her hand to touch his face, her fingers were like feathers on his mouth and chin. Her bracelets jingled on her wrist. Her eyes melted into the moon.

  She laughed ruefully.

  "Sam, I love you. I don't want to leave this place. I just want to stay here forever alone with you."

  "You don't mean that, Sally."

  "I love you. I swallowed my pride, you see. I'm a princess. Not exactly one out of a fairy-tale—but I do have royal Pakuru blood. I love you. There's no hurry to get back to the train. They have an hour's work before you can start the locomotive again. Oyashi is seeing to everything. Sam, I love you. Let's stay here for a while. We may never be alone again."

  She was tender, timid, gentle, offering herself. He wanted her. They were alone with the moon and the wind on the little river island. The tall grass moved over their heads. The soft light suddenly gleamed on her smoothly rounded body. The grass reeds made deUcate patterns on her shoulders and proud breasts, on her rounded hip and thighs. He saw the love and the wanting in her eyes. It had to be true. He suddenly felt very lonely. He knew he should think of tomorrow and the next year and the next hour. It didn't matter. There was the here and now, a little time to steal, a reprieve, a few moments when he could be like other men, not watching from the comers of his eyes, endlessly alert for danger and betrayal. It would be good to live like this. It would be good to leave his world of darkness and death, treachery and treason. He felt something ease out of him from his mind and muscles, his nerves and bones. Conditioning.