It was ten days later. He had lived in silent solitude except for the plastic surgeon and his Taiwanese nurse, both of whom were more than uncommunicative. Several times he had apologized to Ike for the night he had forced Deirdre's address from him. The last time, Dr. Greentree replied:
"No need to regret it, Sam. McFee warned me to expect you. He thought of everything. He knew you would escape Chu's bullyboys and try for him, then make the effort through me and Deirdre. He's a smart little fellow, that McFee."
Durell thought some unkind thoughts, but did not voice them. He said, "Maybe I'm finished, Ike. Maybe I'll get what Deirdre always wanted—bounced out of K Section."
"Why?"
"Because I was ready to kill McFee."
"He didn't expect anything else. You're not supposed to talk, Sam. Lie still. Stop working your face."
"Where is everybody?"
"Gone."
"Where?"
He could sense Greentree's shrug, although bandages covered his face. "Back to the States. Cleaning up the mess."
"Have you heard anything?"
"I see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing."
"Some monkey."
"That's me," Ike said. "Now shut up."
Durell wondered if Deirdre had gone, too. He did not expect her to forgive him for using her to reach McFee. Even if his move had been anticipated, it didn't make his act less unacceptable. The lark continued to sing in the dawn air over the resort Sun Moon Lake. The wind came through the bungalow windows and smelled of sweet pines. Now and then he thought of Major Shan and wondered what had happened to him. Without Shan's help, he might never have escaped from Peking, might never have helped McFee solve the conspiracy against K Section. He hoped Shan would survive. He rather thought Shan would. But he wished he knew. He felt as if he had been put in isolation these past ten days. He had seen and spoken to no one but Greentree and the somber nurse.
The lark stopped singing as a car came grinding up the steep, pine-clad mountainside from the lakefront. He heard the sound of windbells somewhere. Then Ike Greentree's familiar step returned to the room.
"How do you feel, Sam?"
"Fine."
"Been awake long?"
"Yes."
"Impatient?"
"I have three more days to go, you said."
"There's been an urgent correction. The bandages come off now."
"Who's visiting us?" Durell asked as the car stopped outside the bungalow. "Is it Deirdre? Have you heard from her?"
"Lie still. It won't take a minute. Keep your eyes closed until I tell you to look at your old homely self." Ike laughed. "I wish I knew what the women really saw in you. You looked better when I made you into a Chinese."
"Is everything all right?"
"You're Sam Durell again."
Ten minutes later he opened his eyes to the morning light. He saw nothing at first, and again, as after the first operation, he felt a brief panic that he might be blind. Then shadows formed, blurred and indistinct, and out of them he gradually saw the gold-rimmed spectacles of Ike Greentree, and the surgeon's narrow, intellectual face. Ike was smiling. The room was the same. He was in the big Chinese bed, covered only with a sheet. His face ached. He blinked slowly, once or twice, and felt as if he had the king of all hangovers.
"Your eyes are normal, Sam," Greentree said.
"I'm glad you think so."
"Any pain?"
"Nothing I can't stand."
"A little edema from the scalpel. It's nothing. The puf-finess will ease by nightfall. You look fine."
Greentree gave him a mirror. He looked into his familiar face. Yes, he was Sam Durell again. He sighed and rolled over and looked at the window. The light seemed very strong, but he knew he would adjust to it. He sat up. He was naked under the sheets. The wind was scented with pine and flowers. The curtains blew inward. The lark was singing again, and he had never felt more lonely.
"Do I have a visitor?" he asked quietly.
"McFee is here."
"I thought you said he'd gone to the States "
"He just flew back. Relax, Sam."
"I can't relax."
"Do you want a sedative?"
"No."
"What's the matter with you? I'm not sore at you, Sam," Greentree said. "Nobody is. Here's General McFee."
Greentree vanished quietly as McFee came in. The first thing Durell noted was that the little gray man no longer carried his blackthorn stick. They stared at each other for a long moment, and McFee sat down primly in a finely carved chair and put his hands on his knees, while Durell sat on the edge of the bed and felt estranged. Then Mc-Fee's mouth quirked.
"You are the Cajun again. Greentree is a genius."
"Yes, sir."
"He did a wonderful job, making you look like Shan
"Yes, sir. What happened to Shan?"
"I offered him a job in Washington. I felt he should not go back to Peking, to his old work in the Black House, against us. At first, Haystead wanted to treat him as a captured spy. It was rather difficult. Haystead is an impetuous man. He was also desperate, as you know. It had been hinted to him, with the same false evidence that had been gathered against me, that his uncle, the senator, was one of the Sentinels. He was much relieved when I told him the name was not on the Sentinel list you helped to decode. He was also happy to root out the traitorous elements that had infiltrated his E Branch."
"Am I still with E Branch, by the way?"
"Haystead discharged you. He feels you were personally disloyal to him." Again McFee's mouth twitched, and Durell realized it was a smile. McFee said, "I've taken you back."
"So what happened to Shan?"
"I helped him to return to China."
Durell relaxed a little. "That's good. You couldn't have trusted him in Washington. He loves China. It's his motherland. I don't blame him. I only hope I never run up against him on another assignment—if I ever get one."
"You have one, Samuel," McFee said. "We're always short of help, you know. I have some tickets here for you, and a briefing sheet. You're going to Venice. It's a simple job. You can consider it an R & R—Rest and Recreation."
"Venice? On the other side of the world?"
"You've been there before," McFee said caustically.
"Yes, sir. I've been in lots of places before, sir. When do I leave for this allegedly restful assignment?"
"Whenever you can. Make it tomorrow."
"Thanks for all the spare time, sir."
"Samuel, I cannot spare you," McFee said gently. "Did you think I could?"
Durell did not look at him. He searched for his clothes, and did not see them. He said casually, "What about the Sentinels?"
"They are being taken care of. It is out of our hands now. The whole story is on a certain White House desk. You can be sure the danger from them is over." McFee paused. "Here are your tickets. Pan Am from Taipei International, to Venice via Washington. There is more material there that I want you to look at for this next piece of work. Take the tickets, Samuel."
There were two of them. Durell lifted his brows. "Are you coming with me, sir?"
"Not just yet."
"Then who ?"
"Deirdre is assigned to the job with you. You will need her. She knows Venice—at least, that part of it you will have to move in—better than you. I think you will find it —ah—interesting."
"But Deirdre hasn't been to see qie or even spoken to me "
"She is here now."
McFee stood up and walked to the door. For the first time, Durell thought the little general looked tired. It was something of a shock to realize that Dickinson McFee was human, too.
He sat alone and waited, listening to the bird calls and watching the morning light filter through the pine trees. It seemed a long time before he heard her footsteps. The car that had brought McFee and Deirdre to the bungalow started up and went away down the mountainside. He wondered if Deirdre had changed her mind and had gone with it. He did not
find it in his heart to blame her, if she had. In the past, they had had many differences about his work; she had charged him with valuing it more than their love. Nothing had changed, there. The arguments he had used then were still valid today. He was beyond the ordinary, day-to-day routines that men and women lived by and built their worlds upon. He could never go back to that. He was Sam Durell, of K Section, and would be so until that moment in time, someday, when he slipped and made an error of judgment. There were plenty of enemies still in the world who wanted to see him dead, wanted his file closed permanently. Sooner or later, that day would come. Whatever the efforts of people like McFee, the world was a long way from peace, and peace still remained an illusive dream in the hearts of men. It had always been so, unfortunately. But he lived in daily risk of his life hoping that it need not be so in the future.
He heard the door open, and it seemed as if everything stopped inside him, and then she was there in the morning light, standing very still across the room, looking at him. Her face was quiet, her eyes serene.
"Hello, Sam."
She was beautiful.
He said awkwardly, "I thought for a moment you might have left with McFee."
"I'll never leave you, Sam," she whispered.
Then she came toward him with a brief, impulsive rush that told him all he longed to know.
ENJOY THE OTHER SAM DURELL ADVENTURES
ASSIGNMENT—
ANKARA R2056 60$
BLACK VIKING D1823 50$
BUDAPEST R2040 60$
THE CAIRO DANCERS D1983 50$
CARLOTTA CORTEZ R2088 60$
CONG HAI KB1L R2011 60$
THE GIRL IN THE GONDOLA R2054 60$
LOWLANDS R2028 60$
Fawcett, GoldMedal Book
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IN THE BESTSELUNG "ASSIGNMENT" SERIES
ASSIGNMENT —
MADELEINE D1950 50$ MARA TIRANA D1920 50C MOON GIRL R2024 60$ NUCLEAR NUDE R2000 60$ SCHOOL FOR SPD2S R1999 60$ SUICKDE D1944 50$ SULU SEA D1967 50$ TREASON D1958 50$ ZORAYA R2071 60$
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A Chilling Novel of Intrigue by the author of the "ASSIGNMENT" aeries
Edward S. Aarons GIRL ON THE RUN
Armand O'Bae didn't simply "disappear." He was kidnapped, tortured, and when he refused to talk, what was left of him went hurtling to the ground from an upper-story window. An unfortunate accident, said the gentlemen involved, and more unfortunate that O'Bae had taken with him the sinister secret of a ninth-century treasure—a legendary crypt stuffed to its very limits with gold, and possibly something much more valuable. Something as modern as atomic energy and just as crucial to the nations of Europe.
Now the killers had to get his daughter—the innocent beauty with nowhere to hide, and only one man she could trust. A man from out of her past, who had every reason to hate her . . .
R2142 A FawcettjP*^6old Medal Book 60$
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If your bookdealer is sold out, send cover price plus I Of each for postage and handling to Gold Medal Books, Fawcett Publications, Inc., Greenwich, Conn. 06830. If order is for five or more books, there is no postage or handling charge. Order by number and title. No Canadian orders.
This book made available by the Internet Archive.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Pages
Back Cover
Assignment Peking Page 19