Assignment- Silver Scorpion

by Edward S. Aarons

  He pulled himself upward very carefully. His muscles trembled with the tension. He got one knee on the side of the crater, then the other. He still had the gun. He pulled himself forward, then stood up.

  Men ran along the top of the wall over his head, shouting to each other. A shell burst up there, then another. Mortar and chips of stone rained down around him. He looked back to the others.

  "Yutigaffa? Jump. I'll catch you."

  The FKP captain nodded, stepped back a bit, then leaped across the gap. His outstretched hand sought, Durell's. Durell caught him and pulled him easily to safety.

  "Irene? You're next."

  "I-I can't," the girl whimpered.

  "You have to! Jump!"

  "I'm afraid!"

  "We will catch you, Ragihi," Yutigaffa called.

  The blond girl bit her lip. Her small face trembled. A shell burst reflected in her wide, frightened eyes. Her hair was disheveled, falling down across her face. She started forward, hesitated, drew back. Kantijji said something to her, his words drowned out by more shell bursts. She nodded, suddenly ran forward, and jumped.

  She was far too short.

  Durell abruptly leaned forward, one hand holding to Yutigaffa's arm, the other outstretched wide. He caught Irene's flailing body, felt his grip slip, caught her arm, felt it slide through his fingers as she went down, then hooked onto her wrist. She dangled there for a long moment, her mouth open, but no scream or any sound at all came from her.

  "Pull back, Yutigaffa."

  "I cannot. I cannot hold you both."

  "You have to!" Durell gasped. "Quick!"

  He felt his feet sliding out from under him toward the hole blown in the parapet. Irene slipped down another few inches. Dangling there, she looked up into Durell's eyes. He felt his shoulder muscles crack as he pulled her upward. The movement gave Yutigaffa a little leverage. Durell heaved again, got Irene halfway up, felt the FKP man pull at him, and they both moved back from the edge of the crater. Irene fell flat on her stomach on the safe side of the parapet, gasping and shaking.

  "You're all right now," Durell said.

  "Bloody close, that was," she whispered.

  "Finch?"

  "Coming."

  The tall girl made the jump easily, landed in Durell's arms, leaned against him for a moment, then stepped away. Kantijji was left. The stocky Bogandan looked backward, as if he were listening for something. His mouth was open. His eyes reflected the red glare of the fires in the Getoba. There came a burst of machinegun fire from up above, on the defense wall. Kantijji's thick body jerked, his arms came up, and he spun around on tiptoe like a big puppet on a string. His face dissolved into bloody pulp as one of the machinegun slugs burst through his head. He fell backward off the parapet, over the thin iron rail, into the darkness below.

  Instantly, Durell shoved Irene and Finch around the corner of the parapet, facing the riverfront. He could not see the machinegun or the man who had fired it. Bullets chipped the stone toward his feet as he jumped back around the corner.

  "Hold it, folks," someone said.

  He turned slowly. The parapet widened on this side of the fort, overlooking the dock where the barge was tied up. Facing them, blocking their further progress, was Major Willie Wells.

  Behind the tall black American was Mickey Maitland.

  They were in a curved, recessed embrasure, a former gun port that had once defended the fort from across the broad reaches of the river. The machinegun behind them stopped firing. But the Uzi in Major Wells strong hand and the .45 held by the white woman were enough to stop them all in their tracks.

  "This is as far as you go, Durell," said Wells. His voice was heavy with exhaustion, but he sounded calm and solid. "End of the line. Fini. All right? Drop your gun. You too, Miss Finch."

  "Wait a moment," Durell said.

  "Kill them!" Mickey screamed. "They're traitors. Kill that Yutigaffa first. He disobeyed all my orders. He's loyal to the Raga. He'll have us all executed-"

  "Shut up," Wells said calmly.

  Mickey's mouth fell open. "What? What did-"

  "Shut up. It's my play now."

  "Like hell. You take orders from me. You do what I tell you! Now shoot them or I will!"

  Major Wells moved with what appeared to be a casual slowness, but his big hand struck the woman across the face before she could duck, and then his other hand smashed down at the pistol in her fingers and knocked it to the stone deck. Mickey yelped and tried to recover the weapon, and Wells kicked it over the edge. Durell could have taken him in that moment. But he did not move. Neither did he drop his own weapon. The woman began to scream curses and insults, her Liverpool accent sharp and violent in her dismay.

  "I'll get Adam," she gasped. "He'll fix you."

  "Do that," Wells suggested.

  Durell said, "Don't let her go."

  "I'll do this my way, if you don't mind," Wells said quietly. "Why didn't you take me just then?"

  "I think you can help us," Durell said. "I think you want to, and you will. There's no way out of this mess for you, otherwise."

  "I was figuring that way," Wells nodded.

  "Why, you rotten-" Mickey started for the big American mercenary, then suddenly turned and ran away. Wells quietly let her go. Irene called tauntingly, "Hey, sister, you thought you'd get rid of us all! You heard the man! You can't get away!" She turned angrily to Durell. "For God's sake, give me that bloody gun."

  Durell ignored her. He watched Mickey Maitland vanish down the broad stone platform. He let his arm drop, pointed his gun at the floor, and walked to the edge of the parapet and looked down. The big motor barge was still there, secured under the overhang of the fort's walls. Small floodlights illuminated the scene. Men with rifles slung over their backs labored to secure the ramp for the waiting trucks. Even above the din of fighting on the other side of the fort, Durell could hear the throb of the diesel engine. He saw both trucks, with canvas tops securely lashed, being edged cautiously onto the loading ramp.

  Behind him Willie Wells laughed softly.

  "We could take 'em, you know."

  "Could we?"

  "And three hundred million. It's a lot of bread."

  "Are you thinking of it, Willie?" Durell asked.

  "I've been mulling it over in my mind. I figure I can't do it alone. Even if I got away with it, I wouldn't get far, I reckon. I've got too much respect for you fellows. I've seen K Section work in Vietnam. Even if I put you under, somebody else would come after me, never leave me alone. But. . ." The black man's voice trailed off.

  "But you see a way to do it? A way out?"

  "Yeah. Man, it could be done. There's plenty on those trucks for everybody. I know how to get those vehicles out of the country too. Not by the road Adam is figuring on. There's another way, a jungle path through Telek country. General Watsube's men wouldn't dare go in after us over there. The frontier is pretty vague in that direction too. And the country next door wouldn't ask too many questions. We could spread some of the cash around, maybe a hundred grand, to grease the way. It could be done. We could make it."

  "We?" Durell repeated.

  "You and me, man. Easy as apple pie. You know your own people, their ways and methods. You're one of the best of them, I hear." Major Wells spoke calmly, with a small smile on his broad, strong mouth. "You and me, we could do it. And live happily ever after. You'd know how."

  "I see. And Chance? And Mickey?"

  "They'll he taken care of," Willie said easily. "Watsube is coming. We don't have too much time to decide. His people are already in the Getoba. That bombardment was, an ace play, catching everybody by surprise, out of synch. His chopper landed in the Chinese area of the Getoba. There's street fighting, but once his men are inside in force, it's an easy make. He'll be here in the fort in fifteen minutes more. Most of the Teleks are getting ready to run, anyway."

  Durell looked down from the wall at the trucks below. The first vehicle was already on the barge. He could understan
d Wells temptation. It was enough money to tempt anyone. He studied the big black man who waited with the same small smile, his eyes tired but calm, intelligent and ruthless.

  "You'll be lucky," Durell said, "if you get out of this with your life, Willie."

  "I know. My life or three hundred million in cash."

  "Are you quitting Adam Chance?"

  "Right. Yes."

  "And the Silver Scorpion?"

  "That bitch would cut her mother's throat-or kill her own sister." Willie's eyes swung briefly to Irene. "She'd do it for all that money. They would soon enough figure they didn't need this black man, either."

  "I have to say no to your offer," Durell said.

  Willie Wells said, "Out of patriotism?"

  "Is it a dirty word?"

  "I reckon not, man. You've got your way of looking at things, and I've got mine. So what now? It's a shame to give it up, but I wouldn't try to make it without you."

  There was a moment's pause between them. A machinegun stitched through the black African sky. Smoke drifted around them. Wells said, "So what now?"

  "Give me the Uzi," Durell said. "We'll stop the barge together."

  "And what happens to me?"

  "You can go somewhere else and look for another job fighting for other people. I won't stop you. I won't even mention you, if you prefer that."

  Wells smiled slowly. "Well, I'd like that. I've taken enough from Chance and his woman. Everything is lost here anyway. Hell, I've never even gotten paid, except for the five thousand advance deposited in my Swiss bank."

  "Let's go," Durell said.

  Major Wells handed him the Uzi.

  The way down from the parapet was by another iron stairway through the northeast corner of the tower. Their footsteps clanged and echoed on the old iron treads. The shelling went on with increased fury. All over the Getoba, men were dying, being blown to bits. A great piece of the stone coping crashed from the tower, and a few of the blocks tumbled down the steps after them. At the bottom Major Wells signaled a halt. His whole manner had changed. He moved smoothly, with a predatory efficiency. He opened the door carefully with one hand stretched behind him. Light came through the opening. Then he darted in, ducked aside, and sighed quietly.

  "Okay. Come along."

  "I'll go first," Durell said.

  "You hear that chopper?"

  "I hear it. It's landing in the fort."

  "Watsube will be on it. With his hand-picked men, all of them killers." Willie licked his lips softly. "They won't ask questions. They shoot first. Anybody found here gets the ax."

  Durell went through the doorway. He wished Finch and Irene were not with him. The girls were an awkward responsibility. He saw Yutigaffa look backward up the steps.

  "What is it?"

  The FKP man said, "I mourn for my companion, Sergeant Kantijji."

  "Grieve for him later or someone may have to grieve for you."

  "That is true, mtamba."

  Major Wells chuckled. "He respects you. That man was one of the worst-or one of the best-of the FKP. Depends on how you look at it. You're sure he's on our side?"

  "I'm sure."

  Durell went on. They were in a barracks area of the fort, but all the bunks in the old gun embrasures were empty now, the defenders busy on the walls. He crossed the floor quickly, smelling the remnants of Telek cooking mixed with sweat and urine and blood. He turned right where two wide corridors met and headed for the water side. Big double doors stood open there, on the stone wharf where the barge was tied up. The sound of the helicopter persisted through the racket of small-arms fire. The machine was landing. The mortaring had stopped here. Smoke filled the air. Beyond the open doors to the dock, he glimpsed the dark river and the night sky. Colonel Chance had doused the floodlights. He heard the heavy, groan of the last truck engine as it rolled carefully across the ramp onto the wide deck of the barge. Men were already casting off the lines. Durell glimpsed Colonel Chance still on the dock, with Mickey Maitland, in khaki shirt and slacks, beside him.

  He raised the Uzi and fired a long burst over their heads while he stood in the shelter of the wide loading doors.

  For a moment nothing happened.

  He heard the clamor of Finch's automatic pistol beside him and felt a brief admiration for the girl.

  Several of the men on the barge turned, staring at them.

  "Hold it!" Durell called.

  Adam Chance looked at them with a small, tired smile. Mickey Maitland shrieked something that no one could understand. She raised her gun and fired blindly at them. Wood splintered from the big doorway. Durell pushed Finch out of the way, but Irene screamed a gutter oath and ran out on the dock.

  "Ragihi!" Yutigaffa called.

  The small blond woman paid no attention.

  "Mickey!" she cried. "You can't do it! You can't just leave me here like this!"

  In the subdued glow of the fires her sister gave her a strange, cruel smile. Very carefully Mickey raised her gun, held it in both hands, and aimed it at Irene.

  Durell did not dare use the Uzi. But Yutigaffa moved silently and swiftly. The knife he took from his belt had been hidden up to now. It was a long karang, a Natanga throwing knife. The steel shimmered and shivered in the light as it flew across the dock toward the other woman.

  Mickey fired.

  There was a flat, dull sound beside Durell, and a sudden movement. From the corner of his eye he saw the look of surprise on Georgette Finch's tanned face. Her eyes widened, and then there carne a great gush of blood over her forehead, like a thick and ominous curtain, as if to drown her. Her mouth opened, and she half-turned toward Durell, the surprise still there, as if she wanted to question him about something. She dropped her gun. She fell suddenly down to her knees, her torso still erect. Then, as if bowing forward in prayer to some mysterious, unseen object, she bent until her head touched the paving and remained there.

  Yutigaffa made a thick sound in his throat.

  Chapter 24

  ADAM CHANCE turned and ran, moving along the length of the barge toward a stone bastion that protruded from the walls of the fort. There was a sudden clamor of gunfire above them as General Watsube's men came on the scene. Durell saw Mickey stand there for a moment, in the instant that Yutigaffa's knife flicked for her heart. Then she too ducked and screamed Adam Chance's name and ran after him.

  Uniformed men came swarming down the walls of the fort, heading for the barge.

  "Stay here," Durell said thickly. "Drop your weapons and raise your hands."

  He didn't wait to see if they obeyed. He hugged the wall, moving fast, and went after Chance and the woman. He did not look back at Finch, and yet he took her with him, the image of her questioning, stunned look in his mind, the remembrance of how the thick blood flowed down across her face where the bullet had hit her and note Irene. It was like a hot iron brand in his mind. He could not say if he felt anger or not. But suddenly it was no longer simply a job in the business he was in. It was no longer a question of survival, of completing the assignment and going home. It was intensely personal, and this was against all the rules. You did not last long in the dark world in which Durell moved and worked, if you permitted personalities and emotions to guide your actions. But he couldn't help it. The tall, gawky girl, with her affectation for slang out of the twenties, had gotten to him. He was beyond anger perhaps. He wanted Colonel Chance. More than that, he wanted Mickey, whose greed destroyed all rules of human decency.

  A gun slammed above him, and the bullet screamed off the iron stairs at his feet. He went on in, pulling the tower door shut behind him. It cut off some of the light that silhouetted him as a target. He saw a. blur of movement, heard a clang of metal, the scrape of a shoe.

  "Mickey Adam!"

  His voice echoed back and forth inside the tower. It seemed to reverberate with his remembered image of Finch going down on her knees. He was impelled upward. He could not stop himself. His footsteps slammed and banged on the iron treads without
care or caution. High above, Mickey's gun roared again. The tongue of flame from the muzzle flickered at him. The bullet made a rushing and slapping sound past his ear. His head rang. He kept going. He could hear, through the echoes, the voice of Adam Chance, shouting something; it had a tinge of panic to it, a plea; then he heard Mickey's thin, acid-sharp reply. A door slammed up above. The footsteps were gone. He ran up the stairs quickly, the gun in his hand, eager and ready for them.

  There was a steel platform and a door set deeply into the stone wall, midway to the top of the tower. Durell came up to it, then checked himself. The door was closed. He put a hand on the iron latch but did not turn it. He couldn't tell if Chance was directly behind the door or not. He might walk into a blast of bullets if they were waiting for him to rush through. On the other hand, every moment's delay helped their chances to escape in the confusion of the fighting. He could not afford to wait and test and probe and use all the prescribed rules for caution. Neither could he afford to rush blindly into an ambush. He had no illusions about Mickey Maitland. There was something totally amoral about her, something missing in her makeup that even her greedy little sister Irene possessed. A conscience, perhaps. For Mickey anyone else's life was meaningless.