Assignment - Mara Tirana

by Edward S. Aarons

  Voices touched him from outside. He recognized the old man’s urgent rumble, the old woman’s thin reply. He listened for Lissa’s answer with an odd tension, remembering his grandmother’s language from the long-ago days in Pittsburgh.

  “You are a fool, Jamak. Is he coming here?”

  “Yes, Lissa, he is on the way. I spoke to him only for a moment. Then Jelenka and I took the Zara Dagh path and ran most of the way. But Medjan will be here soon.”

  “Does he suspect anything?”

  “You know his face. It is like black stone.”

  The girl muttered: “He must know something, or he would not dare—”

  “What will you do, Lissa?”

  “Perhaps we should give him up,” she said.

  “How can we do that now?”

  “How? How?”. The girl’s voice lifted impatiently. “Would you kill us all for the American? What do we owe that man? We did not ask for him to fall on us from the sky. And he can bring the axe falling on our necks, if he is discovered here. We owe him nothing—nothing! Don’t you understand? Why should we help him? We must live and survive here. Would they help us in a reverse situation? I think not!”

  The mother’s voice said gently: “Lissa, you cannot give him to Lieutenant Petar Medjan. You must not.”

  “Can we hide him, then?”

  The old man spoke. “In the bam, perhaps.”

  “And if the barn is searched, and he is found?”

  Their silence was an eloquent answer to the girl’s question. Adam stood up again, clung to the bedpost. It was easier now. He struggled into trousers, shirt, shoes. The argument went on outside, but it was quieter now, as if they were now aware that he might be listening. Only the adamant old man saved him, he thought. Yet he could find no anger or blame toward the girl. What was he to them? A foreigner. A deadly danger, dropped from the sky like a plague upon them. She was right, they owed him nothing.

  He couldn’t put on his right shoe. His leg was too stiff to let him bend over. Then the door was opened hurriedly and the girl ran across the room toward him and knelt at his feet as he sat on the bed. Her red hair looked burnished in the late afternoon sunlight that came through the doorway. The wind felt cold, and smelled of the pine trees.

  She spoke without looking up. “Did you hear it all?”

  “Part of it,” he admitted.

  “The best thing you could do for us would be to surrender to the authorities now, without waiting any more. I love my parents. This danger is too much to ask them to risk. Put out your foot, please, so I can get your shoe on.”

  “I won’t surrender myself,” Adam said. “Not while there is any chance I can get out, with the instruments.” “The only chance you have is with me, do you understand?”

  “Yes. And I am grateful.”

  “I do not do it for gratitude. I do it because Jamak is a stubborn, foolish, and gallant old man.”

  “You’re not worried about yourself?” he asked.

  She raised her head. Her face was lovely, like alabaster, hut cold and hostile in her gaze. “I have a price I may have to pay, to keep you safe. Petar Medjan wants me.”

  “Now, look, I don’t ask—”

  “Please. Don’t be foolish or blind. He is head of the police in Viajec. And he is my only friend, in a way. He is cruel and officious, and an ugly man, although strong. But because he wants me, he has lent his influence to allowing us all to live here in reasonable peace. Now and then, I must encourage him. But he is not eternally patient. Today he comes to claim something from me.”

  “You don’t have to, for me,” Adam said. “I can hide in the woods.”

  “With your leg? You would die in a few hours. Or be caught, and made to talk, which would be worse. Come, lean on me. We haven’t much time to hide you.”

  He tried to take a few steps alone, ignoring her offer. Somehow he was angry with her now. The next moment he felt the pain again, and his pride collapsed in a wave of dizziness. The girl supported him as he stumbled out through the doorway into the clearing.

  The sunlight was blinding. The cold, mountain air helped, and he sucked in a great, rasping lungful. The old couple stood staring at him, and Jamak started forward to help, but Lissa waved him back. Slowly, laboriously, Adam moved around the hut toward a stone barn in the rear.

  The barn was not much larger than the hut, but he was happy to get out of the cutting wind as the girl guided him through the doorway. A cow stood in a stall and turned her head to stare at them with great, limpid eyes. There was a tiny hayloft, and a ladder going up, and Adam paused and looked at it and shook his head in dismay.

  “I can’t make it.”

  “You must,” the girl insisted. “Try.”

  “My leg—”

  “Medjan will shoot you on the spot, if you are found here. And perhaps all of us, as well. So get up there.”

  Adam drew a deep breath and reached for the rungs of the crude ladder. By using the strength of his arms and shoulders, he hauled himself up step by step until he was able to roll over onto the edge of the wooden platform. He was drenched with sweat from the effort. The girl looked up at him anxiously.

  “Cover yourself with straw, quickly. And make no sound!”

  He nodded, unable to speak for the moment, and rolled away from the edge of the hayloft and lay, gasping, with the rafters of the barn roof only two feet overhead on the low platform.

  They had been none too soon. Booted steps crunched on the gravel outside. He heard the girl turn swiftly to leave the bam, but it was too late. A man’s harsh voice rang out, echoing.

  “Lissa? Are you there?”

  The girl paused. Then Adam could see her as she moved out into the sunlight that spilled through the bam door. “I am here, Petar Medjan.”

  “Ah, yes. I have just seen Jamak. He looks remarkably well, for a man who was as sick as you said.”

  “The medicine works miracles,” Lissa said quietly.

  “Miracles, indeed!” The man laughed thickly. “Well, I am happy to have been able to help, you see. You look well, Lissa.”

  “I am well,” the girl said.

  The man loomed suddenly in sight when Lissa moved again as if to leave the barn. He blocked the entrance like a heavy shadow, thick arms out-thrust to lean on the doorpost. His booted legs straddled the earth in a posture of absolute authority.

  He was uniformed in the blue of the Internal Security Police, with polished boots and a holstered gun at his hip. He took off his visored cap and the sun shone on a strong face like carved rock, on thick black hair. The man had the physique of a bull, with massive shoulders, a thick chest, a booming voice. His eyes squinted into the interior shadows of the bam, lifted to consider the placid cow in its stall, then touched the ladder to the hayloft. Adam felt his heart lurch as Medjan’s glance swept upward. Too late now to draw farther back into the loose hay. The movement would be seen. He had to count on the shadows to hide him, more than anything else.

  The security man’s glance swept on, dropped back to the slim figure of the girl who managed to convey an air of defiance as she faced him in the doorway.

  “We missed you in Viajec this past night.”

  “No one among the peasants was ill. I had no duties, and my father needed me.”

  “Of course, of course, Lissa. Perhaps I should have said it was I who missed you.”

  “Let us not talk about it. I am tired. I had little sleep.” “You never want to talk about it, Lissa. What is the matter? You know how I feel. I will not crawl or act the lover-dandy for you. I have been kind to you, have I not? Your family lives in peace here. Can I do more? Do I not make myself plain?”

  “Please, Petar Medjan—”

  “Come here, Lissa.”

  “I must go back,” the girl said coldly.

  “Come here!”

  Without warning, his arm shot out and caught the girl and pulled her to him. She did not resist when he tangled thick fingers in her hair and yanked her head bac
k so her face was upturned to his. Adam saw the lust on the man’s cruel, strong face. Medjan kissed her brutally, and he knew she was hurt by his embrace. He trembled. He did not want to watch the girl’s degradation, knowing it was because of him, knowing at last the full price she had to pay for his safety.

  But he did not dare move or make a sound in the hayloft. He was crippled and helpless against the other’s strength and weapons. It would be suicide. It would be worse than useless—

  Lissa still did not resist when Medjan fumbled at her clothing. For a moment the sound of his breathing rasped through the close air of the bam. Lissa stood limply, hands at her sides. The man muttered something, then suddenly straightened in frustration. The sunlight caught his pale eyes under his thick, angry brows. He shoved her aside and she tripped, stumbling, and caught herself.

  “Agh! Not like this! Must I have you like this?”

  “It is not the time, Medjan,” she said quietly.

  “When is the time, then? You promise and promise—”

  “I never promised anything, Medjan.”

  “With your eyes, with your manner, when you want something that only I, I, Petar Medjan, can get for you—oh, then you are sweet and pliant and presumably willing!” the man shouted. “You will be sorry for all this, Lissa! I am not a boy, to be played with, as you play with me!”

  She was silent. Adam could see the rapid, uncertain lift of her breasts as she breathed. For a moment, the uniformed man and the girl stared at each other, the one angry and bull-like, uncertain about his next move—and the girl quietly waiting, trying to defeat him by not resisting. Then Medjan made an impatient sound and abruptly threw her to the floor of the bam. They were out of Adam’s narrow range of vision now; but he could hear the sounds Medjan made, the grunting, the slap of his hand on flesh, the girl’s stifled whimper, the rhythmic gasps of the big man, the sobs of satisfaction from him, the groan of pain from the girl.

  Adam gritted his teeth. A thin chill of sweat covered him. The hay in which he sprawled thrust needle probes against his neck and legs. There was a curious wet warmth on his injured leg, and a new alarm overcame his disgust and frantic helplessness. At the same moment, he heard the soft sound of something dropping through the chinks in the rough planks of the hayloft. He wanted to turn his head to look at his leg, but he didn’t dare move. It was bleeding again, and the blood was dripping through the planks to the floor below the hayloft. Even as he realized this, he heard a soft spattering of drops, a sudden increase of the flow. He held his breath.

  Under him, it was all over. The act had been like that of an animal, quick and implacable, a movement of inflamed lust guttering out now in the man’s sigh, in the girl’s whimper. Adam heard Lissa reach for her clothing again. The man stood up. Adam could see him now. His face looked swollen and replete, and yet dissatisfied.

  “Well, Lissa,” he said thickly. “I gave you medicine and antibiotics, but you are not grateful at all, are you?”

  “I was. Believe me, I was.”

  “You did not show it. I do not apologize for this.”

  “I expect none,” she whispered. “Are you finished with me now?”

  “I only want to warn you that there will be trouble in the neighborhood soon, and it would be best if you stayed here.”

  “Trouble?”

  “There’s something up in the whole area around here. A lot of official excitement. There’s talk of a dragnet through the mountains.”

  “Why? What happened?”

  “It’s official business, Lissa.” The man grinned. He had a steel tooth in his mouth that flashed in the sunlight. He patted her cheek possessively. Adam could not see the girl’s face. She stood before the big man in her torn clothing as if she had been broken. “Stay here with your parents for a day or two. I’ll be back. It would be best if no one remembers you or Giurgiu for now, eh? Here you are safe, as long as you cooperate. Understand?”

  “Yes. I understand,” she whispered thinly.

  He laughed. “I expected a knife in my back, you know that, Lissa? I expected more fire from you.”

  “The knife is in the house,” she whispered.

  “For next time?” he grinned. Then his face hardened. “Next time I shall expect you to behave a little better, eh? I shall insist on it. There was no pleasure in having you so unwillingly.”

  “Yes, Petar Medjan,” she whispered.

  “Everything is as usual here now, is it not? You haven’t seen any strangers around?”

  “No one comes to Zara Dagh,” she said, shrugging. “Well. . .”

  There came another faint pattering of blood droplets on the floor under the hayloft. Adam gritted his teeth. He knew the girl had heard the sounds now, and she moved quickly, turning through the doorway so that Medjan followed her, turning out of the barn. But then the man halted and looked back and stared hard at the cow in its stall.

  “Lissa. . . ”

  “I am tired,” she said. “I will see you again. Soon.”

  “And it will be different?”

  “Yes. Quite different.”

  They walked away.

  Adam waited for several moments until he could no longer hear the crunch of boots on the ground. Then he turned and looked at his leg. It was covered with blood. He felt a quick panic, watching the dark puddle that spread on the floor of the hayloft, running into the crack between the planks. He felt as if he couldn’t stay here in this place a moment longer. He was ashamed of his manhood, for what he had helplessly witnessed. Without thinking further, shivering and sweating all at the same time, he pulled himself up and dragged himself to the ladder.

  He had to get away from here. He couldn’t face Lissa again. And Medjan was not stupid. Adam had the impression that the lieutenant was smarter than Lissa gave him credit for. But more than that, he could not stay and bring more grief to these people.

  They were guilty of nothing more than trying to survive. Because of the one son, Giurgiu, who had risen to power and took a wrong step somewhere that ended in his execution, they lived like this, alone and in fear, outcasts at the mercy of Medjan’s whims. He could not endanger them any more. It wasn’t fair to them.

  Carefully, slowly, he climbed down the ladder, letting his wounded leg dangle free. His thigh was wet and warm with the blood from his injury. No matter. He could bandage it himself. Pausing, he rested his weight on it, felt the pain again, bit his lip against it, and limped to the barn door. The girl and Medjan were gone out of sight beyond the stone hut. Nearby, the pine woods began, dropping down a slope into a ravine where he could see only the treetops. Water gushed and chattered somewhere down there. He started that way.

  He would find the capsule himself, he decided, recover the instruments that weren’t damaged and stay there until he was better, and could think of taking the next step toward freedom. The capsule couldn’t be too far away. He would find some vantage point and search the mountains for a trace of its landing spot, he decided.

  His breath made small plumes of vapor in the chill mountain air. He reached the pines with a quick, hobbling rush that left him staggering, clinging to a tree for support. His head hung down; his mouth was open. He had left a small trail of blood behind him. He looked at the hut, and his vision blurred, and he shook his head, but his eyes still refused to cooperate with his will. He did not have much strength. Nor was there much time. Turning, he went deeper into the woods. He did not go far.

  A stone moved underfoot, and he felt himself falling, and his injured leg banged against something and the pain leaped up like something screaming inside him. A small cry escaped him. He saw he had come abruptly to the edge of the ravine, and the wall of the gorge was a steep, rocky drop. He staggered, fell to his knees, and tried to stop himself. But he could not hang on. For an instant he hung dizzyingly between earth and sky, with the wind in the pines like the labored sound of his breathing. His fingers scrabbled desperately at the earth, clawed at air—

  And he fell.

 
CHAPTER VI

  In Vienna, hours later, the telephone rang again.

  Durell opened his eyes. The ceiling light in his room at the Bristol still shone, expanding and contracting with luminous colored rings. He squeezed his eyes shut and looked up again. That was better. His gaze sharpened and moved sidewise and up again.

  The telephone rang once more.

  He sat up, felt an ache in the back of his neck and a stab of pain when he put his weight on his right arm. He drew in a sharp whistling breath and forced himself up on his feet, to sway drunkenly in the middle of the room.

  Everything was quiet. The corridor door was closed. The blonde girl, Mara Tirana, and the MVD man, Kopa, were gone.

  He was lucky to be alive, he thought.

  Why hadn’t Kopa taken a few extra moments to shoot him? It was one of the KGB objectives, Durell knew. Or at least, Kopa could have forced, or tried to force, some answers from him. Why hadn’t he finished the job?

  Perhaps the telephone had frightened them off. It kept ringing, reaching for him with insistent shrillness, refusing to let him sit down to rest and ease his swimming head. He walked slowly to the disheveled desk and picked it up, but it fell from his fingers and he had to stoop carefully to retrieve it.

  “Yes?”

  “Herr Durell?” It was Otto. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, but I don’t know why. They had me cold, a moment ago—”

  “I had a man in the room next to you.” Otto sounded apologetic. “Forgive me, I thought it was wise. He had orders to shout for the police if there was any sign of a disturbance in your room.”

  “Where is your man now?”

  “Gone after Kopa and the girl. But I’m afraid they both got away. Still, he did his job, no? He just called on another phone—from a cafe on the Marianenstrasse—a schnapps-drinkers joint. Kopa and the girl fled from your room. He looked at you, but only enough to determine you were not dead. Then he went after them. But he thinks he lost them.”