“Hold them here a minute.”
Durell said suddenly: “I want to go ashore, captain.” “Eh? What’s that?” Galucz turned, scowling, his hands on his hips. “What for?”
“I told you, they kidnapped a girl. I want to go after her. I can catch up to you farther downstream.”
The captain grinned. “Are you insane? We cast off this minute. And if you returned, it would be with a boatload of security police! You must think I’m a fool! I knew I should never have agreed to this scheme, but Gija talked me into it.” He swung around to the young barge pilot. “Are you satisfied now, hey? What should we do with these people? Throw them to the carp in the Danube? Or turn them over to the police on the docks?”
Gija said: “I think the man is all right—a friend of Harry Hammett’s, the man who was killed.”
“If the first agent was killed, it means the police agents are on the whole thing already. Gija, you are a crazy fool to bring these people to the Luliga!”
“I don’t know about the woman,” Gija went on, “but —she looks all right to me, too, Fedor.”
“Bah! You are an idiot. Take them below.” The captain turned to Durell and shouted something, but his voice was lost in the clatter of winches and another ear-splitting whistle. In the fog, the floodlights beyond the barge cabin made a vast yellow aura against the sky. “As for you, you want to walk right up to the security men on the docks and point out Captain Galucz as a traitor, hey? Am I insane, to let you go now?” He swung back to Gija. “Take them ,to my cabin. Hold them there, until I can decide what to do with them. Lock them in, understand? Then come on deck so we can get started.”
“What about Tomas and Pashich?” Gija asked. “They’ve been crew on the Luliga long enough not to ask questions. Go. Or have you forgotten to obey orders?” the fat man shouted.
Gija gestured with his gun at Durell.
The choice was taken from Durell now. Wherever Deirdre was, whatever was happening to her, he could not help her at this moment.
The deckhouse was surprisingly comfortable, warm and steamy after the clammy fog of the river. Gija urged them down a ladder into the bright warmth, closed a bulkhead door after them that abruptly shut out the cacaphonous clamor on the docks. Underfoot, the steel decks trembled with the idling power of the diesels. Gija urged them forward through a small, comfortable lounge with leather chairs, with a glimpse of an efficient galley to port, then down another ladder into the living quarters. There were three cabins, the captain’s aft, and two others, smaller, with double bunks, forward, with a lavatory between. Gija motioned them into the small room to starboard.
“Stay here until Galucz cools off. But don’t worry about him. He makes noises like a steam whistle, and has a good heart. His wife was killed in the Budapest uprising. He hates the regimes on this side of the Iron Curtain much worse than you do.”
“Where do the other crew members sleep?” Durell asked.
“Up forward for this trip. I’ll get you some papers and clothes when I come back, to show the inspectors when we are boarded. It happens often. We’ll have to do something about this woman, though.” Gija stared at Mara. “Quite a shapeless wench, eh? But a pretty face, if she’d only stop that damned weeping.”
“How long will you keep us down here?” Durell asked.
“Until we are under way. Keep still and hope for the best.”
Gija went out. Bolts clicked on the outside of the door with a harsh sound. The bulkheads were all steel, impenetrable. Through the sides of the barge came only muffled sounds from the dock. There was a porthole over the double bunks, and Durell immediately switched off the light and then looked out.
Beyond the dock area was the city of Bratislava, a former medieval crossroads of church spires and parks turned into a major manufacturing town by the industrious Czechs. The city was swathed in the eerie yellow glow of the fog. He saw sudden movement on the dock as the fat, bearded captain walked into Durell’s angle of view. He was stopped by two uniformed men, armed with sidearms, and Galucz gestured impatiently, pointing to the closed hatches and waving papers in his gloved fist. He did not see Gija or the other crew members.
“Mr. Durell,” Mara began timidly. “What will happen to me? I am here only because I tried to help you, don’t you see that? If I am turned over to the police, I will be shot. Kopa knows I tried to betray him. It was not an easy thing for me to do, because of my little brother. They will take their revenge on him, and I—I’m afraid, I can’t think—”
“Sit down,” Durell said gently. “Take it easy.”
“But I’m frightened, and sick with regret—”
“You did the right thing.”
“But Mihály—he is innocent, why should a boy be punished for my mistakes? Perhaps it would be best if I were turned over to Kopa. That way, they may decide not to hurt the boy—”
Durell felt in his pockets for a cigarette. He hoped that Gija would manage to find a crew’s outfit for him, quickly. He looked down at Mara as she sat on the edge of the lower bunk. Her blonde hair was damp from the fog, but the chill had put some color in her cheeks, and he saw that her complexion was remarkably clear. Her fine eyes, despite her tears, were big and round and appealing. Her mouth trembled and she bit her lower lip and looked down at her hands.
He told himself to relax, since there was nothing he could do now except to go along with the swift tide of events that had brought him here.
“Will you help me?” Mara asked in a small voice. Her eyes looked up at him, and he had the sudden surprising sensation that she could be a remarkably beautiful woman, if she were not so frightened. “I will do anything you say— we are both prisoners, I think—these bargemen do not trust either of us. If we can work together—”
“What do you suggest?” he asked.
“I don’t know. You—you know more about these things than I. I’ve seen you—you are frightening, you are efficient, you can think of something to help me. And in return, I will obey your orders, do anything you say—”
“Do you really want to defect to the West?”
She twisted her fingers. “If I could take Mihály with me—"
“And if we could pick up the boy somehow, on our way downriver. . ."
Her lips parted, and her eyes brightened with sudden hope. “Oh, if you could—and then take us with you when the man you came to find is safe—it would be—like a miracle! I would be so grateful. . . .”
There came a sudden increase in the trembling of the deck underfoot, a sense of movement, of powerful thrust from the twin diesels. Durell went to the porthole again and looked out. The dock was receding as the barge slogged its way out into midstream. The pier was empty now except for the two uniformed policemen who stood talking in a pool of light cast by one of the floodlamps.
They were on their way.
More than a thousand miles separated them from a port on the Black Sea where they might escape into friendly NATO territory in Turkey. A thousand miles of danger, distrust, peril from the river and from the hundreds of suspicious eyes that would watch their progress down the Danube.
Whether he liked it or not, he had Hammett’s assignment now. Gija knew where Stepanic was hidden, but so far he had given out no information. That would come, when Gija decided to trust him.
But there was Deirdre, somewhere in Bratislava. What would happen when Kopa learned that his bait to trap Durell had failed? He did not want to think about it. He felt a sudden frustrated anger against the rules of this business. The individual counted for nothing; the job was all-important. If a friend fell, and had to be left behind, that was what had to be done. Every man in K Section understood this and accepted these risks. It was a lonely business, cruel, exacting a price in loyalty and humanity each step of the way.
But Deirdre was an innocent bystander, and no diplomatic representations could be made in this case, no official acknowledgement of her predicament, without giving away too much of the mission and endangering both Stepanic
and himself.
He felt a heavy sense of responsibility. He should have insisted, back in Vienna, that Deirdre take the first plane back to the States. And now that she was a prisoner, if it came to a showdown, he would have to surrender himself in order to set her free.
He crushed out his cigarette in a steel ashtray. It was warm in the little cabin. The barge thrust steadily ahead. He looked at his watch and saw it was almost midnight.
“Mr. Durell—”
He looked at Mara. For the moment, he had forgotten her. She still sat in her shapeless tweed coat, as if she were cold. Her eyes regarded him soberly.
“I know what you are feeling about the girl. I know all of Kopa’s plans. He is a shrewd, clever man. It is quite possible that he planned everything, you understand? The murder, so that you would come, instead of Hammett. And my capture, to accompany you and tell you exactly this. But I know what he will do with the girl. I can help you. It may be that this is what Kopa wants me to do—but if you can find a way to get her back, knowing what Kopa plans, I will help you to do it.”
Durell sat down on the bunk beside her.
“All right,” he said quietly. ‘“Tell me.”
CHAPTER VIII
On the day after Medjan came to the hut, Adam insisted on returning to the capsule. Lissa thought it too dangerous.
“I’ve got to know if anything can be salvaged,” Adam said. “Otherwise, I’m just endangering all of you for nothing. I need the tapes and instruments. Do you know where the capsule is, Lissa?”
“I can take you there.” She nodded and smiled. “If you think you can make it this time without falling down the mountain.”
He had awakened back in the hut, after his futile attempt to escape from the barn. The girl was angry at what she considered his foolish heroics. Lissa and the old man had found him easily and carried him back to the hut, where they fed him hot soup and gave him the last of the antibiotics before he fell asleep.
This morning his strength returned; the damage which his leg had suffered in the fall was only superficial.
Lissa’s hair was done differently, he noted, allowing the dark red waves to fall softly to her slim shoulders. She wore a black sweater and slacks. The old couple were out in the woods, and he could hear the distant, steely ring of Jamak’s axe from afar.
Lissa sat down on the bed beside him, but she kept her face averted. “Adam, you are foolish if you place too much importance on what happened between Medjan and me.”
“Was it the first time?”
She nodded. “Yes. I could not—I wasn’t strong enough—”
He said bitterly: “And I was too helpless. It wasn’t easy to hide up there. It made me feel less than a man.”
“You are too proud, Adam.” She drew a deep breath and looked at him with strange eyes. “I have thought about you all night. Jamak's attitude makes more sense now. I can remember a little of America, when we all lived in Pittsburgh. It was very comfortable there.”
“Would you want to go back?” he asked. “If my friends come for me, perhaps we can all get out together.” She shook her head. “That is too much to hope for. I don’t care about myself—I am young, and I can get accustomed to this life. But something must be done for the old people.”
“We can all get out together,” he insisted.
“I don’t like to hope too much.” She paused. “Please say nothing to Jamak about it now, anyway. It will be some days before Gija returns. He’s a pilot on a Danube barge, you know—he was here on vacation when you fell upon us.” She smiled thinly. “But he is a wild one, too brave to be sensible. So we can only hope for the best.”
The sudden, screaming thunder of a military jet plane overhead made them fall silent. It was such an unexpected sound here that Adam’s heart lurched with unreasoning alarm. The jet swooped low, shaking the earth, then howled away to the north. After a moment, Adam said: “Does this happen often?”
Lissa shook her head. “It is the very first time here.” “Then they’re looking for me and the capsule.”
“Yes. Medjan said the countryside was alerted. Fortunately, there were thunderstorms to confuse the radar when you landed.”
“But from the air they’ll spot the crash site easily.” “No, you came down just south of Zara Dagh, on a gravel bed; and then the capsule slid into a ravine between the trees. The scar on the gravel will look like a natural landslide, and we took up the parachutes and buried them.” Adam exhaled slowly. “For someone who doesn’t approve of me, you’ve done a lot to save me.”
“I never said I disapproved.” Lissa’s eyes met his evenly. “I only resent the danger you brought to us. I know you could not help yourself, but the heart is never logical, like the mind.”
“Speaking of the heart—”
“You are very much in love with your Deirdre, yes?” Lissa looked down at her hands. “You spoke her name again in your sleep. She must be very different from me—soft and elegant and sure of herself. And I am only a village nurse, with blunt hands and ways—and yesterday, yes, if you insist on speaking of it, the local policeman raped me.”
“None of that matters,” Adam said quietly.
“You are a liar.” She looked angry, then tearful, then suddenly laughed, a soft sound deep in her throat. “But a nice one, Adam Stepanic. I like you very much.”
“I’m glad,” he said.
At eleven o’clock they set out for the capsule. Rain had dampened the pine woods, and a light fog clung to the valleys of Zara Dagh below the patina of sunlight. The air was warm. As long as he moved carefully, Adam had no trouble with his injured leg.
There was no way to reach the capsule except by walking along a dim trail that twisted up the mountain spurs high above the hut. They rested at regular intervals, and the mountains seemed to sing in the silence around them. These were ancient hills that had seen the outposts of Roman legions and later witnessed the feudal castles of Balkan tyrants, the cruelty of the boyars and the iron barbarism of the medieval Turks. Conquest and tyranny, hunger and torture, had ruled in a cycle of centuries. It had never been a happy land.
Adam shook off these thoughts. Lissa had taken a lunch of black bread and cheese, and they rested in a glade to eat during the noon hour.
“Are we far from the capsule now?” he asked. “Another hour, perhaps. Look, there is Viajec, the village. See, down there, where the small river shines in that sun, down the valley.”
Adam caught the flicker of sunlight on water, the gray of a bridge, the white of a concrete road. It seemed too remote to bring danger to them, from up here on Zara Dagh. “Is that the only highway in the area?” he asked. “Yes, and there is not much traffic. Over beyond that range is the valley of the Danube. About forty miles off, I think. Gija will come from over there, with help for you.” Adam considered the bleak hills. “Could we walk out that way?”
“I know of one very old trail—an old Roman road. I once found the ruins of a castra over on Belajok—that mountain, over there. This was the farthest reach of the Roman Empire, you know—their outpost against the barbarian hordes.” She paused abruptly. “Let’s finish the wine.” But he put out his hand and lowered the bottle. “What will you do about Medjan, Lissa?”
“Some day, if I cannot escape, I will kill him.”
“You have no friends in Viajec who could help you?” “There is no one.”
Looking at her, Adam felt a sudden, confusing wave of tenderness. Lissa’s red hair shone radiantly, her lips were soft and moist, and the comers of her mouth trembled. It was as if they were alone in all the world, with no one to judge them, with no tomorrow and no yesterday.
He kissed her gently, then with abrupt strength. She stiffened, resisting. Then she went apathetic, as she had done with Medjan. And then she suddenly responded with an equal violence, her mouth moving against his. Her arms held him with a wild desperation.
'‘Lissa, Lissa—” he murmured.
But she quickly tore free. Her breathing was ra
gged, her eyes angry and resentful. “You had no right to do that, Adam—not after yesterday. Or is it because you saw another man take me, and think it will be nothing now?”
“Don't say that,” he rapped.
“You think of me as Medjan does, as a peasant woman to be seized and enjoyed—!”
“Medjan never really took you. Listen, Lissa, don’t let it destroy you. I simply wanted to kiss you, all of a sudden—”
“You thought to show pity for me—or gratitude, because I am trying to save your life? You love someone else, your Deirdre.” She leaped up, her dark red hair swinging. “Or have you conveniently forgotten her?” Resentment and shame blazed in her eyes as Adam climbed laboriously to his feet beside her. The wind made a soft, desolate sound in the pines. All at once, the mountains seemed cold and empty. Lissa shrugged and her attitude softened. “I am sorry. We haven’t far to go to reach the capsule. And there is much to do, to get the instruments today.”
“Lissa, I’m not sorry I kissed you. Are you, truly?” But she turned away toward the vestigial footpath they had been following through the mountains. He labored after her, thinking how to rationalize his feelings. He thought of how he had wanted Deirdre. But Deirdre was far away now, and he might never see her again. She was like Lissa in many ways, full of a quiet strength. She could get along without him, in time.
Yet as he walked along, he wondered if Deirdre was thinking of him at this moment. . . .
CHAPTER IX
Deirdre sat quietly in her cell. So far, no one had touched her or questioned her. The room was simple and monastic, with a single barred window and a harsh overhead light in a tin circular shade. There was a hard cot, where she had slept several hours through the first night and the empty, frightening day. She had been fed a simple meal of veal, coffee and dark bread. Now it was night again.
She told herself to be patient, but it was not easy. Harry Hammett’s sudden death stood out starkly in her mind. She had seen him fall, seen his incredulity in the last moments of his life. She could understand now why Durell so rarely spoke about his missions or the men who had died beside him.
Assignment - Mara Tirana Page 9