Assignment - Mara Tirana

by Edward S. Aarons

  One moment they waited quietly in the car at the rendezvous point. The wide Danube was marked only by a ribbon of mist beyond the trees, and somewhere a cock crowed in raucous challenge to the silent world. She had been grateful to Harry for letting her come along. Her only part in the affair, after contact had been made, was to drive the car back to Vienna. Harry had told her she could not go all the way with him.

  “I understand,” she replied. “I just want to see this man who knows where Adam is.”

  Harry had grinned. “Sam won’t like it a bit, you know. Are you really through with the Cajun now?”

  She had not answered. She didn’t like Hammett’s manner when he spoke of Durell, and she felt as if she were being disloyal to Sam. But she couldn’t help it.

  Sitting quietly in the stone-walled room, alone and hearing no sound anywhere, she remembered the footsteps suddenly grating beside their car parked under the trees. The

  two men appeared out of the mist like ghosts. Harry’s explosive curse and violent reaction took her by surprise. He had tried to get out of the car, elbowing the door open and reaching for his gun. But he never had a chance.

  The gun against Harry’s head was not simply a warning. There was cold precision in the quick move, the stunning blast against Harry’s blond head, and then the look of utter astonishment on Hammett’s face as his eyes died, bulging, grotesque. . . .

  She was unsure of later details. Her scream was cut off by a hard hand clapped across her mouth. Then a blanket was thrown over her head and she was tied into a helpless bundle and hoisted to someone’s shoulder.

  She remembered the smell of the river and the creak of oars. Then there was a car and a feeling of city streets and fast driving. When the blanket was removed, she tried to see where she was, but a hand caught her hair and yanked her head back. Then something clicked against her teeth, and liquid, like tainted brandy, splashed into her throat.

  She had slept then, and awakened here.

  Her heart lurched now when she heard footsteps approach her cell. She stood up as a key jangled and a man came in, bobbing his bald head in casual greeting. His English was scarcely accented.

  “Good evening, Miss Padgett. My name is Andre Kopa. I tell you this at once, so we can converse in a reasonably civilized manner.”

  “We have nothing to discuss,” Deirdre said immediately. “Just let me out of here. I don’t call kidnapping civilized.”

  “There is nothing to worry about. Please sit down and be comfortable. We are only going to have a little chat, because I believe you have some things to tell me. No harm has come to you—correct? You have been treated with courtesy. Correct? You suffer only a minor inconvenience.” The short, heavily-built man moved around the room. Kopa was about fifty, with a round face that was curiously hard and pale eyes and a wide mouth that smiled too easily. “You are in a small police station,” he went on, “on the outskirts of Bratislava. Actually, this is a small castle, overlooking the Danube. A very pretty site. The Danube has many such castles, correct? They were once the homes and strongholds of petty princelings, robber barons, and river pirates.”

  “I’m in Czechoslovakia then,” Deirdre said tightly. “Correct.”

  "I did not come here willingly.”

  “That will be difficult to prove. Officially, you were arrested in Bratislava yesterday evening while taking pictures of certain factories. We have your American camera, with your fingerprints on it. We also have the film. Can you dispute such evidence?”

  “You did all that while I was drugged,” Deirdre objected.

  “Perhaps. Of course, you may be innocent, after all, and we will release you promptly. It depends on what you have to tell us about your fiance, Major Adam Stepanic, and on how soon your former fiance, Sam Durell, comes here for you.”

  “Durell is coming here?”

  “We are sure of it.”

  “He wouldn’t be so foolish,” Deirdre said.

  “He loves you, correct? A man in love loses his perspective. We think he will try to take you back to Austria. We count on such a weakness, in a man who up to now has betrayed no weakness.”

  “He won’t know where to find me.”

  “We have arranged to get the information to him.” Kopa spread his hands. “It is quite simple, and there is nothing to do but sit here like a good girl and talk to me, while we wait.”

  Deirdre felt an unbearable dismay; she sank down on the hard wooden chair while Kopa sat on the cot. He looked so ordinary, she thought. He could be a shop-keeper, or a clerk.

  “You’ve baited a trap for Durell with me,” she said. “It is Durell you want. And you think I’m the one who will bring him to you.”

  “Precisely. I am glad to see you are so calm now. Hysterics might be expected. Would you like a drink? We wish to make you comfortable. No harm will come to you —not to a woman as beautiful as you. So proud, you are. So sure and righteous. So beloved by such a brave man.”

  “I am ashamed of myself,” Deirdre whispered.

  “You could not know the rules of our game. And emotion spent in berating yourself can bring you nothing but useless distress.”

  She went to the barred window. She could see nothing in the dark night outside. Why hadn’t Sam warned her of this danger? But he had, when he told her to go home. She had seen only jealousy in him, and she hadn’t really listened, because she hadn’t wanted to. So she had foolishly done exactly what this man Kopa wanted her to do.

  She turned as Kopa lighted a cigarette.

  “What do you want of me?” she asked bluntly. “If Durell comes here after me, will you kill him? Is that it?” Kopa shrugged. “That has not yet been decided.”

  “He has no information you can use. It was Harry Hammett’s assignment—and you killed Harry. He was the one who could have told you what you want to know.”

  “Indeed?” Kopa stood up suddenly, a fat, bald man with a cruel mouth. “What did Harry Hammett tell you about your lover, Major Stepanic? He expected to find Stepanic and smuggle him back to the United States, did he not? Where exactly did Stepanic land?”

  “Adam Stepanic is not my lover,” Deirdre whispered. “And I don’t know where he is.”

  “Come, come. Someone contacted Hammett. And, after all, we sent a man into space long ago.”

  “Then why are you so concerned about it?”

  “Naturally, our scientific agencies are curious about your progress in trying to overtake us.” Kopa moved behind Deirdre’s chair, “You were foolish to let your loyalty bring you this far, Miss Padgett. But you are here, and I intend to catch two birds with one stone. I want Durell and I want Stepanic. I intend to have them.” Kopa abruptly closed his stubby hands into implacable fists. “I want them, and I am not famous for my patience. Stepanic is hiding somewhere in our territory, sheltered by traitors. No harm will come to him, however. After questioning, he will be released to your authorities. Perhaps he needs medical attention, you know. You may be killing him by your stubborn silence. Have you thought of that?”

  Deirdre said nothing. Kopa drew a deep breath.

  “If you talk now, and tell me where Hammett expected to find Stepanic, I will release you at once. You will be returned to Vienna, and so you will not act as bait to lure Durell into my hands. Is that not fair? You may thus save them both. And have you any real alternative?”

  “I don’t know where Adam is,” Deirdre whispered.

  Kopa made an impatient sound, swung violently around the chair and stood before her, cupping her face in hard fingers to make her look up into his narrowed eyes. His right hand slashed across her cheek. The pain of the blow was sudden, shocking.

  Deirdre welcomed it. Any threat of hysteria vanished. And when Kopa struck her again, it was like a sharp astringent on an open wound, shocking her into clarity of mind. The blow knocked her sprawling to the stone floor.

  “You are a foolish woman,” Kopa said thickly, “to be so obstinately silent. Now, stand up.”

  She
stood up slowly. Her ears rang. Her heart hammered. He slapped her again and she fell into the chair. For moments afterward, she was not sure what was happening. The pain came quickly now; she welcomed it, because it strengthened her.

  Sam, she thought, don’t come here. Sam, don’t.

  And she thought: Now I know why you always kept this from me.

  “Will you talk?” Kopa shouted.

  She looked up at him. “No,” she said.

  CHAPTER X

  Durell lay on his bunk in the Luliga’s cabin and tried to recall the Danube’s course from Bratislava through its middle range. The river was no respecter of national territories. Its route had been fashioned through the millennia by mountain upheavals and ancient interior seas in its mighty sweep to the east. Nothing stopped it. Sometimes it was thrust aside by a mountain spur, or squeezed through narrow gaps of granitic rock, or eased on the broad plains of the Hungarian Alfold and the fabulous wheat fields of the Backa, in northern Yugoslavia.

  Beyond the Carpathian gap at Bratislava, the Danube for a few miles was entirely in Slovakia before entering Hungary. Thereafter, for one hundred miles, the channel flowed upon alluvial deposits of the Little Hungarian plain, separated from the Alfold by the Bakony ridge, the innermost arc of the Carpathians. But east of Esztergom, the river broke through into the wheat plains.

  For those first miles, Durell remembered, the Danube was divided into three channels, forming two main islands, until at Vac the river turned south all the way across the plains, passing Budapest on its sweep into the Balkans.

  The Luliga pushed along for twenty minutes after leaving the docks at Bratislava, and then halted.

  Durell sat up on the bunk.

  The diesel engines idled, then there was a dim shouting from up forward, followed by the clanking of anchor chains. Silence followed. Someone ran across the steel deck overhead. Then there was more silence.

  Through the porthole, Durell saw only the dim, foggy night, with a vague hint of the river bank nearby. The Luliga swung slowly about until her blunt bow pointed upstream to the current.

  “Mr. Durell?”

  He got off the bunk. It was Mara Tirana. “Yes?”

  “Have you thought about it? Will you help me?”

  Before he replied, the bolts on the door were thrown and Gija came in, his arms filled with bundled clothing. The pilot grinned at them and dropped the clothes on the lower bunk. “These are for you. Get into them at once. We’re held up on inspection by the Hungarians. Nothing to worry about, though. Routine. We’ll be here about an hour.”

  Mara said uncertainly: “Will they—will they board us?” “Naturally,” Gija nodded. “They always do.” He delved in his coat and tossed two packets of papers to the bunk. “These are your identity cards. Memorize the data on them. You have only an hour, so do this at once.” He stopped and stared at Mara. “What is the matter with you?”

  “Nothing. I’m frightened, I suppose.”

  “You’re safe on the Luliga. The captain has decided to go through with the job. The police won’t look for you here.” Gija smiled cockily and patted the girl’s arm. “I think you’re going to be all right, Mara. I'm changing my mind about you. But for God’s sake, try to look less tearful. You’d be a pretty girl if you’d just smile, don’t you know that?”

  She did not smile.

  Gija turned briskly to Durell. “You’re a new crew member and Mara will be your wife—for the purpose of the trip. You’ll share this cabin.” He grinned, but his smile faded as he looked at Mara. “Your papers make you an East German diesel mechanic, okay? I assume your German is good.” “Yes,” Durell said.

  “Mara stays Hungarian. No harm in that. Now get into these work clothes and throw out what you’re wearing. I’ll drop them in the river with some ballast to take them to the bottom.”

  “One minute,” Durell said, as Gija turned to go. “As long as you’ve decided to help, I’d like to know how far downstream we have to go before we pick up Stepanic.”

  “It will take three days or more. Past the Iron Gates. Don’t worry about anything. I’ll let you know later.”

  “But suppose something happens to you? You’re the only one who knows how to find Stepanic.”

  “That’s right,” Gija said. “So just obey orders, hey?” He went out, and this time did not bolt the door after him.

  Mara sat in silence on the edge of the lower bunk, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes considering the steel deck. Durell looked down at the thick, buttery smoothness of her blonde head. “Gija likes you.”

  She murmured: “Gija? Yes, I think so.”

  “You might find that useful.”

  “I’m not that kind—I don’t—” She looked up. “We must share this cabin, is that what he said?”

  “Yes. It will be all right.”

  “Please. I told you about Mihály. It will be simple. From Budapest, where the barge is sure to tie up for some hours, we can take a bus to Racz, where Mihály is at the state dramatic school. You could get him out easily. He’s a good boy. If I could only have him with me—”

  “But you say Kopa will expect such a move.”

  “Yes, he will be waiting. But don’t you see, you will be forewarned and ready for him. And he will take Deirdre Padgett with him, wherever he must go. He swore it, and I heard him say this, because he is obsessed with the idea of trapping you.”

  Durell said: “Then she will be at the Racz Prison if he expects us to go for the boy.”

  “I am sure of it,” Mara whispered, “Will you help me?” He did not reply. The barge was quiet. He picked up the clothes Gija had left and sorted them out. There was a rough corduroy coat for himself, a work shirt, heavy shoes. For the girl there was an almost identical outfit, with a heavy gray sweater. In the manila envelope were greasy, folded documents covered with official stampings, with a marriage certificate. Durell’s respect for Gija lifted sharply.

  “You and I are Mr. and Mrs. Pol Slansky, of Sofia,” he said to the girl. “Better look these over. Can you memorize the data quickly?”

  She nodded, staring at him with an odd intensity. “Will you help me rescue Mihály?”

  “I’m not in command here, Mara. Now get into these clothes. We haven’t much time.” He paused, puzzled by the look on her face. “I’ll turn my back, if it’s a matter of modesty.”

  Picking up the outfit intended for himself, he crossed the small stateroom and stripped quickly, getting rid of every item of Western clothes. The situation was dangerous. He wasn’t prepared with an adequate cover identity. Ordinarily, a mission like this demanded the most meticulous planning; but under the present conditions, an examination of any of his former clothes could bring disaster. Well, there was no help for it, except to trust Gija.

  He was aware of rustlings behind him as Mara got out of her clothing, too. She made a small tentative sound and spoke again.

  “Look at me,” she said.

  Something in her voice warned him, but he still could not suppress his surprise. She stood before him in the quiet, warm cabin wearing nothing but a painfully contrived smile. He was not prepared for her metamorphosis. He had thought of her as lumpy and dowdy, too graceless for beauty. But her bulky clothes had hidden an Aphrodite’s figure. She had a narrow waist, firm taut breasts, a smooth swell of hip and thigh, long clean limbs. Her head was held high. But there was a tremulousness in her voice that betrayed her anxiety. “Do you like me?” she asked.

  “Mara, you’re very beautiful, but—”

  “Do you want me?”

  He said gently: “You don’t have to do this, Mara.”

  “Look at me,” she insisted. “You are surprised. In these times, I did what I must, under Kopa’s orders. I hid what I am.” Her words became harsh, challenging, as she walked toward him. In the regal pride of her flushed and naked body there was an equal challenge, an offering and a desire. The breath caught in his throat. Then she pressed herself to him and touched his face with both hands an
d brought her mouth to his.

  “We must pose as man and wife,” she murmured. “We will be on this barge for days. Why not make the most of it?” He forced her hands down to release himself and chose his words carefully. “Listen to me, Mara, you’re very persuasive, but—”

  “I want your help,” she insisted. “I’ll do anything you ask, don’t you understand? Perhaps you think I am too clumsy and awkward; but you see how I have already surprised you. I admit I do not know much about love. But I have learned about men—and you are certainly a very special man. I can please you. Let me try!” She stepped back, inviting him to look at her nakedness again. “We are here for only a short time. Perhaps you are thinking of your girl; you have a twinge of conscience, perhaps? But which of us will be alive tomorrow? Gija might make a mistake, we can be discovered by an inspection party, we can all be shot. What do you lose if you take me now?”

  “Get your clothes on, Mara. I understand you and I don’t blame you. But I’d be something less than a man if I considered your offer under these circumstances.” He smiled at her. “I’ll do what I can about your brother. If it’s possible, we’ll take Mihály with us, out of the country.”

  Her fingers came tremblingly to her mouth, and her eyes went wide. Then she began to nod, and she came to him again, more quietly, and kissed him with soft lips that were salt with tears.

  “Thank you. Thank you, I—”

  The cabin door opened and Gija stepped in, bringing with him a sudden breath of urgency and then a violent, paralyzed astonishment as the pilot took in the scene. His eyes flicked from Mara to Durell with abrupt contempt. His voice rang harshly.

  “You know how to make use of this frightened one, hey?”

  “Nothing happened, Gija,” the girl said. “It was my fault. I was a terrible fool. I want help for my little brother, Mihály—”

  “You don’t have to buy it like that.” Gija’s words were raw. “Get dressed now. Hurry. We’re due for an inspection in a few minutes.”