Assignment - Mara Tirana

by Edward S. Aarons

  He had spent the night in an agony of worry over her.

  Twice he awoke to the thunder of jet search planes overhead. The second time, he went outside and found Jamak staring off to the north, where the sky was artificially bright with magnesium flares.

  “They search for you now,” the old man murmured grimly.

  “Lissa and I covered things up pretty well. I don’t think they’ll find the capsule this way.”

  “Lissa is brave and clever—not like Gija, who rushes into things like a bull, confident his strength will carry everything with him. I wish Gija were clever, like Lissa.

  But he is not,” the old man said. “With my older son, it was different. Giurgiu was like a fox, but he fell into a political snare here. We should have stayed in America. But he was determined to be a big man, eh? He learned that no man stands taller in the grave than his neighbor.” Jamak sighed and stared to the north. The flares were dying, and the dark mountains melted back into the night. “What will you do with Lissa?” he asked quietly. “She put herself in great danger for you. But when you go, if all is lucky for you, what will happen to her?”

  “Perhaps you can all come with me,” Adam said abruptly.

  “How could such a thing be done?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Adam said.

  He looked down into the dark valley of Viajec and wondered about Lissa and felt a sharp, strong ache for her that made him shiver.

  She brought a portable radio back when she returned the next day, and it carried home the enormity of the hunt for Adam Stepanic. He was world-famous now, the object of infinite speculation, accusation, and counter-accusation.

  The State Department’s note demanding his release with the instruments was summarily rejected by Moscow. Voices were raised in the U.N. about him, but Adam knew that his only hope for rescue lay with Gija.

  On the next day they saw troops moving across the valley in a cordon that meant a careful search. Apparently the location of the capsule had been narrowed to a degree that inspired this effort. Adam’s feeling of being trapped grew deeper. There was no word from Gija. And it was only a matter of time until they focused on this mountain, Adam thought. He decided he could not wait for help that might never come.

  “The best thing is to get out now, rather than sit around like this,” he told Lissa. “The Turkish border is the best bet, I think.”

  “It is over two hundred miles away. You could not walk so far, with your leg, and you do not know the language, you have no papers—” Lissa took a deep breath and turned away. The sky was a tumble of dark clouds over the peak of Zara Dagh. “We could use Jamak’s horse and cart, however.” She paused again. “Do you want me with you?”

  “I need you,” he said simply. “The old people will come, too.”

  She looked doubtful. “There are many back roads, but the peasants are suspicious, and there are also many police posts. But it could be done. If we are caught—”

  “Every hour we stay here makes it more dangerous,” he insisted.

  But it was Jamak who made them wait one more day for word from Gija. It rained that night, and the wind lashed wildly at the stone house. Adam worked in the barn with Lissa, getting the old cart ready and loading the canvas-wrapped electronic gear from the capsule. Later, when the old people were asleep, they remained in the barn, drinking hot, bitter coffee. They spoke very little. They had not mentioned the time in the pine woods when he had made love to her, and he felt this was intolerable. When she finally turned to go, he caught her arm.

  “Lissa, we must talk about things.”

  “Not here.”

  “It doesn’t matter about here, or what happened here.” “Please,” she whispered. “Do not speak of anything. I was foolish to think about you. When you first came here, my attitude toward you was the correct one—to consider you simply as a danger to us all. But you were different from what I expected. I thought all Americans were so strong. But you were not so, when I first saw you, and I—I wanted to help you—”

  He wanted to tell her he loved her. The words leaped to his tongue and were checked there. She would not believe him. The wind struck impotently at the stone bam, but inside the air was warm and heavy with the scent of animals and hay. Lissa suddenly made a small sound and clung to him feverishly. Her body was firm and alive in his embrace. “Adam, not here—not where Medjan—”

  “Nothing happened to you herel” he said fiercely. “Nothing!”

  He stopped her protests with a kiss. They were drank with the imminent discovery of each other, moving with staggering steps to the warmth and sweetness of the haymow. They clung to each other as if drowning, and she slid down against him with a quick, muffled cry.

  “Yes, you are right,” she whispered intensely. “It must be here in this place, or I can never forget—”

  He took her gently. Her body was quick and smooth and lithe, cupped against him in satiny fervor. It happened explosively, beyond control. Like drowning, Adam thought dimly, at the miracle of contact. And like awakening. And afterward, they burrowed deeper into the hay and he told her he loved her. She only shook her head and smiled.

  “Say nothing now, darling. It was enough, these few minutes—everything to me. It finishes one thing, it begins another.”

  “I’m taking you back to the States with me,” he said. Her eyes were sad. “You are foolish, Adam. But perhaps that is why I love you. . . .”

  The rain stopped in the morning, and a cold wave froze a silvery sheath on the pines and hardened the earth until it rang like iron. With the first light, the old man hitched up the two-wheeled cart. Adam hid under the hay strewn in back, with the canvas-wrapped instruments. Lissa sat between the old people on the driving board. Jelenka had baked bread and cut ham to provision them for a week.

  There was also the rifle—an ancient, long-barreled gun of Turkish make, a relic of the Ottoman hegemony; there were only a dozen cartridges for it, preserved for a long time. The old man had dug it up from under the tiles behind the stove.

  “We are not permitted to have weapons,” he said. “But I bought this from the peasant who owned the stone hut before us.”

  Lissa did not want to take the gun. “What good will it do? If we are stopped, that will be the end of it, anyway.”

  “It makes me feel less helpless,” old Jamak said.

  For the first part of the journey, Adam could look out from his hiding place in the cart and see the wild mountain gorges of the valley of Viajec. The wind was bitterly cold. The old horse picked his way gingerly down the rough road, and the cart creaked and jolted on its springless axle. Jamak kept up a constant murmur of encouragement to the animal, his breath pluming in the icy air.

  In an hour they rattled across the bridge into Viajec. Now Adam heard voices, a sharp ringing command, the tramp of booted feet, the distant roar of a motorcycle. They were ordered to halt in the marketplace, but it was only a routine check, and Lissa was well known. She explained in a calm voice that they were going to the next village to look for more customers for Jamak’s wood. Adam huddled, tense, in his hiding place, expecting instant discovery. But they were ordered on their way.

  The cart rattled over cobblestones, then rolled more easily on the paved road to the south. The chill air bit into the hay where Adam lay, and he began to shiver violently. It seemed forever before they were clear of the village, but not more than twenty minutes passed before Lissa called him softly. The cart halted. He shook off the covers and got out clumsily, stiffened by the cold.

  They were in a narrow ravine, with the river rushing along one side of the road and a sheer rock wall towering over the other. The sound of the river filled the air with thunder. Adam stamped his feet to restore circulation and looked at the old couple and Lissa.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Lissa shrugged. “Jamak is worried. Corporal Nagatov went by on his motorcycle a few moments ago. Did you hear it?”

  “Yes, but what of it?”

 
“We told him we were going to Hanat to sell wood, remember?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Hanat is in the other direction, you see. If he remembers—” Lissa paused. “Well, Jamak thinks we ought to turn back.”

  “We can’t go back,” Adam said. “We’ve only just started.”

  “Corporal Nagatov is ambitious and clever,” Jamak said. “I did not like the look on his face as he passed us.”

  “That was minutes ago,” Adam objected. “He’d have stopped us then, if he suspected anything.”

  “Perhaps he will realize it and come back soon,” Lissa said.

  Adam was dismayed. “Look, how far is it to the Danube?”

  “We will reach it tomorrow,” Lissa explained. “And each mile we go makes it more difficult to explain ourselves. There is a new bridge we can use, but after that the people will be even more suspicious of strangers. Jamak has papers he kept from long ago, when Giurgiu was in office, and perhaps they will help us if people don’t notice the dates.”

  “Then I think we should go ahead,” Adam said. “I think—”

  They were not prepared for what came next. None of them could hear the motorcycle’s return because of the roar of the river, echoing back and forth from the rocky walls of the gorge, drowned out all sound on the road. The first warning they had was when the cycle and driver skidded around the bend ahead and slid to a halt in front of the cart. The old horse skittered nervously. They all stood frozen. Adam was caught in the open without a chance to get back to his hiding place in the cart.

  The corporal who slid off the cycle was a barrel-chested young man with a thin face and a long, drooping moustache. His green eyes flickered from the old people to Lissa and Adam, and he grinned.

  “Are you having trouble here?” he asked, shouting above the clamor of the river.

  “No, no trouble,” Jamak said. “I lost my way, Corporal Nagatov. It is so long since I left Zara Dagh, I took the wrong turn.”

  “Yes, I see.” The corporal’s fingers moved restlessly along his uniform trousers. He wore a fur cap, a cartridge bandolier, and a bolstered gun. He looked at Adam. “And you? Where did you come from?”

  “I was walking along the road here,” Adam said haltingly. “These people were good enough to offer me a ride.” “Indeed. Where did you get those clothes?”

  “They are my clothes.”

  “And your accent?”

  “I come from the south.”

  “And your papers?”

  “I lost them.” Adam tried to sound vague and stupid, but he knew it was no good. The corporal’s green eyes were too bright and alert. They had no chance. Everything gave him away. He looked at Lissa’s stricken face and insisted: “These people are complete strangers, Corporal, and have nothing to do with me. If you arrest me, remember they are innocent.”

  “So?” The corporal spoke softly. “You are the American. You are wise not to deceive me. Turn around, please.” When Adam hesitated, the man drew his gun and his voice went shrill above the roar of the river. “Turn around, all of you! Jamak, get back on the cart. Lissa, stand still.” “Believe me—” Adam began again.

  “Why should I believe you? They were helping you to escape. Everyone knows they are traitors and scum. Am I simple, not to understand what I find here? You are all under arrest!”

  Adam saw only calamity for Jamak and Jelenka. He felt desperate. His escape plan had been impulsive, poorly planned, and it had brought them only a few miles, to this.

  He looked up and down the empty road. There was no guard rail along the turbulent river bank. Down there, the water smashed in white foam against dark rock. He thought: Only this man stops us. Only he can destroy us.

  “What will you do with me” Adam asked.

  “Why, you will be treated properly,” the coiporal grinned.

  “And these people?”

  The man laughed. “They will be shot.”

  Adam turned slowly, as if to get into the cart. His first panic was gone. He felt sure of what he had to do. The corporal was only a few steps away. When he turned, as if defeated, he suddenly launched himself at the man, grabbing for the corporal’s gun. He almost made it. But his leg betrayed him. At the last moment the thrust of his leap made his foot slip under the strain and his hand slashed with only partial effect at the trooper’s arm.

  The gun crashed thunderously in the narrow ravine. Lissa screamed. Adam was dimly aware of Jamak standing up in the cart, and then the corporal smashed viciously at him with the gun butt. He went down on hands and knees, his ears ringing. The corporal cursed. His first shot, squeezed off in surprise, had only spanked into the dust of the road. Now he raised his gun again and stepped back as Adam scrambled up.

  “Adam!”

  He heard Lissa’s cry as he tried to close with the trooper. But his injured leg could not match the corporal’s agility. He saw a glimmer of steel come down at him, and then the man’s eyes shifted in sudden alarm. Adam could not see what was going on behind him. He swung wildly; his knuckles cracked on the man’s jaw. The corporal staggered and sprawled in the dust, rolled desperately across the road, and came up again with the gun leveled.

  Before Adam could jump again, the corporal fired. Adam twisted, hearing an echo. He saw Jamak on the cart with the ancient Turkish rifle in his grip. The corporal shrieked and the old man fired again, and the trooper’s body jerked and rolled almost to the edge of the road above the rocky, roaring stream. Still grinning, the man lay prone and raised his gun a third time. Adam tried to rise, but his head swam and blood ran into his eyes. Jamak tried to fire the Turkish rifle again, but the hammer clicked on a dead cartridge. With a strangled sound, the old man jumped between the corporal and those on the cart just as the policeman, with his dying strength, squeezed off a last shot.

  Jamak’s bull-like charge carried him to the corporal at the edge of the road—and beyond. Adam saw a puff of dust jump from the old man’s chest where the bullet slammed into him.

  Then, astonishingly, both men were wiped from sight.

  Adam climbed slowly to his feet. Under the steady roar of water in the gorge, there was a great, suffocating silence. He walked carefully to the edge of the road and looked down. There was nothing to see but black rock and tumbling white water. Then footsteps ran behind him and he turned and caught Lissa in his arms. She was white and trembling.

  “Can you see them?”

  “No. Neither one.”

  “He—Papa saw the corporal aiming at me. And the J old rifle didn’t work a second time, so he—he—”

  “Don’t.” He felt helpless, watching her stricken face. She breathed raggedly. He looked at Jelenka. The old woman looked blank, accepting her ultimate loss. “Go to your mother,” he said quietly. “I’ll get rid of the motorcycle.”

  “What are you thinking of?” Lissa asked wildly.

  “We have to go on.”

  “But we can’t!” she cried. “Don’t you understand? Papa had the papers to get us across the bridge. Without the papers, we can’t go anywhere—except back to the hut. . .

  She sank to her knees and stared into the raging stream below. There was no sign of either body. The rushing current was white with the crescents of ice in the shadows, and in a few days the water would be strangled in winter’s grip. Neither corpse might be discovered until spring.

  He helped Lissa to her feet. She moved as if in a dream.

  “Go back to the cart,” he said flatly.

  When she turned away, like a sleepwalker, he went quickly to the cycle, wheeled it to the river bank, and sent it crashing to the rocks below. It was not completely hidden, but that could not be helped. By the time it was found, the issue would be settled, one way or another.

  Adam walked slowly back to the girl and the old woman.

  There was nothing for them to do but return to the hut.

  CHAPTER XV

  Colonel Kopa lay on his hospital bed in Racz and gave orders. He ordered the oxygen tent taken away.
He ordered Sergeant Banya brought to him for instructions. He ordered that a complete sweep of the countryside down toward Budapest be made. He dictated a memo to headquarters, to General Lubakatsky, and rejected all advice from the worried doctor who attended him.

  “Colonel, you must rest. You have had a serious attack. Your system cannot stand the strain of this activity.” “It cannot stand the results of inactivity, either, Doctor.”

  “Colonel, I cannot take the responsibility for your life if you disobey medical orders.”

  Kopa felt driven as if by demons. He was an intelligent and ruthless man. He was ambitious to succeed, and he knew what the opposite face of the coin would mean. He had seen it happen to other associates who had bungled cases less serious than this matter of Durell and the astronaut. But he could not give up because of a ridiculous physical lapse. The doctor could keep him going for a few more days. After that, it would not matter.

  When the massive, moustached Sergeant Banya arrived, Kopa asked for the list of suspected partisan sympathizers in the Racz district and ordered a swift combing to determine who could have been involved in the affair at the bridge. He gave the sergeant one hour to bring the prime suspects to the emergency room in the hospital clinic.

  Sergeant Banya said heavily: “It will be difficult, Comrade Colonel. They will be hiding. You know how they hide after a job.”

  “Find them!” Kopa screamed. “Bring them to me!” The doctor ran in with adrenaline as Kopa fell back, coughing, his pudgy face bluish again. Kopa ignored the twisting pain in his chest. It would get better or worse. He could curse his physical distress for an eternity, but it would not change things. He had to go on.

  When word came, an hour later, that Sergeant Banya had a suspect down in the clinic’s emergency room, Kopa got out of bed and dressed and walked down the steps with the doctor. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and the lowering sun sent shafts of reddish light through the narrow, dusty windows of the clinic. Outside, a streetcar clanged and rumbled across St. Stephen’s Square. The doctor, a slim man with a delicate face and slightly slanted, Mongol eyes, had brought his bag of surgical instruments, as Kopa had ordered.