Assignment - Suicide

by Edward S. Aarons

  There came a distant shouting through the woods and the sounds of men floundering in the swamp. Kronev’s two men looked uneasy. Kronev held up a hand and they halted, waiting and listening. The noises passed behind them, proceeding to the ledge they had just left.

  "Very good,” Kronev said. “We can move faster now.”

  “I thought you were taking us to the missile base,” Durell said.

  “No.”

  “I don’t understand. You could have saved Zadanelev, and you didn’t do it. By all the rules, you could have shot me down the moment you saw me. But you didn’t. And you addressed me by name, so you know who I really am.”

  “Yes, all those things are true, Mr. Durell."

  “You also speak English, which you pretended not to know before.”

  “You will learn all things in good time. We must hurry now."

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Moscow, if we live,” Kronev said.

  They passed the dugout a hundred feet to the south of the entrance. Perhaps Kronev knew nothing about it. The MVD man turned sharply left, downhill, and the way led along a narrow path through the swamps. It was an hour before noon, and the day was hot. Insects hummed and animal life flickered and chattered through the misty green of the wilderness. They walked for twenty minutes in absolute silence, although now and then they heard faint sounds of pursuit and search behind them. There was a grim, panic haste in the way Kronev pushed them on. Durell was content to ask no more questions now, although he still did not see why Kronev had not shot them on the spot. Perhaps a farcical spy trial was in the making. Still, for the moment he was grateful just to be alive.

  They came to a narrow rutted road in the wilderness and Kronev signaled them to hurry along it to the north.

  “I can’t go faster,” Valya gasped.

  “Citizeness, if you wish to live, you will,” Kronev snapped.

  Durell put an arm around her. She tried to smile at him, but the gesture was wan and distorted. “I am sorry, Sam.”

  “I’ll help you. Do you understand what is happening?"

  “No."

  The rutted road suddenly became a highway, and a Pobeda was parked nearby in the brush. Another uniformed MVD man came out of a hiding place and saluted Kronev and murmured a few words to the stout man that Durell did not catch. Then they were hustled into the car and they rolled off, heading away from the missile base.

  There won’t. be an explosion, anyway, Durell thought. He sank back on the cushioned seat of the car beside Valya. His legs trembled slightly.

  Kronev sat up front with the driver and another agent was cramped on the seat opposite Valya. No gins were in evidence. No further force or persuasion was used. Valya sat with her head back, eyes closed, her face stamped with resignation. Durell did not speak to her.

  They passed a check point and barricade on the road, where Kronev impatiently waved a paper that caused the guards to snap back and salute. Forty minutes after leaving the swamp, the Pobeda turned into a rough but serviceable airfield. There was a camouflaged hangar and a long concrete ramp that sliced through the fields beyond, and Durell glimpsed several MIG-17’s glittering in the shadows of the hangar as they drove up. A Dakota-type transport with the Soviet red star on the fuselage and the lettering CCCP on the tail was warming up on the runway. The Pobeda turned directly to it.

  Durell paused at the little ramp and faced Kronev squarely. “I want to know what this is about. If you’re taking me back to Moscow for trial, I want to know it. If I am under arrest, say so.”

  “You are not under arrest, Mr. Durell,” Kronev said quietly. “Please board the plane with Miss Hvalna.”

  “Suppose we refuse?”

  “I assure you that would not be in your best interests. You are an embarrassment to us, you understand. The less publicity given this matter, the better. Do you understand that?”

  “Who are you working for, Kronev?"

  “My government. Only that,” Kronev said simply. “I will explain when we are aboard. We should be in Moscow by three this afternoon. The parades in Red Square will still be marching by the reviewing stand.”

  Durell followed Valya into the plane. There were only rough bucket seats for them, and the pilot was an anonymous, helmeted figure glimpsed through the forward cabin door. Kronev wont in there and the two MVD shadows took seats in the rear section. Durell sat down beside Valya as the motors roared and the plane trembled. Two minutes after arriving at the airfield, they were winging through the bright azure sky to the east.

  He spoke gently to Valya. “You must not think too much about those who died. They expected to die. In a way, it is what they wanted. And their mission was accomplished.”

  “I am thinking of Mikhail," she said. Her eyes were lowered. “He died because he loved me, to prove he was not a coward. The others were my friends. It is not easy to wipe them from my mind with a shrug. With you it is a professional matter, and you might argue that I, too, lived with death and killing all my life. But l had hoped for better things. For peace and dignity and safety.” She studied her hands, twisted in her lap. “Please don’t stare at me, Sam.”

  “Why not? I like to look at you.”

  “I am in rags.” She drew a deep breath. “I wish I could understand what all this is about. I feel as if the bottom of the world has dropped out, and yet we are here, peacefully flying back to Moscow.”

  Kronev came down the aisle between the empty bucket seats. They had the plane to themselves. Kronev had a small straw suitcase which he put down on the seat opposite him with a sigh and then took a pack of cigarettes and offered them to Valya and Durell. They were American cigarettes.

  Kronev cleared his throat. “This is embarrassing, Mr. Durell. Undoubtedly you seek a meaning in my actions. You understand that at first I was devoted to Comrade Zadanelev and his ambitions.”

  “And now you are not?” Durell asked.

  “My first loyalty always has been to the Soviet Union. I know you do not have my equivalent of secret police in your country and you do not think highly of my functions. A study of our history would show you that We were necessary in the evolution of our system from Czarist times.” Kronev waved a pudgy hand. “But I will not bore you with political discussions. The only fact that interests you is that my loyalty is not to Comrade Zadanelev but to the broadening base of our democratic government. I, too, suffered in the last days of Stalin. I, too, never want to see those days again. So it was never in my mind to permit Zadanelev to take that first step in his plan to seize power through war and internal police coups that war would bring."

  “So you double-crossed Zadanelev by letting Gregori’s underground outfit kill him."

  “I understand it was Mikhail who killed his uncle. We were watching you, Mr. Durell, although you did not know it. Every hour you waited to spring the trap, we watched you. You acted wisely. We are aware of every shot you fired.”

  “Then you know where I placed those bullets."

  “If you had killed a Red Army man, my attitude would be different, and you would not be alive at this moment. However, you accepted the responsibility of being a foreigner here. I understand how you were trapped into joining Gregori. And I saw where your bullets went.”

  “And?” Durell asked.

  “We are embarrassed. Naturally, it would be simple to make you just disappear. You know much about our domestic difficulties that could damage us in international spheres. Unfortunately for us, your contact with Johnny McPadd went through to Alex Holbrook at your Embassy. Mr. Holbrook knows almost as much about our difficulties today as you. You understand, in Moscow at this moment, our Politburo members are anxiously waiting for word of what has happened. They were aware of Zadanelev’s ambition, of course. And they feared him. I have radioed a message that will be delivered to the Premier at the reviewing stand, to ease his mind. It has been an unusual May Day for the Soviet Union, Mr. Durell. One of great tension and anxiety.”

  “I think I und
erstand.”

  “I hope so. We are strong enough now so that mistakes can be acknowledged and a little internal dissension does us no damage internationally. It was decided that whatever you know about it will be evidence of our strength rather than our weakness.”

  Durell said dryly, “Considering how it came out, you mean.“

  “If Mikhail had not killed Comrade Z, I would have done so,” Kronev said flatly. “And I would not have failed.”

  Durell found himself revising his estimate of the man. Kronev was neither a sadist nor a fool. His intelligent eyes were amused and calm as their glances met.

  Durell said, “So I am an embarrassment to your government, but you are not disturbed by what I have seen and done. And especially since my Embassy is aware of everything, anyway, and is undoubtedly asking about me.”

  “You are without rights here,” Kronev said. “Your Embassy cannot make official inquiries, considering your occupation with the CIA and the illegal entry you made into the Soviet Union for espionage. These are high crimes, Mr. Durell, punishable by death. But things have changed here and attitudes are different. We could either imprison you for life, shoot you at once, or simply turn you loose and see that you are out of the country by nightfall.”

  Durell drew a deep breath. “And which will it be?”

  “Everything has been arranged. You will board the regular Aeroflot flight for Stockholm at Vnoukovo Airport at five o’clock this evening.”

  Durell felt a tremendous release of tension inside him. “So your people are not afraid of what I might report back to Washington?"

  “We are quite happy to have you report whatever you have seen. We are proud of it, as a matter of fact. It establishes our internal strength and stability. We are not afraid of what you know. We are sure the correct interpretation will be placed upon this incident. We prefer to have Washington know fully how secure our government is. That is what has been decided in Moscow. Your passport is ready at the Metropole Hotel, and you will be permitted twenty minutes with Alex Holbrook there. Then you will be escorted to Vnoukovo.” Kronev tapped a fat finger on Durell’s knee. “You are lucky. If you are wise, I shall never see you again. A bullet will be waiting for you if you ever come back to the Soviet Union."

  “Thanks. There’s just one thing, however."

  Kronev lifted dark brows. “Yes?”

  “I want a passport for Miss Hvalna, too. She leaves with me."

  Kronev‘s face changed. Surprise gave way to dangerous anger. “Impossible! Miss Hvalna is a Soviet citizen. She has committed certain crimes which we may overlook, after we have talked thoroughly with her. But she cannot leave Russia. Besides—” Kronev leaned forward to stare at Valya. “Is he telling the truth? Do you wish to desert us?”

  Valya looked at her hands in her lap. “It is what I asked “You would leave the Soviet Union?” Kronev asked incredulously.

  “I wanted to.”

  “You speak as if it were a past wish. Do you want to now?"

  “What will happen to me here?" she asked fiercely. “Will I be shot? Will I be tried for the guards I fired at back there? You don’t fool me! I know what you will do to me!”

  Kronev said again, “Impossible. It cannot be done.”

  Durell said: “Either Miss Hvalna leaves with me, or there is no deal.”

  “Deal? Do you imply there is a bargain here? You have nothing to bargain with! You are lucky to be alive!”

  “I promised Valya I would take her safely to the United States. I intend to keep that promise."

  Kronev looked astonished, then he laughed and shook his head. “You Americans! You have the nerve to pretend you can bargain. Instead of being grateful for your life, you begin to make terms. It is beyond my comprehension. There are no terms. Miss Hvalna stays here.”

  Durell said, “My grandfather was a genius at cards. He was a gambler to his bones, an honest gambler, who knew all the percentages and used his wits to win consistently. I was raised by him, Citizen Kronev. He taught me all he knew. He taught me to be honest when I gambled, but he also taught me everything that was crooked about every game, to protect myself. I learned the gambling trick along with the odds. You have seen most of my hand, Citizen Kronev. But I have a card up my sleeve. Would you like to see it now?”

  Kronev’s eyes were wide. “Yes.”

  “There is a map showing every missile base on your western frontier. Those bases were built at great expense and effort. They cannot easily be abandoned, certainly not in less than one year.”

  “True. Where is this map?”

  “I have it,” Durell said.

  “Where?”

  “In a safe place. No matter what you do to stop it, it will reach my Embassy and finally get out of the country to Washington.”

  “You are lying.”

  “That‘s your part of the gamble," Durell said; “whether you believe me or not.”

  “Who else has seen this map?"

  “Only dead men. The man who has it now has instructions to deliver it to my people.”

  Kronev’s eyes were now narrow and calculating. “You are close to death now, Mr. Durell,” he said softly. “You are foolish to bargain with me. Why shouldn’t I kill you now?”

  “Because your bosses don‘t want you to."

  “Under the circumstances, I would be decorated for it.”

  “And then the map would be lost to you for good.”

  “You have arranged matters that way?”

  “I have certainly tried to protect myself,“ Durell said.

  “Then, as I understand it, you will return the map for permission to take Valya Hvalna out of the country with you.”

  “That’s it."

  “But you have memorized the contents of the map, have you not?"

  “I saw it only briefly. But that, too, is a gamble you must take.”

  Kronev was silent for a long minute, then stood up. “It is not for me to make this decision. Excuse me, please.”

  He went forward into the pilot's compartment, looked back briefly with cold, inimical eyes, and shut the door carefully. The plane droned steadily through the blue afternoon sky. The two MVD guards smoked and talked about their families in low, casual tones. Valya stared out through the window. Durell spoke her name and she turned her head and looked at him with beautiful eyes that were dead, holding nothing at all of what he remembered of the night they had spent in the swamp.

  She said in English: “He is puzzled. He—they are being very lenient with you. Why should you risk it all for me?”

  “You know why,” he said.

  “But you don’t love me. I know that. I never fooled myself about it. That night—we both thought we were going to die. I thought we had no chance to escape. I had no hope, not for a long time.”

  He told her gently, “You said you loved me.”

  “And I do. But it is different now.”

  “Don‘t you want to go with me?”

  “I keep thinking of why Mikhail died, and Gregori and Elena and Vassili. All of them were willing to die.” She bit her lips. Without makeup, tired and disheveled, she still looked beautiful. “I am confused. You don’t really have the map you told Kronev about, do you?”

  He looked straight at her. “It’s in my hoot. I took it from Gregori‘s body when he died on that ledge.”

  Her eyes grew enormous with fear. “But if Kronev searches you?”

  “It’s a gamble, as I told him,” Durell said gently. “I’m simply betting that I’m a better poker player than he or his friends will ever be.”

  “And you will return it, because of me? It would mean much to Washington. And your friend Marshall gave his life for it.”

  Durell touched her hands. “Valya, it isn’t the gun itself that kills. It's the finger that pulls the trigger. If the finger is removed, the gun is harmless.”

  “And Zadanelev, the finger, is dead.”

  “And off the trigger,” Durell said.

  Kronev came out of
the pilot’s compartment and dropped into his seat with a sigh. His pale eyes were cold. “When can you produce the map?”

  “At the Metropole Hotel."

  “And your terms?”

  “Safe conduct for Miss Hvalna and me to Sweden. The passports must be ready before you get the map. And we are to be escorted to Vnoukovo by Alex Holbrook.”

  Kronev sighed again, leaned his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. For a moment he was motionless and silent. Then he puffed out his lips and expelled a long breath. .

  “Agreed,” he said softly‘

  Chapter Nineteen

  GORKI ULITZA was in deep shadow cast by the buildings, but the broad avenue was jammed with marchers, masses of women and children carrying banners, groups of workers, club organizations, sports teams, all with standards and carefully rehearsed shouts and slogans, waiting their turn to march after the thousands and thousands of others who had preceded them into the vast, cobblestoned area of Red Square. Durell stood at the window and watched the turmoil, seeing the politseyskis struggling to keep order, the various section leaders of the teeming groups shout orders and harass their companies into precise positions. The city wore a festive air that was like a mask that hid recent fears and terrors. There was a stolid discipline in the masses that was frightening.

  Kronev had come and gone. Durell had given him the bloodstained map. There had been time to bathe and shave in the hotel room, and Valya was in the adjoining room, dressing in new clothes that had been brought in for her, along with some for Durell. The corridor door was shut, but Durell had no doubt that his uniformed escort to the airport was waiting for him to appear.

  Alex Holbrook stood at the window beside Durell. He was a tall young American with a crew cut so short that his blond hair looked silvery against his tanned face. He wore a suit of charcoal gray, with a squared white handkerchief, a dark tie striped with conservative maroon. There was an air of health and normalcy about Alex Holbrook that made Durell suddenly homesick. He had known Alex off and on for six years, whenever their paths happened to meet at odd points around the world.