Assignment - Mara Tirana (12 page)

“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 ragged, 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. . . .

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.

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.

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.