Assignment - Mara Tirana (13 page)

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 and 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.”

Mara nodded and hastily stepped into the rough barge-woman’s costume that Gija had provided. She looked pale and shaken. On the steel deck overhead came a sudden clumping of authoritative boots. Gija cracked his knuckles nervously. There would be a tight dragnet in the area, Durell thought: the reward for their capture would be high. He wondered if the other crew members could be trusted. But it was too late for any other course of action. As for Gija’s display of anger, stemming from a personal reaction to Mara, there would be some way to make use of it, Durell decided. Everything around him had to be seized as a tool to further the job ahead.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by a sudden angry pounding on the cabin door.

The inspection of the
Luliga
took more than an hour. And afterward, the river patrol crew at the check point was in no hurry to leave. The two officers who scanned identity papers and cargo manifests looked wet and cold from the fog on the river, and they readily accepted Captain Galucz’ offer of coffee and plum brandy. Durell went forward to the board cargo hatches. The
Luliga
was a fine new craft, ably powered by her twin semi-diesels. He estimated her cargo at about 3,000 tons, and gave credit to the rapacious efficiency of the Soviet Control Commission that regulated the river.

Gija stepped out of the mist behind him, his tall figure outlined momentarily against the yellow light from the pilot-house door. Water dripped from the wet cargo booms. An accordion played a Hungarian melody somewhere, but its location was lost in the night gloom over the water.

As far as Durell could see, the ship channel was crowded with barges, tugs and scows brought to a halt by the border, inspection. Fishing-vessels, pleasure-boats and steamers all rode at anchor against the thrust of the current. The fog made curious halos around the riding lights astern.

Gija mounted the cargo hatch and leaned against a steel stay, his collar raised around his neck. His voice was quiet.

“You and the girl did well. You showed no nerves. I was worried about Mara, but she pulled herself together.”

“She’ll do all right.”

“Does she mean anything to you?” Gija asked.

“No.”

“She—I can’t get her out of my head. Do you trust her?”

“Yes. I do, now. Not at first. But now I do.”

“What do you think of that business of her baby brother, hey? Could we get Mihály to the barge?”

“It’s asking for extra trouble,” Durell said.

“We’re equipped for it. Our outfit can certainly handle one more, after all the dozens and even hundreds we’ve taken east or west. We’re not far from Racz.” Gija laughed softly. “You see, she has been persuading me, too. A remarkable girl.”

“We have no weapons,” Durell said. “We could use a gun.”

Gija laughed again. “We have enough to arm a brigade.” He stamped his foot on the hatch cover. “Under here are grenades, mortars, field rockets, rifles, machine-pistols, and ammunition. All nicely wired, too, if Tomas has done his job.”

“Wired?”

“If we get into serious trouble, we go sky-high. Tomas has his orders. We blow up the barge with its cargo, and anyone aboard with us.”

Durell looked sharply at the pilot. “You would really do that?”

Gija shrugged. “It would be better than answering questions.”

Durell nodded. “How long are we to stay here?”

“An hour or two. Or a day or two. The ways of official check points are inscrutable. So far, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“A day or two of delay may be too long,” Durell objected.

“You must be patient.” In the misty dark surrounding the barge, they heard the distant clangor of a bell buoy marking the channel ahead. Gija added: “I know your only objective is to rescue the astronaut, Major Stepanic. But you cannot do this without me. Only I can take you to him, because only I know where he is to be found.”

“And where is that?”

“With my people, in my home. Don’t worry. It may be even a week before it is done, but I will take you to him.” “We could travel faster overland.”

“You would never get far into the mountains where Stepanic is hiding. The country is too primitive. A stranger would be noticed at once. You need a guide,” Gija said. “You need me.”

“What are you hinting at?” Durell asked. “Is it money? Do you want pay for the job?”

“I could put a knife in your belly for your insults. There is that much of the Balkans in me.” Gija’s teeth gleamed as he grinned. “But I understand how it is with you. Your job is to get Stepanic. Nothing else must interfere, eh?”

“Nothing,” Durell nodded.

“Not your woman, who was kidnapped, or Mara Tirana and her problems. These are human beings who do not concern an efficient machine like you, eh?”

“I have my job to do,” Durell said.

“Yet it would be easy to make the girl happy. I know the town of Racz. I even know the theater-school where the boy is studying. A little effort on our part—not even a delay —we won’t drop below Budapest for thirty hours yet, I guarantee.”

Durell lighted a cigarette, one of a Russian pack that Gija had supplied, along with his bargeman’s clothes. The match made a tiny explosive light in the mist. He knew how Gija felt. He had seen this look on men’s faces before, but it never grew easier. In the course of every job there was human tragedy that needed and begged for help—but which he was forced to pass by in order to accomplish his mission. The job always came first. It had to be like that. The dedication to the assignment was too great to balance against individual misery.

Or was it? he wondered. For the first time, he was touched in a personal way. There was Deirdre to be abandoned this time. She could be one more victim of tragedy.