Read Online Assignment - Ankara by Edward S. Aarons - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Edward S. Aarons
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be? Your security was excellent.” “It couldn’t have been. It rarely is.”
“But this means—”
“Somebody is in this village with us right now,” Durell said, turning to the door. “Trapped in the valley, too. He’s got the tapes, and we’ve got to find him.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
Durell looked at the dark face of the Turk. “I’m not sure of anything. Something bad must have happened to Bert Anderson. He’s tough and knows his business.” He paused. “You may be right, though—it could have been a woman.” “Perhaps the Stuyvers woman—or the girl we found, who calls herself Dr. Uvaldi’s daughter?”
“Let’s ask her,” Durell said.
Kappic started out of the cell first. The stone corridor was still dark where the lanterns had been removed, and only a dim glow filtered around the hall corner from the other area of the ancient caravansary.
There was no warning as they moved out. The man charged them like an enormous engine of fury.
Kappic, who was built like a bull, was hurled aside like a child. He slammed into Durell, was thrown off balance against the cell doorway. There was a grunt and curse from the Turk, the scrape of driving shoes on the stone floor. Kappic’s strangled shout echoed oddly as Durell spun around him, glimpsing a tall shadow that leaped toward the lighter comer of the corridor. The man who had been hiding in the dead end of the hallway had tremendous size and strength. But before he could get away from Kappic’s thrashing figure, the other had burst free and leaped out of sight.
Durell sprinted after him. He could not tell if the tall man was armed, but he got his gun out before he reached the turn in the corridor. Kappic pounded hard at his heels. There was a shout from ahead, a cry of pain, and as Durell rounded the corner, plunging into the lighted area, he saw the white-coated doctor on his hands and knees, shaking his head in a stunned way, his stethoscope bent and twisted as if trodden on by a heavy foot. Grating footsteps clattered on the stone steps to the ground floor below.
He ran around the doctor, shouting, hoping to get someone downstairs to delay or stop the fugitive. So far, he knew only that the man was big, powerful and ruthless—and perhaps panicked by having been trapped in the corridor when he and Kappic arrived. The man must have been cursing his bad luck in choosing the precise moment when he and Kappic left Uvaldi’s cell to make a break for it. But beyond this, Durell had not seen the man’s face and had no idea of his identity.
He slammed down the worn, circular steps just too late to catch another glimpse of his quarry. In the main hall to his right, where the sick and injured earthquake victims had been gathered to lie on their straw pallets, a native woman stood staring, open-mouthed. She pointed wordlessly toward the open entrance to the courtyard, saw Durell’s gun, and tightened her mouth in antagonism. He did not stop to find out what this meant. With Kappic at his heels, he ran out into the courtyard.
Smoke from the campfires of the refugees drifted with the cold night wind across his face. He halted, looking at the strangely medieval scene. Kappic paused with him.
“Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” Durell said quietly.
“Be careful, then.”
The tunnel-like passage to the street opposite them was a dark hole beyond the fires and the huddled, listless shapes of the villagers. Durell was aware of a few curious, pale faces turned toward him, but there was a strange, oppressive silence that seemed hostile, like a dark pall of the family groups hunched about their fires. Any one of the black shapes around any of the campfires might be their man, holding those next to him in the silence of terror. He tried to pick out the biggest of the men, but they were only anonymous shadows in the strange, ruddy glow of the charcoal fires.
Kappic swung harshly toward the nearest group and barked a question in gutteral
“But this means—”
“Somebody is in this village with us right now,” Durell said, turning to the door. “Trapped in the valley, too. He’s got the tapes, and we’ve got to find him.”
“Are you sure it was a man?”
Durell looked at the dark face of the Turk. “I’m not sure of anything. Something bad must have happened to Bert Anderson. He’s tough and knows his business.” He paused. “You may be right, though—it could have been a woman.” “Perhaps the Stuyvers woman—or the girl we found, who calls herself Dr. Uvaldi’s daughter?”
“Let’s ask her,” Durell said.
Kappic started out of the cell first. The stone corridor was still dark where the lanterns had been removed, and only a dim glow filtered around the hall corner from the other area of the ancient caravansary.
There was no warning as they moved out. The man charged them like an enormous engine of fury.
Kappic, who was built like a bull, was hurled aside like a child. He slammed into Durell, was thrown off balance against the cell doorway. There was a grunt and curse from the Turk, the scrape of driving shoes on the stone floor. Kappic’s strangled shout echoed oddly as Durell spun around him, glimpsing a tall shadow that leaped toward the lighter comer of the corridor. The man who had been hiding in the dead end of the hallway had tremendous size and strength. But before he could get away from Kappic’s thrashing figure, the other had burst free and leaped out of sight.
Durell sprinted after him. He could not tell if the tall man was armed, but he got his gun out before he reached the turn in the corridor. Kappic pounded hard at his heels. There was a shout from ahead, a cry of pain, and as Durell rounded the corner, plunging into the lighted area, he saw the white-coated doctor on his hands and knees, shaking his head in a stunned way, his stethoscope bent and twisted as if trodden on by a heavy foot. Grating footsteps clattered on the stone steps to the ground floor below.
He ran around the doctor, shouting, hoping to get someone downstairs to delay or stop the fugitive. So far, he knew only that the man was big, powerful and ruthless—and perhaps panicked by having been trapped in the corridor when he and Kappic arrived. The man must have been cursing his bad luck in choosing the precise moment when he and Kappic left Uvaldi’s cell to make a break for it. But beyond this, Durell had not seen the man’s face and had no idea of his identity.
He slammed down the worn, circular steps just too late to catch another glimpse of his quarry. In the main hall to his right, where the sick and injured earthquake victims had been gathered to lie on their straw pallets, a native woman stood staring, open-mouthed. She pointed wordlessly toward the open entrance to the courtyard, saw Durell’s gun, and tightened her mouth in antagonism. He did not stop to find out what this meant. With Kappic at his heels, he ran out into the courtyard.
Smoke from the campfires of the refugees drifted with the cold night wind across his face. He halted, looking at the strangely medieval scene. Kappic paused with him.
“Is he here?”
“I don’t know,” Durell said quietly.
“Be careful, then.”
The tunnel-like passage to the street opposite them was a dark hole beyond the fires and the huddled, listless shapes of the villagers. Durell was aware of a few curious, pale faces turned toward him, but there was a strange, oppressive silence that seemed hostile, like a dark pall of the family groups hunched about their fires. Any one of the black shapes around any of the campfires might be their man, holding those next to him in the silence of terror. He tried to pick out the biggest of the men, but they were only anonymous shadows in the strange, ruddy glow of the charcoal fires.
Kappic swung harshly toward the nearest group and barked a question in gutteral
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