Read Online Assignment - Ankara by Edward S. Aarons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward S. Aarons
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Turkish. He received shrugs and a gesture from a withered old woman. She pointed to the arcaded entrance of the courtyard. Durell started that way without waiting for more.
They were too late again.
A shadow suddenly lunged from the darkness of the tunnel, silhouetted against the gray night light in the street beyond. Durell shouted a warning and threw a snap shot at the dim, huge figure. He missed. The man vanished to the left, and as Durell plunged for the courtyard exit, a bundle of rags around the last campfire spitefully thrust out a foot to trip him. He stumbled slightly, kept going, but the momentary delay was enough. By the time he reached the village street, there was nothing to be seen again.
Kappic breathed hard beside him.
“He is fast, this one.”
“And big," Durell said.
“Not big enough to hide forever in the village.”
“We don’t have forever in which to find him,” Durell said.
They spoke in quick, soft whispers, scanning the ruined village street before them. Nothing stirred except for the shape of a cat slinking in the shadows of the rubble of a wrecked house. With the clearing sky, the stars shone like burnished metal over the dark gloom of the surrounding mountains. The air was cold, cutting at Durell’s face. The street slanted upward, following the shoulder of the mountain, for several hundred yards toward the huts where Durell had put Francesca and the Stuyvers couple. But nothing moved that he could see, except for the prowling cat.
They started up the street, hugging the shadows of the dark stone houses. Durell had the indefinable sensation of being watched. He tried to put himself in the place of the fugitive in order to out-think his quarry. The man was frightened, despite his size and physical strength. He had just committed a cold and brutal murder, and stolen the tapes from the dead Dr. Uvaldi. So far, he had been successful. But at the last moment, he had been unwittingly trapped in the caravansary, and it was plain that Durell’s arrival with the Turk had been totally unexpected. There was no way at the moment to guess the man’s identity. But it didn’t matter. He was a murderer, an enemy agent trained in cunning and force, in brutality and violence, dedicated to his mission. Durell wondered if he was armed. No shots had been returned for the one he had snapped at the running man. But that didn’t mean anything necessarily, either.
The cat suddenly scampered away up the middle of the stone-paved street, tail erect, moving in quick erratic leaps, as if chasing an evasive rat. It vanished among the towering mass of rubble where a stone house on the slope above had collapsed in yesterday’s tremors and poured a small landslide of building blocks and timbers on the house below. The street was partly blocked at this point, almost like a deliberate barricade. He could not see completely around it, and halted again.
“I do not like this, Durell,” Kappic whispered.
“You think he’s waiting somewhere for us?”
“We are his only known enemies. It would be wise for him to get rid of us—”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Kappic was slightly ahead, halted under the crumbled wall. At that moment the cat uttered a thin scream of fright and came scampering out of the rubble again, streaking across the village street. Another movement caught Durell’s eye, overhead on top of the wall. It was only a vague shifting of the shadows up there in the ruined house, but it was enough—
He shouted a warning, leaped forward, and shoved Kappic ahead and out of the way with both hands. Simultaneously, a huge building stone came loose from the top of the wall and crashed down upon the spot where the Turk had been standing. Durell jumped over it, ignoring Kappic who was sprawled in the street, and leaped up onto the rubble heap. Above him loomed the tall, massive figure of his opponent, outlined for a frozen instant against the starry sky. Then, with astonishing speed, the man
They were too late again.
A shadow suddenly lunged from the darkness of the tunnel, silhouetted against the gray night light in the street beyond. Durell shouted a warning and threw a snap shot at the dim, huge figure. He missed. The man vanished to the left, and as Durell plunged for the courtyard exit, a bundle of rags around the last campfire spitefully thrust out a foot to trip him. He stumbled slightly, kept going, but the momentary delay was enough. By the time he reached the village street, there was nothing to be seen again.
Kappic breathed hard beside him.
“He is fast, this one.”
“And big," Durell said.
“Not big enough to hide forever in the village.”
“We don’t have forever in which to find him,” Durell said.
They spoke in quick, soft whispers, scanning the ruined village street before them. Nothing stirred except for the shape of a cat slinking in the shadows of the rubble of a wrecked house. With the clearing sky, the stars shone like burnished metal over the dark gloom of the surrounding mountains. The air was cold, cutting at Durell’s face. The street slanted upward, following the shoulder of the mountain, for several hundred yards toward the huts where Durell had put Francesca and the Stuyvers couple. But nothing moved that he could see, except for the prowling cat.
They started up the street, hugging the shadows of the dark stone houses. Durell had the indefinable sensation of being watched. He tried to put himself in the place of the fugitive in order to out-think his quarry. The man was frightened, despite his size and physical strength. He had just committed a cold and brutal murder, and stolen the tapes from the dead Dr. Uvaldi. So far, he had been successful. But at the last moment, he had been unwittingly trapped in the caravansary, and it was plain that Durell’s arrival with the Turk had been totally unexpected. There was no way at the moment to guess the man’s identity. But it didn’t matter. He was a murderer, an enemy agent trained in cunning and force, in brutality and violence, dedicated to his mission. Durell wondered if he was armed. No shots had been returned for the one he had snapped at the running man. But that didn’t mean anything necessarily, either.
The cat suddenly scampered away up the middle of the stone-paved street, tail erect, moving in quick erratic leaps, as if chasing an evasive rat. It vanished among the towering mass of rubble where a stone house on the slope above had collapsed in yesterday’s tremors and poured a small landslide of building blocks and timbers on the house below. The street was partly blocked at this point, almost like a deliberate barricade. He could not see completely around it, and halted again.
“I do not like this, Durell,” Kappic whispered.
“You think he’s waiting somewhere for us?”
“We are his only known enemies. It would be wise for him to get rid of us—”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
Kappic was slightly ahead, halted under the crumbled wall. At that moment the cat uttered a thin scream of fright and came scampering out of the rubble again, streaking across the village street. Another movement caught Durell’s eye, overhead on top of the wall. It was only a vague shifting of the shadows up there in the ruined house, but it was enough—
He shouted a warning, leaped forward, and shoved Kappic ahead and out of the way with both hands. Simultaneously, a huge building stone came loose from the top of the wall and crashed down upon the spot where the Turk had been standing. Durell jumped over it, ignoring Kappic who was sprawled in the street, and leaped up onto the rubble heap. Above him loomed the tall, massive figure of his opponent, outlined for a frozen instant against the starry sky. Then, with astonishing speed, the man
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