Read Online Assignment Moon Girl by Edward S. Aarons - Free Book Online

would take him back to Teheran. Seated on
some greasy crates of car engines, he scanned the wasteland that undulated and
shimmered under the night sky. Their pace was tedious, limited to the heavy,
clopping steps of the camels tied to the tailboard. The truck engine labored
and whined most of the way in low gear. They passed through another oasis, then
began climbing to higher ground and took a trail that wandered more to the
north. By dawn there was the loom of barren hills to the left, a clay ridge to
the right. A clump of tamarisks marked a walled village that might have existed
unchanged since the days of Assyrians.
    The Arab and the fat man got out of the truck when they
stopped. The woman waddled away between dark mud huts. The air felt coldest
now, just before dawn.
    “Sir, we must stop to rest ourselves and the camels, as God
orders.”
    “I’ll pay you double to go on.”
    “Impossible, sir. We must stay for the day.”
    “What are you afraid of?” Durell asked.
    The man rolled his one good eye. “We are men of peace. We
fear no honest people.”
    They walked into the clay village. Durell got down and
walked around to the truck cab. The ignition key was gone; but it would be simple
to jump the wires. He listened to the skinny rooster’s crow at the rising sun.
The smell of cookfires and smoke filled
the desert air. How far was it to the main highway? Thirty, forty miles, he
guessed. He saw there was a caravanserai in the center of the huddled mud huts,
a three-sided building with a central courtyard filled with sleeping
people, camels, goats, and donkeys. He walked that way and halted at the
entrance. One or two of the women who were cooking looked at him over their
veils, dark eyes aglow, and then looked quickly away. Among the animals in the
low-walled courtyard, a modem Iranian Anny truck stood out incongruously. There
was no driver or crew in sight—no doubt they occupied the best rooms in the
place. He stepped back out of sight and saw the fat Farsi running with
remarkable speed back to the truck. The Arab was ahead of him, and the woman
had already cut the camels loose. They must be mortally afraid to give up the
camels, he thought. Then he ran back through the village gate.
    He almost didn’t make it. The one-eyed Farsi had started the
motor, the Arab and the woman had piled onto the heaped crates of old auto
parts in the truck body. Durell jumped for the driver’s side and reached in and
cut the switch. The engine died. The stout man made a hissing sound and drew a
knife. His face was the color of mud.
    “Are you abandoning me?” Durell asked quietly.
    “We must go.”
    “Because the Army is here?”
    “We must hurry.”
    “What do you carry under that junk in the back?”
    “Nothing! Scrap iron, that is all, sir!”
    “We’ll see.”
    He jingled the ignition key in his hand and walked around to
the back. The Arab and the woman had gotten out of the truck. Durell began to
heave at the rusted machine parts on the splintery boards. The woman started to
yell and wail, and the Arab flashed a knife in his hands. But the fat one
smiled and spread his pudgy hands wide.
    “You must understand us, sir. We are poor, we have no land,
we are like serfs to the rich, and an opportunity to earn a little extra does
not come often.”
    Durell glimpsed a pale blue color, tugged a crate aside, let
it crash to the dust. He yanked the cloth free. It had been tightly balled, and
was covered with gun grease. Under it were a half-dozen new U.S. M-3 Army
rifles, obviously stolen, illicit, smuggler’s goods. But the guns did not
interest him as much as the pale blue silk he held in his hand. He felt as if
someone had kicked him in the belly.
    It was the robe Tanya had worn when he last saw her. His
voice became dangerous.
    “Where did you get this? Where is the girl?”
    The fat Farsi’s cheeks quivered. The woman wailed and loosed
a torrent of quick abuse at her two men. The Arab stepped forward with a
curious