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

blinding patterns of white light and inky shade
under the mud walls of the village. Hanookh knelt beside him and deftly
uncapped a tube of antiseptic ointment and daubed the stuff on his injured arm,
then snapped open a clean handkerchief and tied it quickly and efficiently
over the wound. Suddenly his hands began to shake and Durell finished the
job, studying the young Iranian, who bit his lip and muttered apologies.
    “Ike was my best friend,” Hanookh said. “He was fortunate.
When Har-Buri’s assassins caught him, his death was quick. But Adam Beele was
not so lucky. They wanted something from him, and they took a long time to ask
their questions.”
    “How do you know about it?” Durell asked.
    “I watched. I was hiding. They outwitted us, after you left
the ruins. One group was driven off—Chinese, they were-—and we remained hidden.
I went oil to scout, and while I was gone, they took Ike and Mr. Beele. I could
not help them. There were too many of them. Ike fought, and they shot him at
once. But Beele was tortured.”
    “What do you suppose they wanted from him?”
    “The map that he gave you, sir."
    “You noticed it, did you?”
    “Yes, sir. They will do anything to get it back, anything to
stop you from taking it to Teheran and revealing Har-Buri’s headquarters. Last
night I came across the desert, hoping to catch up with you. I stole the truck
from Har-Buri’s men, after Beele died.” Hanookh tightened his mouth. “You must
give me that map, Durell.”
    “I’ll think about it,” Durell said.
    “Sir, don’t you trust me?”
    “I don’t trust anyone, lately.”
    “I understand that, but I assure you—”
    “Let’s go, Hanookh. We should be on our way.”
    Hanookh’s dark eyes hardened for a moment, then he
straightened and looked toward the village gate. Two women in black robes and
veils, leading donkeys, came out. The women did not look their way. It was as
if they did not exist, or were invisible. Charcoal smoke drifted on the hot
air, and the smell of excrement and urine seemed strong enough to support the
clay village walls. More women gathered about the well. If anyone in the
caravanserai was aware of the Arabs and their truck, or the struggle outside
the gate, they gave no sign of it.
    The Renault was gone. So was its fat owner and load of
contraband rifles. Hanookh and Durell walked through the narrow alleys to
the three-sided inn. No one tried to stop them. There was a dusty Coca-Cola
sign hanging askew over the main entrance, and a gasoline pump. The Anny truck
was parked there, incongruous among the camels, goats, and donkeys in the
courtyard. It looked as out of place as Hanookh, in his military uniform.
    A clot of Kurds squatting around a cookfire looked up with mysterious eyes as Hanookh forged through them to the truck.
    Hanookh halted. “We are in new trouble.”
    Durell saw the problem, too. “Did you leave the engine hood
up?”
    “No, certainly not.” The Iranian swore softly in Farsi and
jumped into the cab. The Kurds clustered about their fire and went on
eating. There came some dead clicks from the motor as Hanookh tried the
ignition and starter. Nothing else happened. Durell went around to the front
and looked at the engine. Hanookh’s face was dim behind the dusty windshield.
    “Your distributor cap is gone,” Durell said.
    Hanookh jumped out again. His dark face was flushed
with anger. He searched the nearby ground, then spoke rapidly to the Kurds in
their language. Durell saw that all the travelers in the caravanserai were
watching. Their eyes were secretive, amused. Most were hostile.
    “They say they know nothing and saw nothing,”
    Hanookh said grimly.
    “Offer them some money.”
    “It is against bureau principles—”
    “How far is it to the main Teheran highway?”
    “If we try to walk, we’ll be easily ambushed.”
    “Exactly. Pay them.”
    The Kurd leader was a tall, bearded man who wore his robes
with dignity. He took Hanookh’s money in