Read Online Assignmnt - Ceylon by Edward S. Aarons - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Edward S. Aarons
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pomp and recurrent wars.
eight
“It’s rather broken down, of course, but still quite magnificent,” she said. “The government allowed him to keep quite a few of the antiquities he discovered there, with the
proviso that they were irrevocable national treasures and not personal belongings.”
George spoke up suddenly from the back seat. “Hell, what did you hit me with, spook?”
Durell turned to look at him. “Not with a hammer, for sure. It was my hand.”
“You’re a filthy murderer. Aspara, did you know that Durell probably has killed a dozen men? Maybe more? He’s an imperialist, colonialist lackey, a hired mercenary whom—”
“Be quiet George,” she said calmly. “You are lucky to be alive.”
“Maybe so. Are we in Kandy?”
“It is the Perahera,” she said.
“Bread and circuses for the masses,” the boy complained. “It’s just a hangover from the bad old days, trying to perpetuate the establishment through religious idolatry.” Aspara said sharply, “I will not have you talk like that.” George leaned forward, wincing as he touched his neck. “Mom, you don’t really believe they actually have Buddha’s tooth in the Dalada Maligawa, do you? That’s all right for the peasants, all these elephants and jewelry and torches. But you’re supposed to be a liberated, intelligent Sinhala woman, living in the twentieth century.”
Durell turned on the front seat so he could keep George under observation. He wished again he hadn’t been saddled with such an obvious enemy. At the same time, there was information behind George’s mean eyes, glimpsed now and then through his mane of blowing dark hair. He meant to get that information, sooner or later.
Now that he was in a city, his former feeling of being hunted and pursued returned in double strength. He wondered what had happened to Willie Wells. He had no illusions that Wells was too injured to give up his chase. He would follow orders implacably, and Durell now knew enough about him to totally respect Wells’ abilities. He seemed to see an enemy in every face among the throngs that filled the city’s streets. He reminded himself that there had to be a reason for the Swiss bank account in his name, a reason for the use of a man who looked enough like him to pass at a casual, distant glance. And reason, too, in making him an outlaw, with no refuge anywhere on earth, by senselessly murdering his two men here in Kandy.
Someone wanted him dead, he thought.
Or—
Time stopped for a moment as another angle occurred to him. Someone wanted him outlawed, yes, a target for K Section. Someone wanted him homeless and helpless. Durell drew a deep breath, wished for a cigarette, wished for a drink—
If the purpose of it all was to eliminate him, then the elaborate schemes of depositing money in his name in Geneva and killing his men here so he looked guilty had to have another aim. Given time and patience, it was not difficult to kill a man. No one was immune from assassins.
There was more to it, therefore.
Someone was waiting to take him in, to use him in some way, for something as yet undefined.
Someone wanted him to feel desperate enough to be willing to accept any refuge. Somewhere. Soon. It had to be soon, he thought.
“Sam?”
He felt better. He looked at Aspara. She was more beautiful than ever. They had turned into the Tatinuwara Vidiya, near the Queen’s House, with another glimpse of the royal Kunda Salava, the Pleasure Pavilion, with its tiny drawbridge across the lake. Here in Kandy there was a strong Dravidian influence, exhibited by Hindu temples devoted to Vishnu. But this night in Kandy was completely given over to the celebration of the Sacred Tooth. Flowers were strewn everywhere, and a torchlight procession of coppery Kandyan dancers in white and scarlet held them up for a moment. He watched the crowd even as he glanced at Aspara. If he could hold out against Wells long enough, and avoid the PFM, contact would be
eight
“It’s rather broken down, of course, but still quite magnificent,” she said. “The government allowed him to keep quite a few of the antiquities he discovered there, with the
proviso that they were irrevocable national treasures and not personal belongings.”
George spoke up suddenly from the back seat. “Hell, what did you hit me with, spook?”
Durell turned to look at him. “Not with a hammer, for sure. It was my hand.”
“You’re a filthy murderer. Aspara, did you know that Durell probably has killed a dozen men? Maybe more? He’s an imperialist, colonialist lackey, a hired mercenary whom—”
“Be quiet George,” she said calmly. “You are lucky to be alive.”
“Maybe so. Are we in Kandy?”
“It is the Perahera,” she said.
“Bread and circuses for the masses,” the boy complained. “It’s just a hangover from the bad old days, trying to perpetuate the establishment through religious idolatry.” Aspara said sharply, “I will not have you talk like that.” George leaned forward, wincing as he touched his neck. “Mom, you don’t really believe they actually have Buddha’s tooth in the Dalada Maligawa, do you? That’s all right for the peasants, all these elephants and jewelry and torches. But you’re supposed to be a liberated, intelligent Sinhala woman, living in the twentieth century.”
Durell turned on the front seat so he could keep George under observation. He wished again he hadn’t been saddled with such an obvious enemy. At the same time, there was information behind George’s mean eyes, glimpsed now and then through his mane of blowing dark hair. He meant to get that information, sooner or later.
Now that he was in a city, his former feeling of being hunted and pursued returned in double strength. He wondered what had happened to Willie Wells. He had no illusions that Wells was too injured to give up his chase. He would follow orders implacably, and Durell now knew enough about him to totally respect Wells’ abilities. He seemed to see an enemy in every face among the throngs that filled the city’s streets. He reminded himself that there had to be a reason for the Swiss bank account in his name, a reason for the use of a man who looked enough like him to pass at a casual, distant glance. And reason, too, in making him an outlaw, with no refuge anywhere on earth, by senselessly murdering his two men here in Kandy.
Someone wanted him dead, he thought.
Or—
Time stopped for a moment as another angle occurred to him. Someone wanted him outlawed, yes, a target for K Section. Someone wanted him homeless and helpless. Durell drew a deep breath, wished for a cigarette, wished for a drink—
If the purpose of it all was to eliminate him, then the elaborate schemes of depositing money in his name in Geneva and killing his men here so he looked guilty had to have another aim. Given time and patience, it was not difficult to kill a man. No one was immune from assassins.
There was more to it, therefore.
Someone was waiting to take him in, to use him in some way, for something as yet undefined.
Someone wanted him to feel desperate enough to be willing to accept any refuge. Somewhere. Soon. It had to be soon, he thought.
“Sam?”
He felt better. He looked at Aspara. She was more beautiful than ever. They had turned into the Tatinuwara Vidiya, near the Queen’s House, with another glimpse of the royal Kunda Salava, the Pleasure Pavilion, with its tiny drawbridge across the lake. Here in Kandy there was a strong Dravidian influence, exhibited by Hindu temples devoted to Vishnu. But this night in Kandy was completely given over to the celebration of the Sacred Tooth. Flowers were strewn everywhere, and a torchlight procession of coppery Kandyan dancers in white and scarlet held them up for a moment. He watched the crowd even as he glanced at Aspara. If he could hold out against Wells long enough, and avoid the PFM, contact would be
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