Assignment Golden Girl

by Edward S. Aarons

  So much for a villa on the Riviera and a young wife to warm an old man's bed, Durell thought.

  Twelve

  SHE looked so incredibly ancient that she could have passed for a mummy out of some antique Egyptian tomb—dry, weathered, almost as if a caul of dust shrouded the head she so carefully inclined forward. Her actual age, Durell knew, was only fifty-two. Ancient for Pakuruville, ancient in its infinite, painfully accumulated wisdom in the sequestered house in which she had lived all the days of her life.

  "We may dispense with formalities," she said in a voice as dry as dust, as distinct as a Hogarth etching, as imperative as any ancient Caesar's consort. "You may rise, Mr. Durell."

  "Thank you. Queen Elephant."

  "I detest the name. Do I look like an elephant?"

  She couldn't have weighed more than ninety pounds, sopping wet. This was Prince Atimboku's mother. He looked into her eyes. It was like falling into a deep, deep pool of blackness that went far back into the brain that inhabited the delicately shaven skull. She sat, not on the traditional stool, but in a large Bombay chair, and the fan of woven wicker around her tiny figure seemed to enshrine her like the image of a medieval saint. Her black eyes were incredibly alive but also incredibly remote. She wore a scarlet and orange robe and had great loops of gold hanging from her ears and around her neck. Her small hands were quietly folded in her lap.

  Behind her stood the three warriors, any of whom could have qualified as a premium for the Knicks basket-

  ball team. Inside the royal kraals where cattle grazed and tribal chiefs had their quarters while attending the Queen Elephant's court, there was no hint of the catastrophe impending from the Neighbors' forces battering at the head of the valley. The huge beehive structure that housed the Pakuru royal mother was larger than it seemed with immense, gray cool spaces under the high thatching. Gaudy Arab rugs were scattered on the hard-packed dirt floor. Life-size wooden sculptures of ebony and mahogany stood about, of a quality to make any Madison Avenue dealer drool.

  "My husband," the Queen Elephant said, "was a lusty man, my dear Durell. Once this house was filled and overflowing with children. Legally mine, although many were born of his other wives, the daughters of powerful tribal chiefs. I understand such political marriages were not uncomm.on at one point in your own cultural history— liaisons for diplomacy's sake, though not polygamous, I suppose."

  Her English was perfect. Her voice was dry and controlled. But her left hand trembled faintly, and she held it tightly in her lap with the other. Again her shaven head with its golden hoops pendant from her ears bent fragilely forward.

  "Of all my children," she said, "eleven were bom of my own body, and four died at once, and two more died in childhood, and three were taken by the British for their wars and were killed honorably in battle. Two survived to grow to maturity in Pakuru. One, of course, is the man you sponsor, Prince Atimboku."

  She seemed to spit the name from her dry lips.

  "I don't sponsor him," Durell said. "He has appealed for help and justice against international aggression, and my country has agreed to assist him in making his appeal to the United Nations."

  "Do you approve of Atimboku as a man?"

  "I have no judgment on that."

  "Of course you do. I can see the kind of man you are yourself. But you do your duty.'*

  "I try."

  The Queen Elephant looked up at the thatched ceiling. "Atimboku is insane," she said. "He has already eliminated—murdered—most other contestants for the royal stool of Pakuru."

  He said nothing.

  "One only remains," said the Queen Elephant.

  "I know."

  "Ah. Ah. I had hoped it would be so."

  "What do you want of me?" he asked.

  "Times change and men change, and laws that were the immutable rules of life from generation to generation between the tribes and clans of the jungle and the desert are now declared obsolete. But the heart of a good man and the heart of a good woman obey the rules of goodness forever. Pakuru is now a nation, not a colonial possession, not a warring collection of enemy tribes. The people are one. They must remain one. But it cannot be done with fire and sword. It cannot be done with pacts made with enemies to the north, whom we have always called simply our Neighbors. More, it cannot be done while the needs of the people are ignored. Only one that I know has the proper heart for such things. Only one that I know should speak for us to the world about our troubles. You must help us, Mr. Durell, or Pakuru will go down in blood in a struggle between father and son, mother and daughter, brother and sister."

  "I must help Atimboku," Durell said.

  "You must help the girl you know as Sally Hukkim. She is my true daughter, the true sister of Atimboku, and he will kill her. In her heart is goodness for the people. Her name is truly Salduva Mutwiwa Mak Hamapana." She leaned forward again, and there was a faint change in the dusty caul that seemed to shroud her. "You must tell me where Salduva is. You must tell me the truth immediately."

  "She is safe, I think," Durell said.

  "Ah."

  "Atimboku says she is an enemy of the people."

  "Atimboku is mad. And he lies for his own purposes. Where is my darling Salduva?"

  "I hope to take her with me on the railroad."

  The old eyes darkened. "With Atimboku?"

  "I must."

  "He will kill her. One way or another he will eliminate her. My daughter has the true claim to the royal stool. Her brother knows it. He has been hunting savagely for her ever since his return. A madness grows in him; even if he is my son, I will see him destroyed if he touches my Salduva." The tiny woman sighed and stood up. Her three warriors immediately stepped forward, but she whisked them back with a wave of her hand and nodded to Durell. "Come with me."

  He followed her beyond a reed wall in the beehive palace and into a smaller, cooler room furnished with native chairs, stools, and a simple table. There were no windows. A brilliantly colored bird rustled in a bamboo cage and fixed bright pink eyes at Durell's height. The Ught was dim, filtering through the loosely woven mat wall. In one corner of the room was a heavily carved chest of black wood. A snake was coUed on the top of the chest, its fine diamond-patterned yellow skin looking ominous. The head came up and the tongue flicked tentatively at Durell.

  "He—the snake—is very poisonous," the tiny woman said. "In Banda he is called jikwalla. Very rare. He is my pet."

  "Not my taste," said Durell.

  "Do not go near him."

  From outside in the kraal came the sudden lowing of cattle and the brief, deep beat of a drum. Feet tramped by. The Queen Elephant paid no attention but proceeded with tiny steps across the bright rug to a comer of the room where small, twin elephant tusks rested against the woven wall. She picked one up and went toward the snake, saying, "Stay where you are, Mr. Durell."

  "I intend to."

  ''Jikwalla has never harmed me." As she spoke, she reached for the snake and dropped him into a hollowed-out end of the ivory tusk. As far as Durell could see, the snake was passive enough under her touch. She took a leather cap and covered the end of the tusk, and Durell let his breath ease out. The little woman smiled. "Jikwalla guards my treasure. I have no problem with palace thieves."

  "I can see why."

  "I offer you what you wish from this chest to guard my dearest Salduva and keep her safe from her brother." She opened the black lid of the chest and let him look inside. It was, he thought, the granddaddy of all pirate treasure chests. There were jewels, diamonds, and emeralds in exquisite gold settings and jade and ivory carvings and huge heaps of Maria Theresa dollar coins together with bundles of modern currency tossed carelessly in among the gold ornaments. It was a king's ransom, Durell thought. Or rather, the price of a Pakuru princess.

  "I don't want money," he said.

  "It is to help my Salduva."

  "I'm not for sale."

  "No, I can see you are not such a man," said the little woman. "I only w
ish to be certain that my Salduva has her chance. She is Pakuru's only hope. With Atim-boku, although he is bone of my bone, I fear the nation will die. We shall never find his safe haven beyond the Great Swamp."

  "He's done well resisting the Neighbors."

  The wrinkled face wrinkled some more. "Only to save what he wants for himself. The people do not concern him. Their welfare is not in his heart. My Atimboku is strong and handsome, but he is not a man. In your country where I sent him, he never grew up. His mind is a child's, subject to a child's whims, a victim of greed and petulance."

  "I agree to that."

  She dipped into the chest and came up with her tiny hands dripping a small fortune. "Then may I employ you?"

  "Not for gold or jewels."

  "You will not help Salduva?"

  "I didn't say that," Durell replied.

  "What do you say, American?"

  "I can understand how you feel about Sally—Salduva. I feel as you do about Atimboku. But I am ordered to bring him to safety to the UN to make his appeal for help against the Neighbors' aggression. When he does this, my country may provide economic and technical aid to Pakuru. Nothing has ever been said about a Pakuru princess."

  The aged, fathomless eyes regarded him, her hands holding the hollowed elephant tusk vrtth its deadly jikwalla snake. Something like a smile wrinkled that ancient face. He wasn't sure it was a smile; he hoped it was. She said, "You are pleased with Salduva?"

  "She's quite a girl."

  "And you are sure she is safe at the moment?"

  "Yes."

  "You will take her with you out of Pakuru?"

  "I've already promised her that."

  "And I can pay you nothing, Mr. Durell?"

  "Nothing."

  "You are very professional, Mr. Durell. You remind me of my husband Ngatawanna when he was young.'*

  "How so?"

  "He was a great warrior," said the Queen Elephant.

  Thirteen

  DUSK came, filling the African sky with colors beyond description. The shack in the railroad yards hard up against the bamboo fence along the river bank was shrouded by shadows. Durell crossed the tracks, noting that the switches had been repaired, new rails laid, and more new rails stacked in the extra coach which was now chock-full of firewood. The forges still burned brightly in the engine repair shop, however, and Old 79 hadn't moved. He felt tired from the long day and the oppressive heat. No breeze came from the river. Fires burned in the hills at the northern end of the valley, and the sounds of fighting were much closer. The town of Pakuruville was empty. The people had all vanished now, slipping away into the jungle and fields and hillsides around the city.

  "Oyashi?" Durell called quietly.

  "Here."

  The Japanese appeared behind him, an Uzi automatic cradled in his hand. Durell was a bit surprised that Oyashi had been able to get around him so silently. The door to the shack was closed and padlocked.

  "You're pretty good, Levemore," Durell said.

  "Your own people trained me."

  "Is Salduva—Sally—in there?"

  "Ah. You know her true name?"

  "Is she safe?"

  "So far. There was a search for her. Your Prince Tim is anxious to find her now that he knows she's around."

  "He's not my Prince Tim."

  "The State Department's then."

  "Maybe I can change their minds," Durell said.

  "You make me feel better," Oyashi replied.

  Durell started into the shack when the roly-poly little man unlocked the padlock, then he paused. "Have you enough insulin to carry you through?"

  Oyashi nodded sadly. "Don't worry about me."

  "I don't," Durell said.

  He went inside. Moving quickly, Sally came up off the pallet in the far corner of the shack, and then she sighed with relief. "Oh, Sam."

  "How are you?"

  "I trust Lev. He made me sleep."

  In the dimness inside the little structure her looped earrings and bracelets gleamed but not as brightly as her long, slightly slanted eyes. She stood straight and tall, almost as tall as he, and showed no fear in her lovely face.

  "Salduva, Fve seen your mother."

  "You what?"

  "The Queen Elephant."

  "Oh, Lordie."

  "It was one of those things: 'You are invited, and will attend.'"

  "I'll bet she showed you the snake."

  "She did."

  "And offered you money."

  "Yes."

  "She loves me," Sally said.

  "She does. She's a remarkable, wonderful woman." Durell paused. "Is that snake really poisonous?"

  "She has had it ever since I can remember. That one or another exactly like it. She claims it's the same snake. Once a tribal chief tried to steal the treasure. It bit him, of course, and he died before he could even turn around from the chest. It's poisonous all right. No one else can touch it but the Queen Elephant."

  "How does she do it?"

  "I don't know."

  "Can you handle Colonel Yi the same way?"

  Her face was innocent. "I don't know Colonel Yi."

  "He's the same as your mother's Hkwalla."

  "I haven't inherited her magic. Who is Colonel Yi?"

  "Your brother Atimboku insists that you've sold out to him."

  "Atimboku is a homicidal paranoiac."

  "Aren't you afraid of him, Sally?"

  "Of course I'm afraid of him. But I must do what I have to do."

  "Do you trust Oyashi? He's been a double agent for half the countries in Europe as well as the US."

  "Lev is my friend. I've seen him in the fields in the wheat and the flowers. He's working with my people, the Ngamis, to teach them better methods of agriculture. His whole life is now devoted to that. Yes, I trust him. He's a dear and true friend. I'd trust him with my life."

  "You may have to," Durell said.

  Fourteen

  STEAM hissed. The boiler roared. Against the darkness of early dawn the engine shed was lit up with a hellish red light from the open boiler door as Harvey Gladstone heaved two more eucalyptus logs into the fire and slammed the iron entry shut. The old locomotive trembled like ^n old man getting up from his rocking chair and leaning on his cane.

  "Will she go?"

  "She's got to go, Cajun."

  "I don't like that pressure gauge.''

  "It's all right."

  Durell had slept for four hours in a niche among the cordwood in the tender. He was aware of the workmen and the heavy footfalls of Abdundi's soldiers moving about on the roofs of the coaches and along the tracks. He was aware in his sleep of the sharp crackling of rifle fire in the outskirts and the distant streets of Pakuruville. He did not expect to sleep much in the next two days and decided this was as good a chance as any to get his last rest for that time.

  "How much longer?" he asked Harvey.

  The engineer's grimy face looked haggard. "Twenty minutes."

  "We may not have twenty minutes. The Neighbors have broken into the city."

  "Yes, I hear them. Listen, Sam—"

  Durell waited.

  "Is Gloria all right?" Harvey asked. "Please check on her. Please, Sam."

  "You'll drive yourself crazy, Harvey. K she has a letch for Atimboku and he wants her, nothing can stop it."

  "I'll stop it," Harvey said. "I can nm this train or keep it here or wreck it. Or kill him somehow."

  "She isn't worth it, Harvey."

  Harvey said, "It is the principle of the thing."

  "I'll check," Durell said.

  He walked along the tracks. A babble of voices came to him from the coach crowded with refugees. Durell did not know who most of them were. They were black, brown, and white, and they had either found a seat or were standing, with promises to Atimboku or Abdimdi for one thing or another. Steam curled around the corrugated roof of the engine shed. There was a pearly mist in the air as if dawn were about to break. Something caught his eye, and he looked up
at the roof of the passenger coach. Three taU, seated silhouettes were black against the gloom. Their spears made wet looking slivers of bloody hght against the steamy roof of the enginehouse. The Queen Elephant's three warriors. Durell lifted a hand in greeting to them. They did not wave back.

  He stopped. They stared down at him as if carved from mahogany. "Come down here," he called.

  They took their time discussing it. Then the tallest, the leader, jumped down from the top of the coach. It was at least a twelve- or fifteen-foot drop. He kept his spear in hand and looked down at Durell from his tall, spindly height.

  "Do you have a name?"

  "Khwama. In England they called me Hogarth."

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. In Harlem when I was with the UN they named me Khwamahogar. It is the closest you can pronounce my name."

  "All right. Did the Queen Elephant send you?"

  "Naturally."

  "To protect Salduva?"

  "Her Highness owns our lives." "Fine. I may need you later." "We shall be on hand." Durell did not doubt it.

  There were only moments of darkness left before the dawn came. Rifle fire began to crackle in the narrow alleys beyond the railroad yard. A mortar crumped, and the shell splashed into the river. Some- of Abdundi's soldiers began running across the tracks, holding their Ka-lashnikov rifles. Durell walked back to the locomotive,

  "Are you ready, Harvey?" he called.

  "Another ten minutes."

  "We don't have ten minutes, Harvey."

  "I can't—"

  "You have to."

  Another mortar shell hit the administration building far down the tracks. The blast made yellow and red flowers bloom in the predawn darkness. Chunks of concrete and steel and glass showered down on the yard.

  "Hop aboard," Harvey said.

  He twisted handles for a moment, biting his lip. His face was still grimy, and his eyes were red rimmed from lack of sleep. His hands shook a little, and Durell did not think he could keep going much longer. But then Harvey pulled back the throttle. The steel plate of the cab floor trembled. Steam jetted up around them. There came a groaning sound, a more violent shaking, a great chuffing noise from the boiler, a screak of steel. Harvey was sweating.