Assignment - Karachi

by Edward S. Aarons

  “As you say, it was romantic. I idealized Uncle Franz. It was fun, but I’ve settled down. I’m practical now, like you, Alessa. After all, look at my engagement to Sarah.” “Are you in love with her, Rudi?”

  He shrugged. “Marriage is a practical matter.”

  “She is devoted to you. She is a fine woman. I would not like to see you hurt her, and I know how you treat women, Rudi. Is it only her money that interests you?”

  “Money is important. You are dedicated to recouping the family fortune with your archeology, eh? You hope to find a fabulously valuable antique crown.” He grinned indulgently at his sister. “And with the proceeds and your reputation, you and Mother can refurbish the house and live in splendor.”

  “Is there anything wrong with that?”

  “My way is easier.”

  “By way of Sarah’s bed, Rudi? It’s indecent of you.”

  “I am not a very decent fellow. You always tell me that. But I do have my practical side. You look for your mythical crown—but I seek something more tangible. Old Berg-mann’s nickel ore, eh?”

  “Professor Bergmann was Uncle Franz’ devoted friend, Rudi. Why do you speak of him with such contempt?” “Like you, he is a scholar. Not practical. If we find the ore again, the location will be valuable.”

  “You cannot buy real estate on S-5.”

  “I can sell what I know. The Chinese would pay plenty for it.”

  She said sharply, “I knew it! You have been scheming with foolish friends—”

  “The information simply came to me,” he said easily. “It is a confidence. You must not mention it.”

  “And you will do nothing about it!” Alessa stood up. “I do not wish to be your enemy in this, Rudi. But I will not be involved in your gestes.”

  “Calm down, Alessa. Nothing has been settled.”

  “See to it that nothing is. And to be practical—what will you do about Jane? She can upset your plans with Sarah, can’t she?”

  “I’ll take care of that,” Rudi said.

  His face changed when he spoke, and Alessa thought he looked like a stranger. She turned away, unwilling to let him see her fear.

  chapter six

  DURELL was on the telephone with Donegan when Alessa came downstairs. Donegan had no news of Jane. No one had seen her. Military patrols were scouring the city for her. But Karachi had a population of over two million. There were the wharf areas, the sprawling native slums, the new building projects, the hotels on Victoria Road. She had been reported walking on Kutchery Road, near the Palace Hotel; she was seen having tea at the Shezan; she had gone by taxi to the Karachi Gymkhana Club on Khuro Road. All the leads were false. The sprawling city had swallowed her up. The latest lead was that she was with some tourists visiting Quaid-i-Azam’s tomb of Ali Jinnah, founder of Pakistan. There was no other word.

  Durell hung up and shook hands with Alessa von Buhlen as Sarah introduced them. It was five o’clock. A servant in a white frock coat wheeled in a rubber-tired cart with bottles of liquor, tonic, glasses, fresh lemons and limes. He chose bourbon. Alessa asked for bourbon, too.

  “You are our American escort,” she smiled. “I have heard much about you, from Sarah and Mr. Donegan. They say you are a dangerous man.” Her English was only faintly accented. “You have lived a very exciting life, they say, working for your State Department.”

  “It’s exciting at this moment,” Durell said, meeting her eyes.

  She flushed slightly. From the moment she had walked into the room alone, straight and tall and lovely, a kind of electric charge was generated between them. Her Viennese accent was well modulated. He had discounted much of Henry Kallinger’s description of her, in Istanbul. And she was not a Valkyrie, fierce and warlike. There was a polish and grace about her that impressed him, an intellectual calm, a knowledge of herself as a stunning and desirable woman, but not aggressive about it, not on the offensive, and disdaining the usual feminine postures and devices.

  Her short golden hair, parted on one side, added to the delectable shape of her head and face. Small enameled earrings glistened on the lobes of her ears. She was proud. Her body was fine, her movements flowing with the easy co-ordination of an athlete.

  A servant came in and murmured something to Sarah Standish, and Sarah excused herself and Durell was alone with Alessa.

  “I am so sorry,” Alessa said. “My brother Rudi will be down soon. It will be a comfort to have you with us on this new expedition, Mr. Durell.”

  “You managed to reorganize your assault on S-5 quickly.” “One must take advantage of the season up there. Once it snows, we may not find Professor Bergmann’s markers— the flags he used to locate the area from which he took his ore samples.”

  “Why couldn’t you find the place yourself?” he asked.

  “Oh, but I was not with him when he discovered the ore. Ernst went off to explore the North Peak, taking two porters with him, dividing our party. My interest was only in finding the crown of Alexander. Poor Bergmann came along simply to satisfy his interest in minerals and geological formations —that sort of thing.” She smiled sadly at Durell and sipped her bourbon. “This American whiskey is something I have developed a small taste for. Is it your favorite?” “Yes. It’s popular where I come from.”

  “Louisiana? They call you a Cajun?” She frowned slightly. “Is that not a term meaning a form of exile—”

  “Not exactly.” He did not go into it. He felt a thin edge of excitement, apart from his awareness of Alessa as an extraordinary woman. “I’d like to know more about what happened to Bergmann.”

  Her eyes were pained. “I was very fond of him. He was very dear to me, a harmless, middle-aged man devoted to research. He was very excited about the nickel. He said it was quite rich.”

  “But you didn’t go to the site with him?”

  “There was a sudden storm, quite severe. It was impossible.”

  “You didn’t wait it out?”

  “We had to leave the mountain in a hurry. Some Chinese patrols were reported. Anyway, Bergmann had his ore samples and his map.”

  “Nobody seems to know what happened to the map,” Durell said.

  “Or to Ernst Bergmann,” she said in quiet reproof. “He was more important to me than the rocks and the map. In Rawalpindi he went to the American Information Office and spoke to one of your officers there and left the ore samples, but not the chart. Your official notified your State Department, I suppose. I had also cabled to Rudi and Sarah, at Cannes then, and I suppose Sarah notified her business office, who in turn also called Washington’s attention to the discovery of nickel on S-5.” She smiled. “And so you are here to accompany us and see that this time we conclude our mission safely.”

  Durell wondered if she was avoiding the point. “But didn’t you see Bergmann after he left the American office in Rawalpindi?”

  “No. No one saw him after that. He—simply vanished.” “What do you think happened to him?”

  “I do not know. He was a gentle, naive man, not given to thinking in terms of violence.”

  “Do you think he met with violence?”

  She said desperately, “Nothing else would have kept him from returning to me that day. He was very loyal to me.” “You don’t suppose he might have been approached with a large sum of money for his map? Someone who was waiting for him when he left the American Information Offices?” She looked shocked. “You are a suspicious man.”

  “It’s my business to be suspicious, Alessa.”

  “For Ernst Bergmann to sell out and arrange a disappearance like that is most implausible. If you knew him—” “Then what happened to him?”

  “I think he was killed—for the map.” Her voice was cold. “I think this should explain the haste with which your government and the Pakistani officials helped me reorganize the expedition to S-5.”

  The telephone rang again. Sarah came into the room and answered it, then turned the instrument over to Durell. “It’s for you.”

&
nbsp; It was Colonel K’Ayub. He spoke in Urdu, which expressed a sense of cool formality better than English.

  “We have found her, Mr. Durell,” he said quietly.

  “Alive?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have her in custody?”

  “Under surveillance,” K’Ayub said, switching back to Eng-

  lish. “She was traced in a rather erratic walking tour around the Shepsi Mosque, into Edward VII Park, then the Juno Market. She has been sitting at the Monkton Cafe Grand for an hour now, waiting for someone.”

  “Who is watching her?”

  “Zalmadar. A Pathan sergeant, my personal servant.” “Did she make any contacts?”

  “We have picked up a beggar, a Jain holy man who accosted her, a Goanese gentleman, a chi-chi named DaSilva, and the owner of a silver bazaar, a Mr. Janninin. They insist they had no business with her. They say she seemed dazed and lost. We are continuing the questioning.”

  “If she’s still sitting in Monkton’s, then she hasn’t met the man she’s expecting so far.”

  “Exactly. Shall I pick you up?”

  “I’ll meet you,” Durell said. “Tell me where and when.” “Ten minutes. At the Metropole?”

  “Right.”

  Durell hung up. Sarah Standish watched him with anxious eyes. “Is Jane all right?”

  “Perhaps,” he said. He looked at Alessa. “Would you mind asking your brother Rudi to step down here for a moment?” “I’m sorry,” Alessa said. “He left the bungalow at the same time I came downstairs to meet you.”

  The sun was lower, hazed by the steamy humidity, and it would soon be dark; but there seemed to be no relief from the heat. The crowd had thickened at Monkton’s, mostly Englishmen, shipping agents and claims and adjustment people, a few Americans on economic missions, some Portuguese businessmen. Jane’s nausea came in waves, like the thickening darkness. Her eyes searched the crowded sidewalk—the Europeans in small minority, the Pakistanis in sherwanis, pajama trousers and Jinnah caps, the Pathans and few Hindus, the Arabs, rich and poor, a Sherpa, the military in trim khaki. Traffic in motley interurban buses, packed until the vehicles bulged, rolled outward to the new urban development projects. Bicycles, rickshaws, a few camel-drawn carts fought for space on the broad avenue.

  Then she saw Rudi walking from the direction of the Metropole, tall and handsome and Nordic, at ease in the diverse crowd. He wore a white linen Italian suit, an American drip-dry shirt, a dark thin necktie. She hated him and loved him,

  despising her hand that lifted eagerly as if of its own will, to attract his attention and greet him.

  He stood at her table, unsmiling. “Jane.”

  “Sit down, Rudi,” she said humbly. “Please don’t frown at me like that. I’m sorry, but I simply had to see you, and you avoided me at the house, from the moment we came to Karachi yesterday—”

  “We will be together for several weeks,” he said coldly.

  “Must you be so melodramatic?”

  “Why do you avoid me?” she insisted.

  “You make a fool of yourself.”

  She bowed her head. “But I can’t help it. I’m desperate.” “Desperate?”

  “I’m in trouble.”

  He did not ask what she meant. Perhaps he knew, or at least suspected. He said impatiently, “Come with me, Jane. People are staring at us.”

  “I don’t care. I must talk to you.”

  “Then let us talk in private, not here. I have rented a car, a Ferrari.” His sudden change in tone when he mentioned the motorcar was almost childlike, she thought. “It belongs to a member of the Italian legation, Count Pucci. He’s up in the Northwest Territory for the summer. We can enjoy a drive, perhaps out to the Karachi Country Club.”

  “All right,” she said meekly.

  She gathered up gloves and handbag clumsily, aware of his critical eyes. When she was ready, he did not move. “Where are Sarah’s glasses?”

  “Oh, I took them off. Mr. Durell said I shouldn’t go on with the impersonation.”

  “Nonsense. It is your duty to Sarah.”

  “But I—”

  “Put them on, please. At once.”

  She obeyed, and followed his tall figure through the crowd to where a low-slung, dark blue Ferrari was parked. He drove quickly, settling with a sigh of pleasure on the leather bucket seats. She sat as far from him as possible, twisted side-wise to watch his strong, rather brutal profile, to see the way the wind whipped his over-long hair in thick, ropy strands. She was appalled, because she still wanted him. The hot wind seared her face like a branding iron as they drove out Victoria Road. A few lights glowed in the shop windows now, against the deepening early dusk.

  “Don’t drive so fast, Rudi,” she said. “Please.” “One must face life boldly,” he said. “One must be ready for defeat as well as victory, Jane. I gather you wish to speak to me of our personal relationship.”

  “Yes.”

  “I told you before, again and again, it is over.”

  “But it isn’t, unfortunately,” she said.

  “I am not responsible for any further problems.”

  “But you are. And I need your help.”

  “Do you want to go home, back to the States? Is that it?” “No, I can’t go home.”

  “You want money, then? For a doctor?”

  She was startled. “You know I’m—going to have a child?” “You are a stupid, naive girl. Of course I know. With a type such as you, it was inevitable, I suppose. I should have known better, in the first place. But I needed you.” His voice was cold. “However, now I am going to marry Sarah Standish.”

  “No,” she said, and the firm harshness of her voice was almost like an outcry. “No, you’re not.”

  “You plan to tell her about us?”

  “If I must.”

  “What do you want of me?”

  She twisted her gloved hands in her lap, not knowing how to reply. What did she want? He did not care a pin for her, perhaps he never had. He had used her to be introduced to Sarah, that was all, and now he was finished with her. But it couldn’t be all over for herself. She thought of all her dreams, her future with him idealized, the letters she had planned to write home to Poppa and Momma about him. Useless to try to bend life itself to fit such dreams. But how could she answer him? She did not know what she wanted.

  “I will give you money and find a doctor for you,” Rudi said. “You will tell Miss Standish you are sick. The doctor will co-operate. You can stay here in Karachi until the matter is settled.”

  “I won’t do it,” she said. “It’s sinful. I won’t lose the child.” “Don’t be stupid. It is all I can offer. You must agree.” “No.”

  He said bluntly, “Very well. It shall be as you wish.” “What do you mean?”

  “We will have to settle it my way, entirely.”

  The Ferrari, she noticed, had slowed to a crawl. When had they left the bright and busy Victoria Road? She could not remember turning off. But now she saw loading cranes, warehouses, low tin roofs glimmering in the red rays of the sullen, setting sun. They were near the West Wharf area. The smell of the ancient Indus River, carrying with it the waste of a continent, touched her offensively. The car laboriously threaded its way down a narrow street of yellowed houses, a Chinese quarter of teashops, bazaars, tall and leaning Arab tenements. The narrow street was crowded with cycles, a tonga, and two haltered camels. As they halted for a moment, someone opened a window above and emptied a bucket of filthy water into the street. It splashed heavily on the driver of the two-wheeled tonga cart. Instantly the air was shrill with imprecations between Punjabi and Arab, the driver shaking his fist and screaming, the man above in the window looking down at the other’s rage with impassive eyes. A small crowd began to gather as the Punjabi tonga driver started bellicosely for the tenement door, and Rudi clucked in annoyance. But order was quickly restored by two uniformed policemen who shoved ruthlessly through the excited crowd toward the driver. Their method
s were quick and efficient. Clubs lifted and fell, and the outraged Punjabi went down to the filthy gutter with his head bleeding. Someone in the crowd took the opportunity to kick at the fallen man. The cops turned on the bystander and clubbed him, too. The crowd scattered. A moment later, Rudi was able to drive on, past the bleeding, unconscious figure of the Punjabi, who still lay in the street.

  They passed an alleyway where Jane glimpsed smoke from cooking fires as women crouched on the stone paving and prepared meager meals of curry. A sense of alien hostility swept from the crowd like a tidal wave around the bright car, thick-throated with resentment at Western affluence. A dirty hand suddenly reached in and snatched at Jane’s earring, and she ducked her head in frantic panic, turning to Rudi with a low gasp.

  “What are we doing here? Why are we in this place?”

  “It is all right, liebchen, my darling,” he said quietly. “Do not be alarmed. You have not seen this quarter before. It is interesting.”

  “Rudi, take me back. I only wanted to talk to you.”

  “In a little while.”

  “It’s getting dark and I want to go back now.”

  He turned his head as he stopped the car to permit a camel cart to cross ahead of them. His eyes were pale and vacant.

  The pungency of dung fires stung her eyes, and she blinked at her tears.

  “Jane, you arranged a pretty little trap for me, did you not?”

  “A trap?”

  “You know we have been followed,” he said.

  “That’s nonsense. By whom?”

  “The police, I supposed. By Durell.”

  She looked back. The teeming humanity had closed in across the street like displaced water surging back to its natural level.

  “I don’t see anything,” she said.

  “We lost them. But I am disappointed in you,” Rudi said. “To trap me like this, Jane, is most unworthy.”

  “Rudi, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why are we here?”

  “I have a business appointment,” he said shortly. “It will not take long. Some equipment we may need on S-5. Do not be so alarmed.”