Assignment - Suicide

by Edward S. Aarons

  “Run!” Valya screamed. “Run!”

  Whirling, Durell yanked the door open and spun Mikhail’s body so that Mikhail protected him from any shots from the others. Gregori and Vassili stood immobilized, frozen by surprise. A chair fell over with a crash as Valya grappled with Elena for the gun. He saw Elena bite viciously at Valya’s wrist, her head striking down like a snake, and Valya screamed in pain and lost her grip.

  He could have escaped then, but he hesitated for another instant, seeing the girl in trouble. In that moment he knew she had not betrayed him. And he could not leave her to the fury of the others if he ran now. Elena had retrieved her gun. She snapped a sharp command to Gregori, who grabbed Valya and flung her against the wall. Her long hair came loose and whipped across her eyes. Elena slashed with the gun across Valya’s face, and anger burst in Durell like an explosion at the useless cruelty. Behind him, through the doorway, was the dawn, with mist curling over the Moscow River, and the sound of a train chuffing into the yards behind Alexandrovskaya Vauxzal. He did not go that way. As Valya slumped to the floor, he spun again, thrust Mikhail headlong into the room, and jumped for Elena.

  He almost made it. He almost got the gun from her. But the woman was elusive and wiry. She tried to whip him with the gun, too, and missed; but in dodging, Durell fell into Gregori’s grip. This time the man was not taken by surprise. His powerful arms clamped around Durell’s chest and squeezed. His grip was strong as steel. A wide grin spread across the Russian’s broad face as it turned red with his effort. Durell’s strength was equal to Gregori’s, and he was trained in wrestling and judo. But Gregori had the prior grip. Durell heaved and strained and lifted the huge man off his feet and swung him around hard. They crashed against the wall. Valya screamed. Her face was bleeding where Elena had struck her. Vassili circled them warily, arms also spread wide for a wrestler’s grip, looking for an entry into the battle. Valya started for the front door, divining Durell’s purpose. But Elena struck at her with the gun again, her thin face vicious, her neck muscles corded with fury. Valya moaned and slumped to the floor. Lights flickered before Durell‘s eyes as Gregori increased the pressure on his chest. The man’s breath stank of vodka and onions.

  “Stand away, Vassilivitch,“ the man grunted to his young companion. “I can-handle him now."

  Durell saw that Valya was unable to escape. He tried once more to break loose and felt his lungs gasp and strain for air, felt his ribs bend and almost crack under the terrible bear’s hug of his opponent. He could not break free. And then something struck the back of his head and he heard Mikhail’s soft sound of satisfaction and his legs buckled under him.

  He would have fallen if not for Gregori’s hug.

  “Enough, Gregori,” Vassili said.

  “We should kill him!” Mikhail insisted.

  Elena said, “We need him. Enough!"

  There was a ringing in Durell’s ears as he was released. He sank into a chair and leaned slowly forward, dragging air into his bruised chest.

  “You could have escaped, doragoy. Why were you such a fool?"

  Elena said waspishly, “He wanted to take Valya with him. If he makes another move, I shall kill her.”

  “There will be no killing here!" Gregori rumbled.

  “Then what shall we do with them?"

  “We Will talk reason to the American.”

  Durell drew another tortured breath. The ringing faded from his ears. He looked with shock and pity at Valya. There was a long cruel gash across the left side of her face where Elena had pistol-whipped her. it bled heavily and her dress was stained scarlet, but she did not seem to be aware of it. Her eyes looked at him like the eyes of a numbed and injured pet.

  “Why didn’t you escape?" Valya whispered.

  He shook his head, not sure of the answer now.

  Gregori laughed. “Come, what we all need is another drink. We can be friends. For myself, l have no hard feelings.”

  “You are a fool," Elena spat. “They are both dangerous.”

  “I agree,” Mikhail whispered. “We should kill them both.”

  Gregori said amiably, “We do not as yet have the map. Remember?”

  Vassili went into the kitchen and returned with vodka and a long—necked bottle of Caucasian wine. Gregori drained his glass as if it were water. Durell sat quietly, letting his strength flow back. Nobody did anything about Valya‘s face.

  “We will have breakfast and then we will talk business,” Gregori said. “Gospodin Durell will give us the map. He will be reasonable."

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Surely you know how serious we are in this matter?”

  “I’m serious, too,” Durell said. “If you want to stop Z, the way to do it is with publicity, not assassination.”

  “This is an internal affair. It is our problem, and we will solve it as we choose. We Russians can take care of ourselves. You have seen changes in this country. But what you have seen externally is nothing to what has happened to the minds and hearts of the people.”

  “What do you know of freedom?” Durell said. “You’ve never enjoyed it.”

  “Freedom never dies in a man. It is an instinct. It is the saving force that ultimately overthrows all dictators. The heart yearns for freedom, whatever oppression there may be.”

  “You are a philosopher,” Durell said.

  “Nothing so grand." Gregori smiled. “I am a simple assassin.”

  Chapter Ten

  IT was an hour later. The sun was bright outside, the mist burned off the river. They had eaten a breakfast of ham and eggs, with coffee strongly flavored with chicory, reminding Durell of the faraway bayous of the Cajun country and the roadside diners on the way to the Gulf of Mexico.

  He kept his eyes on Valya, but he read nothing in her face. She had taken care of the deep cut inflicted by Elena’s gun, but her cheek was swollen now, and ail he could see in her eyes Was the dullness of pain and despair. Mikhail had gone out and had not returned. Vassili kept looking out through the back windows at the river bank. Elena was tense and nervous. Only Gregori was in good humor.

  “Now, American,” Gregori said. “We have broken bread together. We are comrades. We desire the same thing, nyet? We both desire peace."

  “I won‘t meddle in your murder plot," Durell said.

  “That would not be necessary. All we ask for is the map. You have hidden it, but we know it is somewhere in this house. We do not have much time. Plans and arrangements are all settled for our trip. But we need the map. If you are stubborn, you will suffer.”

  Durell said nothing.

  Gregori folded his big, square peasant’s hands on the table. “Tell me, you like Valya, eh?”

  “She is a fine girl.”

  “You could have escaped, but you came back in to help her."

  Durell shrugged.

  Gregori’s thick, beetling brows frowned. “Chivalry is a trait of Western culture. We are not weakened by such an idealistic heritage. I know you are a strong man, gospodin. I could torture you in many ways. I have had experience with torture. I was imprisoned in Liubyanka during the last purge, and I was questioned many times. I remember all the refinements they used. I could use them on you. Will you tell me where the map is and save yourself pain and save me much annoyance?”

  “No,” Durell said.

  Gregori looked at Valya. “It is a pity."

  “Leave her alone,” Durell said.

  “She is not as strong as you, gospodin."

  “She doesn’t know where the map is.”

  “Naturally. But you will tell us if we transfer our attentions to Valya for a time. I think perhaps you are in love with her, gospodin."

  Durell looked straight at her. “No,” he said.

  Her face told him nothing except of her pain.

  “You are chivalrous," Gregori went on. “You would not sit here and let me hurt her without speaking up. Come, now. Give us the map.”

  “And if I do?”

  �
��Then we go about our business.”

  “And will you release Valya and me?”

  Gregori frowned. “After it is over. Otherwise, you would go at once to your Embassy. That is obvious. You will have to stay with us until our mission is completed. It will be easy. I am a fine marksman. I never miss. We know that Comrade Z will personally discharge the first missile. We have reliable information about his vanity and his sense of the dramatic. He will travel to one of the missile bases with his bodyguard and he must be killed before he gets there. It is simple,‘ after all. When he is dead, you will he released.”

  “I don’t want any part of it,” Durell said again.

  But you have no choice. You accepted your cards when you came to this country. Valya tells me you were a professional gambler. I know poker, too. I learned it from an American from San Francisco. The game is, as you would say‘, one of dealer‘s choice. And I am the dealer.”

  “If you hurt Valya, Mikhail will have to be answered to,” Durell said.

  Gregori looked at his huge hands. “Mikhail is no problem.”

  “Tell me,” Durell said. “Have you no idea who Comrade Z is?”

  “None."

  “But he is in your government?”

  “That much is obvious. He is one of the present hierarchy, we are sure. But not Kolyoshin. Kolyoshin is ostensibly in charge of the missile development program, but there is much secrecy about these military matters. Besides, I know Kolyoshin, myself. He is a man of peace. He has no ambitions for himself. No, our man is one who wants to be the big boss. another Stalin.”

  “Perhaps he is the head of the MVD.”

  “Drugalovsky? No."

  “Surely Comrade Z has further plans that will develop from the beginning of a war."

  "Surely. To some extent, we know what they are. In a state of emergency, in war and holocaust, he will almost certainly achieve control and get what he wants. We are after a man of steel, you understand, a man with no human compassion, one who will sacrifice the lives of millions of our own people as well as yours—we are well aware of your plans for retaliation if you are attacked—but human misery can mean nothing to such a man.”

  “Listen to me," Durell said earnestly. “We can talk, you and I. We understand each other. Think of my plan to go to my Embassy. It is better than killing. If you assassinate Comrade Z, surely another will take his place.”

  "We can handle any others in the same way.”

  “If you went to Kolyoshin or Drugalovsky—"

  "They are both frightened men.”

  “Do they know what may happen?”

  “Suspicion is everywhere. You do not understand. Forces have been unleashed here by Stalin’s death. Matters are in a state of flux. Death is threatened to everyone in high places. There may be much talk on the international level about our collective leadership, but underneath there are insane tensions and fears. Anything can happen.” Gregori spread his hands. “Look here. Marshall promised us the map. It is marked with the ring of missile bases that face the West from the Arctic Circle to the Black Sea. One of them is circled in red. That is the base Comrade Z will use to fire the first missile.” Gregori sighed. “We ourselves were unable to learn this. But Marshall was successful. You see how necessary it is for us to have the map in order to know just where to ambush Comrade Z on the proper day.”

  "If you do ambush him, how will you be sure that you have identified him correctly?”

  “There will be no mistake.”

  “But how will you know if you don‘t really know who he is?"

  Mikhail came back into the house. His eyes were tense, sliding from Valya to Durell. He turned finally to Gregori.

  “Luganoff is coming. They will be here in five minutes.”

  “So.” Gregori drew a deep breath. “Our American will not give us the map, It is my theory he will do it if we ask Valya. Do you understand?"

  Mikhail’s mouth opened and closed. He began to sweat.

  “Do you understand, Mikhail?"

  “Yes, but—”

  “We have only five minutes. He has it hidden in this house. If we leave here and take him with us, he will have won. Do you object if we—if we make him watch what we do to Valya?”

  Mikhail rubbed a shaking hand over his face. “All right. Go ahead. I will stay outside.”

  Durell felt despair settle over him. He spoke quietly. “It will not be necessary, Mikhail. You can have the map.”

  Valya said, “Do not consider me, Sam. Please.”

  Elena slapped her hand hard across Valya’s face. The blow was like a pistol shot. The deep cut in Valya’s swollen cheek began to bleed again. Nobody moved. Nobody objected.

  Durell shook his head. “'The map is behind the ikon," he said. He nodded toward the little ivory piece in the corner niche of the room. “I put it there last night. It will show you where to go to commit your murder.”

  Chapter Eleven

  THE TUG and the string of barges were almost abreast of the dacha when Gregori signaled from under the willows on the shore. The tug stopped, diesel idling, its screw barely maintaining headway against the push of the current. Vassili hid Valya’s car and his own behind the house while Elena went through the rooms, wiping away fingerprints, cleaning up all trace of their presence. The little group worked smoothly as a compact unit. Mikhail, with the P.38 in his hand, stood guard over Durell and Valya.

  The day was warm, and from across the muddy waters of the river came the smells of spring on the land and the woods beyond the outskirts of the city. The weather had changed sharply for the better.

  There were three men in the crew of the tug, but the outfit was captained by a hurly woman with short gray hair and a face like a bulldog. Neither the woman nor the elderly members of the crew paid any attention to Durell and Valya when they came aboard from the rowboat sent ashore. No conversation was permitted after a sharp order from the woman captain when Durell began to speak to one of the men at work in the stern. He sat on the deck beside Valya in the warm spring sun, looking aft at the string of steel barges behind them. The cargo of the barges was covered by heavy tarpaulins. The tug was powerful despite its battered appearance, and the diesel engines pulsed steadily at a fast rhythm when they got under way again.

  Elena went into the captain’s cabin with Vassili and remained there. Mikhail stood nearby on the stern deck in the sunlight, his face pale as he looked at Valya. Gregori stood guard With the P.38 now hooked in his broad leather belt.

  "Are you all right?” Durell asked the girl quietly in English.

  Valya nodded slowly. “I have been hurt worse before.”

  "Tell me, who is Elena?"

  “She is the leader of our shock unit.” She touched her swollen face. “Elena did not have to do that to me."

  “She thought you were going to help me escape.”

  “That's what I was trying to do."

  “I thought you had betrayed me when I woke up and found Gregori at my throat. I was sure you had called them. I’m sorry, Valya."

  “But you had every right to suspect me. My job was to try to tempt you off guard so I could get the map from you. I tried, did I not?”

  Durell grinned. “And you almost succeeded.”

  “I wish I had. I wish, last night, we had understood each other just a little better." She turned her battered face toward the sun. “The weather is good. The winter was very cruel. I could sit in the sun all day, forever, like this with you.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “Not more than two days. The missile attack is scheduled for May Day, at noon.” Her hand touched his as they sat together on the deck; she leaned against the bulkhead of the tug’s cabin. “You were right. I should have helped you reach your Embassy last night. It is not that I Want to betray these people. They are my friends—-Vassili and Gregori. I never liked Elena. She is too cruel. But you must understand them, and when you do you will forgive them. Life has been hard for all of us.”

  “W
ill you help me if we get a chance to escape?” he asked.

  She looked at him with a clear gaze. “I will do anything you ask, Sam. I trust you now. I was a fool last night."

  “Not altogether,” he said gently. Her hand was cold and trembling slightly in his. “Perhaps now we can help each other.”

  “It is too late. They will hold us hostage until Z is killed.”

  “Do you think Gregori will release us then? Or will he kill us to insure our silence?"

  She shivered in the warm sun. “He will kill us,“ she said quietly.

  Mikhail suddenly pushed away from the tug‘s rail on the stern and stood in front of Durell and Valya. “You will stop talking in English.” His thin face was clouded with anger. “Valya, come with me. I want to talk to you.”

  “I prefer to stay here,” she said with a lift of her head.

  "Are you angry with me, Valya?” Mikhail asked.

  “No. Not angry.”

  “Disappointed, then?"

  “In a way. Yes."

  “I could not stop Elena. You understand that,” he said earnestly. “Surely you know I would never have let her hurt you as she did if I could have prevented it.“

  “You did nothing whatever to help me.”

  "Please. I cannot talk in front of this foreigner. Come with me where we can talk alone.”

  “No.” Mikhail looked at Durell with flat eyes. “Leave her, gospodin. Go below.”

  “I prefer to stay here, too,” Durell said quietly.

  “Do as you are ordered!”

  “I think Valya prefers my company to yours, Mikhail."

  Durell stood up with a quick, fluid movement. “Stop bothering her. She doesn’t want anything more to do with you.”

  Mikhail turned white with anger. His eyes were pale, opaque with mute rage. Corded muscles jumped and wriggled along the line of his jaw. Mikhail slid a sidewise glance at Gregori‘s barrel-like figure leaning indolently on the rail.

  “Gregorivitch, you are in command here." His voice trembled. “This American is our prisoner. Does he obey orders or not?"

  “You have lost your sense of perspective, Miko,” Gregori rumbled. “Leave the girl alone. What the American says is true—Valya prefers his company to yours. As for his being our prisoner, let us say, rather, that he is our guest for the next few days.“