Assignment Moon Girl (21 page)

“When I pull,” he whispered, “let go of the step and swing
out.”

“I’ll fall!” she gasped.

“Use your other hand for a grip on the edge of the wood. Try
to make one movement of it. Understand?”

“Let me stay here.”

“You can‘t give up now. Here we go.”

He pulled hard at her wrist before her fears took complete
command of her. She gave a small cry, and her weight suddenly wrenched at his
arms and pulled him partly into the pit again. Then her free hand flailed up
and he caught it and hauled back hard. Her body scraped painfully against the
splintery edges of the broken planks. Then her head and shoulders appeared. He pulled
back until he was on his knees and she came up and out of the pit and fell on
the sand before him, sobbing.

They were free.

But from below came a sudden roar of loud, frustrated fury
as the tiger realized they had escaped.

The sound bellowed up in waves that seemed to reverberate
against the paling sky. Durell cursed and helped the girl to her feet. She
leaned heavily against him, shuddering in the cold wind that swept the
mountainside.

They were on a natural terrace above the little valley in
the peak’s shoulder that he had explored on his first venture here. The
terrace formed an area that jutted out above the desert floor like the
prow of an enormous ship. It had been smoothed over long ago, and some of the
great slabs of flooring stone were still visible through the drifting
sand that had tumbled down from the summit above. Here and there, the ruins of temple
colonnades leaned against the night sky. The columns were massive, but eroded,
their pediments tumbled in great chunks of carved stone that were strewn all
about. An alley of columnar bases led Durell to the left, and he drew the girl
that way. About fifty yards from where they had climbed from the cave, they
came to the circular hole of the first pit in which they had been
imprisoned. The girl shuddered and drew back.

“Where are we?” she whispered.

“Iskander’s Garden. A palace and fortress built by Alexander,
according to legend. But it looks more like the work of the ancient Persians.”

“Why has no one discovered it before?”

“Most of the Dasht-i-Kavir has never been surveyed. I
suppose in time, and soon enough, they’ll map it aerially and discover this
spot. But they haven’t yet. It makes an ideal rebel headquarters.”

“But I see no one.”

“Let’s hope we don’t, for the time being.”

He had kept the iron bar used as a prize for the cistern
cap, and he weighed it in his hands tentatively. It was a poor weapon against
what he expected to meet. The frustrated roars of the tiger in the caves below sounded
muted for a moment, then came up louder than before. The beast had followed
them to the first pit, and now paced and ran in circles far below them.

There was a blush of true dawn in the east. The wind blew
cold, mourning about the ruined temples where they stood. In the pale light,
Durell saw a footpath that Mahmoud must have beaten on his regular rounds to
feed and water the tiger and themselves. The trail dipped out of sight behind
the ruin of a low wall. In the dawning light, he surveyed the soaring cliff
that rose from the widest base of the triangular terrace on which they stood.
Tanya took his hand. Her fingers felt cold.

“How can we climb down from here?”

“We can’t. Not yet, anyway.”

He led her along the path that twisted away from the pit.
The tiger’s roars followed, growing dimmer. The beast sounded lonely. Where the
trail went around the end of the wall, Durell halted.

An ancient gateway had been cut into the rock face of the
cliff, adorned with winged bulls whose outlines had been softened by wind
erosion through the ages. It could have been a tomb, once, when there was a way
up to this plateau. Perhaps it had been through the valley and gate into the
caves he had entered before. But it did not seem to be enough, if this mountain
had been a. fortress supporting thousands of men-at-arms, priests, captains,
and nobles.

He was about to step from behind the sheltering wall when he
heard dragging footsteps come up the path from the cliff gate. He warned Tanya
back with a wave of his hand. It was only one man. There came a mumbling of
Farsi, a protest against the chilly dawn. A moment later, a man came into sight
around the ruins, heading for the pit.

“Mahmoud!” Durell called softly.

The man paused, startled. He did not see Durell and the
girl, at first. His head turned this way and that. He wore a whitish
shirt and old trousers and a pair of fine military boots. Durell liked
the boots. He was still barefooted, and except for the boots, he had the
complete costume he needed. Mahmoud would have to provide the rest, he decided.

“Mahmoud!” Durell called again.

And then he hit him.

The man went over backward and then tried to scramble away
like a wriggling snake. Durell jumped for him, saw the open mouth and
snaggle
-toothed grimace, spitting and ready to screech an
alarm. He took the iron bar and jammed it across Mahmoud’s throat and pressed
hard on it, not with all his weight, because he wanted Mahmoud to talk; but the
pressure was enough to make Mahmoud leap in convulsion. For a moment, he almost
escaped. Then Durell returned his weight to the bar and flattened on top
of the writhing body. The man’s breath wheezed and rasped, and he

began to retch. Durell let up a bit.

“Do you want to die?” he whispered.

The man’s eyes bulged, pleading.

“Then be silent,” Durell said. '

He eased up a bit more. Mahmoud sucked in a great lungful of
air. He smelled of sweat, rancid fat, and onions. He had a thin, scarred face
with flaring nostrils.

“How did you—escape again?” the man gasped.

Durell’s command of the language was just good enough to
make himself understood. “Allah helps those who fight for justice. Where
are the soldiers?”

“Soldiers?”

“There are troops and arms and trucks here, ready for the
revolution.”

Mahmoud sighed. “Yes.”

“Where are they?”

“Inside the mountain.”

“Through that gate?”

“Yes.”

“And Har-Buri?”

“I do not know.”

“Are the Chinese here? Ta-Po and his woman?”

“I do not know.”

“And the Russian professor?”

“I do not—”

Durell put the bar across Mahmoud’s throat again. The dawn
light was brighter now, touched at the eastern horizon with flaming
color. In the sky, a vulture began to float in circles high above the
mountaintop.

“I hate to send you to Paradise in such ignorance,” Durell
said quietly. “You have only one more chance to speak the truth.”

He pressed down again on the man’s throat. Mahmoud made only
one more effort to resist. His body flung this way and that, his arms
flapping in the cold morning air. His legs
spasmed
.
Tanya made a murmuring sound, but Durell did not relent. When Mahmoud’s eyes
bulged and his tongue protruded, he let up briefly. Mahmoud seemed unable
to breathe, clawing at his throat. Durell drew back a bit and waited.

“General—Har-Buri—will execute me,” the man gasped.

“So he’s a general now?”

“He leads the National Freedom Army—"

“He is here?"

“Yes.”

“That's better. And the others?”

“Yes, yes!”

“Tell me the way.”

Mahmoud made a spitting sound. He could recover quickly.
“They will slice you into little pieces and feed you to the vultures. Both of
you. There is no way, for you.”

“Yes, there is. Take off your boots, Mahmoud. I need them.
Then get up.”

Mahmoud did as he was told, and Durell squeezed his bare
feet into the military boots with some misgivings. When Mahmoud struggled to
his feet, Durell shoved him toward the gateway. “Lead on. If we’re stopped or
challenged, I am Colonel Awazi, sent by General Har-Buri to bring the girl to
him.”

Mahmoud’s face wrinkled with terror. “But that will not be
accepted! They will know it is a trick!”

“That’s up to you. If you’re not convincing, we’re all dead.
You had better try very hard, Mahmoud.”

Durell patted the man’s filthy clothing for weapons, and
found a long-bladed knife. The sun was up now, red and baleful on the desert
horizon. The wind died. Long morning shadows were cast by the columns that stood
on the plateau. The vulture in the sky was joined by several others.

The gateway in the cliff proved bigger than Durell had
thought, as they approached. New iron doors had been fitted into the
massive masonry. A single exit door stood open. Durell gave Mahmoud a
cautionary warning as they drew near, and the man licked his lips and nodded
his scabby head.

They stepped into a great, vaulted chamber, illuminated by
crude strings of electric lights dangling from improvised wiring in the stone
ceiling. Whatever archeological treasures may have once been here had long been
removed. The place was a barracks, filled with soldiers.

Mahmoud halted, and Durell and Tanya flanked him.
Durell kept the point of the knife hidden, pricking Mahmoud’s left kidney. Most
of the soldiers were asleep on tiers of bunks built against the rock walls. They
wore uniforms, and against the wall were racks of rifles, anti-tank
rocket launchers, machine guns, and mortars. A man with big sergeant’s stripes
on his short shirtsleeves yawned sleepily at a desk at the far end of the big
room.

“Keep going,” Durell murmured in Farsi.

“I—I am afraid.”

“Walk!”

They crossed the room under the curious gaze of those
soldiers who were awake in their bunks. The sergeant scrubbed his eyes, rubbed
flattened hands over his mouth, and gave Durell’s colonel’s pips a sloppy
salute. His interest was centered on Tanya.

“Good morning, Colonel. . . . Mahmoud, you idiot, what are
you doing with the woman?”

“G-general Har-Buri sent for her, Sergeant.”

Durell said easily: “I am Colonel Awazi, Sergeant, of the
Egyptian Army, in liaison with the general.”

“The girl is dangerous. She should have a guard.”

Durell hoped he had explained his accent. He smiled. “Where
could she go? Off the cliff?”

The sergeant laughed. He had bad teeth. “I hear she was a
prisoner, with an American spy. Both of them are spies.”

“Times have changed, Sergeant,” Durell said easily. “It
makes things difficult in our part of the world. Not so easy to play one off
against the other, eh? But the general is impatient to see us. There must be no
delay.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen you before, Colonel.”

The sergeant picked a pistol off his desk and handled it with
apparent carelessness. “What is the matter with Mahmoud? Granted, he is nothing
but an idiot dog we found here, but he shakes like a frightened cur.”

For a moment, Durell thought that Mahmoud would blow
everything. He nudged the point of his hidden knife against the man’s kidneys.
Mahmoud jumped slightly.

“It is nothing, sir," Mahmoud said hastily. “I had a bad
night. The general is in an evil mood, and he frightens me."

“But we move out tonight. An evil humor is not a good sign.”

“He is anxious to talk to this girl, Sergeant.”

“Very well,” the soldier said abruptly. “Go ahead.”

Mahmoud hurried forward out of the barracks room, with
Durell and Tanya following close behind. The sergeant yawned and settled back
in his chair. But it was plain that Mahmoud had used the last of his resources
to get by the sergeant. Cowardice claimed his last strength. Beyond the
barracks room was a long, tunneled corridor that sloped into the heart of the mountain.
Once it had been part of ancient fortifications, or tombs; but modern
machinery had secretly drilled and widened the honeycombed mountain, and the
walls were now reinforced with concrete, and lit by more strings of electric
bulbs that drew their power source from a generator deep in the bowels of the
rock. Ten steps into the tunnel, and Mahmoud clutched at his chest and gagged
and leaned against the wall. His color was gray, and his breathing ragged.

“I cannot go—go on.”

“You must,” Durell said adamantly.

“You can kill me here. Cut my throat. Thrust into my heart.
No matter. I cannot go on.”

“You were brave enough when you guarded the pit.”

“I did only what I was told,” Mahmoud gasped.

“All right. How do we get to the general?”

“Down this tunnel. Up the steps. His private apartment.
Headquarters. Many maps. Many officers there.”

A small door stood partly open down the shaft. Durell shoved
Mahmoud ahead and opened the door to reveal a treasure-trove. It was an arms
locker. Neatly stacked on shelves and in crates were grenades, machine pistols,
a few heavy machine guns. He pushed Mahmoud inside, took rope from the crates,
and swiftly bound and gagged the terrified man. Then he chose two
grenades and a. machine pistol and offered another gun to Tanya. She shook her
head.

“No, I will kill no one.”

“They will tear us to pieces, if we’re caught

“To escape quietly is acceptable. To shoot and kill and bomb
is not for me.”

She had changed back to her cool, detached self. Durell
swore softly. Her long, pale hair fell around her face. In her ragged shorts,
she showed lovely legs, a fine figure. She was a walking invitation
to any irresponsible officer they met.

He did not like to abandon Mahmoud, but they might be better
off without him now. He shoved the two grenades inside his shirt and closed and
bolted the arms-locker door. The last he saw of Mahmoud was the man’s gleaming,
ratty eyes. He wondered if it was triumph and malicious humor that shone there.
He couldn’t be sure. But in a few moments, it wouldn’t matter. '

“Let’s go,” he told Tanya.

“But where are we going?”