Assignment Afghan Dragon (14 page)

“Your brother is an art collector?” Durell finally asked. “Of sorts, of sorts.” Nuri Qam waved a disparaging hand. “You see here only a small part of his collections. He can grow very passionate one moment, and neglect it all the next. It is not of our concern.”

“The thought occurs to me,” said Durell, “that perhaps he would like what we call the Afghan Dragon added to his private collection.”

“Yes, I realized the thought would occur to you, Sam. But you must put it from your mind at once. It is an intolerable idea. Truly, we must not begin with mistrust.”

“That’s how I survive in my business,” Durell said. “But. then,” Nuri smiled, “why would I have sent for you, a man of your reputation and esteem, a man who is feared by both Russian and Chinese alike? Yes, your capacities, your professional abilities, are well known to me. I never forgot about you, you see. I have followed your career with the utmost interest. And of all the men in the world, I have turned to you.”

“To recover the dragon,” Durell said flatly.

“Yes. Naturally.”

“For whom?” he asked quietly.

Nuri Qam’s dark eyes were subtle. “For my government, naturally. It is ours.”

“Is it worth the threat of an invasion?”

“We have our pride.”

“Will Kabul give it back to the Chinese People’s Republic, who claim the dragon?”

“Never.” Nuri was emphatic. “It is a matter of national honor. We will not be bullied over it. We are quite without fear, whatever private threats Peking makes.”

“And the Soviets? Where do they come into it?”

“They would merely like to embarrass Peking by gaining possession of the dragon. This is a matter that does not concern me.”

“It concerns me,” Durell said, thinking of Fingal. “Why are you hiding here, Nuri, in this place, which is like a fortress?”

“I fear for my life, and the lives of my wives and children. They are all sheltered here. Certain political enemies would like me removed because I made several embarrassing mistakes in this matter.” Nuri struggled to his feet, his ponderous weight getting in his way. “Come. We shall talk upstairs.”

“This room is good enough,” Durell said. He remained seated. “You want me to find the dragon?”

“Of course. Why else—?”

“But I think you have it already, Nuri,” Durell said.

Nuri Qam looked at Durell as if he were lost in a sudden dream. Durell rose softly to his feet.

“How long have you been in Meshed, Sam?” Nuri asked vacantly.

“Since noon.”

“Nine hours, then.”

“Yes, nine hours.”

“And here, in this country?”

“Almost two days.”

“Two days. And I sent for you four days ago?”

“So I was told.”

“Yes, on Monday. And in so short a time, you have come to the conclusion that I, who sent for you to find it, have the dragon?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“The Russians don’t have it; they’re killing for it. They killed the contact man, Homer Fingal; did you know that, Nuri?”

“No, I was not told.”

“The Chinese don’t have it, either; they’re looking for it and they’re ready to kill for it, too. They have two Afghanis as muscle men and a Chinese controller, a Mr. Chou. Ever heard of him?”

“No, I—”

“There is also a German couple working for the Chinese, right?”

“I don’t know about them, either.”

“And Berghetti has vanished. Tell me about Professor Berghetti,” Durell suggested.

Nuri Qam spoke as if to the warm night air blowing in through the Moorish arches around the terrace. “I was afraid of leaks. I was afraid of someone else learning about it. Berghetti was foolish, but he did not talk, except to me. Yet it reached the newspapers and the world; it went to Peking and Moscow. I was appalled. But these things do happen. There are always ears that listen, tongues that wag. So I was afraid. I do not want to die yet, although the time will come when Allah calls for me, and I will have to go. But I enjoy life. There is time enough for Paradise, eh?”

“Berghetti,” Durell reminded him.

“He was put in custody, on my orders, in Herat, across the border. I went from Kabul to interview him. I was coming this way, anyway, to visit my brother here and his family. Berghetti finally showed me the dragon. He was very contrite. He admitted he had made a foolish mistake, trying to smuggle it out of Afghanistan.”

“You actually saw the dragon? It exists?”

“Oh, yes. On my word. It is real enough.”

“And what happened to Berghetti?”

“I gave him his parole. You must understand—” Nuri Qam paused and swallowed and spread his fat hands. The jeweled rings flashed in the light. “I was fascinated. I share my brother’s love for antiquities, for the beauties of the past, for jewels and fine art objects. It is a passion with me, not as much as it is with my brother, but a passion, nonetheless. I talked for hours with Berghetti, after he told me where he had hidden the dragon and I saw it. We talked about his digs and what he found and where. We—I thought we were friends. I was prepared to advocate leniency for his attempt to smuggle the treasure out of Afghanistan. It was a mistake. He betrayed me. He escaped and took back the dragon, which I was holding personally in my possession.”

“And no word from him since?”

“Oh, yes. He tried to make his way to Pakistan, through Qali-i-Kang, in the Afghan Seistan, where he made his find originally. Then he went by road to Farahrod and Ghirisk toward the eastern border. A foolish man, as I said. He is still in that region. Privately jailed. With the rest of his treasures made secure. None of his other finds were as important as the dragon, of course, but still—of great value. Yes, great value.” Qam all but smacked his lips. “He can rot there in that provincial jail, for all I care.”

“But you kept the dragon. He didn’t really get it back from you, did he?” Durell said.

“Yes. The Chinese want it. Kabul wants it, of course. The Soviets want it just to stir up trouble. And I want it, too, of course.”

Durell said, “Where is it, Nuri?”

“Here. In this room. Just over there.”

Durell moved quietly across the long, narrow chamber, aware of the beautiful ornamentation that surrounded him; he felt as if he were in some palace of the Caliph Harun el-Raschid, of bygone days. In the year 817 Ali Reza had died after asking to be buried next to the Caliph of Baghdad, his archenemy, as a sign of vindication and rebuke. Those were the days and nights of bloody daggers and subtle poisons, Durell thought. He watched the stout figure of Nuri Qam from a corner of his eye, never letting the man out of his sight.

The box was small, about twelve inches square and nine inches deep. It was crusted with pearls and ornate gold, with gilded hasps for the lid and inlaid mother-of-pearl again set in script from the Koran. In itself, the box was a treasure. It was relatively new, however, and obviously had not lain buried in the Afghan deserts for a thousand years before Professor Berghetti and his crew of hippie workers dug it up. Durell lifted the box gently and was surprised by its weight.

“There is no keyhole,” he said.

“And no key,” said Nuri Qam.

“Open it.”

“It’s a secret.”

“I want to see the dragon, Nuri. This was supposed to be a simple search and delivery job. I want to see what I’m supposed to deliver. Open it, Nuri.”

“Very well, Sam.”

Durell wondered if Nuri Qam had a weapon under his loose blouse or in the baggy trousers tucked into his soft boots. The Afghani took the box from him and held it in a certain way, turning its narrow end toward him; he pressed it against his bulging belly, his fingers moving over the inlay of nacre, and there came a small, well-oiled click. The lid sprang up.

Durell did not take the box from Nuri Qam’s hands.

“Lift it out,” he said.

“So. You do not trust me, Sam?”

“You still have some things to explain.”

“In good time, old friend. Yes, all will be made clear. So here is the dragon, this thing that nations will quarrel over and threaten dreadful war. A thing of beauty, but not so beautiful as to warrant the death of millions. Merely an excuse for war. A spur to the showdown between our monstrous neighbors to the north, eh? Here. The dragon.”

Even in Durell’s eyes, he knew he was looking at something of exquisite, classical beauty.

There was something of the T’ang style in the translucent jade body of the dragon, in the manner in which the vicious little head was raised, the way the ruby eyes glared with a malevolence a thousand years old. Between its golden fangs, cunningly locked within the jaws, was a large, gleaming pearl. The tiny back was tipped with gold, as were the upraised claws. The projecting tongue was another exquisitely shaped ruby. But the intrinsic value of the statuette had nothing to do with the price it might command in the world’s art market. Five million was a low estimate of its price. It felt extraordinarily heavy in his hands.

“The belly,” Nuri Qam said softly. His dark eyes gleamed with passion. “It carries in its belly an egg of solid gold.”

It did, indeed. Durell stared at it for a moment more, then lifted it and returned it to its carved box. Nuri Qam snapped the fid shut with a small click.

“Let him stay in darkness for a little longer,” Qam murmured. “He did not mind waiting for ten centuries. He was a secret appeal, you know, from Prince Chan to the local rulers; a bribe to resist the Mongol hordes. An appeal for war and massacre, to turn the Hamun lakes red with blood. And so it happened. But it was the Mongols who made their mountains of skulls from the heads of their enemies. And the dragon slept until now.”

Durell said, “He could awaken new monsters to ravage the world.”

“Yes, he could.”

“So you had it all along?”

“Yes.”

“To keep for yourself?”

“I fled from Herat with it, across the border, to this sanctuary.” Nuri Qam’s voice trembled slightly now. “I was in fear of my life. I still am. I could appeal to no one. Not even my government would help me. It was—how would you say it, so inelegantly—a hot potato. Only if I can appear in Kabul with it can I reinstate myself against the wishes of my political enemies. And I cannot take it there myself. Someone—deliberately, I am sure—has been threatening the airlines with bombs, kidnapping, skyjacking. So security is very tight. If I carried the dragon into the airport to board a plane, it would be discovered in the routine of special search now going on among the passengers. I do not want that to happen. I doubt if I could even reach the airport alive, eh? But you came here, Sam, all the way from the States. You are here now. I begin to believe you can do anything. You can take the dragon for me.”

Durell said, “Overland? By car? It’s a long, long drive.”

“You can do it.”

“I’d rather not,” Durell said.

“But you were lent to me for this purpose, Sam.”

“No, thanks.”

“You are afraid? Like me?”

“You’re damned right I’m afraid. I wouldn’t want to lose it.”

“But I have prepared everything for your trip.” Nuri Qam put the little casket down and wrung his hands. “I have a very powerful car, a Ferrari, and all the papers you will need. There is a secret compartment in the car in which to hide the dragon. No one can find it, and I do not think the information could be tortured from you. Me, I would babble like a brook at the first hint of pain, eh? Besides, there is Professor Berghetti, still at Qali-i-Kang.”

“What about him?”'

“He knows where the rest of the treasure is. It is on your way. You can get it from him. The local jail at Kang where he is being kept on charges of drug smuggling—I have friends who can arrange such things—is not beyond your ability to reach. You can pick up Berghetti and the rest of Prince Chan’s treasure—nothing so consequential as the dragon, of course, but one hates to waste such important finds—and go the rest of the way to Kabul with it.”

“No.”

“Sam—”

“Unless you come with me.”

Nuri Qam pressed his hands flat against his fat chest in an expression of horror. “I? I would only be in your way, Sam.”

“You’d be my insurance policy.”

“More likely, your death warrant!”

Durell waited. The exquisite room was very quiet. Dimly, from across the terrace, he heard the caged birds still chirping. Someone walked out there with a soft
slap-slap
of slippers. The moonlight touched the stone fretwork with silver and outlined the dark balconies across the terrace. The night was hot. He imagined most of the household was already tucked into their beds on the sleeping terraces, as was the custom at this time of year in Meshed.

“Sam, please help me with this. The car is out in the back, in the new garage. Keys, petrol, everything. Extra money for you in the dash compartment. There is an automatic rifle in the luggage boot. The hiding place for the box is just beyond it, against the back panel of the trunk. You press the upper right comer and at the same time you press diagonally opposite. Hide the dragon in there. Please, do this for me, Sam. Your government promised—and for old time’s sake—”

The shot came from somewhere outside, on the balcony opposite across the terrace, near the bird cages.

There was no sound except for a slight, flat noise, as if a silencer had been used. The bullet was accurate enough, but Durell never knew if it was meant for him or Nuri Qam. He felt its passage next to his head and then Nuri’s breath exploded in a stifled screech. Blood suddenly spattered and spread across the left shoulder of his white silk shirt. The impact of the bullet knocked the fat man side-wise and down, crashing against the inlaid cabinet from which he had taken the dragon. Durell’s reaction was smooth and fast. He went spinning to the left and down, and at the same time he reached for the little casket falling from Nuri Qam’s grasp.

A woman began to scream in a high, ululating voice. It was cut off abruptly, as if a knife had sliced across her throat.

Footsteps pattered across the terrace. Durell rolled over against the far well and saw Nuri Qam squirm painfully up against the cabinet, half-seated, his eyes incredulously watching the blood seep from his shoulder wound. No question about taking Nuri with him now. He slid along the tiled floor as another shot came through the fretwork, chipping stone and smashing into the wall over his head. He tried to count the pairs of footsteps racing across the terrace, but there were too many of them. The attack on the villa had come with speed, silence, efficiency, and overwhelming strength.