Assignment Moon Girl (13 page)

“I do not understand you, Mr. Sam.”

“Once I speak, he’ll kill me, right?”

“I think not.”

“Then he’ll smuggle me secretly to Peking for a long and
leisurely agony in L-5’s dungeons. You work for L-5?”

“I am only Madame Hung’s assistant.

“I’ll bet.”

“I am not Ta-Po’s concubine. That’s old-fashioned and
bourgeois and stupid. In socialist societies, women have equal freedom to work,
study, and love.”

“You’re a dear,” Durell said.

“Let me make you warm.”

She slid to the floor beside him. Her robe was very
thin. She was shivering, too. She smelled of flower petals and lemon. Her
breath was delicately spiced with an elusive fragrance. Her soft
underlip
crushed itself against his mouth. Her body was
deliciously curved and rounded. He felt the heat of her through his borrowed
slacks and decided she either enjoyed her work thoroughly or was sincere.

“Help me get away,” he whispered.

“I will."

“Now.”

“It is not the right time. I cannot. Later, tonight. Near
dawn.”

“Lotus, you’re a bit too much.”

She giggled. “You like me, a little?”

“Obviously, more than a little.”

She giggled again. “Always, I dream of a man like you. I
hear such tales of American men. You are brave. You are like a tiger. I know
your dossier complete, from memory. And I hate Ta-Po, oh, so much! And I’m
afraid of her.”

“Madame Hung?”

“She is a monster. Oh, I am afraid of what she will do to
you when she loses patience! . . . Do you like that?”

“Very much.”

“Have you had many lovely women?”

“None like you, Lotus. None like this.”

She laughed. “You feel helpless, because your hands are
tied?”

“I’m missing so much,” he said. “Why not take oil the
straps?”

“Tell me where to find Tanya.”

“To hell with Tanya. That
cold
stick can take care of herself.”

“But I must have something to tell Ta-Po. Otherwise, he will
be very angry with me.”

“All this was his idea?”

“It amuses him to think so.”

“You suggested it?”

“I am too modest to say.”

“I like your modesty. Keep it that way.”

Her body trembled above him. She put her face to his and he
was amazed to feel the warm slide of tears on her young cheeks. Then she pushed
herself up and reached with one hand for something she had placed on the floor
nearby, and he saw the glitter of a knife. It looked very sharp. A clutch of
cold fear grabbed at his groin.

“You know what Madame Hung suggested I do?”

“Don’t tell me what that bitch thinks of doing.”

“She said when I have you like this, I should unman you.
Ssst
! One quick slice with this blade—”

“Lotus—”

“It frightens you?”

“Yes.”

“Then tell me about Tanya.”

“She’s on the moon,” he said quickly.

Lotus looked blank. Her thick, scented hair made a screen
beside her face, brushing his brow. “The moon?”

“She went back.”

“Oh, that’s not so.”

“It is. That’s why she can’t be found.” Durell spoke with
quiet care. “Now, put away that knife. You’ve lost your chance. Fear does that
to men.”

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have done it, anyway.”

She rolled aside and sat up. Her robe was gathered about her
waist, She looked at him thoughtfully, then stood and shook the robe down
demurely, not smiling. Without a word, she left the stone room. The door bolts
shot home with solid thuds.

He did not have long to wait. It was Madame Hung’s turn. He
did not even hear her come in, until he caught the faint hiss of her
pearl-embroidered slippers on the hard floor. Then there came a sudden
gasp, and the quick stumble of footsteps, and Lotus was thrown down beside him.
She lay there with her glossy hair loose and tangled. There was blood on her
right hand, and one finger looked broken. She breathed in and out with
her pain and would not look at him. Durell lifted his head and tried to sit up,
but the leather thongs made it difficult.

“Such a fool,” Madame Hung whispered.

Durell said nothing. He was afraid, again. She was a woman
who could inspire fear in anyone.

“Lotus is a romantic,” Madame Hung said. “I always suspected
it. Her training has been futile. But until now, she was useful, although one
cannot always predict human behavior. One day, it will be perfected. The
stupidity of the human race will make it possible. The masses will be
controlled and conditioned into docility. For their own good, of course. For
the greater glory of the communist state.”

“Cheers,” said Durell.

“Your morale remains high?”

“Not really.”

“Lotus really should have mutilated you.”

He said nothing. His fear deepened. It was a primitive,
atavistic emotion that he couldn’t help.

“Now tell me where to find my beloved daughter.”

“Tanya?”

“Tanya is my daughter. I want her back.”

“She returned to the moon.”

The woman seemed to dissolve into a writhing fury. Durell
didn’t even see what she hit him with. There was metal in it, a whip with a
score of biting, slashing, agonizing tips. His shirt was torn to ribbons in
seconds. His chest, belly and groin became one vast, incredible pain. Through
the whistle and thump, he heard Madame Hung’s breath hiss in and out with the
effort. Her face came and went, shadowed by the lamp. He had never believed
such malignancy could exist in human features.

She paused at last, and gasped, “Well?”

“It would be easy for you to join her,” he whispered.

“How? Tell me, quickly!”

“Just get on your broom and take off for the sky.”

More pain. He blacked out, mercifully, for a time. He awoke,
shuddering. His body was a mass of agony. Even if he were free of the straps,
he didn’t think he could move. He knew he was going to die if it kept up. He
cursed Madame Hung feebly. He didn’t even have much strength for that.

She was still there. But Lotus had moved. He wondered if
Lotus still had the knife.

“American spy, imperialist agent, I will ask only once more.
Do not tell me that my poor, deluded daughter has gone back to the moon. I am
in no mood for your Western humor. I am never amused. You made stupid Lotus
believe it, and she paid for her foolishness. I am not stupid. I am not weak.
Do you understand?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said quietly.

“Then tell me where Tanya is. For the last time.”

“I don’t know,” he sighed.

“So.”

There was a finality about the word. He tried to see
beyond the glare of light in his eyes. She was a gaunt shadow, a shadow of
death, impossible to avoid, inexorable. She would enjoy killing him. She might
do it slowly, but he hoped, dimly, through his pain, that it might come fast. .
. .

The shadows blurred and flashed, and there came a
clang of tin from the lampshade, a wild scintillation of light and shadow,
flashes of impossible color. There was a scream. There was a sudden gush
of vituperation and Chinese oaths. It came from Madame Hung, but rage and fear
pitched her voice beyond her normal sibilant range, The scuffling went
on. Durell tried to wriggle aside. Someone stepped on his belly. He rolled
again, found himself face down, hands strapped across his kidneys, legs and
thighs rigid with more straps. He smelled concrete dust in his nostrils. He
smelled death. The light-shade clanged again. Dazzling blindness came, then
swooping angles of black.

The lamp rocked on its wire tether.

Everything was silent.

His back crawled. He heard footsteps.

“M-Mr. Sam?”

“Lotus?”

“Are you all right?”

“No.”

“Can you walk?”

”I’ll try.”

“We will escape together. I told you, she is a monster.”

“Did you kill her?”

“No. She is only unconscious.”

“I wish you’d killed her. Cut me loose.”

“Will you help me later, Mr. Sam?”

“Anything you say. Hurry.”

The leather was slashed through. She was nervous, and nicked
his wrists with the point of the knife. It didn’t matter. His arms came loose,
but he couldn’t move them. Then his legs. They were a little better. Lotus
rolled him over. She was weeping. Her eyes were dark pools of terror.

“Oh, what is the matter with you, Mr. Sam?”

“I’ve had too much exercise.”

He made a great effort, and found he could move his arms,
after all, although his shoulders cracked and creaked. He sat up, and wished he
hadn’t. His stomach didn’t want to bend any more. Lotus put her arms around
him. She had changed her clothes, but they were a bit the worse for wear from
having been thrown to the floor beside him. The blood had clotted on her
hand. Her little finger still looked broken. He managed to take her
injured hand and kissed it.

“Thank you, Lotus.”

“Oh, hurry, please!”

“As fast as I can.”

He stood up. After that, it came easier.

Chapter Eleven

HANNIGAN said, “For God’s sake!”

He pursed his lips, made clucking sounds, brushed his thick
Iranian-type moustache. His homely face puckered with astonishment, His green
eyes reflected amazement. Durell thought he looked beautiful.

“Why did you do it, Cajun?”

“I wanted to learn something. They think Tanya really was on
the moon.”

“But of course she was!”

“And they want her very, very badly.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“The Russians,” Durell said.

“But they’re raising hell—”

“Quietly. Diplomatically. Politely. Why aren’t they banging
shoes on their desks at the U.N.?”

“Things are different in Moscow now.”

“I wonder. Not that different.”

“So you went through it just to learn this?”

“Every
ickle
makes a
mickle
," Durell said.

“You’re delirious, man,” said Hannigan.

He was in his room at the Royal Teheran. It occurred to him
that he’d only been in it long enough to drop his bag when he first
arrived from Istanbul. How long ago had that been? He wasn’t sure anymore.

Hannigan had gotten a doctor from the embassy. The doctor
was serious and discreet and told Durell he had to go to a hospital for at
least two weeks. Durell asked him to tape up his ribs and prod his stomach.

“Your spleen may be ruptured,” the doctor said.

“I’ll vent it on her,” said Durell.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Madame Hung. I’m going to kill her.”

Hannigan ordered the doctor out. All through the
examination, Lotus sat beside the bed, shivering. It was almost dawn. Hannigan
had people out in the corridor, down in the lobby, and out on the street. The
room was secure. Durell felt as if he were wrapped in cotton-wool and stowed
away in a vault. He wondered what had been done with Colonel Saajadi’s body,
and what would happen when Iranian Security missed one of their top offices. He
might soon face a choice of deportation, jail. or a firing squad.

“I wish you hadn’t killed him,” Hannigan said worriedly.
“Even if he was a traitor, you can’t prove a bit of it. Neither can you prove
that Ta-Po is openly backing Har-Buri. Maybe I’d better signal for somebody to
take your place, Cajun. You should be in a hospital, anyway.”

“No, I’ll stick with it. It’s personal, now.” Durell looked
at Lotus, who sat with her hands folded in her lap, eyes downcast. “What I have
to do now is find Professor Ouspanaya. He’s in Teheran, you say?”

“He was, yes. Not now. The Soviets moved him to their resort
house on the Caspian. One of my people saw them hustle him away, early last
night.”

“Can you give me directions to this place?"

“Sure, Sam, but what good will it do? They won’t let you
talk to Ouspanaya.”

“I think they will. I have some pointed questions to ask
about Tanya.”

Hannigan pulled at his moustache. “Where is she, by the
way?”

“I wish I knew, but I don’t.”

“That’s the truth? Then what about Har-Buri’s hideout? Can
you draw me a map to the place? It shouldn’t be kept just in your head, Cajun.”

“All right,” Durell agreed. “But use it only if I don’t come
back. Then you can turn it over to Iranian I.S., if you know anybody there you
can trust.”

Hannigan looked at Lotus. “What about this child? What can
we do about her? We owe her something for helping you out of Saajadi’s house.
But the C.P.R. people will raise hell about her, knowing she’s come over to
us.”

“Lotus?” Durell said. She looked up, and her dark lashes
made lovely black fans against her peach-tinted cheek. “Do you want to come
with me?”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Can you drive a car?”

“Yes, I am very good operator. I drive Madame Hung, as part
of my job.”