Assignment Madeleine Page 10

  “Aren’t we wasting precious time and mileage this way?” she demanded.

  “It may be the best way to avoid the rebels.”

  “But even if we went directly, it would take four hours to reach the coast,” she objected. “Going this way, we won't make it until late afternoon. This pokey old truck doesn’t go much over thirty.”

  “Sometimes the straightest distance between two points can be the long way around,” Durell said.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t interfere. It’s just that I’m so anxious to get home,” Jane said.

  She turned her head and looked through the flap into the interior of the truck. The first thing she saw was Charles L’Heureux’ eyes. He grinned at her. All she could see of Chet was his shoulder and the back of his head as he leaned forward on the bench to keep a lookout through the rear flap. The French girl, Madeleine, sat stiffly across from the prisoner. There was something in the way Madeleine looked and smiled quietly at L’Heureux that made Jane wonder if they knew each other better than they pretended. A surprising touch of envy moved in her and shocked her.

  Chet had been the only man in her life, and it was natural, she thought, to wonder what other men might be like. How could she judge, if she had no other standards by which to judge the man she had married? Jane turned back and faced front, clenching her hands.

  She shouldn’t be thinking like this, she told herself. It was wrong, no matter how far apart she and Chet had drifted. It was this strange country, she decided, the heat and the fighting and the hatreds that made the very air electric with odd tensions.

  The light grew stronger in the east. The rocky scarps and defiles opening on either side of the road grew sharper in outline. Durell spread a military map on his knees over the carbine he held and studied it. He spoke to Talek, the Arab driver.

  ‘We should be about ten kilometers from the village of Baroumi,” he said.

  “Yes, sir."

  “There’s a trace here oil to the west that seems to cut through to the coastbound road. Can we use it?”

  “It is very rough, sir. Very wild country.”

  “Any guerrillas in it?”

  “No rebels have been reported, sir.”

  “Suppose we take it and hole up for a rest, just before we reach the douar. It should he scouted before we go through any village.”

  “Yes, sir. But we ought to cover as much ground as we can while it’s still cool.”

  “We’ll do that,” Durell agreed.

  The light grew stronger. Talek turned the truck into a narrow wadi that had a fairly flat floor to it and faint tracks made by other vehicles in the past. The rising sun was behind them now. Jane felt suddenly sleepy. The jolting of the truck and the steady thrum of the engine made the restless night just past seem a nightmare in retrospect. She wanted to look back into the truck body again, but somehow she was afraid that if she did, the first thing she would meet would be the prisoner’s knowing eyes. She leaned her head back and tried to sleep.

  When she awoke, the truck had stopped. She was alone in the cab of the truck, and seeing this, panic touched her. There was no one around. It was broad daylight now, almost nine o’clock, and the sun’s heat struck viciously at her, glancing oft the walls of the rocky cul-de-sac where they had halted. Red and yellow sandstone cliffs, barren of even the slightest trace of green, towered on three sides. She felt hot and sticky with perspiration.

  “Chet?” she called quickly.

  “Here, honey.”

  She turned and saw him walking across the rocky floor of the ravine. He carried his carbine easily, as if he were familiar with it, and somehow he looked different. Perversely, she was annoyed at the prompt way he popped up, as if he had been hovering solicitously over her. Jane got down out of the cab and shook out her tangled blond hair and lifted her arms over her head to stretch. She saw Charley L’Heureux watching her. His eyes were boldly appraising her breasts. She dropped her arms and turned away with a flush of angry embarrassment, but not before she caught his quick, knowing grin.

  “Why have we stopped, Chet?”

  “It's just for a rest. I’ve been detailed to scout ahead. The main road to Baroumi is just ahead, and Durell wants me to walk along it for a way to see if there are any signs of the rebels in the neighborhood.”

  She looked at him. "You enjoy this, don’t you? Playing soldier again, I mean.”

  “Jane, this is dangerous territory.”

  “Who'd be hanging around this desolate place? It’s crazy. We ought to keep right on going.”

  “Durell knows what he’s doing,” Chet said. “Are you all right, honey?”

  “Of course I'm all right. I’m fine. I’m hot and sticky and hungry and thirsty and I’ve had no sleep for ages. I’m just dandy.”

  “I’ll be back in half an hour,” he said.

  “Don’t get sunstroke,” she called caustically.

  He turned away. Durell and Talek were standing on one of the low cliff edges above her and to the east. Durell was looking at something through field glasses, and Talek stood beside him with a tommy gun in his hands. Nothing stirred except the shimmering heat waves that glanced off the glitter of sand and rock. Now that she had mentioned it, she did feel very thirsty. There were some canteens of water in the back end of the truck, and she walked around to it and drank heavily.

  Charley L’Heureux stood beside her. His hands looked strange in the cults that bound him. “Take it easy, baby. Just wet your lips. That’s the way to do it out here.”

  “There’s plenty of water,” she said.

  “Plenty for today.”

  “By tonight we’ll all be in Algiers,” Jane said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  She stared at him. “No?”

  “(Do you trust this Durell?” he asked quietly.

  “I don’t know,” she said. She felt a stir of alarm. She wished he wouldn’t look at her so arrogantly. “Why shouldn’t I?”

  “He thinks he’s smart, cutting south like this. We’re in the heart of rebel country.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  “Just telling you, is all,”

  “Those people won’t bother us. I’m American.”

  “You re from Texas, huh? I can always tell a Texas woman.”

  "I'm from Houston,” she said.

  “That’s a wonderful town,” L'Heureux said. “I spent a lot of time there. Long ago, before they shipped us out in the war. I always wanted to go back. Lots of action in Houston. Good food, good hotels, plenty of wonderful women. But none of them as pretty as you, Jane.”

  She looked at his handcuffed wrists. “What did you do? Did you really kill that man named Boston?”

  “It was in self-defense,” he said easily.

  “You don’t seem worried about going back for a trial.”

  “There won’t be any trial,” L’Heureux said quietly.

  His teeth were white and even when he smiled. She was struck again by the strange contrast between his sun-bleached hair that was almost white, cropped short like a college boy s, and his thick shaggy black brows, There was a smell clinging to his khaki shirt and trousers—the smell of prison, and more. The smell of sweat and manliness. Chet had never smelled like that. She shivered. “You are trying to frighten me, aren’t you?”

  Nothing’s going to happen to you, Jane,” he said. “I’ll see to that. What do you say we take a walk and stretch our legs?’

  Jane looked up the sandstone cliff to where Durell and Talek made dark, distant silhouettes against the brazen sky. Will he let you wander around loose?”

  L’Heureux held up his handcuffed wrists. “I can’t go far like this, can I? And I wouldn’t want to. Not in this country. He knows I've got to stick close to the truck.”

  Jane looked across the little clearing to where Madeleine, the French girl, was combing her hair and staring bluntly at them. The redheaded girl looked sullen and angry. “What about her? I understand she’s your girl. Wh
y is she here?"

  “She came along for the ride. Come on, walk with me.”

  “Won’t she be jealous?”

  He grinned. “Now why should you say that?” His eyes were brazen with feigned innocence. “What would she have to be jealous about? My hands are tied, ain’t they? She met his eyes. She flushed. He was laughing at her because she had given something away without meaning to, and he knew it and was way ahead of her. “Come on,” he said again. “A little walk up the wadi won break any eggs.

  She began to walk with him without thinking about it. “Now you’ve reminded me,” she said lightly, “I’m so darned hungry. Doesn’t this caravan serve any breakfast?”

  “Cold chicken. Cold coffee. Coming up in twenty minutes, when your husband comes back. He’s been appointed cook, I reckon.” L'Heureux laughed softly. Incidentally, what’s he always so sore about? Like he got a bee in his pants. You quarreled with him, or something?’

  “A little,” she admitted.

  “Poor jerk. And I was beginning to envy him. Having you and Texas and all that, while I’m being carted away to face a firing squad or the guillotine or electric chair, if they get me that far.”

  “You don’t seem such a terribly dangerous man to me.”

  ‘°You’re lying, Jane. You’re afraid of me.”

  She bit her lip. “I can’t seem to keep any secrets from you, can I?”

  “Before this trip is over, you won’t have any left at all, I promise you.”

  “Are you sure that’s a promise? It sounds threatening.”

  He grinned lightly. “Make what you want of it, honey.”

  They came to a bend in the wadi and walked around a wall of sandstone, and the truck was cut off from sight behind them. Jane wanted to look back to see if Madeleine was following, or if Chet had returned, but she didn’t. L’Heureux was holding his handcuffed wrists out before him.

  “I wish I wasn’t handicapped like this, Jane. It’s been a long time since I went strolling with a girl like you.”

  “You assume too much,” Jane said.

  “Do I? I know you. I know your kind. Let's sit down in the shade a minute. Tell me all about Texas and your daddy’s oil wells. He’s got oil wells, hasn’t he?”

  "Yes."

  “So you’re very rich.”

  “Yes,” she said simply.

  “And you’re bored with that creep of a husband, huh?”

  She said quickly, “Chet isn’t like that.” She paused as L’Heureux grinned at her. “All right, yes, I’m bored.”

  “Maybe you’ve been seeing the country with the wrong party. Africa is pretty exciting. And profitable. I’m an old hand at it, you know. I could show you things that would make you forget ever to be bored again.”

  “I suppose you could,” she murmured.

  “But not with my hands tied.”

  She looked at him. “You’re very obvious, Charley. If you think you can talk me into helping you get loose, you’re presumptuous, conceited, and stupid.”

  “Oh, I'm conceited all right.” His laughter made thick bubbles in his throat. “But not stupid, baby. What do you think would happen if I got my hands loose, huh?”

  “It won’t happen. Not with my help.”

  “You’re afraid to think about that, right?”

  “I think we'd better go back now,” Jane said.

  “Look at me,” he said sharply.

  She looked away. She couldn’t see the truck. She .thought she saw someone moving on the lip of rock over-hanging the wadi back there, but she couldn’t be sure. It was probably Durell, keeping an eye on his prisoner.

  “Look,” L’Heureux said, standing behind her.

  Then she felt his hands on her body.

  The shock of knowing that his hands, incredibly, were free was paralyzing. His fingers dug brutally into the soft flesh of her waist. She wanted to cry out. His grip was too painful to stand. But she didn't cry out. She sucked in her breath and was silent. She felt herself turned forcibly around to face him. She felt herself pulled hard against his massive, sweaty body.

  “Don't scream, Jane,” he whispered.

  “How did you—how did you do it?” she gasped.

  “I’ve been free for half an hour. Pretty good, huh? I just kept the shackles on to make it look good.”

  “Let me go! You’re hurting me. I will scream.”

  “You asked for it, didn’t you? You walked out here with me, didn’t you? Looking for kicks, huh?” He laughed silently down at her as she tried to twist free of his powerful hands. “Go ahead and yell. Yell for your husband. Yell for Durell. Why don’t you?”

  “What do you want.” she whispered fiercely.

  “I’m walking away from here, baby. Don’t you want to take a walk with me? It’s a whole new world for you out there. I’ll have money, plenty of it. You don’t have to worry about that. Look, I know your kind, I know what you want, and I can give it to you. Lots of excitement, lots of thrills, and no strings attached. I'll see to that, Jane.”

  She said slowly, “You must be insane. How did you get those handcuffs off?”

  He shook the steel rings free of his wrist. They made flat clinking sounds on the rocky ledge where they stood.

  “What difference does it make?”

  All at once he bent his head and kissed her. His stubbly dark beard scraped her face. His mouth was hard an painful on her lips. She felt suffocated by his huge maleness. Her heart hammered crazily. She pummeled at his chest with her fists. She was afraid. She had gone too far. Why had she walked out here with this man, this murderer? She felt herself thrown roughly to the hard ground. She wasn’t sure what was happening. The brazen sky reeled over her head.

  She screamed as he searched her body.

  There was a sound of running footsteps. A small slide of falling gravel struck her legs as someone came down the shale slope from the top of the ledge. L’Heureux released her. She pulled her body together from somewhere far out, where it had started to go, and stood up. She felt weak and sick. She saw the prisoner’s body as something huge and black and defiant, standing against the blinding glare of the sun.

  “Don't move, Charley.”

  It was Durell. Jane turned her head as if her neck hurt her. It did. Durell had a gun in his hand. Jane’s legs trembled. She still felt L'Heureux’ weight upon her. She pushed her hair back from her face. Durell wasn’t even looking at her when he spoke to L’Heureux.

  “Did she let you go?”

  “Ask her,” L'Heureux said. He grinned his wolfish grin.

  “I didn’t," Jane whispered. “How could I? Believe me.”

  “Are you hurt?” Durell asked. He still didn't look at her.

  “No. No, I guess not. It was so quick—”

  “You’ve been very foolish. Go back to the truck, please.”

  I’ll see you later, Jane,” L’Heureux said casually. He looked at Durell. “Go ahead, use the gun. I’m walking out of here, pal.”

  “Try it.”

  "You ain’t going to shoot me,” L’Heureux said. “You’ve got to take me back to your pals alive, right? You won’t use the gun.”

  “I’ll bring you back. But not all in one piece. A broken knee-cap won’t keep you from talking when we get to Paris. But it will keep you from running off. Don’t tempt me, Charley.”

  Jane watched, fascinated. The two men stood several feet apart: Durell’s face was dark and angry, and she thought his anger went beyond what had happened to her. It was as if he were disappointed about something. Something he had wanted to happen, and which hadn’t happened. L’Heureux lost some of his bold confidence as he met Durell’s eyes. He licked his lips.

  “Hell, I guess you’d gimp me, at that.”

  “Just don't ask for it,” Durell said. “Go on back to the truck.”

  Charley grinned. “Hell, I guess I will. I ain’t had breakfast yet, anyway.”

  Chet came running down the narrow wadi toward them. His khaki shirt was streaked with
sweat from his walk in the desert sun. There were deep lines of alarm and rage in his youthful face.

  “Are you all right, Jane?”

  “Yes,’ she whispered.

  “What happened? What did he try to do to you?”

  L’Heureux said, “What do you think, boy?”

  A muscle jumped in Chet's throat. He made an inarticulate sound of anger and then he jumped at the prisoner with no further warning. Durell’s sharp command came too late. Chet’s fist made a flat sound as it struck the prisoners jaw. L’Heureux did not move. His body was like a rock. He laughed and his left hand shot out and stiff fingers jabbed at Chefs throat with amazing speed. Chet fell backward, twisting, and then doubled forward as he clawed at his neck. L’Heureux stepped toward him and his right fist slammed at Chet; Chet went down as if under a cleaver. He rolled over and over on the rocky floor of the ravine. Durell moved in.

  “That’s enough, Charley."

  “He asked for it, the boy scout.”

  “He doesn’t know how to fight your way. Leave him alone. He’s her husband.”

  Jane felt paralyzed. She looked at Chet, on the ground, humiliated and beaten so suddenly that it was difficult to think of what had happened. L’Heureux wasn’t even breathing hard. She watched Durell pick up Chet’s carbine and throw it aside where L’Heureux couldn’t reach it. Durell still looked disappointed, as if what was happening was not what he had really wanted to happen.

  Jane went to Chet and knelt beside him.

  “Chet?” Her voice was small and thin. “Chet, get up.”

  “Get away from me,” he whispered.

  “Chet, I’m sorry—”

  He jerked away and stood wavering on his feet. She put her arm around him to help. He pulled away, not looking at her. She couldn’t see his face. He kept rubbing his throat. Without looking at Durell or L’Heureux, Chet

  walked away on uncertain feet, down the wadi to where they had left the truck.

  Durell turned to Jane. “Go on, go with him.”

  “He doesn't want me,” she said helplessly.

  “He will. Stay with him. He’s been hurt in more ways than one.”

  L’Heureux laughed. “The punk ought to learn to be a man, if he wants to keep his woman in this country.”