Assignment The Girl in the Gondola Page 6

  She gave a quick command to the boatman, who pushed the gondola away from the embankment, and they slid swiftly away through the shadows. The canal was lined with fine, pleasant palazzos, clean and well-lighted in contrast to the neighborhood where Durell had found Shkoeder. They headed for the busier center of Venice, and he relaxed a little, facing the girl under the twisted canopy.

  "Lisette, I wonder why you've given so much away to me. It wasn't necessary, so I have to assume you wanted me to know about you." He had already decided that she was a sleeper, an agent placed in a natural, domestic position until called upon to perform a specific task, perhaps years after the original assignment; in Lisette's case, her task had been first to marry General Pollini, and then use her marriage for espionage. "So you are in intelligence," he said. "And you work for Dinov."

  "Yes. So much is correct. But I was never a Communist, you understand. I am not one now."

  "But you know who and what Helmuth Dinov is?"

  "Yes, I know."

  "Are you taking me to him now?"

  "It is my last assignment for him. After tonight, he has promised to set me free."

  The gondola slid with a soft, purling sound around a corner of the canal and into a wider thoroughfare with some considerable traffic. There were motorboats and terraces and lighted trattoria. Now that the rain had ended, Venice achieved a quicker pace. The boatman bent sullenly to his pole, shoving them into thicker traffic. The girl's small Beretta, in the shadows of their canopy, could not be seen by others in passing boats. Durell considered her for a silent moment, in the bright lights of the busy canal. He noted again the peculiar way she held her gun, using the middle rather than the trigger finger in the guard loop. On this finger she wore a single, antique amethyst ring set in old, dull gold. Somehow she now looked vulnerable and frightened. Her fear was real, and he wondered about its cause. She did not seem afraid of him. Was it Helmuth Dinov, then? The man's reputation was enough to provoke fear in anyone. He wished he knew her whole story, but knew he would never learn it all.

  "I'm surprised," he said quietly, "not so much by Dinov's appearance in this picture, through you, but by his timing. What you've told me makes you vulnerable to espionage charges, of course. It would make a very ugly trial."

  "A great scandal, indeed." She smiled wryly. "And if I end my career tonight, would it be of value to NATO to publicize such wickedness in their high places? I think not. I doubt very much if you would arrest me."

  "It could be done quietly. I'm no politician, but surely you are liable to severe punishment. Don't you care?"

  She shrugged. "Not really. I only want to be through with it all. Even a life in prison will be better than what I have lived for the past two years." She leaned forward and regarded him curiously. "How can you live in your world, Mr. Durell? You must be like Dinov in many ways. Jt takes a certain type of man—"

  "It creates such men," he admitted. "Or uses them. But I am not like Dinov."

  "You will be. I can see it in you already, and it is a pity, because you are so attractive, otherwise."

  He ignored her rueful smile. "May I ask what you are to Dinov?"

  "I worked for him out of Paris and Cannes. I did not wish to. It was a matter of expedience. You would not believe my story if I told it to you; you would think I plead for leniency. But finally Dinov assigned me to Pollini."

  "Did you arrange Pollini's death?" he asked bluntly.

  "Oh, no. Certainly not."

  "Was it Dinov, then?"

  "Not at all. Someone simply adopted his knife technique."

  "Who was it?"

  "We do not know. But since you have already spoken to Gregori Shkoeder, you know how urgent the matter is."

  "Since you married Pollini, I suppose he confided a number of NATO defense items to you. And you relayed them to Dinov's apparatus like a good, obedient girl?"

  "I did."

  "What was your ultimate job, as his wife? To set him up for assassination?"

  "One does not question orders, but I do know that Dinov seemed most upset by Pollini's death," she said earnestly. "He wants to discuss with you what information Shkoeder may have—-he says. In this case, he thinks it best to put aside old enmities and consider the common safety of all men."

  "Dinov proposes an alliance with me?"

  "That is for him to say. I can suggest no more."

  He was surprised when the boatman, without orders from her, slid his gondola to the landing in front of the busy and popular Adriatica Hotel. It had a rococo facade and a vast, echoing restaurant-terrace crammed with diners at this hour. Lights from the cinema houses down the canal winked and glittered on the water. The girl, her scarf shimmering over her head, stepped out gracefully, and dismissed the boatman. Her gun was tucked in a fold of her stole as she turned to Durell, and for a moment he considered trying for it; he could take it from her here, but he was more curious to see where she meant to lead him. He decided to wait and play it by ear.

  She walked with regal assurance, the sort of woman you could appear with at any of the world's most exclusive spots. But when her body brushed his, he felt a tremor under her outward calm, and her face was pale as she took him across the crowded terrace, among the cafe tables and into the lobby.

  "You seem frightened," he said quietly.

  "I am. I have a right to be. I am only human, and I do not like what I am doing or many things I have done."

  "Were you forced to work for Helmuth Dinov?"

  Her eyes slid over his hard face. "Would you believe me if I said so, that I never had a choice?"

  "It's happened to others before you."

  "But it is an ugly story." She looked defensive. "I ask for no pity. Please follow me."

  They went into the crowded, noisy lobby of the Adriatica Hotel. The girl made a telephone call from the desk, stand-apart from Durell so he could not hear her brief words. Her gun was gone, into her evening bag. Her eyes regarded him soberly as she listened to instructions over the telephone. When she put it down, she nodded to him.

  "If you wish to speak with Dinov, you must consider it a truce. There must be no force. You must promise to make no move whatever against him."

  "I promise nothing," Durell said.

  She smiled coldly. "That is precisely the answer he said you would give. But he knows you, you see. Let us go."

  "Suppose I quit now? What would happen?"

  "Since the danger is mutual, the loss would be mutual."

  He shrugged and followed, as she led the way to a second water taxi across the Grand Canal, with its lights and byzantine architecture and crowds out after the rain. The night was chill and damp. Durell again tried to draw the girl out, but she was silent behind her gossamer veil. Presently she ordered the gondolier to let them out, and they waited on the landing for one of the big motorboats that were squeezing the old-fashioned gondoliers out of business. She led him to a seat in the rear, under the curved glass roof. No one paid any attention to them. They sat down next to a thin, shabbily dressed man who carried a paper bag crammed with vegetables.

  "My job is done," Lisette Pollini said abruptly. "I leave you now."

  But Durell caught her wrist as she started to rise. "No. I think you'd better stay with me."

  "It is not necessary. Dinov will find you in this seat, within a stop or two."

  "I'd still like you to be along.**

  "But my instructions—"

  "I'm changing them." Durell's hand was painful on her wrist, and she bit her lip to stifle a protest. "Sit down, Lisette."

  "Very well."

  The man with the bag of vegetables said quietly, in English:

  "I have waited a long time to meet you, Sam Durell."

  Chapter Eight

  He looked skeletal, as if a lifetime of dealing in death had stamped its decay on his yellowish face. His teeth were big and irregular in a brief smile; the expression was a quick tightening of the lip muscles, a grimace, nothing more. His eyes were blank, g
ray, looking beyond what he saw, in no ordinary fashion. He had a long jaw, a fragile neck, and big laborer's hands holding the bag of groceries on his lap. An unhealthy flush came and went on his taut cheekbones.

  "I am embarrassed, and my professional self-esteem is at a low ebb, my dear Comrade Durell."

  "I am not your comrade."

  "My respected enemy, then?"

  "I have no respect for you or your department, either."

  "Ah, you have heard unholy tales about my Blue Squad, is that it?"

  "Your murdering gang, you mean," Durell said.

  "The art of weaponry takes many forms, and requires all manner of men to operate them. I do my job, and hold to my convictions, even as you hold to yours, Durell. Do you know that my top priority assignment is to eliminate you? I can do it now, too. In this innocent bag of household stuff—-

  "I know all about your lust for death. You stink of it," Durell said. "Don't threaten me. Say what you came to say, and be done with it."

  "It is not that easy."

  "It will be easy for me."

  "I propose a simple alliance," Helmuth Dinov said, "to pool our forces and achieve our purpose against a mutual enemy."

  "Are the Chinese now your enemies?"

  Dinov grimaced. "Your country and mine do not wish war. But Peiping would see no loss to themselves in such a calamity. As their ideology matures, they will change their attitudes. But until then, their ambitions are a danger to all the world. You and I can avert such danger, and I am authorized by Moscow to offer that we work together on this matter."

  "Nothing you say is simple, Dinov. Did you kill Pollini? Or have him killed?"

  "Of course not. The grieving widow beside you is innocent, too. How could it be in our interest? We only wish to recover our stolen property without international incident. You have spoken to the Albanian traitor, Gregori Shkoeder?"

  "You know I have. Is his story true?"

  Dinov's round skull bobbed in a nod. "Yes, it is true."

  "The missiles are in Albania?"

  "We believe so." His eyes were unwinking. "And I propose that you and I go in there with Shkoeder and destroy them."

  "Why do you need me?" Durell asked.

  "Because you have Shkoeder, and he has the data we need to reach the emplacements, has he not?"

  "You seem anxious to know just how much Shkoeder told me," Durell said. His smile was mocking. "And even more anxious to know where he is."

  "Naturally. You know my abilities. The task will be easier if we work together."

  Obviously Dinov had no idea that Shkoeder was being trailed by Zuccamella to the airport at this moment. Unless Dinov was a consummate actor—which was quite possible—

  Durell held a card the other did not suspect. He shook his head.

  "Did you know Shkoeder's boy was killed tonight?"

  "The boy is of no interest to me."

  "Because you want Poppa so badly? Because you want to know where Shkoeder is, and whether he's singing? I have the feeling, Dinov, that you don't want Shkoeder's information so much as you want Shkoeder himself, in your hands. Why is that?"

  "Mr. Durell, I make myself plain. I can get us into Albania easily and safely. We even have some Chinese who will help. Not all of Peiping's officials agree with their aggressive party line. It will be easy, yes—but only if we have Shkoeder to lead the way or tell us what he knows. I demand a share in his information. It is my right."

  "Because the missiles are Russian? It's no deal."

  The gaunt man was irritated at last. He looked at Lisette. "My dear, did you not explain to Mr. Durell how important it is that we all cooperate, one with the other?"

  "I explained nothing," the girl said coldly.

  Dinov sighed thinly. "Lisette was once indiscreet, and my people learned of it. She should be serving a thirty-year penal sentence for crimes against the French Republic. It goes back to the Algerian troubles. History mocks us when, years later, a lost cause makes all its passion seem cold and futile. But penalties remain. The prison cell still waits for Lisette."

  The woman spoke with quiet intensity. "You promised to give me the evidence, once my job was done. The photos—"

  "They shall be yours."

  "Now that Pollini is dead, I can help you no more."

  "Oh, but you can—and you shall."

  Lisette's eyes widened. "You will not let me go? But everything I did was for this day, all the times I betrayed my husband's confidences to you—"

  "The harsh fact, my dear Lisette, is that I still need you. Now be quiet, please." Dinov dismissed her with a wave of his bony hand, and she subsided automatically. But Durell felt a shudder go through her. He could not tell if it was from anger or fear, but suddenly he felt a wave of utter repulsion for the man beside him in the water bus. He could smell the love of decay and death on Dinov.

  "Well, Mr. Durell? I offer you the mechanics of the operation. But I must see and speak to Shkoeder first. You must show me this much good faith."

  "If you have Chinese friends in Albania," Durell said flatly, "they could tell you as much about the missile site locations as Shkoeder. You don't want Shkoeder's information. You want the man himself, I think. You want him before we break jlown his stupid greed and make him talk. Why is that? Don't you want him to talk? Do you want to reach him—in order to kill him?"

  Dinov's pale eyes glittered. "If that were so—if for some reason, some insane motive you suspect in me—you think I wish to stifle Shkoeder's information, then why would I not murder you, to silence you, right here and now?"

  "Perhaps because you are not sure yet," Durell said. "Just as I'm not sure exactly which side you're really on, Dinov. You can't afford a mistake. You can't afford to create a scene and be picked up by the local police. Not until you've shut Shkoeder's mouth for good—assuming that's what you really want."

  Dinov was silent for a long time. Then he said:

  "We talk at cross-purposes, out of old enmities. I shall try to be reasonable. But there is much pressure on me from my superiors, you understand. Without me, you will fail in Albania. If you cross the Adriatic, you will not come back alive."

  "It's still no deal."

  "Very well." Dinov turned to Lisette Pollini. 'Tell him what happens to his little friend if he does not tell me at once where I may find and talk to Gregori Shkoeder." Dinov looked at Durell with harsh amusement. "I refer to your little penzione neighbor, the one you know as Ursula Montegna. A lovely child—and you have shown some affection for her. A pity if she were to be hurt tonight, eh?"

  "She doesn't enter this at all."

  "But you know she does, somehow. Even as we ride about so pleasantly, my people are in her rooms and yours—"

  Durell stood up and punched the button for the motoscafo to stop. Lisette said in a bitter whisper: "I feel so sorry for her. You do not know what they can do to a woman, Mr. Durell."

  He wondered at his anger and outrage. He knew Ursula was not what she pretended, but she had an air of innocence that he trusted above any of Zuccamella's questions about her. He was in a cruel business, and you couldn't play Galahad in it, and yet—

  He made his way deliberately to the exit as the water bus came to a public landing. He knew Dinov wouldn't dare act in the crowded boat. But Dinov was close behind him when he stepped ashore on a small piazza where the cafe tables were busy and crowded. Church bells rang ten o'clock. Dinov spoke at his back.

  "We need perhaps fifteen minutes with you, my friend. Please sit quietly at a table with Lisette and chat some more."

  "And if I don't?"

  "Your guess might be right. Perhaps I do have an assignment to eliminate you."

  Durell turned carefully. The Russian's hand was in his grocery bag, and Durell did not doubt that there was a gun in it. He considered the Piazza, the crowded tables of drinkers, gossips, lovers, tourists. He started for the table and turned casually, as if to draw a chair out for Lisette. But he kept turning, and with a movement almos
t too swift to be seen, he caught Dinov's wrist and his thumb found a nerve and pressed down with expert cruelty. The man's face contorted. His pale, round eyes widened with incredulity.

  "Put the 'groceries' on the table," Durell said quietly. He squeezed harder, and Dinov gasped and dropped the bag on the checkered cloth. His hollow face gleamed with sweat. Durell added: "That's better now. You had better hope that you didn't delay me too long."

  He flicked his hands expertly over Dinov. The other man had no weapon he could spot. It was safe enough. He picked up Lisette's evening bag, weighted with her little Beretta—just for good measure—and walked to the edge of the cafe terrace and dropped the paper bag into the canal. Another water bus was coming to the landing. He signalled a waiter and gave him Lisette's bag and indicated Dinov, still white of face, at the nearby table.

  "The bag belongs to the lady," he told the waiter. He added a large lira note to the man's palm. "Order two coffees for them, too."

  In ten minutes he was back at the Murelli. It seemed peaceful as he crossed under his narrow balcony beside the canal. A night-blooming flower filled the damp air with spicy fragrance. Some late guests sat under the lanterns. A man murmured, "Buon' sera, signor" It seemed normal enough. He moved with a fast but deceptively casual stride. Signora Murelli, fat and harassed, greeted him from behind her cage-like desk in the lobby.

  "Signor Durell, your friends just arrived—perhaps five minutes ago. They asked to wait in your rooms."

  He considered her, doubting, suspecting anyone. But he could not blame her. "I trust they have disturbed no one?"

  "Of course not, signor. They were very quiet."

  He ignored the elevator and took the steps in great leaping bounds that brought him silently to his door in a matter of seconds. There was silence inside. He wondered about his concern for Ursula. The odds were that she, too, was an enemy. If she came to grief, what did it matter? But it did, somehow. He was acting dangerously; she was no concern of his. He owed her nothing. Yet the flicker of innocence in her remembered face and form spurred him on.