any of the other rooms. Nothing stirred. From far off, added to the camel’s snores, came the dim barking of a dog.
He stood in the shadows of the long walkway over the courtyard, waited three minutes and then another three minutes, watching and listening. He did not feel alone. He looked up at the brilliant stars, felt the faint, marshy breeze off the lake, heard one of the Baluchi men cough and grunt in his sleep. He went back inside.
Anya had not moved from her position in the crude wooden chair. He knew at once that she had not touched his bag or his papers or his weapons.
“Pigam Zhirnov is out there,” she said softly.
“Yes. Somewhere. What were you three supposed to be doing in Ur-Kandar?” he asked again.
“I did not come with you for an interrogation,” she said stiffly. “It is I who should question you, Mr. Durell. You have no business here. Your country has nothing to do with this matter.”
“When it comes to that,” he countered, “what business do you have here? It seems to me that we’re both unwelcome strangers in a strange land.” He turned down the hissing gasoline lantern until the room filled with webbed shadows again. He thought he heard someone stir faintly in the cubicle next door. “I think you had better come with me.”
“You are not very courteous to someone who saved your life,” she said.
“Come along. We’ll decide who thanks whom later on. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“North. But that’s later on.”
“North? Where?”
He told her no more than necessary. “You’ll know later. Let’s go.”
“But this place is where—”
She paused. He waited. She said nothing more. He said, “I’m only going to find Mr. Chadraqi.”
She got up and followed him from the room.
He found the Toyota where he had left it. The man he had hired to guard it against vandalism and theft was sound asleep in the shadows nearby, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Durell let the man sleep, and went next with Anya to her multicolored van. She climbed inside and gathered up clothing while he watched in silence. In two or three minutes she changed into dark slacks, boots and a thin sweater and pulled out a small suitcase of extra wear. He noted the radio and electronic equipment banked against one side of the van, when she pulled away one of the built-in bunks. The Russian team had been efficiently equipped. He watched the shadows, thinking of Zhirnov’s bitter, fanatic’s face. The man Kokin, who had called himself Jones, had been simply a hired killer; it was Zhirnov who headed the team, until Anya’s rebellion broke it up and left him alone. Zhirnov
would not be alone for long, however, Durell reckoned; and it seemed to him that every shadow held a menace from the man.
Anya jumped from the rear of the van. “Where do we go now?”
“Come along. You’ll see.”
“You treat me like a prisoner,” she protested.
“That’s exactly what you are.”
“I could call the police and tell them that you are forcing me—”
“Go ahead. Right now. Tell them everything.”
She grimaced. “You know I could not do that.”
He walked toward the hotel office. “Did you ever know a man named Colonel Cesar Skoll, in the KGB?”
“Skoll?” She looked at him peculiarly. “Yes. A Siberian. How do you know of him?”
“We worked together, once or twice. Not willingly, but effectively.” Durell smiled wryly. “How is he?”
“He is in prison,” she said flatly.
“Ah. The freedom of the Soviet Union. What was Skoll charged with?”
“I do not know.” The girl was agitated. “As a matter of fact, I am his replacement on this mission. But I do not know the charges against Colonel Skoll, or anything else about the affair.”
Durell went into the proprietor’s office first. It was dark inside, although now there was a faint illumination in the sky to the east, far away over the lake and the Afghan border along the
He stood in the shadows of the long walkway over the courtyard, waited three minutes and then another three minutes, watching and listening. He did not feel alone. He looked up at the brilliant stars, felt the faint, marshy breeze off the lake, heard one of the Baluchi men cough and grunt in his sleep. He went back inside.
Anya had not moved from her position in the crude wooden chair. He knew at once that she had not touched his bag or his papers or his weapons.
“Pigam Zhirnov is out there,” she said softly.
“Yes. Somewhere. What were you three supposed to be doing in Ur-Kandar?” he asked again.
“I did not come with you for an interrogation,” she said stiffly. “It is I who should question you, Mr. Durell. You have no business here. Your country has nothing to do with this matter.”
“When it comes to that,” he countered, “what business do you have here? It seems to me that we’re both unwelcome strangers in a strange land.” He turned down the hissing gasoline lantern until the room filled with webbed shadows again. He thought he heard someone stir faintly in the cubicle next door. “I think you had better come with me.”
“You are not very courteous to someone who saved your life,” she said.
“Come along. We’ll decide who thanks whom later on. I don’t want to leave you here alone.”
“Where do you want to go?”
“North. But that’s later on.”
“North? Where?”
He told her no more than necessary. “You’ll know later. Let’s go.”
“But this place is where—”
She paused. He waited. She said nothing more. He said, “I’m only going to find Mr. Chadraqi.”
She got up and followed him from the room.
He found the Toyota where he had left it. The man he had hired to guard it against vandalism and theft was sound asleep in the shadows nearby, but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. Durell let the man sleep, and went next with Anya to her multicolored van. She climbed inside and gathered up clothing while he watched in silence. In two or three minutes she changed into dark slacks, boots and a thin sweater and pulled out a small suitcase of extra wear. He noted the radio and electronic equipment banked against one side of the van, when she pulled away one of the built-in bunks. The Russian team had been efficiently equipped. He watched the shadows, thinking of Zhirnov’s bitter, fanatic’s face. The man Kokin, who had called himself Jones, had been simply a hired killer; it was Zhirnov who headed the team, until Anya’s rebellion broke it up and left him alone. Zhirnov
would not be alone for long, however, Durell reckoned; and it seemed to him that every shadow held a menace from the man.
Anya jumped from the rear of the van. “Where do we go now?”
“Come along. You’ll see.”
“You treat me like a prisoner,” she protested.
“That’s exactly what you are.”
“I could call the police and tell them that you are forcing me—”
“Go ahead. Right now. Tell them everything.”
She grimaced. “You know I could not do that.”
He walked toward the hotel office. “Did you ever know a man named Colonel Cesar Skoll, in the KGB?”
“Skoll?” She looked at him peculiarly. “Yes. A Siberian. How do you know of him?”
“We worked together, once or twice. Not willingly, but effectively.” Durell smiled wryly. “How is he?”
“He is in prison,” she said flatly.
“Ah. The freedom of the Soviet Union. What was Skoll charged with?”
“I do not know.” The girl was agitated. “As a matter of fact, I am his replacement on this mission. But I do not know the charges against Colonel Skoll, or anything else about the affair.”
Durell went into the proprietor’s office first. It was dark inside, although now there was a faint illumination in the sky to the east, far away over the lake and the Afghan border along the
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