Assignment Moon Girl (10 page)

“You will go to your embassy now, sir?” asked Hanookh.

“If I can. We’re not safe here. In fact, the danger might be
greatest right at the moment.”

He was proved right. He telephoned from a bazaar on
Ferdowsi
, a shop filled with miniature ivories, the
inevitable Persian rugs,
khatan
boxes made of wood and mosaic, linens,
papier-maché
boxes,
brasswork
, hand illuminated scrolls and
Korans, and American picture magazines. Hanookh watched the busy street
doubtfully from the door as he tried to reach Hannigan.

An
Iranair
jet screamed over the
city, heading for
Mehrabad
Airport. Upper-class
women, unveiled in their homes and emancipated in Western style, still went
swaying mysteriously behind ankle-length shawls that failed to cover their
bouffant hair-dos, make-up, and nylon stockings. Now and then a
mullah
went by, frowning contempt for
modern innovations.

Rafe Hannigan was not in the security office he occupied as
K Section’s Central for Teheran. Durell asked the clerk to ring his private
number. The phone rang and rang, and was not answered.

“I am sorry, sir. He is not available.”

“Then I want to leave a message. All material for Durell is
to be sent by confidential messenger to the Royal Teheran Hotel in one
hour. Confidential. Understood?”

“Yes, sir. There are some dispatches for you, but it’s
rather unusual—"

“Keep trying for Hannigan, please.”

He hung up. Hanookh was restless. He wanted to report to his
own office. Durell got an unmetered cab and Hanookh, grumbling and scratching,
got in with him. They looked like a couple of desert beggars, and the driver
glared at them as if about to refuse their fares, until Durell borrowed some
money from Hanookh. The usual in-town fare was fifteen
rials
, and Durell gave him twenty. He decided he had enough
cash left until he reached Hannigan.

They drove by the sumptuous American embassy. U.S. Marine
guards stood distantly within the gates. The streets seemed unusually busy.
There were many loiterers, and parked cars with men idling in them.

“Why can we not drive right in?” Hanookh asked.

“We’d probably get a belly full of machine gun slugs before
we reached those gates.”

“You think the enemy has a barricade here?”

“I’m sure of it. Let’s try the Soviet embassy.”

Hanookh was shocked. “The Soviets? Has the desert sun
affected your senses?”

“I have some thoughts about Tanya Ouspanaya, and only the
Russians can verify them.”

“I cannot permit this, sir. Begging your pardon, but I
insist you come with me to Colonel Saajadi. I must report to him at once. After
all, Beele is dead, and also my friend, Sepah. You have information we have
hunted for a long time, about Har-Buri. As a guest of my government and a
visitor to my country, you must cooperate.”

Durell looked at the young Iranian. Hanookh seemed grim and
earnest, suddenly. His face was angry under the
cowled
hood of his nomad robe.

“After I see Hannigan. All right?”

“No, we must go immediately.”

“Just let me pick up my dispatches first. Maybe
Hannigan will get to the Royal Teheran, too. Things will be simpler, then. At
least, let’s drive by the Soviet embassy and see if we’re being cordoned off
from them, too.”

Hanookh’s hand was under his robe. Durell knew he had a gun
there. For a moment, the taxi, halted by traffic, filled with tension.
Then Hanookh nodded reluctantly.

“I will give you your hour, Durell. After that, I must do my
duty.”

Traffic outside the Soviet embassy was less crowded than at
the American. Durell ordered the driver to pass the entrance slowly. Men
loitered here and there nearby. Two ice-cream vendors’ carts were posted
strategically to cover the way in. They looked innocent; but Durell shook his
head. “Keep going. Royal Teheran Hotel.”

“What would scum like you do there?” the driver snarled. “Do
you plan to throw a few bombs?”

“Shut your mouth and do as you’re told,” Hanookh said
harshly.

His voice carried obvious command, startling the driver. He
subsided and headed for the modern, travertine towers of the hotel, which was
accented with glass, tile, and perforated teak panels. Durell knew that in
their nomad robes they would not be admitted into the extravagant lobby, and he
signaled the driver to halt at a small cafe nearby, where he could watch the
entrance for the embassy messenger. Hanookh was still hungry, and he ordered a
dook
, a yogurt
drink diluted with club soda. Durell turned it down.

“You understand,” Hanookh said agreeably, “that as of this
moment, I must place you under arrest? It is my duty.”

“I understand.”

“It will do no good to resist, even if Hannigan shows up
personally at this place.”

“You’ve made your point, Hanookh.”

“I admire you, Mr. Durell. I could learn much from you. I
trust there are no hard feelings?”

“The lice bite me as much as they bite you, friend.”

Hanookh grinned and smoothed his glossy moustache. “I am
glad you are so understanding.”

They waited.

The embassy might as well have sent a brass band, Durell
thought, when he saw the big limousine arrive.

For a moment, he hoped it was Hannigan, who might talk some
sense into Hanookh. But a girl got out of the car. She wore a smart linen suit
the color of fresh lemons, and her heavy black hair was done in a chignon. She
carried a manila envelope tucked under her arm. She looked dubious, behind her
sunglasses, as she searched the hotel entrance.

“That’s Hannigan’s secretary,” Durell said.

Hanookh smiled. “I know her.”

Durell looked at him sharply. “Yes, I suppose you do. Do you
know most of the Iranian employees at our embassy?"

“All of them,” Hanookh admitted. He spread his hands. “It is
our business. Would you not do the same thing?”

Durell walked toward the girl. She glanced at him and looked
away, not recognizing him in his native robe. But Hanookh, still smiling,
pushed back his cowl and said, “Miss Saajadi, do you remember me?”

The girl’s ripe mouth opened; her olive face was a study in
surprise. “Oh, but you do look like—”

”I’m Hanookh. We went dancing two weeks ago at the
Sha-er
Restaurant. With Ike Sepah. Do you remember?”

“What are you doing dressed like that?”

“It’s a long story.” Hanookh touched Durell’s arm. “This is
Sam Durell. He is expecting the dispatches you carry from Mr. Hannigan’s
office.”

Miss Saajadi looked flustered. “Oh, but I’m not
supposed to know—”

Durell sighed. “I’ll take them now.”

Hanookh ordered another yogurt and soda while Durell sat at
the cafe table, inwardly cursing Hannigan’s absence. There were a few memos for
him from Washington, but nothing from Hannigan. Miss Saajadi had obligingly
sent all the dispatches down to the decoding room, and they were in clear.

“Have I time to read these?” he asked Hanookh.

“Yes, but afterward, you must give them to me.”

“They’re confidential.”

“And you are under arrest, for withholding political
information required by my government.”

Durell wondered if he should make a break for it. Hanookh
would give him some trouble, but not too much. He decided to read his mail
before committing himself.

There were two dossiers in excerpt, a critique from State,
an evaluation from a White House aide, a cryptic note from General Dickinson
McFee, who commanded K Section:

Summary, K Section
File Lambda 51/
C.22

Subject: Chang Hung
Ta—Po

Age: 49

Birth: Believed born
Hunan Province, peasant stock, family of eight, sole surviving child, parents
died famine 1928, relatives unknown.

Education: Fr. Nolan
of
Hzu
-Tai Mission (see appended correspondence),
adopted brilliant child, prodigious memory, sent to Shanghai, missionary funds,
British tutor, Sister Marie-Celeste (see attached photo.) M.S. degree, London
University. Interpreter in French, German, English. Married Jane
Trayne
, typist, London; abandoned wife and child I 1936,
returned China, government post Nationalist foreign office to 1938. Vanished.
Believed underground with Mao T se-Tung. Member of the Long March. Communist
Party membership 1946, see File Zeta 56/A/51. See attached photos. See S.D.
Analysis Sheet 569-72.

Present Situation:
Head of Blue Department, Western Intelligence Division. HQ Peking. A Maoist,
leader of Red Guard Banner Group. Devoted to Cultural Revolution 1966-67.
Accused of deviationism, reinstated Mao’s personal directive. Believed most
powerful intelligence officer Peking this date. Subject most dangerous.
Believed cause of destruction Danton Force
Taipeh
1961. (See File Lambda 51/
C.14
-Johnson, George,
deceased). Subject is author of volume of poetry Flowers of Truth, advocating
atomic war and Red Chinese world hegemony. Art collector, Tang specialist.

Description: Six feet,
three inches, weight 265, North Chinese features, history
t.b
.,
eyes brown, black hair cut en
brosse
, scar lower lip
to chin. No recent photo graphs.

Analysis: Subject
married divorced wife Prof. Alexei Ouspanaya, signed legal adoption papers for
daughter Madame Hung Ta-Po, Maria Tanya Ouspanaya,
I963
.
Daughter remained Soviet Union with father. (See File Zeta 54/A/32.9.) Subject
has no known criminal a/o political record in West. Can travel freely. Meet
with caution. Priority
4A
.

Durell put the typed flimsy aside on the café table.
Hanookh was drinking coffee and studying the crowded sidewalk. He seemed
supremely uninterested in Durell’s material. Durell sighed again. The second
dossier covered Tanya Ouspanaya. There was no mention in it of the Peking
adoption by Hung Ta-Po. The attached photo emphasized her striking and unusual
beauty. Durell considered it for a long minute. Her eyes were cool and haughty,
with an objective intellect evident even in the news reproduction. The Tanya he
had met was disoriented, confused, emotional. He wondered for a moment if it
was the same girl. But it had to be. There was no mistake, no chance for an
imposter.

He turned reluctantly to the State Department critique. It
was a commentary and evaluation of Har-Buri as a national force in Iran. He was
familiar with the analyst.

Precis
, Har-Buri, Revolutionary Movement, Iran,
SEA-5 Division, Group Chief Henry Talbot-Smyth:

The socio-economic
reform and development promised under the present government has failed to
achieve breakup of landholder and industrial complexes to the satisfaction of
disadvantaged peasantry, and must be considered a failure leading to unrest
among underprivileged segments of urban, peasant, and alienated tribal groups.
According to Policy Charles paper, Har-Buri’s efforts to gain land reform and
egalitarianism of democratic processes should be encouraged with material,
political, and economic aid in any manner suitable without upsetting balance of
relations with current entrenched Iranian bureaucracy. The demand for liberty
and a share in national agro-economic wealth must not be denied. As leader of
this movement, Har-Buri seems stable and should be encouraged delicately, to
aid in legitimate Iranian aspirations toward their free destiny.

Durell was so annoyed that he got up and bought a pack of
cigarettes with his last few remaining
rials
and lit
one. Hanookh hadn’t touched the
fiimsies
on the
cafe table when he came back. Durell picked up the note from McFee.

Cajun—all
gobbledegook
aside, watch your step. It’s tricky waters.
Ta-Po will kill you if he can. Get the girl. Turn her over to Soviet embassy.
Her father, Professor Ouspanaya, is there. Don’t know a thing about her moon
trip. It’s a tight Moscow secret. But the pot boils, under the lid. Get
Har-Buri. Turn him over to Iranian Security. Cooperate with Colonel Saajadi in
all aspects above. Luck,
D.McF
.

Durell began to laugh quietly, and Hanookh looked at him
with thick, raised eyebrows. Durell pushed the papers across the table. The sun
was warm. The breeze flicked up the flimsies and he put an ashtray
on them.

Do you want to read these, Hanookh?”

“It is not necessary.”

“Because of Miss Saajadi, who works for the American
embassy?”

“My friend, I do not apologize for that. You would do the
same. Your instructions here are already on my desk, waiting for my attention.”

“And Miss Saajadi is your colonel’s daughter?”

Hanookh began to smile. “Yes.”

“And the colonel is your boss?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know that Hung Ta-Po adopted Tanya and considers
her as his daughter?”

“The world is full of strange things.”

“And I’m full of the spirit of brotherly love and
cooperation. I‘ll go see your Colonel Saajadi.”

“Good. He will be waiting for us.”

Chapter Eight

“GO home and bathe and rest, my dear boy,” said Colonel
Saajadi. He spoke in French to Hanookh. “You’ve done very well. I’m desolated
about Sepah. A fine lad. The British will be annoyed about Beele.
Terrible thing. But I shall write a fine recommendation for you,
Hanookh.”

“Thank you, sir.”