Assignment - Karachi by Edward S. Aarons Page B

unborn child.”
    “And were you the father?”
    “I couldn’t say. There may have been other men. I don’t know of any, frankly, but with a girl like Jane—” Rudi paused. “She wanted to discuss her predicament. We were going to have dinner and talk about it. I had no idea you were looking for her. She telephoned the house while you were there, Durell, and I went out to meet her and we got lost.
    When she saw the native streets, she wanted to go farther. But I guess we were followed all the time. Not just by you. But by the Chinese killers.”
    “We did not see them,” K’Ayub said. He looked angry. There was a small silence while the English doctor asked Rudi to hold still and then snipped off the end of the sutures and applied a square of gauze and tape to his wound. Rudi pushed his long hair back from his yellow and bruised face, straightened his necktie, shrugged into his coat. The Englishman offered him some brandy. Rudi said, “Bitte,” and gulped it down.
    “Am I under arrest now?” he asked quietly. “Perhaps my story seems strange to you, but I’ve told you all I know about how it happened. Jane was mistaken for Sarah Standish. It was my fault—our getting lost, I mean—but I think it would have happened, anyway. The miracle is that it didn’t happen earlier, when she was wandering around alone.”
    “Yes,” K’Ayub said.
    Rudi looked worried. “Will your report on Jane’s condition be kept confidential? I’m naturally concerned about its effect on Miss Standish if she learns what I’ve confessed to you gentlemen—”
    “It will not be necessary to publish this fact.” K’Ayub looked at Durell. “Nor is it necessary for any of us to remain here.”
    He nodded for Durell to follow him into the outer room. K’Ayub was a strong man here, with power and influence, and his soft body and face were deceiving. The Pakistani minced no words.
    “Durell, do you think he killed Jane King?”
    “I think he arranged it,” Durell said.
    “And his wounds are self-inflicted?”
    “They’ll heal,” Durell said. “But Jane is dead. Will you hold him on a murder charge?”
    “We are a new nation,” K’Ayub said thinly, “but we respect law and order. Murder is the same the world over. An investigation is required. Technically, all of you could be detained for inquiry. But our problem is awkward. Miss Standish has leased a plane from a local airline. When one need not count money, luxuries and comforts are automatic, eh? Our problem is that, if we hold Rudi von Buhlen in Karachi for the courts, or on any pretext, we may not merely delay the expedition to S-5, but Miss Standish may call the whole thing off. This might be deplored by my government, but it would end its interest in the affair. I happen to be in opposition to certain governmental factions that resist exploratory progress. We may gain nothing in the end, anyway. If Rudi is an enemy and has further plans, we would give him a little rope, you agree? And if we proceed, pending a further inquiry, he will be in a sense in our custody.”
    “I understand,” Durell said.
    “You and I can take care of Rudi when the times comes,” K’Ayub said, smiling thinly.
    “Let’s hope so,” Durell said.

chapter seven
    THEY flew from Rawalpindi an hour after dawn, through a sky already a molten yellow, swinging wide over the many mouths of the sluggish, muddy Indus. The sun flared brilliantly over the sand hills and the winding black road that followed the river north through the desert of the Sind. For a hundred miles, the scene was one of severe desolation, erosion, and emptiness.
    The DC-3 had been hastily converted, with comfortable seats, a kitchen, and staffed with two turbaned Bengali servants who served tea and rolls and omelets when they were aloft. Constraint persisted among the passengers since Durell had brought back the news of Jane’s death. Sarah looked as if she had not slept at all, and she had changed her usual glasses for