Assignment Madeleine by Edward S. Aarons Page B

air.
    “What are your plans now, Hadji?” he asked.
    “I still wish to surrender. I believe my way is right.”
    “And what about your men?”
    “They will follow me. They are lonely for their women and
their own mechtas .
We have discussed it democratically. They will go where I lead them.”
    “I can arrange it for you,” Durell said. “Perhaps I can finish
Orrin Boston’s work.”
    “That would be fitting,” el-Abri said. “But there is a
condition.” The Kabyle’s thin face was harsh. “The condition is L’Heureux. You
must give him to me. And then I will surrender to DeGrasse.”
    “No,” Durell said.
    “It is a small thing. Perhaps you do not yet understand. He
caused many good men to die because of his greed and treachery. And he killed
Orrin Boston.”
    “What would you do with him?”
    “I intend to kill him.”
    "I'm sorry,” Durell said. “You can't have L’Heureux.”
    The guerrilla commander stood up and walked to the door of
the hut and looked out at the desert night. His voice had tightened. “Would you
defend such a man, Durell?”
    “I don’t defend him. And I don’t judge him. My orders are to
take him back to Paris.”
    “You have no desire for revenge?”
    “My personal feelings cannot enter into it,” Durell said.
    El-Abri looked at him curiously. “I ask you once more for this
murderer, this assassin. I want this man who killed our mutual friend, who
would have seen me killed along with my men, for personal gain. Two hours after
he is in my hands, I promise to surrender. There will be an end to the fighting
here. A small thing, perhaps, as I said before. I do not delude myself about my
importance. But it is a straw, is it not?”
    “You can surrender, anyway,” Durell said. “Charles L’Heureux
is of no importance in this matter.”
    “He is important to me. It is a matter of honor.”
    “I can’t let you have him,” Durell said.
    The Kabyle turned away from the door of the mechta . His face
had hardened. He looked as cruel as the barren land that had given him birth.
“Durell, we are old friends. We fought together. You remember how it was, when we
were young?”
    Durell smiled. “I don't feel that old now.”
    “Still, it was many years ago. One grows old quickly in this
land. And the world has changed. Your country can no longer walk in pride and
solitary arrogance. You need friends. I do not like to speak to you in this
fashion,. Give me Charles L’Heureux.”
    "No."
    “I cannot understand you.”
    Durell said, “I have my orders. Call it duty. I have to do
my job.”
    “It is only that? A sense of duty?”
    “Would you call that a small thing, Hadji?” Durell asked. “I
don’t enjoy having to protect this man. I didn’t ask to save his life. But he
must live to be tried justly and honestly, and then ta.ke his punishment. I’m
taking
    him back to Paris with me.”
    “You were always a stubborn man,” the Hadji said softly. He
looked at Durell with sadness behind his bold, tawny gaze. “It could be a
stupidity. But I have one more thing to offer.”
    “The money.” Durell asked.
    The Kabyle was surprised. He flied to hide it, but for
just one moment the stony mask of his face gave way. He reached down on the floor
and picked up a thermos bottle and poured two cups of coffee into small tin
mugs. “What do you know about it?” el-Abri asked.
    “I know that a quarter-of-a-million American dollars is
floating around here somewhere. Do you have it, Hadji?”
    “No."
    “Do you know where it is?”
    “I think so.”
    “Tell me about it,” Durell said.
    “The money was taken from your courier in a criminal plot,”
el-Abri said. “It had nothing to do with politics at the time. Then L’Heureux got
into it through his associations with criminal gangs in this area and in the
Mediterranean. Smugglers and the like. Scum and offal. The original thieves
were killed. And the people for whom L’Heureux used to work got into it.”
    “Who are