Assignment Black Gold Read Free Page B

home in a rifle chamber. They were watching
the front of the Tallman bungalow, expecting him to come out there.
    Two men trudged through the brush, moving his way.
    Long ago. as a boy in the Louisiana delta country, Durell
had become familiar with the bayous, with the ways of the hunted and the
hunter. He had learned his lessons well from his Grandpa Jonathan. Old Jonathan
had been one of the last of the Mississippi riverboat gamblers; he know men and
their greed, their faults and strengths, as few did. Durell had learned the tricks
of doubling buck like a fox, of suddenly standing at bay to disconcert the
slavering hunting dogs. He stood absolutely motionless in the deep shadow of
the old trees.
    The two men would pass within three feet of him.
    Their weapons shone clearly in the starlight. One man was
black, with deep tribal scars like welted beads On his forehead and cheeks. He
carried an AK-47 Russian-made automatic rifle. The other man was taller,
with a brown face and straight black hair that betrayed a Portuguese heritage.
He wore a rather swashbuckling outfit of bandoliers, a bolstered
revolver, a pinkish shirt, and white duck pants that were a mistake for night
combat. A straw hat with a wide brim and pink fabric band was tilted back on
his head. His grin showed fine white teeth. He would have been handsome by any
standard.
    They were too sure of themselves.
    The man with the hat suddenly switched to Portuguese. “You
should have stayed in your position. Fengi . He will
try a trick. This man is very clever, very dangerous—”
    Durell hit the black low in the belly, stopping from around
the thick bole of the rubber tree. The black man grunted and the AK-47 dropped
from his hand. Durell slashed down at his bowed head. smacking his gun against
the others scalp. then swung about lightly on his feet. The other man had
jumped sidewise, trying to bring his weapon up. Durell shook the kitchen knife
into his left hand and slammed his gun into the man’s stomach.
    “Madragata?”
    White teeth gleamed. “Ah, Durell. You will not shoot, eh? My
men will hear and come fast. They will cut you into little pieces, senhor .”
    “The knife is silent.”
    “ Sim ."
    "So hold still.”
    “I obey, senhor.”   The man’s tone was low and mocking. Then he
suddenly snaked to the left, away from the knife, and brought his rifle up. His
bandolier made small clicking sounds. Durell slashed with his gun butt at the
man’s wrist, heard the bone crack, heard the quick hiss of pained breath.
Madragata was as quick and slippery as a snake. His rifle fell and his knees
bent as he tried to come up under Durell’s guard. Durell lifted his knee, got
under the man’s jaw, heard and saw Madragata’s head snap back, eyes gleaming
suddenly as his face lifted to the black sky. He went over backward, his thick
black hair all awry under the headband he wore beneath his straw hat. The hat
itself rolled on its brim into the hush. Durell dropped his weight on him,
knees bent, slamming into the man’s gut. Madragata’s breath went out with a
rush. His eyes rolled. Durell caught his hair, hauled him up to a sitting position.
    “Be quiet!”
    “ Sim .
Yes.”
    He looked at the house. It was dark and quiet. A few flames
flickered on the front lawn from the exploded gasoline bottle. Through a gap in
the trees he saw the starlit glimmer of the Lubinda estuary, dark and hostile.
    “Where are your other men?”
    “In front of the house. By the river.”
    “How many?"
    “Fifteen, senhor .”
    "You lie.”
    “Six was all I could manage on short notice.”
    “That‘s better."
    “Have you killed Fengi ?”
    “He’ll be all right. I’m not in Lubinda to kill anybody. So why
do you want me?”
    “You are an American imperialist spy," Madragata
clutched at his belly. Even in pain, he looked somehow handsome and dashing. “I
think you have broken something in me, senhor .”
    “Not likely. What makes you think I am a spy?”
    “You ask for