Assignment - Karachi Read Free Page B

what was really found up there. Somebody is trying to stop these people from going back—maybe the Emir at Mirandhabad, maybe the Chinese, maybe your friends at No. 2 Dzherzinsky Square. The second expedition fitting out now has the immediate blessings of American and Pakistan interests. And there’s more.”
    Kallinger took an envelope from his desk and handed it to Durell. It contained five thousand dollars.
    Durell smiled. “You’ve counted it?”
    “Every penny. I’m a businessman. It should cover expenses.”
    “Who’s covering the cost of the new expedition? They take a little more to finance than a ride on the Staten Island ferry.”
    “Sarah Standish. The Standish. She’s going along. You’re going, too, as Sarah’s bodyguard. We’d hate to have anything happen to her.” Kallinger’s dark, sunken eyes might or might not have been amused. “The richest, nickel-plated member of Park Avenue society. The world’s best-known business woman. Head of Standish Nickel, unromantic, hornrimmed glasses, and the despair of every couturier in Paris, Rome and Houston. She’s in love, Sam.”
    He waited.
    Kallinger seemed disappointed. “She’s in love with Alessa von Buhlen’s brother, Rudi. I have a thumbnail dossier on him for you. He’s in Karachi now, with Miss Standish. Hans Steicher is in ’Pindi. Rudi and Sarah may be enjoying a pre-marital honeymoon. I wouldn’t know. Maybe morals change when you get up to eight hundred millions, give or take a few score. Although I must say, Sarah Standish has never had a breath of scandal touch her, giving her the benefit of the doubt. Anyway, she’s financing the new expedition and going along. Do you want to read Rudi von Buhlen’s dossier?”
    “Tell me,” Durell suggested.
    “You look annoyed, Cajun.”
    “I don’t look forward to being a bodyguard and a nursemaid.”
    “It’s all in the day’s work, Sam.”
    “Not my kind of work,” Durell said.
    “Think of all that money!” Kallinger protested.
    “You think of it, Harry. It may be big in your businessman’s mind, but not to me.”
    “She’s in danger. Look what happened to the original expedition. We can’t take chances; we can’t let anything happen to her.”
    “If she’s worried, let her hire an army. She can afford it.” Durell paused. “She can do whatever she likes.”
    “But she isn’t worried, Cajun, that’s the trouble. Our State Department people had a hell of a time with her. She insists she’s only interested in the historical and archeological aspects of what’s on S-5. Nickel in itself doesn’t interest her. That’s for the employees, she says. As for danger, she feels that Rudi is company and protection enough for her.” 
    Durell’s mouth tightened. “Tell me about Rudi.” Kallinger laughed dourly. “Rudi looks more English than Austrian—wears his hair long, English style, over his ears. Pretty good mountain-climber, too—in the Alps. Full name is Rudolf Wolfgang Freihausen von Buhlen. Age 31, bom Vienna, father a British legation colonel, now deceased, mother a baroness of the Hapsburg nobility, living on pensions and nostalgic dreams of Emperor Franz Josef’s time. Rudi was educated at the Hausfulden Gymnasium, then the Sorbonne, and took a graduate degree at Oxford. He lives extravagantly. No political identifications, but an uncle was connected with the Rote Kapelle —the “Red Orchestra” affair in 1942, a German Communist espionage network run by old and prominent German families. It took guts, under Hitler. The Rote Kapelle people were uncovered by the Abwehr and most of them were executed, charged with high treason, along with a grandson of Admiral von Tirpitz. They were hung from meat hooks borrowed from a Berlin abattoir. Hitler enjoyed the view. Anyway, so much for the uncle. Rudi professes no politics. Interested Cajun?”
    “Go on.”
    “Rudi drives a Ferarri, races at Cannes, climbs the Alps. Married an English heiress, Elizabeth