Free Assignmnt - Ceylon by Edward S. Aarons Page B

they were on mountain roads, still climbing out of the bowl in the hills where Kandy nestled, far behind. The limousine clung persistently to their trail, headlights shining now and then around the twisting curves of the road. There was a sense of remoteness in the dark night, a feeling of towering mountains, plunging valleys, terraced tea farms, bamboo thickets, forests trailing weeping vines. The road became rough, bumping around tight curves where no guardrails existed. The road narrowed rapidly as they climbed toward the first summit. Although the Rolls had power to spare, the other car still clung to their trail.
    “It won’t do,” Aspara said finally. “We’ll lead them straight to Ira’s walauwa if we keep on.”
    Durell spotted a rough trail cut by bullock carts off to the right. At the last moment he twisted the wheel, glimpsed grassland to one side, swung off the rutted path, and whipped the wheel in a circle to come back headed the other way. He doused the lights and let the motor idle. The Rolls engine made a low murmuring sound that allowed the noises of insects in the field to mingle with the quiet rustle of the mountain wind. Moonlight flooded the hillside. To the left was a thick woods; to the right were pastures lifting to a thatched cluster of village houses. No lights showed there. He watched the road.
    The headlamps of the other car came on fast. Red flared from the taillights as the driver discovered the cart-track and glimpsed the waiting Rolls. Durell slid out from behind the wheel.
    “Get out, Aspara. Hurry. Get away from the car. Lie down in the grass over there, just past that rise.”
    She said tightly, “What are you doing to do?”
    He gave no reply. He walked forward with his gun hanging loosely from his fingers. The heavy limousine was trying to turn around. He ducked to avoid its headlights. He still did not know how many of his pursuers were in the other car, but he allowed himself some anger now, thinking of the impossible situation in which he’d been placed, knowing that someone was responsible, someone he meant to find and settle accounts with. He did not think Wells was in the limousine. Wells would be much more careful now. He thought he heard another car, the second one, which had vanished back in the city; but he paid no attention to it.
    Car doors slammed. Shadows moved among the trees along the bullock path. The full moon of the Perahera gleamed on a small temple set on the other side of the track, about five hundred yards to the east, nestled among tall banyan trees. The place seemed deserted. The moonlight showed him the crumbled flight of steps leading up to the open, broken temple doors, and he moved sidewise in that direction, parallel to the road. He did not look back for Aspara.
    There were three of them.
    The flat sound of a shot broke the quiet night. A leaf fluttered down over his head. Their intentions were plain. He continued retreating along the cart path, sliding through the thin line of trees toward the deserted temple.
    They were eager enough. Two of them came on too fast, exposing themselves on the path. Another shot snapped through a bush just behind him. Durell flattened against the trunk of a tree and leveled his .38 at the nearest running man. He took his time, fired once. The sound of his S&W seemed louder than the others’ shots. The first man on the path tumbled, yelping, and sprawled flat as if diving into a pool. The farther man shouted something in Tamil dialect. Durell was halfway to the temple now. He put on a burst of speed, crossed the path, ran up the opposite bank into the weedy hillside. Bullets whistled after him. At least, he thought, he had drawn them away from Aspara. He was worried about the third man, and hoped that one wouldn’t get the bright idea of going after the girl and using her as a hostage. He didn’t consider what he might do in that case.
    At the temple steps he crouched behind the crumbled stone image of a legendary