Free Assignment Afghan Dragon by Unknown Author Page A

bazaars selling turquoise and embroidered skin coats, soapstone platters, rugs, antiques, clay tablets and beads for the religious pilgrims.
    Over all lay the heat of summer, which still drove the inhabitants to sleep on their flat roofs and terraces in search of a cool breeze from the mountains toward Quchan.
    Among the other passengers in the plane from Zahidan, only the young German woman with her older husband showed any interest in Durell and Anya. She was    statuesque    and full-fleshed, a modern Valkyrie with     long blond hair done up in a     tight, sedate braid atop her head; her hands were long and strong, free of jewelry, not even a wedding ring. She did not exchange anything more than monosyllables with her businessman husband, who was engrossed in corporate tallies taken from his     attache case. Durell was aware of her pale    gray eyes straying his way, and so was Anya.
    Anya seemed annoyed. But Anya was interested in the Chinese and the others, as if wondering which, if any of them, could be working with Zhirnov—or perhaps Peking. The blond woman got up once and bumped her soft, pliant hip against Durell’s shoulder as she made her way to the back of the plane. She apologized most profusely, first in German that identified her to Durell’s ear as a Berliner—West or East? he wondered—and his guess was verified when she gave her name as Frau Hauptman-Graz. She waved a - negligent hand toward her husband, who was engrossed in his business papers.
    “My husband, Hans, he is not a tourist. But I am.” When she smiled, her teeth were strong and white and rapacious. “You are touring this part of Asia, also?”
    “Yes, indeed,” Durell said.
    “Meshed is supposed to be a beautiful city, filled with a religious excitement, I hear, an air of holiness, nicht? ”
    “Yes, perhaps.”
    “And perhaps we shall meet there at the sights to see. Bitte? ”
    “It would be delightful.”
    She pouted, towering over Durell in his seat like some Norse goddess seeking her prey. “My husband Hans, he is always busy, I am often lonely and need— companionship? A guide? It would be pleasant to share experiences in Meshed with you and your lovely wife.” 
    Anya said hostilely, “We are not married.”
    “Ah. So? Well, times have changed, of course—”
    “Are you married?” Anya asked pointedly.
    The blond woman turned slightly pink. “I do not wear Hans’s ring, but that is only because—”
    An announcement from the cockpit broke it off. The woman sat down again next to her husband and stared out the small window. Anya considered her hands. “The bitch,” she murmured. “But then, I suppose you find it commonplace, a man like you is attractive to a certain type of woman—”
    “You could have been kinder. She’s from East Berlin. Her accent gives her away. A good Communist, no doubt, like you,” Durell suggested.
    Anya shrugged. “Not all Communists are ‘good.’ ”
    “And not all of them follow Moscow’s line, is that it?” Durell murmured.
    “I do not understand.”
    “The Black House in Peking would hardly send conspicuous Chinese into Afghanistan and Iran to hunt for the dragon. They would use Maoist fellow travelers who would stand out less against the color of the local people,” Durell said. “Like the Indian, up ahead. Or perhaps the two men who look so American, behind us.”
    Anya was a bit pale. “I did not think of that.”
    “Do so, then,” Durell said.
    Not once had Herr Hauptman-Graz looked up from his business papers. It was a bit too obvious. They were amateurs. But then, Durell supposed, you can’t always be sure of quality when you have to hire outside help.

    They were followed from the airport in Meshed. The sun was hot and glittering, and there was a thin haze of pale golden dust in the air. The rest of the passengers scattered and vanished in the waiting room, seeking taxis or being met by friends for the trip into the center of town.