Free Assignment - Suicide by Edward S. Aarons

deeply recessed doorway of an ornate, dark
mansion diagonally across from the Embassy building. Two dim, bulky shadows
stood against the glass doors within the marble entry. Durell felt their eyes
touch him and the girl, return to him and follow him until he passed.
    “We‘ll try the back entrance,” Durell murmured.
    “It will be the same. I am sure Kronev telephoned from
Leningrad. He is a cold and efficient man. He’ is terrible."
    Durell turned left at the corner, the girl matching his
stride. Her blonde hair gleamed in the lights from the tall windows of Spasso
House. The wide streets were mostly dark now, but the street lamps of Moscow
were more than adequate for the springtime dusk. A chill wind began to whip along
the clean, empty avenues of the vicinity. A small Moskva car was parked nearby
and two other men sat in it, talking and smoking. Their eyes followed Durell
and Valya to the corner. Two more here, in another doorway. They took no
chances and worked in pairs.
    The lights from the Embassy windows were tantalizing.
Somewhere in there Alex Holbrook was waiting for word from him. He wondered
what would happen if he suddenly made a break for it, dashing across the street
to the tall gates where the US. Marine guard stood at stiff, alert attention.
He passed a heavy Zis limousine where more shadows sat, waiting. The motor of
the car idled softly in the dusk. The street was very wide. He knew very well
what would happen if he ran for it.
    They had almost circled the Embassy, and he saw no loophole
in the cordon of silent Watchers surrounding the elegant building. He knew that
if he reappeared on the first side of the Embassy and was seen again by
the watchers there, he would become immediately suspect.
    "Be careful,” Valya said again. “Come this way.”
    She led him down a side street, away from the Embassy.
    Durell had no choice but to follow. The wind felt cold and
cutting on his angry face.
    “Give up for now,” Valya urged. “Please! It is
suicide."
    He said angrily: “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? Where
is Mikhail, by the way? Why aren’t you concerned about him?”
    “Mikhail can take care of himself. It was necessary that we
separate at Vnoukovo."
    “How do I know these are Kronev’s men? They could just as
easily be members of your underground outfit.”
    “Yes, they could be. But they are not.”
    “Mikhail could have alerted them.”
    She paused suddenly on the street. The wind tugged at wisps
of her braided, honey-colored hair. He saw that her impatience matched his own,
and he recognized a strength in her that might well be as great as his, in some
ways. “Durell, at some point you must learn to trust someone,” she said. “One
of us, and I believe both of us, must accept the other on simple faith. You
must trust me. I understand what you want to do. I know your duty requires that
you reach your countrymen in the Embassy. But I do not want to see you die. It
would be a waste. I am almost fond of you.” Her lips curled in a wry smile.
“For an American, you are not so terrible. You would die trying to reach the
Embassy tonight. Believe me.”
    “And you don’t want me there, anyway.” he pointed out.
    “I am not sure. I have been thinking of it all day. You may
be right; your way may be the only way. But I have not decided about it yet.”
    His glance searched the girl’s face. He wanted to believe
her. And she was right about reaching a point where some things had to be taken
on faith. Abruptly he took her arm and guided her back toward the bright
streets radiating from Red Square. “Let’s find that Uzbek stolovaya and have some shislak or rice pilaf , eh?”
    She laughed with the relief of a child reprieved from
punishment. “I am truly starving. While we eat, we can decide what to do."
    The clientele of Muscovites in the restaurant she led him to
exhibited a vivacity and conversational appetite that would have shocked those
of a ‘Nest European establishment. A