Assignment Unicorn Read Online Free PDF Page A

with its speed. It
was heading straight for the nose of the diesel loco that poked out of the high
double doors.
    With less than twenty feet to go, Durell leaped upon the floor
of the flatcar, keeping low behind the crates and barrels it carried, then
wriggled across to the other side. The car rumbled under him as he lay fiat
on the splintered plank floor. The diesel engine seemed to rush at him. He
could not see the girl with the rifle now, in the small window to his right. At
the last moment, ho rolled off and jumped for the shadows inside the warehouse
door.
    The crash when the flatcar hit the nose of the parked
locomotive was thunderous, echoing within the high, shadowed building. The
boxes and crates piled on the floor scattered and flew in every
direction. Durell landed lightly on his feet and raced for the bulky protection
of geared machinery, a shredding table, and then a low partition that divided
one end of the plant. He smelled the dusty odor of coconut fibers and
shredded husks. Sunlight came through a high window on the seaward side of the
structure in a long, slanting beam. Dust motes danced in it. The shattering
echoes of the crash died away. Durell breathed easier. He kept his gun ready.
    The girl was hidden in a partitioned office in one corner of
the long building. He could not see her at first. He moved carefully,
without sound, behind a sorting table, an endless belt that stretched toward
crushing rollers powered by a steam donkey engine that bulked in the rear of
the plant. The door to the partitioned office was open. The girl appeared
there, holding a Remington rifle in both hands. She looked as if she knew
how to use it.
    The light inside the building was uncertain. Durell kept
still. The girl looked at the wrecked flatcar that blocked the double
doors. The car had derailed and now lay tilted to one side, heaped up with a buckled,
splintered floor around the nose of the diesel. She stared in puzzlement and
moved toward the side of the building where Durell crouched. When she came
within reach, he jumped her.
    She was a tall girl, in her middle twenties, and she wore
faded denims and a man’s shirt with the tails tied about her midriff. Her hair
was skinned back, pulled tightly into a knot at the nape of her neck, the hair
a dark-red color obscured by dust; there were smudges on her face. Her full
breasts did not seem to be restrained by a bra. She had a narrow waist, full
hips, long and solid legs. The striped shirtsleeves were rolled up above her
elbows.
    Durell came at her fast from behind, hit her just below the
waist. She gasped and grunted as she went forward with the impact, her arms
going out instinctively to check her fall to the floor. The rifle
slammed on the concrete with a hard clatter. She yelped and tried to retrieve
her grip on the gun as Durell rolled, came up on his feet, and stamped a booted
foot on the barrel. She gave a cry of pain as her fingers were pinned
under the metal. Her swearing could have been learned from Donaldson, whose
vocabulary had been famous. There was nothing weak or feminine about her
resistance. She tried to get her knee into Durell’s crotch, failed, flailed
with her right fist at his face, then stiffened her fingers and
stabbed at his eyes.
    “Hold it,” he gasped.
    “You murdering mother—”
    He hit her hard enough to cloud her eyes for a moment. Her
head snapped back and her face was in profile against the concrete. He
was aware of her loose breasts against his chest, the pillowing of her hips
under him.
    “Now just shut up,” Durell said. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
    “No? Liar! You helped kill Daddy—”
    “Donaldson?”
    “Ah, go to hell,” she said. “Go ahead, kill me.”
    “Are you Donaldson’s daughter?’
    “What else?”
    “Listen,” Durell said. “Stop fighting me. I’m on your
side. What’s your name?”
    “Maggie. What's yours?”
    “Sam Durell.”
    She stared up at him. Her eyes were a pale dusty blue.
    They stared