Read Assignment - Karachi for Free Online

The impersonation was good enough to pass a casual inspection, a glance in a car, a glimpse from across the street, or identification from slipshod verbal description. But nothing could give this girl, posing as Sarah Standish, the innate quality of having been born into almost uncountable wealth, to power, to the rarefied atmosphere of lifelong social position and command.
    She did her best to hide her fear, but it was there, in the slight moistening of her full lips with the tip of her tongue, in the fractional pause before she nodded to Lathri and came toward Durell with her hand outstretched.
    “Mr. Durell. How nice to see you again.”
    Her voice as not the same, either. It was richer, with more body and timbre; but that could be because she was afraid.
    Nothing changed in Durell’s face.
    “It’s nice that you remember me,” he said.
    “Why shouldn’t I? I’m known for remembering names and faces—like a politician, they say. Perhaps I am, in a sense. Who knows?” She smiled briefly at K’Ayub, then returned to Durell. The sunlight glinted on her austere glasses. “We have been expecting you for some hours.”
    “I was delayed. I'm sure you know how difficult it is.” “You look as if—”
    “—I had run into trouble?”
    “Yes. I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry for the trouble? Or how I look?”
    She frowned slightly. “I don’t understand—”
    “Neither do I,” he said. “But perhaps it doesn’t matter, I just wondered if you were aware of the small difficulty I had reaching you.”
    “No. No, I—”
    Her voice trailed off in puzzlement. He was aware of a slow apprehension growing out of his surprise at finding this impostor. Obviously, K’Ayub believed her to be the real Sarah Standish. But where was Sarah? He wondered what had happened to her, and then he wondered why this masquerade was arranged, and he wondered who had arranged it and coached this girl to look as much like the real Sarah Standish as she did.
    She was an amateur, he thought, hoping to find his memory faulty. There was danger in this, as there always was in Durell’s business, and there was no room in it for amateurs. They simply did not survive long. And although this girl knew enough to be afraid, she was doing her best to conceal it and carry out her act as best she could.
    But he had to find out about the real Sarah. He could be in danger here himself, in K’Ayub’s house. More than he had supposed.
    “May I speak to you alone, Miss Standish?”
    “Well, I—” She looked at K’Ayub.
    “It’s important,” Durell said.
    The Pakistani bowed, spread pale hands. “Naturally. I must make arrangements for our transport to Karachi as soon as possible. If you will forgive me?”
    With another bow, another smile, the cat-eyed man was gone.
    The girl drew a small breath between her teeth and walked to the table that held the telephone and helped herself to a cigarette from an ivory box. Durell reached beyond her for an enameled, jeweled lighter and held the flame for her. She blew out the smoke nervously and cocked her head as the cry of a peddler came dimly over the garden wall.
    “Sarah didn’t smoke,” he said quietly.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “Sarah Standish didn’t smoke. Sarah has gray eyes, not blue. She’s at least two inches taller, and her hair isn’t tinted. Her glasses are fake, with no prescription lenses, worn because she feels they defend her, somehow. Perhaps she think’s they give her more of an air of business competence.” Durell’s voice was flat and harsh in the hot, still air of the garden. The girl had shrunk a step or two away from him. “I don't know. I only know that you’re not Sarah Standish. Where is she?”
    “I—”
    “And who are you?”
    “Oh, please—”
    “Is she safe?”
    “Oh, yes!”
    “Alive?”
    “Of course, I—”
    “Where?”
    “In Karachi. With the von Buhlens.”
    “Then why are you here, as Sarah Standish?”
    “We arrived just yesterday. We thought