Modesty Blaise - Cobra Trap Part 13

Willie rubbed his eyes with finger and thumb, wondering if he were dreaming. Modesty made a helpless gesture and said, "I'm at a loss, Sir Angus. For long years you've remembered your father as a hero who died for his country. Why should the discovery that he's alive make you... let's say, take a different view of yourself?"

He looked through her with blank eyes for long seconds, and at last he said in a small voice, "So hard to explain, even to myself. But because he is alive he could... form an opinion of me. An opinion that fills me with shame. I can only say that it has changed everything for me."

Head bowed, he gazed down at the floor in silence for a few moments, then suddenly sat up straight and looked at his watch. His voice was flat and businesslike again as he said, "May we revert to your own situation now, please?"

Modesty gathered up the letters and handed them to him. "In what respect?"

"I said a short time ago that I would provide an alternative to the ultimatum you so rightly presented to Salamander Four and which they ignored."

"They? You exclude yourself?"

"As I have said, I was the sole objector." Again McBeal looked at his watch. "At this moment my three colleagues are gathered at a house in a somewhat remote part of Suss.e.x that we use for board meetings in this country. Shortly before arriving here I telephoned them to say that I was being delayed by traffic and would be about thirty minutes late in joining them. They will now be expecting me shortly." He took a mobile phone from his pocket, dialled a number, listened for a moment and said into the phone, "Stand by."

Still holding the mobile, he glanced towards a side table and said, "I would like to use your telephone now, and I see you have an amplifier. May I switch that on for you to hear?"

Modesty said, "Go ahead."

McBeal rose and picked up the phone. He dialled a number and switched on the amplifier. After two rings a deep voice said, "Yes?"

"Hallo, Chard. I'll be with you in a few minutes. Are Gesner and Pereda there?"

"We are all here waiting for you," said the voice impatiently. "What the devil are you thinking of, using names on an open line?"

McBeal said, "One moment please." He put the mobile phone to his lips and said, "Now."

The deep voice was speaking. "Hallo? Are you there? Hallo-?" The line went dead.

McBeal switched off the amplifier, cradled the phone and listened on his mobile. After a few seconds he said, "That is very satisfactory. I will put through the balance of the agreed sum as arranged." He switched off, put the mobile in his pocket and returned to his chair.

Modesty said slowly, "What exactly have you done?"

McBeal took off his spectacles and began to clean them on a small square of cloth. "I have retired," he said. "I have retired from alternative business. Salamander Four has ceased to exist."

She came to her feet, staring. "The house in Suss.e.x-?"

There has been an explosion caused by escaping gas acc.u.mulating in a cellar," said McBeal patiently. "It was arranged and triggered by an expert who observed the effect from a safe distance and just reported to me that the whole house has collapsed and is burning. I believe this will save you a great deal of trouble and danger, Miss Blaise, and I hope you will be convinced that I personally am no threat to you or to Mr Garvin."

She looked at Willie, who had risen with her, and it was the first time he had ever seen her openmouthed. With an effort she collected herself and turned back to McBeal. "Christ!" she said. "What would your father think of that little effort?"

He blinked at her sadly and put his spectacles on. "They were very bad, dangerous men. I think that for your sake my father might well approve."

She turned away and walked to the big picture window, thinking, Yes. Old Alex just might. Willie Garvin was wandering aimlessly around the room, trying to stop feeling disorientated. McBeal sat looking fondly at one of the letters. After a while Modesty said, "Well... you've said your thankyou and you've done us a service, which is what you came for, Sir Angus. Is there anything else?"

He looked up from putting the letters away in his case. "Yes, there is, Miss Blaise, and I urge you to give it serious thought. The man Pike was in our employ not that he knew who his employers were, of course. After events at The Black Horse, and after discharge from hospital, he decamped to Liverpool and was killed in a brawl there by arrangement. We don't, or perhaps I should say we didn't, permit our lowest stratum of employees to cause us to lose respect without their suffering the consequences."

"What's your point?"

"My colleagues and I had a report of the event, and knew at once that you and Mr Garvin were the princ.i.p.al protagonists. For myself I felt only professional admiration. My colleagues, however, were incensed that yet again you had damaged our organisation. They at once agreed that a further attempt on your life should be made without delay. I protested but was again overruled."

McBeal closed the doc.u.ment case and stood up. "Gesner proposed a simple a.s.sa.s.sination by sniper rifle, hiring the world's best pract.i.tioner for the purpose."

Willie said, "Skendi? The Albanian?"

"The same. It was suggested that the best opportunity as regards location would be Miss Blaise's cottage in Wilts.h.i.+re. At this juncture of the meeting I was required to withdraw since I was opposed to the operation, so I cannot tell you whether the proposal was acted upon. Skendi was in South Africa at the time, and as you are aware, we work through cutouts so it would take several days at least to conclude the contract. I can only tell you that perhaps from this very day you may well both be at risk from long range, and there is now nothing I can do to cancel the contract - if it exists. In that event Skendi will have been paid half one hundred thousand pounds in advance, the rest to be paid on completion. He will not know that this balance cannot now be paid."

McBeal paused, thinking. "I believe there is nothing more I can usefully tell you," he said. "Thank you for your time." He made no attempt to shake hands, but gave another little bow and moved towards the foyer. Weng appeared with his hat and umbrella, handed them to him and opened the lift door. McBeal started to enter, then paused. "May I offer you a word of advice, Miss Blaise?"

She laughed shortly. "After all you've said so far I'm hardly likely to decline."

"It's of little importance really, but should you survive Skendi's attentions, as I sincerely hope, I recommend a substantial purchase of Bearstead Holdings. There will be an agreed takeover in about six weeks and the shares will double in value."

He nodded, stepped into the lift, and the door closed after him. Weng, who was probably the world's richest houseboy, said thoughtfully, "Bearstead Holdings"

Willie sat down on the chesterfield, leaned back and closed his eyes. Modesty joined him and followed suit. A long minute later Willie said, "I just 'ad a very funny dream, Princess."

"So did I. This man called, and sat there chatting about various people he'd had killed. Then he got us to listen while he killed off some more over the phone, his colleagues actually. Oh, before that he thanked me for discovering his father, lost for fifty years, and got tearful about how ashamed his father would be of him-"

She broke off at the sound of Weng setting a tray down on the low table. When they opened their eyes they saw that he had brought a halfbottle of champagne in an icebucket, and two gla.s.ses. As he poured, Willie said, "You have great perception, Weng. We needed a pickmeup."

"Thank you, Mr Garvin. The bit I liked best," Weng had to pause, struggling to contain his mirth, "was when he said he had retired from... from alternative business."

He choked on the last word, overwhelmed, and fled from the room with a wailing cry of apology. Following the tensions of the past twenty minutes it was infectious. Modesty collapsed against Willie, beating a hand against his chest as he heaved with laughter.

After a little while, breathless, they picked up their drinks. Modesty said, "Well... at least he's saved us some agonising decisions over what to do about Salamander Four. We've never gone in for a.s.sa.s.sinations, but I wasn't going to wait around to be killed."

Willie said soberly, "There's still Skendi."

She nodded. "He's very good, very careful, but he doesn't hang about on a contract. If he's taken it we can expect something within ten days or so."

"He'll know he's got to get both of us," said Willie. " Whoever's left 'll go after 'im." He thought for a moment. "Small chance of taking us together, though. He'll settle for one at a time if he has to."

"We'll set it up that way." She drained her gla.s.s and put it down. "He's wanted for murder in New York, isn't he?"

"They've 'ad special agents trying to nail him for a couple of years since he shot that Sanford heiress and then 'er husband made a deathbed confession soon after, saying he'd paid for the hit."

"Well... as I said, I'm not standing still for it. We'd better do something about him." She sat gazing into s.p.a.ce, and after a while gave a little sigh.

Willie looked at her curiously. "What was that for, Princess?"

She halflaughed and gave him a wry look. "Just a silly moment, Willie love, and it's McBeal's fault. I've never thought of it before, but I was just wondering if my father, whoever he was, would be ashamed of me."

Willie Garvin flew to Paris the next day. He then disappeared and was not to be found at any of his usual haunts. In Hyde Park the following day Modesty Blaise took a fall from her horse. She happened to be riding with a police surgeon of recent acquaintance, supplied by Inspector Harry Lomax. The surgeon had her taken to the hospital at which he was a consultant and she was discharged that evening with one leg in plaster, Weng pus.h.i.+ng her in a wheelchair.

Next morning her friend Dinah Collier came to look after her, and it was then decided that Weng should drive them both down to Modesty's cottage near the village of Benildon in Wilts.h.i.+re. Stephen Collier was reluctantly absent for his own sake. Willie Garvin, speaking on the phone from wherever he was, had said, "Modesty won't 'ave you near the cottage, Steve. We reckon Skendi might think you're me at long range, even with a sniperscope, and we don't want you knocked off. Dinah thinks there's a bit of mileage in you yet."

"Jesus, Willie, how the h.e.l.l could anyone take me for you? I'm handsome and debonair, with opposed thumbs, and I move beautifully-"

"I know, Steve, I know. But Skendi might go in for a bit of wishful thinking, because he'd love it to be me. Or he might blow your 'ead off out of sheer male jealousy."

Collier had laughed. "There's always that. But Dinah's safe?"

"Skendi's a pro. He'll only kill the girl in the wheelchair."

Morning and afternoon at the cottage in the valley Weng pushed the wheelchair with its pa.s.senger out into the garden for an hour to doze in the sun. Sometimes Dinah would emerge to sit with her for a while or to see that she was comfortable, adjusting the pillow on the stool supporting her hurt leg. Sometimes Weng emerged to speak with her briefly, but for the most part she seemed content to sit and read, or doze, or watch the occasional hangglider that floated lazily across the sky between Furze Hill and Benildon.

Skendi came after dark on the fourth night. He left his hired car at a garage miles away and hired a mountain bike which he hid in thick woods near the ridge that ran north of the cottage. At first light he lay within the edge of the woods and studied the lie of the land and the position of the cottage in the valley below. He had brought food and water in a haversack with him, and throughout the morning he watched through binoculars.

Once or twice he saw the houseboy and the fairhaired girl he had been told about by his advance team watching the London penthouse, but it was not until eleven that the subject of his mission was pushed out in her wheelchair to sit in the garden. She was facing south, towards the ridge on the far side of the valley which was pasture land and offered no cover for him. A hangglider was moving out from the hill beyond, and Skendi noted that he would need overhead concealment in choosing his position for putting a bullet through the subject's head.

After studying the terrain for half an hour he made his choice. There was a place where the ground rose in a little hummock to a broad hedge fronted by a patch of tall nettles. He could not check it out in daylight, but could do so shortly after dusk with little chance of being seen, for after crossing an area of pasture he would enter a field of corn on the other side of the hedge, and he could approach under cover of that.

He wriggled back deeper into the woods, then rose and walked to where he had left his mountain bike with its pannier containing a small bivouac. Skendi was a wiry man of less than medium height, in his late thirties and with thinning hair, a forgettable appearance and a phlegmatic manner. He felt no pride at knowing he was considered the best in the world at his job. He was interested only in the money. He sat reading a paperback till dusk, occasionally eating a sandwich from some packets bought earlier, and drinking water, then he walked back through the woods, crossed the pasture and crawled through the cornfield to reach the spot he had chosen. With secateurs he cut a narrow hole through the base of the hedge and lay within it, looking over the hummock at the lights of the cottage below, three hundred yards away.

For ten minutes he remained there, getting the feel of the position and making a thin mattress of straw to lie on. There had been no wind worth mentioning today, and the forecast was settled. It would be an easy killing. He moved back through the cornfield and the woods, set up his tent, climbed into a sleepingbag, set a small travelling alarm clock near his head, and went to sleep.

Half an hour before first light he roused, packed the tent, put it in the pannier of his bike, and picked up a flat box he had brought with him strapped to his back, a wooden box perhaps onethird the size of a cardtable. Fifteen minutes later he was crouched by the hedge, hidden by the corn as he carefully a.s.sembled the parts of his custommade rifle with its telescopic sight. He slid an expanding bullet into the breech, then crawled into the hole beneath the hedge.

For a few minutes he sighted on various targets at the range he would be using, then turned on his back, settled himself on the straw mattress with the rifle lying beside him, and took the paperback from his pocket.

Through the first hours of daylight he read and dozed. At ten o'clock he turned on his front and began to watch the cottage. It was shortly before eleven when the young oriental pushed the wheelchair into the garden accompanied by the fairhaired girl who spent some time making the subject comfortable. There seemed to be a suggestion that a sun umbrella be set up, but this was evidently declined and the two went back into the cottage.

Slowly Skendi lifted the rifle to his shoulder and sighted. He could see the back of the subject's head clearly above the top of the wheelchair. There was hardly any tension in him as he brought the crosshairs to the middle of the head and gently squeezed the trigger.

The report was not loud. Skendi saw the head burst open, spraying blood, then he was wriggling back, lying low in the corn, beginning smoothly and without haste to disa.s.semble the rifle and pack the components in the padded box. Glancing up, he saw a hangglider drifting over the far ridge. No problem. He had only to crawl across the corner of the cornfield and the downslope would hide him as he moved over the pasture to the woods.

In the cottage Dinah and Weng had heard the report. Weng was sitting by the window, watching the dummy in the wheelchair. As the head shattered he noted the direction in which the fragments of plastic and sponge had been flung, and lifted a handradio to his lips. "From the north ridge, Miss Blaise. Go, go, go!"

Dinah, making coffee in the kitchen, called "Weng! Was that it?" She came hurrying through to where he sat, her face pale.

Weng stood up and said grimly, "He blew the head apart. I'm glad you did not see it, Mrs Collier-" He caught himself and winced at the gaffe. "Forgive me, please. You know what I meant."

"It's nothing." Her voice shook. "We're wound up so tight, waiting. Thank G.o.d it's over. Oh Weng, is it really over? Can we be sure?"

He looked out of the window again at the headless dummy and the fake blood spattered round it. "It is almost over, Mrs Collier," he said, "but I regret that Miss Blaise has to observe certain legalities." He sighed and shook his head. "A pity it could not be left to Mr Garvin to conclude the matter. He has a very positive way of dealing with people who try to kill ladies."

Remembering moments when men had sought her own death, Dinah said soberly, "Yes, Weng. Yes, I know."

Holding a handradio and sitting in the pa.s.senger seat of a car parked half a mile away in the layby off the road running along the ridge, Inspector Harry Lomax said to the driver beside him, "All right, Sergeant, let's go. It's the north ridge so we're nice and close."

Three days ago Lomax had taken a week's leave and was spending it at The Plough in Tunbury, a village two miles from Benildon. Most of each day was devoted to his favourite pastime of fis.h.i.+ng, but for an hour every morning and afternoon he sat in this unmarked car with the Detective Sergeant from the local force, listening out on the radio and occasionally catching sight of a hangglider drifting high above the road leading to Benildon. His friend Inspector Brook had been going to carry out this surveillance, but in an act that Brook himself deemed the height of selflessness he had asked if Lomax might be invited to take his place.

A minute after Weng's message to Modesty came through on the radio the car drew up where a footpath led south through a tapering neck of woods. At that moment Skendi was emerging from the cornfield adjoining the wide pasture on the far side of the wooded area. Pausing to scan the ground ahead, and finding it empty, Skendi rose to his feet and began to walk towards the woods, carrying the case holding his rifle. He was halfway across the pasture when a cruciform shadow pa.s.sed silently over him. His pulse quickened as he saw the hangglider less than a hundred feet up as it moved ahead of him, turned, then slanted down to land.

Shock hit him like a blow under the heart as the pilot touched down lightly, released the harness, moved clear of the wing and stood looking towards him, hands on hips. It was a woman, a darkhaired woman, and even at a distance of fifty yards or more he knew that this was Modesty Blaise, knew that his contract to kill had been blown, that he had walked into a wellplaced trap, and that he was nearer to sudden death at this moment than he had ever been.

He dropped to one knee, fighting to keep his hands steady as he opened the flat box and began to a.s.semble the rifle. Sweat broke out on his brow as the chill of fear gripped him, for this was Modesty Blaise. When he glanced up he saw that she had started moving unhurriedly towards him. Breech and barrel were now fitted together. No need for the telescopic sight, for she would be at pointblank range. With new horror he realised that he also would be at pointblank range, for she wore a bolstered gun and it was said that she was lethally fast and accurate.

Such was Skendi's concentration on the rifle and the advancing figure that he was utterly unaware of the second hangglider dropping down fast from the thermal it had been riding, swooping round in a gentle curve to arrive directly behind him at fifty feet, drifting quietly towards him. Skendi had slipped a cartridge into the breech and was lifting the rifle to his shoulder when a blackjack thrown from only twenty feet hit him hard on the back of the skull and dropped him senseless.

Modesty relaxed, and lifted the hem of the hiplength dark tunic she wore to drop it over the Colt.32 bolstered at her hip. It would not be needed now. She had never known Willie to miss a throw, but the timing of his arrival had been critical and they both regarded the taking of unnecessary risks as bad practice.

He landed to one side of her and stepped clear of the wing, his face showing no pleasure. "I could've rigged it to look like an accident," he said plaintively. "He could've been hanggliding and got his neck broken when he crashed 'ere. No problem."

"Oh, shut up, Willie love," she said amiably, "we've been through all that." She lifted the radio hooked to her belt and spoke into it. "All over, Weng. Tell Mrs Collier we're fine except that Willie's having a bit of a sulk."

Weng's voice said, "Wilco, Miss Blaise. So am I."

Willie grinned and looked towards the woods. Two men were emerging from the trees. As they drew near, Inspector Lomax called, "Miss Blaise and Mr Garvin, I believe? The Sergeant here tells me you're the regular hanggliding folk locally." He produced his warrant card. "I'm Inspector Lomax and this is Detective Sergeant Baker. We saw you come down and thought you might be in trouble."

Modesty said, "Well, no, Inspector. We were gliding over the ridge and we saw that man lying there." She pointed. "He seemed to be unconscious, so we landed to see if we could help."

"Very kind of you, Miss. We'd better take a look."

Together they moved towards Skendi, and Lomax said, "My word! Just look at that, Sergeant it's a rifle!"

"And not a sporting rifle, sir," said Baker with the stilted air of a man remembering lines. He pointed to the weapon and then to the open box in which the telescopic sight and spare cartridges were clipped. "That's the sort of weapon a.s.sa.s.sins use!"

"So it is!" exclaimed Lomax. "Lucky you happened to bring that sheet with you, Sergeant. There'll be fingerprints all over the box and the rifle. Wrap them up carefully, then put your 'cuffs on this fellow."

"Right, sir," said Baker. "I wonder what he was doing here?"

"Practising, I'll be bound," said Lomax confidently. "But he must have tripped and hit his head on..." He looked about him and pointed to a huge flint a dozen yards away, "... on that rock. Staggered over here and collapsed." He fingered his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I've seen that face on some wanted pix that were circulated recently."

As the Sergeant bent to his task Lomax turned to Modesty and Willie and went on solemnly. "It's quite possible that this rifle has been used for a.s.sa.s.sination elsewhere. If so it can be identified by bullets taken from the bodies of any previous victims."

Willie Garvin said, "Gos.h.!.+ Really?" and Lomax had a brief choking fit before he could speak again.

"I hope," he said, looking at Modesty, "I hope this hasn't been too much of a shock for you, Miss?"

"No, I-I'll be all right," Modesty said bravely. "Mr Garvin will see me home."

Lomax nodded and turned away, standing in silence for a few moments with clenched jaws. He relaxed and said to Baker as he rose from handcuffing the unconscious man, "Get that gear back to the car, Sergeant, then radio for an ambulance. I'll wait here."

"Right, sir." Baker gathered up the sheetwrapped rifle and box very carefully and moved off towards the footpath. When he had disappeared into the woods, Lomax turned and said quietly, "Thanks very much. It's a particular pleasure for me to meet you, and I'm sure you'll know why."

Modesty smiled. "I hope you won't feel you've wasted some well earned leave."

"Oh G.o.d, no!" Lomax looked down at Skendi, who was beginning to stir and make faint sounds. "It's outrageous, but I'll get the credit for this. I understand there's been some sort of advance consultation at high level in antic.i.p.ation of Skendi being nailed, and the American Emba.s.sy have extradition papers already prepared. This coldblooded b.a.s.t.a.r.d is either going to spend the next ninetynine years in stir, or he'll get the hotseat."

"Needle," said Willie. "It's New York State."

Lomax nodded. "That'll do nicely." He looked at Modesty. "May I call later officially to take statements confirming what you've said to me and to Sergeant Baker?"

"Yes, of course, Mr Lomax. We're very grateful for your help. Come about eight o'clock and join us for dinner if you're free."