Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

An hour later Modesty stood by a low crag near the landing point, Brightstar's carbine cradled in one arm. The sun had set and a deep twilight lay over the sea. From where she stood she could see the lights of the Ambato at anchor and the shape of the launch creaming through the water towards her. A few paces away Willie stood facing Crichton, Van Rutte and Brightstar. The two pairs of handcuffs had been used to link the three men together with Brightstar in the middle. Van Rutte's head was still jammed in his helmet. Half Crichton's face was one huge bruise.

"Remember that cave where we picked you up, Crichton?" Willie said conversationally. "I left the 'andcuff keys on the ground there somewhere. You'd better all go and 'ave a look." He smiled a cheery smile. "Might as well say our goodbyes now. We'll 'ave the ship under way long before you're back."

Crichton tried to hold his voice steady as he said indistinctly from swollen lips, "What happens to us?"

Willie said disapprovingly, "Well, Miss Blaise 'as got a nicer nature than me, and she says we'll leave you the ship's dinghy and a couple of oars. The rest's your problem." He moved closer to them, lowering his voice, and the humour was suddenly wiped from his face. "By Christ, you're lucky. Any of you come near 'er again and I'll rip your guts out, no messing."

Sandra was sitting at the table in Bellman's cabin, her head in her hands, her back to the door, when there came a polite tap and Ricco Burrera entered. "The launch is on its way back, senorita," he said. "Shall I instruct the gentlemen to report to Senor Bellman here?"

She said wearily, "Get out, Burrera. Just get out." Offended, Burrera looked across the cabin to where Bellman lay on a low bunk, a blanket covering him to the shoulders. For a moment the captain considered putting the question to Bellman, then decided against it and went out. Moving along the deck he muttered to himself indignantly. "I am the captain of this ship. One does not say get out to the captain of a ship. It is a position of great authority. If I was not a man of iron control I would have—"

He stopped short, his stomach contracting with fear, for onturning a corner of the deckhousing he found the barrel of a carbine close to his nose, held by the woman he believed dead. Even in the dusk her eyes were very frightening. Beyond her was the big fair man who should also have been dead but who had a hunting rifle slung and was holding a submachine gun aimed at two seamen who were standing very still with their hands in the air.

Burrera drew in a deep breath, conjured up a sickly smile and spread his hands in a gracious gesture. "Welcome back, senorita, senor. I am Captain Ricco Burrera at your service. If you wish to charter my ship it will be a pleasure to arrange most economical terms."

Modesty said softly, "The terms are that if you put a foot wrong you go over the side."

The smile was maintained but became even more sickly. "I am not a man to haggle, senorita. Agreed."

"You've made a wise decision. How many crew?"

"Eleven, apart from myself."

"Your men or Bellman's?"

"Mine, senorita, and cowards to a man. You need have no worry."

"I haven't. What's your ship's radio?"

"A one kilowatt Telefunken."

"Where are Bellman and the girl?"

"In his cabin. He is unwell."

She glanced at Willie. "We'll deal with them when we've got things moving." Then to Burrera, "Put a dinghy ashore with oars, and as soon as your men return you get under way for Greenock. That's the nearest port?"

"It is, senorita." Burrera drew himself up and saluted. "I will give orders at once."

Twenty minutes later, when the engines began to throb, the girl in Bellman's cabin was sitting at the table with head pillowed on her arms, halfasleep, emotionally drained. As the ship stirred she lifted her head then let it fall again, unable to care what was happening. Behind her the door opened and closed. She said dully, "What is it now, Burrera?"

A man's voice with a Cockney accent said, "Nothing special."

She sat up slowly, turning to see Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin. Both were dishevelled and incongruous, she with her skirt hacked off to well above midthigh, he in his oncewhite shirt and soiled dinner jacket. Both were armed with the weapons of the men who had been sent to kill them. Already numb from shock, Sandra could feel only feeble surprise. She looked from one to the other, then said slowly, "You won't believe me, and it doesn't matter anyway, but I'm… relieved."

Modesty nodded towards the figure on the bunk. "Does that go for Bellman?"

"No. It was being glad that killed him."

Modesty and Willie exchanged a look, then he moved to the bunk and rested two fingers on the side of Bellman's neck. After a moment or two he pulled the blanket up over the man's face.

Sandra said, "He thought you were dead when he heard the shots. Then he died happy."

Modesty moved to the table and sat down, rubbing a bruised knee. The sleeve of her shirt was torn and there was blood on her arm. "I wouldn't begrudge anyone that," she said. "Not even him."

Sandra said, "The others… did you kill them?"

"No. We've left a dinghy. If they row east they'll hit Scotland."

Sandra absorbed this slowly, trying to comprehend, but the effort was too great and she let it go. Not looking towards the bunk where Bellman lay she said, "His mind slipped at the end. He babbled things… about getting the young ones hooked on the needle." She shivered, and tears began to run down her cheeks. "It was true, then? He… he really did those things?"

Willie said, "They don't come any worse than Bellman in that game. It's why we put 'im away."

For a moment resentment flared in her. "Who gave you the right?"

Modesty said without heat, "About ten thousand junkies in general and a teenage girl murdered by two of them in particular."

The spark of anger died, and Sandra wiped tears from her cheeks with her fingers. "I didn't know," she said in a whisper. "He was always so good to me. Always."

Modesty gave a tired shrug. "Maybe when you're destroying people at the rate he was, you need something or someone to keep your mind off it."

Sandra drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "Yes. He said something like that himself." She looked from one to the other of them. "What happens now? To me?"

Modesty stood up with the carbine and moved a little stiffly to the door. There she paused to look back at the girl with something of compassion. "What happens now is your problem, isn't it? We have nothing against you. Might be a good idea to go away for a while. Lie in the sun and think about how you start a new life. Not easy, but at least Bellman will have left you well provided for." She looked at Willie. "I'll go and call Weng. He can sort out some clothes for us and fly up to Glasgow, meet us in Greenock."

She flexed her grazed arm gingerly. "Sometimes I get sick of losing skin. Still, we can't blame Tarrant this time." She opened the cabin door. "Look after her, Willie."

When the door closed there was silence for a while. Sandra sat with knuckles pressed to her cheeks, trembling a little, shaken by moments of weeping but trying to suppress it. Willie picked up a spare blanket and put it round her shoulders. She muttered a word of thanks but did not move. He said, "Come on, Sandra, you can't stop 'ere. Let's get you to your cabin, then I'll rustle up some brandy and 'ot coffee."

She rested her hands on the table and gazed down at them, perplexed. "Nothing against me?" Her voice still wavered from shock. "What did she mean? I was part of it, wasn't I? Part of having you killed?"

Very gently Willie took her arm and helped her to her feet. "It's past, Sandra. All over."