Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

Timmins looked at his watch, then at an empty chair where an agenda paper lay on the table in front of it. "Beckworth's late, but I think we should leave item three until he arrives. Item four—Future Operations." He looked up. This depends on what forewarning we may have of proposed largescale takeovers affecting this country. I have my usual lines of inquiry out, but nothing to report at present. Mrs Welling?"

Harriet Welling said, "I believe there is a possible hostile takeover of one of our larger industrial companies being planned, but I would rather wait till I have further intelligence on this before reporting fully."

Timmins said, "Thank you. Brigadier?"

Sumner shook his head. "My sources are very narrow compared with yours and Mrs Welling's. Perhaps Beckworth has—' he broke off as the door opened and a man entered. He wore a city suit and was carrying a bowler hat and umbrella." Sumner said, "Ah, Beckworth."

The man said, "Sorry Mrs Welling, gentlemen." He hung up his hat and umbrella, moved to the empty chair and sat down, a man with a fresh complexion, a chubby face and bright blue eyes, his hair greying at the temples, a neat moustache still dark.

Timmins said with a touch of sarcasm, "Good of you to come."

Beckworth answered without resentment. "I'm on eight boards of directors, Timmins, most useful to our enterprise, and the traffic's hell today. Where are we up to?"

"Item three, please."

Beckworth studied the agenda. "Choice of contractor for disposal of Mr. Howard A. Keyes. Well, what's the feeling?"

Sumner said, "I recommend using The Dark Angels right away."

Harriet Welling said gently, "As treasurer I feel I must point out that our funds are low following heavy expenditure last year. The Carter group or the Albanian group would be cheaper."

"Not if they fail," said Timmins. "We don't want to pay half in advance and then fall back on the Angels anyway."

Sumner said slowly, "We four are the only source of funds. We are dedicated to the sole purpose of keeping British industry Britishowned by preventing the steady takeover of our industrial base by foreign corporations. Surely there must be others of our mind, others who foresee the loss of sovereignty and death of Britain as we know it if this continues. Can we not recruit a few carefully selected persons of reasonable substance who would join our enterprise?"

Beckworth fingered his moustache. "Our enterprise involves killing people."

"Of course. But we take great care to ensure that only the selected person dies. You'll see from the report on the Kaltchas operation that his bodyguard suffered no harm."

"A minor torticollis, perhaps," Harriet Welling suggested.

"I beg your pardon?"

"A stiff neck, Brigadier."

"Oh. Quite. But I don't think that invalidates my point. We do what has to be done in an extremely responsible manner."

Beckworth leaned back in his chair and looked round at his companions. "My own feeling is that any attempt at recruitment would be dangerous. However, we may have to consider it and I therefore recommend that we leave Sumner's suggestion on the table for future discussion. Now, according to our latest intelligence Mr Howard A. Keyes shouldn't be very difficult to kill. I suggest that to save expense we put the job out to the Carter group first, but with a cash on delivery proviso, no deposit."

Timmins said, "Certainly we lose nothing that way. I'll second the proposal. Mrs Welling?"

"Yes. A good compromise."

Sumner said, "Agreed."

There was silence as they looked at their agenda papers, then Beckworth said, "Items one and two are routine, and no doubt you've dealt with them. Shall we proceed to item four now?"

Danny Chavasse had been gone three days. The church fete was in progress in the village of Benildon, and Sir Gerald Tarrant stood at the hoopla stall with Modesty Blaise beside him, watching him throw the wooden rings. He paid for six more and sighed inwardly, reflecting that he would have been greatly enjoying himself if he had not been suffering from a rare attack of guilt. His job was one in which he often had to put his people at considerable risk. Sometimes they were given tasks which resulted in death for them. This was something to which he had been compelled to inure himself, though he sometimes feared that he was simply postponing any response to some future day, to retirement perhaps, when all the horrors would descend upon him together.

At this moment he was feeling guilty about the girl beside him who was licking an ice cream cornet and carried a basket full of bottles, jars, cans of food and sundry other items either bought or won at great expense. She was no employee, but twice she had carried out missions for Tarrant, and in the Sabretooth operation had come close to dying for him.

Since that time, what had been acquaintance had become something closer, and he had been delighted when she invited him for a long weekend at her country cottage. They had fixed a date three weeks ahead, but only two days after making the arrangement Tarrant had been called in by the government minister to whom he was responsible. Intelligence reports from sources abroad and from other UK organisations had been passed to Tarrant, and he had been required as a matter of urgency to investigate and deal with a possible criminal matter of great delicacy involving foreign citizens and their governments. Evidence was patchy to the point of being nebulous, but he was told that speed in settling the matter was essential.

After long hours of increasingly uneasy consideration Tarrant had come to the ineluctable conclusion that no legal authority had the power to do what would be necessary if he was to achieve the task laid upon him. He had also concluded that there were two people who, being independent, could act more freely than any he could employ. They were also widely experienced in criminal matters, and above all had ways of thinking that he regarded as unique. So it was possible, just possible, that they might find a way to the heart of the nebulous matter and uncover what lay there.

Impossible simply to ask Modesty Blaise and Willie Garvin for their services again. He would have to involve them tangentially, and this he had now taken steps to arrange, which was why he felt heavy with guilt as he threw the last of the hoopla rings and watched with horror as it settled neatly round a small but very ugly green frog. This prize proved to be of painted lead and was presumably intended for use as a paperweight.

Modesty choked off a laugh, crunched the last of her cornet, wiped her lips on a tissue and said, "Well done." She looked about her. "Where did Willie disappear to?"

"Over there." Tarrant nodded to a stall where Willie was throwing darts at rows of playing cards fastened to a large board.

Modesty stared. "He can't do that!" She took Tarrant's arm and moved briskly across to the stall as Willie prepared to throw a final dart. "Willie! Don't you dare win prizes at that, it's not for-" she swallowed the word 'professionals' and made it, "for people like you."

The motherly lady in charge said, "Oh, it's all right, dear." She pointed to the row of small, evillooking gnomes on a shelf above the board where the playing cards were pinned. "He hasn't hit any spots yet, but he's just broken three of the prizes and he's very sorry, so he's going to pay five pounds for each of them."

Willie said, "I can't get the hang of this, some'ow." He threw the last dart, and a fourth gnome shattered with the impact. "There, see what I mean?"

Modesty nodded thoughtfully. "Yes… another time you could try aiming a bit lower, perhaps?"

"Might be the answer," Willie agreed. "I'll think about it." He handed a note to the lady in charge. "Twenty pounds, Mrs Bailey. Will that cover the damage?"