Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

Willie Garvin felt slightly less annoyed with himself as he moved into some shadows and waited to see if any attention had been attracted. He had hung from the outer edge of the hoist with one foot in a loop of rope and with the control box detached from its mounting so that he was able to stop the platform at each floor in the hope that at some stage one of the ungodly would approach to investigate. And one of them had.

Looking across from the corner of the east wing, Modesty had been able to make out enough of the scenario to feel that Willie had probably eliminated one opponent, which left only the third man in contention. She moved off, walking on one of the long girders, arms spread for balance, reflecting that the odds were more favourable now but there was still nothing to be complacent about. The last man had to be found and—

He came from behind a stanchion ten paces ahead. She had moved from the girder on to a floored section when he emerged, his arm swinging horizontally in a throw, which told her the missile was not a knife, and as she ducked sideways she glimpsed the razorsharp ninja star flashing past, its steel edge slicing a shallow cut in her arm just below the shoulder instead of finding the intended target of her throat.

Then he was upon her with a karate attack and she was offbalance, blocking, backing, using all her combat skills to evade a crippling strike, but unable to use her unique ability to fight aggressively while in swift retreat, for the floor edge was behind her with an eightyfoot drop waiting below. Driving him back for a moment with a glancing footstrike she felt for the last stanchion behind her where the long girder began. By moving fast along it, by running along it, she would have the advantage at the far end if he followed.

She had taken only one stride when her foot slipped on a small pool of blood that had run down her arm from the cut in her shoulder and she sprawled forward, clutching at the girder as she fell, her legs slipping over the edge, their weight dragging her body over so that she hung only by the grasp of her two hands on the upper flange of the girder.

The man moved forward on to the narrow steel, treading lightly and with perfect balance, halting near her right hand and looking down at her, teeth showing in a smile. "We are The Dark Angels," he said, "and I am Asmodeus, your destroyer."

He stamped at her fingers, but she snatched the hand away and transferred her grip to the lower flange of the girder, following suit with the other hand. Now if he tried to stamp on her fingers he would be unbalanced and vulnerable. He made no move to do so, but laughed and took a step forward, turning to stand with legs astride, firmly balanced as he looked down from directly above her.

" I am Asmodeus," he repeated, and slowly drew a knife from the sheath at the back of his belt.

She had been hoping for this, focusing energy on her stomach muscles, and now with explosive speed she chinned herself and brought her legs up behind him, thrusting her feet between his straddled legs, hooking her heels beneath his kneecaps, then pushing back. He swayed, uttered a wordless cry of shock, then fell, clutching futilely at space. One of his feet caught her ankle, almost tearing her loose from the girder, then he was gone and she heard a scream cut short as he hit a girder, a voiceless impact as he struck another, and a soft sound from far below.

With a huge effort she dragged herself up and crawled to the safety of the flooring to sit with her back against a stanchion, a hand gripping her cut shoulder. It was perhaps a minute later that Willie's voice whispered from the shadows, "Princess…?"

She said, "Did you get any?"

"Only one."

She relaxed. "That's all right. We're clear. The one who just took a dive was my second."

He emerged from the shadows, peering at her. Even in the pale light he could see that her face was grazed, her shirt torn, her shoulder hurt. He said apologetically, "Sorry to lumber you with most of it. I made a right cockup to start with."

"I made one both ends. Christ, Willie, we'd better get our act together. We walked into this as if it was going to be a teaparty."

He nodded. "I know. Too cocky. But so were they, only worse. What 'appened 'ere, Princess?"

"I'll tell you while you get a dressing on this shoulder. It took a bit of a cut from a ninja star."

Fifteen minutes had gone by. A cement mixer was churning below. On a section of the fourth floor Aruga and Belial lay without masks, hands tied behind them, faces empty with shock. Aruga's right shirtsleeve had been cut away and there was an emergency dressing on his upper arm.

Using the hoist, Willie had just brought the two men here from where he and Modesty had left them bound. He had not been pleased to find the whip tipped with razorwire that Belial had used as a weapon. Modesty stood with arms folded, a bulge under the sleeve of her shirt just below the shoulder where Willie had fixed a dressing. Gus stood grimfaced, smoking the last of a cheroot having asked Modesty's permission.

Willie walked to where the concrete flooring ended and looked down through the steel skeleton of girders, then he moved to where the two Dark Angels lay and studied them as if trying to come to a decision. From the time he had brought the first of them here, Aruga, not a word had been spoken, and even now the ominous silence continued as Gus dropped his cigar butt and trod it out while Willie adjusted his knives and buttoned his shirt over them.

Another full minute passed before Modesty spoke. She said, "I'm going to keep this simple. We're going to assume you know who sent you to kill Mr Keyes. If you don't know, it's going to be hard luck."

Willie took Belial by the hair, hauled him to his feet and backed him to the edge of the unfinished floor. "We're mixing some concrete for the road," he said. "Asmodeus is already down there making a nice bit of 'ardcore foundation, and we thought you'd like to join 'im."

Modesty said without much interest, "Or you could just tell us the names."

There was a silence. Belial glared defiantly. Willie said, "He thinks we're bluffing, Princess," and hit Belial hard under the jaw with the heel of his hand. Unconscious, the man fell back limply into the darkness below.

Willie stepped to the edge and looked down. "That's amazing," he said with interest. "D'you know, he missed every girder going down. Didn't bounce once." He turned with a grin. " "Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind." Psalm eighteen, verse ten." He hauled Aruga to his feet and pushed him back to the edge. "Wonder if I can do it again?"

Modesty said, "Just the names."

Sweat was pouring down Aruga's face. He had suffered defeat, and a wound, and the world he lived in had been destroyed. Holding him by the throat Willie said, "I expect you and your dead mates were going to mix up a bit of concrete for us, eh? Still, you can't say we never gave you a chance." He lifted an eyebrow hopefully. "No? Well, you go and tell Belial 'ow brave you were."

He shaped for the blow, and Aruga broke. "Wait! His head sagged and he mumbled, "Sumner. Brigadier Sumner. Beckworth, Timmins… a woman, Harriet Welling… that's all I know." As Willie pulled him away from the edge his legs gave way and he collapsed.

Gus moved forward and looked down over the edge. Belial lay ten feet below in a heavy loading net spread between the girders. Gus sniffed. "The goddam net held," he said sourly, and moved away to face Modesty. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket he held it against the weeping graze on her cheek, and saw her skinned knuckles as she took it from him. "You took some bad lumps for me, Miss Modesty," he said in a low sad voice.

She smiled. "Fewer than I deserve. But we stomped 'em, didn't we?"