Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

He broke off with a yelp of terror as a knife grazed his ear and stood quivering in the door. Willie moved towards him, grimfaced. "You referring to Miss Blaise!" he demanded. "Just don't take bloody liberties, Tabby, it upsets me, see? You might need specs one day, so you don't want to lose your ears, do you?"

Modesty suppressed a smile. She knew that Willie's anger was quite genuine. It always baffled her that he could accept with equanimity the notion that people might try to kill her but was infuriated if they showed any sign of disrespect. Tabby was looking at her now, sweating, ducking his head in apology and saying huskily, "Sorry, Miss. No offence."

She said, "You've done this before, haven't you, Tabby? Picked up a man here. A man with thick dark hair and a scar over one eye."

Tabby swallowed. "I–I might 'ave. Miss."

She said, "He's dead. So are you now. He was an SIS man, and his friends will sign you off when we hand you over, so you won't live to need spectacles." She began to turn away, then paused. "Unless we can come to some arrangement."

Tabby almost choked in his eagerness to get the words out. "Anything, Miss. Anything," he gabbled. "I mean, whatever you say. Oh Christ, I just want out. I 'ate that Mountjoy." He glanced in terror at Willie. "I don't know much, honest, Miss. But I'll tell all I know."

Willie said, "Will Mountjoy phone you tonight?" Tabby nodded. "So you'll tell him everything went according to plan?"

Tabby said desperately, " 'Course I bloody will! You don't reckon I'm going to tell 'im I blew it, do you? He'd 'ave me gutted! You going after 'im, Willie, you and Miss Blaise? I mean if you don't nail 'im he'll 'ave me gutted anyway, soon as he finds out I blew it."

Modesty said, "Did you deliver the crate last time, or was it collected?"

Tabby looked away. "My boys delivered it," he muttered. "Just delivered it."

"So you know where. That's good. When would you expect to deliver us?"

Tabby winced. "He'll ring and say. Most likely it'll be tomorrow night. Not before."

"All right." She glanced round the room. It was clear that all three men had to some extent come to their senses, but all were unmoving. Impossible to see the face of the man with the bucket on his head, but the other two seemed to be listening dazedly. She said, "Can you answer for your boys? Answer to Willie for them?"

"Oh God, yes, Miss. Yes. No sweat."

She looked at Willie. "Can you screw the keeper sections of those bolts back in place so the caretaker won't wonder?" He nodded, and she turned back to Tabby. "For the same reason, you take two of those crates when you leave here. When Mountjoy has phoned and you've told him all's well, you and your boys disappear. Go anywhere as long as you're well out of distance. Watch the newspapers. If you read that Hallenberg is safe, then you won't need to worry about Mountjoy. Or his friend."

At ten that evening, in his apartment overlooking the Thames, Sir Gerald Tarrant took a phonecall from Modesty Blaise. "Yes," he said quietly. "Fraser told me what he had done. I was very angry indeed, but then he gave me your ultimatum."

"No. Just my message telling you how I feel. It wasn't a threat to sever relations."

"Even so, after all I've put you through in the past I don't think I could bear to have you unable to forgive me for failing to tell you about Nash."

She said gently, "Well, that doesn't arise now. What are you going to do about Jack Fraser?"

"Nothing. I'm terrified of offending you."

He heard laughter in her voice. "I'm very glad about that, and now I need your help. There's a big old house in Cornwall called Poldeacon, perched on cliffs and quite a long way from the nearest village, which is called Mallowby. I'd be very glad if you could use your considerable resources to find out all you can about it, without letting it appear that inquiries are being made."

"That doesn't sound too onerous. When do you need this information?"

"Tomorrow morning would be very nice. I don't want to talk about it on the phone, but I'm not asking as a personal favour. It's to do with the hope I expressed to Fraser this morning, and which I'm sure he passed on to you."

Tarrant said, " What? How can you possibly-?"

She broke in. "I know it's only a few hours since he told us, but we got lucky at that Prison Abolition function this evening. Can you come and see us tomorrow morning? Willie's here with me."

There was a brief silence, then Tarrant said, "Is there really a chance that you might save some Scandinavian bacon for me?"

"That's what we're hoping for. We'll expect you for breakfast."

"My dear… thank you."

Tarrant put down the phone and moved to gaze out of the window, torn between hope and fear. In time past he had used her ruthlessly, and knowing the extent of her abilities he felt a surge of hope that she might indeed save Hallenberg. But although he would never have confessed it, his affection for her now could not have been deeper if she had been his daughter, and it chilled his blood to think what might happen to her if she made the smallest mistake in going up against the men who had killed John Nash so horribly.

At halfpast eight next morning he sat down with Modesty and Willie to a classic English breakfast served by her houseboy, Weng, and at nine moved with them into the big sittingroom overlooking Hyde Park. Modesty's hair was loose and tied back with a ribbon. Like Willie, she wore just a shirt and slacks, for they had been swimming in the pool below the penthouse block before Tarrant's arrival.

Now he said, "You're extremely civilised, banning all serious discussion during breakfast. I'm sure it enhances the digestion."

She gestured for him to take an armchair, and said, "I don't think as well as I might when I'm eating. That's probably because I enjoy it so much." She moved to another chair and picked up some embroidery on a tambourframe from a small table at her elbow, studying it for a moment with a frown before taking the threaded needle from where it had been lodged in the canvas.

Willie watched her start to work, seemed to understand some unspoken requirement, and sat down facing Tarrant. "Okay, Sir G., what've you got for us?"

Tarrant picked up the slim briefcase he had brought with him, opened it, and took out a photograph and a piece of paper, handing the photograph to Willie. "I had a man flown down to Cornwall last night. He had to get one or two people out of bed, but he managed to put together a good report on the situation. However, that picture and most of the background information were available from Ministry of Defence files."

Studying the photograph, Willie said, "This is Poldeacon?"

"And immediate surroundings. The picture isn't new, but the place hasn't changed in a century." Tarrant looked at the paper he held. "There's a wooded area that ends a couple of hundred yards from the front of the house. Cliffs drop down to a bay at the rear."

"Ideal place for 'em to be 'olding Hallenberg."

"Better than you can imagine, but we'll come to that in a moment. How did you and Modesty pinpoint this place?"

"Fraser told us Johnny Nash said the top man would be at that nutty do in Belgravia last night. He got us invitations and gave us the glove that was found with the body. It had the scent of a clerical gent called Bird, who was with another clerical gent called Mountjoy."

Tarrant stared. "Had the scent?"

"We've got an Aborigine friend with an ace hooter. He picked 'em out. We followed them, and they 'ad a good try at getting us crated like Johnny Nash. I don't know what the Church of England is coming to these days."

Tarrant said, "So you were blown?"

Willie nodded. "But they think we're crated and awaiting delivery to Poldeacon." He explained briefly what had happened at the empty hotel and how Tabby had been persuaded to tell what he knew. "So we reckon Poldeacon is where they've got Hallenberg, and the sooner we get 'im out the better. What does your report say about the place."