Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

Bird said, "Christ Almighty!" and fired into the shadows at the end of the corridor. On the floor below, Modesty heard the shot. It was not unexpected. She and Willie had split to wage guerrilla war against the enemy, and she guessed that Willie had just done a hitandrun job.

At this moment, here on the first floor, three men were working their way along the passages which ran north and south between two wider ones running east and west. The men were calling to each other from time to time, and one was shortly due in the narrow arched passage where Modesty was braced against the high ceiling, her feet against one wall, a shoulder against the other, her body curving up into the arch.

The man turned in from the wider passage and she dropped as he passed beneath her, catching him by the shoulder from behind to get her feet down first, and striking to his neck with the kongo as she landed, jerking him back towards her so that she was able to catch the gun as it fell from his hand. She laid him on his side, emptied the cylinder of the Smith and Wesson.38 Terrier, and put the cartridges in her haversack. Kneeling, she opened the man's jaws, slid the two-inch barrel into his mouth and closed it again, then moved to the wider passage with her mirror to seek fresh prey. She had given Willie the remaining anaesthetic noseplugs, but thought he would be pleased with the gun-in-mouth tactic. It was weird and chilling, and would give a morale—crushing impression of superiority.

Four minutes later she joined Willie at an agreed point where back stairs led down to the ground floor. They spoke in whispers.

"We're keeping 'em busy, Princess. I've dropped a couple."

"Plus two for me. Where do these stairs go, apart from down?"

"Don't know, but we can-" He broke off at the sound of voices drawing closer. Two men, and no facility for taking them by surprise when they turned the corner twenty paces away. Modesty jerked her head and they moved quickly down the stairs.

At the bottom a well—lit passage ran left and right. The voices were nearing the top of the stairs now. Modesty pointed and they ran to the right, passing a door on one side before reaching a second door at the end of the passage. Then they were through, closing the door behind them.

The light was on, revealing a large kitchen with tiled walls, well furnished and supplied but in a messy state. Unwashed crockery was piled in the sink. Jars, cans and bottles lay about on the units. The window was barred, the exterior shutters closed. There was no other door. They had reached a dead end.

Modesty said savagely, "What clown built this dump? All kitchens have back doors. You play dead, Willie." He nodded, picked up a bread knife, slipped the blade in the crack of a drawer and snapped it off an inch from the hilt. Stabbing what remained of the blade into a cake of soap on the draining board, he snatched up a bottle of ketchup and splashed it on his shirtfront and neck. Modesty said, "Fine." She was still looking about her. Willie could play dead, but there was no place for her to hide unless…

She saw the mincer. It was of the kind that fixed to the surface of a work unit by the rubber suction disc forming its base. As she turned the lever to release it she heard faint sounds from along the passage and guessed that the two men were checking the first room off it.

Willie saw the mincer in her hand and followed as she moved to the door. He still held the knife stuck in the cake of soap. She took his free hand, stepped up on his bent knee and swung round to step up again so that she was on his shoulders. Crouching there, she pressed the mincer against the tiled wall, close to the ceiling, and turned the lever to operate the suction disc.

Carefully she placed the edge of one foot on the edge of the doorframe lintel, lifted the other foot behind the first, and crouched there holding the mincer to prevent her toppling sideways.

It was less than a minute later that the door opened. Guns in hand, two vicars stopped short. Willie Garvin lay on his back by the sink. A breadknife, rising from the cake of soap buttoned beneath his shirt, appeared to be stuck deep in his chest. There was much blood on his shirt and neck, a trickle of it from one corner of his mouth. His halfopen eyes were glazed and still.

One man said, "Who's that? Who stuck him for Christ's sake?" He moved forward and bent to peer at Willie's face. A hand flashed up in a blur of speed and tore the gun away. The man screamed as a finger broke in the triggerguard. In the same instant Modesty dropped behind the second man from above the door and struck with the kongo to the nervecentre in the back of the neck. He was falling even before his brain had registered what was happening, and only milliseconds before his companion's scream was cut short by Willie's footstrike delivered from the floor.

Modesty began to empty cartridges from the two guns. Willie wiped his face and neck on a teatowel, and watched with pleased interest as she slid gunbarrels into mouths. "That'll spook 'em, Princess. I like it."

She said, "It may not matter much now, Tarrant's posse ought to be here any minute. I'm worried about Lucy, though. Let's go up and check." She paused, calculating. "Yes, the clerical brethren are down to seven now, so we shouldn't have too much trouble."

"I take it you didn't run into Mountjoy or Bird when we were keeping everyone busy?"

"No, goddammit and more's the pity. Not much chance now before Tarrant takes over."

They were on the roof, having met no opposition on the way, when the big wooden gates were smashed open by a bulldozer and a dozen men came running into the courtyard. A voice from a loudhailer announced the presence of armed police and began to give orders.

After a glance at the situation in front of the house Modesty and Willie moved to the back where the balloon cable ran over the edge of the low parapet and was now angled downwards, passing over the outer wall and the clifftop to the sea beyond. The moon was brilliant, bathing the whole area in light that was enhanced by reflection from the sea. A hundred yards out, Lucy's balloon had descended and now hovered with the basket just above the surface, light glinting on the balloonwire cable that angled down above the edge of the cliff.

Willie said, "She'll be okay. She's a long-distance swimmer for sublimation purposes."

Modesty said, "There's a small door in that back wall and it's open." She touched Willie's arm and pointed to the right of the cable. Beyond the wall two figures were moving briskly towards the edge of the cliff where a simple wooden railing seemed to indicate the top of steps or a path leading down to the bay. Even in silhouette the figures were easy to recognise. One was a very big man, moonlight gleaming on his white hair. The other was small, wearing a flat clerical hat.

Willie said, "Mountjoy and Bird. They've done a runner. Must 'ave a boat down in the bay. I reckon we've lost 'em."

"No." Modesty bent to pull up one trouser leg and unzip the calflength boot. "You stay and cover Hallenberg. I'll see to these bastards myself."

Her voice was quiet, but there was a metallic quality in it, a quality he had heard on very rare occasions before and which made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle, for he knew she was carrying the memory of Johnny Nash, horribly mutilated, in her mind, and was seeking a kill-or-be-killed opportunity to destroy. He said as she wrapped the leather upper of her boot round the balloon cable, "I was pretty close to them in London, Princess. Don't know about Mountjoy but I think Bird's carrying an armpit gun for a righthand draw, and I got the feeling he just might be a bit of an ace."

"Good. Thanks, Willie." She stood on the low parapet, both hands gripping the leather wrapping, and hooked the heel of her booted foot over the wire. It sagged only a little under her weight as she began to slide down the long slope. Willie turned and moved to the stairs bulkhead. He could now hear the loudhailer bellowing its warning somewhere within the house.