Peter O'Donnell - Cobra Trap

It was a warm day in Tangier, but Willie Garvin was very comfortable in the discreet grey summerweight suit he wore as he crossed the reception hall of the Hotel Malaurak to the lift marked Private-Staff Only, This gave access to offices on the top floor of the hotel, which was owned by The Network. Willie pressed the callbutton and maintained the air of a serious young executive until he was in the lift with the doors closed. Then he allowed himself a grin.

Being a criminal organisation The Network did not advertise its name or activities, but these were well known to the Tangier police, and Inspector Hassan was more than content with the situation. So he ought to be, Willie reflected. Since the war of the four gangs which had followed the creation of The Network by Modesty Blaise three years ago, Tangier had become noticeably more lawabiding.

When the lift stopped on the fifth floor Willie got out and walked along the corridor to Garcia's office, thinking about Modesty Blaise. As always when he thought about her, which was often, he felt a touch of awe. At no more than seventeen she had taken over the smalltime Louche group, saved it from destruction by more powerful gangs, and begun the setting up of an organisation that now operated on a near worldwide basis. In doing so she had wiped out several dealers in drugs and vice from Tangier to the Levant, and had established herself as an invaluable source of the kind of information that enabled Inspector Hassan to take preventive measures against crime on his own patch.

She had also won the respect of certain intelligence authorities in a number of countries and established a useful relationship with them. Like Inspector Hassan, they were well aware that she was herself making a fortune from a variety of ingenious rackets on an international scale, but it seemed they could live with that, perhaps because The Network was run under her own strange but rigid rules and these were found acceptable by those whose position allowed them to be more concerned with justice than with laws.

Willie recalled a conversation with Inspector Hassan at the conclusion of an unpleasant matter Modesty Blaise had instructed Willie to deal with because it was beyond Hassan's legal writ. "There are three kinds of crime, Mr Garvin," the inspector had said. "There are dirty crimes, very dirty crimes, and fairly clean crimes. As a policeman I disapprove of all categories. As a citizen and a father I have some respect for any person who assists in reducing the first two, even if sheeven if that person is professionally engaged in the third. Thank you for your assistance these past two days, Mr Garvin."

"I'll tell Miss Blaise. I'm acting on 'er behalf, Inspector."

"That is understood. And I imagine you are happy in her employ?"

Willie had smiled at the impossibility of finding an adequate answer. Then he had just said, "Yes, I'm 'appy."

But now he felt a touch of unease as he tapped on Garcia's door and entered, for he had sensed something unusually troubled in Garcia's manner when he phoned for Willie to call at the office. Garcia had been with Modesty Blaise from the first day and was her righthand man, yet like the rest of her lieutenants he never failed to behave towards her with deference. No man addressed her or referred to her other than as 'Mam'selle' or 'Mam'selle Blaise' except Willie Garvin, who had come to The Network in circumstances so remarkable that she had allowed him the cachet of addressing her in the way he had first used on the day she bought him out of a gaol in the Far East. It was then he had addressed her as Princess.

Garcia closed a file on his desk and nodded. "Sit down, Willie. What are you doing about that pimp and his minders who've been bothering Claudine?"

Willie took a chair. "I'm sorting that out today, Mr Garcia. Can I 'ave Sammy Wan and draw a thousand dollars for expenses? It's a bit expensive, but worth it longterm I reckon."

"What have you got in mind?"

Willie told him, and Garcia's chuckle became a fullthroated laugh. "Marvellous. We'll see the story gets around, it'll discourage others from taking liberties with our people." Garcia got up and moved to the window, his smile fading. There he turned and looked at Willie soberly. "Now I've got something difficult to say."

Willie froze. "I 'aven't stepped out of line, Mr Garcia? Mam'selle's not giving me the elbow?"

"Good God, no." Garcia's expression softened. Being dismissed by Modesty Blaise was the one thing in the world that frightened Willie Garvin. "Look, I'll leave the difficult part to the end and deal with the good bit. You know this is an anniversary?"

Willie hesitated. "Well, it's a year today since Mam'selle took me on, but I didn't think anyone else would remember."

Garcia gave a short laugh. "All her top men do. It was a very good day for The Network."

Willie relaxed, exhaling a long breath. "It was an even better day for me, Mr Garcia."

"I know. But you've done well, Willie. A damn sight better than well, and Mam'selle knows it. You're right up there in her class when it comes to action, but like her you've got muscles in your head, too, and that's where it counts." He studied Willie curiously for a few seconds. "It's strange. I thought when you started making your mark that some of her top men might get jealous, men who've been with her from the start—Krolli, Nedic, Sammy Wan."

Garcia shook his head. "But it didn't happen. They respect you, Willie, but they like you, too, and we're men who are pretty choosy about who we like." He shrugged and made a small gesture with an open hand. "Maybe it's because you respected them and never got pushy, never traded on that time you dropped Saafi during the fracas with his mob down in El Golea when he was set to blast her with a Uzi. Or maybe it's because they know you're her man, just like they are. That's important to us, Willie."

Garcia moved to his desk and sat down. He said gently, "I guess that's why she's given orders that you're to work in tandem with me from now on. We're her right hand now, you and me."

Willie stared. "Me? With you, Mr Garcia?"

"That's what she said, and that's what I want. And you stop calling me Mister. My name's Rafael. Rafa to you, okay?"

Willie ran a hand through his hair. "You reckon I'm up to it?"

"Yes. What's more important, Mam'selle does, so you'd bloody well better be, hadn't you?"

"Well… yes, if she says so. What about Krolli and the others?"

"They have no say in it, Willie. But I've told them, and they're pleased. It's good for The Network, and they're all in favour of that. It's our living, isn't it? Oh, and don't worry about the paperwork." Garcia gestured around the office. "I take care of all administration and office staff. You'll be in charge of training, planning and operations all under Mam'selle's supervision, of course."

Willie got up, pacing across the big office and back to the desk. "Rafa…?"

"That's me. Go ahead."

"I reckon you put in a good word for me. Thanks."

Garcia grinned. "Selfinterest. I confirmed her opinion, that's all." The grin faded. "Now let's get to the difficult bit, and for that we go back a couple of years. Did you know that Moulay used to have a daughter?"

Moulay was the man in charge of Modesty Blaise's house, Pendragon, among the hills west of Tangier, a combination of chef, butler and general factotum, with two or three staff who lived out. Willie shook his head, surprised by Garcia's question. "I didn't even know Moulay was married."

"His wife died some years ago. When Mam'selle bought Pendragon and engaged Moulay she took his daughter on as a personal maid. Her name was Lisette, and she was sixteen." Garcia gave a wry smile. "I suppose about three years younger than Mam'selle herself at the time, but I think Mam'selle sometimes felt as old as God in comparison. You wouldn't wonder. Anyway, Lisette was a really nice kid, and Mam'selle liked her a lot."