Peter O'Donnell.

Cobra Trap.

BELLMANN.

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 callb.u.t.ton 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 Ha.s.san 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 Ha.s.san 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 Ha.s.san, 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 Ha.s.san at the conclusion of an unpleasant matter Modesty Blaise had instructed Willie to deal with because it was beyond Ha.s.san'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 a.s.sists in reducing the first two, even if sheeven if that person is professionally engaged in the third. Thank you for your a.s.sistance 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 circ.u.mstances 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 G.o.d, 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 d.a.m.n sight better than well, and Mam'selle knows it. You're right up there in her cla.s.s 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 b.l.o.o.d.y 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 G.o.d in comparison. You wouldn't wonder. Anyway, Lisette was a really nice kid, and Mam'selle liked her a lot."

Willie said, "That figures. She 'as to come on like 'ickory and steel to run us lot, but she's still feminine gender. Needs someone to relax with sometimes, who doesn't? Be nice if she could let 'er hair down with another girl once in a while. Can't do it with us."

Garcia regarded him with interest. "I thought I was the only one who could see that. But maybe you're only almost right, Willie." He seemed about to follow the trend of his last words, then frowned and said briskly, "Anyway, the girl meant a lot to Mam'selle, and one afternoon in the Rue Picard she was stabbed to death by a couple of junkies for the few francs in her purse."

Willie said, "Oh, Jesus. Then what?"

"Two policemen chased and cornered them. One of the junkies went for the policemen with a knife, and they shot him dead. The other's in gaol for ever. But they were nothing, Willie. Even victims, maybe. Bellman was the real killer."

"Bellman? The Port Said drug pedlar? But I 'eard Mam'selle took Krolli and a task force there to sort 'im out just before I joined."

Garcia said, "She did. And the year before that he was operating out of Tangier. He specialises in organising teams to get young kids hooked, and he had a monopoly at this end of the Mediterranean. So Mam'selle smashed the whole setup. It wasn't easy, and she had to kid herself a little. I mean she won't risk Network people unless it's for the safety or benefit of the organisation- which was true concerning Bellman because it gave us a healthy credit with Inspector Ha.s.san. Anyway, Bellman moved to Port Said and in about a year he'd got a new organisation running. So like you heard, she took a team and smashed that too."

Willie smiled. "Safety of The Network."

Garcia looked hard at him. "We have an office there, and if she did have to kid herself a little more, so what? Isn't she ent.i.tled to a few little whims, for Christ's sake?"

Willie said, "I wasn't knocking 'er, Rafa. I was enjoying what you told me. Whatever whims she's got, I love 'em. I wouldn't want 'er different."

Garcia relaxed. "Okay, then. So she's chased Bellman out of North Africa and Middle Eastern territory, but he's still alive and you haven't asked why."

Willie scratched his cheek thoughtfully. "Well, we don't do a.s.sa.s.sinations. She wouldn't mind putting the b.a.s.t.a.r.d down if he came at 'er, but she wouldn't do a cold killing and she wouldn't order one. So I suppose Bellman left 'is muscle to fight it out, and when they cracked he just 'ad it away on 'is toes."

"Right," said Garcia. "Bellman probably kills a few thousand people a year with drugs, but he doesn't get his hands dirty. And now he's moved to new territory where we can't as yet claim to have an interest. He's settled in Peru, operating from a base near Lima, and next week Mam'selle is going after him again. Solo."

Willie stiffened, the normally amiable blue eyes suddenly hard and alert. "To do what?"

Garcia spread his hands. "G.o.d knows. She says it's a personal matter. I'd guess she means to force him to come at her somehow, and then put him away, but I don't know how, and I'm worried sick. So I'm relying on you, Willie. I want you to see her and persuade her to take you with her."

"Me persuade 'er?" Willie shook his head anxiously. "I'll go with 'er all right, but you'll 'ave to fix it. You can't let 'er go solo on this, Rafa, we could lose 'er."

"I've tried", Garcia said quietly, "and she won't listen." He moved round the desk to face Willie, looking at him intently. "There's something special about you, young Garvin. Something she can see in you. I can't name it, maybe neither can she. It's not your bright blue eyes and manly figure but it's there. I think you're the only one who can do this for us, and you've got to try. I can't tell you how, just go away and figure it. You've got an instinct, so use it."

Willie Garvin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. Garcia went back to his chair. A minute pa.s.sed in silence, then Willie said in a low voice, "Christ, we mustn't loose 'er."

He moved to the door, and as he reached it Garcia said, "Willie." When he turned, waiting, Garcia went on, "I wasn't going to say this now, but I will. If she lives, The Network will thrive. We'll all get richer than we've ever dreamt of. But sometime in the next ten years, maybe less, she'll close this organisation down. Between now and then she's going to need a friend, a close friend. It can't be me or any of the others. Our relationship is set. But it could be you. It could well be you because your relationship is developing. She does combat workouts with you, and I think the chemistry's right." He glared suddenly, chin thrust forward. "Don't read anything b.l.o.o.d.y stupid into what I'm saying. Don't start getting fancy ideas. She's untouchable. You understand me?"

Willie was looking at him, openmouthed. "Me? Jesus, Rafa, you gone off your trolley? I couldn't even think of 'er like that." His shock became tinged with anger. "What she's done for me, she's given me a life to live. She's... I mean, she's... you know." He gestured helplessly.

"She's the Princess," Garcia said softly. "That's fine, Willie. Keep it so, and remember what I said. The Princess needs a friend."

The villa stood on a hillside, facing down a pineclad slope to the sea. When Modesty Blaise bought it she had renamed it Pendragon, a name from the Arthurian legends. This was in memory of Lob, the old Jewish professor from Budapest, a refugee with whom she had roamed the Middle East throughout her teens, protecting him, providing for him, and being educated by him.

She was thinking of him now as she rose from the desk in her study and moved to the window overlooking the gardens and the pool. Three years and more since she had buried him in the desert, but she still missed him, for since losing Lob she had been without a companion. For a female of her age to create and control The Network had called for a rigid distancing of herself from the men who served her. This was the price of survival and she had paid it willingly, but there were times when she would have been deeply thankful for a chance to relax, to talk easily and without having to maintain her Network persona, as she had talked with Lob throughout the long days and nights of their wanderings.

It was early evening, the air was warm and the pool inviting. Weary of the paperwork on her desk, she was tempted to forget it and spend half an hour in the pool when she saw a small car take the curve in the road that ran past the gates of Pendragon. It was Willie Garvin's car, and she felt surprise tinged with pleasure at the sight of it. He had made no appointment to see her here at the villa, yet she found herself hoping that he was not just pa.s.sing but in fact had some reason to call.

She was at her desk when the intercom buzzed a minute later and Moulay's voice said, "Mr Garvin is here, Mam'selle. He apologises for the intrusion but would be grateful if you could spare him a few minutes on an urgent matter."

She decided that a pretence of annoyance was unnecessary, and said, "All right, Moulay. Send him up, please."

While she waited it occurred to her that Garcia would have told him of his promotion and he might wish to thank her... but no, Willie Garvin was far too intelligent to describe that as urgent. There came a tap on the door, and when he entered in response to her call she once again found herself marvelling at the difference between this man and the man he had been when she bought him out of a Thai gaol only a year ago. Despair had been replaced by zestful confidence, and he had given her brilliant service in a variety of Network operations.

She nodded to the easy chair facing her desk and said, "Hallo, Willie. Sit down."

"Thanks, Princess. I 'ope this isn't putting you out."

"Well, not so far. I like dealing with urgent matters before they get worse." She studied him, intrigued to see that he was nervous, as he had not been from that moment a year ago when she had given him a place in The Network. "I take it Garcia's told you you're to run in tandem with him from now on?"

"He told me this morning. I'm really grateful."

"You've more than earned it. Now what's come up to bring you here in a hurry?"

He rubbed a hand across his mouth in a troubled gesture. "It's difficult. I don't know 'ow to..." he broke off, shaking his head. "Well, I need a favour, Princess. A big one."

She felt surprise and disappointment. "Money?"

"Oh blimey, no. You pay me 'andsomely, and then there's the bonuses, and I don't spend a lot. I'm well, I need your permission for something."

She leaned back in her chair, not allowing her puzzlement to show. So it wasn't money. Good. But what then? An idea for a Network job? If so, why the obvious unease? She said, "Permission for what?"

He started to speak, stopped, looked away, then sat in troubled silence. After a while she said, "Willie?"

He sighed, and looked at her again. "It's no good, Princess. I'd better leave it." He got to his feet. "I shouldn't 'ave come. I'm sorry."

She said sharply, "Sit down, please." When he slowly obeyed she sat looking past him, her mind racing as she sought a decision. Impossible to guess what the favour he wanted might be, but of two things she was utterly certain. First, that it would not be to her personal detriment, and second, that it would not be to the detriment of The Network. After thirty seconds she came to a conclusion and said, "All right, you've got your favour. Now what is it?"

He seemed taken aback for a moment, then said quickly, "I just want to go to Lima with you to sort out this creep Bellman."

For a brief instant she was simply a very young woman suddenly startled and indignant, then Modesty Blaise of The Network was back, staring at him, tightlipped and narroweyed. "You conned me, Garvin!"

He made an apologetic gesture. "No. I would've done, but I couldn't figure a way. Honest."

"Did Garcia put you up to this?"

"He just told me the Bellman story."

"And you decided to interfere in my personal affairs?"

Willie Garvin drew in a long breath, as a man might do before throwing dice on which his life depended. He said doggedly, "I just think it's barmy for you to go after Bellman on your own, saying it's personal and not Network business. If you get signed off The Network dies. Worse than that, it turns bad because you're not there to set guidelines." His words came ever more quickly as if he feared she might stop him. "Look, it's important to a lot of people that you stay alive, and that's why I wanted a favour so I can be there with you in Lima for backup."

Modesty Blaise stood up, and he was immediately on his feet as she moved to the window and stood there with her back to him, holding her elbows, a posture he had often seen when she was thinking intensely. Watching her now, he closed his mind to the dread that she might send him away, he simply stood watching her for the pleasure of it, a pleasure that held not the slightest shadow of desire.

She wore a pale yellow blouse, a denim skirt, and sandals, her legs bare. The ravenblack hair was coiled in a chignon to reveal the splendid column of her neck, and her only jewellery was an amethyst pendant. She was not particularly tall, perhaps five feet six, but he knew the elegant proportions of her body for she wore a leotard when they met twice a week for a technical combat workout in the gym attached to The Network's small private hospital. The workout was an hour long and very businesslike affair, greatly intriguing to her frontline men such as Krolli, Nedic and Sammy Wan, who often found excuses to be in the gym at those times.

Remembering, Willie marvelled again at her speed and mastery of timing, above all at her unique combat ability while in retreat. This was a gift acquired during her childhood struggles no doubt, but one that made her as dangerous an opponent as any he had faced.

Two minutes had pa.s.sed when she said, "Were you faking when you got up to go without telling me the favour you wanted?"

"No, Princess. I just realised I couldn't expect you to make a blind promise, that's all. It was genuine."

"So you were giving up?"

"Well, not exactly. I reckoned on tailing you to Lima so I'd be on hand for when you tackled Bellman. Or maybe I'd get to 'im first."

"Keeping me alive for the good of The Network?"

A pause. Then, "No. For my own sake. You're my lifeline."

There was another long silence. At last, without turning, she said, "Have you any Network business to attend to this evening? Garcia mentioned a job he wanted done."

"Oh, that was sorting out a couple of heavies working for a pimp who was trying to get Claudine on his books, but I cleared that up this afternoon."

"Young Claudine? One of our couriers?"

"Yes."

"What did you do?"

"Picked up the heavies and the pimp, then hired a plane and flew them down to Tahala. Old man Saad's got 'em, and he's leaving them to Fuad's tribe for six months. Some of those nomads 'ave unusual tastes, so they'll find out what it's like. I told Saad you weren't asking for any commission."