"O'Donnell, Peter - Modesty Blaise 12 - Cobra Trap" - читать интересную книгу автора (O'Donnell Peter)

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 passed 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."
She turned to stare at him, and he saw amusement in her eyes. "Danny Chavasse is always telling me that you have style, not that I need much telling. But I didn't know you were licensed to fly."
"Five years ago, Princess. An American lady financed it so I could spring 'er useless son who was doing fifteen years in a slammer north of Duranzo, in Uruguay. She picked me up when-" he broke off. "No, it's a long story. Sorry. Anyway, that's 'ow I got licensed, and I've done cropdusting and a bit of gunrunning since."
She moved to the desk and said, "Do you have anything personal on this evening?"
He smiled. "Any time you want anything done I'm free, Princess."
"Well... there seems to be a lot I don't know about you, Willie Garvin, because you haven't been handing it out. Useful stuff, maybe. I'd like you to have dinner with me here this evening so we can talk. Nothing special. Just talk as it comes." For a moment he thought he saw her almost smile for the first time. "I don't get much chance for that, I'm afraid," she said, and lifted a hand as he started to speak, "but this isn't an order. I don't give orders outside Network business." A dark eyebrow lifted in query above a midnight blue eye. "Well?"
For a moment he stared in blank incomprehension, then gave a shaky laugh. "When I came 'ere just now I thought I might end up getting the elbow, and I'll never be more scared. Now this. I don't know what to say, Princess, except yes please. It'll be a privilege."
She pressed the intercom on her desk, and when Moulay answered she said, "Two for dinner, Moulay. Mr Garvin is joining me."
"Very well, Mam'selle. In half an hour?"
"That's fine."
As she released the button Willie said with a touch of anxiety, "And it's all right about me coming to Lima with you?"
There was a hint of warmth in her voice, something he had never detected before, as she said, "It's very much all right. You've put a new perspective on it, and I'll be glad of your company. Now let's walk in the garden and talk till Moulay's ready for us."

* * *

At ninethirty Modesty Blaise poured fresh coffee and passed Willie his cup. She noted with satisfaction that throughout the leisurely meal he had drunk only two glasses of wine and that his manner had been as she would have wished, increasingly at ease but with no hint of presumption. A few moments ago, when Moulay had brought in a large envelope and a pair of surgical gloves, Willie had shown a touch of surprise but asked no questions.
Now she said, "When you're ready I want you to put the gloves on and take out the report you'll find in that envelope. It's about fifteen pages long, and I don't want any fingerprints on it. Not yet."
The document was in Spanish, but she already knew that he spoke four languages, including Arabic, with fair fluency and had a useful smattering of two more. With only an orphanage education he was remarkably knowledgeable in a wide variety of fields. ЫI seem to pick things up fast,Л he had said almost apologetically, Ыand they stick. I don't forget anything.Л
She knew this was true. In the middle of a largescale Network battle with the Saafi mob she had heard him deliver an entertainingly appropriate quote from the Psalms, giving chapter and verse. The insouciance of it had inspired confidence at a critical moment. Later she learned from Danny Chavasse that in his youth Willie Garvin had spent several months in a Calcutta gaol with only a psalter to read. He knew the Psalms by heart, and could produce a quotation for every occasion. The humour of his choice was much appreciated by his peers in The Network.
Now he finished his coffee without haste, then put on the gloves and took the stapled sheaf of paper from the envelope. Modesty said, "Take your time. I'm going to phone Garcia."
He rose with her, waited till she had left the room, then sat down and began to read. Twenty minutes passed before she returned, and he was standing by the French windows, looking out over the moonlit gardens. The envelope lay on the table. She gestured for him to take one of the two armchairs that stood on either side of the windows, and seated herself facing him in the other chair.
"I've decided," she said, "that I can't tempt Bellman into trying to kill me. If he did try I could react and put him down, but I've been through that scenario before and he just runs. So now I'm hoping to get him put away officially for a long stretch. It's too good for a mass murderer like Bellman, who specialises in getting children hooked, but it'll have to do." She paused, and when he made no comment she went on, "I was waiting for you to say that someone else will take his place."
Willie shrugged. "It doesn't need saying, Princess. You know it, I know it, but I'm all for putting Bellman away so I'm not coming up with arguments against it."
"Good. Well, let's suppose you're an area chief of police in the Lima Department, where Bellman now lives. You're no doubt on the take from various racketeers, including him, so you won't put him away for any ordinary criminal offence. But you're under a strict military government, so what would you think if you read that document?"
Willie said, "It's a lovely job. I'd think Bellman was the key man in a powerful underground movement dedicated to overthrowing the government in a lightning coup. I'd see a realistic scenario with a network of thirty odd cells funded by Bellman. If I was chief of police there I'd run to the military boss of the area fast as I could go, and I'd reckon on Bellman being arrested within an hour of the military seeing that document. If he's lucky he'll end up in a labour squad."
She said, "No questions?"
"Well, I take it the paper's of local manufacture and you've got the typewriter. You'll be aiming to plant them both on Bellman with 'is prints on 'em. I don't know 'ow, but you must've 'ad someone out there to do a close recce of the setup for you."
She nodded. "Danny Chavasse has been working on one of the maids. You'll like his report, it's a masterpiece of detail." Willie grinned. Danny Chavasse was a genius with women and had been away for the past six weeks. Deservedly he ranked high in The Network, and he had been a good friend to Willie.
Modesty said, "I plan to leave next week, so we'll spend quite a bit of time going over Danny's report and working out our options. Are you clear for that?"