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

"Well, I wasn't trying for that, but I wouldn't shed tears." Willie moved to examine the limp form. "No, he's okay. Might need a bit of dentistry sometime, that's all."
"Some people have all the luck. Let's get him into the cave."
Two minutes later the bowie knife lay near the top of the slope where Crichton had first appeared. In the cave, Modesty lay with Crichton's rifle covering the area where the knife with its concealed homer had been planted. Behind her Crichton lay facedown, still unconscious, wrists handcuffed behind him. Willie sat beside her studying a handdrawn map he had found in a pocket of Crichton's bushjacket.
"It's a nice map," said Willie. "Relief shading and contour lines, but three straight lines dividing the island into three separate sections marked B, C and V. I reckon that means separate 'unting grounds for Brightstar, Crichton and Van Rutte, with us in Crichton's patch."
Modesty relaxed slightly but kept her eyes on the ridge. "That figures," she said. "We have to assume that Brightstar and Van Rutte also have d.f. gadgets, so they'd have been here by now if there were no restrictions. But why set it up like this?"
Willie frowned at the map. "I wish we knew. It could be a big 'elp."
Crichton groaned faintly and began to stir. Modesty turned her head to look back at him thoughtfully. "Willie," she said, "I've just had a bit of an idea."
A little under a mile away, Bellman sat in his wheelchair staring towards the island. Sandra came from the galley with a tray of cold meats and salad, setting it down on the small table beside him. He shook his head impatiently and lifted binoculars to his eyes.
Sandra shivered. "I wish it was over," she said in a low voice, and seated herself in the canvas chair beside him. After a brief silence she went on, "May I ask you a question? It's strange, but I've never asked you this over all the years."
Bellman lowered the glasses. "What is it, darling?"
She gazed out over the sea, eyes focused on memories. "I was... how old? Eleven, I think, when you bought me on the virgin market in Buenos Aires, child of an Englishborn prostitute recently murdered, father unknown." She shook her head. "I was so scared, but you never touched me. You just treated me as if I were your own daughter. Educated me, looked after me. And when I grew up you were never jealous about men, only caring and protective. Even while you were in the mines you made sure I was in safe hands with a good family. All the time you just gave, and you seemed to want nothing in return. Can you tell me why?"
Bellman gazed blankly at the far horizon. "I suppose," he said slowly, "... I suppose I needed somebody. Needed a friend."
"You?" She was bewildered.
He smiled weakly. "Somebody to care for. Somebody who would care about me, as you have done."
"But you know hundreds of people. All kinds, all over the world. I don't understand."
"All business acquaintances, Sandra. It isn't the same, you know."
She bit her lip, looking towards the island with a troubled air as she put a hand on his. "Do you have to go through with... what you're doing? Is it too late to stop? I just feel it isn't the kind of thing you've taught me. Oh, I thought I wanted it too, but now that it's real I feel different. This thing... it isn't like you."
"Sandra, look at me." His voice was ragged. "Look at me and remember. I'm not like me any more, am I? Remember how I was? Do you want them to have done this to me and go laughing on their way?"
After a little while she said wearily, "No. I hate them for it. But then I hate them all... Charlie Brightstar and Van Rutte and that Crichton creature." She closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair. "Maybe myself, too."

* * *

Crichton was conscious again, and very unhappy. The fact that his face hurt intolerably was overshadowed by apprehension of worse to come. He had been searched by Willie Garvin who had taken his pipe, matches, wallet, keys, tobacco pouch and handkerchief. He lay on his front now, wrists handcuffed behind him, head turned to watch Willie's hands as they used one end of a thin leather thong to form a small slipnoose round the trigger and triggerguard of the Colt, drawing the noose almost tight so that any further pressure would pull the trigger.
"Interesting, isn't it?" said Willie. He laid down the Colt, grasped Crichton's left ankle and bent the leg so that from knee to foot it was vertical. Craning his neck, Crichton saw him tie the other end of the thong round the raised ankle. He picked up the gun, thumbed back the trigger, and next moment Crichton felt the weapon being pushed down his back under the bushjacket he wore. There was very little slack between the ankle and the point where the thong disappeared over Crichton's collar.
Willie turned to Modesty. "The gun's not much cop for shooting," he said, "but it makes a ducky little bomb." He smiled cheerfully at Crichton. "You know something, bwana? You're definitely on our side now, because if we don't come back your leg's going to get tired and the gun'll go bang and you'll get a slipped disc or something."
Sweat beaded Crichton's face as he croaked, "For God's sake...!"
"Just don't wriggle," Willie advised earnestly, adjusting his bowtie, "and keep your fingers crossed for us." He picked up the map and haversack. "It might 'elp if we knew how your mates are working, but I wouldn't ask you to grass on 'em." He moved at a crouch towards the cave entrance. "All set, Princess?"
"Let's get on with it." Holding the rifle, Modesty made as if to leave the cave.
Crichton said desperately, "Wait!" She paused, looking back at him impatiently, and he hurried on. "We surveyed the island last week. Split it in three sections. We hunt independently, Bellman's orders. No poaching. You're in my area."
Modesty gave him a hostile glare. "He's playing for time, Willie. Use that knife to gut the bastard and let's get going."
Willie nodded. "Okay, I'll just disconnect the gun first-"
"For Christ's sake it's true!" Crichton broke in, his voice a screaming whisper. "It's bloody true! We're being paid all expenses and five thousand each for the job. There's a bonus of another five thousand for whoever makes a kill. Each kill."
Modesty said, "Anything else?"
He gave a very minimal shake of the head, terrified to move. "Nothing, I swear! But watch out for Brightstar."
Willie said, "There. I knew you wanted us to come back." Modesty turned, crouching, and moved out of the cave.
Crichton panted, "Oh Jesus, don't leave me like this!"
From the entrance, Willie looked back at him. "Like this you've got a chance," he said grimly. "And you were set to kill us. Don't tempt me."
Outside the cave Modesty was squatting on her haunches studying the map. As Willie joined her she put a finger on it and said, "Suppose we plant the knifehomer there?"
"Let's 'ave a look. Ah, yes. Just where Charlie Brightstar's shooting rights join Van Rutte's. Seems to be a long gully running across the demarcation line there."
She nodded. "So they should come from opposite directions, north and south, and we can lay for them."
"Sounds fine." They stood up and he said casually, "I'll take Brightstar, then?"
"Willie, we're on a caper," she said gently. "That's when you stop being a courteous and protective gentleman. You've done enough of that for today. We think Brightstar is the sneaky one, and we have a rifle and sling between us. I can't use a sling or throw rocks. Whoever has the rifle must take Brightstar."
Willie sighed. "You're right," he acknowledged. "Sorry."
"That's better. But let's not rush this. We're safe here in Crichton's territory so we'll let the others tramp about their patches for a few hours while we relax and they get frustrated."
Willie grinned. "You're a hard-'earted lady. But I'd better take that bomb off Crichton's back until we're ready to go."

* * *

Van Rutte sat with his back to a rock in a shallow basin on a hilltop. The directionfinder stood beside him, the Uzi rested on his knees. He stubbed out a cigarette, adding to the six or seven butts scattered nearby. Van Rutte felt he was close to losing a bonus of five or possibly ten thousand pounds, and he was not pleased.
Two minutes later he reached out again for the hundredth time to swivel the aerial, but this time his eyes widened as the needle on the dial suddenly kicked. He picked up the instrument and stood carefully adjusting the aerial for maximum response, then moved off along the line indicated.