Her right arm swung, and the little wooden dumb-bell struck under the driver's ear. Damion's reaction was faster than she had catered for, faster by a long way. Even as the driver slumped over the wheel Damion half rose, drawing back towards the nearside, his hand flashing beneath the light jacket he wore, lips stretching in a grimace. Hand on the door, she vaulted high, pivoting on the fulcrum of her arm, then her body snapped into full extension and her heels smashed into Damion's face and throat even as the gun came clear. He was flung from the track, arching backwards in a sprawling dive.

  As he hit the ground, Modesty landed in the back of the Land Rover. She reached to take the gun from the driver's holster and said, 'I want them right out of action for hours, Kim.'

  'I'm all set.' He opened his bag, hands not quite steady. 'What about your overseer ?'

  She got out of the truck. 'Here.'

  Danny and Bissau came from the cover of the trees, carrying the bound figure of Mr Joe between them. Bissau's heavy face was a pale mask, but his jaw was set hard against the fear that gripped him. They heaved the overseer into the back. Kim opened a box of ampoules. Danny said, 'You needn't worry about Mr Sam, Marker killed him. We don't know what's happened at the drying-sheds yet with Mr Brad.'

  Kirn drew chlorpromazine into the hypodermic. 'I guess we can stop calling them Mister.'

  'Just habit.' Danny tried to smile, tried to relax the aching tension within him.

  Modesty rose from beside the sprawled figure of Damion and said, 'You won't need to keep this one quiet either, Kim.'

  'I thought not. Neck ?'

  'Yes. I must have been feeling more grudgy than I knew.' She picked up Damion's gun, a Smith & Wesson.357 Magnum, then moved to rummage in the truck. 'Didn't you say the Specials always carry spare magazines for their BARs, Kim?'

  'In a rack, off-side.'

  'It's empty. Ah, well...' She lifted the.30 calibre Browning Automatic Rifle from between the seats. The difference between having one twenty-round magazine and perhaps three or four was possibly the difference between having a small chance of winning and none at all, but her face betrayed no sign of the dismaying blow.

  Danny said, 'There's a machete in the back here.'

  'Good.' She gathered up her skirt. 'Hack this off short. It slowed me down just now, and we've got all the handicaps we need. Bissau, give Kim a hand getting Damion and that Special into the back.'

  Bissau said, 'What is to happen now ?'

  She turned as Danny sliced his way round the skirt. 'Kim takes these three back to his surgery and gets ready to cope with casualties. Our casualties, not theirs. We head for the ridge at the north end of the plantation, where we can cover the house from behind that dwarf wall carrying the irrigation pipe. Valdez is there now, waiting for us. It won't be long before Paxero makes a move. He'll be starting to wonder already.'

  Bissau helped Kim lift Damion's body. 'And then ?'

  'We've got a few weapons now. Enough to keep them pegged back in the house.'

  Bissau heaved Damion's legs into the truck and wiped his brow. 'And then ?'

  Modesty unbuckled the gunbelts of the Special and the overseer. Til let you know,' she said.

  Valdez lay behind the eighteen-inch wall, watching the big house two hundred yards away. A three-inch pipe, mounted on brackets, ran along the top of the wall, carrying water to the irrigation reservoir from which it was gravity fed to the plantation. Peering through the gap between the wall and the pipe, Valdez felt utterly alone.

  When the Specials had poured out of their quarters a few minutes ago, all carrying automatic rifles, he had known sheer terror. His task was to hold them, if need be, until Modesty and the others joined him with more weapons, and Valdez was quite certain that his chances of surviving for more than two or three minutes were zero. The revolver was useless except at short range. He had hunted small game in both North and South America, and was a better than average shot, but doubted that the Mz carbine was accurately sighted.

  When the Specials had gone straight into the big house instead of moving towards the plantation, relief had almost loosened his bowels. Now a strange calm had come upon him as the minutes passed. Short of a miracle, he thought, he would soon be a dead man. Well, that was not so terrible. He had little enough to lose, and at least he would take two or three of them with him. The idea made him feel almost cheerful.

  A quarter of a mile away, Marker crouched against a tree, a long stone's throw from the sheds, seething in an agony of frustration. The section overseer, Mr Brad, must have heard or sensed something to make him suspicious. He had dismounted from his horse, and had made the whole section line up facing the wall of one big shed, their hands flat on the timbers. Carbine held at waist level, menacing the slaves, he kept looking uneasily about him.

  For two minutes now Marker had been trying to devise some way of getting close enough to silence the overseer. He had the carbine and handgun taken from Mr Sam, but a shot would trigger instant reaction at the big house, and for the moment Valdez would be covering it alone.

  Marker bit his lip, then stood up, leaving the two weapons where they lay. Slowly he began to move forward, limping heavily, supporting himself on the hoe handle.

  Mr Brad saw him and called, 'What you doin' here, boy ?'

  'Accident, Mr Brad.' Marker limped on. He saw Schultz, against the shed, half turn his head to look over his shoulder. Mr Brad's carbine swung slowly from the line of slaves to Marker, and back again. At twenty paces he said, 'You git in line against the shed, boy.'

  'Got a message for you, Mr Brad,' Marker said desperately, and limped on towards him. 'Mr Sam sent me.'

  The overseer's suspicious gaze fastened on the bloody base of the hoe handle, and his eyes widened. 'What's that? What's that blood?'

  'Accident. Mr Sam sent to tell you.' Marker heard himself babbling the words. He knew he was doomed, for the carbine steadied on him now. Ten paces. He could never make it. But he knew his own strength, and if the bullet hit no vital spot he might yet bring down the black man and give Schultz a chance, a small chance.

  Mr Brad said loudly, 'You come closer, I kill you, boy!' There was a hint of panic in the overseer's eyes and voice. Marker moved on, tensing himself for the final effort, braced against the shock of the bullet. Something flickered in the air, angling between him and the other man. He heard the sound of a soft impact, and blinked dazedly at the black thing which had leapt suddenly from Mr Brad's chest and stood jutting there like...

  Like the haft of a knife.

  Mr Brad folded at the knees. Instinctively Marker lunged forward and caught the carbine as it sagged from nerveless hands. The overseer fell, breath rattled in his throat, and then he was silent. Marker turned, stupefied, and saw a man in jungle-green camouflage drop from between two gables of the shed roof. He was a big man, with fair hair curling from beneath a green jockey-cap, clean-shaven, a carbine slung on his back, ammunition pouches on his chest, a small pack on one hip, and field glasses hanging from his shoulder.

  The man said quietly with a strong Cockney accent, 'All right, 'ands down everyone and no noise.' He moved towards Marker, jerking his thumb to the roof where he had been hidden. 'I've just seen Modesty Blaise take care of a couple of blokes in a truck, so I reckon some sort of balloon's gone up.'

  Marker dragged a great breath of air into his lungs and said hoarsely, 'Garvin ? You're Garvin ?'

  The big man nodded, bent to jerk his knife from the body, wiped the blade, and slipped it back into a sheath under his open jacket. Schultz moved forward, holding his wife's hand. The other slaves stared blankly, some with dawning hope, others with dawning fear.

  Schultz said, 'Miss Benita's dead ? It's started, Marker ?'

  Willie Garvin said, 'Just a minute. Tell me 'ow Modesty Blaise reckons to play it.'

  Marker gathered his wits with an effort. 'She'll be heading for the ridge with one or two others. Aims to hold a line there with the guns we've collected.' He looked at Schultz. 'Teresa's bringing the other two sections in. You keep them quiet in the sheds.' He pointed. 'She wants Gasparro as a runner, and Stavros to handle a gun-'

  From the north there came the sudden chatter of small-arms fire. Willie Garvin started to run.

  She had arrived only one minute before the Specials emerged from the big house and began to move towards the plantation. Now she lay against the dwarf wall, barrel of the automatic rifle resting between the wall and the irrigation pipe. Bissau lay beside her with the Colt. Fifty yards away along the wall, Danny Chavasse was with Valdez.

  She had seen her first shot with the BAR go a few inches wide of its target, hitting the butt of the rifle the man carried. Her next shot, adjusted for inaccurate sights, had found its mark. Valdez hit a man in the shoulder with his second shot. Some of the Specials threw themselves flat, others darted for cover.

  A burst of wild firing raked the trees behind her. She signalled Valdez to hold his fire. They had only one magazine each. A Land Rover crept out from behind the house, and three men darted to gather behind it. The driver was crouched low, out of sight.

  She realized bleakly that the battle, barely begun, might soon be lost. Marker and Stavros should have been here by now, each with a carbine and revolver to give added fire-power. Bissau, watching her, saw her eyes burn suddenly. She said, 'Give me the Colt, and take the rifle, I'm going to move a little way right. Wait till that truck's really close, then engage them. I'll come in fast and gun them down with the Colt, then we'll have some more BARs to play with-'

  She broke off, head cocked at the sound of a steady jap, yap, yap, a weapon firing single-shot, but from a distance. From the east. From somewhere on the high slope across the river.

  The Land Rover swerved drunkenly and stalled. The three men, exposed, turned and ran. Yap. Yap. One went down hard. The other two vanished behind the western corner of the big house. The rest of the Specials had already pulled back inside.

  She rested her head on the butt for a moment, and let a surge of relief and exhilaration wash through her. The incomparable Willie Garvin was here, two days ahead of her best expectations.

  Bissau said shakily, 'Who... ?'

  She lifted her head, smiling. 'An old friend, from outside.'

  ' 'Allo, Princess.' His voice, from a little way behind, was startling. Her head snapped round, and she saw him wriggling towards her, keeping low. He pointed, and she looked along the line of trees to see Marker, with a carbine, crawling up to join Valdez and Danny Chavasse. Behind Willie came two white-clad figures. Stavros, also with a carbine, and Gasparro.

  Willie came up beside her and wishing his Stoner 63. 'That was Maude.' He jerked his head towards the river. 'We got 'ere a couple of hours before sun-down last night.'

  'Hallo, Willie love. Welcome to Limbo.' She reached out a hand. He took it, and touched her knuckles briefly to his cheek.

  'It's quite a place you've got 'ere.' He rolled on his side to look her up and down, still euphoric with the relief he had known since he had seen her through the glasses yesterday and felt the burden of anxiety and responsibility lift from his shoulders. 'You look like Robinson Crusoe in pantomime,' he said, grinning at the ragged mini-skirt.

  'What trap-door did you spring from ?'

  'I crossed up-river before dawn. Left Maude in a nice commanding position on the other side. I figured to lie low and make contact soon as I got a chance, but then things started 'appening.'

  'Yes. I'll fill you in later. Let's back off from here and get ourselves a position in the laundry.' She nodded towards the north-western corner of the plantation, beyond where Danny, Marker and Valdez lay. 'That way we'll have the open ground in a cross-fire. Have you got communication with Maude ?'

  He held up a black tube, seven inches long and as thick as his thumb. Attached to one end was a lead with an earplug. 'She'll be listening out.'

  'Tell her what we're doing. She can cover the open ground while we're moving. And tell her thanks a million.'

  As Willie slipped the plug in his ear there came the sound of a muffled shot from somewhere in front of them, then several more, irregularly spaced. Warily they lifted their heads, peering through the gap between the dwarf wall and the irrigation pipe. Three mestizo girls came running from the Specials' quarters, one staggering and holding her side, two screaming as they ran. Two men came in pursuit. There was a rattle of fire and the girls went down. Willie slid his Stoner through the gap and shot one man dead. Modesty's bullet plucked the other's hat away as he flung himself across

  the gap and vanished behind the wall of the big house.

  She said furiously, 'Bastards! They were killing off their women.'

  Willie nodded. During two hours of studying Limbo through glasses yesterday, he had built up a fairly clear pattern of its structure. He pressed a button on the tube and said, 'Maude. Nice shooting, love. Yes. I've made contact. We're in cover be'ind the irrigation wall, and we're moving to that place on the north-west corner. Keep their 'eads down if they try to move out, but don't waste any shots.' He listened. 'Yes, fine. She sends you 'ers, and says thanks a million. Call you in ten minutes.'

  In the larger store-shed the slaves sat in rows on the floor, listening to Schultz, who stood on a crate at one end. He looked very tired and his manner was laboured, which was unusual.

  Long ago, in the world Outside, Schultz had been a steel magnate, but for years now he and his wife had found themselves with the task of maintaining a kind of peace in Limbo; peace between slave and slave, peace between the slaves and those who controlled them. In the main, and with a huge indebtedness to Kim Crozier, they had succeeded. It had meant preaching acceptance, obedience, passivity, and it had meant creating a new kind of society. But now, in a moment, the whole world of Limbo had changed, and Schultz felt disorientated and inadequate. His task was to prevent a panic. Modesty had said, 'Keep them from under our feet, Schultz. On the last day in Limbo, there'll be nothing more important than that.'

  Schultz was deeply afraid of failing. He glanced at his wife for support, saw her quick encouraging nod, and went on doggedly, '... so that's how we stand, friends. When Miss Benita died, it was dosing time for Limbo, closing time for all of us. But Modesty came in a few weeks back to make sure things didn't work out that way. I guess we're all pretty scared. I know I am. It's a pity there's nothing we can do to help the folks up front, but like Modesty says, you can't

  fight guns with coffee beans. All we can do is sit tight... and pray.'

  The church group, in a corner, were already doing that. Among the rest of the slaves, emotion ranged from fevered excitement through numb bewilderment to open fear.

  Schultz went on, 'They're pretty good folk up front, so we don't have to worry too much. There's Marker, and you know he's tough. There's Valdez and Teresa likewise. We've got two people from outside, good enough to get here through the jungle, and armed up to the eyeballs. We've got Danny and Bissau, real sound folk. And then there's Modesty. Well, she's been pretty quiet since she got here, but if a mixed bunch like Kim and Marker and Teresa are all backing her to win, that's quite something.'

  Schultz indicated the dark, sparely built man who had arrived breathlessly a few minutes earlier. 'Now, Gasparro here and Teresa are acting as runners, so we're kept in the picture as to what's happening. Gasparro's just brought the latest news, which is that Paxero and the Specials are all holed-up in the big house. They've killed off the mestizo girls, which shows you what they'd have done with us, and they've probably killed all the domestic staff as well. The dogs are still shut in the compound, and nobody can get to them without crossing open ground. Our folk have killed four Specials and wounded one at least, and Modesty broke Damion's neck for him, which I guess a lot of you women will be glad to hear.'

  An Englishman with greying hair stood up. His name was Thurston, and for most of his two years in Limbo he had been universally disliked for his aloof manner and unreadiness to co-operate. He had once been handsome, but his face was now hollow and his body wasting. For several weeks he had been dying, but he was doing so without fuss, and had been better liked in that time than ever before. He said politely, 'I was an army man for a time, Schultz. It seems there's a deadlock situation at present. But Paxero and the Specials have the fire-power, and after dark they can get out, free the dogs, and take up positions anywhere they like. If they're spread round the perimeter by first light, they can slaughter anything that moves in Limbo.'

  With a tremendous effort Schultz smiled a confident smile. 'I was coming to that,' he lied, 'and there's no need to worry. The two folks who came on from outside have sent off a signal, and we'll have a back-up of military coming in by helicopter long before dark.'

 

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