--- The Adventures of Modesty Blaise, Episode 1: The Lhasa Incident

Time to Read:105min

Added Date:10/11/2026

Stats: Loading....

Tags: modesty blaisemi 5sir gerald tarrantalexei kozlovbreak inlock pickingintruderpat downmodestythreatintrusionlockpickingDominationcoercionExhibitionism

The Adventures of Modesty Blaise

Episode 1 The Lhasa Incident

This pathetic effort is a parody and is only remotely intended to resemble the characters created by Peter O’Donnell. Other than the names and images of some of the characters all work is original and any resemblance to any of Mr. O’Donnell’s works is purely accidental.

Chapter 1 The Assignment

MODESTY blaise crossed her long legs and inhaled slowly, allowing the smoke from her cigarette to fill her lungs, and then blew it out in a long controlled exhalation. Across from her the rugged face of one of her visitors creased in a frown. “Them damn things will kill ye, ye know,” he growled.

Beside the man, her other visitor smiled. “Rawlins has been on about tobacco ever since the latest article in Lancet describing the dangers of lung cancer.”

Modesty allowed the cigarette to dangle loosely from her fingers, but she made no effort to put it down. “I had no idea you were interested in medical manners Mr. Rawlins.”

“He is amazingly well-read,” Sir Gerald Tennant commented, “however we did not come here to discuss the matter of your health, precious as that is to us.”

Modesty inhaled again and glanced at the fourth man in the room. “No I don’t expect you did. Willie and I were speculating on what intriguing proposal you might have for us.”

“Ah yes,” Tarrant replied, setting down his brandy. “I suppose I should get to the point.”

“Please do,” Modesty prompted. Stubbing out her cigarette, she looked toward Rawlins. “Another whiskey, Mr. Rawlins?”

“Please, miss,” he answered and held out his glass while Modesty poured.

Tarrant cleared his throat. “What do you know of Tibet, Miss Blaise?”

“It was invaded by the Chinese in 1950 and subjected to a systematic destruction of its culture beginning with the imprisonment and execution of thousands of Buddhist monks, and the destruction of hundreds of monasteries including the Potala. Since that time the Chinese have begun a program of colonization to absorb the native Tibetans and have forbidden use of the Tibetan language in schools and other institutions. All foreigners are excluded from the region.”

“Ahem,” Tarrant said. “I see you know considerably more than the average citizen. That is good. The more you know the better.”

“Let me guess,” Willie Garvin cut in. “You want me ‘n the princess to drop in there on some damned foolish errand for MI-5.”

The speaker was powerfully built, standing over six feet tall with blond hair mixed with a touch of grey. He was hunched forward as he spoke, his fingers toying with the glass in his hand and his expression was not exactly friendly.

“It’s alright, Willie,” Modesty said. “Let’s hear what Sir Gerald has to say.”

“Well,” Tarrant said. “I am afraid Mr. Garvin has it exactly right. Although I wouldn’t call it a damned fool errand.”

“Why me?” Modesty asked. “I might know a little bit about Tibet, but my knowledge of Chinese is minimal and I know nothing of the Tibetan language. I would think those would be a serious consideration for any agent.”

“Actually your knowledge of Russian might be more useful in this case. And your considerable athletic skills are certainly an asset. We have agents who speak Chinese, but ten seconds of exertion on the Tibetan Plateau would leave them so physically exhausted they’d require a day to recover.”

“In that case I suppose the next question is why should I be even remotely interested in getting involved in this mission?”

Tarrant looked at the beautiful woman who had just spoken. She was well worth looking at and he always enjoyed the opportunity to look into her dark eyes while not appearing to gawk at her well-shaped breasts which today were modestly covered by a tight-fitting high-necked white cashmere pullover.

Her ebony hair was cut close to her head and fitted to the curve of her elegant neck. Her ears were pierced with a pair of gold earrings set with white opals. Her lips were tinted the lightest of reds, drawing attention to their fullness, but not distracting the eye from her pert nose, high cheekbones, and finely arched brows.

She sat, almost regally, in a chair of dark leather, showing a good deal of her long, well- shaped thighs before they disappeared into a tight black leather skirt. A wide belt of linked gold rings girdled her supple waist and a pair of white slippers covered her feet. Tarrant could see that her skin was lightly tanned, giving her an overall healthy, almost robust, aura.

Tarrant cleared his throat and sipped at his brandy before answering. “I thought you might like a little fun in addition to the fact that what I have in mind ties in with one of your interests.”

“I usually manage to arrange my own fun, Sir Gerald,” Modesty smiled, “but go on. What interest of mine could possibly tie in with one of your enterprises?”

“Have you heard of the “Heart of Tibet?”

“I have,” Modesty replied, her face showing a slight glimmer of curiosity. “It is reputed to be a ruby of enormous size. Supposedly it was set into the forehead of the largest Buddha in the Potala, but viewed only by the monks who served the monastery. But no one has seen it since the invasion. It disappeared during the Chinese sacking of Tibet and was thought to be lost or even worse, sold to gem merchants who had it cut into smaller stones.”

“We have it on the best authority that it and a number of similar gems were pried from the settings and secreted away by the monks who guarded them, and that they are still hidden somewhere in Tibet.”

“Now let me guess,” Modesty said. “Somehow you have learned of their location and want me and Willie to go looking for them.”

“Well, yes and no,” Tarrant answered. “We would like you to go after them, but first there is another obstacle to overcome.”

Modesty did not respond, waiting for Tarrant to fill her in. After another sip at his brandy he continued. “Have you heard of Alexei Kozlov?”

“The Russian defector who first betrayed his country and then went on to a glorious career smuggling arms and forcing young women into sexual servitude? Yes I have heard of him. He is apparently a very nasty piece of work.”

“Yes, that is the man,” Tarrant confirmed. “We have learned that he is here in London and has somehow managed to acquire the location of the missing horde of gems.”

“I see,” Modesty said. “Is that where my knowledge of Russian comes in? You want me to approach him? Why not simply have someone like Mr. Rawlins deal with him?”

“Actually we tried that. But Kozlov is playing a devious game. He is apparently offering his knowledge of the location of the gems to the highest bidder. He is currently offering his information to several governments, including the Chinese, intending to sell to the highest bidder. Unfortunately, my budget does not come close to matching what he is asking.” Tarrant leaned forward. “What we would like you to do, is to retrieve the information showing the location of the missing gems and then use that to travel to Tibet and hunt them down.”

That seems like a lot of effort for pile o’ rocks,” Willie Garvin suddenly interjected. “What makes ‘em so important?”

“As gemstones nothing,” Tarrant answered. “But as symbols of Tibetan resistance they would be of immense value. Think of them as the equivalent of the English crown jewels. They have incredible national significance.”

“Gottcha,” Willie said, easing back into his chair. “But I got one more question.” He nodded toward Modesty. “What’s in it for the princess here?”

“I hoped someone would ask that question,” Tarrant answered. “Among the hidden gems are a large number of uncut gems, many of high quality. I don’t expect anyone would notice if a few of them went missing.” He looked at Modesty gauging her reaction.

The beautiful woman’s expression did not change, but Tarrant knew he had caught her interest. After a number of years “acquiring” precious stones and reselling them, Modesty had turned her attention to the art of lapidary and stone-cutting. She was an expert artisan and her amateur creations rivaled the work of the finest jewelers anywhere in the world.

“Still seems a bit much for the princess to risk her life for,” Garvin stated.

“I agree,” Mr. Garvin,” Tarrant replied. “But there is one more minor thing.”

“And what would that be?” Garvin asked.

“Kozlov paid a small fortune for the information describing the location of the hidden gems. It’s left him a little short of cash. If he were to suffer a setback it might put a real dent in his organization, especially in his operations dealing with the procurement of young women for the sex trade.”

He didn’t look toward Modesty as he answered, but he could sense the impact of his words on her. The room was suddenly very quiet.

Tarrant got to his feet and looked toward the silent Modesty. “Thank you for your hospitality Miss Blaise. I’ll leave you to consider my offer. If you decide in my favour then you need only contact Mr. Rawlins. You have his number.”

Modesty nodded wordlessly and rose also. “Yes, Sir Gerald. It has been nice seeing you again. I’ll think about what you have said.” She watched as Willie Garvin escorted the two men to her private elevator.

YOU’RE a bloody master, Sir Gerald. I think you’ve got her hooked,” Rawlins said as the elevator descended. “That was a nice bit about the sex trade. Seemed to have struck a nerve there.”

“It wasn’t as hard as you might think,” Tarrant replied.

“How so?”

“I know Modesty Blaise. She is a bit of an enigma, but she is a woman who has spent years living on the edge. I expect that she has been left with an unquenchable thirst for adventure. She hides it well now that she is in supposed retirement, but a life of polishing and setting stones won’t satisfy her. I’ve just given her a little incentive to return to a life of intrigue and excitement. You can expect that phone call once she has waited a decent interval.”

“I never would have considered that,” Rawlins said.

“That is why I am Sir Gerald and you are Mr. Rawlins,” Tarrant grinned.

The Adventures of Modesty Blaise

Episode 1 The Lhasa Incident

Chapter 2 The Break-in

MODESTY stubbed out her cigarette and nodded to Willie. “Time to go,” she muttered.

“Right, princess,” Garvin answered. He stepped out of the nondescript Bedford delivery van he had parked across from the luxury townhouse occupied by Alexei Kozlov.

Most of the lights in the townhouse were now dim, indicating that Kozlov and his guests had finally turned in. Modesty and Willie had been watching the townhouse for a week and on no occasion had the activity in the townhouse died down until after four am. Fortunately, the long winter nights meant that they still had about three hours before daylight, however, by that time the servants might be up. It didn’t give them much time, but it would have to do.

Modesty followed Willie across the street, her uniformly dark clothing causing her to blend into the shadows. She was dressed in dark, tight-fitting trousers that hugged her figure, and a black pullover and hood that covered the upper part of her body. Black climbing boots covered her feet. Around her waist was a pouched tool belt.

The way to the back of the building led through a narrow alley; so narrow that passage was possible only on foot, but it had its advantages. It created a narrow shaft next to the neighbouring building that allowed Modesty a way up by pressing her feet and hands against the two buildings and ascending it like a sort of chimney. While Willie waited below, she made her way to the roof. Once there she tiptoed across the roof to a large skylight.

It took her only seconds to cut an opening through the glass, but before she turned the catch to open the skylight, she placed an electrical contact across the circuits of the alarm to keep it from going off. Only then did she swing the skylight back. She paused before entering, listening for any movement below. Attaching a line to the window’s metal casement she lowered herself into the room below.

The room showed considerable evidence of heavy drinking, with a number of open bottles adorning tables, along with plates of partly eaten food, and full ashtrays; however, it was empty of revelers. If Rawlins was right the room she wanted was just off this one, down a short hall. She stepped in the direction she had memorized.

Only a single light illuminated the hallway, but she had no difficulty finding her way to the door at the end of the hall. To her right was another room from which came the sound of voices. It wasn’t the ideal situation. If anyone opened the door she would almost certainly be discovered, however, she didn’t have much choice if she was to take advantage of the opportunity provided.

Quickly she took out her lock picks from one of her belt pouches and with a deft touch opened the lock in just seconds. Then, turning the door handle she eased the door open and slipped inside. It was pitch dark in the room, and she stood and listened for a second before taking out her tiny flashlight. According to Rawlins there were two safes in the room, one hidden behind a picture that was intended as a decoy and another beneath the thick Persian rug in the centre of the room.

The room appeared to be a combination of office and library, with a large desk over by windows that ran from floor to ceiling, but which were now covered by heavy drapes. Bookcases took up two of the other walls. Careful to avoid stumbling over a low table and several comfortable chairs that were set in various parts of the room, she made her way top the corner of the rug closest to the window and then rolled it back. As Rawlins had stated, there was a safe set into the floor and it was of a fairly modern design. This was going to be a bit of a challenge.

She set out her tools, the most important of which was a sensitive electronic stethoscope Modesty herself had designed. It was sensitive enough to pick up the sound of a pin striking a concrete floor thirty yards away and she had to hope it would enable her to hear the tumblers of the safe as they fell into place.

She had the first tumbler in five minutes and the second in eight. But then a noise in the hall disturbed her. She arose all in a single motion, scooping up her safecracking gear and flipping the rug back into place as a voice sounded outside the door to the room. It had a distinctly Russian accent. “Just a minute, I think I’ve got an extra one in the library.” There was the sound of a key in the lock and then an exclamation. “What the hell? This door should be locked.”

Modesty moved quickly, her hand grasping the palm-width hardwood kongo Willie had carved for her. It was a barbell-shaped object that fit perfectly into her hand. Used properly against the body’s pressure points or other vulnerable areas it could injure or even kill. She hoped, however, that she would not have to use it. Violence during a burglary was generally not conducive to success, especially when the victim was in communication with someone else. And there were guards stationed around the townhouse. She and Willie had counted a half dozen of them. The last thing she wanted to be involved in was a shootout. It always made things so messy.

The door opened and the lights went on. Behind the drapes Modesty stilled her breathing and waited. She could imagine Kozlov or whoever it was sweeping his eyes around the room. The drapes were an obvious hiding place and she expected them to be pulled aside any second, but nothing happened. Then there was a muffled curse. “Idiot! The voice muttered. I’m just getting too damned careless.”

Footsteps moved toward the desk. There was the sound of a drawer sliding open and then being pushed shut, and then the footsteps headed back toward the door. The lights went off and the door opened and closed and a key turned in the lock. Modesty breathed a sigh of relief. She had been too long out of this game. She should have known to relock the door once she was inside. She was damned lucky that the man who had entered had been more intent on fetching whatever he came for than making sure the room was properly secured.

Quickly she returned to the rug and the safe. With two tumblers already in place it took her just five more minutes to discover the other two and open the safe. Inside was a large manila envelope. She took it out and gave it a quick look. What was in the envelope was written in a several languages. Two of them, Russian and German, she could read; the other was an oriental script she supposed was Tibetan. It didn’t matter. There was enough that she could understand to know that Rawlins had gotten his information right once again. She tucked the envelope into her pullover and closed the safe, covering it with the rug once again and then moved to the door.

She listened. There was not the slightest sound from the hallway. With the utmost care she once again picked the lock and then slowly opened the door upon the deserted hallway. She headed back toward the living room. The easiest way out was the way she had come in. There was no point in accidentally coming upon one of Kozlov’s guards. The living room door was closed. She opened it and stepped directly into a semicircle of firearms.

Modesty froze. She couldn’t do much else. She might have been able to take out one or two opponents, but there were six guns trained on her and none was more than five feet away. In the centre was a rather suave-looking man who was so neatly attired it was hard to believe that he had probably been up all night. “Well,” he said, stroking his pencil-thin mustache, they are making burglars so much more attractive these days.” He motioned with his gun. “Please put up your hands.” Modesty recognized the voice. It was the same one she had heard in the library. She could only suppose that she was looking at Alexei Kozlov.

Modesty slowly raised her hands. One of the other men moved forward and gave her a thorough pat-down, moving his hands over almost every part of her body and discovering everything she had concealed on her body including the envelope. Modesty endured it because she had to, but it was a degrading experience. She could only hope that it did not go any farther than that.

Kozlov’s eyes widened at the sight of the envelope. He snatched it from the hands of his henchman and gave Modesty a chilling look. “How did you know to find this? And who told you what it was?”

Modesty said nothing, keeping her features perfectly composed, but inside her guts were churning. Nothing was more frightening than to be at the mercy of others, especially a man as ruthless as Kozlov was reputed to be. But she knew that if she showed fear, it would just make matters worse.

Kozlov smiled. “You are a cool one. I don’t suppose you will tell me who you are either. But never mind. I will eventually find out everything.” He turned to his henchmen. “Tie her up and take her to the interrogation room. I will be there shortly.”

Modesty’s arms were pulled behind her. She suppressed a gasp as she was bound. The ropes cut tightly into her wrists and her elbows were pulled painfully together, pulling her shoulders back and thrusting her breasts forward. She could not help noticing the direction of her captor’s eyes as they took each of her arms and led her from the room.

The “interrogation room” proved to be in the middle floor of the three story penthouse. It was windowless and Modesty noted that the door was several inches thick and padded on the inside. If there was any screaming no one outside the room was likely to hear anything. Cold chills ran down her spine and a hollow feeling settled in her stomach. Inside the room there was a sturdy wooden table, two chairs, a wall cupboard, and not much else. It was illuminated by a couple of ceiling lights and looking up she saw that there were two heavy eye bolts set into a heavy roof beam.

She waited in silence, while the two henchmen eyed her speculatively. Neither spoke much, but their cold perusal of her breasts and loins left little doubt as to what they were thinking.

Kozlov returned quickly, apparently having returned the envelope to its hiding place. As he entered, Modesty felt her fear increase. The smile on his face did nothing to hide the sense of menace emanating from him.

He stood about six inches taller than her, but he lacked the bulk of her companion, Willie Garvin, and he had nothing of Willie’s rough boyish charm. He reminded Modesty of a snake in a Saville Row suit; elegantly dressed, but incredibly menacing. He stepped within a foot of her and raising his hand to her chin tilted her head back and looked into her eyes.

“I want information,” Kozlov said, “but let me assure you I am in no hurry to get it. Eventually you will tell me everything you know, but while I get the information I intend to enjoy myself fully.”

Modesty resisted the urge to spit. He was so close to her, she could smell the brandy on his breath, but she knew such a pathetic act of defiance would do little to improve her situation. Somewhere outside the building Willie Garvin would have determined that she was in trouble. If she could just hold Kozlov off long enough he might get her out of this mess. She swallowed and lowered her eyes, pretending submission. “W… What do you want to know?” she quavered.

WILLIE Garvin watched Kozlov’s apartment from a nearby rooftop. Modesty was long overdue. Even given the fact that she might have had trouble locating and breaking into the safe she should still have returned. It was a complete violation of normal procedure, and that meant only one thing. Something had gone seriously wrong. “Bloody ‘ell,” he muttered. He would have to go in after her. But if Modesty had been taken prisoner it was far too dangerous to attempt to follow the route she had taken. Kozlov’s guards would have to be complete wankers not to be watching for another attempt. And it was now dawn. Attempting to break into the building in broad daylight was simply too dangerous. “Bloody ‘ell,” he repeated. What was he going to do?”

“OH NO,” Kozlov said. “You’re not going to buy me off with some helpless little girl act. You are far more than you seem, and I am going to find out exactly what.”

Modesty shook her head. She spoke in desperation. “I’m not holding back anything. This was just a break-in that went wrong.”

“You must think I am a complete fool,” Kozlov replied. “You broke in here and went straight to the most valuable item in my possession, while ignoring every other object of value. You are going to tell me who you are and who sent you; and where you got your information. You are not the clumsy amateur you would like me to think you are, although it was careless of you to think I would not detect the odour of the fine Cuban tobacco on your clothing. I knew where you were hiding as soon as I entered the room. No one is allowed in there except me and I don’t smoke.”

So that was it. Now Modesty knew how Kozlov had discovered her. She took a deep breath. Kozlov’s intention was clear. Nothing she said was going to deter him from doing what he wanted with her. She racked her brain to think of some way of distracting him, but could think of nothing.

“Hold her,” Kozlov ordered. “It’s time I found out exactly what I have caught.”

Two of the guards pulled her back until her backside was against the table and then Kozlov reached into his pocket and pulled out a stiletto. With a click the blade shot into place and Kozlov held it to her throat. Modesty held absolutely still, but Kozlov had no intention of cutting her. He turned the blade and slipped it between her skin and the neck of her sweater.

Modesty tried to break away, but the two men held her tight while Kozlov slit her pullover from her neck to her navel. Underneath she was wearing only a thin cotton undershirt. The stiletto flicked again cutting through that as well. Breathing heavily, Modesty looked Kozlov in the eye as he and his men stared at her breasts and the brief brassiere that covered them.

For a few moments Kozlov toyed with her, placing the point of the stiletto against her flat belly as if he was going to cut her open, but then he moved the point upward, tracing a thin red line over her skin until he reached the junction of the cups of her bra and then cut through the connecting strap.

Her breasts fell free, revealing their beautifully rounded contours and perfect copper tinted nipples. It was her worst nightmare coming true. She closed her eyes. There was only one way to retreat from his horror. She fainted dead away.

It was a neat little trick, and one she had used under similar circumstances. When the fear of what was going to happen to her became overwhelming she simply withdrew from the conscious world. However, Kozlov was having none of it.

“Clever,” he muttered as Modesty slumped into unconsciousness. “But let’s see how long you can hold your breath.” He sheathed the stiletto and clamped his hand over Modesty’s lips and then with the other hand pinched her nostrils shut.

Modesty moaned as her oxygen supply was cut off. Her breasts heaved as she struggled to breathe and then suddenly, her eyes popped open and she wrenched her head in an attempt to free her mouth and nose.

Kozlov let her break away and stood grinning as she gasped for breath, her breasts quivering. “I don’t think you’ll try that again. Now where was I?” He moved forward and cupped her firm flesh, rubbing each nipple with his thumbs.

Modesty tried to move away, but with her back arched due to the way she was bound, and the heavy table against her buttocks there was no way she could escape Kozlov’s fondling. She winced as his fingers painfully squeezed her breasts and twisted her nipples. “Do you like that?” Kozlov taunted. “I hope so, because you’re going to get a lot more of it.” Suddenly he stepped back and motioned to another of his henchmen. “Take off her pants and shoes.”

Modesty renewed her efforts to escape, but could do nothing as the remainder of her clothing was removed leaving her clad in only the remnants of her pullover and vest, and a thin pair of panties. She stood there panting in fear, her body trembling as she strained her muscles in an attempt to escape. She succeeded only in exciting Kozlov. He moved forward and with a single tug tore off her silk panties, revealing the dark fleecy triangle that framed her public mound.

“Bastard,” Modesty gasped while she struggled in the grips of the two men that held her and then watched in growing terror as Kozlov began to undress, removing his jacket and shirt, and then his shoes and pants.

By now her silken skin was covered in sweat, and her continual efforts to break free had her chest heaving from exertion. In spite of her attempt to remain calm, she was close to going into hysterics and it took all of her self control not to start babbling for mercy. Nothing she said would change Kozlov’s mind, and her pleas for mercy would simply give him that much more pleasure.

Kozlov stood naked before her. He was surprisingly well-muscled and his swelling erection terrified her, bringing back forgotten memories of the time when, still a child, she had been brutally raped. It was something she had told to no one and she kept the memories repressed, buy at times like this all of the pain of that terrifying experience came rushing back.

“No, you can’t do this,” she gasped as Kozlov took out a jar of KY jelly and lubricated his engorged member. She struggled desperately, holding back a scream as the two men holding her bent her back onto the table.

Kozlov moved between her legs, and then bent, hooking his elbows under each of her knees and then forced her legs up and back, spreading them wide. “I think you will see that I can,” Kozlov said in reply to her protests. He shifted his weight forward, bringing his lubricated phallus in contact with Modesty’s womanhood.

Modesty grunted as he entered her, fighting him every step of the way. She clenched her vaginal muscles; an action that all of her lovers had found most pleasurable, but in this case intended to deny Kozlov entry. It had the opposite effect. “God, you’re tight,” Kozlov groaned. He used his weight to force his way into her, driving in to the full length of his shaft. It was then that Modesty screamed.

It was not the pain of what was being done to her, but the sheer horror of being taken against her will and the flood of past memories surging into her mind. It crushed her will to resist, reducing her to state of hysteria that had her writhing in fear as Kozlov raped her. She screamed again as he bit her breasts and shoulders, his teeth leaving visible marks on her skin.

Kozlov finally erupted inside her and then stepped back, breathing heavily from his exertions. “Not so damned tough after all were you?” he said to the moaning woman. Now it’s time to find out what you know.”

Modesty’s loins ached. Although Kozlov had used a sexual lubricant the brutality of the rape had shattered her. Her vagina burned and her vulva was badly bruised where Kozlov had forced his way in. Her breasts throbbed where he had mauled and bitten them, his teeth breaking the skin in several places. But even worse was the humiliation of what had been done to her. She dared not raise her head for fear of meeting the eyes of one of her captors. She would almost certainly have burst into tears. And then there was the terrifying knowledge that Kozlov was just getting started on her.

“String her up.” The words alerted her to the next part of her ordeal.

She first was lifted up and pushed face down on the table and then her wrists and elbows were untied. She whimpered in pain as the blood rushed back into her fingers. Each of them was swollen to the size of a sausage and throbbed agonizingly as circulation returned. Then leather cuffs were strapped to her wrists and ropes attached to metal rings on the cuffs. The ropes were threaded through the eyebolts in the overhead beam, and she was pulled into a standing position with her arms over her head and her toes barely touching the ground.

Kozlov had replaced his clothing and now stood before her, a smirk on his face. “Now that we have had the pleasure now we will have the pain. At least pain for you. We will begin with your name and then proceed from there.”

Modesty said nothing. She could feel Kozlov’s semen dribbling down the inside of her thigh. The shame of being captured and violated permeated every part of her consciousness. She had paid a high price for her carelessness, but she would tell Kozlov nothing for as long as she could hold out. Properly applied torture could break anyone and she knew that she was no exception, but she had disgraced herself enough. She would give away nothing without a fight. She clenched her jaw as Kozlov picked up a heavy leather strap and moved behind her.

“Now my mysterious beauty,” Kozlov said, “you are going to tell me everything you know.” He pulled back his arm and then swung the strap.

WILLIE Garvin had made up his mind. It was almost noon. Modesty was overdue by six hours. Anything could have happened to her by now. She might even be dead, but if she was not there was no telling what Kozlov might do to her. He checked his small arsenal of knives, slipped one into the palm of his hand, and moved toward the entrance to the townhouse.

A uniformed doorman watched as he mounted the steps. “Yes?” he asked.

Willie noted the complete absence of politeness in the doorman’s greeting, but then he was not exactly dressed for a proper visit, wearing dark trousers, and a black leather jacket more suited for work in a back alley than anything else. However, that was just as well. He had no time for niceties. Since he had decided to go in through the front door, speed, not decorum was the most important factor.

Six inches of steel suddenly appeared at the doorman’s throat. “I’d like the door open, mate, if you don’t mind. And then get the ‘ell out of me way.”

The doorman’s face quickly lost its superior expression. He backed up hurriedly and pulled the door aside. Willie pushed past him without a second glance. No doubt the police would be summoned within minutes, but that was the least of his concerns. Entering the lobby he headed straight for the concierge. “Which lift goes to the top floors?” He was careful to let the uniformed man see the blade of the knife although he probably didn’t even need that. One look at his face would have frightened most people.

“It’s around back,” the man stammered, his eyes fixed on the blade.

“Take me,” Willie ordered.

The man came slowly out from behind the desk. “I’ve got a wife and family,” he quavered.

“Then you’ll best be careful not to get me stirred up,” Willie growled.

The man hurried ahead of him. “There’s a guard,” he warned as they neared a door at the back of the lobby.

“Thanks, mate,” Willie said. He pushed the man behind him. “Go back to your desk. I’ll find me own way from ‘ere.”

He had no idea why the concierge had warned him Probably out of fear of getting hurt in a confrontation, but in any case it did not matter. Willie knew that he was likely to meet one of Kozlov’s henchmen sooner or later.

He opened the door and had the knife to the man’s throat before he had time to draw his gun. “I’ll just take this,” he said, reaching inside the man’s jacket and extracting his weapon. It was a Beretta NATO model 1951. He tucked it into his pocket. Modesty might have a use for it.

He motioned toward the elevator while keeping the knife pressed against the man’s jugular. “Where’s the girl? And don’t try and tell me you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

The guard rolled his eyes. “Girl?” he asked.

Willie pressed the knife hard enough to draw blood. “Last chance. I expect I can find someone else who’ll tell me.”

“She’s in the interrogation room,” the man winced, trying very hard not to move.

“Now you have twenty seconds to tell me how to get there,” Willie replied.

Willie left the man in a heap. He doubted he would stay that way for long, but if he didn’t find Modesty within the next fifteen minutes he doubted that it would matter. In the sort of crude approach he was using now speed was essential. Finesse was something that would have to be set aside. However, there was still no reason why he could not use every weapon at his disposal.

As the lift rose toward the floor the guard had described he took out a couple of small white tubes and pushed one up each nostril and then he placed a set of tight-fitting goggles over his eyes. The lift shuddered to a halt and Willie pulled the handle that parted the doors. As he did so he tossed a small cylindrical object into the corridor beyond the doors. There was a loud “pop” followed by a cloud of white gas and then he stepped into the corridor.

Two of the guards were already on their knees the others were grasping at their throats. One who was farther away was grabbing for his gun. Willie’s knife pinned his hand to his chest. The man screamed, inhaling a lungful of the white gas, and collapsed to the floor with the others, coughing violently. But Willie was already moving down the hall toward the room the guard had described. The gas was acrid, intended to irritate the eyes and lungs, but harmless in the amounts the cylinder contained. It was also anesthetic, and strong enough to incapacitate the men who had breathed it long enough to finish what he had come to do.

He found the door to what he hoped was the interrogation room. He didn’t bother with the lock. He hammered it with his booted foot smashing it wide open. What he saw inside had him seething in rage.

Modesty hung in the centre of the room, her body crisscrossed with welts from the leather belt one of men inside was holding. Willie had to hold himself in check to proceed with the calm precision he needed to deal with the three men in the room. In spite of his surprise entrance, they were already reaching for their guns. He took the two henchmen down with a knife to each of their throats. For the third man he reserved something a little special.

He alone seemed to be unarmed, but that did not save him. As he backed away Willie caught up with him and resorted to brute strength to deal with him. The man must have had some martial training as he attempted to turn Willie’s attack against him, but Willie had been in too many fights to be taken that way. In mid-step he shifted his weight and used his considerable strength to lift his opponent off his feet; then he slammed his fist into the man’s face. There was a crunch of breaking bone, but Willie did not stop. He hit him again, spreading the man’s nose across his face and then let him slump to the ground.

He left him there. He had something far more important to attend to. Climbing onto the table he released Modesty’s wrists from the straps that suspended her from the ceiling and then he lowered her to the table top. She was still conscious and panting in pain, but she made only one sound as he held her.

“What took you so long?” she whispered. And then she fainted.

“NO,” WILLIE insisted. “The princess ain’t receivin’ any visitors just yet. But she told me to let you know that she’ll receive you in a day or so. You will be contacted.”

“I understand,” Tarrant replied. “I just thought I should come as an indication of my concern.”

They two men stood in the sitting room of Modesty’s opulent penthouse. She was nowhere in sight, but Sir Gerald had been allowed to come up to the penthouse to deliver his message in person.

“It’s nothing for you to be concerned about,” Willie replied. “The princess is just a little under the weather. She’ll be right in a few days.”

“I just want to assure you that we have dealt with the police. There will be no investigation into the incident at Kozlov’s townhouse, especially not with the evidence of the large amount of criminal activity that was found there. We convinced them that the violence was some form of gangland retribution.”

“I’m not sure what you’re on about,” Willie said. “It’s nothing to me or the princess what a bunch of wankers do to each other.”

“Ah, no. Of course not,” Sir Gerald replied. “May I enquire as to whether or not you had any luck in discovering the whereabouts of the document that was in Kozlov’s possession?”

“You may enquire, Sir Gerald. And you will be told when me and the princess gets some information of that. Now if you don’t mind I got a few things to look into.”

“Yes, of course, Mr. Garvin. Thanks you for your hospitality. I will be going now. Please contact me when you have any further information.”

“THANKS, Willie,” Modesty said as the elevator doors closed on Tarrant. “That was nicely done. I didn’t really feel up to receiving visitors today.”

Willie looked up. Modesty stood in the doorway that led to her suite. She was dressed only in a green Japanese-motif dressing gown, belted at the waist with a crimson sash. On her feet were matching slippers. She had one had on the door frame as if she was using it to help support her. He was surprised that the princess was able to walk so soon after her ordeal. He expected that she must be in considerable pain. However, pretending that she was alright was her way of dealing with what had been done to her, and so he did not caution her. “Would you like a cuppa?” he asked.

“That would be nice. Would you mind bringing it to my room?”

“You got it, princess,” Willie said as he headed toward the kitchen. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Modesty turn and move slowly back the way she had come.

“WELL?” Rawlins asked as Tarrant seated himself in the seat of the Rolls.

“They’ve got the document,” Tarrant replied. “They’re just not admitting to it right now. I’m sure Miss Blaise will let us know eventually.”

“What about the rumors that Kozlov raped and brutalized her?”

“I think they will have to remain just rumours. Three men dead and Kozlov with his testicles stuffed down his throat. Ugly business that. The less we say about it the better.”

“Right,” Rawlins replied as he steered the Rolls into the London fog.