Snakehead (11 page)

“Alex? Is that you?” he exclaimed as Alex came into the room. “My dear boy! You don't look like yourself at all. Don't tell me! You must have spent some time with Cloudy Webber.”

“Do you know her?” Alex asked.

“We're old friends. The last time we met was at a party in Athens. We were both in disguise, as it happened, and we chatted for half an hour before we recognized each other.” He smiled. “But I can't believe you're back again. So much has happened since I last saw you. That was in America. Did my Stingo mosquito lotion come in useful?”

Now it was Alex's turn to smile. The liquid that Smithers had invented attracted insects instead of repelling them and it had been very useful indeed, helping to get him past a checkpoint on Flamingo Bay. “It was great, thanks,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Mrs. Jones asked me to think up a few gadgets for our agents out here in the East,” Smithers replied. He lifted the fan. “This is one of them. It's very simple, but I rather like it. You see, it looks like an ordinary fan, but actually there are very thin plates of galvanized steel hidden under the silk. And when you bring them together…” He folded the fan, then brought it smashing down onto the desk. The wood shattered. “…it becomes a useful weapon. I call it…”

“…the fan club?” Alex suggested.

Smithers laughed. “You're getting used to my little ways,” he said. “Anyway, I've had all sorts of ideas since I came to Bangkok.” He rifled around the surface of the desk and finally found a packet with a dozen sticks of incense. “Everyone burns incense out here,” he explained. “It comes in jasmine and musk and it's rather lovely—but my incense has no smell at all.”

“So what's the point?”

“After thirty seconds it will cause a whole room full of people to throw up. It's quite the most disgusting gadget I've ever invented, and I have to say we had no fun at all testing it. But it's still quite useful, I think.”

He unfolded a sheaf of drawings. “I'm also working on one of these local taxis. They call them
tuk-tuks,
but this one has got a missile launcher built into the front headlight and a machine gun directly controlled by the handlebars, so I suppose you could say it's an attack
tuk.”

“What's this?” Alex asked. He had reached out and picked up a small bronze Buddha sitting in the lotus position. With its round stomach and bald head, it reminded him a little of Smithers.

“Oh—do be careful with that!” Smithers exclaimed. “That's my Buddha hand grenade. Twist the head twice and throw it and anyone within ten yards can say their prayers.”

He took it back and placed it carefully in a drawer.

“Mrs. Jones said you're taking on the snakeheads,” he continued, and suddenly he was serious. “You be careful, Alex. I know you've done tremendously well in the past, but these people are seriously nasty.”

“I know.” Alex thought back to his first meeting with Anan Sukit and the fight in the riverside arena. He didn't need to be told.

“There are all sorts of things I'd love to equip you with,” Smithers said. “But as I understand it, you're working undercover as an Afghan refugee. Which means that you won't be carrying very much. Is that right?”

Alex nodded. He was disappointed. Smithers had once given him a Game Boy jammed with special devices, and he would have felt more confident having something like that with him now.

Smithers reached forward and opened an old cigar box. The first thing he took out was a watch, a cheap fairground thing on a plastic strap. He handed it to Alex.

Alex looked at the time. According to the watch, it was six thirty. He shook it. “The watch doesn't work,” he said.

“We have to think about the psychology,” Smithers explained. “A poor Afghan refugee wouldn't own many possessions, but he would be very proud of the few he did have…even a broken watch. But this watch will work when it matters. There's a powerful transmitter and a battery inside. If you get in trouble, set the hands to eleven o'clock and it will send out a signal that will repeat every ten minutes for twenty-four hours. We'll be able to pick you up anywhere on the globe.”

Smithers rummaged around in the box again and took out three coins. Alex recognized them. They were Thai currency—one baht, five baht, and ten baht, worth about fifty cents between them. “I don't think anyone would worry about a few local coins,” he said, “but these are rather fun. They're actually miniature explosives. Let me show you how you detonate them.”

He produced a half-empty packet of chewing gum. At least, that was what it looked like. But then he turned it around in his pudgy fingers and slid open a secret panel. There were three tiny switches on the other side, marked with the figures 1, 5, and 10. “This is how it works,” he explained. “The coins are magnetic. You have to stick them to a metal surface to activate them. That'll stop you from accidentally blowing them up in your pocket. Then you flick the appropriate switch…just make sure you get the right value. The coins will blow open a lock or even smash a hole in a wall. Think of them as miniature land mines. And do try not to spend them!”

“Thanks, Mr. Smithers.”

“And finally, I've got something that might come in very useful if you find yourself off the beaten track.” Smithers pulled open a drawer in the desk and took out an old belt with a heavy silver buckle. “You can slip it into your jeans. There's a particularly sharp knife hidden inside the buckle. It's actually made out of toughened plastic, and it's rather cunningly designed so it won't show up on x-ray machines if you go through an airport. And if you slice open the belt, you'll find matches, medicine, water-purifying tablets, and knockout pills that are guaranteed to work on eleven different varieties of snake. I developed it for use in the jungle, and although you're not heading that way, you never know.” He handed it across. “It's a shame, really. I'd love to give you the pants that go with it. The legs are highly flammable.”

“Exploding jeans?” Alex asked.

“Flares,” Smithers replied. He reached out and shook Alex's hand. “Good luck, my boy. And one last word of advice.” He leaned forward as if afraid of being overheard. “I wouldn't trust these Australians if I were you. I mean, they're not a bad lot. But they are a bit rough, if you know what I mean. They don't play by the rules. Just keep your wits about you.” He tapped the side of his nose. “And call for help the moment you need us. That Ben Daniels is a good guy. He won't let you down.”

Alex gathered up his few weapons and left the room. As he left, he heard Smithers humming behind him. The song was that old Australian favorite, “Waltzing Matilda.” Alex wondered what Smithers had meant by his warning. Did he really know something that Alex didn't, or was he just being mischievous?

Ben Daniels was waiting on the other side.

“Are you ready, Cub?” he asked.

“Armed and dangerous,” Alex replied.

The two of them left together.

A
SH WAS ALREADY IN
the room when Alex got back. At first he was angry.

“Where the hell have you been, Alex?” he growled. “I was worried about you. I told you to wait for me here.” Then his eyes narrowed. He glanced down at Alex's waist. “That's a nice belt. Where did you get it?”

Alex was impressed. His godfather had spent half his life as a spy, and of course he had been trained to notice every detail. Despite everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, Ash had immediately picked up on this one tiny change in Alex's appearance.

“It was given to me,” Alex said.

“Who by?”

“I met some old friends…”

Quickly Alex described what had happened: how he had seen Ben Daniels in the crowd, followed him to Wat Ho, and found himself in the MI6 stronghold. Mrs. Jones had given him permission to tell Ash about Royal Blue, and he mentioned the possible link between Major Yu and Scorpia. Ash's eyes grew dark when he heard the name.

“Nobody told me they were involved,” he muttered. “I don't like this, Alex. And nor will Ethan Brooke. You and I are meant to be gathering information. Nothing more, nothing less. Now it's getting messy.”

“That's not my fault, Ash.”

“Maybe I should go to this temple, have a word with Mrs. Jones.” Ash thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. There's no point in arguing with her. Go on…”

Alex went on with his story. It seemed that he was now working not for one but two secret services. He supposed Ash had a point. The mission had certainly been bent out of shape, and suddenly there was a ticking bomb at the heart of it. Why did Scorpia need Royal Blue? If Scorpia was involved, it was bound to be something big—and they wouldn't care how many people died. But why this bomb? Why not any other?

Alex tried to put it out of his head. He finished by describing how once again Smithers had equipped him.

“So Smithers is still with MI6!” Ash smiled briefly. “He's quite a character. And he supplied the belt? What does it do…besides keep your pants up?”

“I haven't had a chance to examine it yet,” Alex admitted. “But there's a knife in the buckle. And there's stuff hidden inside. Some sort of jungle survival kit.”

“Who said you were heading into the jungle?”

Alex shrugged.

Ash shook his head. “I'm not sure you should keep it,” he said.

“Why not?”

“Because it may not fit in with your cover. It didn't come from Afghanistan like everything else you're wearing. If we get into any more trouble, it could be noticed.”

“Forget it, Ash. I'm keeping it. But if you like, I'll make sure it's out of sight.” Alex untucked his shirt and let it hang over the belt.

“What about the watch? Did Smithers give you that too?”

“Yes.” Alex wasn't surprised that Ash had also noticed the watch. He held out his wrist. “In case you're wondering, the hands don't move. It's got a transmitter in it. I can call MI6.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“I might need help.”

“If you need help, you can call me.”

“I don't have your number, Ash.”

Ash scowled. “I'm not sure ASIS would be too happy about any of this.”

Alex held his ground. “I'm not sure I'd be too happy if I ended up dead,” he said.

Ash could see that Alex was in no mood for an argument. “All right,” he said. “Maybe it's for the best. I won't have to worry about you so much if I know you've got backup. But don't call MI6 without telling me—okay? Promise me that. I don't work for them anymore and when all is said and done, I've got my reputation to consider.”

Alex nodded. He had decided not to mention the three exploding coins and the detonators concealed in the chewing gum packet. Ash might try to take those too. He changed the subject. “How did you make out?” he asked. “Did you go to the river?”

Ash lit a cigarette. It still surprised Alex that a man who looked after himself so carefully in every other respect chose to smoke. “It's all good news,” he said. “I found the arena where you were taken—or what was left of it—and spoke to a guy called Shaw. You may remember him. He was the one who took the photographs. Richard Shaw. Or Rick to his friends.”

“What was he doing there?”

“There were dozens of them, salvaging what they could out of the wreckage. Papers, computer disks…that sort of thing. Our late friend, Mr. Sukit, had his offices there, and there was plenty of stuff they wouldn't want the police to find.”

“What did Shaw say?”

“I got him to take me to Sukit's deputy. Another charming guy. Looked like he'd been in a street fight…face all over the place. He obviously had a lot on his mind but I persuaded him to send us on the next step of our journey. After all, we'd paid the money. And you'd done what they wanted. You'd taken part in their fight…even if you had humiliated their champion.”

“What about the fire and all the rest of it?”

“Nothing to do with you. They think the Chada Trading Agency was hit by a rival gang. The long and the short of it is that they're happy to get us out of the way. We leave for Jakarta tonight.”

“Jakarta?”

“We're moving farther down the pipeline, Alex. They're smuggling us into Australia via Indonesia. I don't know how—but it'll almost certainly involve some sort of ship. Jakarta's only about forty-eight hours by sea from Darwin. Maybe it'll be a fishing boat. Maybe something bigger. We'll find out soon enough.”

“How do we get to Jakarta?”

“We fly just like anyone else.” Ash produced a folder containing two airplane tickets, passports, visas, and a letter of credit written on fancy paper with the name Unwin Toys printed across the top. “We're being met at Jakarta International Airport,” he went on. “I'm now a sales manager for Unwin Toys. Flying in to look at their new range and bringing my son with me.”

“Unwin Toys…I've heard of them.”

The name had seemed familiar the moment he saw it. Now Alex remembered. He had had seen their products all over London, often on market stalls or bargain basements on Oxford Street. They specialized in radio-controlled cars, building kits, and water pistols—always made out of colored plastic, manufactured in the Far East and guaranteed to fall apart a few days after they were opened. Unwin Toys wasn't a great name, but it was a well-known one and he found it hard to believe that it could be tied in with the snakehead.

It was as if Ash knew what was in his mind. “Think about it, Alex,” he said. “A big company like Unwin Toys would be a perfect cover for a smuggling operation. They're moving goods all over the world and the fact that they're for little kids…it's the last place you'd think of looking.”

Alex nodded. He could imagine it. A crate full of plastic trucks, each one loaded with a stash of heroin or cocaine. Water pistols that were actually the real thing. Teddy bears with God knows what inside. All sorts of unpleasant secrets could hide behind such an innocent facade.

“We're making real progress,” Ash said. “But we still have to be careful. The more we know, the more dangerous we become to the snakehead.” He thought for a moment. “What you said just now, about calling me. You're right. I want you to remember a telephone number. Write it on your hand.”

“What telephone number?”

“If anything happens, if we get separated, call the number before you contact anyone else. It's my cell phone. But the number's special, Alex. It was given to me by ASIS. You can call from anywhere in the world and you'll be put through instantly. It will cost you nothing. The numbers will override any security system in any telephone network so you can reach me anytime, anywhere. What do you say?”

Alex nodded. “Fine.”

Ash gave him the number. There were ten digits, but otherwise it was like no cell number Alex had ever heard before. He wrote them on the back of his hand. The numbers would soon fade, but by then he would have memorized them.

“What now?” he asked.

“We rest. Then we get a taxi to the airport. It's going to be a long night.”

Alex realized the moment had come. They might not be able to speak to each other in Jakarta or on the way to Australia—certainly not in English—and very soon after that, the whole business would be over. Once they had arrived on the northern coast, Alex wouldn't be needed anymore.

“All right, Ash,” he said. “You promised you'd tell me about my mom and dad. You were the best man at their wedding, and they made you my godfather. And you were there when they died. I want to know all about them because for me, it's like they didn't exist. I want to know where I came from…that's all…and what they thought about me.” He paused. “And I want to know what happened on Malta. You said that Yassen Gregorovich was there. Was he the one who gave you that scar on your stomach? How did that happen? Was my dad to blame?”

There was a long silence. Then Ash nodded slowly. He stubbed out his cigarette.

“All right,” he said. “On the plane.”

 

They were thirty thousand feet above the Gulf of Thailand, heading south on the short flight to Jakarta. The plane was only half full. Alex and Ash had a whole row to themselves, right at the back. Ash had smartened himself up a little with a white shirt and a cheap tie. He was, after all, meant to be a sales manager. But Alex hadn't changed. He was grubby and a little ragged, still wearing the clothes he had been given in Bangkok. Perhaps that was why the two of them had been seated on their own. In front of them, the other passengers were dozing in the strange half-light of the cabin. Outside, the sun had set. The plane hung in the darkness.

Ash hadn't spoken while they took off and climbed into the sky. He had accepted two miniature whisky bottles from the stewardess, but he was still sitting in silence, his dark eyes blacker than ever, fixed on the ice in his glass as it slowly melted. He looked even more bummed out than usual. Alex had noticed him swallow two pills with his drink. It had taken him a while to realize that Ash was in constant pain. He was beginning to wonder if his godfather really was going to tell him what he wanted to know.

And then, without warning, Ash began to speak.

“I met your dad on my first assignment for Special Operations. He'd only joined a year before me, but he was completely different. Everyone knew John Rider. Top of his class. Golden boy. On the fast track to the top.” There was no rancor in Ash's voice. There was no emotion at all. “He couldn't have been more than twenty-four. Recruited out of the parachute force. Before that he'd been at Oxford University. A first class degree in politics and economics. And—oh yes—did I mention that he was also a brilliant athlete? Rowed for Oxford—and won. A good tennis player too. And now he was in Prague, in charge of his first operation, and I was a nobody sent along to learn the ropes.

“Well, as it turned out, the whole thing was a shambles. It wasn't John's fault. Sometimes it just happens that way. But afterward, at the debriefing, I met him properly for the first time and you know what I liked most about him? It was how calm he was. Three agents had died…not ours, thank God. The Czech police were going crazy. And the Museum of East European Folk Art and Antiquities had burned down. Actually, it wasn't really a museum, but that's another story. And as I say, your dad was more or less the same age as me and he wasn't even worried. He didn't shout at anyone. He never lost his temper. He just got on with it.

“After that, we became friends. I'm not sure how it happened. We lived near each other—he had an apartment in an old warehouse in Blackfriars, set back from the river. We started playing squash together. In the end we must have played about a hundred games, and you know what? I won at least a couple of them. Sometimes we met for a drink. He liked Black Velvet. Champagne and Guinness. He was away a lot, of course, and he wasn't allowed to tell me what he'd been doing. Even though we were in the same service, I didn't have clearance. But you heard things…and I looked in on him a couple of times when he was in the hospital. That was how I met your mother.”

“She was a nurse.”

“That's right. Helen Beckett. That was her maiden name. She was very attractive. Same color hair as you. And maybe the same eyes. I actually asked her out, if you want to know. She turned me down very sweetly. It turned out that she actually knew your dad from Oxford. They'd met a couple of times when she was studying medicine.”

“Did she know what my dad did?”

“I don't know what he told her, but she probably had a pretty good idea. When you're treating someone with two broken ribs and a bullet wound, you don't imagine they fell over playing golf. But it didn't bother her. She looked after him. They started seeing each other. The next thing I knew, she had moved in with him and we weren't playing squash quite so often.”

“Did you ever get married, Ash?” Alex asked.

Ash shook his head. “Never met the right girl…although I had fun with quite a few of the wrong ones. I'm actually quite glad, Alex. I'll tell you why.

“You can't afford to get scared in our business. Fear's the one thing that will kill you faster than anything, and although it's true to say that all agents are fearless, generally what that means is that they're not afraid for themselves. All that changes when you get married, and it's even worse when you have kids. Alan Blunt didn't want your dad to marry. He knew that in the end, he'd be losing his best man.”

“He knew my mother?”

“He had her investigated.” Alex looked shocked, and Ash smiled. “It was standard procedure. He had to be sure she wasn't a security risk.”

So somewhere inside MI6 Special Operations there was a file on his mother. Alex made a mental note of it. Maybe one day it would be something he would dig up.