Snakehead (10 page)

Alex only had a few moments to take in his surroundings: the ornamental ponds and
bodhi
trees that grow in every
wat
because they once gave shelter to the Buddha. He glanced at the golden figures—half woman, half lion—that guarded the main temple, the delicate slanting roofs, and the
mondops…
incredible, intricate towers with hundreds of tiny figures that must have taken years to carve by hand. A group of monks walked past him. Everywhere there were people kneeling in prayer. He had never been anywhere so peaceful.

The man he was following had disappeared behind a bell tower. Alex was suddenly afraid that he was going to lose him, at the same time wondering what it was that had brought him here. Could he have been mistaken? Could the man be a tourist after all? He hurried around the corner and stopped. The man had gone. In front of him, a crowd of Thais were kneeling at a shrine. A couple of backpackers were having their photograph taken in front of one of the terraces. Alex was angry with himself. He had been too slow. The entire journey had been a waste of time.

He took a step forward and froze as a shadow fell across him and a hand pressed something hard into his back.

“Don't turn around,” a voice commanded, speaking in English.

Alex stood where he was, a sick feeling in his stomach. This was exactly what Ash had warned him against. The snakehead had sent someone after him, and he had allowed himself to be led straight into a trap. But why here—in a Thai temple? And how did the man know he spoke English?

“Walk across the courtyard. There's a red door on the other side of the shrine. Do you see it?”

Alex nodded. The man had a Liverpool accent. It sounded completely weird in the context of a Bangkok temple.

“Don't turn around. Don't try anything. We're going through the door. I'll give you more instructions on the other side.”

Another jab with the gun. Alex didn't need any more prompting. He walked away from the bell tower, skirting the Thai people lost in their prayers. Briefly, he considered starting a fight, out here, while there were still witnesses. But it would do him no good. The man could shoot him in the back and disappear before anyone knew what had happened. The moment would come…but not yet.

The red door was set in the wall of a cloister—somewhere for the monks to walk in silent contemplation. It was surrounded by images of the
Ramakien,
the great story of gods and demons known to every child in Thailand. Gods or demons? He had little doubt to which one of them the man belonged.

As he approached, the door clicked open automatically. There had to be a surveillance camera somewhere, but, looking around, Alex couldn't see it. There was a modern corridor on the other side, with bare brick walls slanting down toward a second door. This one opened too. All the sounds of the temple had faded away behind him. He felt as if he was being swallowed up.

Alex wasn't going to let that happen. He timed his move very carefully. The second doorway was narrow, leading into a square-shaped hall that could have been the reception area of a lawyer's office or a stylish private bank. The walls were covered in wooden panels. There was an antique table with a lamp, a fan turning overhead. And more bizarre than anything, on the opposite wall, a picture of the queen of England.

As Alex made his way in, he hesitated, allowing the man to catch up. Then suddenly he punched backward with his elbow, bringing his fist swinging around in the same motion.

It was a move he had been taught when he was training with the SAS in the Brecon Beacons in Wales. The elbow jab winds your man. The fist carries the gun aside, giving you time to spin around and kick out with all your strength. Never try it in the open because you'll end up getting shot. It only works in a confined space.

But not this time. The man seemed to have been expecting the maneuver. He had simply stepped aside the moment Alex began his move. Alex's first strike didn't make contact with anything, and before he could even begin to turn, he felt the cold farewell of the gun pressed against the side of his head.

“Nice try, Cub,” the man said. “But much too slow.”

And that was when Alex knew. “Fox!” he exclaimed.

The gun didn't matter anymore. Alex turned to stand face-to-face with the man—who was now grinning at him like an old friend. Which, in a sense, he was. The two of them had actually met in the Brecon Beacons. There had been four men in the unit to which Alex had been assigned: Wolf, Eagle, Snake, and Fox. None of them had been allowed to use their real names. While he was with them, Alex was Cub. And now that he thought about it, there had been one with a Liverpool accent. It seemed incredible that the two of them should have met up again in Bangkok, but there could be no doubt about it. Fox was standing in front of him now.

“You were at the airport,” Alex said. “I saw you, wearing a poppy.”

“Yes. I should have taken that off. But I'd just flown in from London myself.”

“And you were at the Peninsula Hotel.”

Fox nodded. “I couldn't believe it was you when I first saw you, so I followed you to be sure. I've been keeping an eye on you ever since, Alex. Lucky for you…”

“Last night…” Alex's head swam. “Was that you at the arena? You set the place on fire!”

“I followed you over to Patpong, and I was there when those men picked you up. Then I followed them down to the Chada Trading Agency. It wasn't easy, I can tell you. And it took me ages to weasel my way in. When I arrived, you were already in the ring. I thought you were going to get beaten to a pulp. But I'd seen where the main fuses were, so I sneaked back and turned out all the lights. Then I came looking for you. Things got a bit dicey when the lights came back on and I had to shoot a few of the opposition and throw a couple of grenades. The last time I saw you, you were in a ferry, trying to get away. It might have helped if you'd untied it first.”

“You shot Anan Sukit.”

“Was that his name? Well, he was trying to shoot you. It was the very least I could do.”

“So what is this place?” Alex looked around. “What are you doing in Bangkok? And what's your real name? You can't go on expecting me to call you Fox.”

“My real name's Ben Daniels. You're Alex Rider. Of course, I know that now.”

“You've left the SAS?”

“I got assigned to MI6 Special Operations. And since you ask, that's where you are now. This is what you might call the Bangkok office of the Royal and General Bank.”

The words were hardly out of his mouth when a door opened on the other side of the hallway and a woman walked into the room. Alex caught it at once…the faint smell of peppermint.

“Alex Rider!” Mrs. Jones exclaimed. “I have to say, you're the last person I expected to see. Come into my office immediately. I want to know—why aren't you at school?”

T
HE LAST TIME
A
LEX
had seen Mrs. Jones, she had been visiting him in a North London hospital. Then she had seemed unsure of herself, regretful, blaming herself for the security lapse that had left Alex close to death on the pavement outside the MI6 offices on Liverpool Street. She had also been at her most human.

Now she was much more like the woman he had first met, dressed severely in a slate-colored jacket and dress with a single necklace that could have been silver or steel. Her hair was tied back, and her face—with those night black eyes—was utterly serious. Mrs. Jones was not exactly attractive, but neither did she try to be. In a way, her looks exactly suited her work as head of MI6, Special Operations, one of the most secretive departments of the British secret service. They gave nothing away.

Once again she was sucking a peppermint. Alex wondered if she had given up smoking at some time. Or was the habit also related to her job? When Mrs. Jones spoke, people had a tendency to die. It wouldn't surprise him if she felt the need to sweeten her breath.

The two of them were sitting in an office on the first floor of the building that stood directly behind Wat Ho. It was a very ordinary room with a wooden table and three leather chairs. Two large square windows looked out over the temple courtyard. Alex knew that all this could be deceptive. The glass was probably bulletproof. There would be hidden cameras and microphones. How many agents were there, mingling among the orange-robed monks? When it came to MI6, nothing was ever quite what it seemed.

Ben Daniels, the man he had known as Fox, was also there. He was younger than Alex had first thought—no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, laid back and thoughtful. He was sitting next to Alex. The two of them were opposite Mrs. Jones, who had taken her place behind the table.

Alex had told her his story, from the time he had splashed down off the Australian coast to his recruitment by ASIS, his meeting with Ash in Bangkok, and his first encounter with the snakehead. He noticed that she had reacted sharply at the mention of Ash. But then, of course, she must have known him. She had been there when his father went undercover, working for Scorpia. She might even have been involved in the operation in Malta that had brought him safely home.

“Well, Ethan Brooke certainly has nerve,” she remarked when he had finished. “Recruiting you without so much as a by-your-leave! He could have talked to us first.”

“I don't work for you,” Alex said.

“I know you don't, Alex. But that's not the point. At the very least you're a British citizen, and if a foreign government is going to use you, they might as well ask.” She softened slightly. “For that matter, whatever prompted you to go back into the field? I thought you'd had enough of all this.”

“I wanted to meet Ash,” Alex said. Another thought occurred to him. “Why did you never tell me about him?” he asked.

“Why should I have?” Mrs. Jones replied. “I haven't seen him for almost ten years.”

“But he worked for you.”

“He worked for Special Operations at the same time as me. In fact, I had very little to do with him. I met him once or twice. That's all.”

“Do you know what happened in Malta?”

Mrs. Jones shook her head. “You'd have to ask Alan Blunt,” she said. “That was his operation. You know it was all a setup. John Rider—your father—was pretending to work for Scorpia, and we had to get him back. We set up a fake ambush in a place called Mdina, but it all went wrong. Ash was nearly killed, and shortly after that he left the service. That's all I can tell you.”

“Where is Mr. Blunt?”

“He's in London.”

“So why are you here?”

Mrs. Jones looked at Alex curiously. “You've changed,” she said. “You've grown up a lot. I suppose we're to thank for that. You know, Alex, we weren't going to use you again. I'd agreed with Alan—after what happened with Scorpia, that was going to be the end of it. But the next thing I knew, you're in America, up to your neck in it with the CIA. I ought to congratulate you, by the way. That business with the Ark Angel space station was quite remarkable.”

“Thank you.”

“And now ASIS! You certainly get around.” Mrs. Jones reached forward and flipped open a file lying on the table in front of her. “It's strange that we should have run into you this way,” she went on. “But it may be less of a coincidence than you think. Major Yu. Does that name mean anything to you?”

“He's in charge of the snakehead.” Ethan Brooke had told Alex the name when he was in Sydney.

“Well, to answer your question, I'm here because we're investigating him. That's why Daniels is here too.” Mrs. Jones tapped the file with her index finger. “How much did ASIS tell you about Major Yu?”

Alex shrugged. He felt uncomfortable suddenly, caught in the middle of two rival intelligence agencies. “Not very much,” he admitted. “They don't seem to know a lot about him. That's part of my job…”

“Well, maybe I can help you.” Mrs. Jones paused. “We've been interested in Major Winston Yu for some time, although we haven't managed to find out too much about him ourselves. We know he had a Chinese mother. His father is unknown. He was brought up in poverty in Hong Kong—his mother worked at a hotel—but cut forward eight years and you find him being privately educated in England. He went to Harrow School, for heaven's sake! How his mother managed to afford the fees is another question.

“He was an average student. We have copies of his reports. On the other hand, he seems to have fit in quite well, which is surprising, considering his race and background. There was a question mark over a rather nasty incident that took place in his first term—a couple of boys killed in a car accident—but nothing was ever proved. He was also very good at sports, a triple house blood, whatever that means.

“He left with reasonable grades and studied politics at London University, got a degree. After that, he went into the army. Trained at Sandhurst and did much better there. He seems to have taken to army life and was at the top of his class with the highest score in military, practical, and academic studies, for which he received highest honors. He joined one of our country's most distinguished regiments—the Household Cavalry—and served in the Falklands and the first Gulf War.

“Unfortunately, he developed a bone condition that brought an end to his army career. But he was snapped up by intelligence, and for a time he worked for MI6—not Special Operations. He was fairly low-level, gathering and processing information…that sort of thing. Well, eventually he'd had enough of it because one day he disappeared. We know he was active in Thailand and Australia, but there's no record of his activities, and it was only recently that we were able to identify him as the leader of one of the most powerful snakeheads in the region.”

Mrs. Jones paused. When she looked up again, her eyes were bleak. “This may put you off, Alex. It may even persuade you to go home—and believe me, I wouldn't blame you. According to our sources, Major Yu may have contacts with Scorpia. It's even possible that he's on the executive board.”

Scorpia. Alex had hoped he would never hear that name again. And Mrs. Jones was right. If Ethan Brooke had given him that information, he might have thought twice about the whole thing. He wondered if the head of ASIS had known. Almost certainly. But he'd needed Alex, so he'd decided to keep it under his hat.

“You still haven't told me why you're interested in him,” Alex said.

“That's top secret.” Mrs. Jones gestured with one hand. “But I'll tell you anyway. Apart from anything else, it may well be that you're in a position to help us—assuming that's something you'd even consider. Anyway, I'll explain and you can make up your own mind…

“Have you ever heard of the Daisy Cutter?”

Alex thought for a moment. “It's a bomb,” he said. He remembered talking about it once at school, during history. “The Americans used it in Vietnam.”

“They've also used it in Afghanistan,” Mrs. Jones said. “The Daisy Cutter, also known as BLU-82B or the Blue Boy, is the largest conventional bomb in existence. It's the size of a car…and I mean a Lincoln. Each bomb contains twelve-and-a-half-thousand pounds of ammonium nitrate, aluminum powder, and polystyrene, and it's powerful enough to destroy an entire building, easily. In fact, it'll probably take out a whole block.”

“The Americans used it because it's terrifying,” Daniels muttered. He was speaking for the first time. “It may not compare to a nuclear bomb, but there's nothing on the earth like it. The shock wave that it releases is unbelievable. You have no idea how much damage it can do.”

“They used it in Vietnam to clear landing sites for helicopters,” Mrs. Jones went on. “Drop one on the jungle and you'd have no jungle for half a mile around. They called it the Daisy Cutter because that was the pattern the explosion made. It was used in Afghanistan to scare the Taliban…to show them what they were up against.”

“What's this got to do with Major Yu?” Alex asked. He was also wondering, with a sense of growing unease, what it might have to do with him.

“For the last few years, the British government has been developing a second generation of Daisy Cutters,” Mrs. Jones explained. “They've managed to create a similar type of bomb except that it's a little smaller and it's more powerful, with an even greater shock wave. They gave it a code name, Royal Blue, and they'd built a prototype at a secret laboratory just outside London.” She took out a peppermint and twisted off the wrapper with a single movement of her thumb and forefinger. “Three weeks ago the prototype was stolen. Eight of our people were killed. Three of them were security guards. The rest were technicians. It was a very professional operation: perfectly timed, ruthlessly executed.” She slid the peppermint between her lips.

“And you think Major Yu…?”

“These things aren't easy to transport, Alex. They need to be transported in a Hercules C-130 transport plane. We lost sight of the bomb, but two days later a C-130 took off with a flight plan that brought it to Bangkok via Albania and Tajikistan. We were able to identify the pilot…his name was Feng. He in turn had been employed by a criminal based here in Bangkok…a man called Anan Sukit…”

“…and he works for the snakehead!” Alex finished the sentence.

“He
worked
for the snakehead,” Mrs. Jones remarked sourly. “Until Daniels put three bullets into him.”

It was all beginning to make sense. MI6 Special Operations were chasing a missing bomb that had led them to the snakehead. Alex was investigating the snakehead and that had led him to MI6. It was as if they had met in the middle.

“We were planning to put Daniels into the snakehead,” Mrs. Jones continued. “We'd arranged a cover story for him. He was a rich European who'd flown out from London, hoping to put together a big drug deal. Of course, everything changed the moment he spotted you. As soon as we realized you were here, we decided to keep an eye on you and find out what you were up to. I have to say, we were very surprised when you changed your appearance.” She ran an eye over Alex. “If we hadn't seen you at the airport, we wouldn't have recognized you.”

“I like the teeth,” Daniels muttered.

“So what now?” Alex asked. “You said you wanted me to help you.”

“You and Ash have already penetrated the snakehead. You've also shaken things up a bit—no surprises there. Maybe you can find Royal Blue for us.”

“It shouldn't be too hard to spot,” Daniels said. “It's bloody huge. And if it goes bang, you'll hear it ten miles away.”

Alex considered. Getting involved with MI6 again was the last thing he wanted, but in a way, what Mrs. Jones had told him had changed nothing. He was still working for ASIS. And if he did come across a bomb the size of a family car, there would be no harm in reporting it.

“What do they want it for?” he asked.

“That's what worries us most,” Mrs. Jones replied. “We've got no idea. Obviously they must be planning something big—but not that big. A nuclear bomb would have been about one thousand times more powerful.”

“So they're not out to destroy a whole city,” Daniels added.

“But if this is a Scorpia operation, you can be pretty sure it's serious and large scale. These people aren't bank robbers…you know that better than anyone. I have to admit, we're in the dark. Anything you can find out will be helpful to us.”

Once again, Alex fell silent. But he had made up his mind. “I'll have to tell Ash,” he said.

Mrs. Jones nodded. “I don't see any harm in that. And in return, we can help you. You and Daniels already know each other. There's no point in trying to put him in undercover now. But he can continue to watch over you.”

Ben smiled. “I'd be happy to do that,” he said.

“We can give you something to contact him anytime. Has ASIS provided you with any equipment?”

Alex shook his head.

Mrs. Jones sighed. “That's the trouble with the Australians. They always rush into everything without a second thought. Well, we can give you what you need.”

“Gadgets?” Alex's eyes lit up.

“You've got an old friend here. I think you ought to meet.”

 

Smithers was down the corridor in a room that was a cross between a library, an office, and a workshop. He was sitting at a desk, surrounded by bits of machinery—like a destructive child on Christmas Day. There was a half-dismantled alarm clock, a laptop computer with its insides spilling out, a video camera divided into about fifty different pieces, and a whole tangle of wires and circuits. Smithers himself was wearing sandals, baggy shorts, and a bright yellow, short-sleeved shirt. Alex wondered how he could possibly carry so much weight around in this heat. But he looked perfectly composed, sitting with his great stomach stretching out toward his knees and two very plump pink legs tucked away below. He was fanning himself with a Chinese fan decorated with two interweaving dragons.