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 ju
ngle 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.
“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!”