“Why are you interested in him?”
“Because of something that happened a few months ago.” Blunt opened the file. “Last November, the police got a call from a whistle-blower inside the company, a bio-technician by the name of Philip Masters. He said he knew something about Straik and wanted to talk. Given the security implications, the police passed the information to us and we arranged a meeting—but one day before it could take place, there was an accident and Masters was killed. Apparently he came into contact with some sort of toxic material and it poisoned his entire nervous system. By the time he turned up in the local morgue, he was unrecognizable.”
“An accident . . .”
“Exactly. It seemed a bit of a coincidence, don’t you think?”
“We don’t like coincidences,” Mrs. Jones said.
“Since then, we’ve been taking a close look at Greenfields,” Blunt went on. “It’s a major operation. As well as research and development, it’s also one of the largest suppliers of genetically modified seeds in the world, using the gene gun that Straik pioneered. There are whole countries—in Africa and South America, for instance—that are dependent on them. We cannot risk having a loose cannon at the center of an operation like that. Masters knew something about Straik. We need to know what it was.” Alex nodded. He was beginning to see where this was going.
“We’ve managed to put a tap on Straik’s telephone and we intercept all the calls he makes on his mobile. But we need more than that.”
“We want to get into his computers,” Mrs. Jones said.
Blunt nodded. “There may be nothing in all this. After all, people die all the time. Accidents happen and there are plenty of toxic plants on the site. I understand Straik keeps a whole greenhouse full of them. He’s been doing research into natural cures . . . antivenoms. But we have to get someone into Greenfields—and it can’t be a security guard or a maintenance engineer. That’s exactly what he’d be expecting. We have to take a different approach.”
Alex had heard it all before. People with something to hide would always suspect an adult, particularly if they knew they were under surveillance. But nobody would think twice about a schoolboy on a class visit. Alex remembered what Mr. Gilbert had said. “
“It would be easy for you to slip away from the group during your visit,” Mrs. Jones continued. “And it would only take you thirty seconds to download everything from Straik’s computer.”
“Won’t it have a password?” Alex asked. “And how would I even get into his office?”
“We can have a word with Smithers about all that,” Blunt replied. “But it’s up to you, Alex. It seems fairly straightforward to me. We can’t even be sure that Straik is up to no good. It may all be a fuss about nothing. However, it seems that we can do each other a favor. You agree to help us and we’ll have a word with this man—Harry Bulman—and see if we can persuade him to leave you alone.” Blunt smiled, but Alex wasn’t fooled. He knew exactly what was going on. If he refused to help, his life would be torn apart. Blunt was pretending to offer him a choice, knowing exactly what Alex would do. The decision had already been made.
He should have expected it. He had agreed to walk into the lion’s den—so he could hardly complain when he got scratched.
“It’s a pleasure to see you as always, Alex,” Smithers said. “I fancy you’ve grown a bit. Unless, of course, Mr. Blunt has supplied you with a pair of my new sneakers. I’m rather pleased with them, I must say.”
“Do they fire missiles?” Alex asked.
“Oh, no. Nothing like that. They’re for use by agents who need to change their appearance rapidly in the field. There’s a hydraulic system built into the heel, and they can add three inches to your height.”
“Do you have a name for them?”
Smithers folded his arms across his ample stomach. “Pumps!”
The two of them were sitting in Smithers’s office on the eleventh floor. The room looked ordinary enough, but Alex knew that everything in sight actually disguised something else—from the X-ray angle floor lamp to the incinerator “out” tray. Even the filing cabinet concealed an elevator to the ground floor. Smithers was exactly as Alex remembered him. He was dressed in an old-fashioned three-piece suit that must have been specially tailored to fit his bulk, with a striped tie that was surely the old-school variety. As usual, there was a broad smile across his face and above his various chins. Smithers was the one agent in MI6 that Alex was always pleased to see. He was also the only person Alex trusted.
“So I understand you’re going to look into Greenfields for us,” Smithers continued. “Very good of you, Alex. I’m always amazed how helpful you are.”
“Well, Mr. Blunt is very persuasive.”
“That’s certainly true. At least it shouldn’t be too dangerous this time . . . although do look out. That chap Masters was a bit of a mess. He’d definitely trodden on something that he shouldn’t—so just make sure you look where you’re going.” Smithers coughed, realizing that he’d said too much, and continued hastily. “I’m sure no one will even notice you.”
“How do I get into Straik’s office?” Alex asked.
“I’ve got a few things for you right here.” Smithers opened a drawer in his desk and took out an old-fashioned pencil case. It was made of tin, slightly battered, decorated with a picture of the Simpsons . . . the sort of thing he might have been given for Christmas three or four years ago. “It’s very unlikely that you’ll be searched,” Smithers explained. “But we know Greenfields has a very efficient security system, so better safe than sorry.”
He pushed the case forward. “The tin is rather clever,” he explained. “I actually developed it for international air travel. It has a lead lining so it won’t show any of the hidden circuitry if it passes through an X-ray machine. But at the same time, there are silhouettes of pens and rulers fused inside the lid, and if the tin is scanned, they’ll show up as ghost images. You could carry anything you wanted inside and nobody would notice.”
He opened the tin. Alex was surprised that it actually did contain pens and rulers—along with other pieces of school equipment. “Since this is a school trip, I’ve concealed all the gadgets inside things you might reasonably be expected to have with you,” Smithers said. He picked out a rather large eraser with a pudgy finger and thumb. “The
