had asked Alex to come to a meeting on Friday afternoon.
Alex had noticed the one small difference. Blunt had asked. He hadn’t demanded.
So here he was with his backpack still full of books for the weekend: a particularly vicious math paper and
“There are a few things you might like to know,” Blunt said. “Starting with a message from Ethan Brooke. He asked me to pass on his thanks and his good wishes. He said that if you ever decide to emigrate to Australia, he’ll be happy to arrange a permanent visa.”
“That’s very kind of him.”
“Well, you did a remarkable job, Alex. Quite apart from tracking down our missing weapon, you’ve more or less destroyed the snakehead. The Chada Trading Agency has gone out of business, as has Unwin Toys.”
“Did you realize it was an anagram?” Mrs. Jones asked. She was sitting in a chair next to the desk, one leg crossed over the other, looking very relaxed. Alex got the sense that she was glad to see him. “Unwin Toys. Winston Yu. That was the vanity of the man . . . he named it after himself.”
“Have you found him?” Alex asked. He had last seen Yu climbing into the motorboat and didn’t know if he’d gotten away.
“Oh yes. We found what was left of him. Not a pleasant sight.” Blunt folded his hands in front of him. “Yu dealt with quite a lot of his own people before ASIS could reach them,” he went on. “I think you know that he killed the captain of the
They also arrested a man called Varga . . .” The name meant nothing to Alex.
“He was a technician,” Mrs. Jones explained. “He helped adapt Royal Blue to work underwater. He also set up the detonation procedure.”
Now Alex recalled the man he had glimpsed on the
“He was a fairly low-level Scorpia operative,” Blunt added. “Out of Haiti, I understand. He’s being questioned and may provide some useful information.”
S N A K E H E A D
“How is Ben?”
“He’s still in the hospital in Darwin,” Mrs. Jones said.
“He was lucky. The bullets didn’t do any serious damage, and the doctors say he’ll be out by Christmas.”
“We’ll look after him,” Blunt added.
“Better than you looked after Ash.” Alex looked Blunt straight in the eyes.
“Yes.” Blunt shifted uncomfortably. “I wanted you to know, Alex, that we had no idea about Ash’s involvement with Scorpia. Even now I find it hard to believe that he had any involvement with . . . what happened to your parents.”
“I’m so sorry, Alex,” Mrs. Jones cut in. “I understand how you must be feeling.”
“Do you think Ethan Brooke knew?” Alex asked. It was something he had been thinking about on the long flight home. “He knew someone was a traitor. Someone had been feeding the snakehead with information all along. He put me together with Ash. Was that what he really wanted? To flush him out?”
“It’s quite possible,” Blunt said, and Alex was surprised. The head of MI6 wasn’t normally so honest.
“Brooke is a very devious man.”
“It’s what makes him so good at his job,” Mrs.
Jones remarked.
It was five o’clock. Outside, it was getting dark. Alan Blunt went over to the window and shooed away a couple of pigeons. Then he lowered the blind.
“There are only a couple of things to add,” he said as he took his place again. “Most important of all, we want you to know that you’re safe. Scorpia aren’t going to have another crack at you.” He blinked twice. “Not like last time.”
“We’ve been in contact with them,” Mrs. Jones explained. “We made it clear that if anything happened to you, we would let the whole world know that they had been beaten—for a second time—by a fourteen-year-old boy. It would make them a laughingstock and would destroy what little reputation they have left.”
“Scorpia may be finished anyway,” Blunt said. “But they got the message. We’ll keep an eye on you just to be on the safe side, but I don’t think you need to worry.”
“And what was the other thing?” Alex asked.
“Only that we hope you found what you were looking for, Alex.” It was Mrs. Jones who had answered.
“I found some of it,” Alex said.
