“Most of them are Asiatic . . . Mongul or Chinese. But not all of them. In fact, a lot of them managed to survive in Afghanistan precisely because they didn’t look too Eastern. Anyway, you don’t need to worry. Mrs. Webber will take care of that.”
“How about language?”
“You won’t talk. Ever. You’re going to pretend to be a simpleton. Just stare into the corner and keep your mouth shut. Try and look scared . . . as if I’m about to beat you.
Maybe I will from time to time. Just to make us look authentic.”
Alex wasn’t sure if Ash was being serious or not.
“I speak Dari,” Ash went on. “That’s the language of the majority in Afghanistan and it’s the language the snakehead will use. I speak a few words of Hazaragi too—but we shouldn’t need them. Just remember. Never open your mouth. If you do, you’ll kill us both.” Ash stood up. While he had been talking, he had been grim—almost hostile. But now he turned to Alex with something close to desperation in his dark brown eyes.
“Alex . . .” He paused, scratching at his beard. “Are you sure you want to do this? ASIS has got nothing to do
with you. People smuggling and all the rest of it . . . you should be at school. Why don’t you just go home?”
“It’s a little late now,” Alex said. “I agreed. And I want you to tell me about my dad.”
“Is that the main reason you agreed to this?”
“It’s the only reason.”
“I don’t think I could forgive myself if anything happened to you. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for your father.
That’s the truth of it.” Ash looked away, as if trying to avoid the memory. “One day I’ll tell you about it . . .
Malta, and what happened after Yassen Gregorovich had finished with me. But I’ll tell you this right now. John wouldn’t thank me for getting you into trouble. In fact, he’d probably chew my head off. So if you’ll take my advice, you’ll call Brooke. Tell him you’ve changed your mind. And get out now.”
“I’m staying,” Alex said. “But thanks anyway.” In fact, what Ash had just said—the mention of Yassen Gregorovich—had made Alex determined to learn more.
Suddenly things were beginning to come together.
Alex knew that his father, John Rider, had pretended to be an enemy agent, working for Scorpia. When MI6
wanted him back, they had arranged for him to be “captured.” That had been in Malta. But it had all been a setup. And Yassen Gregorovich had been there. Yassen was an international assassin, and Alex had met him fourteen years later—first when he was working for Herod
S N A K E H E A D
Sayle, a second time inside the evil empire of Damian Cray. Yassen was dead now, but it seemed that he was still destined to be part of Alex’s life. Ash had met him in Malta. And whatever had happened on that island was part of the story that Alex wanted to know.
“You’re sure?” Ash asked him one last time.
“I’m sure,” Alex said.
“Very well.” Ash nodded gravely. “Then I’d better teach you this.
I hope it will be true for you.”
There was a knock at the door.
Ash went over and opened it and a short, rather dumpy woman walked in, carrying a suitcase. She could have been a retired principal or perhaps a very old-fashioned schoolteacher. She was wearing a two-piece olive green suit and heavy stockings that only emphasized the fact that she had very shapeless legs. Her hair hung loose, with no apparent color or style. Her face could have been made of putty. She wore no makeup. There was a single brooch—a silver daisy—pinned to her lapel.
“How are you doing, Ash?” She smiled as she came in and that, along with her broad Australian accent, seemed to bring her to life.
“Good to see you, Cloudy,” Ash replied. He closed the door. “This is Mrs. Webber, Alex,” he explained. “She
works for ASIS—a specialist in disguise. Her name is Chloe, but we call her Cloudy. We think it suits her better. Cloudy Webber—meet Alex Rider.”
The woman stumped over to Alex and examined him.
“Hmmm . . . ,” she muttered disapprovingly. “Mr. Brooke must need his head examined if he thinks we’re going to get away with this one. But I’ll see what I can do.” She heaved the suitcase onto the bed. “Let’s have all those clothes off you, boy. Socks, boxers, the lot. The first thing we’re going to start with is your skin.”
“Wait a minute . . . ,” Alex began.
“For heaven’s sake!” the woman exploded. “You think I’m going to see anything I haven’t seen before?” She turned to Ash, who was watching from the other side of the room. “And it’s the same for you, Ash. I don’t know what you’re grinning about. You may look a bit more like an Afghan than him, but I’m going to have all your clothes
