But the white-haired man—the major—never finished the sentence. There was a scream from a siren, so loud that Alex was almost knocked off the platform and had to cover his ears to protect himself from the noise. It was an alarm signal. The fourth man, who had so far said nothing, swung around, revealing a machine gun—a
lightweight Belgian M249—hanging at his waist. Captain De Wynter pulled out a cell phone and speed dialed.
The siren stopped. The captain listened for a few seconds, then reported what he had heard, speaking in a low voice. Half deafened, Alex couldn’t hear a word he said.
The white-haired man shook his head angrily. “Who is he? Where did he come from?”
“They are holding him on the deck,” De Wynter replied.
“I want to see him for myself,” the white-haired man exclaimed. “Come with me!”
The four of them left together, making for a door set in the side of the hold. A moment later they were gone, and to his astonishment, Alex found himself alone with the bomb. It seemed to be a heaven-sent opportunity, and without even hesitating, he climbed down the staircase and went over to the container. And there it was right in front of him. MI6 was searching for Royal Blue all over Thailand, but he had found it in the middle of the South China Sea. He had found Winston Yu at the same time—for that was surely who the white-haired man must be. After all, he had just heard the captain refer to him as “Major.” But why were they both here? What did the major want with the bomb? Alex wished he had heard more.
He ran his eyes over it. Close up, it struck him as one of the ugliest things he had ever seen—blunt and heavy,
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built only to kill and destroy. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he could detonate it. That would put an end to Yu’s plans, whatever they were. But Alex had no wish to die, and anyway, there were at least twenty refugees, some of them children, concealed in the ship. They’d be killed too.
Perhaps he could disarm it. But there was no point. Yu or the man called Varga would soon see what he had done and simply reverse it. Could he use another of the exploding coins? No—they might be able to penetrate the thick shell of Royal Blue, but what then? And anything he damaged, Yu could easily replace.
He had to do something. The four men might be back at any time. He glanced at the laptop, and that was when he saw the instruction, printed in capital letters on the screen.
> PLACE HAND ON SCREEN
The laptop was connected to the scanner. Alex could see the outline of a human hand, positioned exactly to read the user’s fingertips. Acting on impulse, he placed his own hand on the glass surface. There was a click, and the green light rolled underneath his palm. On the laptop, the readout changed.
> FINGERPRINT PROFILE ACCEPTED
> Add further authorization Y/N?
> Delete previous authorization Y/N?
Alex reached out and pressed Y for the first instruction and N for the second. There was no point in advertising that he had been here. The screen returned to its first message.
> PLACE HAND ON SCREEN
So that was interesting. He had given himself the power to override the system if he ever happened to come across it again—and with a bit of luck, neither Major Yu nor Mr. Varga would notice.
There was nothing more to be done here. Alex made his way back to the staircase and went up, intending to find somewhere to hide. He would wait until he got to Darwin. Then he would contact Mrs. Jones and tell her about her precious bomb. If she asked him nicely, he could even defuse it for her.
He reached the deck. Major Yu had arrived there ahead of him—Alex could hear his voice although he couldn’t make out any of the words. Quickly he climbed a ladder that led to a narrow passageway dividing two of the container towers. There was no chance of anyone spotting him here. Feeling bolder, he made his way to the end and found himself looking down on the foredeck, where a single mast rose up amid a tangle of winches and cables.
What he saw there chilled him.
He had thought the siren was a useful diversion, per-236
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haps announcing some problem in the engine room. It had gotten Major Yu and his men out of the way at exactly the right moment. But now he realized that it hadn’t been good news at all. In fact, it could hardly be worse.
The old man from the container—Salem—had decided to follow Alex out. He must have squeezed through the trapdoor and found his way onto the deck.
But there his luck had run out. A couple of the crewmen had discovered him. They were holding him now with his hands pinned behind his back while Major Yu questioned him. Captain De Wynter and Mr. Varga were watching. Salem was having difficulty making himself understood. He had been beaten. One of his eyes was swollen half shut, and there was blood trickling from a cut on his cheek.
He finished speaking, a gabble of words that were swept away by the wind. It wasn’t cold out on the deck, but Alex found himself shivering. Major Yu still had his back to him. Alex watched as he carefully removed one of his gloves and reached into his jacket pocket. He took out a small pistol. Without hesitating, without even paus-ing to aim, he shot the old man between the eyes. The single report of the bullet was like a crack of wood. Salem died on his feet, still held up by the two crewmen. Yu nodded and the men tilted him backward, tipping his life-less body over the rails. Alex saw it fall into the water and disappear.
Then Major Yu spoke again, and somehow his words carried up as if amplified.
