Snakehead

by Anthony Horowitz

So Major Yu knew who he was—and had known from the start! Alex tucked that information away, hoping he would be able to make sense of it later. For now, all that mattered was that his plan had worked and the long hours of discomfort had been worth it. They were docking at Darwin. Surely any minute now, Yu would go out on deck to see dry land.

  But it was another two hours before he left. Alex waited until he was quite sure that he was alone, then rolled out from underneath the bed. He glanced into the stateroom. Yu had gone, but he had left some of the cookies, and Alex wolfed them down. Yu might notice—but Alex was too hungry to care. At the same time, he tried to ease some feeling back into his muscles. He had to prepare himself. He knew that he had just one chance to get away. They would set off to sea again in just a few hours’ time, and if he was still on board, he would be finished.

  He went over to the window. The Liberian Star had already berthed at the section of the port of Darwin known as the East Arm Wharf. To his dismay, Alex realized that they were still a very long way from land. The East Arm was an artificial cement causeway stretching far out into the ocean, with the usual array of gantries, cranes, and spreaders waiting to receive the ships. It was a world apart from the docks at Jakarta. Quite apart from the blinding Australian sun, everything seemed very clean and ordered. There were two long rows of parked cars and beyond them, a neat, modern warehouse and some gas tanks—all of them painted white.

  A van drove past, heading up the dock. Two men walked past in fluorescent jackets and hard hats. Even assuming Alex could get off the ship, he still wouldn’t be safe. It was at least a mile to the mainland, and presumably there would be security barriers at the far end. At least Yu wouldn’t dare gun him down in plain sight. That was one consolation. But however Alex looked at it, this wasn’t going to be as easy as he had hoped.

  Even so, he couldn’t wait any longer.

  Alex crept over to the door and opened it an inch at a time. The corridor was empty, lit by the same hard light that made it impossible to tell if it was night or day. He had already worked out a strategy based on what he had overheard in the cabin. Everyone was waiting for him to break out. That meant their attention would be fixed on the main gangplank and the decks. So the rest of the ship was his. Right now he needed a diversion. He set out to create one.

  He hurried past the elevator and found a staircase leading down. He could hear a deep throbbing coming from below and guessed that he was heading the right way—to the engine room. He came upon it quite suddenly, a strangely old-fashioned tangle of brass valves and silver pipes and pistons, all connected to one another in a steel framework like an exhibition in an industrial museum. The air was hot down here. There was no natural light. The machinery seemed to stretch on for a mile, and Alex could imagine that a ship the size of the Liberian Star would need every inch of it.

  The control room was raised slightly above the engines, separated from them by three thick glass observation windows and reached by a short flight of metal stairs. Alex crept up on his hands and feet and found himself looking at a much more modern room with rows of gauges and dials, TV screens, computers, and intricate switchboards. A single man sat in a high-backed chair, tapping at a keyboard. He looked half asleep. Certainly he wasn’t expecting trouble down here.

  Alex saw what he was looking for: a metal cabinet about fifteen yards high with thick pipes leading in and out and a warning sign.

  AIR SUPPLY

  DANGER: DO NOT CUT OFF

  He didn’t know what needed the air or what would happen if it didn’t get it, but the bright red letters were irresistible. He was going to find out.

  He reached into his pocket and took out the one-baht coin that Smithers had given him. Using it would mean he would only have the ten-baht coin left. With a bit of luck, he wouldn’t be needing it. Alex watched the man in the chair for a minute, then slipped into the control room and placed the coin against the pipe just where it entered the cabinet. The man didn’t look up. The coin clicked into place, activating the charge inside. Alex tiptoed out again.

  He found the chewing gum pack, slid the side open, and pressed the switch marked 1. The bang was very loud and, to his surprise and delight, highly destructive. The explosion not only tore open the pipe, it wrecked the electrical circuits inside the cabinet too. There was a series of brilliant sparks. Something like white steam gushed out into the control room. The man leapt up. Another alarm had gone off, and red lights were flashing all around him. Alex didn’t wait to see what would happen next. He was already on his way out.

  Down the stairs, past the engines, and back up again. This time he took the elevator, guessing that in an emergency, the crew would be more likely to use the stairs. He pressed the button for the sixth floor, and the elevator slid smoothly up.

  He knew where he was heading. He had seen the bridge when he was being loaded into the container at Jakarta and had noticed that it had its own deck, a sort of balcony with a railing and a view over the entire ship. This was going to be his way off the Liberian Star. For—once again—Yu’s guns might be pointing everywhere, but surely they wouldn’t be pointing here.

  The elevator reached the sixth floor and the doors slid open. To Alex’s dismay, he found himself facing a squat Chinese crewman who had been waiting to come down. The man was even more shocked than Alex and reacted clumsily, scrambling for the gun that was tucked into the waistband of his pants. That was a mistake. Alex didn’t give him time to draw it, lashing out with the point of his foot, aiming straight between the man’s legs. It wasn’t so much a karate strike, more an old-fashioned kick in the balls, but it did the trick. The Chinaman gurgled and collapsed, dropping the gun. Alex scooped it up and continued on his way.

  And now he was armed. Alarms were going off everywhere, and Alex wondered what damage he had done with the second coin. Good old Smithers! He was the one man in MI6 who had never let him down. The corridor led directly to the bridge. Alex passed through an archway, climbed three steps, and found himself in a narrow, curving room, surprisingly empty, with large windows looking over the decks, the containers, and, to one side, the port.

  There were two men on duty, sitting in what could have been dentist’s chairs in front of a bank of television screens. One was a second officer that Alex hadn’t seen before. The other was Captain De Wynter. He was on the telephone, talking in a voice that sounded strained and hoarse with disbelief.

  “It’s the reefers,” he was saying. “We’re going to have to shut them all down. The whole ship could go up in flames…”

  The reefers were refrigerated containers. There were three hundred of them on the Liberian Star, storing meat, vegetables, and chemicals that needed to be transported at low temperatures. The containers themselves needed constant cooling, and Alex had smashed the pipes that provided exactly that. At the very least, he was going to cause Major Yu tens of thousands of dollars’ worth of losses as the contents deteriorated. If the chemicals became unstable in the heat, he might even set fire to the whole ship.

  The other officer saw Alex first. He muttered something in Dutch, and De Wynter looked around, the phone still in his hand.

  Alex raised the gun. “Put it down,” he said.

  De Wynter went pale. He lowered the phone.

  What did he do now? Alex realized that he had made it this far without any real plan at all. “I want you to get me off this ship,” he said.

  “That’s not possible.” De Wynter shook his head. He was afraid of the gun, but he was even more afraid of Major Yu.

  Alex glanced at the phone. Presumably it could be connected to Darwin. “Call the police,” he said. “I want you to bring them here.”

  “I cannot do that either,” De Wynter replied. He looked a little sad. “There is no way I will help you, child. And there is nowhere for you to go. You might as well give yourself up.”

  Alex looked briefly out the window. One of the containers bound for Australia was already being lifted off the ship, dangling on wires beneath
a metal frame so huge that in comparison it seemed no bigger than a matchbox. The spreader was controlled by a man in a glass-fronted cabin, high up in the air. The container rose up. In a few seconds it would swing across and down to the piles that were already mounting on the dock.

  He judged the distance and the timing. Yes—he could do it. He had arrived at the bridge at exactly the right moment. He pointed the gun directly at De Wynter. “Get out of here,” he snapped.

  The captain stayed where he was. He didn’t believe Alex had the nerve to pull the trigger.

  “I said—get out!” Alex swung his hand and fired at a radar screen right next to the chair where De Wynter was sitting.

  The sound of the gunshot was deafening inside the confined space. The screen shattered, fragments of glass scattering over the work surface. Alex smiled to himself. That was another piece of expensive equipment on the Liberian Star that was going to need replacing.

  De Wynter didn’t need telling again. He got up and slowly left the bridge, following the second officer, who was already clambering down the stairs. Alex waited until they had gone. He knew they would call for help and come back with half a dozen armed men, but he didn’t care. He had seen his way out. With a bit of luck, he would be gone long before they arrived.

  A glass door led onto the outer walkway. Alex opened it and found himself about twenty yards above the nearest container, far enough to break his neck if he fell. The sea was another thirty yards below that. Diving into the water was out of the question. He could see Yu’s men on the main deck, waiting for him to try. But he was too high. They wouldn’t need to shoot him. The impact would kill him first.

  But the container he had seen was directly in front of him, moving closer all the time as it traveled over the deck. Alex climbed onto the railing in front of him and tensed himself. The container loomed over him.

  He jumped—not down, but up, his arms stretching out. For a moment he was suspended in space, and he wondered if he was going to make it. He grimaced, trying not to imagine the crushing pain, his legs smashing into the deck if he fell. But then his hands caught hold of the lashings beneath the container and he was being carried outward, his legs dangling in the air, his neck and shoulder muscles screaming. The man operating the spreader couldn’t see him. He was like an insect, clinging to the underbelly of the container. And Yu’s men hadn’t noticed him either. They were following orders, their eyes fixed on the deck and the sea below.

  Alex had thought the container was moving quickly when he was on the bridge. Now that he was desperately holding on, it seemed to take forever to reach the dock, and he was certain that at any moment, one of Yu’s men would glance up and see him. But he was already over the side of the ship, and now he saw another danger. Drop too early and he would break a leg. Leave it too late and he risked being crushed as the container was set down.

  And then someone saw him.

  He heard a yell of alarm. It was a worker on the wharf, wearing overalls, a fluorescent jacket, and a hard hat. He probably wasn’t working for Yu, but that didn’t matter…as far as Alex was concerned, he was just as much a threat. Alex couldn’t wait any longer. He let go with both hands and fell for what seemed an eternity through the air. He had been hanging over a container with a tarp cover. The tarp provided a soft landing—even if the wind was knocked out of him as he hit it, shoulders first. He didn’t stop to recover his breath but rolled over and climbed down the sides.

  As he ran down the dock, dodging behind the containers, Alex tried to work out a strategy. The next few minutes were going to be vital. If he was captured by the port authorities, there was always a chance that he might be handed back to Major Yu. Or if he was locked up, Yu would know where to find him. Either way, Alex knew what the result would be. He would end up dead. He had to stay out of sight until he had reached the mainland itself. So long as he was on the East Arm Wharf, he would never be safe.

  But once again luck was on his side. As he came around the corner of the last container tower, a pickup truck drew up in front of him, the back filled with old cartons and empty gas cans. The driver rolled down the window and yelled something at another dockworker. The man replied and the two of them laughed. By the time the truck rumbled forward again, Alex was in the back, lying on his stomach, concealed among the cartons.

  The truck followed a railroad line, curving around on the edge of the water, and stopped at a barrier, as Alex had expected. But the security guards knew the driver and waved him through. The truck picked up speed. Alex lay there, feeling the warm Australian breeze on his shoulders as they drove away.

  He had done it! He had achieved everything that Ethan Brooke and ASIS had demanded. He had been smuggled illegally into Australia, and on the way he had uncovered much of Major Yu’s network: the Chada Trading Agency in Bangkok, Unwin Toys, the Liberian Star. For that matter, he had also located Royal Blue for Mrs. Jones. If he could just get to Darwin in one piece and find Ash, his mission would be over and he could finally go home. All he had to do was find a phone.

  Twenty minutes later, the truck stopped. The engine cut out and Alex heard the driver door open and shut again. Cautiously, he looked out. The port was out of sight. They had parked outside a café, a brightly colored wooden shack on an empty road. It was called Jake’s, and it had a hand-painted sign reading: The Best Pies in Darwin. Alex was desperate for food. He had barely eaten anything for two days. But it was what he saw next to the café that mattered more to him right now. It was a public telephone.

  He waited until the driver had disappeared into the building, then climbed out and ran over to the phone. Apart from the last coin that Smithers had given him, he had no money, but according to Ash, he wouldn’t need any to make the call. Now, what was the number he had been given? For a horrible moment, the separate digits danced in his head, refusing to come together. He forced himself to concentrate. 795…No, 759…Somehow the full number took shape. He punched it in and waited.

  He’d gotten it right. Somehow the numbers were able to override the system, and Alex heard the connection being made. The phone rang three times before it was answered.

  “Yes?”

  Alex felt a wave of relief. It was Ash’s voice. “Ash…it’s me. Alex.”

  “Alex…thank God! Where are you?”

  “I’m in Darwin, I think. Or somewhere near it. There’s a café called Jake’s. About fifteen minutes from the port.”

  “Stay where you are. I’m coming to get you.”

  “Are you here too? How did you get here?”

  A pause, then Ash replied, “I’ll tell you when I see you. Just watch out for yourself.” There was another silence. Alex listened for background noise, anything that might tell him where Ash was. But there was nothing. “I’ll be with you as soon as I can,” Ash said, and hung up.

  Alex knew that something was wrong. It had definitely been Ash on the phone but he hadn’t sounded like himself. His voice had been strained, and there had been something in that last pause. It was almost as if he had been waiting to be told what to say.

  Alex made a decision. He had contacted Ash first as he had promised. But that might not be enough. He turned his wrist and looked at the watch that Smithers had given him, then deliberately moved the hands to eleven o’clock. According to Smithers, the watch would send out a signal every ten minutes. Ash might not be happy about it, but Alex didn’t care. He wasn’t going to take any more chances. He just wanted to know that MI6 were on their way.

  After that, he waited for Ash to arrive. Alex couldn’t think what else to do. He was exhausted after three nights with almost no sleep and weak from lack of food. He crept around the side of the café and sat in the shade, keeping himself out of sight. It was likely that Major Yu’s men were still looking for him, and apart from the knife concealed in his belt, he had no way of defending himself. He had left the gun behind on the bridge. He wished he had it with him now.

  Ten minutes later, the door of the café opened and t
he driver who had brought him here came out carrying a brown paper bag. He got into the pickup truck and drove off again, leaving a plume of dust behind him.

  More time passed. There were flies buzzing around Alex’s face, but he ignored them. The café seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by scrubland and on the edge of a road with little traffic. Alex had to struggle not to doze off. But then he saw a car heading toward him, a black four-wheel drive with tinted windows. It pulled in outside the café. Ash got out.

  But he wasn’t alone. He hadn’t been driving. His hands were chained in front of him. His black hair was in disarray, and his shirt was torn. A streak of blood ran down the side of his face. He hadn’t seen Alex yet. He looked dazed.

  Major Yu got out of the back of the car. He was wearing a white suit with a lavender shirt, buttoned at the neck. He moved slowly, supporting himself on a walking stick. As always, his hands were gloved. At the same time, the driver and another man got out. They were taking no chances. The three of them surrounded Ash. Yu took out the pistol he had used to kill the old man on the Liberian Star. He held it up against Ash’s head.

  “Alex Rider!” he called out in a thin voice, filled with hate. “You have three seconds to show yourself. Otherwise you will see your godfather’s brains all over the highway. I am counting now!”

  Alex realized he wasn’t breathing. They had Ash! What was he to do? Give himself up and they would both be killed. But could he forgive himself if he turned and ran?

  “One…”

  He regretted now that he hadn’t used the telephone to call ASIS, the police, anyone. He had known something was wrong. How could he have been so stupid?

  “Two…”

  He had no choice. Even if he tried to run, they would catch him. There were three of them. They had a car. He was in the middle of nowhere. Ash wasn’t moving. His shoulders were slumped and he looked miserable, completely defeated.

  He stood up, showing himself.