Snakehead

by Anthony Horowitz

  Physical description/attributes

  Subject is five feet, seven inches tall, still short for his age, but this adds to his operational value. Weight: 140 pounds. Hair color: fair. Eyes: brown. His physical condition is excellent but may have been compromised by his recent injury (see Scorpia file). The boy is known to be fluent in two languages—French and Spanish—and is also proficient in German. He has practiced karate since the age of eight and has reached first kyu grade (black belt). Weapons training: none. Progress at school has been slow, with negative feedback from many of his teachers. Spring and summer reports from Brookland School are attached. However, it must be remembered that he has been absent from class for much of the past nine months.

  Psychological profile

  AR was recruited by the Special Operations Division of MI6 in March of this year, age fourteen years and one month. His father was John Rider—alias Hunter—who was killed in action. His mother died at the same time, and he was brought up by his uncle, Ian Rider, also an active agent with MI6.

  It seems certain that the boy was physically and mentally prepared for intelligence work from the earliest age. Quite apart from the languages and martial arts, Ian Rider equipped him with many skills, including fencing, mountain climbing, white-water rafting, and scuba diving.

  And yet, despite his obvious aptitude for intelligence work (see below), AR has shown little enthusiasm for it. Like most teenagers, he is not a patriot and has no interest in politics. MI6 (SO) found it necessary to coerce him to work for them on at least two occasions.

  He is popular at school…when he is there. Hobbies: soccer (Chelsea supporter), tennis, music, movies. Evident interest in girls—see separate file on Sabina Pleasure + report by CIA operative Tamara Knight. Lives with American housekeeper, Jack Starbright (note: despite first name she is a female). No ambitions to follow his father or uncle into intelligence.

  Past assignments—active service

  The British secret service refuses to admit that it has ever employed a juvenile, and so it has been difficult to draw together any concrete evidence of his record as an agent in the field. We believe, however, that he has worked for them on four occasions. He has also been loaned to the United States, where he has been employed by the CIA with equal success at least twice.

  United Kingdom: See Herod Sayle: Sayle Enterprises, Cornwall. Dr. Marius Grief: Point Blanc Academy, France. Damian Cray: Cray Software Technology, Amsterdam. Julia Rothman: Scorpia executive. Operation Invisible Sword.

  United States: FILES CLOSED. Possible link with General Alexei Sarov—Skeleton Key. Nikolei Drevin—Flamingo Bay (termination of Ark Angel project).

  Although it has so far proved impossible to confirm details, it appears that in the space of one year, AR has been involved in six major assignments, succeeding against impossible odds. He has survived assassination attempts by both Scorpia and the Chinese triads.

  Current status: available.

  Footnote: In 2006, the FBI attempted to recruit a teenage agent to combat drug syndicates operating out of Miami. The boy was killed almost immediately. The experiment has not been repeated.

  Secret service files are the same the world over. They are written by people who live in a very black-and-white world and who, by and large, have no time for creative imagination…certainly not if it gets in the way of the facts. The various pages on Alex Rider had given Brooke a vague impression of the boy. They had certainly been enough to set his mind working. But he suspected that they left out as much as they revealed.

  “He’s in Australia,” he muttered.

  “Yes, sir.” Damon nodded. “He sort of dropped in on us from outer space.”

  Brooke smiled. “You know, if anyone else told me that, I’d swear they were yanking my chain. He really went into space?”

  “He was pulled out of the sea a hundred miles off the west coast. He was sitting in the reentry module of a Soyuz-Fregat. Of course, the Americans aren’t telling us anything. But it’s probably no coincidence that according to NIWO, the Ark Angel space station blew up at around the same time.”

  NIWO is the National Intelligence Watch Office. It employs around 2,000 people who keep up a constant surveillance on everything happening in the world…and outside it.

  “That was Drevin’s big idea,” Brooke muttered. “A space hotel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I always had a feeling he was up to no good.”

  There was a moment of turbulence and the plane dipped down. The dog, in its basket, whined. It never had cared much for flying. But then they steadied and continued in their arc over the clouds, heading northeast to Sydney.

  “You think we can use him?” Brooke demanded.

  “Alex Rider doesn’t like being used,” Damon replied. “And from what I’ve read, there’s no way he’s going to volunteer. But it did occur to me that if we could find some sort of leverage, he would be perfect for what we need. Put a kid into the pipeline and nobody’s going to suspect a thing. It’s exactly the same reason the Americans sent him to Skeleton Key—and it worked for them.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “They flew him over to Perth, sir. A bit of a hike, but they wanted him somewhere safe and they settled on SAS HQ at Swanbourne. He’s going to need a couple of days to wind down.”

  Brooke fell silent. With his eyes permanently covered, it was always difficult to work out what he was thinking—but Damon knew that he would be turning over all the possibilities, that he would come very quickly to a decision and stick by it. Maybe there was no way that ASIS could persuade this English kid to work for them. But if there was a single weakness, anything they could use to their advantage, Brooke would find it.

  A moment later he nodded. “We could connect him with Ash,” he said.

  And there it was. Simple but brilliant.

  “Ash is in Singapore,” Damon said.

  “Operational?”

  “A routine assignment.”

  “As of now he’s reassigned. We’ll put the two of them together and send them in. They’ll make a perfect team.”

  Damon couldn’t help smiling. Alex Rider would work with the agent they all called Ash. But there was just one problem. “You think Ash will work with a teenager?” he asked.

  “He will if this kid’s as good as everyone says he is.”

  “He’ll need proof of that.”

  This time it was Brooke’s turn to smile. “Leave that to me.”

  The SAS compound at Swanbourne is a few miles north of Perth and has the appearance of a low-rise vacation village, although perhaps one with more security than most. It stretches out next to the white sand and blue water of the Indian Ocean, sheltered from public view by a series of sand dunes. The buildings are clean, modern, and unremarkable. But for the rise and fall of the barrier at the main gate, the military vehicles passing in and out, and the occasional sighting of men in khaki and black berets, it would be hard to believe that this is the HQ of Australia’s toughest and most elite fighting force.

  Alex Rider stood at the window of his room looking out over the main square with the indoor shooting range on one side and the gymnasium and fitness center on the other. He wanted to go home and wondered how long they were going to keep him here. Certainly, his stay on the Kitty Hawk had been short enough. He had barely had time to eat breakfast before he had been bundled onto a Hawkeye jet, an oxygen mask strapped over his face, and then blasted off back into the sky. Nobody had even told him where they were taking him, but he had seen the name written in large letters on the airport terminal. Perth. There had been a jeep parked on the runway, and the next thing he knew, he was bouncing through the very ordinary-looking suburb of Swanbourne. The jeep drove into the SAS compound and stopped. A single soldier was waiting for him, his face set, his mouth a straight line that gave nothing away. Alex was shown into a comfortable room with a bed, a TV, and a view of the sand dunes. The door was closed, but it wasn’t locked.

  And here he was
now. At the end of a journey that had been literally out of this world. He wondered what would happen next.

  There was a knock on the door. Alex opened it. A second soldier in green-and-ocher battle fatigues stood in front of him.

  “Mr. Rider?”

  “I’m Alex.”

  “Colonel Abbott sends his compliments. He’d like to speak to you.”

  Alex followed the soldier across the compound. For the moment there was nobody else around. The sun was beating down on the empty parade ground. It was almost midday, and the Australian summer was already making itself felt. They reached a bungalow, standing on its own near the edge of the complex. The soldier knocked and, without waiting for an answer, opened the door for Alex to go in.

  A thin, businesslike man in his forties was sitting behind a desk, also wearing battle fatigues. He had been writing a report, but he stood up as Alex came in.

  “So you’re Alex Rider!” The Australian accent came almost as a surprise. With his short, dark hair and craggy features, Abbott could have been mistaken for an Englishman. He reached out and shook Alex’s hand firmly. “I’m Mike Abbott, and I’m really pleased to meet you, Alex. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Alex looked surprised, and Abbott laughed. “Six months ago, there was a rumor that the Brits were using a teenage agent. Of course, nobody believed it. But it seems they’ve been keeping you busy, and after you took out Damian Cray…well, I’m afraid you can’t blow up Air Force One in the middle of London without someone hearing about it. But don’t worry! You’re among friends.”

  Abbott gestured toward a chair and Alex sat down. “It’s very kind of you, Colonel,” he said. “But I really want to get back home.”

  Abbott returned to his own chair. “I can understand that, Alex. And I really want to send you on your way. We just need to fix a couple of things.”

  “What things?”

  “Well, you landed in Australia without a visa.” Abbott held up two hands before Alex could interrupt. “I know that sounds ridiculous, but it has to be sorted out. As soon as I’ve got the green light, I’ll book you on the first plane back to London.”

  “There’s someone I want to call….”

  “I suppose you’re thinking about Jack Starbright. Your housekeeper.” Abbott smiled, and Alex wondered how he knew about her. “You’re too late, Alex. She’s been kept fully informed, and she’s already on her way. Her flight left Heathrow about an hour ago, but it’ll take her another twenty-five hours to arrive. The two of you will meet up in Sydney. In the meantime, you’re my guest here at Swanbourne, and I want you to enjoy yourself. We’re right on the beach, and right now it’s the start of the Australian summer. So relax. I’ll let you know as soon as there’s any news about the visa.”

  Alex wanted to argue but decided against it. The Colonel seemed friendly enough, but there was something about him that made Alex think twice before speaking. You don’t rise up the ranks of the SAS unless you’re exceptionally tough—and there was certainly steel behind that smile.

  “Anything else you want to know?”

  “No thanks, Colonel.”

  The two of them shook hands. “I’ve asked some of the boys to look after you,” Abbott said. “They’ve been looking forward to meeting you. Just let me know if anyone gives you a hard time.”

  When Alex had been training with the SAS in the Brecon Beacons in Wales, a hard time is exactly what he had been given. But from the moment he left the bungalow, he saw that things were going to be different here. There were half a dozen young soldiers waiting for him on the other side, and they all seemed to be easygoing and eager to introduce themselves. Maybe his reputation had gone ahead of him, but he could see right away that the Australian special forces were going to be the complete opposite of their British counterparts.

  “It’s great to meet you, Alex.” The man who was speaking was about nineteen and incredibly fit, with a green T-shirt stretched tight over finely chiseled pectorals and arms that filled his sleeves. “I’m Scooter. This is Texas, X-Ray, and Sparks.” At first Alex thought they were using code names. But he quickly realized that they were actually just nicknames. All the other men were in their early twenties and equally fit. “We’re just heading for lunch,” Scooter went on. “You want to join us?”

  “Thanks.” Alex hadn’t been given any breakfast, and his stomach was still empty from the day before.

  They moved off as a pack. Nobody had even commented on his age. There was clearly no secret who he was. Alex began to feel a little more relaxed. Maybe a day or two here wouldn’t be so bad.

  From inside the office, Colonel Mike Abbott watched them go. He had an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He was married with three children, and the oldest was only a few years younger than the boy he had just met. He had been impressed. After all he had been through, Alex had a sort of inner calm. Abbott didn’t doubt that he could look after himself.

  But even so…

  He glanced again at the orders that he had received just a few hours ago. It was madness. What was being suggested was simply out of the question. Except that there was no question about it. He had been told exactly what he had to do.

  And what if Alex was crippled? What if he was killed?

  Not his problem.

  The thought didn’t comfort him one bit. In twenty years, Mike Abbott had never questioned his commanding officers, but it was with a sense of anger and disbelief that he picked up the telephone and began to issue the instructions for the night ahead.

  4

  NO PICNIC

  ALEX WAS WORN OUT after all his traveling, and that afternoon he went back to his room and slept. When he was woken up—by the sound of knocking—the day was already drawing to a close. He went over to the door and opened it. The young soldier who had introduced himself as Scooter was standing there. Sparks was with him, holding a cooler.

  “How are you doing?” Scooter asked. “We wondered if you’d like to come with us.”

  “Where are you going?” Alex asked.

  “A picnic on the beach. We’ll set up a barbecue. Maybe swim.” Scooter gestured at the compound behind him. There was nobody in sight. “There’s a big exercise tonight, but we aren’t part of it, and the colonel thought you might like to see a bit of the ocean before you leave.”

  The last three words caught Alex’s attention. “Am I leaving?”

  “Tomorrow morning. That’s what I’ve heard. So how about it?”

  “Sure…” Alex had nothing else to do that evening. He didn’t particularly want to watch TV on his own.

  “Great. We’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

  The two men walked off, and it was only much later, when he was ten thousand miles away, that Alex would remember the moment and the way they had glanced at each other as if there was something that bothered them. But if he noticed it at the time, he didn’t register it.

  He went back into the room and pulled on his sneakers. The SAS had provided him with some fresh clothes, and he took a combat jacket out of the wardrobe. Scooter had talked about swimming, but the sun was getting lower and Alex had already felt a cool breeze rolling in. He thought for a moment, then took a towel and a spare pair of boxers, which would have to do instead of swimming trunks. Just as he was about to leave, he hesitated. Was this a good idea, heading off down the coast with a group of strangers, some of them as much as ten years older than he was? Suddenly he felt very alone and a long, long way from home. But Jack was on her way. Scooter had told him that he would be leaving the next day. He shook himself out of his mood and left the room, closing the door behind him.

  Almost at once, a jeep drew up with Sparks driving and Scooter in the passenger seat. Texas and X-Ray were in the back with bags and coolers, blankets, and a guitar piled up around them. They had left a narrow space for Alex. As he climbed in, he noticed that Texas was balancing an automatic pistol on his lap, testing the mechanism.

  “You ever fired one of these?” Texas asked.

  Alex s
hook his head.

  “Well, now’s your chance. When we get out there, I’ll set up a few targets. See how you do.”

  Once again, Alex couldn’t shake off a vague feeling that something was wrong, but then Sparks turned on the radio and with a blast of music from some Australian band he had never heard of, they set off. It was going to be a beautiful evening. There were a few streaks of red in the sky but no clouds, and the sun—close to the horizon—was throwing long, stretched-out shadows across the ground. Scooter was slumped in his seat with one foot resting on the dashboard. X-Ray had his hand up, the wind streaming through his fingers. By the time they had passed through the barrier and hit the main road, Alex had relaxed. He only had one evening in Australia. He might as well enjoy it.

  They followed the coast for about ten miles, then turned inland. Why had they come so far? Alex couldn’t shake off a sense of unease. After all, the compound at Swanbourne had been right on the beach to begin with.

  They had already passed a number of suburban houses and shopping malls, but they soon left those behind, and by the time they had joined a four-lane highway, they were driving through open countryside. None of them spoke. It was impossible in the open-top jeep with the wind rushing past. The music pounded out, but any words were snatched away and lost. After about twenty minutes, Scooter turned around and shouted, “You okay?” Alex nodded. But secretly he was wondering how far they intended to travel and when they would arrive.

  The journey took over an hour. They came off the highway and took a road that cut through a wooded area. Then they turned onto a track, and suddenly they were bumping over a rough, uneven surface with eucalyptus and pine trees pressing in on both sides. X-Ray had taken out a map. He leaned forward and tapped Sparks on the shoulder.