Snakehead

Water pistols that were actually the real thing. Teddy bears with God knows what inside. All sorts of unpleasant secrets could hide behind such an innocent facade.
    “We’re making real progress,” Ash said. “But we still have to be careful. The more we know, the more dangerous we become to the snakehead.” He thought for a moment. “What you said just now, about calling me. You’re right. I want you to remember a telephone number. Write it on your hand.”
    “What telephone number?”
    “If anything happens, if we get separated, call the number before you contact anyone else. It’s my cell phone. But the number’s special, Alex. It was given to me by ASIS. You can call from anywhere in the world and you’ll be put through instantly. It will cost you nothing. The numbers will override any security system in any telephone network so you can reach me anytime, anywhere. What do you say?”
    Alex nodded. “Fine.”
    Ash gave him the number. There were ten digits, but otherwise it was like no cell number Alex had ever heard before. He wrote them on the back of his hand. The numbers would soon fade, but by then he would have memorized them.
    “What now?” he asked.
    “We rest. Then we get a taxi to the airport. It’s going to be a long night.”
    Alex realized the moment had come. They might not be able to speak to each other in Jakarta or on the way to Australia—certainly not in English—and very soon after that, the whole business would be over. Once they had arrived on the northern coast, Alex wouldn’t be needed anymore.
    “All right, Ash,” he said. “You promised you’d tell me about my mom and dad. You were the best man at their wedding, and they made you my godfather. And you were there when they died. I want to know all about them because for me, it’s like they didn’t exist. I want to know where I came from…that’s all…and what they thought about me.” He paused. “And I want to know what happened on Malta. You said that Yassen Gregorovich was there. Was he the one who gave you that scar on your stomach? How did that happen? Was my dad to blame?”
    There was a long silence. Then Ash nodded slowly. He stubbed out his cigarette.
    “All right,” he said. “On the plane.”

    They were thirty thousand feet above the Gulf of Thailand, heading south on the short flight to Jakarta. The plane was only half full. Alex and Ash had a whole row to themselves, right at the back. Ash had smartened himself up a little with a white shirt and a cheap tie. He was, after all, meant to be a sales manager. But Alex hadn’t changed. He was grubby and a little ragged, still wearing the clothes he had been given in Bangkok. Perhaps that was why the two of them had been seated on their own. In front of them, the other passengers were dozing in the strange half-light of the cabin. Outside, the sun had set. The plane hung in the darkness.
    Ash hadn’t spoken while they took off and climbed into the sky. He had accepted two miniature whisky bottles from the stewardess, but he was still sitting in silence, his dark eyes blacker than ever, fixed on the ice in his glass as it slowly melted. He looked even more bummed out than usual. Alex had noticed him swallow two pills with his drink. It had taken him a while to realize that Ash was in constant pain. He was beginning to wonder if his godfather really was going to tell him what he wanted to know.
    And then, without warning, Ash began to speak.
    “I met your dad on my first assignment for Special Operations. He’d only joined a year before me, but he was completely different. Everyone knew John Rider. Top of his class. Golden boy. On the fast track to the top.” There was no rancor in Ash’s voice. There was no emotion at all. “He couldn’t have been more than twenty-four. Recruited out of the parachute force. Before that he’d been at Oxford University. A first class degree in politics and economics. And—oh yes—did I mention that he was also a brilliant athlete? Rowed for Oxford—and won. A good tennis player too. And now he was in Prague, in charge of his first operation, and I was a nobody sent along to learn the ropes.
    “Well, as it turned out, the whole thing was a shambles. It wasn’t John’s fault. Sometimes it just happens that way. But afterward, at the debriefing, I met him properly for the first time and you know what I liked most about him? It was how calm he was. Three agents had died…not ours, thank God. The Czech