Snakehead

bath, and while the water was flowing, he went back into the bedroom. The main door was locked, of course. The window looked out onto a perfect lawn with—bizarrely—a set of croquet hoops arranged in neat lines. Beyond, he could see a rocky outcrop, a jetty, and the sea. He turned back. Someone had left him a snack: smoked salmon sandwiches, a glass of milk, a plate of McVitie’s Jaffa Cakes. He ate it all greedily. Then he stripped off his clothes and got into the bath. He didn’t know what was going to happen next, and he didn’t like to think, but whatever it was, he might as well be clean.
    He felt a lot better after half an hour in the hot scented water and although he hadn’t been able to get off all the makeup Mrs. Webber had put on him, at least some of his own color had returned. There were fresh clothes in the wardrobe: a Vivienne Westwood shirt and Paul Smith jeans and underwear—both London-based designers. He was still wearing his old clothes, but the belt that Smithers had given him had been taken away. Alex wondered about that. Had Major Yu discovered the knife hidden in the buckle or the jungle supplies inside the leather itself? He was sorry that he hadn’t gotten the chance to use it. Maybe there would have been something inside that could help him now.
    On the other hand, nobody had searched the pockets of his jeans—or if they had, they had missed the ten-baht coin and the chewing gum pack with the secret detonators. The watch was also still in place, the hands fixed at eleven o’clock, and that gave Alex a sense of reassurance. The eleventh hour indeed. Major Yu might think he held all the cards, but the watch would still be transmitting, and even now MI6 Special Operations must be closing in.
    Alex got dressed in the new clothes and sat down in a comfortable armchair. He had even been supplied with some books to read: Biggles, The Famous Five, and Just William. They weren’t quite his taste, but he supposed he should appreciate the thought.
    Just after midday, there was a rattle of a key turning in the lock and the door opened. A maid, wearing a black dress with a white apron, came in. She looked Indonesian.
    “Major Yu would like to invite you for lunch,” she said.
    “That’s very kind of him,” Alex replied. He closed his copy of Biggles Investigates . “I don’t suppose there’s any chance of our eating out?”
    “He’s in the dining room,” the maid replied.
    Alex followed her out of the room and down a wood-paneled corridor with oil paintings on the walls. They all showed scenes of the English countryside. Briefly he thought of overpowering the maid and making another bid for freedom, but he decided against it. There was part of him that reacted against the idea of attacking a young woman, and anyway, he had no doubt that—following the events on the Liberian Star —Yu would be taking no chances. Security here would be tight.
    They reached a grand staircase that swept down to a hall with a suit of armor standing beside a second, monumental fireplace. More classical paintings everywhere. Alex had to remind himself that he was still in Australia. The house didn’t fit here. It felt as if it had been imported brick by brick, and he was reminded for a moment of Nikolei Drevin, who had transported his own fourteenth-century castle from Scotland to Oxfordshire. It was strange how very bad men felt a need to live somewhere not just spectacular but slightly insane.
    The maid held back and gestured Alex through a door and into a long dining room with floor-to-ceiling windows looking out over the sea. The room was carpeted with a table and a dozen chairs, suitable for a medieval banquet. The paintings in this room were modern: a portrait by David Hockney and a wheel of color by Damian Hirst. Alex had seen similar works in galleries in London and knew that they must be worth millions. Only one end of the table had been laid. Major Yu was sitting there, waiting for him, the walking stick leaning against his chair.
    “Ah, there you are, Alex,” he said in a pleasant voice, as if they were old friends meeting up for the weekend. “Please come and sit down.”
    As he walked forward, Alex examined the snakehead boss properly for the first time, taking in the round, shrunken head, the wire-frame glasses, the white hair sitting so oddly with the Chinese features. Yu was wearing a striped blazer with a white, open-necked shirt. There was a silk handkerchief poking out of his top