Snakehead by Anthony Horowitz Page B

office.
    Two men were talking to each other in what looked like a library, with antique furniture and a Persian rug on a highly polished wooden floor—Alex’s immediate impression was that the room didn’t belong to the building it was in. A golden Labrador lay curled up on a cushion in front of a fireplace. One of the men was behind a desk. He was the older of the two, wearing a shirt and jacket and no tie. His eyes were concealed behind designer sunglasses. The other man was standing by the window with his arms folded. He was in his late twenties, thin and fair-haired, dressed in an expensive suit.
    â€œOh…I’m sorry,” Jack began.
    â€œNot at all, Miss Starbright,” the man behind the desk replied. “Please come in.”
    â€œWe’re looking for the visa office,” Jack said.
    â€œSit down. I take it Alex is with you? The question may seem odd, but I’m blind.”
    â€œI’m here,” Alex said.
    â€œWho are you?” Jack asked. She and Alex had moved farther into the room. The younger man came over and closed the door behind them.
    â€œMy name is Ethan Brooke. My colleague here is Marc Damon. Thank you very much for coming in, Miss Starbright. Do you mind if I call you Jack? Please—take a seat.”
    There were two leather chairs in front of the desk. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Jack sat down. The man called Damon walked across and took a third seat at the side. Next to the fireplace, the dog’s tail thumped twice against the wooden floor.
    â€œI know you’re in a hurry to get back to London,” Brooke began. “But let me explain why the two of you are here. The fact of the matter is, we need a little help.”
    â€œYou want our help?” Jack looked around her. Suddenly it all made sense. “You want Alex.” She spoke the words heavily. She knew now who the men were, or at least what they represented. She had met their type before.
    â€œWe’d like to make Alex a proposition,” Brooke agreed.
    â€œForget it. He’s not interested.”
    â€œWon’t you at least listen to what we have to say?” Brooke spread his hands. He looked completely reasonable. He could have been a bank manager advising them on their mortgage or a family lawyer about to read a will.
    â€œWe want the visa.”
    â€œYou’ll have it. As soon as I’m done.”
    Alex had said nothing. Jack looked at him, then turned to Brooke and Damon with anger in her eyes. “Why can’t you people leave him alone?” she demanded.
    â€œBecause he’s special. In fact, I’d say he’s unique. And right now we need him, just for a week or two. But I promise you, Jack. If he’s not interested, he can walk out of here. We can have him on a plane tonight. Just give me a minute to explain.”
    â€œWho are you?” Alex asked.
    Brooke glanced at Damon. “We work for ASIS,” the younger man replied. “The Australian Secret Intelligence Service.”
    â€œSpecial Operations?”
    â€œCovert Action. The two are more or less the same. You could say that we’re the rough equivalent of the outfit that Alan Blunt runs in London.”
    â€œI’ve read your file, Alex,” Brooke added. “I have to say, I’m impressed.”
    â€œWhat do you want me for?” Alex demanded.
    â€œI’ll tell you.”
    Brooke folded his hands, and to Alex it seemed somehow inevitable, unsurprising, even. It had happened to him six times before. Why not again?
    â€œHave you ever heard the term snakehead ?” Brooke began. There was silence, so he went on. “All right, let me start by saying that the snakehead groups are without doubt the biggest and most dangerous criminal organizations in the world. Compared to them, the mafia and the triads are amateurs. They have more influence—and they’re doing more damage—even than Al Qaeda, but they’re not