Ark Angel - Anthony Horowitz [58]
“What about Paul?” It was only now that Alex thought about Paul Drevin. He wondered if he knew the truth about his father.
“Nothing will happen to him. He’ll be well looked after. I guess he’ll go back to his mother.”
Alex didn’t speak. He wanted to refuse but something was stopping him. He didn’t want Byrne to think he was afraid. Maybe it was as simple as that.
“One week,” Byrne promised. “Drevin won’t suspect a thing. And just in case you do run into trouble, we’ve got someone here who might be able to help you.”
“Who?”
“He’s waiting for you outside.”
He stood up and Alex followed him out of the office and down a corridor to an open-plan area. There was a man sitting at a table and Alex recognized him instantly. It would have been hard not to. The man was enormously fat. He was bald with a black moustache and a round, smiling face. He was wearing a brightly coloured Hawaiian shirt that couldn’t have looked more inappropriate among the dark suits of the CIA operatives. Alex had never seen so many flowers on one piece of material.
“Hello, Alex!” the man boomed.
“Hello, Mr Smithers,” Alex replied.
“What a great pleasure to see you again. You’re looking tremendously well, if I may say so. Mrs Jones sends her best wishes.”
“She knows I’m here?”
“Oh yes. We’ve been keeping an eye on you. As a matter of fact, it was she who sent me here.” Smithers lowered his voice, although it could still be heard across the room. “We thought you might like one or two new gadgets, and although the Americans do produce a few of their own, I rather think we lead the field. Not that they’d agree, of course!”
“Gadgets…” Alex watched as Smithers reached down and lifted a briefcase onto the table.
“Absolutely. It wouldn’t be any fun without gadgets, would it? And I’ve come up with some quite interesting ideas. This, for example.” He produced an object that Alex recognized immediately. It was an inhaler, identical to the one Paul Drevin used. “Now, we happen to know that Drevin’s son has one of these,” Smithers explained. “So if anyone notices this in your luggage, they’ll simply assume it’s his. But it’s fingerprint sensitive and I’ve programmed it for your personal use. When you press the cylinder, it’ll send out a puff of knockout gas. Effective up to about five metres. Alternatively you can twist the cylinder round twice clockwise; that turns it into a hand grenade. Five-second fuse. I tested it on one of my assistants. Poor old Bennett … he should be out of hospital in a couple of months.”
He passed it across and dived back into the case.
“Eavesdropping,” he went on. “Part of your brief is to listen to anything interesting that Mr Drevin may be saying, and for that you’ll need this.” He brought out a slim white box with a set of headphones. Alex picked it up. It was an iPod. At least, it looked like one. “This uses microwave technology,” Smithers explained. “Point the screen at anyone up to fifty metres away and listen through the headphones. You’ll hear every word they say. You can also use it to contact the CIA. Rotate the click wheel three times anticlockwise and speak into it. I’ve got another version, by the way, packed with enough plastic explosive to blow up a building, but Mr Blunt said you weren’t to have it. Shame, really. I call it the i-x-Plod.
“And one last thing. Flamingo Bay is a tropical island with lots of creepy-crawlies. So this might help…” Once again he reached into the case and