Snakehead by Anthony Horowitz Page B

out of an antique shop. A third man followed. He looked similar to Ash—presumably an Afghan brought along to translate.
    Alex quickly sat down in the corner. He glanced at the three men but tried not to show too much interest, as if he didn’t want to be noticed himself.
    Sukit snapped a few words at the translator, who then spoke to Ash. Ash replied in Dari, and a three-way conversation began. As it continued, Alex noticed Sukit examining him. The snakehead boss had tiny pupils that moved ceaselessly, traveling left and right across his eyes. At the same time, the cameraman had started his work. Alex sat still as several shots were taken of him. Then it was Ash’s turn. He had already explained to Alex what sort of papers would be prepared. Passports, possibly with visas for Indonesia. A police arrest form for Ash. A hospital report showing that he had been injured during questioning. Perhaps an old membership card for the Communist Party. All these things would help him get refugee status once he arrived in Australia.
    The photographer finished, but the discussion went on. Alex became aware that something was wrong. Sukit nodded in his direction a couple of times. He seemed to be making some sort of demand. Ash was arguing. He looked unhappy. Alex heard his name—Abdul—mentioned several times.
    Then suddenly Anan Sukit walked over to him. He was sweating, and his skin smelled of garlic. Without warning, he reached down and dragged Alex to his feet. Ash stood up and shouted something. Alex couldn’t understand a word that was being said, but he did what Ash had told him and stared with unfocused eyes as if he was a simpleton. Sukit slapped him, twice, on each side of his face. Alex cried out. It wasn’t just the pain. It was the casual violence, the shock of what had just happened. Ash let loose a torrent of words. He seemed to be pleading. Sukit spoke one last time. Ash nodded. Whatever had been demanded, he’d agreed. The three men turned and left the room.
    Alex waited until he was sure they had gone. His cheeks were stinging. “I take it that was Anan Sukit?” he muttered.
    â€œThat was him.”
    â€œWhat happened to his ears?”
    â€œA gang fight. It happened five years ago. Maybe I should have mentioned it to you before. Someone cut them off.”
    â€œHe’s lucky he doesn’t need glasses.” Alex rubbed the side of his face with a grimy hand. “So what was all that about?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know. I don’t understand…” Ash was deep in thought. “They’re getting the papers for us. They’ll be ready this evening.”
    â€œThat’s good. But why did he hit me?”
    â€œHe made a demand. I refused. So he got angry—and he took it out on you. I’m sorry, Alex.” Ash ran a hand through his long dark hair. He looked shaken by what had just taken place. “I didn’t want him to hurt you, but there was nothing I could do.”
    â€œWhat did he want?”
    Ash sighed. “Sukit insisted that you collect the papers. Not me. He just wants you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œHe didn’t say. He just told me they’d pick you up at Patpong at seven o’clock this evening. You’ve got to be there on your own. If you’re not there, we can forget it. The deal’s off.”
    Ash fell silent. He had lost control of the situation, and he knew it. Alex wasn’t sure how to respond. His first encounter with the snakehead had been short and unpleasant. The question was—what did they want with him? Had they seen through his disguise? If he turned up at this place—Patpong—they could bundle him into a car and he might never be seen again.
    â€œIf they wanted to kill you, they could have done it here and now,” Ash said. It was as if he’d read Alex’s thoughts. “They could have killed both of us.”
    â€œDo you think I should