Scorpia

had finally met again, Tom had been surprised how much his friend had changed.
    He had been hurt. Tom had seen some of the scars. But Alex also seemed to have got a lot older. There was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, as if he had seen things he would never be able to forget.
    And now this business in Venice! Maybe Miss Bedfordshire was right after all, and Alex really did need to see a shrink. Tom reached for his Game Boy, hoping to put the whole thing out of his mind. He knew he ought to continue with the book, and he promised himself he would go back to it in two or three hundred miles’ time …
    after they had gone through Rome.
    He became aware that someone was standing over him, and automatically fumbled for his ticket. He looked up and gaped. It was Alex.
    He was dressed in old-fashioned jeans and a baggy jersey, both one size too big. He was dirty; his hair was matted and untidy. Tom glanced down and saw that he was barefoot. He looked worn out.
    “Alex?” Tom was almost too shocked to speak.
    “Hi.” Alex gestured to an empty seat. “Do you mind if I join you?”
    “No. Sit down…” Tom had a whole table to himself—which was just as well. The other passengers were staring at Alex in horror. “How did you get here? What happened? Where did you get those clothes?” Suddenly the questions were tumbling out.

    “I’m afraid I stole the clothes,” Alex confessed. “I nicked them off a washing line. I couldn’t get any shoes, though.”
    “What happened to you last night? I saw you go into the palace. Did they find you?” Tom wrinkled his nose.
    “Did you fall in a canal or something?”
    Alex was too tired to answer any of his questions. “I’ve got a favour to ask you, Tom,” he said.
    “Do you want me to hide you from the police?”
    “I need to borrow some money. I couldn’t buy a ticket. And I’m going to have to get some new clothes.”
    “That’s OK. I’ve got plenty of money.”
    “And I need to stay with you—with your brother—for a while. Is that going to be all right?”
    “Sure. Jerry won’t mind. Alex…”
    But Alex had slumped forward, his head cradled in his hands. He was sound asleep.
    The train picked up speed, curving round the Gulf of Venice and continuing its journey south.

    When Alex woke up, the train was still travelling through the Italian countryside. He slowly uncurled himself.
    Already he was feeling better. The train hadn’t just left Venice behind, it had carried him away from his experiences of the night before. He sat up and saw Tom staring at him. A sandwich, a bag of crisps and a Coke sat on the table between them.
    “I thought you’d be hungry,” Tom said.
    “I’m starving. Thanks.” Alex opened the can of Coke. It was lukewarm, but he didn’t mind. “Where are we?”
    he asked.
    “We went through Rome about an hour ago. I think we’ll be there quite soon.” Tom waited while Alex drank.
    He put his book down. “You look terrible,” he commented. “Are you going to tell me what happened last night?”
    “Sure.” Alex had decided before he even got on the train that he was going to have to tell Tom everything. It wasn’t just that he needed Tom’s help. He was tired of lying. “But I’m not sure you’re going to believe it,” he added.
    “Well, I’ve been reading my book for the last two and a half hours,” Tom said, “and I’m only on page nineteen.
    So I think I’d prefer listening to you, whatever you’ve got to say.”
    “All right…”
    Alex had only ever told one other person the truth about himself, and that had been his friend Sabina Pleasure.
    She hadn’t believed him—not until she’d found herself knocked out and tied up in the basement of the country mansion owned by the insane multimillionaire Damian Cray. Now Alex told Tom everything he had told her, starting with the truth behind the death of his uncle and continuing all the way up to his escape from the flooded chamber the night before. The strange thing was that he enjoyed telling his story. He wasn’t boasting about being a spy and working for secret intelligence. Quite the opposite. For too long he had been a servant of MI6, forced by them to keep quiet about everything he had done. They had even made him sign the Official Secrets Act. By telling the truth, he was doing exactly what they didn’t want him to do and it came as a relief, a great weight off his shoulders. It made him feel that he was the one in