Skeleton Key

plain, undecorated circle with no writing, no sign of a picture. What could it mean?
    The guard suddenly turned and saw Alex looking at him. It had happened very quickly and Alex was annoyed with himself for not taking more care. The guard didn‟t stop talking but he shifted his body so that the arm with the tattoo was away from Alex‟s view. At the same time, he covered the tattoo with his free hand. Alex smiled at him and gestured, as if he was waiting for the phone. The guard muttered a few more words and hung up. Then he put his jacket back on and moved away. Alex waited until he had gone back upstairs, then followed him. The guard had disappeared. Alex took his place on the bench outside the umpire‟s office and considered.
    A telephone conversation in a crowded cafeteria. It shouldn‟t have meant anything. But the strange thing was, Alex had seen the guard a short while before, about an hour before the Blitz/Lefevre game had begun. Alex had been sent over to the Millennium Building to deliver a racquet to one of the other competitors and had been directed to the players‟ lounge. Climbing the staircase that swept up from the main reception, he had found himself in a large, open area with television monitors on one side and computer terminals on the other, and bright red and blue sofas in between. He knew he was privileged to be there. This was a private place. Venus Williams was sitting on one of the sofas. Tim Henman was watching a game on TV. And there was Jamie Blitz himself, getting a plastic cup of iced mineral water from the dispenser against the far wall.
    The guard had also been there. Alex had noticed him standing rather awkwardly near the stairs.
    He was watching Blitz, but at the same time he was using a mobile phone. At least, that was what it looked like. But Alex had thought at the time that there was something strange about him.
    Although the mobile was at his ear, he wasn‟t actually talking. All his attention was on Blitz.
    Alex had watched as Blitz drank his water and walked away. The guard had walked off a few seconds later.
    What had he been doing inside the Millennium building? That was the first question Alex asked himself now as he sat in the sunshine, listening to the thwack of distant tennis balls and the applause of an unseen crowd. And there was something else, more puzzling. If the guard had a mobile phone, and if that phone had been working just a few hours ago, why had he needed to make a call from the public telephone in the corner of the Complex? Of course, his battery could have gone down. But even so, why use that particular phone? There were telephones all over the club, up on the surface. Could it be that he didn‟t want to be seen? And why did he have a red circle tattooed on his arm? He hadn‟t wanted that to be seen. Alex was certain he had tried to cover it up. And there was something else. Maybe it was just coincidence, but the guard, just like the man who had broken into the All England Tennis Club to begin with, was Chinese.

BLOOD AND STRAWBERRIES

    Alex didn‟t make a conscious decision to follow the guard, but over the next few days he seemed drawn to him almost as if by accident. He spotted him twice more; once searching handbags at gate five and again giving directions to a couple of spectators.
    Unfortunately, it was impossible to keep track of him all the time. That was the one flaw in Crawley‟s plan. Alex‟s job as a ballboy kept him on Centre Court throughout much of the day.
    The ballboys and girls worked a rotation system, two hours on, two hours off. At best, he could only be a part-time spy. And when he was actually on court, he quickly forgot the guard, the telephone and the entire business of the break-in as he found himself absorbed by the drama of the game.
    But two days after Blitz had left Wimbledon, Alex found himself once again shadowing the guard. It was about half an hour before afternoon play was due to begin and Alex was about to report into the Complex when he saw him entering the Millennium Building again. That was strange in itself. The building had its own security staff. The public couldn‟t get past the reception desk without a pass. So what was he doing inside? Alex glanced at his watch. If he was late, Walfor would yell at him and possibly even move him to one of the less interesting perimeter courts. But there was still time. And he had to admit, his curiosity was aroused.
    He went into the Millennium Building. As usual,