Skeleton Key

phoned Crawley, then taken a shower and changed, leaving his ballboy uniform back in his locker. Somehow he knew that he had worn it for the last time. He wondered if he would be allowed to keep the shorts, shirt and Hi-Tec trainers with the crossed racquets logo embroidered on the tongue. The uniform is the only payment Wimbledon ballboys and girls receive.
    “It‟s pretty clear what was going on,” Crawley was saying now. “You remember, I was worried about that break-in we had, Sir Norman.” This to the man in the club tie. “Well, it seems I was right. They didn‟t want to steal anything. They came here to fix up the water dispensers. In the restaurant, in the lounge and probably all over the building. Remote control … is that right, Henderson?”
    Henderson was the man who had taken the water dispenser apart. Another MI6 operative.
    “That‟s right, sir,” he replied. “The dispenser functioned perfectly normally, giving out iced water. But when it received a radio signal—and that‟s what our friend was doing with the fake mobile phone—it injected a few millilitres of this drug, Librium. Not enough to show up in a random blood test if anybody happened to be tested. But enough to destroy their game.”
    Alex remembered the German player. Blitz, Leaving the court after he‟d lost his match. He had looked dazed and out of focus. But he had been more than that. He had been drugged.
    “It‟s transparent,” the woman added. “And it has virtually no taste. In a cup of iced water it wouldn‟t have been noticed.”
    “But I don‟t understand!” Sir Norman cut in. “What was the point?”
    “I think I can answer that,” the policeman said. “As you know, the guard isn‟t talking, but the tattoo on his arm would indicate that he is—or was—a member of the Big Circle.”
    “And what exactly would that be?” Sir Norman spluttered.
    “It‟s a triad, sir. A Chinese gang. The triads, of course, are involved in a range of criminal activities. Drugs. Vice. Illegal immigration. And gambling. I would guess this operation was related to the latter. Like any other sporting event, Wimbledon attracts millions of pounds‟ worth of bets. Now, as I understand it, the young Frenchman—Lefevre—began the tournament with odds of three hundred to one against his actually winning.”
    “But then he beat Blitz and Bryant,” Crawley said.
    “Exactly. I‟m sure Lefevre had no idea, personally, what was going on. But if all his opponents were drugged before they went onto the court… Well, it happened twice. It could have gone on right up to the final. Big Circle would have made a killing! A hundred thousand pounds bet on the Frenchman would have brought them thirty million.”
    Sir Norman stood up. “The important thing now is that nobody finds out about this,” he said. “It would be a national scandal and disastrous for our reputation. In fact we‟d probably have to begin the whole tournament again!” He glanced at Alex but spoke to Crawley. “Can this boy be trusted not to talk?” he asked.
    “I won‟t tell anyone what happened,” Alex said.
    “Good. Good.”
    The policeman nodded. “You did a very good job,” he added. “Spotting this chap in the first place and then following him and alt the rest of it. Although, I have to say, I think it was rather irresponsible to lock him in the deep freeze.”
    “He tried to kill me,” Alex said.
    “Even so! He could have frozen to death. As it is, he may well have lost a couple of fingers from frostbite.”
    “I hope that won‟t spoil his tennis playing.”
    “Well, I don‟t know…” The policeman coughed. He was clearly unable to make Alex out.
    “Anyway, well done. But next time, do try to think what you‟re doing. I‟m sure you wouldn‟t want anyone to get hurt!”
    To hell with the lot of them!
    Alex stood watching the waves, black and silver in the moonlight as they rolled into the sweeping curve of Fistral Beach. He was trying to put the policeman, Sir Norman and the whole of Wimbledon out of his mind. He had more or less saved the entire All England Tennis Tournament and although he hadn‟t been expecting a season ticket in the royal box and tea with the Duchess of Kent, nor had he thought he would be bundled out quite so hastily. He had watched the finals, on his own, on TV. At least they‟d let him keep his ballboy uniform.
    And there was one other good thing that had come out of it all. Sabina hadn‟t forgotten her