Skeleton Key

was when he saw Turner and Troy. The two special agents were sitting at a wrought iron table in front of one of the smarter restaurants, shaded by a great vine that sprawled and tumbled over the pockmarked wall. A neon sign hung over them, advertising Montecristo cigars.
    They were with a man, an islander, obviously deep in conversation. All three of them had drinks.
    Alex moved towards them, wondering if it would be possible to hear what they were saying.
    The man they were talking to looked about seventy years old and was dressed in a dark shirt, loose trousers and a beret. He was smoking a cigarette which seemed to have been pushed through his lips dragging the skin with it. His face, arms and neck were sun-beaten and withered.
    But as he drew closer, Alex saw the light and the strength in his eyes. Troy said something and the man laughed, picked up his glass with a hand that was all bone and threw back the contents in one. He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, said something and walked away. Alex had arrived just too late to eavesdrop on the conversation. He decided to make himself known.
    “Alex!” As ever, Troy didn‟t look glad to see him.
    “Hi, Mom.” Alex sat down without being invited. “Any chance of a drink?”
    “What are you doing here?” Turner asked. Once again his mouth was a straight line. His eyes were empty. “We told you to stay at the hotel.”
    “I thought this was meant to be a family holiday,” Alex said. “And anyway, I finished searching the hotel this morning. There aren‟t any nuclear weapons there, in case you were wondering…”
    Turner stared. Troy looked around nervously. “Keep your voice down!” she snapped, as if anyone could hear him in the din of the square.
    “You lied to me,” Alex said. “Whatever the reason you‟re here, you‟re not just spying on General Sarov. Why don‟t you tell me what this is really about?”
    There was a long silence.
    “What do you want to drink?” Troy asked.
    Alex glanced down at Troy‟s glass. It contained a pale yellow liquid that looked good. “What have you got?” he asked.
    “A mojito. It‟s a local speciality. A mixture of rum, fresh lemon juice, crushed ice, soda and mint leaves.”
    “That sounds fine. I‟ll have the same. Without the rum.”
    Turner called a waiter over and spoke briefly in Spanish. The waiter nodded and hurried away.
    Meanwhile, Troy had come to a decision. “All right, Alex,” she said. “We‟ll tell you what you want to know—”
    “That‟s against orders!” Turner interrupted.
    Troy looked angrily at him. “What choice do we have? Alex obviously knows about the Game Boy.”
    “The Geiger counter,” Alex said.
    Troy nodded. “Yes, Alex, that‟s what it is. And it‟s the reason why we‟re here.” She lifted her own drink and took a sip. “We didn‟t want you to know this because we didn‟t want to frighten you.”
    “That‟s very kind of you.”
    “We were ordered not to!” She scowled. “But … all right, since you know so much, you might as well know the rest of it. We believe there‟s a nuclear device hidden on this island.”
    “General Sarov…? You think he‟s got a nuclear bomb?”
    “We shouldn‟t be doing this,” Turner muttered.
    But this time Troy ignored him. “Something is happening, here, on Skeleton Key,” she went on.
    “We don‟t know what it is, but if you want the truth, it actually frightens us. In a few days‟ time, Boris Kiriyenko, the Russian president, is arriving for a two-week vacation. That‟s not such a big deal. He knew Sarov a long time ago. They were kids together. And it‟s not as if the Russians are our enemies any more.”
    Alex knew all this already. It was what Blunt had told him in London.
    “But recently, and quite by coincidence, Sarov came to our attention. Turner and I were investigating the Salesman. And we discovered that among all the other things he‟d been selling, he‟d managed to get his hands on a kilogram of weapons grade uranium, smuggled out of Eastern Europe. For what it‟s worth, this is one of the biggest nightmares facing the security services today—the sale of uranium. But he‟d done it—and if that wasn‟t bad enough, the person he‟d sold it to—”
    “—was Sarov.” Alex finished the sentence.
    “Yes. A plane flew into Skeleton Key and it didn‟t fly out again. Sarov was there to meet it.” She paused. “And now, suddenly, we‟ve got a meeting between these two