Skeleton Key

professional job. We‟d never have known anyone had been there except for a stroke of luck. One of our night guards saw the man leaving. He was Chinese, in his early twenties—”
    “The guard?”
    “The intruder. Dressed from head to foot in black with some sort of rucksack on his back. The guard alerted the police and we had the whole place searched. The Millennium Building, the courts, the cafes … everywhere. It took three days. There are no terrorist cells active in London at the moment, thank goodness, but there was always a chance that some lunatic might have planted a bomb. We had the anti-terrorist squad in. Sniffer dogs. Nothing! Whoever it was had vanished into thin air and it seemed he‟d left nothing behind.
    “Now, here‟s the strange thing, Alex. He didn‟t leave anything, but nor did he take anything. In fact, nothing seems to have been touched. As I say, if the guard hadn‟t seen this chap, we‟d never have known he had been there. What do you make of that?”
    Alex shrugged. “Maybe the guard disturbed him before he could get his hands on whatever it was he wanted.”
    “No. He was already leaving when he was seen.”
    “Could the guard have imagined it?”
    “We examined the cameras. The film is time-coded and we discovered that they had definitely been out of action for two hours. From midnight until two in the morning.”
    “Then what do you think, Mr. Crawley? Why are you telling me this?”
    Crawley sighed and stretched his legs. He was wearing suede shoes, shabby and down at heel.
    The dog had fallen asleep. “My belief is that somebody is intending to sabotage Wimbledon this year,” he said. Alex was about to interrupt but Crawley held up a hand. “I know it sounds ridiculous and I have to admit, the other committee members don‟t believe me. On the other hand, they don‟t have my instincts. They don‟t work in the same business as me. But think about it, Alex. There had to be a reason for such a carefully planned and executed break-in. But there is no reason. Something‟s wrong.”
    “Why would anyone want to sabotage Wimbledon?”
    “I don‟t know. But you have to remember, the Wimbledon tennis fortnight is a huge business.
    There are millions of pounds at stake. Prize money alone adds up to eight and a half million. And then there are television rights, merchandising rights, corporate sponsorship… We get VIPs flying in from all over the planet—everyone from film stars to presidents—and tickets for the men‟s final have been known to change hands for literally thousands of pounds. It‟s not just a game. It‟s a world event, and if anything happened … well, it doesn‟t bear thinking about.”
    Crawley obviously had been thinking about it. He looked tired. The worry was deep in his eyes.
    Alex thought for a moment. “You want me to look around.” He smiled. “I‟ve never been to Wimbledon. I‟ve only ever seen it on TV. I‟d love a ticket for Centre Court. But I don‟t see how a one-day visit would actually help.”
    “Exactly, Alex. But a one-day visit isn‟t quite what I had in mind.”
    “Go on.”
    “Well, you see, I was wondering if you would consider becoming a ballboy.”
    “You‟re not serious?”
    “Why not? You can stay there for the whole fortnight. You‟ll have a wonderful time and you‟ll be right in the middle of things. You‟ll see some great matches. And I‟ll be able to relax a little, knowing you‟re there. If anything is going on, there‟s a good chance you might spot it. Then you can call me and I‟ll take care of it.” He nodded. It was obvious that he had managed to persuade himself, if not Alex. “It‟s not as if this is dangerous or anything. I mean … it‟s Wimbledon.
    There‟ll be plenty of other boys and girls there. What d‟you think?”
    “Don‟t you have enough security people already?”
    “Of course we have a security company. They‟re easy to see—which makes them easy to avoid.
    But you‟d be invisible, Alex. That‟s the whole point.”
    “Alex…?”
    It was Mr. Wiseman who had called out to him. The teacher was waiting for him. All the other players had left now, apart from two or three boys kicking the ball amongst themselves.
    “I‟ll just be a minute, sir,” Alex called back.
    The teacher hesitated. It was rather strange, one of the boys talking to this man in his old-fashioned blazer and striped tie. But on the other hand, this was Alex Rider and the whole school knew there was