Skeleton Key Read Free Page A

the nerve to come here, into the school arena, in the middle of a game? Weren‟t these people ever going to leave him alone?
    The man‟s name was Crawley. With his thinning hair, blotchy face and old-fashioned clothes, he looked like a junior army officer or perhaps a teacher in a second-rate private school. But Alex knew the truth. Crawley belonged to MI6. Not exactly a spy, but someone who was very much a part of that world. Crawley was an office manager in one of the country‟s most secret offices. He did the paperwork, made the arrangements, set up the meetings. When someone died with a knife in their back or a bullet in their chest, it would be Crawley who had signed on the dotted line.
    As Alex ran back to the centre line, Crawley walked over to a bench, dragging the dog behind.
    The animal didn‟t seem to want to walk. It didn‟t want to be there at all. Crawley sat down. He was still sitting there ten minutes later when the final whistle blew and the game came to an end.
    Alex considered for a moment. Then he picked up his jersey and went over to him.
    Crawley seemed surprised to see him. “Alex!” he exclaimed. “What a surprise! I haven‟t seen you since … well, since you got back from France.”
    It had only been four weeks since MI6 had forced Alex to investigate a school for the super-rich in south-east France. Using a false name, he had become a student at the Point Blanc Academy only to find himself taken prisoner by the mad headmaster, Dr Grief. He had been chased down a mountain, shot at and almost dissected alive in a biology class. Alex had never wanted to be a spy and the whole business had convinced him he was right. Crawley was the last person he wanted to see.
    But the MI6 man was beaming. “Are you on the school team? Is this where you play? I‟m surprised I haven‟t noticed you before. Barker and I often walk here.”
    “Barker?”
    “The dog.” Crawley reached out and patted it. “He‟s a Dalmatian.”
    “I thought Dalmatians had spots.”
    “Not this one.” Crawley hesitated. “Actually, Alex, it‟s a bit of luck running into you. I wonder if I could have a word with you?”
    Alex shook his head. “Forget it, Mr. Crawley. I told you the last time. I‟m not interested in MI6.
    I‟m a schoolboy. I‟m not a spy.”
    “Absolutely!” Crawley agreed. “This has got nothing to do with the … um … company. No, no, no.” He looked almost embarrassed. “The thing is, what I wanted to ask you was … how would you like a front row seat at Wimbledon?”
    The question took Alex completely by surprise. “Wimbledon? You mean … the tennis?”
    “That‟s right.” Crawley smiled. “The All England Tennis Club. I‟m on the committee.”
    “And you‟re offering me a ticket?”
    “Yes.”
    “What‟s the catch?”

    “There is no catch, Alex. Not really. But… let me explain.” Alex was aware that the other players were getting ready to leave. The school day was almost over. He listened as Crawley went on. “The thing is, you see, a week ago we had a break-in. Security at the club is always tight but someone managed to climb over the wall and get into the Millennium Building through a forced window.”
    “What‟s the Millennium Building?”
    “It‟s where the players have their changing rooms. It‟s also got a gym, a restaurant, a couple of lounges and so on. We have closed circuit television cameras but the intruder disabled the system—along with the main alarm. It was a thoroughly 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