Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Anthony Horowitz (anthonyhorowitz.com) is a world-renowned screenwriter for film and television, having received multiple awards. And he is, of course, the author of the #1 New York Times bestselling Alex Rider novels, which have become bestsellers the world over, spawned a major motion picture, and a line of graphic novels. A master of the spy thriller, Anthony is the only writer authorized by both the Arthur Conan Doyle and Ian Fleming Estates to write original Sherlock Holmes and James Bond novels, respectively. Anthony lives with his wife in London, England; they are parents to two grown boys. Follow Anthony on Twitter @AnthonyHorowitz.

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Skeleton Key

Puffin Books

Chapter One

It had taken the engineer just a few minutes to take the water dispenser apart. Now he reached inside and carefully disengaged a slim glass vial from a tangle of wires and circuit boards.

"Built into the filter," he said. "There's a valve system. Very ingenious."

He passed the vial to a stern-looking woman who held it up to the light, examining its contents. It was half filled with a transparent liquid. She swirled it around, smelled it, finally applied a little to her index finger and tasted it. Her eyes narrowed.

"Librium," she announced. She had a clipped, matter-of-fact way of speaking. "Nasty little drug. A spoonful will put you out cold. A couple of drops, though ... they'll just confuse you. Basically knock you off-balance."

The restaurant, and indeed the entire Millennium Building, had been closed for the night. There were three other men there. John Crawley was one. Next to him stood a uniformed policeman, obviously senior. The third man was gray-haired and elderly, wearing a Wimbledon tie with dark green stripes. Alex was sitting to one side, feeling suddenly tired and out of place. Nobody apart from Crawley knew that he worked for MI6. As far as they were concerned, he was just a ball boy who had somehow stumbled onto the truth.

Alex was dressed in his own clothes now. He had telephoned Crawley, then taken a shower and changed, leaving his ball boy 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 sneakers with the crossed rackets logo embroidered on the tongue. The uniform is the only payment Wimbledon ball boys 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 striped 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 cellular phone-it injected a few milliliters 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 had 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 said. "What was the point?"

"I think I can answer that," the police chief 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 last. Like any other sporting event, Wimbledon attracts millions of dollars in 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 Raymond," 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 through the final. Big Circle would have made a killing! A hundred thousand dollars' 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 all the rest of it. Although I have to say, I think it was rather irresponsible, locking 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 lose 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 figure 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 all 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, neither had he thought he would be bundled out of the complex quite so hastily. He had watched the finals, on his own, on TV. At least they'd let him keep his Wimbledon sports kit.

And there was one other good thing that had come out of it all. Sabina hadn't forgotten her invitation.

He was standing on the veranda of the house her parents had rented, a house that would have been ugly anywhere else in the world, but seemed perfectly suited to its position on the edge of a cliff overlooking the Cornish coast. It was old-fashioned, square, part brick, part white-painted wood. It had five bedrooms, three staircases, and too many doors. Its garden was more dead than alive, blasted by salt and sea spray. The house was called Brook's Leap, although nobody knew who Brook was, why he had leaped, or even if he had survived. Alex had been there for three days. He had been invited to stay the week.

There was a movement behind him. Sabina Pleasure stepped out from a door, wrapped in a thick terry cloth robe, carrying two glasses. It was warm outside. Although it had been raining when Alex arrived-it seemed to always be raining in Cornwall-the weather had cleared and this was suddenly a summer's night. Sabina had left him outside while she went in to have a bath. Her hair was still wet. The robe draped loosely down to her bare feet. Alex thought she looked much older than her fifteen years.

"I brought you a Coke," she said.

"Thanks."

The veranda was wide with a low balcony, a swing chair, and a table. Sabina set the glasses down, then sat herself down. Alex joined her. The wooden frame of the swing chair creaked and they swung together, looking out at the view. For a long time neither of them said anything. Then, suddenly ...

"Why don't you tell me the truth?" Sabina asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I was just thinking about Wimbledon. Why did you leave before the quarterfinals? You were there one minute. Centre Court! And then-"

"I told you," Alex cut in, feeling uncomfortable. "I wasn't well...."

"That's not what I heard. There was a rumor that you were involved...