“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 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 which 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 leapt, 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. A door had opened and Sabina Pleasure stepped out, wrapped in a thick towelling robe, carrying two glasses. It was warm outside. Although it had been raining when Alex arrived-it nearly always seemed to 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 fell 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 down herself. 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 d’you mean?”

“I was just thinking about Wimbledon. Why did you leave straight after the quarter finals? You were there one minute. Court Number One! And then-”

“I told you,” Alex cut in, feeling uncomfortable. “I wasn’t well.”

“That’s not what I heard. There was a rumour that you were involved in some sort of fight. And that’s another thing. I’ve noticed you in your swimming shorts. I’ve never seen anyone with so many cuts and bruises.”

“I’m bullied at school.”

“I don’t think so. I’ve got a friend who goes to Brookland. She says you’re never there. You keep disappearing. You were away twice last term and the day you got back, half the school burned down.”

Alex leaned forward and picked up his Coke, rolling the cold glass between his hands. An aeroplane was crossing the sky, tiny in the great darkness, its lights blinking on and off.

“All right, Sab,” he said. “I’m not really a schoolboy. I’m a spy, a teenage James Bond. I have to take time off from school to save the world. I’ve done it twice so far. The first time was here in Cornwall. The second time was in France. What else do you want to know?”

Sabina smiled. “All right, Alex. Ask a stupid question…” She drew her legs up, snuggling into the warmth of the towelling robe. “But there is something different about you. You’re like no boy I’ve ever met.”

“Kids?” Sabina’s mother was calling out from the kitchen. “Shouldn’t you be thinking about bed?”

It was ten o’clock. The two of them would be getting up at five to catch the surf.

“Five minutes!” Sabina called back.

“I’m counting.”

Sabina sighed. “Mothers!”

But Alex had never known his mother.

Twenty minutes later, getting into bed, he thought about Sabina Pleasure and her parents; her father a slightly bookish man with long grey hair and spectacles, her mother round and cheerful, more like Sabina herself. There were only the three of them. Maybe that was what made them so close. They lived in west London and rented this house for four weeks every summer.

He turned off the light and lay back in the darkness. His room, set high up in the roof of the house, had only one small window and he could see the moon, glowing white, as perfectly round as a one penny piece. From the moment he had arrived, they’d treated him as if they’d known him all his life. Every family has its own routine and Alex had been surprised how quickly he had fallen in with theirs, joining them on long walks along the cliffs, helping with the shopping and the cooking, or simply sharing the silence-reading and watching the sea.