Free Scorpia by Anthony Horowitz Page A

other reason to explain everything that’s happened. Missing so much school. And all those injuries. I mean, I thought your housekeeper might be beating you up, but that didn’t seem likely. So, yes. You must be a spy. But that’s pretty heavy, Alex. I’m glad it’s you, not me.”
    Alex couldn’t help smiling. “Tom, you really are my best mate.”
    “I’m happy to help. But there’s one thing you haven’t told me. Why were you interested in Scorpia in the first place? And what are you doing now, coming to Naples?”
    Alex hadn’t mentioned his father. That was the one area that still troubled him. It was too private to share with anyone. “I’ve got to find Scorpia,” he began. He paused, then continued carefully. “I think my dad may have had some sort of involvement with them. I never knew him. He died shortly after I was born.”
    “Did they kill him?”
    “No. It’s difficult to explain. I just want to find out about him. I’ve never met anyone who knew him. Even my uncle never talked much about him. I just have to know who he was.”
    “And Naples?”
    “I heard Mrs Rothman talking about a company in Amalfi. That’s not too far from Naples. I think it’s called Consanto. I saw the name in a sort of brochure in her desk, and the person she was talking to had his photograph inside. She said she’d be there in two days. That’s tomorrow. I’d be interested to know why.”
    “But, Alex…” Tom frowned. “You met this black guy, Nile…”
    “Actually, he wasn’t exactly black. He was more sort of … black and white.”
    “Well, the moment you mentioned Scorpia, he locked you in a cellar and tried to drown you. Why go back? I mean, it sounds to me like they’re not that keen to meet you.”
    “I know.” Alex couldn’t deny that Tom was right. And he had learnt very little about Mrs Rothman. He couldn’t even be certain that she was connected to Scorpia. The one thing he did know was that she—or the people who worked for her—was utterly ruthless. But he couldn’t leave it. Not yet. Yassen Gregorovich had shown him a path. He had to follow it to the end. “I just want to take a look, that’s all.”
    Tom shrugged. “Well, I suppose you can’t be in any worse trouble than you are with Mr Grey. When you get back to school, I think he’s going to murder you.”
    “Yeah. I know. He didn’t sound too happy on the phone.”
    There was a brief silence. The train rushed through a station, a blur of neon and concrete, without stopping.
    “It must mean a lot to you,” Tom said. “Finding out about your dad.”
    “Yes. It does.”
    “My mum and dad have been shouting at each other for ages. All they ever do is fight. Now they’re splitting up and they’re fighting about that. I don’t care about either of them any more. I don’t think I even like them.” For a brief moment Tom looked sadder than Alex had ever seen him. “So I think I understand what you’re saying, and I hope you find out something good about your dad, because right now I can’t think of anything good about mine.”

    Jerry Harris, Tom’s elder brother, met them at the station and took them by taxi to his flat. He was twenty-two years old and had come to Italy on his gap year but had somehow forgotten to return. Alex liked him immediately. Jerry was totally laid-back, thin to the point of scrawny, with bleached hair and a lopsided smile.
    It made no difference to him that Alex had turned up uninvited, and he didn’t comment on Alex’s appearance or the fact that he seemed to have made the journey from Venice without shoes.
    He lived in the Spanish Quarter of the city. It was a typical Naples street: narrow, with buildings five or six storeys high on both sides and washing lines strung out between them. Looking up, Alex saw a fantastic patchwork of crumbling plaster, wooden shutters, ornate railings, window boxes and terraces with Italian women leaning out to chat with their neighbours. Jerry was renting