sound like, Mr Smythe.’ Now it was Eddie’s turn to stiffen. Had West realised the deception – or had he known all along and simply been toying with them? ‘But . . . I must admit, your story is unlikely enough to be true. No policeman I’ve ever met had that vivid an imagination.’
‘They are a block-headed bunch, aren’t they?’ Eddie said. Kit laughed flatly.
West leaned forward and worked his laptop. ‘This artefact of yours, where is it now?’
‘Hong Kong.’
‘And where are you planning to take it?’ He was still being slippery, Eddie realised; not saying anything that could be taken as agreement to participate.
‘England.’
‘A tad vague. Where in England?’
‘Near Tenterden, in Kent. Blackwood Hall, my estate.’ It had actually been the estate of Sophia’s father, where Eddie received an extremely chilly welcome the one and only time he was invited there in the company of his first wife.
West was impressed. ‘Really? Did you know Lord Blackwood?’ he asked as he continued tapping at the keyboard.
‘Only slightly. Bought the estate from his, er, estate after he died. Got it for a song – he was massively in debt, don’t you know.’
‘So I heard. I assume you want the item shipped as soon as possible.’
‘The sooner the better.’
West nodded, then swivelled his bulk round to face the second, older computer. He pushed a button, and with a bleep and a shrill whine of fans it started up. Eddie could just about see the screen from where he was sitting: green text on a black background. He also noticed that a modern memory card reader had been connected via a black box to one of its rear ports. ‘Rather an old machine,’ said Eddie. He nodded towards the laptop. ‘Why not use that one?’
‘For security. Older hardware has its advantages,’ said West. He bent down with a grunt to collect something out of sight behind the desk. ‘For one, it has no Internet connection, so it’s immune to viruses and spyware. For another, the hard drive doesn’t act as a cache.’
Eddie gave Kit a puzzled look. ‘He means it doesn’t keep a copy of your open files in virtual memory,’ the younger man explained.
‘Quite so,’ said West, levering himself upright. In one hand he had a small transparent case, which he popped open to reveal a MicroSD memory card, a sliver of black plastic the size of a thumbnail. ‘You can be betrayed by your own computer, you know – its hard drive is full of invisible copies of your files that any half-competent technician can recover.’ He slotted the little card into the reader, then typed commands. Columns of green text scrolled up the screen. ‘This may be slow and outdated, but it can still run a spreadsheet.’
Eddie and Kit exchanged glances. West obviously kept the sole records of his illegal operations on the memory card. If they could take it from him, they might find the information they were after.
But the fat man wasn’t likely to give it up without a fight, even if he wouldn’t be the one to throw the punches. The goon who let them in had taken up a more alert stance, and the second man had left his desk and was lurking behind the two visitors. In the time it would take the cops outside to reach the office, the card could be hidden, even destroyed.
And now West’s expression had changed. It wasn’t outright suspicion, but caution, a feeling that he needed one more test to be passed before being fully satisfied. ‘It must have been very gratifying to beat a player as good as Kazim,’ he said. ‘Especially for such high stakes. How many times did you redouble?’
Eddie had no idea what West meant. His entire knowledge of backgammon came from one scene in the James Bond movie Octopussy, and since both players had been cheating that wasn’t a great deal of help. He assumed it was some kind of bet, like raising in poker, but what would be a believable answer?
And what if the question was a trick? Maybe redoubling, whatever that was, wasn’t allowed at the Red Lotus . . .
West expected an answer, though. So did his men, the two Malays tensing as the silence drew out.
He would have to bluff. ‘Oh, I don’t really remember. The whole evening went by in a bit of a haze!’
The overweight man stared at him . . . then his eyes flicked up to his men in an obvious sign of warning. Shit! He