had failed the test; however hazy the evening, he would have been expected to remember if the Red Lotus allowed redoubling – and it was now clear that it didn’t.
West pulled the card from the reader and sat back. ‘You know, Mr Smythe, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help with your shipping needs after all. I don’t want to be involved in anything illegal. Terribly sorry. Now, it’s rather late, so my associates will escort you out.’
Reluctantly, Eddie and Kit stood, the Interpol agent shooting the Englishman an angry look. Eddie couldn’t blame him. The fish had shunned the bait, and without West’s entrapment the listening Singaporeans had no pretext on which to raid the office.
Unless they responded to some other incident . . .
The two Malays ushered Kit and Eddie to the door. Eddie glanced back. West was returning the memory card to its case, pudgy fingers fumbling with the tiny plastic sliver. They passed a window—
‘Oi!’ Eddie suddenly yelled, bogus accent gone as he whirled to face one of his escorts. ‘Get your fucking hands off me!’
The man froze, startled . . .
And Eddie hurled him bodily through the window.
7
The Malay screamed as he plummeted to the concrete amongst shattered glass and the clattering slats of the blind. He landed with a heavy thump, bruised but alive.
Eddie spun to face the other man – and took a hard punch that sent him crashing against a desk, scattering papers. Kit hit the goon in the jaw, knocking him back, but the thick-necked man straightened immediately and lunged at him.
Recovering, Eddie saw West grab a black object. Fear surged through him – a gun! – but it was just a walkie-talkie. Like a walking walrus, the obese man lumbered for the other door.
The Malay swung Kit round, slamming him into Eddie just as the Englishman started after West. Both men tumbled to the floor. The bodyguard tried to stamp on Kit’s head, but the Indian jerked away in time to avoid all but a glancing blow to the side of his face.
Eddie used a chair to haul himself to his feet, then swept it up and smashed it against the bodyguard’s skull. The man cried out, reeling. Eddie tried to swing again, but the piece of cheap office furniture fell apart in his hands, leaving him holding only the backrest. He threw it at the man’s face, then kneed the staggering figure in the groin.
The Malay lurched backwards into one of the shelving racks. It toppled over, knocking him to the floor beneath it – and dropping dozens of heavy box files on to Kit. He managed to protect his face, but still took several painful hits.
West was gone, the other door slamming shut. Eddie tried to pull Kit out from under the collapsed shelves. ‘No, go after him!’ Kit groaned. ‘Get the memory card!’
Eddie reluctantly let go and ran to the door. As he expected, it was locked. A couple of kicks took care of that. The room beyond was a small storeroom, a fire door swinging open in the back wall. He rushed to it and looked out into the rain. Metal steps led down to ground level.
No sign of West, but considering his bulk he couldn’t have got far. Eddie clanged down the stairs. If West had gone round to the front of the cabin, he would have been seen by the Singaporean officers. He must have headed deeper into the port. Which way, though? The towering maze of containers, stacked as many as five high, rose just yards away like a giant child’s building blocks. He listened for footsteps, but heard nothing. Not, he was reluctantly forced to admit, that he could have picked much out through the hiss of rain and rumble of distant machinery; years of exposure to gunshots and other loud noises had permanently affected his hearing.
He ran to a container and jumped to grab the edge of its roof, pulling himself up. The containers to each side were stacked two high; he leapt again and scrambled on top of one, then pounded along its forty-foot length to jump up once more. He was now over twenty-five feet above the ground, giving him more of a chance of spotting West – he hoped.
The containers were arranged in long blocks, six wide, with roadways between them housing the tracks for the gangling cranes. The nearest was to his left; he looked down into it. Nobody there. He hurried across to the right,