Corlackis stopped by a long open crate and inspected its contents. The rest of them were moving on to where the fat man was waiting with his two shaven-head heavies. Stanton did not trust Grendel at all, but then there were few people he did trust. He shoved his hand into his pocket and strolled casually after. He glanced at the crate in passing. Four missiles lay there. Each was two metres long and a handbreadth wide at its widest point, which was the middle. Each end of the missiles came to a needle point.

‘Hyper compressed-gas drive,’ said Corlackis, joining him. ‘Nice.’ This too was Corlackis’s first time here. Only Stanton and Pelter had come out the first time.

‘Again no AG. It would be detected on the way down,’ said Stanton.

Mennecken gave him an annoyed look as they approached the others.

‘It’s all here, then,’ said Corlackis, waving a hand at the other crates.

‘Oh, yes, friend Grendel certainly knows how to lay his hands on some hardware,’ said Stanton. ‘By the way, get ready for the shit to hit and watch Svent and Dusache.’

Corlackis gave him a puzzled glance and clamped down on a question. They were too close. He slid his finger down the seam of his jacket and let it drop open. Mennecken saw him do this and did the same. The three of them came up behind Svent and Dusache.

Grendel was speaking. ‘Then you are satisfied?’ the fat man asked, holding his hands out before him as if measuring a fish.

‘I am satisfied with the goods, but not where they are,’ said Pelter.

Grendel shrugged and pointed to the ceiling.

Pelter went on. ‘We can take the crates out to the Lyric. By the time we’ve done that the storm should have eased enough for us to move the bird.’

‘As you wish. They are all your property now,’ said Grendel. He was now puzzled. ‘What else is it that you require?’ he asked.

‘Your position with your client assures me of your silence in this matter,’ said Pelter. ‘Unfortunately, though the information with which he has provided me is good, I am still prone to distrust.’

‘I know you have spoken with . . . him,’ said Grendel.

Stanton looked from the fat man to Pelter. Who the hell was this client? What was this all about? He closed his sweaty hand round the handle of his stun gun. From the corner of his eye he noted movement. Mr. Crane putting down the briefcase. Pelter turned and looked at Stanton.

‘Now,’ he said.

Stanton drew his gun and fired twice. Svent and Dusache gasped as if they had been gut-thumped and went face-down on the plascrete. Corlackis and Mennecken had pulse-guns, but seemed not to know where to point them. They backed up, trying to cover everyone. Stanton ignored them.