Ziggy reached across and tapped a finger on the second laptop. The screen awoke, revealing that it had been quartered with the feeds of four of the warehouse’s external security cameras. They waited until they saw the Bentley approaching, and then Ziggy switched from a camera that was angled down the road to a second that looked down from above the security gate. The car turned left and rolled up to the gate. The angle was too steep to look into the car. They watched as the gate rolled back; the Bentley drove through and the gate closed behind it.

“Inside?”

Ziggy tapped out a command and the feed from the four external cameras was replaced by three new feeds. These were inside, with two showing the main space of the warehouse and a third looking into the reception area. There were three wooden pallets on the floor and a number of oblong boxes stacked atop them. Two men were ministering to a large machine that was equipped with what Milton thought was a cutting tool. The end of an oblong was sliced off and fell to the floor. One of the men used a pair of long-handled tongs to reach into the box and withdrew a metal case. The case was placed onto a trestle table and opened up. A brick wrapped in brown paper was carefully extracted.

“You have to give them credit,” Milton said admiringly. “It’s neat.”

The brick was taken to another table and arranged next to three or four dozen similar bricks.

“How much do you think that’s worth?” Ziggy asked.

“A lot.”

One of the doors at the rear of the building opened and a man came inside.

“Zoom in.”

Ziggy selected the feed and enlarged it, then zoomed in as the man stopped to speak to a second who was already inside.

“Audio?” Milton asked.

“Afraid not.”

Milton recognised Anthony Jackson from the surveillance photographs that Ziggy had extracted from the Police National Computer. He was a large man with a shaven head and an earring in his right ear. He was wearing a dark suit jacket and jeans, with a pair of chunky boots on his feet. He reached up to scratch his scalp, and the sleeve of the jacket fell back to reveal what looked like a substantial watch on his wrist.

They watched as Jackson finished his conversation with the second man and made his way across the warehouse floor to a door on the other side of the room. Ziggy had downloaded the plans for the property and had identified the door as leading into an office space; there was no camera there, not that it would make any difference.

Milton looked at his watch. “Nine fifty,” he said. “What do you think?”

“He’s off his schedule,” Ziggy said. “No idea how long he’ll be there.”

Milton drummed his fingers against the edge of the table. “I don’t see any point in waiting.”