With just the hint of a sigh, Geraint decided to do Smethwick a good turn and turned to the woman, a blowsy type who clearly favored applying her make-up with a troweL Geraint’s first few applications of insincere Celtic charm seemed to be received with an almost devotional eagerness by the tridjock. She’d probably been given the cold shoulder by almost everyone else here that evening, and there was something almost touching about her relief at finding someone willing to talk to her. Hell, maybe her job was on the line; she was obviously only a junior. At least I can buy her dinner, Geraint thought, and make sure I don’t let anything slip.

He took her arm in his and headed for the flambee.

“It is not really predictable. I don’t think this is such a well-planned step.”

“Look, he can’t get close to the man. There’s no chance of anything serious happening here. The important thing is to put that name into his head. He’s spent days doing sweet FA, and now he’s got something to sink his teeth into. He won’t get to Kuranita, but he’ll start investigating. He’ll meet the Welshman and the two of them will begin asking some questions. It will be some time before they can find out what was going down all those years ago, but when they get to the answer the timing will be more or less right. After all, that’s a step we can control.

“Sure, there’s a whiff of the wild card about it, but you know Caicraft’s Cumulated Inexactness Theorem. A sufficient number of wild cards come down to a highly probable hand of cards at the end of the day."

The thin man scratched at his yellowed teeth, picking the last remains of shrimp from between his incisors. He looked, for several moments, as if he were weighing the delicate balance of the matter with every gram of intellect he could bring to bear. Finally, he sat back and tapped a cigarette on the mahogany arm of his chair.