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Campsie was right. Half of the names on Broxden's list had form: police reports, criminal trials and convictions, prison time - the works. But it was all a long time ago. These guys might have been contraband runners and smugglers in times past, but they had paid for their crimes - in the eyes of the judges, at least - and must now be considered upstanding citizens. So why were they all working at the Stalactite Saloon now? "Do you think the Saloon is a front for a smuggling ring?" Campsie asked. "I can't see it," I replied thoughtfully, "If Broxden was running an operation like that, then he'd know immediately where the cameras were coming from, and how to find out who the perps were. He'd never have bothered calling me in." Campsie nodded in agreement. "Yeah," she said, "But what if Broxden doesn't know what his employees are up to?" That made more sense. The Stalactite Saloon was a mostly-respectable operation with a large staff, and probably plenty of space backstage. People would be coming and going at all hours, and the nightclub itself would be perfect cover to discuss business with potential customers. So, somebody else - someone we didn't yet know, but whose name was probably on the list that Broxden provided - was running the operation, hidden in plain sight. Genius. The phone rang. I picked up the receiver on the second ring. It was Gumshoe, again. "Gask, listen to this," he said, "I pulled a few favours and managed to get a copy of the inventory from a contact, for that empty shipping container. Like I said, it was a shipment of electronic devices from a large manufacturer in China, destined for delivery to a wholesaler in the US." "Yeah, got that," I said, "So what's new?" "So, some of the haul has started appearing on the streets, all over East Coast America, and all at rock-bottom prices. Probably the only reason that we know about it so quickly is that some of the other suppliers of stolen phones are upset about their margins being eroded, and have been tipping off the cops up here." "So, it's a new operation, then?" I asked. "Yeah. And what's interesting," Gumshoe went on, "Is that the kind of kit which is turning up is exactly the sort of stuff which would be useless down there." "Ah!" Now that I could comprehend. For example, modern mobile phones - highly desirable in the surface world, I understood - were largely useless in the Lower Realms. The rocky caverns simply do not propagate radio signals very well and Goblin society had continued to rely on old-fashioned but highly reliable wired phones. Even those sophisticated little wireless cameras which had turned up in the dressing rooms would have a range of only a few dozen yards down here. "Thanks, Gumshoe," I added, "So somebody's just trying to get rid of the surplus stock, the kit not wanted in the Lower Realms." "That's my guess." "Good work," I said, "I've got some leads to follow up down here, but you keep your ear to the ground, OK?" "Sure thing," he said, "Look after yourself, old friend." "I always do," I answered wryly, returning the receiver to its rest.
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Part 29