Doctor Who_ Interference_ Book One - Lawrence Miles [10]
‘Yes,’ said Mr Kode. ‘It’s important, within any trade‐dependent society, for a coherent trading culture or subculture to develop. Possibly involving elements of national pride and ideals of personal achievement. Um, I think.’
Llewis let his jaw wobble for a moment or two. He had no idea where that little pearl of wisdom had come from. He’d have guessed the brat had got it out of a textbook, but he’d said it with all the smugness of an Open University lecturer. Until he’d gone ‘um’, anyway.
Mr Kode stopped at a door, set into the wall at the edge of the exhibition area. There were a couple of official security guards hanging around nearby, leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, but they didn’t ask Kode for any ID. Either they knew him by sight, or they couldn’t be bothered arguing with his hired help.
‘Best in the world,’ Llewis went on, trying to ride out the conversation. ‘COPEX. You know. There are COPEXes all over the place, but… but Britain’s got the best one. Everyone knows it.’
‘Really?’ Llewis was having trouble reading Kode’s expression, but the boy looked puzzled. ‘Why?’
‘Well, er… I mean, the last German expo had to be cancelled. By the government. Banned. I mean, where’s the free trade in that?’
Llewis had been told that the words ‘free trade’ made contacts’ eyes light up like nothing else on Earth, but Mr Kode didn’t respond. Llewis tried a bit harder. ‘Civil‐rights problems. You know. Amnesty International. The candle‐burner brigade. Not that, you know, not that I’m saying anything bad about ’em. But let’s be honest, they don’t have a clue, do they? No idea about business. No idea about free trade.’
He practically shouted the words that time, but Mr Kode still didn’t respond. The boy was just looking at him, blankly. Llewis was reminded of the computer systems back in the office, the way they’d just sit at the desk staring at you, waiting for you to punch the data into them. Smug little sods.
‘Banned,’ Kode repeated. Without much feeling.
‘Er. In Germany. But our government’s, er, pretty good with things like that. Hiding things under the rug and what have you.’ Llewis decided to keep talking, in the hope that the conversation might reach some kind of natural end. ‘A lot of the hardware you can pick up here gets made by the Royal Ordnance, so, you know… the PM’s not likely to kick up a fuss, is he? I mean, it’s Ireland. Let’s face it, we’ve practically got a civil war going on over there, so our people know a thing or two about, you know, about civilian‐control gear. What with the RUC and… and what have you. As long as we keep quiet about it, the DTI’s happy to let us buy and sell what we like.’ There, thought Llewis. That’d be the end of the discussion, surely?
‘DTI?’ queried Kode. He sounded like he was trying to evaluate a threat.
‘Department of Trade and Industry,’ Llewis said. God, the boy was thick. ‘Look, what I’m saying is…’ He suddenly realised he didn’t know what he was saying, but he made something up anyway. ‘What I’m saying is, Britain’s a world leader when it comes to the internal security market. World leader.’
Kode looked over his shoulder at the suits milling around the hall behind him. From this angle, the rip in his earlobe looked horrible.
‘I thought this was an arms fair,’ he said.
Llewis clenched his teeth. For a moment, he entertained the possibility that someone was winding him up, that any minute now the others from the office were going to jump out from behind one of the stalls and start laughing at him.
Just for a moment. Then he cleared his throat, realising slightly too late that he couldn’t politely spit out the coke‐and‐vodka‐flavoured phlegm. He had to mutter the next sentence with a mouth full of glue. ‘We, er, don’t like to call it that. We’re all dealers in “internal security” here. You know. Nothing illegal. Nothing out of order.’
Mr Kode nodded. Llewis got the feeling the boy had completely missed the point of what he’d said. ‘OK. We’ll only sell you “internal security” stuff, then. We don’t want to break any