"We didn’t exactly blow it, but it was pretty bloody close." Geraint told them. A cigarette hung from his fingers, the smoke spiraling upward. "Mitsuhama wasn’t a problem, they don’t have much. But Fuchi–Fuchi’s got something, and they’re not letting anyone get close. Not even Michael could cope with the ice, and that means it’s thicker than the walls of the Tower of London. I’ve never seen anything like it."