by Sepulchre
'If,' Quinn-Reece replied almost slyly, 'they knew of his existence.' He smiled at the three men facing him, pleased with their rapt attention. 'I'm sorry to sound so mysterious but, you see, our man has unique skills that would be virtually impossible to match. Not that our competitors would ever have knowledge of them—those skills are kept secret even within our own organisation.' Mather rested his hands over the handle of his cane. He glanced towards the room's huge window, a gull catching his eye as it swooped by, wings dazzling white in the cold sunshine. 'This sounds, uh, quite interesting,' he said, returning his gaze to the deputy chairman. 'Yes . . .' the word drawn out '. . . interesting indeed. Would you care to elaborate?' Quinn-Reece held up his palms. 'Again, I'm afraid not. At least, not until you agree to the assignment. I know that puts you in an awkward position, but we have our own security requirements.
There is also one other matter that might not meet with your satisfaction.' Stuhr's pen was poised once more.
'The man we're discussing,' Quinn-Reece went on, 'already maintains a strong protection unit around him.'
'Ah,' said Mather.
'Bodyguards?' enquired Stuhr.
Quinn-Reece nodded.
'Are they well-trained?' asked Snaith.
'Reasonably so, I believe,' replied Quinn-Reece.
'Then why does Magma need our services?' The deputy chairman looked at Buchanan.
'That's a priority condition of Acorn Buchanan if we're to take on the risk,' said the underwriter. “These personal bodyguards may well be proficient, but my company would feel more comfortable if Achilles'
Shield were running the show.'
'It's no problem,' commented Stuhr. 'I can work out an effective operation into which they can be absorbed. First though we would have to ascertain just how goad these men are, and how trustworthy; and they would have to recognise implicitly our authority over them.'
'Naturally,' agreed Quinn- Reece. 'Your company would have complete control.'
'That's fine then,' said Snaith. At least, he thought it was fine.
'Buchanan cleared his throat. 'There is yet another factor, Gerald,' he said.
The tone of his voice hinted that Snaith and his colleagues were not going to like this one.
'I've already explained to Mr Quinn-Reece and his chairman that it's Achilles' Shield's practice to have at least three operatives in direct contact with the target, so ensuring a too friendly relationship never develops between protector and protected.'
'It's our way of making certain,' Snaith told Quinn-Reece, 'that if our precautions fail and our client is abducted then negotiations between the kidnappers and our man won't be hindered by personal involvement.'
'I can appreciate that,' the deputy chairman responded.
'Unfortunately,' Buchanan went on, 'the Magma Corporation will allow only one of your men to cover the target on a close basis.'
'Good Lord,' said Mather, while Stuhr muttered under his breath, 'Verflucht!'
'That's impossible,' Snaith quickly asserted.
'Please understand that the condition only applies to internal security,' said Quinn-Reece anxiously.
'Whatever outside arrangements you care to make are entirely up to you. You see, we're dealing with a matter of utmost secrecy here—the nature of our man's role within the Corporation—and the less people who know of it the better as far as Magma is concerned.'
'I can assure you of absolute confidentiality,' Snaith insisted.
'I've no doubts on that score. But this person is one of the prime reasons for the Corporation's success throughout the world. Our secret weapon if you like. We have no wish for that secret nor even the fact that we have a secret—to be exposed beyond key executives within the organisation itself. If you are to take on this job, your man must be governed by that same secrecy.'
'You mean even we in this room are to be excluded from this knowledge?' a surprised Stuhr asked.
'That is the case.'
'It's highly irregular,' huffed the German.
Quinn-Reece was no longer ill at ease. He actually enjoyed laying down this last condition, because it reminded him of his position and how strong was his Corporation: imposing Magma terms was part of normal business negotiations and home-ground to him. He began to feel less intimidated by these three Shield people, more bullish. Besides, he was a shrewd judge of atmosphere and knew they were already hooked. Perhaps the talk of secrecy' was close to their own clandestine hearts. And obviously, the financial inducement was irresistible, for Achilles' Shield fees would be in direct ratio to the premium paid.
'Irregular.' he admitted, 'but as far as the Chairman and myself are concerned, fundamental.' A silence followed in which the Controller, Planner, and Organiser considered the implications of such a condition.
'For what period of time is the insurance cover?' Mather finally enquired.
'No more than a few weeks at the most,' Buchanan promptly answered.
'Reason?' asked Snaith.
Buchanan turned to Quinn-Reece, who replied: 'Our man feels there will be no risk after that.'
'He's somewhat remarkable,' said Snaith.
'Yes, that's quite true. Are you interested in the assignment, gentlemen?' Quinn-Reece searched each face.
'You'd be making our task very difficult,' Snaith told him. 'But yes, it sounds like an interesting job.
Finding the right operative might be tricky, though-our people are used to working as a team.'
'Oh no,' said Mather mildly. 'I don't think there's any problem at all in that respect, Gerald. I think we have exactly the right chap, don't you?' Snaith stared blankly at his Planner for a moment. Then understanding dawned in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the other man nodded his head.
'Yes,' Mather said. 'Yes, I think he'd be ideal.' A shade reluctantly, Snaith had to agree.
3 MAGMA
Halloran stopped for a moment to gaze up at the twenty-four storey building. Impressive, he thought, and impressive it was, rearing up between staid, grey City blocks like a massive glass and bronze sculpture, tinted windows impenetrably black, its metal structure reflecting the morning sun so that multi-faceted surfaces glowed a deep gold. Exterior elevators slid up and down the smooth walls, pale faces staring out from the capsules, watching the human patterns moving below. All corners -and there were many -were gracefully curved, the outermost buttresses adding a fort-like strength to the architecture, an image abetted by the different levels of the main building, some recessed, others outcropping.
Magma's headquarters was not a place to be easily stormed, Halloran mused. Yet for all its stunning grandeur, emphasised by the mostly uninspiring drabness ofLondon 's financial sector, there was something . . . something brooding about this edifice. Its surfaces dazzled a metallic lustre which seemed almost overpowering, too forceful for the surroundings.
He stood there a while longer, studying the Magma building, oblivious to the office workers scurrying around him, before crossing the road and going inside, to leave the crisp coldness of the early-spring air for the sterile coolness of the air-conditioned foyer.
Mather was already waiting for him, seated in the middle of a row of beige lounge chairs and facing a huge circular reception desk. Men in light-blue, epauletted shirts roamed inside the circle, banks of television monitors behind them, monochrome offices and corridors displayed on the screens. Other screens were imbedded in square pillars around the vast concourse, these providing a variety of information for anyone passing through: foreign exchange rates, the general market report, company news, active shares, leading shares, traded options, USM, new issues index and even BBC news headlines.
The area bustled with life. Escalators carried visitors and staff up to and down from the floor above, while lifts around the glass walls took passengers to the heights. Digital payphones were mounted on low tables set before the rows of lounge chairs, therefor the convenience of waiting businessmen. Lush palms and plants together with kinetic sculpt
ures constructed from the same material as the outside walls, strove to de-formalise the concourse, succeeding only in part. Long glass display cases contained examples of rock strata, while others held samples of ore and minerals, crystals, even semi-precious stones, all exhibits of the earth's contribution towards the Magma empire.
Halloran noticed several informal meetings taking place around the floor, discussions conducted sotto voce, the undertones adding to the complex's general buzz. Who'd need an office with a set-up like this?
he wondered. Maybe the roving security guards who were very much in evidence were also there to discourage non-company personnel from such practices.
A marble-cladded wall, the large rectangular slabs needing no other decoration than their own subtle-hued textures, brought the wide reception area to an end; several doors and a central lift system (obviously provided for those whose vertigo somewhat reduced the joy of viewing the City panorama while rising above it) spaced themselves along the wall.
Mather had spotted him and was rising from his seat, one hand pushing against his cane for support.
Halloran went forward to meet him.
'Rather splendid, isn't it?' said Mather as they drew near.
'Even better than Changi airport,' Halloran replied” shaking the Planner's hand.
'Good to see you, Liam. Sorry about the Irish operation.' Halloran nodded, said nothing.
'Let's check in and get our instructions,' suggested Mather, turning away and limping towards the circular reception desk. Halloran followed, still taking in the scene around him.
A receptionist watched their approach and, when they reached him, said with no curiosity at all: 'Can I help you?'
'Mather and Halloran to see Sir Victor Penlock. Ten o'clock appointment.' If the uniformed receptionist was impressed that they were there for a meeting with the Corporation's chairman he gave no indication.
'Company?' he enquired, 'I think you'll find that information isn't necessary,' Mather told him.
The receptionist, a youngish man with spectacles and a distinct lack of charm, sat at his desk and tapped computer keys. Green lines of type reflected in his glasses and soon he appeared satisfied, although there was no noticeable change in his demeanour.
'You'll need ID tags,' he told them and punched more keys on a machine concealed from view beneath the counter. When his hand appeared once more it was holding two yellow strips with Mather and Halloran's names typed individually in capitals on each. He slipped them into plastic clips and passed them over.
'Attach these to your lapels, please. You need to go up to the eighteenth. You can take the scenic route to twelve, then transfer to an interior lift for the rest of the way. Or if you prefer, you can take the interior express straight up to the eighteenth.' He pointed at the lifts beyond the reception circle.
'I rather fancy the scenic route,' said Mather brightly. 'What d'you say, Liam?' Halloran smiled as he clipped on his name tag. 'Fine by me.' They crossed the busy floor to one of the capsule elevators, Mather chattering like a child looking forward to a funfair ride. They saw one of the lifts discharging its load and headed towards it, Mather quickly pressing the 12 button once they were inside so that they would be alone.
The older man's mood became serious, although he peered through the thick glass, looking for familiar landmarks as the lift rose above the streets.
'What went wrong, Liam?' he asked.
Halloran, too, watched the shrinking streets, the broadening view. 'My guess is that our client died at the time of kidnap or soon after. We already knew from his company's medical report he had a weak heart.
He'd suffered a minor heart attack two years before.'
'But you didn't know he was dead before you went in with the money.' Halloran shook his head.
TheThames was coming into view, its surface silver in the bright sunshine. To the west wasSt Paul 's, to the east, theTowerofLondon ; other landmarks, grey in the distance, were beginning to appear. 'I had the notion. They would never let me speak to him on the phone, told me I had to take their word for it that he was in good shape. There was little choice.' Thugs.' said Mather. 'Murdering IRA thugs.'
'They consider themselves to be at war.'
'Kidnap and murder? Indiscriminate bombings?
'There's never been a normal one.' The older man glanced at Halloran. 'I know you too well to imagine you have any truck with the IRA.' Halloran watched a dragonfly helicopter inching its way along the river, keeping strictly to its assigned route where an air accident could cause the least damage, heading for the Battersea heliport.
'I read your report,' Mather said to break the silence. 'Why the Heckler and Koch? An Ingram is more compact, easier to conceal.'
'Our own man had to examine the client—I needed accuracy so that he wouldn't get hit. And I didn't know how many I'd be up against, so I had to have the choice of switching to automatic. It was a pity for them their victim wasn't a well man—their organisation could have been a lot richer.'
'And a pity his company didn't call us in earlier as more than just negotiators. He might not have been abducted in the first place under our protection.' Mather shook his head with regret. Then: 'At least publicity was avoided.' Halloran smiled grimly. The last thing Achilles' Shield wanted was attention from the media, always preferring to remain anonymous, not only in name but in role also. Too many Members of Parliament were fighting to introduce a Bill banning K & R organisations such as Shield, condemning them as an inducement to kidnap rather than a deterrent. He had removed their client's corpse from the scene of the shooting, leaving it by the roadside in another county to be discovered by others. Because of that, the two incidents hadn't been connected—at least, not by the public. The authorities on both sides of the border who had cooperated with Shield before on similar K & R operations, had turned a blind eye (although the Garda naturally hadn't been happy about the killings on their territory).
'Here we are,' Mather said as the elevator glided to a smooth halt. The doors sighed open and the two men stepped out.
They found themselves in another reception area, although this was far less impressive than that on ground-level, and much quieter. Through the windows to their right they could see a wide, open terrace, white tables and chairs placed all around, the building itself recessed here to provide a spectacular viewing platform over the southern half of London. It was empty of observers at the moment, the sun too feeble to take the chill from the breeze at that altitude.
A few people sat inside, though, waiting in the beige loungers, while Magma staff wandered through, some carrying documents, others collecting the visitors and leading them off to second-stage lifts or into corridors branching from the lobby.
The desk on this level was set into the wall and stationed by only two blue-uniformed men. A girl was standing by the counter talking to one of them. On seeing Mather and Halloran emerge from the lift she broke off conversation and hurried over.
'Mr Charles Mather?' she asked, smiling engagingly.
The older man raised a hand. 'And this is Mr Halloran,' he said indicating.
'I'm Cora Redmile. Sir Victor sent me down to fetch you.' She shook hands with both men.
She was slender, dark-haired, her eyes a muddy brown flecked with green. Mid or late-twenties, Halloran guessed. Her smile was mischievous as she looked at him.
'I hope you enjoyed the journey up,' she said. 'Some visitors are quite unsettled by the time they reach the twelfth.' Halloran only smiled back, and for a moment, uncertainty flashed in her eyes.
'Absolutely splendid, m'dear,' Mather answered. 'Marvellously clear day for spying the landscape. You should make people buy tickets.' The girl gave a short laugh. 'Compliments of Magma. If you come with me I'll take you to the eighteenth. Mr Quinn-Reece is waiting with Sir Victor.'
'Up to the eyrie. Splendid.' Still smiling, the girl turned away and they followed her to the row of interior lifts.
Inside and on their way, Mather said: 'You'd be Si
r Victor's personal secretary, I take it.'
'No, not Sir Victor's,' she replied, and made no further comment.
'Ah,' murmured Mather, as if satisfied.
Halloran leaned back against the wall, feeling the slight headiness of blood pressured by high speed. He caught the girl looking at him and she quickly averted her gaze.
'My goodness,' said Mather. 'We're fairly shifting, aren't we?'
'I can slow us down if you prefer,' Cora told him, anxiously reaching for a button on the console.
'Not at all. I'm rather enjoying the experience.' She smiled at Mather's glee, her hand dropping back to her side. Once again, her gaze strayed to Halloran. In his dark tweed jacket, with its leather elbow patches, his check shirt and loose-knitted tie, he should have resembled a country squire; only he didn't.
Far from it. And there was something about his eyes . . . lie looked like a man who could be cruel. Yet there was a quiet gentleness about him too. Cora was puzzled. And interested.
-How many security men does the building have?' Halloran's question took her by surprise. There was a softness to his voice also, the slightest trace of an accent. West Country? No, Irish. With a name like Halloran it had to be.
'Oh, I think Sir Victor has all those details ready for you,' she answered quickly, realising she had been lost for a moment.
He looked at her steadily. 'You know why we're here?' Now she wasn't sure if there was an accent at all. 'Yes. I'll be assisting you.' Mather raised his eyebrows at Halloran.
A small ping as the elevator came to a halt. The doors drew back like stage curtains to reveal a sumptuous lobby, its thick carpet a deep mauve, hessian walls, the palest green. Ceiling lights were recessed so that soft glows puddled the corridors leading off from the open area. Strategically placed lamps and spotlights compensated for the lack of natural light. A wide chrome and glass desk faced the elevators and the girl sitting behind it rose as soon as their feet sank into the lush carpet.
'Good morning. Sir Victor is ready to see you. May I arrange some tea or coffee?'