After a short pause, Buchanan added unnecessarily, "A sizable amount, I'm sure you'll agree."
"I dread to think of the premium involved," Mather remarked.
"Naturally it's proportionate to the sum insured," said the underwriter. "And I'm afraid the discount on the premium to Magma, even if you accept the assignment, will be accordingly low. Ten percent instead of the normal twenty."
"I imagine, then," said Mather to Quinn-Reece, "that we are discussing the safety of your chairman."
"As a matter of fact, no," came the reply. "The person to be insured doesn't actually have a title within the company."
"We can reasonably assume that he doesn't serve the tea, though," Mather said dryly. "I'm sure Mr. Buchanan has already informed you that a target's name never appears on any document or insurance slip concerning such a policy, even though documents will be lodged in various vaults—we demand total secrecy for security reasons, you see—but can you at least tell us your man's role within the corporation? We'll come to his name later, if and when there is an agreement between us."
Quinn-Reece shifted in his seat, as if even more uncomfortable. "I'm afraid I can't tell you that either, not at this stage. Once a contract is agreed, then Magma will give you all the necessary information—on a need-to-know basis, of course."
"We're well used to such discretion," Snaith assured. "In fact, we encourage it. But so long as you understand that nothing—absolutely nothing—must be withheld from us should we decide to take on the job."
"I understand perfectly," the deputy chairman replied, nodding his head gravely.
I wonder if he really does, thought Snaith. That every part of the target's life would be delved into, his wife, family, friends, his habits, recreations. Whether or not he has a mistress. Especially that. A mistress (or mistresses) was always a weak link in any operation of this sort because usually the target himself tried to cover up that particular side of his activities, would even endeavor to elude his own protectors for the occasional tryst with his woman. Shield would also have to know how the target was regarded as a man—stubborn, soft, fit, unfit, loving, harsh, conformist or otherwise, and so on (intelligence was assumed if he was worth insuring in this way). If married with children, what kind of husband was he, what kind of father? Snaith and his operatives would need to know his precise movements, every hour, every minute of the day and night. Were these movements regularly reported both inside and outside the corporation? Would the media ever be informed in advance? He was already aware of the employee's value to Magma—an incredible fifty million pounds—but what was the nature and value of his function? All these questions, and many more, would have to be answered before Shield could begin to devise a specially tailored security cover. Even then, no such protective system could ever be foolproof, not where terrorists were concerned. But one question had to be answered at the outset.
Snaith leaned forward on his desk, his fingers interlocking, thumbs turning circles around each other. "Why now?" he asked. "Why do you feel this member of your corporation needs protection at this point in time?"
"Because," Quinn-Reece replied blandly, "he told us so."
This time Snaith and Mather did not refrain from looking at each other.
"Your man has received a warning, a threat?" asked Mather.
"Not exactly."
Dieter Stuhr, who had been jotting down odd notes throughout the proceedings, rested his pen. "Is Magma involved in some venture that could put your employee at risk?"
"Not at this moment."
"It has been in the past?" Stuhr persisted.
Buchanan quickly spoke up. "Gentlemen, I'm sure you're all well aware of the Magma Corporation's undoubted prominence in the commercial world. It has widespread international interests in the mining, industrial, and energy sectors, with assets of over six thousand million pounds and an annual turnover of something like forty-five thousand million pounds. It would take you a whole day to study the list of subsidiary companies the corporation owns."
"Thank you for the information, Alexander, but what the hell has that to do with what we're talking about?" Snaith inquired bluntly.
"Only that you may rest assured that Magma is not involved in any enterprises that might be considered, er . . ."
"Shady?" Mather obligingly finished for him.
Stuhr smiled way past his left eyebrow.
"Questionable," Buchanan allowed.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply . . ." Stuhr, still smiling, began to say.
"That's quite all right, I understand," said Quinn-Reece. "You need to be fully in the picture, as it were. Let me put it this way: the man we are discussing has certain . . . abilities" —he stressed the word—"that companies whose commercial activities are similar to our own might well envy. In that respect, he could always be at risk should one of those rival companies, shall we say, become overenvious."
"They could always pay more than you for his services," suggested Mather, becoming somewhat intrigued by their prospective client.
"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 because those skills are kept secret even within our own organization."
Mather rested his hands over the handle of his cane. He glanced toward a 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 . . . 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?" inquired 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 good these men are, and how trustworthy; and they would have to recognize 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 fewer people who know of our man's role within the corporation 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 organization 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 within Magma and the strength of 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 Organizer considered the implications of such a condition.
"For what period of time is the insurance cover?" Mather finally inquired.
"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 story building. Impressive, he thought, and impressive it was, rearing up between staid, gray city blocks like a massive glass and bronze sculpture, tinted windows impenetrably black, its metal structure reflecting the morning sun so that multifaceted 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 fortlike 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, emphasized by the mostly uninspiring drabness of London's financial sector, there was something . . . something brooding about this edifice. Its surfaces dazzled a metallic luster that seemed almost overpowering, too forceful for the surroundings.
He stood there awhile 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, U.S. Mint, 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 elevators around the glass walls took passengers to the heights. Digital payphones were mounted on low tables set before the rows of lounge chairs, there for the convenience of waiting businessmen. Lush palms and plants together with kinetic sculptures constructed from the same material as the outside walls gave the concourse a slightly less formal air. Long glass display cases contained examples of rock strata, while others held samples of ore and minerals, crystals, even semiprecious stones, all exhibits of the earth's contribution to 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 setup like this? he wondered. Maybe the roving security guards who were very much in evidence were also there to discourage noncompany personnel from such practices.
A marble-clad wall, the large rectangular slabs needing no other decoration than their own subtly hued textures, brought the wide reception area to an end; several doors and a central elevator system (obviously provided for those whose vertigo somewhat reduced the joy of viewing the city panorama while rising above it) were spaced 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 toward the circular reception desk. Halloran followed, still taking in the scene around him.
A receptionist watched their approach and, when they reached him, asked 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 inquired.
"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 little change in his demeanor.
"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's 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 elevator 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 elevator banks beyond the reception circle.
"I rather fancy the scenic route," said Mather brightly. "What d'you say, Liam?"
Hall
oran 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 an amusement-park ride. They saw one of the elevators discharging its load and headed toward it, Mather quickly pressing the button for the twelfth floor 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 elevator 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. The Thames was coming into view, its surface silver in the bright sunshine. To the west was St. Paul's, to the east the Tower of London; other landmarks, gray 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? A strange war."
"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, as it headed for the Battersea heliport.
"I read your report," Mather said to break the silence. "Why the Heckler & 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 organization could have been a lot richer."