by Sepulchre
'Tea would be very nice,' said Mather.
'Any preference?'
'I'll leave that to you, m'dear, though I'm partial to Earl Grey.'
'Earl Grey it is.' She raised her eyebrows at Halloran, who said, 'Coffee, black, no preference.'
'If you'll follow me,' said Cora, and led them into the corridor beyond the hi-tech desk.
There were no doors, but display cases were set into the walls on either side, each depicting the Corporation's worldwide industrial and mining activities, either photographically or as models: a vast borate minerals open-pit mine, Mojave Desert; a hydrofluoric acid plant, UK; a pyrite mine, Spain; gold, silver, and emerald mines, Zimbabwe; open-pit copper, South Africa; oil and gas wells, UK and global.
And more: tin, uranium, diamonds, coal, low-grade ores, all manner of base and precious metals, some, like molybdenum (a silver-white metal), that the two men had never even heard of. Towards the end of the corridor was an encased back-lit map, bright red circles indicating areas of exploration and research around the world; there were a lot of red circles.
It was something of a relief when they arrived in a wide area flooded by daylight, both men feeling that they had just emerged from an educational passage in a geological museum. If visitors to Magma's chairman were meant to feel over-awed, perhaps even intimidated by the time they reached his office, then the ruse was effective.
'Nothing like flaunting it,' Mather quietly remarked to Halloran.
'The Magma Corporation is very proud of its many interests,' said Cora with no hint of reprimand in her tone.
'So it seems.' Mather smiled sweetly at her.
Broader corridors stretched left and right, glass-walled rooms with vertical blinds, most of these open, on either side. Sounds buzzed from them: muted conversations, ringing telephones, clattering typewriters.
But Cora crossed the open space before them, going to a wide double-door which looked so solid that Halloran wondered if she had the strength to push it open.
It opened with ease. She stood back to allow them through.
Now they were in an office shared by two secretaries; one could have modelled for Vogue, while the other, with her heavyframed spectacles and wire-frizzed hair, might have looked well on the cover of Science Today. Both were busily involved with word processors; they barely glanced up.
Another large door directly ahead. Cora went to it, tapped once, entered. A brief announcement, then she turned and beckoned Mather and Halloran through.
4 THE NEED FOR SECRECY
The chairman's office was high-ceilinged, the wall at the far end mostly tinted glass; it looked disconcertingly easy to step off the edge into open space. The chairman's oak desk was almost as wide as the room and the only traditional piece of furniture present. The rest comprised black leather and chrome, with dark ash units around the walls. The chairman himself was as imposing as the rest of the Magma building.
Sir Victor Penlock was tall and slim, with silver and grey hair in plenty, and no sign of relaxed stomach muscles. He wore a grey, double-breasted suit, the material of which had a subtle sheen. His face was sharp, light blue eyes keen. His grip was firm when he greeted them.
First Mather, then Halloran, shaking their hands, studying their faces. He spent a second longer studying Halloran's. 'I understand you haven't yet met Quinn-Reece,' he said to him.
The deputy chairman came forward. 'I'm told you'll be particularly suited for protection cover of this kind. You prefer working on a one-to-one-basis.'
'We'll see,' Halloran replied, disliking the clamminess of Quinn-Reece's hand.
'I beg your pardon?'
'We'll see if I'm suited after I've spoken to the target. We don't appear to know much about him.'
'My apologies for that,' cut in Sir Victor. 'But there are reasons.' He indicated chairs. 'Please, won't you sit down, then perhaps we can put you fully in the picture.' The chairman took his place behind the desk and the others found themselves seats around the room. Cora, Halloran noticed, sat in a chair by the wall as though she were an observer of the meeting rather than a partaker.
'By the time most new visitors to Magma reach my office,' Sir Victor began, 'they've become aware of the Corporation's numerous activities throughout the world, so it should be unnecessary for me to give you a detailed lecture on our size and strength. Suffice it to say that we're recognised as a major force as far as mining, industrial and energy interests are concerned. No doubt you've taken note of the various companies that form our Group, and the reason they have their own identity is because for the past twenty years we've practised a decentralised system of management which encourages the profitable development of individual companies inside their own industries and locations. Between them, they either produce, process and fabricate most prime metals—anything from aluminium to zinc—as well as manufacture industrial, construction and engineering products and chemicals; or they may supply raw materials for energy, principally coal, oil, gas and uranium.' He paused. 'I said I wasn't going to lecture, didn't I? No matter—I am leading up to an important point. So, you have an idea of what Magma and its companies are all about. We employ over eighty thousand people throughout the world, twenty thousand of those in theUK .' There was a light tap on the door and a woman in a pale blue uniform shirt and dark blue skirt brought in a tray of tea and coffee. Sir Victor waited for the beverages to be distributed and the door to close again before continuing.
'As a corporation involved in enormous investments both here and abroad, we have two considerable problems. One is that large fluctuations in currency exchange rates give us immense difficulty in predicting the economic environment in which long-term investment decisions will come to maturity.' Halloran caught Mather's eyes glazing over and hid his grin behind the coffee cup. Sir Victor's diction was crisp and clear, yet nothing could prevent the words themselves entering the brain as a drone.
'Unfortunately, the lengthy lead times from feasibility study to commercial operation mean that decisions have to be made today concerning the next generation of mining projects. In other words, we have to decide now what will be best for Magma in, say, seven to ten years' time. You'll appreciate just how difficult that might be.'
'Yes, yes,' Mather appreciated. 'I should think you'd need to be a fortune-teller to do that.' Mather smiled broadly, but Sir Victor and his second-incommand regarded him soberly.
'You're nearer the truth than you might imagine,' said the chairman.
Mather's eyebrows arched and he shot a look at Halloran.
Sir Victor leaned back in his chair and swivelled it sideways, his head turning away from them to examine the view outside. It was an odd gesture, almost as though he was suddenly reluctant to face them directly. Yet his manner was uncompromising when he spoke.
'What I'm about to tell you, gentlemen, must not go beyond these walls.' He turned back to them, his eyes boring into theirs. 'I must have your solemn promise on that.' Mather was quick to respond. 'My company has already given assurances regarding confidentiality.'
'I'm not referring to Achilles' Shield. I mean Mr Halloran and yourself. This matter cannot even be discussed within your own organisation. May I have your word?'
'That would be highly irregular. If our assignment is to be water-tight, we must have every cooperation from -'
'You will have that. In full. But there are certain details which are not essential to your planning that must not become common knowledge . . .' He held up a hand against Mather's protest '. . . even among a select few. In fact, there aren't many inside the Magma Corporation itself who are privy to this information. I can promise you, though, your security arrangements will not be affected to any significant degree.'
'I shall have to confer with my senior colleagues,' Mather said dubiously.
'Let's agree.' All eyes went to Halloran who had spoken.
'It can't do any harm.' He placed his empty coffee cup on a small table by his chair. 'But there are conditions. If anything illegal i
s involved here, then we're out. And you must tell us everything—no little details held back. If we don't like what we hear Shield withdraws. Simple as that.' Quinn-Reece looked set to bluster, but his chairman smiled.
'That sounds reasonable,' Sir Victor remarked. 'Thank you for being so direct, Mr Halloran; it saves time. Are you in accordance with this?' He aimed the question at Mather.
Who smiled too. He was used to Halloran's bluntness. 'I suppose I have no objections,' he answered as if wondering to himself.
'Very well.' The chairman appeared to relax a little. 'A moment or two ago you suggested we might need a fortune-teller to predict safe investments for the ongoing profitability of the Corporation . . .'
'A mild joke,' put in Mather. 'I noticed you didn't laugh.'
'Nor would we. Would you be surprised if I revealed that despite all the highly sophisticated research methods, our extensive statistics for forward planning, explorations of new territories, satellite surveys using micro-wave, ultra-violet and infra-red radiation, structural analyses, advanced computer calculations all that, and more—much of our new growth depends almost entirely on the special ability of one person?'
'I'd be very surprised,' Mather replied without hesitation.
'As our competitors would be if they knew. As would the Press, and of course, our shareholders. Yes, I suppose such a revelation would create amusement in some quarters. And great personal risk to our man from others.'
'Your rivals? Surely not?'
'When the stakes are so high, with discovery of fresh raw materials diminishing so rapidly, access to new fields proving more and more difficult and expensive, there develops over the years a competitively cut-throat situation—and I use that term literally.'
'Is this why you want your man so heavily insured?' asked Halloran.
Sir Victor nodded.
'He's already received threats?'
'Not exactly.' Mather interrupted. 'Look here, can we slow this down for a minute? I'm not clear at all on just what this employee of yours does for Magma. Are you saying he's some kind of exploration wizard? And isn't it time we were told his name? All this nonidentity business is only serving to compound my confusion.' Halloran knew the older man's mind was far too sharp to be fogged by anything said so far; this was merely the Planner's way of drawing out basic information that so often prospective clients were reluctant to convey.
' “Exploration wizard” is not entirely correct, although “wizard” might be appropriate in some respects.'
Sir Victor allowed a small laugh between himself and his deputy chairman. Again Halloran found the girl, Cora, watching him closely.
'Gentlemen,' said Sir Victor, his tone serious once more. 'It's time you met your—how is it you refer to them? Target?—yes, it's time you met your target. I think then all will be made clear. At least, I hope that will be the case.' With that, he stood arid indicated a door leading off from his office. Mather and Halloran rose too, both more than a little curious.
5 THE WHITE ROOM
He was tired. He'd had to leave Ireland discreetly, travelling south by road to Wexford, hiring a boat to take him from there across to a point just outside Newport, Wales, the journey made in the dead of night. The sea had been rough, but that hadn't bothered Halloran unduly. No, it was disappointment that had dragged his spirits down, exhausted him.
He hated to lose a man. The negotiations for the release of the kidnap victim had gone on for weeks with Halloran using all the techniques he had learned over the years dealing with terrorists such as these: when to play tough, when to appease, when to hedge; when to sound innocently confused. Anything to gain more time and information. The first priority was always to retrieve the client unharmed—unharmed as possible, anyway, the capture of his or her abductors a minor consideration. If that wasn't possible, then it was vital that the kidnappers did not get their hands on the ransom money. That would make them too careless with their victims' lives in future snatches. It would also upset whoever was supplying the money.
Terrorists, as opposed to the normal criminal (if there was such an animal), were always tricky to deal with, because they were invariably neurotic, unpredictable, and given to bouts of violence towards their captives and quite often those negotiating the release. The IRA were different. Oh, they had all those faults, and others not mentioned, but they could be cool and calculating—and sometimes more cruel because of it. There was no trust in them, and no trusting in them. They were a conscienceless and dangerous entity.
Which was why Halloran was so often chosen to deal with them.
But this current assignment with Magma puzzled him. Not as to why he had been chosen to handle it—he worked best alone, when he didn't have to rely on others-but more specifically, why the Corporation had allowed only one protector working on the inside. For the incredible amount of money for which the target's life had been insured, he should have had a small army around him, even though he had four bodyguards of his own. Could keeping secret his function for Magma be that important?
Apparently SO.
They were in yet another lift, the access to which had been in a small ante-chamber next door to the chairman's office, and were rising towards the twenty-second floor. Quinn-Reece was no longer with them, having excused himself to attend another meeting elsewhere.
'Two floor buttons only,' remarked Mather, looking at the panel set by the doors.
'This is a private lift and only travels between the eighteenth and twenty-second,' Sir Victor explained. 'A limited number of employees are allowed to use it.'
'And the twenty-third and fourth?'
'Living quarters and machinery rooms, the latter being at the very top.' What price a sky-high penthouse in the heart of the City? Halloran silently mused. And whose penthouse? The chairman's? Maybe the target's, if he really was that important to the Corporation. There were a lot of questions still hanging in the air.
The lift walls were a glossy black, the occupants' reflected figures like shadowy ghosts around them. The overhead light was subdued, and it would have been easy to imagine they were travelling below the earth's surface rather than up towards the clouds.
Movement stopped, a subtle sensation, and the doors parted. The corridor beyond was as gloomy as the lift's interior.
A heavy-set man stood opposite, close to the wall, as if he had been awaiting their arrival. His arms were folded across a broad chest and they dropped to his sides in a token gesture of attention when he saw the chairman.
'He's ready for us?' asked Sir Victor, stepping from the lift first with no deference to Cora's gender or courtesy towards his guests.
The man nodded. 'He's waiting.' Just a hint of civility in his voice, his accent American.
From his thick-set stature and how uncomfortable he appeared in his business suit, it was easy for Mather and Halloran to surmise that this man was one of the bodyguards. His hair was long, incongruously (considering the staid suit) tied into a tail behind. Sullen eyes set in a pudgy face flicked over the visitors. At first, Halloran had thought the man's cheeks were unusually ruddy, but when he moved closer he realised that a patchwork of thin, livid scars emblazoned both sides of his face. Without further words the bodyguard led the way along the corridor, keeping at least six feet ahead of the entourage. The walls on either side were bare and dark and Halloran brushed fingers against one side.
feeling a coarse material: the covering was black hessian. It was unusually cold in that corridor, yet the gloom was beginning to feel stifling.
A turn to the right, a large double-door facing them. Its surface, like the lift walls, was glossy black, and for one startling moment Halloran had the impression of apparitions approaching them. As the bodyguard leaned forward, extending both hands to grip the separate doorhandles, his spectral reflection leaned closer as if to snatch him. Both sides of the double-door were pushed open, the bodyguard standing aside to allow the party through.
The room was huge and almost blindingly white.
'Welcome to limbo,' a voice said.
6 FELIX KLINE
The man who had spoken wasn't what Mather or Halloran expected at all.
He didn't look worth £50 million. He didn't seem like someone whom a multi-national, first-league corporation could possibly be dependent upon. He looked nothing like a genius, and nothing like a wizard.
He was something of a disappointment.
At first their eyes had been stung by the unexpected dazzle, the abrupt contrast between gloom and astonishing brightness. But as they blinked away the irritation, they were gradually able to take in their new surroundings. There were no windows, and there was no furniture apart from a low, moderate-sized dais in the centre of the luminously white floor. If there were other exits around the room, they could not be discerned against the white walls, at least not until their eyes had become accustomed to the glare.
Even the high ceiling was of white light. The whole effect was of vast and empty space which served to make the figure sitting on the edge of the dais seem even more insignificant.
He was wearing jeans and a blue sweatshirt chopped off at the elbows, his legs stretched out before him, ankles crossed, his hands behind him and flat against the small platform's surface. He grinned at the group standing in the doorway.
'The sudden change wipes your mind clean, doesn't it?' he said. Then he laughed, a peculiar high-pitched giggle. 'That's the idea, y'see. A blank mind, a clean slate; a white sheet, waiting to be filled with images. I can make everything black if you prefer?' He looked at them with eager expectancy.
'Not just now, Felix,' said Sir Victor quickly. 'Not if you don't mind. I want to introduce you to Mr Mather and Mr Halloran from Achilles' Shield, the company I discussed with you.' The man addressed as Felix stood and ambled over to them, hands tucked into the back pockets of his jeans. He was well below average height, about five-three, his shoulders slightly rounded so that he appeared to stoop. His age could have been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty-five. His curly hair was dark and unkempt, his complexion swarthy, almost yellowish. And his eyes, above a hooked nose, were large and pitchy, as deep and shiny as oil pools.
