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  "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 organizations 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 elevators 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 elevator 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 floor."

  Halloran only smiled back, and for a moment uncertainty flashed in her eyes.

  "Absolutely splendid, m'dear," Mather answered. "Marvelously 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 aerie. Splendid."

  Still smiling, the girl turned away and they followed her to the row of interior elevators.

  Inside and on their way, Mather said: "You'd be Sir 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 . . . He 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, realizing 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?"

  "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 high-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. Toward 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 overawed, 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 modeled for Vogue, while the other, with her heavy-framed 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.

  Directly ahead was another large door. 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 gray hair aplenty, and no sign of relaxed stomach muscles. He wore a gray 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 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 recognized 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. They have their own identity because for the past twenty years we've practiced a decentralized 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 the UK."

  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 for 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-in-command 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 swiveled 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 organization. May I have your word?"

  "That would be highly irregular. If our assignment is to be watertight, 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 is 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 fortuneteller 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 microwave, ultraviolet and infrared 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, and 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 cutthroat 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 non-identity 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 and 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, traveling 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 toward 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 paid to insure the target's life, 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.