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 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 . . . 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?'
'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
