[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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
Page 15
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl ocenkijessi.opx.pl
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
Page 15
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
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 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]