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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