Vorpal Blade Read Online Free PDF Page A

and dark green fur hat suit her.'
    'We get every type visiting London,' Tweed replied impatiently, then he turned round and gazed up. 'Oh, my God. It's a giant.'
    He was staring at the endless pink wall which rose above him like the side of a mountain, a round mountain. At its distant summit wisps of cloud drifted, floated away to reveal its huge cone-shaped top, bronze-coloured. He had never seen anything like it, even in New York.
    'Stunning, isn't it,' Paula replied.
    Newman had handed the keys to the doorman, asked him to park the car until they got back. Tweed and Paula mounted the wide stone steps to an outsize revolving door. Paula nudged Tweed to go first. The door revolved slowly, then stopped when Paula went forward to step in. Beyond her Tweed's glass-walled compartment continued moving and he stepped into the vast reception hall. Paula waved her hands in a gesture of surprise. A voice spoke from somewhere.
    'You may enter now, madam.'
    The door revolved again and she stepped inside. Behind her Newman, who had caught on to the trick, stood with his arms folded. He looked up at the speakphone grille above the door.
    'Don't forget me. I've got the money.'
    'You may now enter, sir,' the voice replied as Paula waited inside the hall.
    Newman waved at the camera beamed at him above the speakphone. 'Thanks a lot, old boy . . .'
    Inside he gaped at the spaciousness of the reception hall, its walls solid marble, the floor also marble. Tweed and Paula were walking over to the huge reception desk behind which an attractive red-headed girl smiled. Before she could speak a tall muscular man wearing an Armani suit appeared out of nowhere. He snapped at the receptionist.
    'I'll deal with this, Clara.'
    Below his brown hair he had a face hewn out of stone. In his thirties, he was clean-shaven with a long sharp nose, hostile eyes, a thin-lipped mouth, a prominent chin. Paula doubted whether he even knew how to smile. His expression said: Don't mess with me.
    'Mr Tweed?' he demanded. His rough accent was Midlands.
    Tweed nodded, completely unintimidated.
    'And you're Miss Grey.' He turned. 'Easy to recognize you. Robert Newman, foreign correspondent. I've read some of your articles in the past. They're dangerous.'
    'They're meant to be . . .'
    'And you have a gun under your left armpit. Leave that with the receptionist.'
    'As the Americans would say,' Newman replied amiably, 'I can see you're packing a piece yourself.'
    'I'm Broden. Chief of Security.'
    Newman went over to Clara, who had been listening gleefully. It was the first time she had heard Broden talked down. As Newman took out his Smith & Wesson, removed the bullets, she ushered him behind her desk where she had opened a metal drawer, one of many, using a master key and a second one. He placed his weaponry inside, closed the drawer, she turned both keys, handed him his own.
    'We are waiting,' Broden called out.
    'With a system like this Mr Arbogast should allow five minutes extra on his appointments,' Newman told him.
    'He does. This lift. Used only by the Chairman.'
    'Park your stomach outside,' Broden told them without a trace of humour before he closed the doors. 'The lift moves up like a rocket.'
    Paula grabbed hold of one of the gold railings lining three sides of the luxurious lift. It did indeed shoot up like a rocket. Paula watched the numbers alongside one of the doors. A hundred and five floors. Lordy. The numbers flicked past so quickly it reached 105 before she realized it.
    Their destination was beyond a door facing the lift, a door which Broden unlocked, using the same computer card he had inserted in the hall to open the doors. They entered a large room occupied by four men behind desks, working IBM Selectric typewriters. No word processors, no sign of the Internet. At the far end Broden opened a heavy oak door, stood to one side.
    'That will be all, Broden. You may leave now,' a strange throaty voice rumbled.
    Newman glanced at the security chief. Was it