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receptionist watched their approach and, when they reached him, said with no curiosity at all: 'Can I help you?'
    'Mather and Halloran to see Sir Victor Penlock. Ten o'clock appointment.'
    If the uniformed receptionist was impressed that they were there for a meeting with the Corporation's chairman he gave no indication.
    'Company?' he enquired,
    'I think you'll find that information isn't necessary,' Mather told him.
    The receptionist, a youngish man with spectacles and a distinct lack of charm, sat at his desk and tapped computer keys. Green lines of type reflected in his glasses and soon he appeared satisfied, although there was no noticeable change in his demeanour.
    'You'll need ID tags,' he told them and punched more keys on a machine concealed from view beneath the counter. When his hand appeared once more it was holding two yellow strips with Mather and Halloran's names typed individually in capitals on each. He slipped them into plastic clips and passed them over.
    'Attach these to your lapels, please. You need to go up to the eighteenth. You can take the scenic route to twelve, then transfer to an interior lift for the rest of the way. Or if you prefer, you can take the interior express straight up to the eighteenth.' He pointed at the lifts beyond the reception circle.
    'I rather fancy the scenic route,' said Mather brightly. 'What d'you say, Liam?'
    Halloran smiled as he clipped on his name tag. 'Fine by me.'
    They crossed the busy floor to one of the capsule elevators, Mather chattering like a child looking forward to a funfair ride. They saw one of the lifts discharging its load and headed towards it, Mather quickly pressing the 12 button once they were inside so that they would be alone.
    The older man's mood became serious, although he peered through the thick glass, looking for familiar landmarks as the lift rose above the streets.
    'What went wrong, Liam?' he asked.
    Halloran, too, watched the shrinking streets, the broadening view. 'My guess is that our client died at the time of kidnap or soon after. We already knew from his company's medical report he had a weak heart. He'd suffered a minor heart attack two years before.'
    'But you didn't know he was dead before you went in with the money.'
    Halloran shook his head. The Thames was coming into view, its surface silver in the bright sunshine. To the west was St Paul's, to the east, the Tower of London; other landmarks, grey in the distance, were beginning to appear. 'I had the notion. They would never let me speak to him on the phone, told me I had to take their word for it that he was in good shape. There was little choice.'
    Thugs.' said Mather. 'Murdering IRA thugs.'
    'They consider themselves to be at war.'
    'Kidnap and murder? Indiscriminate bombings?
    'There's never been a normal one.'
    The older man glanced at Halloran. 'I know you too well to imagine you have any truck with the IRA.'
    Halloran watched a dragonfly helicopter inching its way along the river, keeping strictly to its assigned route where an air accident could cause the least damage, heading for the Battersea heliport.
    'I read your report,' Mather said to break the silence. 'Why the Heckler and Koch? An Ingram is more compact, easier to conceal.'
    'Our own man had to examine the client - I needed accuracy so that he wouldn't get hit. And I didn't know how many I'd be up against, so I had to have the choice of switching to automatic. It was a pity for them their victim wasn't a well man - their organisation could have been a lot richer.'
    '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