jherbert.sepulchre-第2部分

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utiny　he　was　under。
　　The　scrutineers　were　three；　and　they　were　directors　of　Achilles'　Shield。　None　of　these　men　did　or　said　anything　to　relax　their　prospective　client。　In　fact；　that　was　the　last　thing　they　wanted：　they　liked　their　interviewees　to　be　on　edge；　and　sharper　because　of　it。
　　The　one　behind　the　large　leather…topped　desk；　who　was　in　charge　of　the　meeting；　was　Gerald　Snaith；　Shield's　managing　director；　officially　titled　Controller。　He　was　forty…nine　years　old；　a　former　major　in　the　SAS；　and　had　trained　soldiers；　British　and　foreign；　all　over　the　world。　His　main　service　action　had　been　in　Oman；　his　exploits　largely　unknown　to　the　public　because；　after　all；　that　particular　conflict…or　more　accurately；　the　British　Army's　participation　in　it…had　never　been　recognised　officially。　A　short　man；　and　stocky；　his　hair　a　slow…greying　ginger；　Snaith　looked　every　inch　a　fighting　man　which；　in　truth；　he　still　was。
　　In　a　straight…backed　chair　to　the　side　of　the　Controller's　desk　sat　Charles　Mather　MBE；　a　keen…eyed　man　of　sixty…two　years　（those　keen　eyes　often　held　a　glint　of　inner　amusement　as　though　Mather　found　it　impossible　to　treat　life　too　seriously　all　the　time；　despite　the　grim　nature　of　the　business　he　was　in）。　Introduced　to　clients　as　Shield's　Planner；　or　sometimes　Proposer；　staff　within　the　organisation　preferred　to　call　him　'The　Hatcher'。　He　was　tall；　thin；　and　ramrod；　but　forced　to　use　a　cane　for　walking　because　of　a　severe　leg　wound　received　in　Aden　during　the　latter　stages　of　that　'low　intensity'　campaign。　A　jeep　in　which　he　was　travelling　had　been　blown　off　the　road　by　a　land　mine。　Only　his　fortitude　and　an　already　exemplary　military　career　had　allowed　him　to　return　to　his　beloved　army；　sporting　concealed　sears　and　a　rather　heroic　limp；　unfortunately　a　sniper's　bullet　had　torn　tendons　in　that　same　leg　many　years　later　when　he　had　been　GOC　and　Director　of　Operations　in　Ulster；　hence　the　stick　and　early　retirement　from　the　British　Army。
　　The　only　non…English　name　among　a　very　English　assemblage　was　that　of　Dieter　Stuhr；　a　German…born　and　at　one　time　member　of　the　Bundeskriminalamt；　an　organisation　within　the　German　police　force　responsible　to　the　Federal　Government　for　the　monitoring　of　terrorists　and　anarchist　groups。　Stuhr　sat　alongside　Snaith　at　the　desk。　Younger　than　his　two　colleagues　and　four　years　divorced；　his　body　was　not　in　the　same　lean　condition：　a　developing　paunch　was　beginning　to　put　lower　shirt　buttons　under　strain；　and　his　hairline　had　receded　well　beyond　the　point　of　no　return。　He　was　an　earnest；　over…anxious　man；　but　supreme　at　organising　movement；　finances；　time…tables　and　weaponry　for　any　given　operation；　no　matter　what　the　difficulties；　be　they　dealing　with　the　authorities　in　other　countries　（particularly　certain　police　chiefs　and　high…ranking　officials　who　were　not　above　collusion　with　kidnappers…and　terrorists）　or　arranging　'minimum　risk'　life…styles　for　fee…paying　'targets'。　Within　the　pany　he　was　known　very　properly　as　the　Organiser。
　　He　bore　an　impressive　scar　on　his　face　which　might　well　have　been　a　sword…scythed　wound；　perhaps　the　symbol　of　machoism　so　proudly　worn　by　duelling　Heidelberg　students　before　and　during　Herr　Hitler's　rapid　rise　to　infamy；　but　Stuhr　was　not　of　that　era　and　the　mutilation　was　nothing　so　foolishly　valiant。　It　was　no　more　than　a　deep；　curving　cut　received　while　falling　off　his　bicycle　after　free…wheeling　down　a　too…steep　hill　outside　his　home　town　of　Schleiz。　A　truck　driver　ahead　of　him　had　been　naturally　cautious　about　crossing　the　junction　at　the　bottom　of　the　hill　and　Stuhr；　an　eleven…year　old　schoolboy　at　the　time；　had　neglected　to　pull　on　his　brakes　until　it　was　too　late。　The　bicycle　had　gone　beneath　the　truck；　while　the　boy　had　taken　a　different　route　around　the　tailboard's　corner　catching　his　face　as　he　scraped　by。
　　The　scar　stretched　down　from　his　left　temple；　and　curved　into　his　mouth；　a　hockey…stick　motif　that　made　his　smile　rise　up　the　side　of　his　head。　He　tried　not　to　smile　too　much。
　　Gerald　Snaith　was　speaking：　'You　understand　that　we'd　need　a　plete　dossier　on　your　man's　background　and　current　lifestyle？'　Quinn…Reece　nodded。　'We'll　supply　what　we　can。'
　　'And　we'd　have　to　know　exactly　how　valuable　he　is　to　your　corporation。'
　　'He's　indispensable；'　the　deputy　chairman　replied　instantly。
　　'Now　that　is　unusual。'　Charles　Mother　scratched　the　inside　of　one　ankle　with　his　walking　stick。　'Invaluable；　I　can　appreciate。　But　indispensable？　I　didn't　realise　such　an　animal　existed　in　today's　world　of　merce。'　Alexander　Buchanan；　sitting　by　his　client　on　the　leather　sofa；　said；　'The　size　of　the　insurance　cover　will　indicate　to　you　just　how　indispensable　our　〃target〃　is。'
　　'Would　you　care　to　reveal　precisely　what　the　figure　is　at　this　stage　of　the　proceedings？'　The　question　was　put　mildly　enough；　but　the　underwriter　had　no　doubts　that　a　proper　answer　was　required。　He　looked　directly　at　Quinn…Reece；　who　bowed　assent。
　　'Our　man　is　insured　for　￡50　million。'　said　Buchanan。
　　Dieter　Stuhr　dropped　his　pen　on　the　floor。　Although　equally　surprised。　Snaith　and　Mother　did　not　so　much　as　glance　at　each　other。
　　After　a　short　pause；　Buchanan　added　unnecessarily；　'A　sizeable　amount。　I'm　sure　you'll　agree。'
　　'I　dread　to　think　of　the　premium　involved；'　Mather　remarked。
　　'Naturally　it's　proportionate　to　the　sum　insured；'　said　the　underwriter。　'And　I'm　afraid　the　discount　on　the　premium　to　Magma；　even　if　you　accept　the　assignment；　will　be　accordingly　low。　Ten　per　cent　instead　of　the　normal　twenty。'
　　'I　imagine；　then；'　said　Mother　to　Quinn…Reece；　'that　we　are　discussing　the　safety　of　your　chairman。'
　　'As　a　matter　of　fact；　no；'　came　the　reply。　'The　person　to　be　insured　doesn't　actually　have　a　title　within　the　pany。'
　　'We　can　reasonably　assume　that　he　doesn't　serve　the　tea；　though；'　Mother　said　dryly。　'I'm　sure　Mr　Buchanan　has　already　informed　you　that　a　〃target's〃　name　never　appears　on　any　document　or　insurance　slip　concerning　such　a　policy；　even　though　documents　will　be　lodged　in　various　vaults…we　demand　total　secrecy　for　security　reasons；　you　see…but　can　you　at　least　tell　us　your　man's　role　within　the　Corporation？　We'll　e　to　his　name　later；　if　and　when　there　is　an　agreement　between　us。'　Quinn…Reece　shifted　in　his　seat；　as　if　even　more　unfortable。　'I'm　afraid　I　can't　tell　you　that　either；　not　at　this　stage。　Once　a　contract　is　agreed；　then　Magma　will　give　you　all　the　necessary　information…on　a　〃need　to　know〃　basis；　of　course。'
　　'We're　well　used　to　such　discretion；'　Snaith　assured。　'In　fact；　we　encourage　it。　But　so　long　as　you　understand　that　nothing　absolutely　nothing…must　be　withheld　from　us　should　we　decide　to　take　on　the　job。'
　　'I　understand　perfectly；'　the　deputy　chairman　replied；　nodding　his　head　gravely。
　　I　wonder　if　he　really　does；　thought　Snaith。　That　every　part　of　the　'target's'　life　would　be　delved　into…his　wife；　family；　friends；　his　habits；　recreations。　Whether　or　not　he　has　a　mistress。　Especially　that。　A　mistress　（or　mistresses）　was　always　a　weak　link　in　any　operation　of　this　sort　because　usually　the　target　himself　tried　to　cover　up　that　particular　side　of　his　activities；　would　even　endeavour　to　elude　his　own　protectors　for　the　occasional　tryst　with　his　woman。　Shield　would　also　have　to　know　how　the　target　was　regarded　as　a　man…stubborn；　soft；　fit；　unfit；　loving；　harsh；　conformist　or　otherwise；　and　so　on　（intelligence　was　assumed　if　he　was　worth　insuring　in　this　way）。　If　married　and　had　children；　what　kind　of　husband　was　he；　what　kind　of　father？　Snaith　and　his　operatives　would　need　to　know　his　precise　movements；　every　hour；　every　minute　of　the　day　and　night。　Were　these　movements　regularly　reported　both　inside　and　outside　the　Corporation？　Would　the　media　ever　be　informed　in　advance'？　He　was　already　aware　of　the　employee's　value　to　Magma…an　incredible　￡50　million…but　what　was　the　nature　and　value　of　his　function？　All　these　questions；　and　many　more；　would　have　to　be　answered　before　Shield　could　begin　to　devise　a　specially…tailored　security　cover。　Even　then；　no　such　protective　system　could　ever　be　foolproof；　not　where　terrorists　were　concerned。　But　one　question　had　to　be　answered　at　the　outset。
　　Snait