Part 13 (2/2)

The terminal pinged angrily at him.

' Authorization Failure. Authorization Failure. ' '

He nervously tapped at his teeth with a fingernail.

' You have 10 seconds to enter Stage Three Security Key. You have 10 seconds to enter Stage Three Security Key. ' '

He consulted the paper and began typing. No. It was all wrong a trick. He deleted it and stared into the screen for a moment. He visualized the mainframe and found what he wanted.

Speak the same code aloud. 'Waterfield.'

Aural response. The screen turned blue.

' You are attached to Priority Zone Zee. You are attached to Priority Zone Zee. ' '

A line-graphic pyramid appeared and began to spin in the centre of the screen.

'Yes!' Danny made a little fist of triumph. Good game.

By the time Sarah Jane reached New World reception, she was considerably irritated. The university's one-way system consisted of enough junctions and circuits to fill a computer.

There were Chillys everywhere, all neatly uniformed in green and yellow, all studious, all plugged into their headphones.

Sarah guessed that Student Accommodation provided them all with neat pigeonholes in which to live and sleep. Further education had started to take on the attributes of the battery farm. Yet there was also an air of cheerfulness about the campus. The students all looked happy. Sarah found that doubly worrying probably something in the tea. She began to wonder what exactly she had walked into.

She crossed the airy foyer where a group of Chillys sat motionless on expensive leather sofas. The cra.s.s beat of N Treble U FM was being piped in from somewhere.

The girl at the reception desk was another typical example of the breed. So bright and friendly with her 'Hi. Welcome to New World. How can I help you?', that Sarah thought it would be more appropriate to order large fries and a strawberry milkshake. Plainly there were no administrative staff here the students were expected to run the place themselves.

'Sarah Jane Smith of Metropolitan Metropolitan magazine. I have an appointment to see the Vice Chancellor.' magazine. I have an appointment to see the Vice Chancellor.'

The receptionist was staring at her computer screen while she tapped away at her keyboard.

Sarah added, 'I am expected...'

'At eleven o'clock,' completed the receptionist. 'Would you like to take a seat.' She handed Sarah a yellow pamphlet and indicated the sofas. 'Have the best one yet.'

Sarah gave a surface smile and sat down. On the speakers, the DJ started to babble something inane. The pamphlet contained the same New World hype that had made her switch off earlier. She glanced across at the waiting Chillys.

With one concerted movement, their heads swivelled to return her stare.

'Ms Smith?'

Startled, she saw a man standing beside the reception desk.

He had slicked black hair and his smile oozed sincerity.

Somehow it all matched exactly with the Bransonesque pullover.

'Welcome to New World. I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.' As she stood, he took her hand firmly with both of his. 'I'm Christopher Rice, the Marketing Facilitator.'

'Good morning,' she said, somewhat taken aback.

'I hope you've brought the files.'

She tapped her bag. 'Yes.' Her heart wasn't in it. She was sure he could see right through her little subterfuge.

'Then come on up. Miss Waterfield, she's the university's Vice Chancellor, would like to thank you personally.'

He ushered her into a waiting lift and pressed the b.u.t.ton marked eight. They stood side by side, she avoiding his eyes.

Once the doors had closed, he said, 'I think the sum agreed was twelve K, a.s.suming all the personal profiles are complete.'

Sarah took a deep breath. 'Not quite.'

He still looked straight ahead and she suddenly realized that he was watching her reflection in the polished metal doors.

'Ms Smith, when we were advised of your reputation, both Miss Waterfield and I were impressed. We thought, what's a few red-tape barriers to a journalist of this calibre?'

She smiled at his reflection and said curtly, 'But you didn't tell me some of this data was government cla.s.sified.'

The doors slid open with a thunk.

Without another word, he led her along a pa.s.sage and ushered her into a s.p.a.cious office. Its large windows and white curving walls should have made it starkly clinical, but the minimal furnis.h.i.+ngs gave it a surprising warmth and character.

The hi-tech desk that dominated the room was surrounded by several strategically placed antiques: a walnut bureau, a tall and beautiful Chinese vase, a gla.s.s cabinet. There were also a number of framed photographs depicting scenes from the last century and several items that Sarah recognized as originating from Tibet: the head of a Buddha and two silver prayer wheels.

Miss Waterfield was sitting behind the desk in a high-backed leather chair. She looked over the top of her spectacles as they entered and then rose to greet her guest with a smile that was more formal than friendly.

Sarah had expected the Vice Chancellor to be older than this smartly dressed career woman. She felt uncomfortable because, although she was used to interviews, it was usually she who was in charge. She was sure that these two, who looked for all the world like mid-morning TV presenters, were going to leave a lot to be desired as far as their interviewing technique was concerned. She simply handed over the disk of information she had compiled and waited with increasing agitation as they flicked silently through the files on a screen she could not even see.

She knew the data well enough. A series of reports on personnel present at the 'London Event'. She could make out the ID photos reflected in the lenses of Miss Waterfield's gla.s.ses.

Annoyed at being ignored, she finally said, 'Look, I still don't know what New World wants these people for.'

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