to see the chairman.
'Would you like to take a seat?'
Same as any organisation. When they know you're talking to the top guy, suddenly they treat you with respect.
He sat down on one of the black leather sofas that stretched along the side of the foyer. Straight in front of him, a poster hit him in the eye. A group of smiling African, Chinese and European children were clustered in groups. Some text down below described how the company had been donating vaccines for children in developing countries as part of its social responsibility programme. TOCAH LIFE SCIENCES ran the slogan. BRINGING PEOPLE TOGETHER FOR A BETTER TOMORROW.
I reckon at this place a man has to eat his way through a plateful of corporate bullshit for breakfast every morning.
'Mr Browning?'
Matt looked up. She was a tall, striking woman, with auburn hair tumbling down the side of her face. Her cheekbones were high, and delicately sculpted, and her clear blue eyes shone out of her lightly-tanned face. How many men fall in love with you every day?
'I'm Natalie,' she said in a slight French accent, her lips pursing together elegantly as she spoke. 'One of the chairman's personal assistants.'
One of? There can't be many more like you.
Matt found it impossible not to follow the slow swaying of her hips as she led him into the lift. As the door closed, he caught the fragrance of her perfume drifting from her neck. On the tenth floor there was an additional layer of security. The lift stopped, and two guards steered you through a metal detector before catching another lift up to the top floors. One of the guards wanted to take the back off Mart's mobile phone, but he told him to hold on to it. He'd pick it up on the way out.
He stood to the back of the lift, admiring the curve of her arm as she pressed the button for the twelfth floor. 'Here,' said Natalie, as the doors slid open.
Lacrierre's suite of offices occupied the entire top floor of the building, looking out over London to the east, and Heathrow airport to the west. Matt could see the planes cruising low through the sky as they prepared to land, but the office had total soundproofing.
'The chairman will see you in about five minutes.'
The speaker this time was blonde, about six foot, wearing a red trouser suit, and with a harsh, metallic edge to her accent. Scandinavian, perhaps, reckoned Matt. Or one of the small Baltic states. Natalie seemed to have faded away, disappearing behind an oak writing table, where she was looking up at a black, flat-panel computer screen.
'Would you like to wait over here?' continued the blonde, pointing towards a tanned leather armchair. 'Can I get you a coffee?'
Matt nodded and sat down, casting his eyes over the collection of newspapers on the coffee table: the FT, Wall Street Journal, Le Monde, and the New York Times. Then he looked back towards the reception desk. Next to Natalie and the blonde, there was another girl, Chinese, tall and slim, wearing a white dress, and with a single gold and diamond necklace.
Christ. This guy's running a harem up here.
Matt had read through a collection of profiles of Lacrierre that morning. He was forty-seven and had set up Tocah twenty years earlier. It now had sales of twelve billion pounds a year, profits of two million, and the stock market valued the business at nearly thirty billion. Lacrierre still owned a third of the business. He was born in Lyons, an only child, and joined the French Army, then the elite First Paratroopers Marine Infantry Regiment, popularly known as the Marsouins: the unit specialised in beach assaults and was the most common recruiting ground for the French equivalent of the SAS.
But he served only six years, retiring when he was twenty-five to restart his career as a businessman. He made some money dabbling in property, then started Tocah in 1984, just as biotechnology was turning into a big business. He had been married and divorced twice, had two children by the first wife, and one by the second. According
'Would you like to take a seat?'
Same as any organisation. When they know you're talking to the top guy, suddenly they treat you with respect.
He sat down on one of the black leather sofas that stretched along the side of the foyer. Straight in front of him, a poster hit him in the eye. A group of smiling African, Chinese and European children were clustered in groups. Some text down below described how the company had been donating vaccines for children in developing countries as part of its social responsibility programme. TOCAH LIFE SCIENCES ran the slogan. BRINGING PEOPLE TOGETHER FOR A BETTER TOMORROW.
I reckon at this place a man has to eat his way through a plateful of corporate bullshit for breakfast every morning.
'Mr Browning?'
Matt looked up. She was a tall, striking woman, with auburn hair tumbling down the side of her face. Her cheekbones were high, and delicately sculpted, and her clear blue eyes shone out of her lightly-tanned face. How many men fall in love with you every day?
'I'm Natalie,' she said in a slight French accent, her lips pursing together elegantly as she spoke. 'One of the chairman's personal assistants.'
One of? There can't be many more like you.
Matt found it impossible not to follow the slow swaying of her hips as she led him into the lift. As the door closed, he caught the fragrance of her perfume drifting from her neck. On the tenth floor there was an additional layer of security. The lift stopped, and two guards steered you through a metal detector before catching another lift up to the top floors. One of the guards wanted to take the back off Mart's mobile phone, but he told him to hold on to it. He'd pick it up on the way out.
He stood to the back of the lift, admiring the curve of her arm as she pressed the button for the twelfth floor. 'Here,' said Natalie, as the doors slid open.
Lacrierre's suite of offices occupied the entire top floor of the building, looking out over London to the east, and Heathrow airport to the west. Matt could see the planes cruising low through the sky as they prepared to land, but the office had total soundproofing.
'The chairman will see you in about five minutes.'
The speaker this time was blonde, about six foot, wearing a red trouser suit, and with a harsh, metallic edge to her accent. Scandinavian, perhaps, reckoned Matt. Or one of the small Baltic states. Natalie seemed to have faded away, disappearing behind an oak writing table, where she was looking up at a black, flat-panel computer screen.
'Would you like to wait over here?' continued the blonde, pointing towards a tanned leather armchair. 'Can I get you a coffee?'
Matt nodded and sat down, casting his eyes over the collection of newspapers on the coffee table: the FT, Wall Street Journal, Le Monde, and the New York Times. Then he looked back towards the reception desk. Next to Natalie and the blonde, there was another girl, Chinese, tall and slim, wearing a white dress, and with a single gold and diamond necklace.
Christ. This guy's running a harem up here.
Matt had read through a collection of profiles of Lacrierre that morning. He was forty-seven and had set up Tocah twenty years earlier. It now had sales of twelve billion pounds a year, profits of two million, and the stock market valued the business at nearly thirty billion. Lacrierre still owned a third of the business. He was born in Lyons, an only child, and joined the French Army, then the elite First Paratroopers Marine Infantry Regiment, popularly known as the Marsouins: the unit specialised in beach assaults and was the most common recruiting ground for the French equivalent of the SAS.
But he served only six years, retiring when he was twenty-five to restart his career as a businessman. He made some money dabbling in property, then started Tocah in 1984, just as biotechnology was turning into a big business. He had been married and divorced twice, had two children by the first wife, and one by the second. According
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