Free The Increment by Chris Ryan

to the papers, he was supposed to be dating a French singer, Nadine Riboud.
If I was Nadine, I'd be watching these secretaries.
'He'll see you now.'
The blonde led the way. Matt followed her through the short glass passageway that led towards the main office. The floor was covered in thick, black stone, and the walls were made from a translucent glass that gathered up light from the entire building. A pair of modern pictures hung on the back wall – maybe a Chagall, Matt couldn't be quite sure – flanking a desk constructed out of a solid granite plinth and a thin sheet of burnished aluminium. On top of it, there was a pair of black Bloomberg terminals, showing real-time share and currency prices from the financial markets.
Lacrierre stood up, walking briskly across to Matt. His handshake was firm: two decades after leaving the services, he still carried himself like a military man. He had thick, curly black hair, greying a touch around the edges, worn so that it was hanging just below the collar of his shirt. The accent was stranded somewhere between Washington and Paris, Matt noticed: mid-Atlantic, but a mix of French and American.
'I'm pleased to see you.'
A Rupert, or a Jean-Pierre, it makes no difference, thought Matt. They're all the same.
'You too,' said Matt.
Lacrierre gestured towards a pair of suede black sofas in the corner of the room. The centre of the office featured a clear square of glass, twelve feet by twelve, cut in the floor and replicated on each floor below. Looking down, you could see all twelve floors of the headquarters building spread out below you.
Good to be able to keep an eye on the ants.
'You are two years out of the regiment, yes?' said Lacrierre, pouring himself a glass of Vittel mineral water from the bottle on the coffee table between the two sofas.
Matt nodded.
'And you served tours in Bosnia, in Ulster and in South-East Asia. You must have seen many things. I should like to hear about them one day.'
Matt poured himself a glass of water. Moving from the heat of the day to the chill of an air-conditioned building had left his throat raw and dry. 'That's off-limits,' he said. 'Regiment rules. We don't talk about our work to outsiders.'
Lacrierre nodded, a smile spreading over his lips. 'I quite understand. Maybe when we get to know each other better.'
'Look, I'll be frank with you,' said Matt, leaning forward. 'I don't want to be here. The Firm are twisting my arm. You've got some kind of pull with them. I don't know what it is, but it must be bloody good, because I'm being hit hard. So here I am. I'll do the job, and I'll do it well. Then I'm out of here, OK.'
'I respect your honesty, Matt,' said Lacrierre. 'I'm a businessman, I have no time for flattery. As you come to know me, you'll learn the truth of that. But I suspect your view will soften as well. Maybe as you come to know me, I'll appear less of a monster.'
'Perhaps,' said Matt tersely. 'We'll see.'
Lacrierre leant forward. 'Come on, let's go and meet Orlena.'
'Who's that?'
Lacrierre stood up grinning. 'She's your new assistant,' he said, dropping a hint of mischief into his tone. 'And let me tell you, you're a luckier man than you probably appreciate.' He pressed a button on the top of the table. 'Send her in.'
As the door slid open, Orlena walked into the room with the kind of swagger Matt had rarely seen in a woman. At first he suspected she was just another of the painted airheads he'd seen staffing the reception desk, but a moment later he could see that was a mistake. She walked in not just as if she owned the place, he noticed, but as if she was about to order you from the premises as well.
'Shall I start?' she said glancing across to Lacrierre.
He looked across at Matt. 'Orlena started out in research. She did a doctorate in biochemistry at Kiev University, and joined Tocah five years ago as a research scientist. In the last year, she has switched to working on corporate security. The people we're up against are smart and