England, London

3.15pm (local time)

"We're not a charity Dick. Either they have the money or they don't."

"It's not as cut and dried as that. In case you'd failed to notice, we have ties with that company that go back a couple of centuries."

Wesley positioned another coloured marker on the large map of the Basilica di San Marco spread out before him, and then consulted the hefty text in his left hand again. It was difficult to ignore the heated exchange taking place in the adjoining office, but there was a great deal to be done in the next few hours and he had no intention of getting on his employer's wrong side, especially when he was already in such a foul mood.

"And how much of that time has been spent bailing them out? If the board have a problem they should have raised it this morning."

'Especially after I cancelled my plans to fly back for their 'critical' progress meeting,' Wesley silently added for him. He could hear the scowl in Liam O'Connor's voice and while his companion, Richard Shepherd, might not know the cause, he would definitely have caught on to the sentiment.

"You've had a run of good luck so far Liam, but you don't need to make any more enemies in this company. I'd pick my battles if I were you."

Wesley's hand hovered over the page he had moved to turn, as he paused in anticipation of the reaction to the mildly worded threat. Liam O'Connor wasn't renowned for his calm temperament at the best of times. In his first week as CEO he'd fired 16 members of staff, all senior management. In the 14 months since then another 53 employees had been culled from the company. He had a reputation for being impatient, blunt, quick-tempered and entirely unpredictable. From Wesley's privileged position as the CEO's personal assistant, he could see that the status was only partly deserved, but it served to restrain the loose tongues and keep the dissatisfied talk down to a hushed whisper. At least for most of the company's employees, 'most' not including Richard Shepherd.

Shepherd was a brilliant strategist and a valuable asset to the company, but the Vice-President's bitterness at spending over a decade dedicated to the company, and coming so close to the seat of power, only to see it usurped by a lily green, pseudo American upstart, was beginning to colour his work. And Wesley suspected that Liam O'Connor was in just the kind of mood where he might forget the value of Richard's work and give the man his marching order.

He was wrong. The office door clicked open and Liam's bland, "I'll keep that in mind," indicated it was he who had crossed the room to open it.

There was a silent pause and Wesley wondered just how suicidal Richard was feeling, was he seriously contemplating saying something further? Not quite suicidal enough clearly because the sound of his feet crossing the room followed, and then the sound of the door clicking shut.

Tension in the corridors of power at Pierson, White and Associates was no new occurrence. In his former position in the research department Wesley Windham-Price had only been privy to rumours of the power struggles that happened upstairs. According to company lore they had been on-going since the unexpected death of former CEO, Declan O'Connor, in 1991 had left a vacuum at the top. Suddenly the controlling 58 the O'Connor family owned became a silent faction and the senior partners swooped on the leadership with alacrity, barely managing to fend off hostile take-overs as they wrangled for power. Liam O'Connor, Declan's only child, was barely in his teens at the time of his father's death and when he chose to study in America he was ruled out as a threat. The fact that he chose Harvard Business school barely even registered on the company radar as his frequent sojourns to far-flung corners of the world fixed him as some sort of Indianna Jones wannabe who'd never settle down to the disciplines of the business world. When he graduated with honours, at the top of his class, most were surprised and there were murmurings about what Declan's golden boy might choose to do next, but none of those warring to run his father's company had an inkling that he might simply return and unapologetically insert himself in his father's former position.

His new role in the company meant Wesley had a front row seat for the after shocks that still rumbled through the company, yet, despite his proximity to the central character in the company drama, Wesley understood little more than those in his former office 15 floors below. He saw the actions, recognised the emotions but couldn't grasp the motivations. Liam O'Connor, 'Angel' to his friends and family, of which there were precious few, was in part all the things he was accused of being. Veterans in the business world expecting to eat the new kid alive had been shocked by how smart and ruthless he was. He made no promises, honoured no old-boy connections and didn't give a damn about crushing anybody who inadvertently got in his way. Profits at the company had flown up 115, inefficiency was a thing of the past and England's youngest CEO had made the front cover of the highly vaunted 'Trading Times' twice that year alone. Yet from his right hand position, Wesley could see that the impatience, the aggression, the hard-nosed business savvy came from a deep-seated dislike of the very business he worked in. When his boss was absorbed in researching an artefact, an activity he had less and less time for, or about to set off on an expedition somewhere, it was like encountering a different person. Why Liam O'Connor chose to stay mixed up in the blood and fangs world of high end business and all the society shenanigans that went with it when he so obviously detested it was a question Wesley had so far found himself at a loss to answer.

"They arrived?"

Wesley jumped slightly; 12 months and he still hadn't gotten used to his boss' ability to silently materialise beside him.

"Yes sir. Our contact in the airport says they landed at 1.31pm, local time."

Angel nodded and his 6"1 frame seemed to shed a little of the tension he'd been carrying since arriving back in England the night before.

"Do we know where they're staying?"

"Yes sir, we have a scout following them. They have settled in a beach front hotel on the Lido."

"How about tonight's team?"

"They are fully briefed and ready to act." There was a pause as Liam ran a tired hand through thick, dark hair and quickly scanned the map. Wesley cleared his throat. "Sir, I don't mean to be impertinent…" he removed his glasses and nervously polished them with a soft cloth from his pocket, "…but do you really believe these young ladies will be fool hardy enough to make an attempt on the Basilica?"

"Yes."

The curt response was familiar, but the small smile that accompanied it an expression Wesley rarely saw on his employer's face. Angel turned to leave the room but Wesley felt the need to inquire further. "Sir, again not wishing to speak out of-"

"Wes!"

"Sorry sir. I just thought…" he paused, "it might do to simply ask the girl out," he finally mustered the courage to suggest.

Wesley felt the next pause intimately; it was drawn out in long agonising moments as Liam's dark eyes drilled into him as though he hoped to read the very thoughts in his employee's head. Wesley shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. He knew that women found his boss attractive; tall, chiselled good looks coupled with incredible wealth and a mysterious personality were a combination sure to entice any woman. But the impenetrable expressions that appeared whenever an emotion of some kind was required, the terse and sometimes cryptic answers, made Liam O'Connor an impossible man to know.

The smile reappeared out of nowhere, a little wider than it had been before. "Yes, it might do," Angel eventually agreed, before leaving the room.