A spiral staircase led down to a lobby of highly polished white tiles. At the far end was a single door, and beside it sat a guard. He wore a crisp grey uniform and a very shiny pair of shoes. In his lap rested a dog-eared copy of ‘Perpetual Motion: Getting the ball rolling’. He had a calm, pleasant face, small bushy moustache and equally bushy brows. Setting down his book, the man rose to greet them. 

‘Good afternoon, Mr Van Sandt, right on time, I see. And this must be Samuel.’ The guard smiled, extending his hand. ‘I’m Harold.’