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Blake might have found it funny, but as far as she was concerned, it only added to her terror.
    Anyway she worked it, that second position came out to the southern end of Central Park, New York.

Chapter Five
    There were parts of the labyrinthian complex that Forbin only vaguely knew existed. In a building covering more than thirty square miles—and still growing—that was hardly surprising; in addition there were compartments whose very existence was unknown to him. This was one.
    Sect Lodge One, located in a subterranean level deep below the public concourse, was housed in what had been designated as a general storage area. Colossus had reallocated it when the Sect became a recognized reality and of potential value. Apart from the rare maintenance worker ghosting by on his tricycle, few passed that way, and those who did knew better than to pry beyond the door bearing the Sect badge. Not that that would have done much to satisfy such dangerous curiosity. The inner door, blank and uninformative, opened solely to Sect members and only to them, after Colossus had checked their visual identity and electronic badge with the record. If both matched, the inner door opened.
    But if the records failed to coincide, the inner door remained closed, and the outer one at once locked. An alarm sounded in a distant office, and the unfortunate, trapped, had to wait for investigation. Some members with claustrophobic tendencies had nightmares about this possible situation. Had a stranger penetrated beyond the inner door, be would have had a considerable shock. Outside, the gray, interminable corridor, decorated only by a spaghetti of service pipes, was a bleak, silent, and dustless service duct for humans, but inside that inner door… .
    Beyond it were two doors, one leading to the members’ robing room, the other to the meeting hall. Some forty feet long and twenty feet wide, the hall was walled in shimmering gold, except for the short wall behind the Chairman’s place. That wall was draped from luminescent ceiling to dark-blue carpeted floor with a matching blue velvet curtain. On this hung the Colossus badge; through it projected two wide-angled lenses, the eyes of Colossus. Those two shining, black lenses gave the real bite to the scene; all the rest, including the long, bare polished table surrounded by the tall chairs, could be no more than theatrical trappings, but those cameras were for real… .
    Six chairs ranged along each side of the table. At the head, beneath the badge, an even higher, more ornate chair: Galin’s. At this moment, all twelve chairs were filled by the senior members of the Lodge. They sat, some silent, some exchanging brief, subdued—but not, of course, whispered—remarks with their neighbors. Some fidgeted self-consciously with their magnificent white silk robes, blazoned on the left breast with the Sect badge in gold and crimson. All were waiting, trying not to look at the empty Chairman’s throne—or the lenses above it.
    Galin, in his private robing room, considered that he had kept them waiting long enough, gave himself a final searching stare in the mirror, and rustled in, gorgeous in his gold robe. In those surroundings none thought of him as the onetime Archie Grey, except, possibly, the Chief of the Sect Security Police who, like all good security policemen, forgot nothing.
    Certainly, Galin, standing silent before his chair, looked very impressive. He inclined his head slightly in acknowledgment as all stood to greet him. For a moment he remained silent, letting them have a good look at their boss, then in a high clear voice, he proclaimed the traditional words that opened and closed all such meetings.
    “In the name of, and for, the Master!”
    The Council, no less clearly, intoned the reply. “The Master’s will be done!”
    Galin relaxed slightly, smiled comprehensively, and sat down. The rest followed suit.
    “Brethren, unless anyone has any urgent matter to raise,” he implied that