One

The heavy brass keys swung in Geoff's hand as he swaggered, in his security guard gait, up to the doors. The pavement was empty; students would have been a rare sight at this hour anyway, but this was vacation time, and they were far away. Not that the University stopped: it hardly needed students for its work. His fingers instinctively selected the three keys required, and he unlocked the door. The authorities worried about break-ins, but it was hard to see why. There was nothing inside but books, worn-out furniture, threadbare carpets. Even the computers were antiquated, of value only to museums. He pushed into the lobby against the fat wedge of post; he picked it up and carried it to the desk.