The Administration Series (151 page)

Toreth sat up abruptly. Bastard. Unbelievable bastard. Sometimes, like now, he hated Warrick as he'd hated few other people in his life.

"He was fucking flirting with you at that restaurant," Toreth said tightly. "Or was that my imagination too?"

"Carnac flirts with doors when he opens them. It's how he — " Warrick stopped dead. "How the hell do you know what he was doing?"

No ready answer presented itself, so he settled for shrugging.

When Warrick spoke again his voice was quiet enough that Toreth reflexively leaned closer to hear him. "I hope the answer isn't that you followed us there."

Don't explain, you idiot. "I went straight to your flat from the airport, but you weren't there." With Warrick's gaze fixed on him, he couldn't manage to shut up. "So I called SimTech and they said you had a . . . a dinner meeting."

"A business meeting, yes."

"A business meeting. Right. So when you said you
thought
he was working somewhere in New London . . . ?"

Warrick sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry. He's at SimTech."

Toreth's hands clenched on the edge of the sofa. You
are
fucking him — he wasn't sure if he'd said it out loud or not.

"How did you find us?" Warrick continued.

"I ran a vehicle check on cars from SimTech. There was only one to a classy restaurant."

"Then you went to the restaurant, saw us, and left without asking for an explanation?" His lips twitched. "Not a very thorough investigation."

How could he be so casual? Probably because it really had just been dinner. "If he's working at SimTech, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because
no one
is supposed to know. He's carrying out a study of the corporation for an interested party. I'm afraid the details are confidential."

The seesaw of doubt tipped the other way again. "Very fucking convenient."

"And also true. Only the directors know why he's here — or even who he is. Publicly, he's a consultant psychologist."

"What's so fucking secret?"

"I can't tell you." Warrick sighed again. "I suppose I ought to be grateful that they didn't tell you the meeting was with Alex Welham."

Clandestine meetings under a different name — that certainly would have clinched it. "Yeah, I suppose so. Or maybe not. I mean, if I'd punched the fucker in the restaurant, it would've been sorted out then."

Warrick's expression iced over. "I hope that was a joke."

"Not really."

Warrick stood up, took a couple of paces away and turned. "Toreth, this study is important for SimTech. Very important. Production should start this year. We have customers waiting and a delay would be disastrous, both financially and for our reputation. I'm asking you — no, begging you — please don't do anything to endanger it."

"No problem. Just stay the fuck away from Carnac."

"You know I can't. Believe me, he wasn't my first choice, but the socioanalyst was appointed by the — by the interested party."

Yeah, right, of course he was. But Toreth didn't say it, because he knew perfectly well what it sounded like. Stupid, pathetic jealousy, and if Warrick got any more patient something very unpleasant would happen. Toreth ought to know better — he should've gathered enough evidence before he made his case.

"Fine. Do whatever the fuck you like." Toreth stood up and began rebuttoning his shirt. "I'm going home."

For a moment he thought that Warrick would protest. It was a disappointment when he simply nodded and said, "Call me, if you have time."

Toreth poured himself another whiskey, looked at it, then left it on the table and went to the window of his flat. He opened it and leaned on the sill, breathing in the cool New London air.

If his stomach would stop somersaulting at the memory of Warrick and Carnac eating together, he could manage to be properly angry about them.

The conviction had grown stronger all evening, as he tried not to think about it. Carnac had wanted Warrick the last time he'd been in New London. Now he'd arranged to get rid of Toreth so he could have him. Stupidly, the word adultery kept forcing its way into his mind. Stupid because adultery technically required a marriage contract.

But Warrick had
promised
. After Girardin, he'd said never again, and Toreth had believed him.

For a moment he wondered what was worse — Warrick fucking Carnac or the way Toreth had been so stupidly naive as to think it wouldn't happen. Which was also a stupid thing to think, because it was obviously the fuck.

If
they were fucking, he told himself firmly. If. However sure he felt, he had no evidence. It was all bloody ifs.

Of course . . . it didn't have to be.

He'd thought about it before. Usually when Warrick had a conference, especially if Toreth had succumbed to the temptation of checking the attendees' names and found Girardin listed there. The only thing that had stopped him was the idea of Warrick finding out.

Carnac was different. He was too fucking clever to leave things to trust, especially when Toreth had no choice but to return to Athens the day after tomorrow.

Returning to the table, Toreth contemplated the untouched glass of whiskey, then poured it back into the bottle.

The private detective firm hadn't expressed surprise when Toreth asked for a Sunday afternoon appointment. Perhaps, Toreth thought as the lift rose, they had a lot of customers who wanted to arrange a little surveillance of their unfaithful bastard fucks at the weekend.

Outside the office, he almost changed his mind. If Warrick found out then he would be unbearably difficult about the whole thing. Maybe if Toreth kept repeating Warrick's assurances that nothing was going on, he'd be able to get through the next couple of weeks. Then Carnac would leave, and everything would be back to normal.

But he still wouldn't know. Carnac would go on his way, and Toreth could never be sure that Warrick hadn't been assigned the part of personal liaison.

Would Warrick do it? Toreth snorted. With SimTech's future at stake? Of course he fucking would.

Hand on the doorframe, Toreth closed his eyes and imagined Warrick and Carnac together. It was so easy, since he'd fucked both of them. He could almost hear their voices, and even in his head he couldn't be sure whether Warrick was lying back and thinking of the corporation, or whether he was enjoying it. Wanting it.

Toreth opened his eyes. The detective firm was owed by Uche, an ex-I&I investigator who owed Toreth favours. They were discreet and reliable, and it was the easiest way to get rid of this exasperating uncertainty.

No problem, as Karteris would say.

The discussion had a relentless practicality that actually made Toreth feel more at ease with the idea. He wondered if Uche had different lines of salesmanship to use on different customers. This, presumably, was the Practical Guys approach.

"Prices depend on the resources we need to apply to the problem," Uche said. "If the target's high-level corporate that'll cost you more than if it's a straying spouse."

"How about a straying corporate regular fuck?"

"That'll put it somewhere in the middle." He smiled, his slightly discoloured teeth still appearing bright in contrast to his dark skin. "It depends on how close a watch you want and if you want it in office hours too."

"Especially in office hours."

"Then you're back to corporate prices, I'm afraid, because we'll be dodging the same security. Do you have a second target in mind?"

"Yes. He's working at SimTech temporarily, under the name Alex Welham." Useful of Warrick to let that slip. "His real name is Carnac." Toreth had to think back. "Jean-Baptiste, I think."

"Corporate too?"

"No. Socioanalyst."

"A . . . " Uche stared, then laughed. "I'm afraid you'll have to wait for a few minutes while I come up with a whole new price scale."

It was a good job that he didn't have any expensive hobbies like skiing, Toreth thought as he emerged back into daylight. If he'd stuck to the cover story of Carnac being a consultant psychologist, perhaps Uche wouldn't have doubled the charges.

And perhaps, not knowing what they were up against, the watchers would've been caught. That didn't bear thinking about.

Back at his flat, the first thing that caught his eye when he opened the door was a yellow rectangle on the table below the mirror in the hall. Paul's card.

He picked it up and called the number. When it connected, the screen stayed blank.

"Paul?" he asked.

"On occasion," the musical voice admitted cautiously.

"It's Toreth." A pause, and he realised that it was entirely possible he'd never told the man his name. "You found me lying face down in the street on Friday night."

"Ah! My golden handsel!" Instant recognition, and unmistakable pleasure. "How may I be of service?"

Before he could change his mind, Toreth said, "I wondered if you'd like to have dinner tonight. With a post-dinner fuck."

Delighted laughter. "My dear! Refreshingly direct. But then, didn't I say 'any time'?"

"You said you'd be speechless, too."

"Oh, but I am, I am. All things are relative." Paul's voice developed a brisker, more businesslike tone. "Before you waste the price of a taxi, I ought to tell you that while I'm sure it will be my purest pleasure to accommodate your desires, I don't bottom. I sincerely hope that doesn't disappoint, angel?"

"No. Suits me fine." And the taxi was free, courtesy of I&I.

"Then I shall await your arrival in an agony of anticipation — no, first of all I shall put something on ice. Dry or sweet?"

To his surprise, Toreth found himself smiling. "Dry."

"I didn't doubt it for a moment. Later, my treasure — but not too much later."

Barret-Connor and Nagra flew back with him in the morning. They managed to book into the same hotel, and Toreth held an impromptu case conference in Nagra's room — even if Political Crimes possessed hidden depths of efficiency, they were unlikely to have every room in the place under surveillance.

Neither of his team members had any useful ideas about the case but they clearly appreciated the trip away. Toreth considered emphasising that it wasn't a holiday, but decided against it. He trusted them, and besides, it still might turn out to be exactly that.

Back at Athens I&I, Toreth informed Karteris that he'd take the empty office and a couple of extra desks for the staff. Karteris seemed unfazed by the news, and provided accommodation two doors down. Had he known about Nagra and B-C's arrival in advance? Possibly. The question then was whether the information had come from the airport or hotel, or from the man's contacts at New London I&I.

The new office was close enough to allow Karteris to keep an eye on Toreth, but conversely it also allowed Toreth to keep tabs on Karteris. Advantage to the native, though, since he had Nikoletta to increase the effectiveness of the surveillance. Not that either B-C or Nagra were hard to pick out in the building — his pale blondness was as unusual as her polished Caribbean skin. Pity he hadn't chosen people who'd blend in better. Used to the diverse ethnic mix of New London, it hadn't occurred to him that B-C and Nagra might be conspicuous here.

Toreth's research in New London had included a credit and purchase check for Karteris. It looked clean enough, but it gave him a list of regular hangouts to try for gossip. He assigned Nagra to that, as the most personable of the two. B-C would join the hunt through the case files, and also start investigations into the case files they hadn't been given, especially any that had been closed with the suspect's death.

Later that afternoon, Karteris appeared in the office doorway with Nikoletta beside him.

"Anyone fancy a trip up to the Acropolis dome this evening? See the sights. I don't know if you're interested, but I thought I'd offer."

Toreth had decided to stick to his new image, Carnac notwithstanding. However, sightseeing ancient monuments was taking being a boring bastard a bit too far.

"Is there much to see up there?" Toreth asked.