The Administration Series (212 page)

He cut the thought dead. Sara was right. It was the only way. He didn't have a choice. Keep repeating that and maybe it would help. He wrote the note, folded it, and slipped it in his pocket. As he walked outside, two of the four guards fell into step beside him.

He ignored them until they reached the toilets. Then he stopped and turned. "I'm going in there. You can come in with me if you have to, but I don't perform well with an audience."

There was a brief silence, then one of them held out his hand. "Comm, sir."

"Fuck, it talks." He handed the comm over with a show of reluctance. "Whoever would've thought it?"

As the door shut behind him, he had an awful moment when the room looked empty. His main fear had been that Payne would realise what a stupid thing he was doing based on nothing more than a few quick fucks, and would run.

"Payne?"

The door of one of the cubicles swung open, and Payne emerged.

"Jay, guess what?"

He smiled wryly. "Another huge favour?"

"Yes. I need you to take this for me. Go over to the University campus, as fast as you can, and find the AERC building. That's the Artificial Environments Research Centre. Give this to Doctor Keir Warrick — in person. Don't give it to anyone else. Get a reply straight away."

And pray that Warrick was there.

Payne frowned. "That's a long way, there and back. Can't I just call it over?"

"No. There's too much risk in doing it over the comms."

"There's no reason for anyone to be listening to me, surely?"

Staggeringly naive — but handy right now. "None at all, except that they'll be listening to everything and if this gets overheard I'm fucked. Please, Jay."

Long silence, then Payne nodded quickly and grinned. "Okay. Give me the note."

"Give me two minutes to get away, then go out." He handed over the paper, knowing that if Carnac was playing him over this one it was the end. "When you've got the answer, come back up. Don't go to the office — leave a note in here, and then clear off."

"Right."

Payne caught hold of him as he turned to leave and kissed him. Danger and desperation spiced it up into something rather good. Pity there wasn't time for anything else because a fuck would do wonders for his nerves right about now.

"Thanks," Toreth said, when it broke off.

Payne shook his head. "I'm only doing it because it's you, Val."

"I know." He touched Payne's cheek briefly, more than satisfied with the warmth of the smile he got in response. "I know."

While Payne set off on his errand, Toreth set about arranging the rest of the plan. His timing was perfect — he caught Carnac just as he was leaving the building.

"I can't do what you want me to do with these missing links trailing my every step. Everyone will panic at the sight of them."

Carnac considered. "Very well. Here is the alternative: I will remove the escort, for the time being. In their place you will wear a surveillance bracelet. In addition, you will report to my office by comm every thirty minutes, and in person to my admin every two hours."

The tagging he'd expected; the reports were an unwelcome surprise. "Carnac — "

"Don't waste my time. If that is not acceptable it is because you are planning to leave the building. The exits are all monitored in any case, so I will be aware of any attempts to escape."

Escape. So that was what it had come down to. "That'll be fine."

Carnac checked his watch. "Time is pressing, and I have places to be. I suggest you continue your good work."

The Service guards took him down to the cell level to have the bracelet fitted. It was less humiliating than he'd expected — the thin band was light enough that he soon stopped noticing it, and it was a relief to leave the escorts behind. Of course, everyone he spoke to mentioned it at once.

"He's fucking tagged you," Bevan said, as soon as Toreth walked into his office.

"Yeah. You should've seen the size of the ones I traded in for it."

"Someone grassed us up?" He didn't sound that surprised by it, and Toreth wondered briefly if he'd somehow known in advance. However, the more likely explanation was that Bevan wouldn't allow himself to appear surprised if God Almighty and the angelic host manifested in his office.

"It was Doral," Toreth said. "How did you know?"

"Some Service wanker called me into his office for a load of time-wasting crap. When I got back here, Carnac had been through the building like a dose of salts, and everyone was scurrying around like someone kicked the ant nest. Cohen said Sara called to say everything was emergency go, so I guessed we were rumbled."

Toreth shook his wrist. "I need the tag scrubbed from the system, or frigged somehow so I can get outside."

"Sorry, no can do," Bevan said with finality.

"What?" Toreth ran his little finger round under the bracelet, which had suddenly become a lot more of a problem than he'd expected. "Can't or won't?"

"I mean I can't — it's too late in the day to be playing silly buggers. I can deactivate the bracelet, I can authorise it to leave the building, but if I do any of that then Carnac sees it, if he's watching. If you're lucky, maybe he's having a nap."

"Fucking, fucking hell."

Bevan shrugged. "The whole system's a black box. It came in from outside and it's pretty fucking bombproof, so I never bothered with it — who gives a shit about prisoners? I don't have any access to it except the standard interface."

"I have to get outside — only half an hour. If I don't, everything is shot to hell."

"I can open a door to get you out — any door you like — but I can't stop the system tracking you, or screaming blue fucking murder when you leave the building. Except . . . " He stopped, frowning thoughtfully.

"What?"

"One thing. I can get you out,
if
you're not going to be away long."

"Like I said, half an hour's all I have. I've got to report by comm to Carnac's admin. Maybe a few minutes either way, but not more than that."

"Okay." Bevan fished a pair of pliers out of the desk drawer. "Give me your wrist."

Bevan turned the bracelet round, then put the pliers round it. He adjusted the positioning and squeezed gently. After a few seconds, he repeated the manoeuvre, then again. Then he put the pliers away and sat back.

"What did that do?"

"Activated the tamper sensors, with any luck."

Toreth choked. "It'll trip the fucking alarms!"

"Yes it will. And any time now there'll be a couple of guards steaming in here to see why."

So there had to be more to it than that. "Okay, go on."

"The system trips all the fucking time. It's practically antique. Fifteen years old, anyway — I keep telling them to replace it. Should've got Carnac to do it while the wanker was signing anything. Half the bracelets are fucked one way or another: they go off when they warm up, they go off when the sensors throw a wobbler, they go off when the prisoner takes a piss, they go off when it's full moon on a fucking Thursday. Keeps the workshop busy, anyway. Ah — "

The door opened, admitting four guards.

Bevan scowled. "Don't I train you people to fucking knock?"

"I'm sorry sir, but we have a report of a bracelet fault." The guard's eyes went wide as he realised the identity of the wearer.

"Yeah?" Bevan turned to the screen and queried the system. "Yeah, you're right. Christ All-fucking-mighty. Didn't they check the piece of shit before they fitted it?" He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Never mind."

He stood up. "Come on, Toreth. If you've got to wear the fucking thing, I'll make sure it at least works."

Toreth walked down to the cell levels, biting his tongue the whole way. Bevan obviously had a plan, and was just as obviously getting a tremendous kick out of not explaining it.

In the cell levels, Bevan abused the technician who'd fitted the bracelet so comprehensively that Toreth half expected the man to burst into tears. The rest of the staff edged away — Bevan had a reputation for a somewhat area-of-effect approach to discipline. Only the Service guards (of whom there were a number) seemed unimpressed by the performance.

Eventually, Bevan dismissed the quivering tech and removed Toreth's bracelet, putting it in his pocket. Then he selected a new one from the racks and fitted it. He ran through a few screens, then turned to the senior Service guard. "See that? It's working fine. Well, go on.
Look
."

The woman checked the screen and nodded.

Toreth wasn't confident he could remember which surveillance cameras were active, so he had to keep the questions locked behind his teeth all the way back to Bevan's office. Once they had sat down again, he examined the bracelet.

"Looks just the same as the old one."

"No, that's a new one." Bevan pushed his own sleeve back and displayed a bracelet. "This is the old one."

Toreth blinked. "So we're both tagged? That helps how?"

"Because we have two tags, both registered as fitted to you, and only one listed as active. Yours at the moment." He shook his wrist. "The system thinks you're still wearing this one too but it's faulty, so it isn't being tracked. When you want to fuck off, I'll swap the bracelet IDs. As long as the bracelets are within half a metre when I do it, the system won't even squeak."

"Surely the operator'll notice?"

"Not a fucking chance. They see the prisoner ID — you, in this case. The bracelet's hidden. Who wants to look at bracelet IDs with a million fucking digits? A removal or fitting generates a notice, but a swap is completely transparent." He shrugged. "Someone might find it if they start poking around, but they'd have to know the system inside out. When it's all over, I'll put them back in the stores together. As long as no one starts comparing surveillance pictures and tagging logs, we're clear."

Toreth frowned, thinking it through. Not a bad plan — a hole in the system, in fact, but it required the cooperation of a senior security officer to make it useful. Not something most prisoners would be able to buy, and in any case, if it was used for a genuine escape . . . "That means that when I'm out of the building, the system thinks you're me."

Bevan slow hand-clapped. "The man's a fucking genius. So you'd better sodding well come back, hadn't you?"

Before he left to keep his next appointment, they discussed a few more things and Bevan offered him a shot of his bloody awful homebrew. He declined. He would need a very clear head indeed if there were to be any chance of pulling this off.

Sara had done him proud — everyone in place in a seminar room, in a quiet part of the building where they wouldn't be interrupted. Toreth was pleased by the readiness with which the others accepted his information, and his suggestion as to what they should do about it. He could get used to the idea of being in charge. Only Chevril held back from the general condemnation, and Toreth added another tick to the list of marks against him. He was almost sure now, and he'd be able to make sure easily enough.

Doral had been told to arrive ten minutes later than the others. When he arrived, utterly unsuspecting, the five of them closed in a ring around him before he realised what was going on.

"You sold us out to Carnac," Toreth said coldly.

"I — " Doral's jaw dropped. "How did you find out?"

Too damn stupid to lie. "Wrong reply. You should be trying to think of one good reason for me not to kill you right here."

"I'm sorry." Doral looked frantically round the room, clearly looking for sympathy and finding nothing but implacable, professional intent. "Christ, I'm sorry. I thought it was for the best. I thought — "

He listened to Doral's pathetic protestations for half a minute, which was long enough to take Toreth from annoyed to furious. Then he hit him.

After the first few blows he stepped back and let the others carry on. It was too personal, and he was too angry at the betrayal of his plan to keep going — he could feel his temper starting to spiral out of control. Doral dead would be a nuisance. Beaten to a pulp, he would make a useful object lesson in case anyone else thought there was still time to sell out. If they hadn't already done so.

Interrogators. Stupid, ungrateful bastards. He should've let Carnac nail the lot of them.

Finally he said, "Enough."

For a couple of minutes the only noise in the room was sobbing and moaning from the curled figure on the floor, then Toreth prodded Doral with his foot. "Stand up."

"I can't — " Two words, then breathless coughing.

"Bollocks can't you." He looked at Narr and Christofi. "Get him up."

When Doral had been hauled to his feet, Toreth stood in front of him, watching him gasping and struggling to stand up straight. "I'd say I hoped you've learned your lesson, but you're too fucking stupid for that."

He stepped up close, lowered his voice. "Now, you can fuck off to Carnac's office and explain to his admin that you're going home sick and he won't be hearing from you again. If I see you in the building before I say you can come back, you'll be looking back on the last few minutes here as a fond memory. Understand?"