The Administration Series (259 page)

Not for the first time, he wondered how things would have gone if he'd hung onto the Assistant Directorship after Carnac had gone. Badly, he expected, although it was all relative. Things weren't exactly fabulous right now.

He shook his head, and switched his attention to Morehen and Sara, walking a few yards ahead. The snatches of conversation and the body-language proved interesting enough that after thirty seconds he closed the gap between them.

"We're going for a drink now." Sara sounded amused and she glanced up at the investigator.

"I meant, not with the team. You and me, on our own."

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Why ever not?"

"Andy, I met your girlfriend at the hospital when I came to see you. Very blonde, very pretty?"

"Kira and I broke up last December." Morehen ran his hand through his hair. He'd grown it out while he'd been off sick, and Toreth wondered if the close crop would make a reappearance soon. Did he know that Sara preferred longer hair? "In fact, if we hadn't, I would've been on holiday in Amsterdam with her the day it all happened."

"So she was only visiting every day because she felt guilty?"

"Probably," he said, then paused. "Anyway, who said anything about girlfriends? I asked you if you wanted to go out for a drink, that's all."

"I've been asked out for more drinks than . . . well, let's just say a lot of them. I know what a drink sounds like, and I know what a date sounds like. And
you
know that I've always said I don't date at work."

"Actually, you've only said that occasionally. What you've
always
said is that you don't screw your b — " As he hit that dangerous word he glanced back over his shoulder, too quickly for Toreth to drop back to a subtle distance. Morehen coloured and snapped his gaze away.

Without looking round, Sara said, "Which bar shall we go to, Toreth?"

"Cafe Seville," Toreth said. "Seems appropriate for today."

Morehen's neck followed his face's example by flushing red. Behind him, he heard Nagra laugh.

"That's B-C's favourite, too," she said.

Despite it's southern name, the bar's trademark was it's tall, extremely blonde and uniformly stunning waiting staff, male and female. Whether they were all natural blondes or whether bleached applicants had a chance, Toreth had never established, although the shortness of the uniform's skirt meant it was nearly possible to check.

Toreth grinned and dropped back.

Even if Morehen wanted more than a drink with Sara, he was out of luck tonight. He wondered if she'd tell him that Toreth was staying in her flat. Really, it wasn't surprising that rumours about the two of them had made the rounds of the I&I gossip network for so long. Suddenly he thought of Harry Belqola, back in the SimTech investigation, provoking Sara's ire with his tactless assumptions. Had Belqola survived the attack on I&I? Toreth didn't remember seeing his name on any lists; maybe he'd resigned long before the revolt.

Behind every random jump in his thought, he could feel the tension drawn tight. When would the call come? Once the arrests started, Toreth knew he'd feel better. Then it would all depend on his own skills, and he didn't believe in false modesty. He could do what was required. But could Sable? And if Sable failed, what the hell could Toreth do next?

"Toreth? Hello? Anyone in?" Sara sounded amused.

They'd reached the bar, and he had ground to a halt, staring into space. With an effort, he pushed the worries aside.

"Sorry. I was looking at the shutters again."

The others looked blank, but Sara nodded. He'd mentioned it to her the last time they'd been here.

Reasonably priced drinks and decent tapas, combined with its proximity to the I&I exit from the Int-Sec complex, made the Seville a popular drinking place for Int-Sec staff in general and I&I in particular, sufficiently so that it had been targeted in the revolt. The owners had stoically repaired and refurbished, adding heavy steel security shutters painted to look like sun-bleached wood. They were something which would have been unthinkable this close to Int-Sec before the revolt.

Today the shutters were folded back to let in the spring sunshine. Still, they were a constant reminder that short-lived as the revolt had been, its scale and violence had shaken everyone in the Administration, not just the heads of department and the socioanalysts.

Inside the bar, the medley of music and voices seemed no different to the time before steel shutters had become a necessity for peace of mind.

"I'll buy," Toreth said.

He asked for orders from the team, barely listening. He knew what everyone there drank. So did the man behind the bar, who Toreth recognised although he had no idea of his name. There was already a lager under the tap for B-C, and he was making Mistry's invariant vodka and orange — her celebration drink, because she didn't like alcohol but she felt she had to fit into the group.

We're all creatures of habit, Toreth thought as he watched. We all like a routine. God, he hoped that he'd be able to have one again soon.

"Pernod and coke — " Nagra's disgusting selection, " — and a G&T." Toreth glanced round to where Sara was involved in a comm conversation. "Make it a double. Whiskey and soda for me, and a glass of mineral water — that's all."

That threw the man very slightly. Toreth grinned. "He's still on the antibiotics."

Just as Toreth paid for the drinks, his comm chimed. He listened while Jenny relayed the message, and tried to keep the nervous flutter of anticipation out of his voice when he replied.

After he pocketed his ear piece, he eyed the whiskey, thought about downing it, then left it on the bar.

"I have to go," he said to Sara. "Tillotson wants to see me about a new case. You carry on without me. Don't be too late."

"Okay." With no idea of the significance of the summons, Sara's attention was already wandering back to Morehen. "I'll bring you something back for lunch."

The head of section looked annoyed, but he still seemed to feel obliged to offer Toreth a coffee. Toreth wondered how long the aura from his temporary assistant directorship would last.

"Have you been doing work for another division without my knowledge?" Tillotson asked.

For once Toreth didn't have to fake incomprehension. "No, of course not."

Tillotson picked up a hand screen and waved it as though there were an especially annoying fly in the office. "Then why did Citizen Surveillance call me and
demand
that I assign this case to you?"

Toreth took the screen warily. He took his time looking through the file, but the information he needed had been helpfully placed near the front. Thank you, Sable.

"Oh, right," Toreth said. "I followed up a tip-off, and I accidentally crossed paths with an ongoing Cit Surveillance investigation." He smiled at Tillotson's alarmed expression. "No need to panic. I called someone up and sorted it out quietly. Unofficially. I suppose this is their way of saying thank you."

Letting the section head think that Toreth had friends in Cit Surveillance wouldn't hurt. It was possibly even true right now.

Tillotson took his time digesting the information. When he spoke again, the edge of irritation was gone. "Yes, well, from what I saw, it should be simple enough — there's a mass of evidence already, so all they want is for you to secure confessions and pass a watertight case to the Justice system. I said that an interrogation team could handle it, but they asked particularly for you to take it."

"Like I said, it's a gift. Nice easy case to wrap up — it'll be good for the section."

"They were quite insistent about the watertight aspect."

"I'll do my absolute best, sir."

Tillotson had no idea how sincerely he meant that.

Warrick was fortunately alone in his office when the call came through. He was surprised to see Jen — he couldn't remember the last time she'd called him at work, and she looked more panicky than he'd seen her since right after the accident.

Then the obvious explanation hit him. "Is it Tar?"

"Yes. I mean, no, there's been no change for the worse. But I had a call this morning — three calls. People have been arrested. Friends of his. It happened last night, everyone taken at the same time. And — they said it's I&I."

"Shit." And then, reflexively, he said, "Sorry."

"I think even Kate would agree that it rates an expletive. What should I do?"

"Hold on. I'll call Toreth."

While he waited for the connection, he wondered what the hell he could do if this wasn't part of the plan. Probably nothing. At least, in a way, Tar was safer at the hospital. He tried not to think about Toreth's story of interrogating his burned witness.

To his surprise, although he'd called Toreth's office, Sara answered.

"He's not in. Can I help?" she asked brightly, so much the admin that she almost looked like a stranger.

"I have to speak to Toreth in person. It's urgent."

Her expression didn't flicker. "Is this about your brother?"

He hesitated. "In a way, yes."

"I thought so. He said not to worry, everything's under control, just like he said before."

Warrick waited for a moment, but she seemed to have finished. "That's it?"

"That's the whole message." She sounded piqued that he'd suggest otherwise, but again the mask stayed in place. He thought of the open plan office, of all the people who might be watching.

"Can I speak to him?"

"No. He's got a new case. He's down in interrogation right now — a big group of resisters were brought in this morning and he's running all the interrogations personally."

Oh, God. "Thank you," he said automatically. If she replied, he didn't hear it.

He stared at the blank screen. Everything was under control, just like Toreth had said. That could mean only one thing.

'We sorted something out — a way Tarin can be safe, if he survives. Something to clean up his name, get rid of the association to the resisters'.

This had to be it. When Toreth had said it, he hadn't imagined anything like this. Lost files, maybe, or bribery or threats. He should have pressed harder, asked for more details. What could he do about it now? It took only a few seconds' thought to supply the answer.

He connected back to Jen, swapping the connection to the strongest corporate grade security SimTech possessed.

"Well?" she asked.

"There's nothing to worry about."

"Should I call anyone? Warn any — "

"
No
." He interrupted without thinking. "For God's sake, no. Whatever you do, don't get involved. Just . . . let things take their course. Tar's perfectly safe, I promise. Toreth will make sure his name is kept out of it."

She searched his face. "You're quite sure?"

"Yes. And if he isn't, there's nothing anyone can do about it now."

Toreth stood in the grey corridor outside the interrogation room, taking slow, calming breaths and ignoring the curious looks from the guards. Hundreds of prisoners over his career, maybe thousands of hours of interrogations, and few of them had been as important as these. The first man he'd selected should be the easiest, but if he didn't get it right then it was one of his best chances gone.

When he opened the door, the prisoner at the table didn't look up.

When he'd seen the name on the prisoner list, it had been a surprise in one way, and in another so logical he wondered why he'd never considered the connection before.

Toreth crossed to the table and dropped his hand screen on it. "My name is Para-investigator Toreth. But you already know that."

Now his head snapped up, his eyes widening incredulously.

"You?"

"Hello, Mr McVade. We have a lot to talk about this time. An awful lot of information for you to go through and confirm for us." He smiled coldly. "Think of it as marking homework."

McVade straightened in the chair. "Who was it? Who betrayed us?"

God, he could have kissed the man. "Do you remember my little visit? When I said I'd been talking to one of your pupils?"

The man nodded.

"Well, Valeria Wintergreen was the good citizen then, and she's the daughter of good citizens."

He watched the implication sink in, then sat down.

"Shall we get started?"

After lunch, which he ate in his office, Warrick went down to the research suite again. He had a meeting scheduled later that afternoon with Asher and Lew, which meant decisions to make that he'd really rather avoid. He couldn't, of course. He couldn't let his personal problems, however currently impressive, damage SimTech.

He could, however, avoid thinking about the meeting until he absolutely had to.

The gingerbread house room he'd taken Toreth into had been completed, and he'd accepted Silis Reddick's offer of a guided tour. She seemed flattered by the attention, and he tried to give her and her work his full attention.

The lead programmer was justifiably pleased with the outcome. However, Warrick for once couldn't see the room in technical terms. He couldn't help thinking about what the team on this project would be doing next. The fairy tale series of rooms had paid for itself and coincidentally been a technical challenge, but whatever Asher said, it would upset the programmers to have to close down some of the more experimental research.

After he'd walked round the gingerbread house and nibbled furnishings and fabrics, he followed Silis out into the sugary garden.

Silis was one of the most average women Warrick had met. He'd once described her as such to Dillian, and then had to spend ten minutes unsuccessfully explaining that he hadn't meant it as an insult. Dillian had insisted it was a perfectly awful thing to say about a woman, so he'd never used the description again. However, she was absolutely and literally average — in height, in weight, in her mid-brown hair and undistinguished blue eyes. Warrick wondered if it was one reason she had taken so readily to designing outlandish sim rooms. What would she think of cutting back to focus on industrial simulation and sex industry applications?