The Administration Series (158 page)

It had been okay earlier. It would be okay now.

He sat on the ledge, trying to relax, his muscles aching with tension.

"Are you all right?" Warrick asked from behind him.

Toreth realised that he had his eyes squeezed shut. He forced them open and leaned back, looking up. "Absolutely fucking fine. Get in."

Warrick opened his mouth, then closed it without comment and slid into the water.

A bloody good distraction, that was what Toreth needed. He reached out and pulled Warrick onto his lap, facing him. Steadying him with one hand in the small of his back, he took hold of Warrick's soft cock with the other.

Warrick smiled. "Something of a standing start."

"I like a challenge."

Not that much of a challenge, but it proved an effective way of avoiding thinking about what had happened earlier. Warrick's face, shadowed by the courtyard lights, reminded him of the creatures in the recording. He studied the changes as Warrick's arousal increased, lines smoothing away from his face, his eyes drifting closed. Loving the way his lips softened and parted as his breathing quickened, tongue flicking out once to wet them.

Finally Warrick was close to coming, and the words started, as if he could no longer control his voice. "God, that's good. That's so good . . . "

"Do you want to get out?" Toreth asked.

Warrick shook his head vehemently.

"It'll make a mess of the water."

"I don't care. It's filtered." Warrick's hands tightened on the rim of the pool. "If you stop . . . just don't stop." His head bowed. "Mmh — did you like the video?"

For a moment the non sequitur threw him. Then Toreth smiled. "Yes. It was the most incredible fucking turn-on. You look so good in chains. Helpless. Being taken. Being used."

Warrick whimpered, thighs spreading wider as he pushed forwards into Toreth's fingers.

"That was only playing, though, wasn't it?" Toreth lowered his voice. "The sim. You could've snapped out of it whenever you wanted. Not like the real world." His free hand slid down to cup the base of Warrick's spine. Palm keeping him in place, leaving his fingers free to stroke and probe gently. "Much better when it's me, isn't it? Isn't it?"

"Yes," Warrick gasped. "God, yes.
Please
."

"Better when you can't escape. Better when the chains are real, when the pain is real, when you're mine, to do whatever — "

Whatever the fuck I want with. But the words were drowned by Warrick's scream as he came, shoulders bunching as his arms tensed, his cock twitching in Toreth's hand.

"Ah. Mm." Warrick slid down into the tub, onto the ledge, and collapsed against him, slopping warm water over Toreth's shoulder. "Thank God — no one around."

"They probably heard it on the mainland."

Warrick chuckled quietly. "You know, you were right before. I don't care." He sighed, then said, "House systems — courtyard lights out."

Darkness enveloped them. Darkness and silence, except for the bubbling of the water. Tension crept back into Toreth's neck and shoulders. For a moment he considered suggesting that they go inside. However, that might be construed as running away from the water. He was supposed to be proving something here.

"Look at the stars," Warrick murmured.

Toreth leaned back obediently. Like diamond dust sifted thickly over the sky, the Milky Way blazed impossibly bright, unobscured by the reflected glow of city lights. More stars than he'd seen in his life. More stars than he'd ever imagined existed. Even the gaps between them looked different — a deep velvety blue only a shade away from black. The unexpected beauty of it held his gaze, leaving him unaware of time passing. He didn't look away until a moth, blundering past in the darkness, brushed his cheek and he started.

Stars. He blinked.

I should tell Warrick to put it in the sim, he thought. If it isn't there already.

The sim . . . and he thought of the tape again, and that made him smile. The tape and the sofa. This was going to be a perfect weekend.

Warrick still lay against him, light in the water, holding him securely to stop the currents pushing them apart. He breathed slow and steady — very nearly asleep.

"Warrick?"

He pressed closer, face against Toreth's neck, and hummed sleepily. "Mm?"

"What the fuck is real-time spline reticulation?"

After a moment Warrick's head lifted slightly, and he started to laugh.

"What's that part of the city like?" Toreth asked.

"Traditional," Karteris said. "As far as anywhere in the main city is. Not like you might find out in the country, though."

Traditional. Elsewhere, that might mean not arrestable but worth watching. Did it here?

"Safe?" Toreth asked.

"Of course. Under normal circumstances." Karteris took a breath, as if debating what to say. "I know what the note said, and I'm not trying to tell you what to do, but you're not going through with it, are you?"

"Vassilakis told me there hadn't been a major incident in the city for years. Was he talking crap?"

"Well, no, but . . . you should let me organise a team to come with you."

"No." Toreth pointed at the screen, where an anonymous note gave a time and place, and the single line 'come alone'. "They'll be watching — I won't get a sniff if they see a load of backup."

"Or if you don't trust anyone here, why not take your two?"

"Just let me do this the way I want to," Toreth said evenly.

"Well, it's your funeral." Karteris shrugged. "But Nikoletta won't thank you for the paperwork if you get killed or kidnapped."

"Who the hell in Athens would want to kill me?" Most of the likely suspects were in the I&I building itself. "I'll take a gun, though."

"Well, thank God for that, at least. Come down to the armoury and I'll get you one signed out."

Toreth leaned against the wall in the stifling heat of the enclosed square. With the sun high in the sky, only one side of the square was in shadow. That had seemed too obvious a waiting place, so he'd picked a doorway in the opposite wall. His jacket lay over the rim of the small fountain at this side of the square — more an elaborate watertrough.

Ten minutes after the appointed time. How long should he wait? Despite the heat and the bright light, he kept scanning the square.

Movement, from up and right — a long shutter opening onto a balcony on the shadowed wall. Opening very slowly. Pots of geraniums hanging from the metal railing obscured his view as he squinted against the light. A soft sound of metal hinges and the shutter stilled. Either the opener was trying not to wake someone in the room, or . . . Toreth stiffened.

Deliberately, he turned his head as if scanning the square again, keeping his gaze locked to the balcony. After a few seconds the shutter moved again, squeaking once more. This time, instead of stopping, it swung quickly back with a squeal of metal and he caught a glimpse of movement from the darkened room beyond.

White powder and chips of brick rained down even as Toreth dove left toward the marble fountain. He landed heavily, swearing, scrabbling for his own gun. He thought he saw a shape on the rooftop to the right, then a faint flash of light from the balcony opposite fractionally preceded another smack into the wall above. Toreth fired at the balcony, three quick shots, then scrambled completely behind the metre-high side of the fountain.

Something hit the cobbles with a crack and a crash of breaking pottery.

Silence.

Heart pounding, he tilted his neck and looked back. Nothing obvious on the roof. The holes in the plaster covered a spread of three metres, roughly at chest height if he'd been standing, and were large enough to make him glad of his cover. Marble and water should stop anything that simply made dents rather than demolished walls. Toreth edged cautiously along behind the fountain until he reached the best cover from the balcony and rooftop. His comm earpiece was still in place, and he tapped it left-handed to activate it.

"Emergency comm."

There was an Int-Sec standard code for describing field situations — a letter denoting an armed situation, numbers to describe the details as economically as possible. Toreth was saved the difficulty of remembering it because the comm remained stubbornly dead.

He tapped it again. "Emergency fucking comms. Come on, you lazy bastards." Nothing. "B-C. Nagra. I&I Athens. I&I New London. Sara."

Had he jarred it when he landed? Toreth didn't think so. He did, however, know that he'd left it in his jacket pocket at the armoury when he was putting on the holster. Where had Karteris been standing at the time?

Run or stay? If he ran, the gunman would very likely get another shot. Accuracy didn't seem to be his strong suit, but he definitely had caliber on his side. Staying was superficially attractive, right up to the point when the gunman or his possible friend appeared at the end of the fountain . . . or above him.

An upward glance revealed more balconies, shuttered windows and flat roofs. It had certainly been a lovely setup. Toreth shifted position and peered cautiously around the curved end of the basin. Nothing. He moved another few centimetres from cover, and still there was no reaction.

A heap of soil, geraniums and broken pottery on the far side of the square marked the results of his own shooting. Otherwise, the small square was still empty, the fountain trickling peacefully. Surely someone would come to investigate the shots?

Long time since he'd been in this kind of position. Usually his cases were less exciting. Toreth had never enjoyed being shot at — there were far healthier ways to generate adrenaline.

The alley by which he'd entered the square was less than ten metres away. If he went quickly, he would easily make it. Toreth checked round the end of the fountain once more, crouching, readying himself for the dash.

And stopped.

Red and white flowers and green leaves, with dark splashes of soil between them. He replayed the sound in his mind. A crash — and a metallic impact as well?

The black shape poking out from under the compost certainly looked like a gun.

Interesting, but still better examined from behind a solid wall with an easy exit to hand.

One, two, three and —

The sprinting start would've impressed the hell out of the I&I gym instructors. Toreth slithered to a standstill ten metres down the alley, left hand on the wall, heart trip-hammering again.

No shots. No sound at all.

He considered returning to the square, but whether the object amid the flowers was a gun or not, there was still the figure on the roof to consider. He was still thinking it over when he heard movement behind him.

As he spun away from the square, he heard B-C call, "Para!"

"Where the fuck have you been?" Toreth asked when the investigator reached him. "You were supposed to be waiting out of sight, not out of the fucking district."

"Sorry, Para. We were — " B-C stopped, then pointed. "Are you okay?"

Toreth had been vaguely aware that his left arm hurt — bruised when he landed, he thought. However, when he looked down, the upper part of his shirtsleeve was slowly dyeing crimson. Fuck. Still, the tear in the fabric was small and his arm moved freely — nothing worse than a scratch.

"I'm fine. Come on. And where the hell is Nagra?"

"We were trying to raise some backup," B-C said as they started down the alley away from the square. "After the shots, Nagra called you and didn't get anything. So she stayed back to call the emergency comms while I came to look for you. It's only been a minute since we heard the shots."

Seemed like a lot longer than that, but B-C was probably right. "My comm's dead."

"Where are we going, Para?"

Toreth paused at a cross alley, then turned right. "I'm trying to find another way into a house on that square." Too many narrow streets and irregular houses. He stopped and pulled out his hand screen. "Local map."

After a moment the tangle of streets appeared on the screen, with a dot to mark their location. At least the location mapping worked, which suggested that the fault was in the earpiece rather than the comms chip. "Okay. We're here, and we want to be there, so . . . "

B-C peered over his shoulder. "That way?"

"Looks good. Call Nagra, tell her where we're going."

As they approached the front of the building, the map screen went dead again. Intermittent fault? Not important, because he'd got a fix on the right one.

The shutters on the front of the tall, narrow house were also closed. To Toreth's bafflement, the door had no screen or card swipe. However, when he pushed the handle, the door swung back, revealing a dim corridor and a staircase.

They were still looking and listening when Nagra appeared. "Backup's on its way."

"I want to take a look before they arrive," Toreth said. "B-C, you wait down here. I don't want any I&I people going in there until I'm done, understand? Especially not Political Crimes."

"Where first, Para?" Nagra asked.

Toreth thought back to the square, to the stealthily opening shutter. Not difficult — the scene was still sharp in his mind. "Top floor. Quick check in the rooms on the way up."