The Administration Series (47 page)

Right now, it didn't seem like a bad idea.

With his savings, he could buy out the remains of his training debt to I&I. But after that moment of freedom, where would he go? The only option was selling himself into a corporate contract. Or, much as he disliked the connotations of ownership, taking a personal contract with some rich corporate looking to improve his security.

A corporation would be no better than here. The same time-wasting political bullshit, but with less security and more boring work.

Toreth rested his forearms on his thighs, letting his hands dangle between them. Resignation was already blunting the hot edge of fury. He knew what he was doing — dusting off the usual justifications, and finding them, as always, good enough.

Para-investigation was his job and he was proud of how he did it. More than that, it was his life. I&I was all he had. He belonged here as he would be able to belong nowhere else. With Chevril and the rest of the paras, who were people like him, and with people like Sara who knew what that meant. While he didn't care what it said about him in some psych file somewhere, he recognised the practical consequences. Warrick's outburst after Marian's death hadn't told him anything he didn't already —

Warrick. Shit — he hadn't called Warrick. From the way Tillotson had said it, Warrick had to be behind Mindfuck's abrupt change of heart. What Warrick could possibly have done in such a short time, he had no idea, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

This time, he fitted the earpiece with a rather steadier hand. If he was careful what he said, there was no reason not to put the call through the I&I comms. He called SimTech, hoping that Warrick would still be there. Warrick took the call on voice only — interesting choice.

"Doctor?" Toreth asked.

He had a momentary panic that Warrick might say something stupid. However, his voice was perfectly calm.

"What can I do for you, Para-investigator?"

"I'm calling to let you know that the case has been closed. We're submitting everything we have to Justice."

Silence, but he could almost taste the relief flowing over the connection. "Excellent news," Warrick said finally. "May I enquire as to the conclusion?"

"Up to the Justice systems, but I recommended ascribing all the killings to Marian Tanit, motive corporate sabotage. I see no reason why that recommendation won't be accepted."

"I see. Well, deeply regrettable though Dr Tanit's, ah, involvement is, I'm sure the sponsors will be relieved to hear that the matter is closed. No blame has been attached to the sim?"

Neat touch — just what Warrick ought to be asking. "None at all."

"I'm very glad to hear it. And perhaps, if I could trouble you, some official statement to that respect would be very welcome."

Pushy bastard — back to his usual self, no doubt about that. "No problem. I'll have something written up for you right away."

"Thank you." Warrick hesitated briefly, and then said, "Is that all?"

"Yes." No. How the fucking hell did you
do
it? "Perhaps — "

The door opened, and he knew without looking round who it was. Sara, timing as perfect as ever. He closed the connection.

"What do you want?" he asked her, more harshly than he'd meant to.

"I brought you a coffee, that's all," she said. She handed it to him, then retrieved his chair. "How was Tillotson?"

Anger surged back at the name. Seriously tempted to throw the mug, or kick the chair again, he sat down heavily, just managing not to spill the coffee. "Tillotson was his usual tossy self."

Her hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers rubbing ineffectually over muscles tensed like stone. "I heard they sent you down to detention. For an hour. What went wrong?"

"He didn't like the result."

"Making trouble over the death?"

"No. Tillotson agreed it's all inside the waiver. Wanker."

She looked at him thoughtfully for a moment, and then glanced at her watch. "It's ten past. Want to leave the coffee, and go get something stronger?"

"Not really."

"Come on." She squeezed his shoulder. "Case closed. You ought to celebrate."

Well, it was probably better than sitting around here until he worked himself into a good enough mood to go back and strangle Tillotson.

When they'd bought drinks and found a secluded seat, they sat in silence for a while. Eventually Sara reached over the table and put her hands over his. In the moment before they tightened, he felt them shaking. He stared at her fingers, the rings concentrating the dim bar lights into points.

"All right," Sara said. "What's going on?"

"Sara, I can't — "

"I don't want a transcript. I just want to know if I should arrange for someone to come and feed the cat, that sort of thing."

"You don't have a cat."

"Well, I was thinking about getting one." A quaver sounded in her voice now, before she cleared her throat. "What I mean is . . . are we expecting Internal Investigations to show up? And if they do, what do you need me to tell them?"

Brave front notwithstanding, she was absolutely fucking terrified. Toreth looked up, suddenly wrenched into an outside perspective on the events of the last few days. "God, no. Nothing like that's going to happen." I hope. "It's —"

Taking hold of her hands, he tried to think how much to tell her. "I found something out from Tanit that I shouldn't have done. Division politics — major, serious stuff. Warrick fixed it. Tanit's dead now, so nobody's going to find out — everything's fine."

From Sara's expression, she didn't believe it any more than he did. "If it's over, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, not sure himself. He didn't usually brood. "I nearly blew it. The whole thing. I was
this
bloody close. I should've seen it coming. You even asked me, what if it wasn't corporate? It was obvious and I didn't see it. I don't know — maybe I was too fucking focused on a big case. I should know better. If it hadn't been for Warrick . . . why the hell didn't I let it go?"

She looked at him with the same strange expression she'd worn when he'd asked her what Warrick had to do with anything. "You didn't blow it, though, did you?"

"They could've killed me." Her as well, maybe. Now it was all over, that felt suddenly, overwhelmingly real.

"But they didn't," she said.

"No, they didn't. And they aren't going to, now. I don't know why I'm so . . ."

She shrugged, freeing her hands from his and picking up her glass. "Sounds like you had a bloody nightmarish few days. Why the hell shouldn't you be?"

They sat in silence, slowly working their way down their drinks while he thought it over. The problem was . . . the problem was it didn't feel finished. The bullet had missed, and he had not the faintest idea why, or how, or whether another one would be fired. He couldn't leave it like this — he had to know.

"Toreth?"

"Um?" He focused on Sara to find her looking at him with open concern. What had he said? "I need to make a call."

That didn't seem to surprise her. "I'll get some more drinks."

When she had gone, he pulled out the comm earpiece, hesitating for a moment with it in his hand, for some reason he couldn't name. It wasn't as if he didn't have a perfectly good excuse.

"Doctor."

"Hello again." Warrick's voice was more guarded this time. "Is there a problem?"

"No, no problem at all. However, there are one or two points I would like to discuss with you, if you could spare me the time for a meeting."

"Points?"

"Yes. About how things were . . . finally resolved."

"Is there any official compulsion for this request?"

"No — it's completely unofficial. Just to satisfy my personal curiosity, really. It's entirely up to you whether you'd like to meet or not."

The brief silence nicely conveyed the idea that Warrick was thinking about the offer, and Toreth almost hoped someone was listening in so there'd be an audience for the performance. Or maybe he really was considering whether to say no.

Finally Warrick spoke again, his voice cool. "In that case, since it's unofficial, perhaps we should meet outside working hours? Perhaps for dinner? Are you free later this evening?"

"That would be fine."

"The Renaissance Centre? Two hours?"

"Fine."

"I shall see you then. Goodbye, Para-investigator."

Toreth put the earpiece away, finding unexpectedly that he was smiling. He didn't notice Sara approaching until she set the full glasses down on the table.

"So he said yes, then?" she asked as she sat opposite him.

"What?"

"Never mind. Do you want to make a night of it? Get a meal, go see a film?"

"I'd love to, but — "

She smiled. "Say no more."

At the Renaissance Centre, he found that Warrick had booked a room — a suite, in fact — and left a message with reception for him. Warrick clearly had no concern about the 'personal involvement' then, and Toreth was willing to concede that a private room was a better place for discussions than a public bar. About to go up, he detoured to the bar to pick up a bottle of something expensive (even though he didn't feel like trying to get this one past accounts) and two glasses.

As the door to the suite closed behind him, and he saw Warrick stand up from one of the deep armchairs, Toreth found himself wondering what to say. How much of the debt should he acknowledge? By the time he'd crossed the room and set the glasses and bottle on a table, he still wasn't sure. In the end, the direct approach seemed best.

"How did you do it?" Toreth asked.

Warrick smiled fleetingly, and Toreth wondered if he'd made a bet with himself over the opening words. And whether he'd won.

"I kept hold of Marian's confessions," Warrick said as he sat down again. "The details of Psychoprogramming's plan to destroy SimTech and cheat the investors of their rightful returns. In addition, I took the liberty of borrowing a few other files from the I&I system. A copy of the results of her interrogation resistance screening, a selection of the rest of the investigation files. I hope you don't mind?"

Toreth shook his head. He had a horrible sinking feeling as to where this was leading.

"Should anything untoward happen to me — or to you — then the information will be released. It will go to the sponsors and a number of other corporates. Automatically and unstoppably. I made quite sure Mr Howes understood that when I spoke to him."

Exactly what he'd been afraid of. Toreth dropped into a chair, not entirely voluntarily. "Jesus. Warrick, that's
insane
."

"No, but it is dangerous. Blackmail always is. That's why it was the last resort. It would've been far better for them to think their plan had merely failed for reasons unknown."

"I&I will just show them the faked confessions. Why would the corporates believe you?"

"For one reason, because we — generic corporate we — are always afraid something like this will happen. For another, because the sim-created interrogations have a signature encoded in the recording. An encrypted signature, the key to which is with the rest of the information. If the Administration produces the faked recordings as evidence, the corporates will know."

He hadn't come up with all that in an hour. "You set this up in advance? Right from the beginning?"

Warrick nodded. "Before Marian. . . before I came to I&I yesterday morning. I finished the details today. I threw in the budget information and the rest of the evidence against Psychoprogramming you'd gathered as well. A statement from Le Tissiet that Psychoprogramming approached him." He smiled. "I think it makes a nice case, all told."

'Could be useful if carefully handled'. His original assessment of Warrick had been somewhat inadequate. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sorry." No hint of an apology in his tone. "I didn't think there was any need to bother you with it unnecessarily."

"To bother — fucking
hell
." An hour in that bloody cell. Was this Warrick's idea of revenge for his own wait in Toreth's office after Marian's death? Except Warrick couldn't have known what Tillotson and Howes had planned. "Get me a drink."

Warrick picked up the bottle and examined the label, eyebrow lifting. "I'm not sure a celebration is really appropriate."

You're the one who booked a suite with a bed the size of my fucking flat.

Toreth closed his eyes. "Just open the fucking thing."

The cork popped softly as Warrick worked it off, and after a moment Toreth heard the hiss of pouring champagne. Cool glass touched his hand, and Toreth drained it, the acid bubbles burning his nose and throat. Blinking, he held the glass out for a refill and Warrick complied, wincing very slightly.

Toreth downed half of the second glassful. When his eyes had stopped watering, he said, "Mindfuck will never let this go."

"If everything goes right 'Mindfuck' will never find out." Warrick sat down opposite him, leaning forwards with his elbows on his knees. "Howes won't tell anyone what happened."

"But what if he does?"