The Administration Series (163 page)

Back at I&I, Toreth filled in Nagra and B-C on what had happened, then moved on to plans for the future.

"We still need more evidence than Manos's word. For one thing, he claims he knows nothing about Karteris arranging to have Theo take a shot at me, and I believe him because he spilled everything else. We'll get a team of investigators and interrogators from the pool in New London. Then we'll pull in all the resisters being blackmailed, and from them we get confirmation of the names of the blackmailers. From what Priftis says, everyone kept their own list of resisters they'd brought in personally. Karteris might've had a more comprehensive list, but we'll be lucky to find it — I'd have wiped it if I were him."

Nagra cocked her head. "Any chance Nikoletta would know about it?"

"Priftis says not — none of the admins were involved." Although that didn't quite tie in with Sara's overheard conversation. He must remember to get an official account of that for the case file. "Priftis couldn't know for certain."

"If she had known," B-C said, "why would she have given us Vasdeki?"

"Good point. Anyway, they seem to have put most of their effort into making sure no one here from outside Political Crimes heard about the extra cash on offer. The only non-Political person Priftis named is the head of security. He arranged camera-free interrogation rooms for them to soften the resisters up and make the blackmail threats."

"So he'd know pretty much everyone who was involved?" B-C asked. "If he blacked rooms out for them."

"Another good point. When the waivers come through we can start with him. I doubt it'll take too long to have everything wrapped up." And then he could go home and forget about the whole thing, most especially Karteris. "Lucky for us, because when Internal Investigations catch wind of what's going on they'll put half the division on a flight over here. If I had the choice I'd prefer to be long gone by the time those bastards arrive." Not that there'd be much chance of that.

Nagra nodded a vigorous agreement. However, Barret-Connor coughed. "Shouldn't we call Internal Investigations in anyway, Para, for something this big?"

How the hell had the man stayed so naive for so long? Almost endearing, in a way, but dangerous. "B-C, do you want to spend the rest of your career known as the man who handed over virtually an entire I&I section to Internal on a plate?"

B-C considered. "Ah — no?"

"Good choice. Me neither. Nagra?"

She laughed. "Not unless I get a pay rise big enough to make up for it."

"So we're agreed. This stays within the division for as long as possible. At the very least, we want to be well enough entrenched that they can't just kick us out and take over. Although . . . "

Although better still if they could ensure a clear distinction between their own investigations and Internal's probably inevitable involvement. Best of all, the change of plan offered a way to get back to New London all the sooner.

Nagra and B-C were looking at him expectantly.

"Just thinking." He pointed to Nagra. "Call Sara, tell her to organise everything but not to put anyone on a plane just yet. I need to talk to Vassilakis."

Despite Manos's assurances, Toreth hadn't been sure whether Vassilakis knew about the scam. It didn't much matter either way, but from his reaction to the revelations, the answer looked to be no.

By the time Toreth finished talking, Vassilakis was ashen under his tan. His first words were everything Toreth had hoped for. "What should I do?" he asked.

"If I were in your place, sir, I'd take the initiative — suspend everyone under suspicion, maybe even place them under watched house arrest, and call in Internal Investigations yourself. Make clear you're doing it on your own initiative, no pressure from me. You found something out, you're reporting it."

Toreth hadn't thought it possible for the man to get any paler, but he did. "Internal? I'll be crucified!"

"Vassilakis, this has been going on right under your nose for years. I didn't have to bring it to you — I could've kicked off the whole thing and the first you'd have known about it was when you strolled in at eleven o'clock and found your office sealed and Internal scheduling the whole section for interrogation. You included."

"And you'll tell Internal if I won't?"

"I'd have no choice but to tell them."

Tired smile. "But with my signature on it, I take any heat resulting?"

Not quite as stupid as he looked. "Not at all. I keep my hands cleaner, you have a chance of salvaging some kind of reputation. In other words, we both win." Toreth leaned on the desk. "I had Karteris in custody, and George let him go. Who else's authorisation is on that release? Internal won't just be looking at the seniors on this one."

Vassilakis stared at his immaculate desk, picking at his bottom lip. Finally, without looking up, he nodded slowly.

Toreth waited while Vassilakis made the call; the section head didn't protest his insistence on staying to listen in. Toreth thought Vassilakis put up a decent performance, and he certainly engaged Internal Investigations' interest. By the time the call finished, Toreth could imagine the activity beginning to stir up at Internal headquarters.

No mention at all that the call was Toreth's idea. Good. The Athens head could change his story later, but the first version on file would be the right one.

Outside the office, Toreth pulled out his comm earpiece and called Sara. "Ready?"

"Yes. I can have everyone on a plane in a couple of hours, whenever you want them."

"Great. Set everything up for the team to leave . . . " When? How long would it take Internal to get themselves organised? Not long. "First thing tomorrow morning will do." That should spread news of the operation within I&I. That might be useful later, if Internal got here sooner than he hoped.

Back in his office, B-C and Nagra were waiting.

"The team will be here in the morning," Toreth said.

"Will that be soon enough?" Nagra asked.

"I think it will be about damn near perfect."

Nightmares woke Toreth four times. Not, however, the usual frantic recreation of real memories. Instead he struggled through far longer dreams of darkness, exhaustion, and the cold, bottomless pull of the sea. He woke panting, gagging at the salt taste of sweat on his lips.

He wanted it over, he thought as he stared at the stars through the window, muted here by the city lights. He wanted the case finished. He wanted to go home.

After the fourth dream, he didn't think he'd sleep again, but when the comm chimed at seven-thirty it shocked him unpleasantly awake from deep sleep. Toreth groped for the earpiece, accidentally switching on the light. He groaned at the brightness.

Expecting Sara, he was surprised to hear Warrick.

"What the fuck do
you
want?" Toreth said, too dazed for tact.

"I would like you to read a file."

"Now? Jesus fucking Christ, it's — "

"Five-thirty in the morning, here. Read the damn file, Toreth."

Finally Warrick's tone of restrained fury penetrated the mental fuzz of sleep. If he'd been more awake, he might have had the sense to close the comm link straight away.

"Okay, okay." Toreth found the hand screen and fumbled to expand it. "Send it through."

Despite everything, Toreth still didn't realise what it had to be. The opening three or four lines were enough to tell him. By the time he'd read halfway down the page, his stomach cramped with the humiliation of being caught.

"Warrick — "

"Finish it," Warrick said.

He slumped back against the pillows and obeyed. Everything was there: everything he'd arranged, everything he'd told them, copies of the reports he'd received. One line stood out. 'The client has requested recorded evidence of any liaison'. Which was true, he had. But written like that, laid out in black and white, it looked so pathetic.

That was because it was. So fucking pathetic.

As soon as he got back to New London, he'd have Uche's licence revoked. Client fucking confidentiality, indeed.

Reaching the last page, he read slowly, not wanting to finish and move on to the next stage. 'Discussion' — blazing row — and then Warrick closing the connection. He wished Warrick had just sent the fucking thing, not waited while he read it.

Eventually, he couldn't delay any longer. He closed the file and Warrick's face appeared on the screen. Too small and too far away, and he was almost glad about that.

"I'm sorry." What else could he say?

Warrick let out a breath. "It's all genuine, then?"

Oh, fucking
hell
. Complete fucking
idiot
. A stupid, amateurish mistake he'd sneered at dozens of prisoners for making.

Too late to take the admission back. "Yes, it is. Warrick, I'm really fucking sorry." Sorry SimTech caught me, sorry I was so stupid as to think they wouldn't.

No response, and for the first time Toreth realised how angry Warrick was, because he didn't look it. He didn't look anything — self-control so tight that it left not a crack through which any emotion could escape. He didn't look like he cared, and the fear went through Toreth like a knife.

Say something, Toreth told himself. Anything. Don't let him go. But his mouth felt as dry as beach sand and he couldn't force out the words, even if he'd been able to think of any.

"Thank you for being honest, at least," Warrick said. "Rather too late in the day as it is. I'm sorry that you couldn't trust me, but the real — "

Suddenly, he found his tongue. "Why the fuck should I trust you? It's not as if you haven't done it before."

"Don't you
dare
try to use that as an excuse for this." Warrick's voice lowered, harsh with anger. "It has nothing at all to do with Girardin."

"Who said anything about that tosser? You fucked Carnac before. And you lied about why he was there."

"No!" Dulled crack over the comm — Warrick's hand on the desk. "Enough. I have no intention of listening to your feeble attempts to justify yourself. How the hell you can even . . . " With an obvious effort, he regained control, the anger subsumed beneath his mask. "I won't keep you awake any longer. I have a great many things to do, and — " his mouth twisted, " — a number of people to see. Damage control. I need some sleep beforehand, so please don't bother to call back."

Blank screen. Toreth stared at it blankly, paralysed by the shock. Finally, the numbness dissipated sufficiently to allow him to panic.

What hell could he do? Here, nothing at all. Warrick was too far away for Toreth's usual tactic of fucking him out of a bad temper. Not that there'd be a makeup fuck for this even if Warrick were standing right in front of him. Probably not ever again.

Even so, even though Toreth couldn't imagine what the hell he could say to Warrick, the urge to go back to New London and find him was suddenly overwhelming. So overwhelming, in fact, that he spent a minute considering leaving Nagra in charge and going anyway, before he acknowledged the impossibility of that.

He was as stuck in Athens as Vasdeki and Priftis, locked in their cells.

By eight-thirty, Toreth had been to the hotel gym and back. Exercising had blanked his mind for a while, but there were physical limits. Every muscle ached, and it barely blunted the edge of burning embarrassment. Caught, and in a weird way half of him hoped that Warrick would never call him again. The other half prayed for a call this minute — or the next minute — or the next one —

The comm chimed again while he was in the shower. He didn't even bother grabbing a towel on the way out.

It wasn't Warrick.

Sara's eyes went wide. By the time he'd switched to sound only, she was laughing.

"What the hell is it?" he snapped.

The laughter cut off sharply. "Toreth, I'm sorry. Listen — everything's screwed up."

Fucking tell me about it. Toreth tried to focus. It must be the case. "What?"

"I'm at work and Internal Investigations are here too. One of the receptionists called me when they showed up. They've held the team you wanted for Athens — they say they're taking over."

He let out a breath. At least something was going wrong according to plan. However, someone was probably listening, so open relief could be dangerous. "Fuck. Would it help if I came back?"

"I don't think so. And I expect they'll want to talk to you there. I just thought you ought to know."

"Thanks." He sighed. "Stupid of me to think I could keep it inside the division."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's not your fault."

Sara was still apologising when he cut the connection and went to find a towel. It was a pity to let her worry, but he could explain it all when he got back to New London. She'd understand.

Unlike Warrick.

He stood in the bathroom, towel in hand, distracted by the thought of Warrick. It could take hours to get everything sorted out in Athens — days, maybe. He could only hope that Internal would live up to their reputation as high-handed heavyweights and crush his insignificant little investigation without a second thought.