The Administration Series (164 page)

Why hadn't SimTech security tracked that fucking idiot Uche down a couple of days earlier? If they had, then Toreth could've left Athens. He wouldn't have wrung confessions from Manos and Alexandros, and he wouldn't be waiting now for Internal Investigations.

If. Ifs were no bloody use to anyone, which was the same thought that had started the mess in the first place.

Toreth took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and started drying his hair. He'd just have to deal with one thing at a time.

Toreth intercepted the Internal Investigation team as they arrived in the I&I reception. There were more than two dozen of them, easily distinguished by dress from the local staff. Internal wore dark grey suits, an unusually civilian look for an Int-Sec division. On the other hand, the black I&I uniforms were meant to impress the public; anyone facing an invasion by Internal didn't need any extra intimidation.

The team head made him wait until the entire Internal group assembled before he would even speak to him. Arrogant wankers.

Toreth pretended impatience at the snub. Actually, he welcomed the delay. It gave time for the Athens branch staff to gather around the periphery of reception to watch the show. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see B-C and Nagra hovering, and Nikoletta — in tears again — handkerchief pressed to her mouth. Witnesses — dozens of lovely witnesses, ready to recount to all and sundry how this mess was in no way Toreth's fault.

Looking round, he spotted only two faces from the list of blackmailers. The rest were probably busy destroying evidence or already running. Much good either choice would do them. Or maybe Vassilakis had taken his suggestion about house arrests.

Finally, the senior Internal officer disengaged himself from conversation with his second in command and strolled over. He looked like a man it would be a bad idea to play poker against. He didn't offer to shake hands, but his tone was friendly enough.

"Senior Investigator Ransome, Internal Investigations." Ransome gestured at his companions. "And my team."

Whose names I don't need to know because I won't be here long enough for it to matter, Toreth thought.

"We have been called in by the I&I Athens division head," Ransome added.

Toreth resisted the urge to look round to check everyone had heard that. "I have everything under control here. I have investigators on the way from New London."

"No, you don't. This branch of I&I is now under the supervision of the Internal Investigation Division, by authority of the Int-Sec Head of Department. You are ordered to hand over all information and prisoners."

Ordered. God, he loved that word. "Prisoners?"

"We know where the information came from."

Well, that was Manos fucked. Toreth pretended to debate the decision for a moment, then shrugged. "Of course, sir. If you come with me, I'll arrange the transfers right away."

The man nodded. "One moment."

Another brief discussion with his number two — Toreth caught the words 'begin the arrests' — before the Internal team broke up into groups and headed into the building. Most of the crowd moved off ahead of them, not wanting to attract Internal's attention. It didn't matter; they'd served their purpose. So far the plan couldn't have gone better.

All that spoiled it was the nagging worry from last night.

As they walked to his office, Toreth asked, "Do you want me to stay on and help with the investigation?" He wasn't sure what he wanted the answer to be.

"That won't be necessary. We'll debrief you, and then you can return to New London. I've already booked a flight for you and your colleagues for this evening." Ransome smiled — a brief crack in the facade. "Sorry to spoil your little holiday, Para-investigator, but I think we can handle this on our own from here."

They were halfway across Europe, with the setting sun painting the clouds below them a vivid pink, when Toreth remembered that he'd never had Sara make a statement about the overheard conversation between Karteris and Nikoletta. Sloppy casework, because it was the only evidence they had that Nikoletta had any involvement in, or knowledge of, the scam.

On the other hand, he didn't see why he should do Internal any favours. They'd only want to drag Sara in for an interview and she wouldn't thank him for that. Forget it.

"Want the dessert, B-C?" Toreth offered the investigator the triangle of airline cheesecake.

"Thanks, Para."

Toreth contemplated rounding out the tail end of the investigation expense account with as much alcohol as the plane carried. Probably not a good idea to turn up to Warrick's flat paralytic, if he could manage to go through with it at all. Why the hell hadn't Warrick called to say what had happened?

"Sir?"

Toreth looked up to find a steward offering coffee. Caffeine was probably an even worse idea, but he accepted a cup. B-C had tea, and that made Toreth think of Warrick again. Coffee for relaxing, thinking or waking up, tea for disasters. Must've been drinking a lot of tea over the last few days.

"Para?" B-C sounded concerned.

"Um?" Toreth looked round and frowned. "What's wrong?"

Pause, then he noticed a quiet bump and B-C's seat jerked slightly — Nagra nudging the seat from behind. "I was going to ask
you
that, Para. You hadn't even started pulling in resisters when Vassilakis called Internal. No one's going to blame you — us — for them getting involved."

"I know they won't. In fact, that was the whole point." Toreth grinned, briefly cheered by B-C's expression of confusion. "Why do you think I went to see Vassilakis? What do you think I told him? To call Internal, before I did."

"You weren't going to — oh." B-C's face cleared, and Toreth heard a suppressed snort of laughter from Nagra. He bet she'd guessed even before she put B-C up to asking.

"Sorry," B-C said. "Stupid of me. So now we're flying home and Internal will make all the arrests and take all the flak."

"Got it in one."

"But if that's what you wanted . . . ?"

Then why do I look like I'm flying to a funeral?

Abandoning his coffee half drunk, Toreth reclined his seat and closed his eyes, deciding to risk the possibility of nightmares. "Wake me when we land."

Warrick had apparently placed Toreth on the 'unwelcome' list for the main door to his building. Toreth tried the system a dozen times anyway, hoping he had simply made a mistake with the code.

The failed attempts must have registered in Warrick's flat, because when he'd given up and was staring at the comm screen, trying to pull together the courage to press the button, Warrick's face appeared. He looked as though he'd been asleep on the sofa — hair tousled, shirt creased and unbuttoned at the neck.

Toreth rushed the words out before Warrick could speak. "Warrick, I came to explain."

"Explain." Flat voice, giving nothing away.

Slight change of tack required. "I mean to — to try and apologise. Look — " He glanced round. "Let me in. Please. If I'd wanted to do it over a comm, I'd have called from Athens."

"I was angry when I spoke to you this morning." The cool overarticulation might have made an amusing contrast to his sleep-rumpled appearance if the topic had been different. "I'm still angry now. However, not so much so I won't concede that you may deserve a chance to put your side. Since you've come such a long way to do it. Come upstairs."

Toreth spent the journey up in the lift trying not to think too hard. Should he disabuse Warrick of the idea that he'd come all the way from Greece just to say sorry? Did that look too desperate? Probably not half as desperate as he felt.

Once Toreth closed the door behind himself, Warrick stood, arms folded, waiting. Toreth considered asking if they could go through to the sitting room, or better still the kitchen, but he couldn't face the refusal.

Where the hell to start? Toreth took a deep breath. "Is everything . . . ?"

The temperature lowered another degree or two. "The damage has been contained, yes."

"Who — " Oh, fuck. "Who knows?"

"Various people in the security department know the details of the investigation." Warrick's expression didn't alter. "I have no doubt that the contents will find their way into the office gossip system in due time. I had to tell Asher and Lew, of course. The head of security presented the report to them. I wanted them to know I hadn't concealed anything. Not my most enjoyable directors' meeting."

Of course Warrick would've been there — he wouldn't hide in another room while it happened. An image formed of of Warrick, face like stone, staring at the wall as he listened to the report being read out.

'The client has requested . . . '

Asher and Lew. The rest of the time Toreth didn't give a fuck about either of them, but the idea of meeting them now that they knew he'd . . . and that wasn't the worst part.

"And what about . . . " Toreth couldn't bring himself to say the name.

Warrick's mind-reading skills seemed to function in non-fucking situations too. "Yes. However, he decided that it didn't impact in any significant way on his study and that it wouldn't be necessary to mention it in his report. Which, from Carnac, is a more significant concession than you are probably capable of appreciating."

So much for Carnac's vaunted fucking honesty when it was Warrick asking for something. Toreth supposed he ought to be grateful to Carnac — if the report had been fucked up, Warrick might've had SimTech security waiting outside the building to shoot Toreth on sight.

Grateful to Carnac. Carnac, who now knew everything. The humiliation choked him, a thousand times worse than when he read the report in Greece. If Warrick hadn't been fucking Carnac before, he had every incentive now the bastard had saved SimTech.

Was that it? Was that why Warrick hadn't tried to contact him? Carnac had already made a move and . . .

He'd kill Carnac before he'd let him take Warrick. He'd kill Warrick. Rage spiralled up, frightening in its intensity. Dead — he'd see both of them dead before he'd even
think
of them together. He took a step back towards the door.

"There's no point my fucking staying, I can see that. You can tell Carnac — " Toreth turned away, fumbling with the security.

"Oh, for God's sake." An exasperated sigh, then Warrick said, "Toreth, this one time you will listen to me, or there won't be another opportunity." His voice was quiet and absolutely serious. "Now or never again."

He forced himself to turn, to look at Warrick. Don't think about it. Don't think about the two of them — "Okay. I'm listening."

"Very well." Warrick gazed at him steadily, his voice as dispassionate as if he were recounting a dull day at work. "Arranging the surveillance in the first place was bad enough. Continuing to conceal it when you knew that we were investigating the incident was far worse. If you'd told me, I could have called Security off with minimum fuss. As it is, you have damaged me professionally and deeply embarrassed me in front of my friends and colleagues. Worst of all, you endangered SimTech at a critical time — something you knew full well could happen when you embarked on the enterprise, because I had explained the situation to you."

Endangered SimTech. All you fucking care about in the first place.

However, the anger felt hollow now, a thin shell around the core of fear. Tempting to try another apology to fill the silence. After the cold, calculated listing of the damage, 'sorry' didn't seem like much of a counter-offer.

"We both know that I'm not intolerant or unreasonable," Warrick continued. "However, some things are completely unacceptable. Much as I . . . " Warrick glanced down briefly, frowning, before he looked back. "No. What I mean is that I have no wish to — to finish things like this. But the possibility of a future repetition of this behaviour would make it impossible for me to continue our association. Can you understand that?"

Meaning there was a chance this wasn't the end? Hating himself, Toreth grabbed at the thin thread of hope. "Jesus, I said it once already. I'm sorry. I'm really, really fucking sorry."

"To be perfectly honest, I don't care." No softening of Warrick's expression; no sign that he might relent. "Whether you regret it or not, it
happened
. What I need to know is that it won't happen again. I make — " Warrick hesitated. "I make very few demands of you, but I think I am entitled to make this one."

Could it really be this easy? "I won't do it again. Nothing like it. Ever. I promise."

Silence, as Warrick looked at him measuringly. He forced himself to meet Warrick's gaze, trying to transmit sincerity rather than fear.

Whatever it takes. Please.

"Very well." Warrick nodded. "Then the incident is closed?"

"Yes." Toreth stood, waiting for another comment, for Warrick to tell him to leave. The idea of a reprieve felt so unlikely. The silence quickly overcame his self-control. "If you want me to go . . . "

"No, I don't think so."

"Oh . . . okay."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. "Unless you'd rather go, of course."

"No!" His cheeks heated slightly at the speed of his response. "I mean, if you want me to stay, that's great. I just — " He shrugged. "I thought you probably wouldn't, that's all."