The Administration Series (250 page)

"I'm sorry," Warrick said, meaning it quite genuinely.

McLean shrugged. "All part of the job. SimTech pays me more than well enough." He topped up his glass of water, then smiled. "At least I'll be there tonight to keep an eye on you."

"I should apologise for that, too. I wasn't expecting to actually use the hotel when I told Gerry to book it, so I was thinking more about saving SimTech the cost of a second room. I could ask again if there's another one free."

"I don't think so. Queen would prefer me in there with you, just in case."

Warrick had a mouthful of his orange and soda, and wished he dared have something stronger. McLean returned to his slow scrutiny of the room, his gaze moving back and forth, omitting no one, staff or guests.

At half past eight, when Carnac had still not appeared, Warrick decided he and McLean might as well eat. If Carnac arrived later, he would have to hand over whatever information he had without garnish of any kind.

The knock on the hotel door came at half past eleven. Warrick's first disoriented thought was that it was Toreth, and that snapped him awake. Or could it be a visit from Citizen Surveillance, or some other part of Int-Sec?

He was out of bed and halfway across the room before he even remembered McLean. The security man intercepted him and waved him back. Then McLean checked the screen by the door, standing well to the side of the door. Warrick picked up a dressing gown to add to his underwear; McLean must have been sleeping fully clothed.

"It's Carnac," McLean said after a moment. "Alone, as far as I can tell."

"Let me see."

The security screen revealed Carnac standing outside, his eyes glazed, swaying very slightly. He lifted his hand with careful precision and knocked again, three times.

Warrick opened the door and Carnac blinked at him, hand still raised. However, when he spoke his voice was crystal clear, with not a hint of slurring.

"I need to speak to you."

Warrick debated with himself for a moment, then moved aside. "Come in."

Carnac stepped unsteadily into the room, then stopped. "Good evening, Mr McLean."

McLean returned the greeting with a nod, his attention divided between their visitor and the still-open door.

Warrick turned to McLean. "Wait outside, please."

This time McLean didn't protest. "How long?"

"Fifteen minutes at the most."

"I'll knock after ten," McLean said as he closed the door.

"I'm drunk," Carnac said, then stopped speaking as he navigated his way across the empty floor and dropped into a chair. "As I'm sure you have noticed, being a very perceptive man in most if not quite all areas."

"Carnac . . . "

"Believe me, it gives me no more pleasure to turn up in this condition than it does for you to find me on your doorstep." He paused, frowning. "Or the equivalent term for the area outside a hotel door. Step seems inappropriate, somehow." He shook his head sharply. "Anyway, I'm drunk because it was the only way I could get myself here. In all probability, we won't meet again — I won't impose myself on you in the future uninvited, and I can't imagine anything else I have that you might want. As this is my last chance, I came to apologise."

Warrick couldn't think of anything in his life which had been simultaneously so funny and so very not amusing.

"To apologise," Carnac said again as Warrick sat opposite him. "Although not for what I intended to do to Toreth. Not even for Kate. We both know what she is and what she did."

"That doesn't leave very much scope," Warrick said.

"If you would let me finish. I apologise for the injury I tried to do to you. I had my justifications — it was necessary for the Administration, it was better for you in the long run — but that is what they were. Justifications for something ultimately indefensible. You had never been anything other than generous and open-hearted towards me, and as repayment . . . in repayment . . . " He stopped, frowning, then took a deep breath. "What I mean is, to say my behaviour was inexcusable would be an understatement of epic proportions. So, I won't try to make any excuses. I'm sorry, and that's all I have to say."

Warrick couldn't help himself. "How long have you been rehearsing that?"

Carnac didn't flinch. "I worked out the substance a few days after I returned to Strasbourg. I polished it up in the last few hours, between glasses. I decided that I couldn't bear to do it over dinner and I apologise for not calling to cancel. I was — it occurred to me that you might well return to New London if I did so."

Warrick would have sworn that he heard a catch in Carnac's voice. Manufactured or not, for a moment he had to pity him. He allowed himself to really look at Carnac, as he hadn't at the office, seeing the deepened lines and the change in his eyes — an awareness and acceptance of the possibility of defeat. Or perhaps it was that intoxication had stripped away the shield Carnac usually kept up and blunted his energy and the force of his personality.

Or perhaps Carnac was being his usual manipulative self, and this approach was as calculated as his flawless verbal attack on Toreth.

"And an apology is supposed to change what you did?" Warrick said.

"I didn't think that breaking a dinner appointment was so serious a breach of etiquette."

It was easy not to return his smile, and after a moment Carnac's mouth relaxed back into bitterness. "Please, give me a little credit for knowing that some things cannot be undone. But I deeply regret what happened, and I thought you had the right to know that. In a way, I'm glad that it failed. Not the destruction of I&I, which I think we both wanted, but the part concerning you. If I'd succeeded, we — " he gestured between them, " — would have been doomed. I would always have known what I'd done and been too afraid of the consequences to tell you. The pressure of dishonesty would have destroyed any fledgling relationship. Either that, or honesty would have compelled me to confess."

Warrick sighed. "Carnac, there is no possibility of a 'we'. There never was, there never can be. I wish you would accept that." For everyone's sake.

"I do, now. The only surprise is how long I managed to delude myself that the possibility was there. And that self-deception disgusts me more than it ever could you."

Warrick didn't entirely believe him, but neither did he want to pursue it. "Did you bring the name?"

Carnac nodded, then fumbled in a pocket. He produced a folded piece of paper. "The name from the security file. I assume it is his real name, but I can't promise that." He set it down on the table between them, misjudging the distance hopelessly, so that his fingertips rapped sharply on the table.

"Ow," Carnac said, sounding startled. He sucked his fingers, then flexed his hand. "Surprisingly painful," he murmured to himself. "Interesting. I thought alcohol inhibited pain. Perhaps it does."

He really did sound thoroughly intoxicated. Warrick picked up the paper, then hesitated briefly before politeness won out. "Are you sure you're in a fit condition to get home? Perhaps you should leave it for an hour or two."

"A very kind offer, under the circumstances." Carnac rubbed his fingertips thoughtfully. "But you do have a flight to catch in the morning and I wouldn't want to keep you awake."

"I meant that you could wait downstairs in the bar. I'm sure they're still open."

"Ah, I see. I should have guessed. But I think I'll be on my way, for both our sakes. What would Toreth say if I spent two or three hours in the same hotel as you? More to the point, what would he
do
?"

The sudden change of topic caught him off guard. "Nothing."

"Nonsense, as you well know. He's capable of killing, in anger or in cold blood, and we would both be in danger. All it would take for him to find me here is a credit and purchase check, and I'm certain he has no qualms about abusing his discretionary powers to keep a watch over his property. You don't — "

Drunk or not, Carnac hadn't lost his power to pick targets. "What did I say that sounded as if I wanted your advice on my personal life?"

"Actually, some years ago, you asked for it. I declined to give it, if you recall, because you would have ignored it. Of course you'll ignore it now, too, but still. Warrick, he is dangerous. More dangerous than you allow yourself to see. You should leave him."

"And find someone safer?"

"No," Carnac said sharply. "Not that. Please believe this has nothing to do with . . . with my regard for you. And I concede that I'm impressed by the hold you have over him, but — "

"I have nothing of the kind," Warrick said icily.

Carnac inclined his head. "An unfortunate choice of words. I should say, rather, that the depth of his feelings for you is a source of perpetual astonishment to me. But that only makes him more lethal. He is terrified by what he feels, and the thought of losing you terrifies him even more."

The urge to argue was almost irresistible, but anything he could say would only supply Carnac with more ammunition for the future. This had to be the end.

"I came here to ask you for a favour and you have my gratitude for the information," Warrick said. "Don't presume on it."

The socioanalyst's gaze didn't waver. "The advice is still free. The choice as to whether or not to take it is, as ever, yours." Carnac stood, making it upright on the third try. Once there, he stood in silence for a few seconds before he nodded. "Then it seems there is nothing more for us to say."

Warrick shadowed him to the door and opened it. McLean stood opposite, apparently relaxed, his hands by his sides.

Carnac lingered in the doorway, seemingly unwilling to take his own assessment at face value. "It is your birthday tomorrow, is it not?" he asked.

"I — yes." He wondered why on Earth Carnac would remember that.

Carnac straightened, and suddenly looked nothing but sober. "If you pursue this matter," he said softly, "however sound you believe your reasons for doing so to be, then you stand a good chance of not living to see another one. If you will take my advice on nothing else, then at least let Leo Warrick stay dead. You have done quite magnificently well without him so far — take that as a sign that you do not need to find him now."

"I have no choice," Warrick said.

Carnac smiled slightly. "We all have choices. Ask yourself this — what will it take to salve your conscience? At least consider the damage you will do others by the time you have punished yourself sufficiently for your sins of omission."

The sudden leap in the conversation left Warrick utterly unable to think of a reply.

After a moment, Carnac shook his head. He started to offer his hand, then apparently thought better of it. "Be careful, please, Keir. The Administration would be a far poorer place without you."

"And you."

The answer was almost reflexive and it wasn't until the door closed that Warrick realised the ambiguity in it. He'd meant to tell Carnac to be careful — even that impulse wasn't entirely explicable, given the trouble he had caused for all of them.

Would the Administration be poorer without Carnac? It would certainly be safer.

The early-morning rush in the corporate section of the New London airport terminal had begun to ease by the time Warrick's flight landed. As the walkways carried them through the high, cool corridors, Warrick tried to decide what the hell he was going to do with Carnac's gift. He'd worried at the problem last night until he'd finally fallen asleep to the sound of McLean's quiet snoring. No easy answers had presented themselves.

Carnac's warning had given him pause, but he no longer had any idea how far, if at all, he could trust the man. His motives were utterly impenetrable and in the past his ideas of what was best for others had proved to be idiosyncratic, to say the least.

The immigration hall opened up before them, its sounds reflected and blunted by the marble. Warrick barely registered the group of black uniforms by the immigration point. I&I uniforms were nothing out of the ordinary here. As he passed by, one of them stepped forward.

"Doctor Warrick?"

The man was unfamiliar — short and stocky, with sour lines on his face suggesting perpetual indigestion.

"Yes?" Warrick asked.

"My name is Senior Para-investigator Avis, of the Computer Crimes section of the Investigation and Interrogation Division." He pulled out a hand screen. "I have a warrant for your arrest."

I&I? Oddly, his first thought was that it had to be Toreth, calling in a favour to try to scare him into dropping the investigation.

"I want to speak to Senior Para-investigator Valantin Toreth," Warrick said.

Avis's eyebrows rose questioningly, the incomprehension looking quite genuine. "Why?" When Warrick didn't answer his question, Avis repeated, "I have a warrant for your arrest."

Warrick took the screen, still half convinced that Toreth was behind it. On the other hand, Avis wasn't a name Toreth had ever mentioned, nor did Warrick recall meeting the man at Sara's party.

Avis was fiddling with the handcuffs on his belt. Out of the corner of his eye, Warrick saw McLean step forward and two of the I&I guards move to intercept him. Warrick held up his hand to stop McLean.