The Administration Series (184 page)

How long had she slept? However long it was, she felt barely less exhausted than when she'd gone to sleep. Still, she might go and sit in the living room for a while. Watch the news — and her stomach knotted again at the idea. Well, perhaps not that. But not go back to bed just yet.

She was about to open the door when, in the nick of time, it finally registered that she was completely naked. Oh, hell. She wondered if the guard had seen her on the way here. She hadn't spotted him, but she'd had other things on her mind.

A quick hunt round revealed only hand towels. Oh, hell in spades. Maybe he'd gone away and she could make a dash for it. She knocked quietly on the door. "Um, hello?"

"Yes?"

Right outside. Well, where else? "Look, could I possibly ask you a favour?"

"Of course."

"Could you . . . could you go to my room — the spare room — and get my dressing gown? It's over the back of the chair."

"Certainly. I won't be a minute."

She waited until she heard returning footsteps and then opened the door a crack. He handed the dressing gown through without comment, and she put it on, feeling her cheeks start to burn. It was tempting to wait until he went away and then run for her room.

Instead, she took a deep breath and stepped outside.

She found herself looking at the SimTech logo on the shoulder of a dark grey uniform. It took her a moment to force her eyes upward to meet his.

"Er, hi," she said, unable to think of anything more face-saving.

He offered his hand, as if nothing untoward had happened. "Rob McLean. You must be Ms Lovelady." He said it with a perfectly straight face as well, which she always appreciated.

"Call me Sara, please."

He nodded. "You can call me Rob, or McLean, whichever you feel most comfortable with." He looked at her more closely. "Are you okay?"

"Um, actually, no. I had a . . . a really,
really
bad day. Four days."

"Why don't you go sit in the living room, and I'll bring you a drink. What would you like?"

"Tea, please. I'll come with you."

They went through into the kitchen and Sara sat and watched him while he made her tea. She didn't remember noticing him at the AERC, and she thought she would have done. He was certainly easy on the eye: tall, with dark brown hair and eyes to match it. Looked after his own body as well as other people's. Not very expressive, but that was probably professional veneer. Semi-seriously, she wondered whether Toreth had seen him yet, or if she could put a claim in first.

He set the tea down. "Here you are."

"Join me?" When he hesitated, she added, "Please? I'd appreciate the company."

"Of course," he said. "Let me get a cup."

After he sat down, there was a short silence.

"Have you worked for SimTech for long?" she asked. "Only I volunteer for sim trials and I don't remember seeing you."

"You wouldn't. Normally I do personnel security assessments. Advice for the mid- to high-risk staff — home security, helping them plan their lives to make them safer, that sort of thing. Screening new employees. They reassigned me here when the trouble started."

"So what's been happening out here? I've been stuck in a coffee room at I&I for the last four days."

A hint of a frown creased his brow, then he shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure. I doubt anyone is except the people who organised it. And it
was
organised — well organised."

It would be, if Carnac had anything to do with it. "Go on."

"From the news I've seen, it happened all across Europe at about the same time. Administration buildings occupied, the comms net taken down, mobs out on the street. The Parliment of the Regions put out a statement condeming the 'lawless rioters' — of course, now they're supporting the new Council."

Sara laughed shortly. "I expect they're worried about their expenses and their pensions."

"Probably." Rob smiled too. "Still, I don't think the revolt would have stuck, except that the Service sat it out to start with. Now they're restoring order — there was a lot more shooting last night than there has been. And tonight as well. You can hear it now, if you listen."

When she listened, she could. A faint background noise, different to the usual sounds of New London. But whatever was happening was going on a long way from the security of Warrick's well-guarded flat in his exclusive residential area. She wondered how her parents were — she hadn't got through to them, but maybe that was just the comms. No need to start worrying yet, she told herself firmly.

As if she could help it.

"Warrick said the Service are on the side of the new Administration," she said.

"Yes. Or that's what it looks like. I wouldn't put money on how it's going to turn out in the end, myself. Not when there's so much trouble still going on. There are more buildings burning tonight, if you go into the living room and look out."

"I'd rather not."

She closed her eyes and shivered. Buildings burning, like her building had burned. Bastard, trapped in the flat, not understanding what was happening, yowling for her until the smoke and heat became too much for him. She knew where his body would be — he'd have gone to hide under her bed, where he always went when he was frightened. If he was dead, please let the smoke have got him before . . .

"Sara?" McLean touched the back of her hand, and she opened her eyes to find him looking at her with concern.

"I'm fine. Just thinking about . . . something."

His hand lay gently on hers, his eyes warm and very expressive indeed. "Is there anything I can do?"

"Well —"

Then the door opened. Of course. She took her hand away and picked up her tea, sitting back in the chair.

It was Toreth, also wearing one of Warrick's dressing gowns and looking exhausted. Better than he had when he'd said a rather incoherent goodnight after the meal, though, and a thousand times better than when she'd first seen him in the interrogation room.

McLean didn't react to Toreth's entrance. Of course, he'd know who Toreth was even though he'd come on duty after he'd gone to bed. She'd still seen McLean first.

Toreth was opening cupboards. "God, you can tell when he's been stressed out — he reorganises every bloody thing. Where the hell — ah."

He produced a glass, filled it with water and downed it in one long drink before refilling it.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked him.

"Still dehydrated." He opened the freezer and helped himself to ice. As he straightened up he winced, putting his hand gingerly to his side. "Fuck. And the painkillers wore off."

He turned round, leaned on the fridge, and looked between them. Then his body language altered, sending a message Sara was all too familiar with.

"Aren't you going to introduce me?" he said.

She wished Toreth wouldn't
do
that. He'd always done it, to some extent, but ever since Jon Kemp had hospitalized her it was like having an overprotective older brother. One who could unconsciously give the impression that he would break the limbs of anyone who laid a finger on her. He had scared off more than one boyfriend — these days she tried not to let them meet him, and warned them first if it was unavoidable. If he met them at the 'interested' stage, she usually wrote them off as a bad job.

To her surprise, McLean didn't look even faintly intimidated. Of course, that was his job.

"Rob McLean," he said. "I work for SimTech."

Toreth nodded. "I guessed that. You must be night shift."

"First half. Six 'til two." He looked between them. "Should I go and guard somewhere else?"

"No, that's fine," Sara said before Toreth could say anything. She'd be damned if she'd let him interfere with the only nice thing that had happened in the last five days. "McLean, this is Val Toreth, my boss. Toreth, we were just talking about what's been going on."

"Going on where?"

"With the revolution," McLean said.

Toreth's lip curled. "'Revolution'?"

McLean shrugged. "Call it what you like. Sara said you didn't know anything about it."

Toreth's expression now bordered on open dislike. "No, I don't. Because I've been lying in a cell for the last four days, in the dark, with a lovely set of broken ribs that I got from the 'revolutionaries'. So frankly, I don't
want
to hear about it."

McLean nodded. "Of course," he said with professional coolness.

Sara sighed silently. "Are you still planning on going back?" she asked Toreth.

"Yes. I'm not giving Carnac free rein at I&I."

McLean looked surprised. "Carnac?"

Sara stared at him, which was exactly what Toreth was doing. "Do you know him?" she asked.

"Not know him, as such, but I've met him. He stayed here, before you arrived."

When Sara was a child, her family had holidayed in Switzerland. They'd stopped for a picnic by a mountain lake and, after her mother had checked it was marked as safe for swimming, she'd jumped into the inviting-looking water — only to discover that it had come straight from a melting glacier. The shock then was like the shock now.

"I beg your pardon?" Toreth said quietly.

"He was here — Carnac. I assume it's the same man. Tall, blond, a bit effeminate?"

Shut up. Just shut up, now. Sara tried to force the words out, but every instinct was telling her to keep as quiet and still as possible.

"He stayed here?"

She almost wished Toreth had shouted, because then she would've known what would happen next. McLean glanced at her, realising that something was wrong but unable to back out now.

"Yes. He was here for the first couple of nights we were. He left yesterday." He checked his watch. "The day before yesterday, rather. Monday morning."

"Monday morning." Toreth nodded. "Excuse me."

He put his glass down hard, and walked out.

His departure released Sara from her paralysis. "Oh,
shit
." She jumped up and dashed to the kitchen doorway. McLean followed her.

"What?" he said, bewildered. Warrick's bedroom door slammed. "He stayed here, that's all."

"Where did he
sleep
?" Sara asked.

"In the guest room, at least while I was here."

"Couldn't you have
said
so?"

"I didn't know it —"

"Shush. Let me listen."

"Was he here?" Toreth's voice, loud and clear. "Well,
was
he?"

She waited anxiously through a minute or so of quieter voices, words indistinct but the edge of anger still audible. Then the bedroom door opened again, and Toreth reappeared, heading for the outer door, mostly dressed, his face set and flushed with fury.

Warrick was only a pace or two behind him.

"Toreth, be sensible, please. Housekeeping, cancel all accesses."

At the last moment, Warrick managed to get in front of Toreth and turned round, blocking the path to the door. "There is a curfew. They are
shooting
people. For God's sake, be reasonable and —"

"Get out of my fucking way."

"I'm not going to let —"

"You lied to me."

Warrick looked past Toreth, catching sight of the audience. "Do we have to do this here?"

"No we don't, because I'm leaving. Curfew or no fucking curfew, I'm going back to my own flat."

"You leave this building over my dead body."

As she waited for Toreth's response, Sara reflected that people didn't usually sound so serious when they said that. Moreover, you didn't usually think there was a chance it would happen. Toreth stood absolutely still in the corridor, and even though she couldn't see his face, she was awfully glad she wasn't standing where Warrick was.

Warrick looked as imperturbable as ever.

McLean started to move, and she grabbed his arm. "Jesus, don't even think about it," she whispered.

Silence, seconds stretching out, then Warrick stepped aside from the door. "Very well." He did something to the security system, and then turned back to Toreth. "I'm going back to bed. You're —" He looked up, towards them, then stepped closer to Toreth and said something too quietly for Sara to hear. Then he walked past him and went back into the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

Toreth hesitated, reaching for the front door, and Sara prayed that she wouldn't have to stop him leaving. Just as she was about to take the first step into the corridor, Toreth slammed his hand against the wall and swore, making her jump. Then he turned and followed Warrick. If he saw the two of them in the kitchen doorway, he didn't acknowledge them.

After a long moment of silence, McLean said, "Excuse me? Could I have my arm back, please? Only —"

"Shit, I'm sorry." She let McLean go, only realising as she did so how tightly she'd held him. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." He rubbed his arm. "Although I don't usually have to worry about the people I'm supposed to be looking after bruising me."

"I'm sorry. Would you like something else to drink? Something with a bit more kick than tea?"

"I'm on duty."

And on reflection, something alcoholic might not be good for her stomach. "There's soda if you want some. Fruit juice. Coffee." Out of the corner of her eye she saw him step into the doorway, looking up the corridor. "I wouldn't go looking for them, if I were you."

"I'm fine, thanks." He hesitated. "I think I should go and check on them. Your boss sounded pretty angry back there, and I am responsible for Warrick's safety."

For a moment she was tempted to say 'go ahead', but it wouldn't be funny. Not really. "They'll be fine. They do this a lot."

"But that doesn't mean I'm any less responsible for anything that happens." He sighed. "I
hate
this job sometimes."

She looked at him in surprise. She'd never heard him express an opinion, never mind such a vehement one. (Never being, of course, all of half an hour.)

"Come and sit down. I honestly don't think there's any urgent guarding that needs to be done."

With a last look up the corridor, he came back and took a seat. She poured herself a glass of soda water, then sat down opposite him. "What do you hate about it?"