That provoked a murmur in the room, particularly from the civilians. Clearly Carnac's policy wasn't general knowledge.
"If you or someone else in your cell is badly injured or requires urgent medical attention for any other reason, please activate the cell alarm system, and someone will be sent to deal with you as rapidly as possible. Please — I ask you to call for assistance
only
if your need is genuinely of a high priority. Thank you."
Toreth watched on the large overhead screen as the cell indicators started to light up. They'd all scream for help, of course, injured or not — loyalty to colleagues went only so far. However, at least they
would
scream, when a simple request for people to identify occupied cells would have created suspicion. Some sections remained blank, suggesting that either the comms or the alarms were malfunctioning.
However, in general, it wasn't a bad start.
"Right, everyone. Thank you for your attention and get back to work." He watched the group start to break up, conversations beginning to hum. "Adams. A word, please."
The man stopped and came back, looking wary.
"You're in charge of Detention for the moment — I'll make that official as soon as I get back to my office. You're also responsible for getting me the occupancy and status reports. I'm sure you can find some Service people hanging around to start cell-to-cell checks. Tell them to get names and medical status, and to offer to pass on one message per prisoner to someone outside. And make sure they get the messages
right
."
Adams nodded. "Yes, Para."
"Get names for corpses as well, if you can, and get them cleared out. DNA samples for any unknowns, store them for processing when someone has the time. I want the status reports first thing tomorrow. Don't bother making them look nice and official, just tell me what's going on. If you have any trouble, with anyone but especially with Service people, don't argue with them — tell them to take it to Carnac or me. I'm in my usual office: level five, General Criminal. And send me a suggestion for a night shift supervisor before shift change. That's all."
Adams nodded again, looking unutterably relieved. "Yes, Para. It's good to have someone who knows their arse from their fucking elbow in charge again." He glanced at Payne and lowered his voice. "Watch out for Bell when she gets back — she's going to throw a fit over this and she's got plenty of clout."
He watched as Adams went off to start work, a distinct spring in his step. Well, at least he'd made someone's day.
"Come on, Payne. No point hanging around down here."
Next they went to the medical section. Even at I&I, medics tended towards the community spirited, so he wasn't entirely surprised to find that the handful of staff he saw when the lift doors opened were I&I.
A senior medic sat behind the desk in the reception area — a woman he vaguely recognised. She had her chin in her hands, staring across the room. She didn't react to his arrival until they were a few feet from her. Then she blinked at him, and her eyes widened with surprise.
"Toreth!"
The voice was more familiar than the haggard face. "Yeah. Dr Mandelson?" He was unsure enough of her identity to make it a question.
She straightened up. "Good Lord, do I look that bad?"
"How are things?"
"Not so bad now, since the Service people showed up." She nodded to Payne. "Even though they haven't been down here much. But it's infinitely better than the last few days, I can tell you that."
"Have you been here all along?"
She nodded.
The first chance he'd had to talk to someone who'd been in the lower levels during the attack. "What happened?"
"When?" she asked.
"During the revolt. From the beginning," he added.
"The beginning?" She shook her head, then looked down at the desk, composing herself. "The short version is that it was terrifying. Gunfire everywhere."
"They shot at the medics?" Payne asked, sounding shocked.
Of course, Toreth thought — the lieutenant had only arrived in the building this morning.
"No," Mandelson said. "Just the security guards, not anyone unarmed. Most of us didn't even try to fight, although if we'd known what was going to happen . . . They locked people in rooms, with a guard on the door. Which made it easier for them later when —" She stopped and cleared her throat.
The brief hope that Sara's ideas about casualty rates in Medical had been exaggerated by fear and rumours faded. Beside Toreth, Payne shifted. Didn't he fancy hearing what the Service's allies had been up to?
"Go on," Toreth said.
Mandelson took a deep breath. "When the security defense collapsed, the resisters made it down to the detention levels. They opened the cells and after that it was hell down here. Chaos. Medical was on the edge of it, but you can't imagine what it was like." She glanced at Payne. "You just can't. The prisoners tore apart everyone they could find and the resisters didn't try to stop them — they joined in."
She paused, wiping her eyes, although he saw no sign of tears. Reflex, perhaps.
"Do you have any idea how many survivors there were?" Payne asked quietly.
"I don't know. More than I thought at first. It's a big place — people hid. Some people played dead. Or switched sides quickly enough in the confusion. I don't blame them. And there are so many lifts and stairs that they couldn't seal off the lower levels." She pointed across the room to a closed door. "Victor was treating a prisoner down on level D. He got out in one of the service lifts with half a dozen interrogators. He told me he saw the resisters herding people into rooms and throwing grenades inside. I heard bangs, but I didn't see it myself."
Toreth shook his head, appreciating even more how lucky he'd been to have met organised resisters concentrating on taking control of the building, not a mob bent on immediate slaughter. Leisurely vengeance might be unpleasant, but it beat a grenade.
"What happened to you?" Toreth asked.
"I was in one of the stores all the first night. When the noise started, some of us locked ourselves in a back room. Then on Saturday, a group came through the level and broke the door down. We thought . . . but they were looking for medics to patch up the resisters hurt in the fighting. Then they kept us segregated, but we could hear what was going on." Without looking over to it, she pointed towards the corridor leading to the medical level detention cells. "That's where they kept some of the people they brought down from upstairs."
Now Toreth was the one who didn't want to hear it. This was too close to his own fun-filled four days. He tried to interrupt but she was speaking quickly, stumbling over the words.
"It went on until the Service arrived. Not all the time. Maybe killing people in cold blood doesn't come naturally, not even to bastards like that. They'd stop for a while and we'd pray it was the end and then they'd work themselves up into another righteous fury and go back to the cells. We could hear it. Some people tried to fight back — we had a few of the resisters brought in here injured. But they wouldn't let us help the others."
Her eyes were fixed on him, pleading for understanding, or maybe forgiveness. "We tried, but they wouldn't
let
us. The cells are empty now — on Monday, before the Service arrived, they took everyone who was still alive down to Detention."
"Well, you'll get a chance to help now," he said. "They're starting cell-to-cell searches, pulling out the wounded."
Mandelson shook her head. "Do you want the truth? Once the Service arrived I wanted to go, but I was too afraid to leave. Do you know what it's like outside?"
If he didn't tell her, someone else would soon enough. "There's no transport, but if you leave in daylight you should be safe enough." He put his hand on her arm. "But we need everyone we can get."
She looked down for a moment, then nodded slowly. "I'll stay. If there's anyone left alive to help."
Toreth grinned and squeezed her arm gently. "I'm alive, aren't I?"
A faint smile. "Yes, well — you would be."
Toreth looked round — more medical staff were assembling, clearly wondering what the hell a senior para was doing here.
He gathered reports on personnel (scanty), damage (extensive), supplies (low) and mood (bleak). He didn't make any promises, but he hoped he'd at least managed to impart enough cheer to stop them fucking off in the next couple of days. At any rate, the atmosphere seemed more positive by the time he'd finished. There were even offers to call in colleagues known to have escaped, or not to have been at work during the attack.
Bell didn't seem to have appointed anyone to take control of Medical. In fact, as far as he could discover, she hadn't visited the place at all. Treatment for the injured obviously rated a long way below being able to keep an eye on them.
From the most loyal-seeming I&I staff available, Toreth picked a few people to take charge, which seemed to be a source of relief once more. He also warned them that they could expect injured staff to arrive, starting any time, and that if they experienced any obstruction in their duties they should take it up directly with Carnac. Time for the bastard to do some of the work.
When they had finished, he checked the watch he'd borrowed from Warrick, and decided they had time for one more visit.
"Have you met the head of security yet?" he asked Payne as they set off back up towards the office levels.
"No, sir. I haven't met anyone. I was called in here first thing this morning."
Interesting. "Why? I mean — why didn't Carnac pick someone who was already here?"
"Couldn't say, sir." After a few seconds, he added, "I met him the day before yesterday at headquarters. One of my wife's relatives works here, and I think I mentioned that to him then."
Interesting again. Toreth filed it under 'think about it later'.
"Well, to get back to the point, Head of Security Bevan is one of the most important people in the building. Nothing goes on here that he doesn't know about. He's been HoS here ever since the reorganisation. He runs the surveillance, the security systems, the security guards, the external and internal access and a lot of other things he's manoeuvred under his control. If Carnac's managed to piss him off — which in Bevan's case he'll be able to do by walking into the building — then it'll make my life a hundred times more difficult. So don't you do anything to make it worse."
"Are you sure he's alive, sir?" Payne asked.
"
Bev
? Of course he is."
In fact, Toreth had no idea whether he was or not, and he worried about it all the way up to the Surveillance offices.
His first view wasn't reassuring — it took him a minute to spot even a couple of I&I staff amongst the Service uniforms in the main office. An enquiry as to where he might find the head of security produced directions to Bevan's usual office, but a glance through the door showed only Service once more, including an officer behind Bevan's desk.
Eventually, as he passed a workroom, he caught sight of an I&I uniform. A man with thinning dark hair sat with his back to the door, alone except for a truly staggering amount of surveillance equipment which covered the benches, shelves and most of the floor. Much of it was obviously badly damaged and being stripped for parts.
"Bev?"
Bevan looked round, then stood up, his long, sour face knitting into a scowl. "I wondered how long it'd take before
you
showed up." He had a vivid black eye and an assortment of other cuts and bruises.
"Really?" Toreth asked.
"Bad news travels fast, so I've heard all about it. To start with, I've heard that your head's stuck so far up that bastard spook's arse that you can kiss his fucking tonsils. If you think that means you can order me around now, you can fuck off."
Toreth grinned. At least in here everything was business as usual.
However, before Toreth could say anything else, Payne said stiffly, "Senior Para-investigator Toreth has been granted operation control over the Division."
Bevan looked Payne up and down, then shook his head. "Fuck,
another
one. And I thought the rats down in recycling were bad."
"Yeah. It followed me back to my office and now I can't get rid of it." Toreth turned to Payne. "Why don't you go and have a word with your colleagues out there, see what's going on? I'm sure they'll be happier talking to you than to me." Payne hesitated, so he added, "What I mean is — piss off while I'm talking to the grown-ups. I'll come and find you when I'm done."
Payne stared at him, then said, "Yes, sir."
As he watched Payne go, Toreth considered how to handle Bevan. It was important — probably essential — to get him on Toreth's side and back in his office. If Carnac had Service people running Security under his direct control, then working against him undetected would be impossible.
Since Bevan didn't seem inclined to say anything, Toreth opened with, "Bev, how long have you known me?"
"Since you started at Interrogation. And you were an arrogant tosser then."
"I won't deny it. But did I kiss arse to get onto the para programme? Or to get to senior? Have I ever fucked over my team because Tillotson wanted me to?"
Bevan seemed to think it over for a while, then shook his head. "No. For a para, you're all right. Used to be all right."
"I didn't suck up to management before, and I'm not going to do it now. I was down in those bloody cells for four
days
. I've got five cracked ribs and no fucking reason to love Carnac or his resister friends. More than that, I've got no reason to be here at all. Carnac gave me a free pass out of here, and I didn't take it."
Bevan snorted, plainly unconvinced. "Why should you? Seems to
me
you're doing very nicely out of all of this."
Toreth paused, checked the door. Open, and no one visible outside.
"I came back because I wanted to make sure Carnac doesn't do whatever he's planning to do. I don't know what it is, but do I know he's lying when he says he wants us to survive."