He wasn't, of course — his tastes in submission were strictly limited. Any blackmail attempt would blow up messily and probably openly. One step further removed, Toreth's name wouldn't suffer as badly. But being the . . . to be closely linked with a situation like that wouldn't exactly help his career.
Sitting back in his chair, he paged up and down through the report, rereading sections without paying much attention. Then he altered the 'deep archive' flag to 'file obsolete/out of date' and authorised the change. The next time there was an automatic purge at Int-Sec the file would be gone, and a search would pull up nothing beyond the reason why it had been erased. If there was another copy in the depths of the archives it would probably remain inaccessible to anyone without the individual file number.
The file disappeared from the screen. The last thing his eye caught before it went was the name of the interrogator who would know the answers. Toreth made a note of it, just because. And, next to it, the number of the file.
The next day, Sara was back. She brought them both coffee in his office and they exchanged New Year stories. Sara had mended her broken heart in style, reeling back in the boyfriend who had dumped her, stinging him for an impressive New Year present, and then replacing him with an apparently more satisfactory model. And she'd beaten by two last year's record of nine parties.
"How was
your
holiday?" she enquired eventually.
He finally settled on saying, "Okay."
"'Okay'? That's it?"
"What were you expecting? Like you said, it was just a family thing. Lots of food — reasonable amounts to drink, thank God. Little kids," he grimaced, "absolutely everywhere. Complicated-yet-dull stories from thirty years ago about people I'd never heard of and a few arguments to break up the monotony. Oh, and I got myself slapped by Dillian. It was okay."
"Sounds like fun." She looked at him closely. "You enjoyed it, didn't you?"
He hadn't actually thought about it in those terms. It was certainly better than the idea of New Year's Day at home, without Warrick, never mind the memories of grim days at his own parents' flat. "I suppose it could've been worse."
"Told you." She took a sip of coffee. "Did you do the fucking-quietly-because-the-house-is-full-of-his-relatives thing? That's usually my favourite part, unless there's a
really
good trifle."
"Yeah." He grinned. "That was different. Novel."
"Novel?" She shook her head. "Yeah, I suppose it would be."
The idea that Sara had done the same thing, more than once, proved unexpectedly disturbing. The first time he'd ever had a . . . the first time he'd ever been to anyone else's family New Year. Except Sara's, of course, but that wasn't the same thing.
"Although he'll probably want to go to you parents' place next year, you know," she continued, deadpan. She'd met them, and she knew he didn't see them any more, although even she didn't know all the reasons why.
"Not in a million fucking years," he said.
"I bet your mother would love him." Her mouth tightened a little with distaste.
He didn't say anything. Much as he hated to think about it, she was probably right, and it only made the whole idea so much worse.
The silence hung in the air for a few moments and then Sara said, "Oh, speaking of meeting people —" She scanned the desk and picked up the note he'd written the day before.
"I saw this, first thing this morning, but I couldn't find the file. I think there's a mistake in the number because it's coming up as ee-oh-oh-dee. But I found Dru Balfe. She's a senior psychiatric specialist with an office on level B. Did you want me to call her?"
"No." He'd meant to leave it alone. There was no possible reason to pursue it any further. "No, but . . . I don't suppose you know where she has coffee? And when?"
She shrugged. "No, but I can find out."
"Great. Let me know as soon as you do."
Sara's information network proved to be operating efficiently. Toreth caught up with Balfe in one of the Interrogation level B coffee rooms. He introduced himself and, without giving a reason, asked if she thought she'd remember a case back from the days when the Interrogation Division was part of Justice.
"Records lost in the reorganisation?" she asked sympathetically. "I'll do my best."
"The name was Leo Warrick. Suspected resister." Toreth sketched in details without getting a response until, just when he was about to give up, she finally nodded.
"I remember him, yes. Thoughtless bastard died on me. Drug reaction. I got my record marked over him."
"That's the one."
"What about him? He was a bust. Didn't know anything."
"How could you be sure, if he died?"
She frowned. "I had long enough with him."
"Do you remember anything at all he said? Anything the other prisoners said about him?"
"No." Short and final.
"He cut a deal?" he enquired, as casually as he could.
She looked at him measuringly. "Why
are
you interested?"
"I found a link to an old case I'm looking at. Unfinished business I thought I had a chance of tying up. But if there's nothing in this, I suppose I don't have anything after all."
Balfe shook her head. "You won't find a body
there
," she said with odd emphasis, and left to wash her coffee mug.
Toreth felt a chill. He knew what the phrase meant: it was one of the I&I staffs' little codes, a way of keeping each other out of trouble. He understood now her reluctance to talk. Leo Warrick hadn't died on her — he had never even existed.
Back in his office, he cursed his charitable impulse. He'd put his name on the deletion of a file connected to a Citizen Surveillance undercover agent.
Kate had made an ideal target. Vulnerable, newly widowed — how much of an accident had that been? — and with a social circle linking directly into the resister network. A perfect entry point for an agent who could become trusted, make himself vital to the resisters and then spend years passing their every secret along.
He would've bet a month's pay that the arrest had been a mistake. Just the sort of screw-up which had eventually led to the reorganisation. Justice and Cit Surveillance tripping over each other, with the former blundering into one of the latter's infiltration operation and arresting their agent. With his cover destroyed, Cit would have had no choice but to can the operation.
Why had Kate and her family escaped the mess? Standard procedure would have seen them disappear, in one fashion or another; Kate at least should have been arrested. An idea that she might prove useful again, perhaps. Or an unlikely, stupidly sentimental urge on the part of 'Leo Warrick', for which Toreth was about to suffer the consequences.
He took slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his racing pulse. The operation was over and done with thirty years ago. There was no reason at all to think anyone would care, or even remember. The agent in question, whoever he had been, might be dead, or retired. Even if he were now at Int-Sec, he wasn't likely to be keeping an eye on long-closed case files.
All he had to do was keep away from the files in the future and talk to no one about it. Not even Warrick. No, correction,
especially
not Warrick, because God only knew what he might decide to do about it. Whatever it was, it would involve the Int-Sec systems, that was for sure, and that would be suicide for both of them.
He should have known better than to get involved with anything to do with families — anyone's family. He was going to forget he'd ever even looked at the file. As long as he did that there was nothing to worry about. Nothing at all.
The screen in the small office displayed the results of Toreth's searches and the record of the changes he had made to the status of the file. The file was gone now, deleted from the main Data Division records. Even so, other copies existed in other systems, secure from destruction by someone with Toreth's clearance.
Easily accessible, however, to a valued and trusted Int-Sec agent with a long and distinguished career and a very personal interest in the matter.
The question that agent considered now was: what to do about the para-investigator's unauthorized exploration of the past?
He had found and read the files. He had spoken to Balfe. He had a personal association with parties in the case file. It had the potential to jeopardise a long-standing resister infiltration, monitoring and control exercise that had proved outstandingly successful. Not to mention the risk of destroying a long-established cover.
The safest countermeasure would be to have him arrested on some charge and to die under questioning once he had revealed the extent of any information he had found. Or rather, not the safest, but the most thorough. It might, in fact, create more problems than it solved. That was always the risk.
After all, he might have found, or even deduced, nothing beyond the cover story in the files. In fact, that seemed the most likely situation. His questions to Balfe had revealed no deeper suspicions. The very fact that he had risked tampering with the file was nearly enough evidence to tip the decision in favour of letting the incident go past.
Most importantly, he had made no move to report Tarin's careless remarks. On the other hand, simply because he had said nothing yet —
A soft knock at the door sounded. Someone who knew that interruptions were unwelcome.
"Come in."
The door opened and closed noiselessly.
"Are you still busy?" The voice was as quiet and respectful as the knock.
"I won't be long."
"How long?" A hint of reproach crept in. "You promised we could go and feed the ducks before it got dark."
Kate cancelled the connection to Int-Sec and switched off the screen while Valeria waited semi-patiently beside her chair. Then she stood, picked her granddaughter up, and carried her out, locking the door behind them.
What to do? She continued to mull the question over as she helped Valeria into her coat and walked with her along the road to the small park. Even after all these years, it was difficult to think about the organisational foul-up which had caused their handlers to withdraw Leo from the operation.
Their relationship had been far more than professional. For one thing, after so many years of tedious sham marriage while she established herself with the resisters, it had been wonderful to have someone who
knew
. One person in her life with whom she didn't have to pretend. Leo had been matched to the assignment by their superiors, but they had been so good together, in every way.
No one had ever suspected them — not Marriot's friends, not even Jen. Together, they should have been able to control and monitor the resisters indefinitely. It had taken the Justice Department's bungling to destroy the operation just when it was beginning to provide useful information. Was she risking a repeat performance by allowing Toreth to go free? Would she risk more by having him silenced?
They had run Tarin for years now as a perfect, unwitting source of information, with his carefully nurtured ideals and careless tongue. If he were to be reported, compromised, it would be a disaster. From that point of view, extending an invitation to Toreth had been a serious error on her part. When she had suggested the idea to Warrick, she had never expected Toreth to accept — his psych file had suggested quite the opposite.
However, also from his psych and security files, it seemed unlikely that, even if Toreth had found anything, he would tell anyone about it. The one person he might conceivably tell was also the one person least likely to let the information go any further.
By the time they had reached the pond, she had made her mind up. She would do nothing, for now, and continue to monitor the files. At least it had demonstrated that the monitoring programs were functioning efficiently.
Having made the decision, she found herself unexpectedly and profoundly relieved. Before she had time to examine the feeling, Valeria tugged gently on her hand. "Granny?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Are you done?"
"Done what?"
"Thinking."
Kate smiled. "Yes, I'm finished."
"I want to feed the ducks, please."
She knew it was unfair to have favourites — although she'd never been good at avoiding it — but she did like Val. Sharp and observant. Tarin's outraged report of her announcement that she wanted to be a para-investigator had nearly made Kate smile. She must try to get her an entry to Int-Sec when she was old enough. Not as a para-investigator, of course, but her acute intelligence shouldn't be wasted.
They threw pieces of stale bread to the ducks. The day was edging into twilight and the birds were more interested in roosting than feeding, but that probably wasn't enough to explain Valeria's serious expression.
Kate expected that she looked rather serious herself as she considered the intensity of her relief that nothing needed to be done about the other Val. Toreth.
She liked the man, and she worried that the feelings had clouded her judgement. The part of her that deeply loved her children — Leo's children — was glad that Keir had finally found someone, if an improbable someone, who seemed to make him happy. Unfortunately, that part of her could endanger the operation. She wondered briefly if she ought to refer the decision, but she could find no flaws in her arguments. It was, she concluded, a happy coincidence of logic and desire. One of the few in her dangerous, delicately balanced world, and she should accept it and be grateful.
Eventually the bread was finished. They stood and watched the ducks pecking half-heartedly at the last pieces.
"Granny?" Valeria asked.
Kate crouched down beside her, ignoring a protest from her knees. "Yes, darling?"
"Do you like Uncle Val?"
Kate looked at her sharply, but there was no reason to think the child could have anything other than totally innocent motives for her question. "Yes, I do. Actually, I like him a lot. Why?"