Free The Blood Tree by Paul Johnston

subordinates hard.” No doubt he’d reminded them of the joys of picking potatoes at this time of year.
    â€œRight,” I said. “Where’s that file?”
    â€œIn my quarters,” the guardian said. “It’s not to be moved from there.”
    â€œWhat do you want me to do, Quint?” Katharine asked.
    â€œWell,” I replied, smiling thinly at Lewis and Davie. “You can either stay here with these gentlemen . . .” I broke off as their eyes opened wide in horror at the idea of a DM like Katharine remaining in the command centre “. . . or you can come with me and check the whereabouts of various individuals we want to talk to.”
    â€œShe’s not to see the contents of that folder, Dalrymple,” the guardian warned.
    â€œDon’t worry, Lewis,” I said over my shoulder. “You can trust me.”
    As we walked out into heavier drizzle, I remembered Hamilton’s unease about the subject of genetic engineering. And wondered exactly how much I could trust him.

Chapter Four

    There was another of the public order guardian’s thin-faced, middle-aged secretaries in his outer office. She took one look at my authorisation, one look at Katharine and got on the phone to her boss. While she was doing that, I relieved her of the key to his main office and let us in. Then I locked the door on her – well, Hamilton was very uptight about security.
    Katharine raised an eyebrow. “Why did you do that, Quint?”
    â€œBecause I want to ravish you on Lewis’s conference table.” I pulled her towards the glistening mahogany surface and got a slap that made my ear ring. “Shit, I was only joking.”
    Katharine’s eyes flashed. “Ha-ha. I am definitely not in the mood, Quint.”
    â€œI noticed.” I went over to Hamilton’s desk. It was in its usual pristine condition, the pens and pencils neatly lined up and the furniture polish glinting under the bright fluorescent light the guardian favoured. No grey areas in his office – or in his life. The dark blue folder, sheathed in a clear plastic bag, was sitting in the in-tray. I took it out. “Right, this is for you, Katharine,” I said, extracting the cover sheet.
    She looked at it. “What do you want me to do?”
    â€œSee the list of committee members? I need to know which of them are still in the city. They might be able to tell us why the file attachment was stolen.”
    Katharine frowned. “Is this another joke? The list’s twenty-five years old. Most of the people on it are probably dead.” She ran her finger down the page, counting under her breath. “Fifteen names. Only two women, of course.” She gave me an acid smile. “Can I use the guardian’s computer?”
    I looked at the pre-Enlightenment machine in the corner. “Of course. Why do you think I locked the door?” The guardians have always restricted access to the Council’s limited databanks – supposedly because computers are too expensive for the city to afford, but in reality so that they can control the flow of information. Lewis Hamilton detested the machines and he’d let me use his in the past. I’d omitted to ask him this time, though.
    Katharine went over and switched the computer on. “Do you know the passwords?”
    I nodded. “He never changes them like he’s supposed to. Try ‘colonel’ every time you’re asked.” I looked up from the file. “You do know how to work one of those, don’t you?”
    Katharine let out a sigh. “What do you think I do most days?”
    â€œInterview male young offenders?”
    â€œThat – and then write up their profiles.”
    â€œThe Welfare Directorate has computers for that?” I asked in surprise. Most of the city’s bureaucracy is driven by pencil power.
    Katharine looked over her shoulder. “There’s been such