Slowly he became aware of the lengthening silence and turned his head. Had Saul left the room? No—he was still perched on the typist's chair, his clasped hands hanging between his knees, quietly watching Cadel.
After a moment, Cadel discovered that he could no longer contain himself.
"I've got to e-mail Sonja," he insisted. "I've got to. And I can't use the phone, because she can't talk on the phone! I need a computer!"
They studied each other for perhaps half a minute. Then Saul said, "After I've finished here, I'll take you to the library. You can e-mail Sonja from there."
"Are you kidding?" Cadel scoffed. "All the library computers will be booked out! They're always booked out!"
"Not if I ask for one," the detective retorted, with unassailable confidence. "Anyhow, it'll only be one e-mail. You can tell Sonja that you're coming to visit her this afternoon. If you pay her a visit, you can talk to your heart's content." Hearing Cadel sniff, he added, "I'll even ask Mick and Ray to give you a lift. As a special favor. The only thing is..." He hesitated. "The only thing is, you have to promise not to use her computer, or I can't let you go."
Cadel took a deep breath. His hands were crawling around in his lap. But his voice, when he spoke, was fairly steady.
"You don't understand," he said. "You just don't understand..."
"What don't I understand?"
"I've got to have a computer." Cadel was trying not to sound melodramatic. Or hysterical. Or downright mad. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to explain. "I'm not like other people," he said. "I might as well die if I don't have one."
Saul's brows snapped together.
"Come on now," he objected. "It can't be that bad."
"Stuck out here? With nothing to do?" Cadel scowled. "Sometimes I almost wish Prosper would contact me. Just so I could talk to someone who understands!"
Saul stood up—so abruptly that Cadel flinched. But the detective didn't seem cross. He was as calm as ever.
"If Prosper English gave a good goddamn about you," he said flatly, "then he'd acknowledge that you were his son. He hasn't, so he doesn't. As for this computer ban, it won't last long. Can you survive off-line for a day or two?"
It wasn't a question. It was an order. Cadel knew that any further resistance would be futile.
"I guess so," he muttered, into his chest.
"Good." The doorbell rang, but Saul didn't let it interrupt him. Instead he kept talking, his arms folded, his eyes on Cadel. "In that case," he said, "I'll make you a promise. I promise I'll do all I can to get you the hell out of here."
Cadel's head jerked up. He stared at the detective in surprise.
"You don't belong in this place," Saul declared, as if stating the blindingly obvious. "You think I haven't worked that out? I'm a detective. I can see what's under my nose."
Then he turned, and went to admit his forensic computer team into the Donkins' house.
EIGHT
As it turned out, Cadel didn't need a lift to the library after all. Because when Saul's cybercrime experts arrived, they were carrying a couple of laptops. Cadel used one of these laptops to send Sonja a message, announcing that he would visit her around lunchtime.
His mood had changed for the better since the appearance of Sid and Steve. In many ways they were his kind of people. Even though they wore jackets and ties, the jackets were too big for them, and the ties were covered in pictures of cartoon characters. Steve sported a goatee, and Sid had several holes in his right earlobe. Both tackled the Donkins' computer with a breathless concentration that reminded Cadel of his old infiltration classes at the Axis Institute. Though not brilliant, Sid and Steve were confident and capable. Cadel enjoyed their company.
He almost forgot his many problems, as he and the two police tech-heads pored over Hazel's infected programs. At first, Sid and Steve adopted a jauntily patronizing tone when they addressed Cadel. This soon changed, however. By the time Fiona arrived, at about ten o'clock, they were positively deferring to Cadel—who couldn't help preening himself a bit under their astonished regard.
"Is everything all right?" Fiona demanded breathlessly, pushing past Saul into the living room. "Hazel, what's going on here?"
"I don't really know," Hazel replied. She was sitting meekly on the beige velour couch, nursing a cup of tea. "Apparently there's something wrong with my computer."
"It's been infiltrated," Saul quickly explained, springing to Cadel's defense before the obvious question could even be asked. "By an unknown person."
"And what's Cadel doing?" said Fiona.
"I'm helping," Cadel interjected, knowing full well that she wouldn't be happy to hear it. "You don't have to worry. I'm only answering technical questions." Struck by a sudden thought, he turned to Saul Greeniaus. "By the way," he added, "I've finished that questionnaire from the NSA. It's on my desk."
Saul nodded, then retreated into Cadel's bedroom. Fiona gazed around in a bewildered fashion. Her hair looked even more disarranged than usual; she was carrying an enormous, overstuffed handbag and wearing another of her curiously retro outfits, which comprised a pink tweed suit and chunky little shoes.
"So what do you want me to do, exactly?" she asked. "Cadel?"
"I don't know." Already Cadel's attention was being drawn back to the Donkins' computer. "There," he said to Steve, pointing. "You see?"
Steve grunted. "You say you've been encrypting your e-mails?" he queried.
"Of course," Cadel replied.
"Well, I hate to tell you this, but someone's been capturing your keystrokes before they're encrypted."
"A key logger?" Cadel shook his head. "Nuh. I took that off ages ago. There was a whole lot of crap spyware installed on this thing, and I got rid of it all."
"What do you call this, then?"
"Excuse me." Fiona had raised her voice. "I don't want to interrupt, but can someone please explain why Cadel is being asked to help the police without having a lawyer present?"
Cadel tried to point out that he didn't need a lawyer, but Fiona refused to listen. She took him into the kitchen and told him quite forcefully that she had to look after his interests.
"For all I know, you might be incriminating yourself just by talking about things that you've been doing on the computer," she said.
"But that's crazy." He was genuinely baffled. "How could I? All I've been doing is telling them about the hacker—"
"Cadel, you were a hacker once. How do you know they won't use this information against you?"
"Because they couldn't."
"Don't be too sure of that. I'm sorry, but I can't let you talk to them if I don't know what you're talking about. I'll have to check with Mel Hofmeier first."
Cadel looked at her hopelessly. It was clear that she did not—could not—comprehend.
"But I know what I'm doing," he assured her. "I don't need a lawyer's advice. Why don't you trust me? I know what I'm doing."
"Of course you do." (She sounded unconvinced, however.) "All the same, I have to follow the correct protocol. It's been put in place to protect you."
"But—"
"You're not an adult, Cadel. Legally, you can't make these decisions. Would you like me to ring Mel?"
"There's no need," Saul interrupted. He was hovering in the doorway. "If you're uneasy, we shan't require Cadel's input."
"But you will!" Cadel didn't want to be sidelined. "Sid will never trace that hacker without me I'm better than he is!"
"Nevertheless, he'll manage," Saul replied. "If Ms. Currey has reservations, of course we'll proceed without your help."
"Then you won't find the hacker," Cadel warned.
"Maybe not."
"And what happens if you don't? Will Hazel get her computer back? Will I be able to use it?"
"We'll decide that in due course."
"Cadel, it's for your own good," Fiona interposed. "I realize you're a computer whiz, but you don't know much about legal procedure."
"Well, that's not my fault!"
"Not around me, he doesn't." For the first time, there was an edge to Saul's voice. "My job is to protect him, Ms. Currey. I'm not trying to get him in trouble."
"Mr. Greeniaus, I'm not questioning your motives. But I represent the Department of Community Services. Which means that I'm the one who has to protect Cadel."
"Is that so?" Saul narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. "In that case," he murmured, "why don't you get him the hell out of this place?"
Fiona's head snapped back, as if she'd been punched.
"What—what do you mean?" she said.
"Well, do you think he belongs here?"
Fiona took a deep breath, glancing over the detective's shoulder to make sure that Hazel wasn't listening.
"Obviously, it's not ideal—"
"Obviously," Saul growled.
"But it's only a temporary measure!"
"And meanwhile he has to get beaten up by that thug with the crew cut?"
Fiona gasped and turned pale. "Is that true?" she asked Cadel. "Did Thomas attack you?"
Cadel shifted uneasily. "Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess..."
"You're looking at an eyewitness here." Saul tapped his own chest with one finger. "I had to haul that juvie off him. So don't talk to me about protecting Cadel. He'd be a lot safer somewhere else."
"I know."
"Somewhere he can use his brain."
"I know." Fiona spoke too loudly. She covered her mouth, then continued at a lower volume, her cheeks flushed. "Do you think I don't realize?" she hissed. "Do you have any idea howhard it is? I'm doing my best, Mr. Greeniaus! I'm doing my very best for Cadel!"
"Good," Saul remarked levelly. "And so am I. I'd be grateful if you could remember that."
Cadel glanced up at Fiona. He was hoping that she might have been persuaded to reconsider her views. But he was doomed to disappointment. Though she looked troubled, she wouldn't budge. No matter how good Saul's intentions were, she said, they could easily be undermined. Suppose Cadel advised Sid and Steve on how they might penetrate this hacker's system? Suppose they were eventually asked to testify in court? Could they deny that Cadel had demonstrated a clear knowledge of hacking techniques? No, they could not.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but if you want to pursue this, Mr. Greeniaus, I'm going to have to call Cadel's lawyer."
So she did. Unfortunately, Mel could not be reached at that precise moment—and Fiona herself soon ran out of time. She had other clients who needed her. Other appointments to keep. She couldn't stay, though she wanted to.
"Could I drop you off at the library?" she suggested, and Cadel shook his head.
"I want to stay here," he replied. Sid and Steve had hit a dead end; as Cadel had anticipated, the hacker was making use of different time zones to ensure his anonymity. Even when everyone did wake up in Prague, it would be tricky wresting an Internet protocol number out of a Czech-speaking service provider.
Cadel could have offered several solutions to this problem, if he'd only been allowed to speak up.
"I'd rather you didn't stay here," a harassed-looking Fiona pleaded, hovering near the couch on which he was sprawled. "Not without a supporting adult in attendance."
"Last time I looked, Hazel was an adult," Saul remarked coolly, from one corner. Though he hadn't been saying much, very little had escaped him.
Fiona flashed him an impatient look.
"Hazel's been imposed on enough!" she snapped. "In fact, you're lucky she hasn't called her own lawyer! How long have you been here now—two hours? This isn't a crime scene!"
"As a matter of fact, it is," Saul replied. "Cybercrime isn't a virtual offense, Ms. Currey."
"Oh, you know what I mean!" Fiona said tartly. "Anyway, my point is—"
"That you want Cadel out of here," Saul finished. "Well, for your information, he's due at Sonja Pirovic's house in an hour or so. I was going to arrange a lift for him—unless you've a problem with that?"
Fiona hesitated. Clearly, she would have liked Cadel to make his own way to Sonja's house. When she saw his mutinous look, however, she raised her hands in submission.
"All right," she said. "I won't argue. I haven't the time."
"There's no need to worry," Saul maintained, as he accompanied her to the front door. "Mick and Ray aren't talkative types."
"I hope not."
"If you want, they can always take Mrs. Donkin along with them."
Fiona's withering glare was met by a shrug. Cadel (who had followed them both) somehow sensed that Saul was teasing Fiona, though the detective remained absolutely poker-faced. It was curious to watch the two of them standing side by side, because Fiona was always so restless, and Saul was always so still. They could almost have belonged to different species.
"Bye, Hazel!" Fiona yelled. "I'll call you this afternoon!" Then she squeezed Cadel's arm. "Have a nice time with Sonja," she said. "Give her my regards."
Cadel nodded. As Fiona clattered down the front steps, he waited for Saul to retreat inside. But the detective seemed interested in her progress. He stood watching while she headed for her car.
"You're fortunate to have Ms. Currey as your caseworker," he declared, once she had roared off down the street. Cadel saw with surprise that he was in earnest. "She's very serious about her job."
"Yeah," Cadel conceded. "I guess she is."
"My advice is that you get Mrs. Donkin to pack you some lunch," Saul continued, nudging Cadel back into the house. "Then you can take it with you to Sonja's and stay until dinner. What time would you be expected home?"
"Oh, about five, I guess." Cadel looked up, pursing his lips and widening his enormous eyes. "Can I get a lift back, as well?" he asked.
For a moment they stared at each other. Saul's face revealed nothing. When he spoke, however, his tone was wry. "Yeah, okay," he said. "But don't push your luck, my friend. I can be just as stubborn as Ms. Currey."
Cadel soon realized the truth of this remark. For Saul wouldn't allow him to go anywhere near Sid or Steve. The detective insisted that Cadel remain in the kitchen, helping his foster mother assemble a casserole, until half past eleven. Then Saul escorted him all the way to the spotless silver sedan in which Mick and Ray were sitting, consuming a matching pair of chicken-salad wraps.
The surveillance team welcomed Cadel into their vehicle with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
"Don't get too comfortable in there," Saul warned him. "And don't drop any of your sandwich crumbs onto the backseat."
"I won't," Cadel sighed.
"Mr. Mattilos is doing me a favor out of the goodness of his heart, so don't give him any trouble," Saul added, before addressing the driver. "Thanks for this, Mick."
The driver inclined his head. Saul slapped the roof of the car and stepped back. As the engine turned over, Cadel leaned toward the window.
"Mr. Greeniaus?"
"What?"
"If something happens—if Sid gets lucky—can you please ring me up? I just want to know what's going on."
"I'll see what I can do," Saul replied.
But whether this constituted a promise, Cadel couldn't be sure. He watched the detective's wiry figure diminish in size as Mick drove away from the Donkins' house, and wondered which of the cars now left in the street belonged to Saul. No doubt Mick or Ray could have told him, if only Cadel had had the courage to ask.
Eyeing the backs of their heads, however, he decided not to. The stiffness of their necks was somehow intimidating.
He therefore remained silent during the entire length of the trip. His companions didn't say much, either. The traffic was quite heavy, and Cadel couldn't help feeling nostalgic as he studied the complicated matrix of one particularly busy intersection. He had once brought Sydney traffic to a halt by diverting a road crew to this very convergence of arterials. But that, of course, had been in the old days, when Prosper was still pulling his strings. He no longer messed with traffic flow
s or railway timetables. Not since he had learned to consider the consequences of a delayed ambulance or an overcrowded train.
Sonja had taught him to think about people, as well as systems.
They reached her house shortly after twelve, and parked near the front gate. Cadel was then forced to sit in the car for seven minutes while Mick and Ray waited for what they called their backup. With the engine turned off, it seemed very quiet. Cadel worried that the men in the front seat would hear his stomach rumbling, because he hadn't dared eat his lunch. Not after Saul's comment about the upholstery.
At last, to cover the noise of his growling gut, he said, "What happens when you want to go to the toilet?"
There was a creaking, squeaking sound as Mick craned around to study him. Mick was wearing sunglasses, and his mouth looked as if it had been hacked into his face with an axe.
"What?" said Mick.
"I was just wondering—what happens when you need to go to the toilet?"
Mick's expression remained stony. His eyes were hidden by his reflective lenses. Finally he said, "None of your business."
Then Ray's walkie-talkie spluttered to life, and after a brief three-way conversation among Ray, Mick, and the "backup," Cadel was informed that he could get out now. So he did. On his way to Sonja's front door, he realized that it was in fact a very nice day—sunny, but with a slight chill in the air—and he decided that he might offer to take Sonja out for a walk after lunch. Provided, of course, that she felt up to it. Sometimes her muscular spasms could leave her exhausted by midafternoon.
"Cadel!" said Rosalie, when she answered the doorbell. "Hello, come in!"
"Hello, Rosalie. How's Sonja?"
"Good! Good! She has many visitors today."
Cadel stopped in his tracks.
"Many visitors?" he repeated. "You mean—her social worker?"
"No, no." Rosalie bustled along the dingy hallway ahead of him, without pausing. "Visitors from Clearview Center, you see."
"From where?" Cadel hurried to catch up. "Wait! Rosalie—"
Rosalie, however, had already reached Sonja's room. She rapped on the door, announcing, "Your boyfriend is here!" And then she pushed it open.
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