Stumbling to a halt beside her, Cadel saw that Sonja's little room was occupied by three people. Sonja sat in her wheelchair. Perched on her bed was a fat, middle-aged woman with long, frizzy gray hair, who wore funky red-rimmed glasses and layers of flowing skirts, most of them either Indian or tie-dyed. And standing near the window was a bronzed, wide-shouldered, slim-waisted man with perfectly styled brown hair, dazzling white teeth, and startling green eyes. He was dressed in casual, elegant clothes that looked expensive.
He smiled at Cadel.
"You want some tea?" Rosalie asked, before Cadel could say anything.
"Uh—no," he replied. "Thanks, I'm—I've brought my lunch."
"Oh! Okay." Rosalie nodded. "Lunch in half an hour, Sonja. Is that okay?"
"Yes-thanks," the DynaVox squawked. "You okay, now? Not too many people?"
"No."
"Okay. Well—half an hour. I'll be back."
And with that, Rosalie departed, leaving Cadel alone on the threshold. There was a moment's silence, as he looked to Sonja for an introduction.
But she was in such a highly nervous state that she couldn't control her limbs.
"Hi," said the handsome man, pushing himself off the wall. "My name's Trader. And this is Judith."
"Um ... hi." Cadel glanced from one to the other. "You're not—? Am I—?"
"You must be Cadel Piggott. Or should I say English? Or maybe Darkkon?" Trader's gleaming smile widened. "I suppose it's hard to decide, at this point."
Cadel's jaw dropped.
"It's all right," Trader continued. "Prosper didn't send us. On the contrary. We're here with a proposition ... for you and Sonja."
Cadel stared at Sonja, who was still struggling with her own wayward limbs.
"But perhaps," Trader added, still smiling, "you had better shut the door first."
NINE
"It's-all-right-Cadel." As Cadel stood slack-mouthed, Sonja finally forced her errant right hand to obey her. "Just-listen. This-is-interesting."
Cadel blinked. Confused and disoriented, he found himself unable to reply. So Trader picked up where Sonja had left off.
"I think you'll be glad to hear us out, Cadel," he said, in cheerful tones. "Trouble is, we can't really discuss it unless we have a bit of privacy..." And he nodded at the bedroom door, which still stood ajar.
Mindlessly, like an automaton, Cadel shut it.
"There," said Judith. "That's better." She had a loud, rough-edged bark that perfectly matched her hefty frame and vibrant outfit. "Sorry about all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. This must be a bit of a shock for you."
"Or maybe it isn't." Trader's gleaming grin flashed over Cadel. "God knows, you must be used to cloak-and-dagger stuff, after the Axis Institute."
"Who are you?" Cadel said hoarsely. "What do you want?"
Trader and Judith exchanged glances. Then Trader took a deep breath. "To be honest, Cadel, we want you. You and Sonja. We need your help," he rejoined, whereupon Judith slapped at the rumpled bedspread.
"Maybe you'd better sit down," she recommended. "This is going to take a while."
Cadel, however, was reluctant to leave the immediate vicinity of the door. Flattening himself against it, he appealed to Sonja for enlightenment. "What's this all about?" he demanded, knowing that Sonja would tell him the truth.
But Sonja was having difficulties. Though Trader and Judith seemed happy to let her answer Cadel's question, her hands wouldn't stay on the DynaVox screen. They kept sliding off.
With a sinking heart, Cadel realized that she was too excited to communicate properly.
"It's not much of a solution, is it?" Judith observed, after a short wait. She was scowling at the DynaVox. "Surely we can do better than that old thing? For Chris'sake, this is the twenty-first century."
"We'll look into it," Trader promised Then he addressed Cadel. "I'll come straight to the point, because I don't know how long it'll be before the police realize that we're here—"
"How did you get in?" Cadel interrupted—and Trader's smile, which had dimmed slightly, flashed out again at double the wattage.
"We're meant to be social workers," he explained, with a twinkle in his eye. "But I'll talk about that in a minute. First we have to discuss GenoME."
Cadel sucked in his breath. GenoME was one of Phineas Darkkon's creations: a company that, unbeknownst to the general public, had once been part of Dr. Darkkon's criminal empire. GenoME offered a very expensive gene-mapping service, designed to "maximize the genetic potential" of its clients. According to Earl Toffany, GenoME's chief executive officer, gene mapping was the only scientific way of identifying where a person's strengths and weaknesses might lie. Without a gene map, he had often said, life was one big shot in the dark. GenoME's motto was Messages in Matter Are Messages That Matter.
But GenoME was secretive about its methods. It wouldn't reveal the formula used in its gene-map analysis. Some people had therefore claimed that the entire company was founded on a lie—that it was impossible to understand a person using DNA, and that GenoME was defrauding its gullible clients.
Knowing Phineas Darkkon's history, Cadel had always been inclined to believe these accusations.
"Are you from GenoME?" he gasped, and Judith winced.
"Of course not!" she yelped. "Give us some credit!"
Clearly, she was appalled at the very idea. Trader, in contrast, seemed tickled. He gestured at his own immaculate person.
"Do I look as if I need to maximize my genetic potential?" he queried. "Go on—you can tell me." He lifted one foot, and joked, "Maybe the shoes could be improved. I was a bit worried about these shoes when I bought them."
"GenoME is a corrupt and dangerous organization," Judith interjected, "and we're part of a group that's been given the job of bringing it down."
"Which isn't going to be easy," Trader said. Suddenly his smile vanished, and its disappearance transformed his face. All at once he looked less like an advertisement for expensive aftershave, and more like someone with a formidable intellect. "Legally speaking, GenoME is ironclad," he added. "There's no obvious link to the Darkkon Empire—not one that you could take to court. If there had been, GenoME would have been torn inside out when Prosper English got arrested." Suddenly his dazzling smile was switched on again, warming the whole room. "But I probably don't need to tell you that," he breezily allowed. "You must be pretty familiar with the whole GenoME setup."
"Not really. No," Cadel answered. He was still pressed against the door, wary and watchful and poised for flight.
Trader raised a perfectly arched eyebrow
"Oh, come on," he coaxed. "With your background, you can't be completely in the dark about GenoME, I'm sure."
Cadel swallowed. He felt an almost imperceptible chill.
"What do you know about my background?" he asked, trying not to sound as worried as he felt.
Trader didn't answer immediately He seemed to enjoy dangling his secret in front of Cadel—the way a child might enjoy dangling a piece of wool in front of a kitten. At last, however, he teasingly remarked, "Heard from any old friends lately?"
Sonja's squawk made everyone else jump. When Cadel turned, he saw that she was writhing in the grip of a severe muscular spasm, brought on by her desperate need to communicate. But though she poked repeatedly at the DynaVox, she always missed her mark.
Cadel lunged for her hand and caught it just before it knocked against the arm of her wheelchair.
"It's all right," he assured her. "Don't worry, calm down." Then he swung back to confront Trader. "Com!" he said accusingly. "You've talked to Com!"
But Trader shook his head.
"No," he admitted. "Unfortunately not. We only used his name to attract your attention. It was his sister who first told us about you."
"His sister?" Cadel was astonished; he'd been unaware that Com had any family at all. But Trader wasn't about to expand on the subject of Com's sister. There were other, more important things to discuss.
"Hi
s sister, yes. Of course she didn't know much, but what she did know was very interesting. And when we tracked you down through the police and welfare networks, we found out a lot more." Trader jerked his chin at Sonja. "About the pair of you, actually. We've been monitoring Sonja's e-mail—which is how we knew you were coming here today."
"So you were the one inside Hazel's machine?" Cadel was following his own train of thought, back to the mysterious cookie. It all made sense now. "You designed that program?"
"Not personally, no," Trader replied. "A kid called Hamish did it. You'll like him—he's in our group."
Cadel, however, wasn't interested in Hamish. Hamish hadn't been enrolled at the Axis Institute. "Com's sister," he said sharply. "Can I talk to her?"
Trader shrugged. "Maybe," he replied. "She's part of our group."
"Does she know where Com is?"
"I wish." Trader heaved a regretful sigh. "We none of us know where to find Com. If we did, we'd have him on board as well. I gather he's a bit of a whiz."
"Com studied at the Axis Institute." Cadel was thinking aloud, more for Sonja's benefit than for any other reason. He squeezed her crooked fingers. "Com would be able to corroborate my story. He could talk to Detective Greeniaus!"
"Ah. Yes. Now here's the thing, Cadel." Trader once again took charge of the conversation. "We know you're being pestered by the police. It's why we've had to approach you in such a roundabout way," he said. "Judging by all the activity on Hazel's system, I'm assuming you must have mentioned our encoded message to the authorities?"
"Yes." Cadel's tone was defensive. So was his body language. He released Sonja's hand and folded his arms. "Why? Is that a problem?" he asked, with a sarcastic edge to his voice.
"Oh, no," Trader assured him. "We expected you to do something of the sort. In fact we were hoping you would, because we wanted the police to get really nervous about leaving you at the Donkins' house." He assumed a very earnest mien. "But from now on, Cadel, we'd prefer it if you stopped shooting your mouth off like that. There's no point, since we don't mean you any harm."
"Prove it," said Cadel. He was growing alarmed at all this talk about covert operations. "Who are you exactly? You're not the police, I can see that—"
"Can you? Thank god!" Trader wiped his brow with comical emphasis. "So my shoes can't be that awful!"
"I told you who we are," Judith weighed in. "We're part of a private group of network infiltration specialists. Our job is to investigate GenoME. We have to find out how it's been breaking the law, and bring it to justice."
"Judith is our forensic accountant," Trader explained, his white teeth gleaming. "She's in charge of following money trails and disentangling company structures. We're hoping that she might uncover a few questionable activities in GenoME's financial records."
"But we can't do that unless we get into its computer system," Judith finished.
Both she and Trader stared at Cadel: Trader with a seductive smile; Judith with a serious expression on her face.
Cadel glanced from one to the other.
"And that's where I come in, is it?" he said flatly. Whereupon Trader gave a brisk nod. His casual pose was slightly undermined by his keen gaze and set jaw.
"We need your computer skills," he confirmed. "You'd be working with our network infiltration team. And Sonja would be useful in our forensic accounting team, because of her mathematical abilities."
Cadel's eyes found Sonja's. She was watching him just as closely as the two adults were. Nothing in her eager attitude suggested that she doubted the truth of Trader's claim.
But then again, she hadn't been brought up by Prosper English. She hadn't been raised to question everything she'd ever heard.
"GenoME is based in the U.S.," Cadel objected, turning back to Trader. "I can't go to the States, and neither can she."
"Hell, no!" Judith exclaimed, as if she could imagine nothing more abhorrent than a trip to the United States. Her tone seemed to amuse her colleague, whose smile widened into a grin.
"GenoME's security in America is impenetrable," Trader informed Cadel. "We haven't been able to infiltrate the company on any level—not over there. But when we found out that GenoMe was planning to open a new branch in Australia, we saw our chance." Trader must have realized that his words had struck a chord with Cadel, because he continued in a more jaunty and confident manner. "Security is always shaky in a new operation—as you probably know," he said. "That's why we're concentrating on the Australian subsidiary. That's why we've set up a special investigative team Down Under."
"And-they-don't-mind-having-kids-like-us-on-the-team," Sonja finally interjected, through the agency of her DynaVox.
The fact that she'd managed to communicate at all was something of a relief to Cadel; it meant that she was calming down. Before he could comment on this, however, Judith reached over and patted her arm.
"Of course we don't mind," said Judith, robustly. And Trader jumped in with his own contribution.
"What we've discovered is that some of the people we need for this job are under eighteen," he pointed out. "I don't know why; maybe you just have to grow up with computers to really understand them." He winked at Cadel. "But it makes things rather difficult for us, because we're trying to keep a low profile. This is an unofficial investigation, you see. On the one hand, we don't trust the police to keep their mouths shut, and on the other hand..." He spread his hands, in a roguish sort of way. "Well, let's just say that certain surveillance activities aren't legal unless you have a warrant. And how can you get the evidence you need for a warrant, unless you go poking around a bit first?"
"So—"
"So," Trader went on, finishing Cadel's sentence for him, "if we have to use spyware, or illegal hacking techniques, or anything of that nature, we don't want to be worrying about police interference. That's why we need to keep our operations private."
But this was more easily said than done. According to Trader, employing "a bunch of kids" for top secret activities had caused any number of problems. It had soon become apparent that a house full of teenagers would attract the attention of neighbors and social workers. Questions would be asked. Objections would be raised.
"So we came up with a clever idea," Trader revealed. "We thought that if we disguised our headquarters as a youth refuge called Clearview House, and our adult team as social workers, no one would start wondering what we were up to."
"And it's worked," Judith interposed.
"And it's worked." A satisfied nod from Trader. "Our kids can live at Clearview House. They can spend all the time they want in the basement—which is where we keep our technology. We call it the War Room." He leaned forward, and his smile became positively alluring as he rubbed his hands together. "You won't believe what we can do, Cadel. We've got the biggest collection of gigabytes you've ever seen."
Cadel swallowed. His mouth was almost watering at the prospect of all that computer hardware; he longed to see it. Yet he was determined not to be sweet-talked into anything dangerous. Certainly not if it involved Sonja.
He searched Trader's finely modeled features for any hint of deceit. The good-humored smile and friendly crow's-feet were reassuring enough, but what about that supremely confident intelligence lurking behind the brilliant green eyes? Could that be trusted?
"The police follow me, you know," Cadel finally announced. "They sit outside Hazel's house in unmarked cars."
"I realize that." Trader remained serene. "Like I told you before, we've been trawling through their network."
"And that wouldn't be a problem? Having the police around all the time?"
"It's been factored into our arrangements."
"Why?" Cadel's scrutiny shifted to Judith. He surveyed her with a frankly skeptical look. "Why put up with that kind of risk, just for my sake?"
Taken by surprise, Judith blinked, and glanced at her colleague. Then she uttered a shaky little laugh, and said, "I guess you're worth the trouble."
"Because of what I
can do? Or because of who I am?" Cadel rounded on Trader. "I've told you, I hardly know anything about GenoME. And I wouldn't dream of asking Prosper English about it, because he and I don't communicate."
"Cadel—," Trader began. But Cadel hadn't finished.
"Or is there something else you were hoping to use me for? Bait, perhaps?" Cadel decided to lay his cards on the table. He was sick of being pushed around. Of being underestimated. "Because I think you're probably right," he went on. "I think GenoME is dangerous. I think the world would be better off without it. But not at my expense. Not with me as bait."
Trader shook his head. "We don't want to put you at risk," he insisted. And Cadel gave a snort.
"Oh, please. Do you think I'm a fool?" Glimpsing Sonja's restless movements from the corner of his eye, he gripped her fluttering hand again. "Don't try and tell me that you haven't wondered what would happen if the head of GenoME ever found out where I was."
As Trader pondered this remark, Judith butted in with a question of her own. She sounded genuinely curious.
"What do you think he would do?" she asked.
"He wouldn't want to kill me, if that's what you're wondering," said Cadel. "I know nothing about his business. And I don't have any claim to it, since I'm not Dr. Darkkon's legal heir. So I'm no threat to Earl Toffany at all. There's no reason on earth why he should break the law just to get rid of me."
"Then there's no need to worry about our motives. Is there?" Trader blithely queried. Whereupon Cadel fixed him with a somber look.
"Yes, there is. Because Prosper English is a threat to Earl." Cadel couldn't help assuming that Trader, at least, must have worked this out already. So his tone was impatient. Grudging. "Prosper knows all about GenoME. If he hadn't been arrested, he would have taken over the company after Dr. Darkkon died. And if he ever gets out, he'll try to do just that. Which probably isn't something that Earl Toffany wants to happen. Why should he?" Cadel felt the vibration of Sonja's involuntary muscular spasms through his fingers, and tightened his grip. "On the other hand, if Prosper doesn't get out, he might try to cut a deal with the authorities by telling them everything he knows about GenoME. Either way, Earl Toffany would be in trouble. So he'd be looking for ways to threaten Prosper."
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