"Now, sweetie," said Fiona, who had insisted that Cadel ride with her, rather than with Saul, "if there is anything that worries you about Clearview House, then give me a ring. Not that I'm expecting any problems. Mr. Greeniaus is paid to be suspicious, and I don't want him getting you all paranoid. Because I'm sure there's no need to be."
"Oh, I'm not," said Cadel.
"You've got to understand that policemen have a very one-sided view of the world. It's not their fault. You just have to remember they can be a bit overcautious."
"Mr. Greeniaus is all right, though, don't you think?" Cadel was moved by a vague desire to defend Saul. "I mean, he's pretty smart."
Fiona blushed. Cadel saw this and wondered why her cheeks had grown pink. But all she said was, "Well, you should know about being smart, I guess."
The drive to Clearview House was a long one, ending in a quiet suburban area full of tree-lined streets and high, ivy-clad fences. When Fiona and Cadel finally arrived at their destination, they found Saul already unloading his car in the fading light. Cadel rushed to help him. Though Saul refused to let Cadel lift any heavy boxes, both Fiona and Cadel were allowed to carry clothes. Fiona picked up some jeans and jackets. Cadel shouldered a pillowcase full of socks, pajamas, and underwear.
He could sense that he was being watched from various upstairs windows. No one came out to greet him, however, until he had almost reached the front door—which was suddenly flung open by a man whose face he didn't recognize. This man was short and stocky, with a gray crew cut, a broken nose, and a gruff voice. Everything about him was square: his jaw, his build, his hands, his outfit.
"Ah," he said. "You must be Cadel. I'm Cliff Wylie. How are you?" He stuck out his hand, which Cadel politely shook. "I comanage Clearview House with Trader Lynch," Cliff explained. "My background is ... Well, let's just say it's in logistics," he said, rather obliquely. "Trader looks after the staff, and I look after the premises. Repairs. Maintenance. Supplies. That sort of thing." Then he introduced himself to Fiona, who had followed Cadel to the door.
Saul was still heaving boxes around nearby.
"That looks like a job for two lazy young punks I happen to know," Cliff rumbled, peering at the detective. Turning to Cadel, he said, "Can you find your own bedroom?" And upon receiving an affirmative reply, Cliff excused himself. "I need to find Hamish and Devin," he explained. "That pair always manage to disappear when there's hard work to be done."
He promptly plunged back inside, leaving Cadel and Fiona to make their own way upstairs. It wasn't quite the greeting that Cadel had expected. But no sooner had he ventured over the threshold—with Fiona in close pursuit—than Lexi appeared at one of the doorways that opened off the entrance hall.
And her enthusiasm more than made up for Cliff's abruptness.
"There he is!" she cried. "He's back! Hurray!" She zoomed up to Cadel. "Is this your stuff? Can I carry it?"
"Uh ... no," he muttered. "I'm fine."
"Trader's in the office," Lexi continued. "Is this all you've got? It's not much, is it?"
"There's more," he said, glancing over his shoulder. Sure enough, Saul Greeniaus had finally joined them. He was toting a heavy box of books and made very slow progress up the stairs, behind Fiona—who could hardly see over the pile of clothes in her arms.
Lexi surged ahead, two steps at a time, jabbering on about meal rosters and allergies and downloading television programs. As he passed her bedroom door, Cadel noticed that the knob was missing and that there were new scratches in the paintwork. He decided that the twins must have been fighting since his last visit.
Trader was waiting for them on the top-floor landing.
"Hello!" he said, with a breathtaking smile. "I thought I heard a car." He squinted at Saul's box. "Is anything else down there?"
"Yes," Saul grunted.
"Then I'll go and get it."
Moving to the left so that Trader could squeeze by, Cadel wondered if Com's sister was around. He even glanced into the office on his way past, but it was empty. No one was occupying his bedroom, either—not until Lexi burst into it, just ahead of him.
"Did you bring any posters?" she demanded. "Or stickers, or anything? You'll need to brighten up these walls." Then she caught sight of the garments that Fiona was dumping onto Cadel's bed and gave a little shriek. "Oh my god! Are these your clothes? Let me see, let me see!"
Saul staggered into the room just in time to witness Lexi pouncing on Cadel's collection of anoraks like a cheetah on an antelope. The detective deposited his load very carefully beside the bed, while Lexi began tossing aside jacket after jacket, sweatshirt after sweatshirt.
"Oh, gross!" she exclaimed, screwing up her nose at the sight of an old school blazer. "No way can you wear that; it's got to go. And this! What's this? You don't seriously want to be seen in this?" She clicked her tongue over a pair of brown corduroy pants. "Uh-uh. Not possible. You need a totally new look."
Cadel was speechless. Even Fiona was at a loss.
Only Saul seemed utterly unfazed.
"Hey," he rasped, "this is Cadel's room, not yours. Why don't you give the guy some privacy here?"
"Why don't you?" Lexi retorted. "You're not his dad!"
"It's all right, Mr. Greeniaus," Cadel said quickly. He didn't want Saul changing his mind about Clearview House, just because Lexi had lost her temper. "I don't care, really I don't."
The detective fixed him with a level, speculative gaze as the clomp-clomp-clomp of heavy footsteps became audible. Cadel remembered a certain pair of enormous biker's boots, and identified the newcomer before Hamish had even lurched through the door.
Hamish was red-faced and sweating. His glasses had steamed up, and his bandana was slipping over one eye. He was carrying another box of books.
"Woof!" he grunted. "Where do I put this?"
Saul pointed silently at a spot on the floor, then went to fetch more luggage from the car. Fiona left, too. But Cadel stayed, because he wanted to ask an important question.
When he was sure that Saul and Fiona were out of earshot, he said, "Is Com's sister here?"
"Com's sister?" Hamish was sprawled on the bed, recovering from his climb. "You mean Dot?"
"Dot?" Cadel echoed. "Is that her name?"
"She's not here now," said Lexi, who was dividing Cadel's clothes into little heaps. "Do you like what I did with Hamish? That whole outfit was my idea. So was the buzz cut. What he really needs is a couple of tats, but he won't have them."
"No, I won't!" Hamish whined. "Tattoos hurt!"
"But you're such a geek, Hamish—you won't convince anyone, without tats." Lexi sighed before turning to Cadel. "It doesn't totally work with him," she conceded, "but it'll work with you. You'll look so hard when I'm done."
"That is such crap." Devin had suddenly appeared, bearing Cadel's sports bag. He dropped this bag as if it were on fire, then squatted down to examine the box of books. "How are you gunna make him look hard? He looks like a fluffy bunny."
"A fluffy bunny with a bomb in it," said Hamish, and sat up to address Cadel. "Did you really wipe out the Axis Institute? Dot says you did. She says you killed half the faculty."
Stunned, Cadel stared at Hamish. There was a long silence.
"I never killed anyone," Cadel croaked at last. Then, to change the subject, he added, "Why do I have to look hard, anyway? I mean, what for?"
"Because this is a youth refuge," Lexi explained. "Because we're all supposed to be difficult. Problem kids. You know." With obvious relish, she described the type of kid she meant. "The sort you'd be scared to sit next to on a bus. The sort that never pays for anything."
"But aren't we trying to infiltrate GenoME?" Cadel couldn't believe how stupid Lexi was sounding. It worried him. "If that's our goal, we have to look harmless. We have to blend in. I was always taught that the worst thing you can do is draw attention to yourself, especially if you're up to no good." Realizing that it was Prosper English who had told him this, he had to clear hi
s throat before continuing. "There was a teacher at the Axis Institute who got clean away. His name was Alias, and he managed to escape because he never stood out in a crowd. Unless he wanted to. But we don't want to. Do we?"
Hamish goggled. Lexi frowned. Devin rolled his eyes.
"Jeez," he said. "Another Cliff Wylie. Cliff's always going on and on about keeping a low profile. He never shuts up about it."
"That's because it's his job, knobhead," Hamish pointed out. "That's because he spends all his time spying on people."
"Does he?" Cadel pressed, eager for information, and Devin sighed before answering.
"Yeah. Lucky sod. I wish I could do some of that gumshoe stuff, but he won't let me. He won't even let me sit in a surveillance car, let alone follow people around."
"Well, I'm not surprised, the way your feet stink," Lexi retorted. "You can smell 'em a mile away."
At that moment a bell clanged somewhere below them. Hamish and the twins immediately ran for the door, though Lexi was kind enough to fling the word "Dinner!" at Cadel, over her shoulder. Cadel didn't know what to do. He wasn't sure if there would be a place at the table for him. So he hesitated, and only followed the others when they were well out of sight. The thunder of their feet announced that they were already a couple of floors down, heading for the kitchen.
Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he found himself face-to-face with Saul. The detective carried two well-packed trash bags under his arms and looked slightly disheveled—as if he had just emerged from a scrum of famished teenagers. He asked if he could have a quick word with Cadel in private. And Cadel nodded.
They returned to the bedroom, where Saul dropped his load.
"That's the last of it," he declared. "Are you going to be all right here?"
"Oh yes," Cadel replied.
"Because if you're worried about anything, you should call me. Day or night."
"Fiona told me to call her," Cadel objected, and Saul frowned.
"Ms. Currey is a good person to have on your side," the detective allowed. "But she doesn't carry a licensed firearm." Seeing Cadel blink, Saul dismissed the subject with a wave of his hand. "You're not stupid. You'll know the right person to call, when the time comes. And remember there'll always be a team watching this house."
"Yes. I know."
"Don't let your guard down. Not yet. You can't afford to." Saul inclined his head, listening hard. "I think that's Ms. Currey now," he concluded.
It was. She had come upstairs to join them, though not because she was carrying more of Cadel's belongings. Instead, she had brought news of dinner.
"You're to go and join everyone," she said, a little breathless from her climb. "If you want, I can start unpacking while you eat. Would you like that?"
"No, thanks," said Cadel. He didn't want Fiona wandering around by herself upstairs, in case she stumbled on any suspiciously expensive bits of technology. "I'll do it myself."
"All right, then. I'll leave you to settle in. But I'll pop by soon, just to see how you are." Stepping forward, she gave Cadel a quick hug. "I hope it works out for you, sweetie. I'm sure it will."
"So am I," he muttered, his cheeks burning. Fiona had never hugged him before. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged him; he stood awkwardly, at a loss. He almost resented her goodwill, because it implied that she trusted him, and he was currently in the process of betraying that trust. It was a huge relief when she and Saul finally agreed to make their way downstairs.
Cadel accompanied them as far as the front hallway, where Trader had stationed himself, all shining teeth and sparkling eyes. Trader thanked his two visitors for helping with the move.
"And of course you're welcome to visit anytime," he insisted, as he ushered Fiona out into the dusk. (Cadel noticed that Saul followed her with obvious reluctance.) Trader stood smiling and waving cheerily until both Saul and Fiona were safely in their cars. Only when the cars themselves were rolling down the driveway, headlights on, did Trader relinquish his post.
He stepped back inside and shut the door firmly, engaging several locks.
"I thought they'd never go," he said. Then he turned to Cadel, sporting a mischievous grin. "So. Cadel. I think it's about time you met everybody for real, don't you?"
FOURTEEN
When Cadel entered the kitchen, he saw that it was very crowded. Hamish was sitting with the twins at an enormous table, which was covered in a plastic cloth. With them was Cliff Wylie, who looked more like a gardener than a spy because of his squared-off, nuggetty build and weather-beaten skin. Or perhaps it was Tony Cheung's close proximity that made Cliff appear so rough-hewn. In his crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed spectacles, Tony could have belonged to a different species. He had the sort of mild, pouchy face that is the product of years spent in air-conditioned comfort, beneath artificial lights.
Judith was also present, a dominating figure in many swirling layers of orange paisley print. She was ladling risotto out of a cooking pot into several empty pasta plates. Zac had been given the task of distributing full plates to the hungry diners; he shuffled around in floppy sandals, still wearing his apron. Cadel wondered if he had set foot outside the kitchen since lunchtime.
A ragged cheer went up as Cadel made his appearance.
"Here he is at last," said Trader, who had come in behind Cadel. "Now, where's he going to sit?"
"Next to me!" cried Lexi, patting the empty chair to her right. But Judith overruled her.
"He can sit wherever he wants," Judith said, loudly and assertively. "Don't let that girl bully you, Cadel—I've told her to ease off. Do you like risotto?"
"Yes," Cadel replied.
"Not allergic to anything?"
"No."
"Hamish is allergic to seafood, dairy, and nuts." Judith sighed. "As if we didn't have enough to worry about."
"Come and sit beside me, kid." It was Cliff who spoke. "And we'll tell you what's going on."
Somewhat relieved, Cadel slid into the proffered chair. He was feeling horribly out of place. Although he'd become used to living a dislocated existence, full of strange houses and unknown people, the uprooting process was never easy. It always involved a brand-new set of names and rules and faces to learn. It always required a careful search for safe havens and potential risks.
Scanning his surroundings, he realized that—despite its many attractions—Clearview House would be a hard place to settle into. Unlike Hazel's residence, or even the series of safe houses that he'd previously occupied, his new address was crowded, busy, and riddled with complications. Not that this troubled him too much. Complex systems were his specialty, after all. But it was one thing to study a complex system from the comfort of a stable platform. It was another thing entirely to be floating around in a maze or flux, trying to navigate one's position.
At this point, Cadel knew, he had only two constant factors in his life: Sonja Pirovic and Prosper English. The move to Clearview House meant that, once again, he was confronted with the difficult task of surveying, analyzing, appraising, and defining a totally foreign environment.
So he took a deep breath, picked up his fork, and got to work—just as a heaped plate of risotto was placed in front of him.
"Can you please start with what I'm supposed to be doing?" he requested. "Can you tell me where I fit into your plan?"
It was Trader who obliged. In fact, Cadel very quickly deduced that Trader was top dog at that table, with Cliff running a close second; everyone else deferred to them somewhat (though Judith clearly did so with some reservations). From his seat across the table, Trader began to reel off various facts about Genius Squad, while the others held their tongues. According to Trader, there were three teams on the squad: the network infiltration team, the forensic accounting team, and the recon team. Cadel would be part of the network infiltration team, which also included Hamish, Dot, and the twins.
Cadel pricked up his ears upon hearing this.
"Dot?" he said. "You mean Com's sister?"
"She's downstairs," Hamish mumbled, spraying rice across the tablecloth. And Trader laughed at Cadel's bewilderment.
"Have you forgotten about the War Room?" said Trader. "We still have to show you that."
"All in good time," growled Cliff, who then proceeded to explain that when Sonja finally arrived, on Tuesday morning, she would become part of Judith's forensic accounting team—along with Tony Cheung. "Al Capone was a murderer, but he was finally jailed for tax evasion," Cliff remarked, in his gravelly voice. "Maybe we can bring GenoME down by finding out where its profits come from, and where they go." As for the recon team, its membership was confined to adults only: It was made up of Cliff, Zac, and Trader. "You need experience when you're dealing with the real world," Cliff announced, with a repressive glance at Devin. "Virtual reality is for cutting your teeth on."
Then Trader took over again. He explained that Cliff was a highly experienced private detective, while he himself had been trained in covert operations, specializing in spyware and the breaching of physical security (like alarm systems, for instance). Zac, on the other hand, had been chosen for his background in genetic research. His chief contribution would be made when they finally did manage to acquire GenoME's secret gene-plotting formula: It would be Zac's job to work out whether the infamous formula was really a big fraud.
Meanwhile, he would run errands, help around the house, and collect information by posing as a new GenoME client.
"He'll be our Node-in-Residence," Hamish snorted, much to Cadel's confusion. Whereupon Trader stepped in to interpret.
"GenoME calls its clients nodes," he said chirpily, "because each individual is at the intersecting point of a lot of genetic lines. Every client's gene map, or genome, is called a node-code. And its counselors are called potentializers."
"GenoME likes to keep its language obscure," Judith interjected. "So its clients won't understand much."
"I'm sending Zac in there as a client tomorrow," Cliff went on.
Cadel was taken aback.
"You mean the Australian branch is already up and running?" he said.
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