Trader's brows snapped together. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowed. "Is there some indication of that? In the files?" he asked.
"No."
"Then—"
"I just wouldn't put it past them," Cadel remarked with a shrug. "Would you?"
At this, Trader relaxed slightly. He shook his head, an admiring grin creeping across his angular face. "You've certainly got a unique outlook on life, young Cadel," he said. "Remarkably distrustful, if I may say so. Must be something to do with that Axis Institute training. As a matter of fact, it's the sort of attitude we need more of around here." And he slapped Cadel's knee. "We'll ask Cliff what he thinks. Maybe it's the right thing to do after all. Maybe if the police start hassling Gazo, it'll distract GenoME from what we're up to ourselves."
This, in fact, was Cliff's view exactly. So after lunch, while Judith was educating Sonja about the squad, Cadel caught a bus to Newtown.
As did one of his bodyguards.
It was a bright autumn day. Sitting at the rear of the bus, watching the streetscape roll past, Cadel felt as if he hadn't been outside for weeks. This wasn't the case, of course. It was simply that his focus on Genius Squad's mission had been so intense that he hadn't noticed things like the weather. Even now, away from the War Room, he couldn't quite relax. His mind was too busy. On the one hand, he kept mentally reviewing his microphone application, searching for flaws. On the other hand, he needed to plan his meeting with Gazo. There was no telling what Gazo would do when Cadel approached him. Cadel had to be prepared for a whole range of reactions.
Not that Gazo would lash out. He wasn't a violent man. But he was bound to be edgy at first—and perhaps even suspicious.
That was one reason why Cadel hadn't confided in Saul Greeniaus.
Saul's mobile was sitting snugly in Cadel's pocket. It would be used to call the detective after Cadel had spoken with Gazo. There was really no alternative; the surveillance team would alert Saul, even if Cadel didn't. But Cadel had decided not to warn the detective about his proposed meeting, just in case Saul put a stop to it. Besides, Cadel didn't want Saul descending on Gazo with a pack of police. Not out of the blue, anyway.
Glancing over his shoulder, Cadel checked that the unmarked police car was still following his bus. It was. Three seats in front of Cadel, a member of the surveillance team was sitting directly opposite the rear door, squashed between a teenager wearing headphones and an elderly woman with a stick. Cadel found himself eyeing the three of them, as he'd once eyed everyone who had ever come near him on a bus or a train. Gazo's sudden reappearance had resurrected old memories—and old habits. In the past, Cadel had never been free of Prosper's own surveillance specialists. Now he was reverting to his former mind-set.
It's the sort of attitude we need more of around here. Cadel remembered Trader's words and fretted over them. Prosper had taught Cadel to take nothing on trust—to be perpetually looking for a trap, trick, or loophole. Trader had endorsed that view, and it worried Cadel. He didn't know if he wanted to be living in that kind of world again. Not even if it was for a good cause.
He realized that the bus had reached his stop, and rose quickly. With the policeman close on his heels, he alighted from the vehicle and struck out along King Street in the direction of City Road. The air was gritty with traffic fumes. The footpaths became more crowded as Cadel drew closer to the gates of the university. He didn't look out of place among the other pedestrians, with their scruffy sweatshirts, baggy pants, and smooth young faces. If he'd been carrying a bag of some sort, he might have blended in completely.
Upon walking through the gates, Cadel didn't check to see what his bodyguard was doing. What did it matter? Whether on foot or in a car, the police would continue to dog his steps. And he didn't mind that, as long as they didn't make themselves too conspicuous. In fact, he didn't even bother to glance behind him; he was far more interested in the patches of greenery that he passed. Using a map he'd downloaded from the Internet, he intended to visit every location where his old friend could possibly be employed. Cadel expected to find Gazo mowing one of the large and manicured stretches of lawn around the campus, or perhaps shoveling fertilizer onto a garden bed.
When Cadel finally tracked him down, however, Gazo wasn't mowing or shoveling. He was planting seedlings in a damp spot overshadowed by a cluster of tall buildings. Despite the concrete benches scattered around, it wasn't the kind of place where people were destined to linger. It was more of an open-air corridor, and a dingy one at that. Tucked away at its edges were several tree ferns, and outcrops of gloomy-looking plants with leathery, underwater leaves.
Gazo was kneeling on the concrete path, dressed in blue overalls. He was alone. Cadel instantly recognized his thin, spotty face and long neck—though Gazo's tan was new, as were the tufts of hair on his receding chin. This facial hair suggested that Gazo was trying to disguise himself, but it was a failed attempt. At twenty (or thereabouts), he probably wasn't old enough to grow a proper beard.
It was a moment before Cadel could find his voice.
"Gazo," he said. And Gazo looked up.
His mouth fell open.
"It's all right," Cadel said hastily, as Gazo scrambled to his feet. "Prosper didn't send me. I came on my own."
"Cadel," Gazo breathed, in accents of astonishment.
"Can I talk to you? Would that be all right?"
"Yeah, sure." An awkward smile began to spread over Gazo's face. "You ain't grown much."
"I guess not."
"Are you a student now? At the university?"
"No." Cadel took a deep breath. "I can't get a place at university, because nobody can work out who I really am. Australia doesn't want me and America doesn't want me. Prosper English won't tell anyone where I was born." Seeing Gazo's smile dim, Cadel added, "Prosper doesn't know where I'm living, Gazo. The police have made sure of that."
"He dunno where I'm living, neiver," Gazo declared. "Leastways, he ain't tried to knock me off."
"Is that what you're scared of? Is that why you changed your name?"
"Yeah." Gazo began to remove his gardening gloves. "So you 'eard I changed me name, did ya?"
Cadel nodded.
"You was always pretty smart," said Gazo. "I shoulda known you'd find me."
"Won't you please give the police a statement, Gazo?" Cadel understood that he didn't have much time—that the surveillance team would soon be closing in and making its report to Saul Greeniaus. So Cadel couldn't afford to beat around the bush. "I'm the only one who's talked about the Axis Institute, and the police can't get any independent confirmation. Prosper's saying that I'm a liar. He says I'm making everything up—that he's not my father after all." Hearing Gazo catch his breath, Cadel said, "Didn't you hear about that? About Prosper English being my father?"
Gazo shook his head, suitably awestruck.
"I fought you were Dr. Darkkon's son," he objected.
"So did I. Then Prosper told me I wasn't. And now he won't say anything, in case it jeopardizes his defense." All this talk about Prosper was getting to Cadel. Standing in such a shadowy corner, with Gazo before him and a surveillance team hovering somewhere in the immediate vicinity, Cadel was beginning to feel as if he had returned to the Axis Institute. It was a terrible feeling. It drove the color from his cheeks and made his palms sweat. "Gazo," he went on, "you saw stuff I never saw. If you tell the police about it, you can help make sure that Prosper never gets out of jail. Because if he does..." Cadel had to pause a moment before proceeding. "If he does, he'll come after me. You might be all right, but he won't let me get away. I'm his son, you see."
There was a long silence. Gazo appeared to be softening, so Cadel made one final plea.
"Do you remember the last time we talked? In the car, near my house?" When Gazo's pale eyes flickered, Cadel knew that the exchange in the car hadn't been forgotten. "I told you to disappear, and you offered to stay. You said I shouldn't be on my own, because I was just a kid. And I said I didn't ne
ed any help." Cadel heaved a sigh. "Well, I do now. I need your help, Gazo."
"Then you've got it," said Gazo. He spoke with such surprising firmness that Cadel was taken aback. They stared at each other. Then Gazo shrugged.
"I always said I'd look after ya. It's what I wanted to do, i'n't it? Look after people." He grinned suddenly, exposing an array of stained and crooked teeth. "And if Prosper tries to find me—well, let's just say I'll kick up a big stink. Know what I mean?"
Cadel felt a prickling in his tear ducts. It was totally unexpected and horribly disconcerting.
I must be tired, he told himself. And he tried to conceal his weakness by clearing his throat.
"You can still do that, then?" he queried. "Make people pass out?"
"Oh, yeah."
"But you're not wearing a suit anymore."
Again, Gazo shrugged.
"I've learned to control it better," he replied. "If I 'adn't, you'd be out cold by now—the way you took me by surprise."
"So it's not a problem anymore? Your condition?"
"I wouldn't say that." Gazo was starting to sound more confident. Clearly, he wasn't quite the same old Gazo. Life as a gardener had made him more sure of himself. "It's still a problem sometimes," he allowed. "But what I'm doing now is I'm trying to find out more about what I got. Scientifically."
Hearing this, Cadel swallowed. It was exactly the opening he needed.
"How?" he asked. "I mean, how are you finding out more?"
"Well, it's genetic, isn't it? So I'm getting me genes sorted." From the way he expressed himself, it was obvious that Gazo didn't have a very strong grasp of exactly what gene analysis meant. "There's these people called GenoME," he said, "and you pay 'em money, and they work out what's wrong wiv your genes."
"Gazo..." Cadel took the plunge. "I don't think you should be going anywhere near GenoME."
Gazo frowned. "Eh?"
"GenoME was a Darkkon project," Cadel revealed. "Dr. Darkkon set it up."
His words had an immediate effect. Gazo staggered and turned white. He dropped his gardening gloves.
"Christ," he said.
"It's not a reputable company," Cadel continued. "And if you're worried about Prosper—"
"But I never seen nuffink about this!" Gazo exclaimed. "In the papers or on the telly—not a word!"
"The connection isn't well-known. That's why GenoME's still operating." It saddened Cadel to witness all the confidence drain out of his friend. "I only know myself because ... well, because of my background," he finished, and watched a weak-kneed Gazo sink onto one of the concrete benches.
Cadel sat down next to him.
"It's a shame," Cadel said quietly. "You must want to leave all this stuff behind. I would myself, if I could. But I can't."
"Do you fink Prosper knows where I am?" Gazo rounded on him. "Will he come after me?"
"I doubt it."
"But there's a chance, right?"
"Maybe."
"So what should I do?"
Cadel hesitated. "If I was still the old Cadel," he sighed at last, "I would have told you to cooperate with the police. For your own protection. Because it would help me." He spread his hands. "But now I'm really not sure, Gazo. You'll have to decide for yourself."
Gazo studied Cadel's face for a moment, as if trying to extract an answer from it. Close up, Cadel could see a scar running across his friend's forehead. It was a nasty scar.
He wondered if it marked the spot where Vadi—Prosper's valet—had struck Gazo to stop him from rescuing Cadel.
"Let's talk to the coppers, then," Gazo suddenly declared. "Let's do it now, before I change me mind." He glanced over at the partly planted garden bed, with its freshly turned earth and tumble of empty plastic pots. "Only I gotta finish puttin' in them 'ellebores first," he concluded. "I can't let the boss down."
And he stood up to do his duty.
TWENTY
Saul Greeniaus was already on his way to the university when Cadel phoned him. Ten minutes later, the detective arrived, dressed in a neat gray suit and flanked by the surveillance team.
Cadel immediately became conscious of an unpleasant smell.
"Fertilizer?" said one of the surveillance team, screwing up his nose as he eyed the newly dressed garden bed. "I hate that stuff."
"It's me," mumbled Gazo. "I'm sorry."
Cadel was alarmed. He had experienced the impact of Gazo's gale-force stench in the past and didn't particularly want to endure it again.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asked, edging away from his friend. "Are you going to be able to control it?"
"I fink so." Gazo was still hunched on the concrete bench beside Cadel, nervously wringing his hands. "Long as they don't arrest me."
"They're not going to arrest you," said Cadel. And he addressed Saul Greeniaus. "You don't want to arrest him, do you? You just want to talk to him."
Saul's dark gaze traveled from Cadel to Gazo. His expression was impassive.
"We'd like to interview Mr. Kovacs, yes," he rejoined, in dry and formal tones. "Mr. Kovacs has a lot of questions to answer."
Cadel began to cough. The smell was getting worse; even the surveillance team retreated a few steps.
Saul's eyes widened.
"Gazo—hack-hack!—doesn't have to tell you anything!" Cadel spluttered. He rose and stumbled away from Gazo, who was trying to calm himself with a deep-breathing exercise. "If you scare him, he's going to end up—hack-hack—knocking us all out!"
Cadel had hardly finished speaking when Saul grabbed his arm. The surveillance team had already whipped out a couple of handkerchiefs to clamp over their noses and mouths. Saul was breathing in shallow little gasps as he pushed Cadel behind him.
"You'd better get out of here," the detective coughed. But Cadel shook him off irritably.
The smell was already weakening.
"Don't be stupid," said Cadel. "Gazo won't hurt me. I told you, he wants to help."
"I've got me old airtight suit at home," Gazo suddenly remarked. "Maybe I should put it on before I talk to anyone."
"That's a good idea." Cadel looked up at Saul. The detective's attitude toward Gazo didn't impress Cadel; it was little short of antagonistic. "Why don't you meet Gazo at his house this afternoon?" Cadel suggested. "Around five o'clock, say? That would give him time to put on his protective suit and call a lawyer." He turned to Gazo. "I think you should get yourself a lawyer, just in case."
Gazo swallowed. The surveillance team gagged.
For a moment, Cadel felt dizzy. He staggered, and Saul seized his arm again.
"Jesus," the detective choked out.
"I'm not saying you'll need a lawyer," Cadel said faintly, gulping down lungfuls of clean air. "Gazo? I'm sure you won't. But it's best to be on the safe side."
"Yeah. I understand." Gazo was beginning to sweat. "Maybe you'd better go," he advised anxiously. "Maybe you'd better all go. I'll be fine if I do some meditation."
"What's your address?" rasped Saul. When Gazo gave it to him, the detective produced a mobile from inside his jacket and made a brief, one-handed entry before adding, "I sure hope I'm gonna find you there this afternoon, Mr. Kovacs I sure hope you won't do anything stupid "
"Of course he won't!" Cadel was growing cross. Why did Saul have to be so unreasonable? "If he wanted to disappear, he'd have done it already. Ow!" Saul's grasp on his arm had tightened. "Don't do that!"
"Is this your correct address, Mr. Kovacs?" the detective queried, ignoring Cadel. "Are you quite sure?"
Gazo nodded.
"And could I have your phone number, please?" Saul went on.
Gazo recited it from memory, his forehead creasing as Cadel tried to wriggle out of Saul's iron grip. At last Gazo said, in a slightly sullen manner, "You know, Cadel's just a kid, and he's small, too. I don't like it when people push 'im around."
Saul's reaction to this comment was unexpected. He studied Gazo in silence for a good ten seconds, then released Cadel and s
lipped the mobile back into his pocket.
"Point taken," the detective replied, before shifting his attention from Gazo to Cadel. "I'll drive you home now. Since we need to give Mr. Kovacs some space."
Cadel blinked. "Oh, but—"
"If you stay here," Saul interrupted, "Nick and Luca will have to stay here with you. And I think Mr. Kovacs would prefer it if they didn't. Wouldn't you, Mr. Kovacs?"
Gazo didn't know how to answer. He shifted about on his seat. At the same time, the air thickened with a faint, fetid odor that sent Cadel reeling backward.
"All right," he gasped. "Okay. Maybe that's the best thing. Are you all right with that, Gazo?"
"Yeah," Gazo muttered. "Sorry, Cadel."
He lifted a hand, and the police seemed to view this action as some kind of signal. They immediately withdrew, dragging Cadel with them. He found himself being hustled through a door, into a foyer, and then out onto a stretch of avenue—where two unmarked police cars had been left in a NO STANDING zone. He recognized one of these vehicles as the surveillance team's car. The other belonged to Saul Greeniaus.
"Get in," said the detective, disengaging all of its locks. Cadel climbed into the front passenger seat. He knew that Saul wasn't happy, but he wasn't happy himself. So that made two of them.
Saul didn't speak again until he had started the engine and was driving toward King Street.
"I hope you didn't give that guy your address," he snapped.
"No," said Cadel.
"Then don't. Not yet. Not until we've checked him out."
Cadel heaved a long-suffering sigh. "You can't arrest him. Not without gas masks," he said. When there was no reply, Cadel tried another tack. "You shouldn't be so suspicious. Gazo isn't a crook. He's just trying to help."
"You can't be sure of that, Cadel."
"Yes, I can."
"How do you know he's not working for Prosper English?" Accelerating onto King Street, Saul flicked his passenger a stern, admonishing glance. "He made contact with you, didn't he? How do you know it's not a trap?"
"Because he didn't make contact with me. I made contact with him." Hearing Saul's intake of breath, Cadel hurriedly continued. "I used the Internet," he volunteered. (This wasn't a lie; it simply wasn't the whole truth.) "He calls himself Russ Adams now, and that's an alias he thought up at the Axis Institute."
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