Genius Squad

by Catherine Jinks

  Then she gave Sonja a bath, laid the kitchen table, and engaged Cadel in a long, earnest discussion about his private affairs.

  "Mel's been looking into that sample collected from Prosper English," she related. "The one they took to see if it matched the skin on the envelope found with that poor dead guard. Apparently it didn't; there's no proof that Prosper ever went near the envelope. But Mel's hoping that we might be able to use your dad's sample for a paternity test."

  "I thought we needed Prosper's permission for something like that?" Cadel inquired, and Fiona shrugged.

  "Maybe. All I know is that Mel's hoping to force the issue. Though we can't expect an answer very soon." She hesitated before adding, "Even if we do run a paternity test, it might not advance your case. You know that, don't you, sweetie?"

  "Yes," said Cadel.

  "Because you don't want to end up in Scotland. As a worst-case scenario." Fiona went on to announce that she had been speaking to her friend about his cryptography and security course. "The problem is, it's on a Monday evening," she said. "And I don't like the idea of you riding around in buses at that time of night. Though of course those policemen will be watching you." Fiona sighed. "Which raises another problem. Your attendance at the university is supposed to be unofficial. What happens if it's recorded somewhere in the police files? I don't want my friend getting into trouble, just because he helped us out."

  Cadel said nothing. He was at a loss for an answer, since he knew that he wouldn't be attending any evening courses for quite some time. Not until GenoME had been dismantled, anyway.

  Fortunately, Fiona didn't seem to expect any useful suggestions from him.

  "Don't worry," she said. "I'll figure something out. Meanwhile, how have you been? Are you feeling better now?"

  "Better?"

  "You haven't thrown up again?"

  "Oh." Cadel winced. He was ashamed of his weak stomach. "No, I'm fine."

  "What did you eat for breakfast?" Fiona asked, as if she really cared. Then, apparently satisfied with his response (which was "scrambled eggs"), she glanced around his room. "And what have you been doing with yourself?" she wanted to know. "Have you been able to use that computer in the office?"

  "Sometimes." Cadel realized suddenly that no one in Genius Squad had arranged a fake computer schedule to cover the office machine, which was supposed to be the only computer in the place. It was a dangerous oversight. Suppose he claimed that he had access to the office computer on Tuesdays and Thursdays only? What if Fiona should hear something different from another member of Genius Squad?

  If that happened, he would be caught out.

  "Sonja's been teaching me a really neat cipher," he quickly remarked, to distract Fiona's attention. "It's called the Solitaire Cipher, and it lets you communicate with another person in a really complex code without using a computer. All you need is a deck of cards."

  He went on to explain, in minute detail, how the Solitaire Cipher worked. Fiona smiled and nodded, and made an effort to understand. She didn't try to interrupt or turn the conversation. Nevertheless, she looked deeply grateful when Hamish eventually announced, from the bottom of the stairs, that lunch was ready.

  Cadel's ploy had succeeded. After her long struggle with the cutting and counting of cards, Fiona had forgotten all about Cadel's computer schedule. He had successfully bored her into a state of partial amnesia.

  "Okay," she said, almost jumping to her feet. "I suppose I'd better go. Have you spoken to Mr. Greeniaus since yesterday?"

  "No." Cadel was carefully shuffling his cards. In a bland voice he added, "Have you?"

  Fiona colored slightly.

  "No," she said. "But he did say that he'd be at the Coroner's Court tomorrow, for your dad's appearance. Just to make sure that nobody shoots anybody. So you're not to fret. Because Mr. Greeniaus has everything under control."

  Cadel remained silent. Sitting cross-legged on his rumpled bedspread, he quietly cut and stacked the deck of cards, his eyes cast down.

  "Cadel?" A pause. "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Yes, there is."

  Cadel raised his head, as a terrible thought struck him. "You're not going, are you?" he demanded. "To the Coroner's Court?"

  "No, no. Of course not."

  "That's good." The prospect had filled Cadel with dread. It was bad enough that Saul Greeniaus should be exposed to Prosper English, but Fiona Currey? "Don't go. You mustn't. Prosper mustn't find out about you, not ever."

  "Sweetie, we discussed this when we first met. Your case file is restricted. How could Prosper English find out about me?" Fiona gently patted his arm. "You've got enough to worry about. Don't concern yourself with me, or with Mr. Greeniaus. We're grown-ups—we can look after ourselves."

  Cadel disagreed. Fiona, he knew, wouldn't stand a chance against Prosper English. But he refrained from making the obvious comeback. Instead, he rose and accompanied her downstairs, where he waved her out the door just as Trader's car pulled up alongside the front steps.

  There was a brisk exchange of compliments. Trader flashed his gleaming smile and indulged in his usual bantering tone. Despite this jovial facade, however, Cadel sensed that he was deeply agitated.

  Sure enough, Fiona's car was no sooner heading for the front gate than Trader sighed and said, "Thank Christ she's gone. We need to talk."

  "Why? What about?" asked Cadel.

  "I'll tell you in a minute. Where's Judith? Is Tony here yet? It's time we had a confab." Trader barged across the threshold, his smile extinguished, his eyes glittering. "I might be wrong," he said, "but I think I'm on to something. Something big."

  THIRTY-ONE

  "Okay," said Trader. "This is what I want to tell you. I've put two and two together, and come up with an idea." He glanced around the kitchen table, making sure that he had everyone's full attention. "At the moment, Sonja and Lexi are trying to penetrate a well-protected database that Cadel discovered in the GenoME sytem," he announced. "You might remember that ten names are associated with this database, among them Jimmy Austin's. You might also remember that only four of these ten people are still alive. Well..." He took a deep breath. "I think I can guess why the six dead people were actually killed."

  The reaction was muted. Hamish continued to pick food out of his braces. Lexi gnawed at an apple. Devin belched noisily, as if he'd swallowed too much air while he was eating. Perhaps he had. Lunch had been a hurried affair, with little time provided in which to digest.

  Dirty dishes were still strewn across the tablecloth.

  Some of the squad hadn't eaten at all. Poor Tony Cheung had been dragged away from a family beachside barbecue, in response to Trader's urgent summons. Even Dot was back. She had appeared in the kitchen so suddenly that she gave the impression of having been teleported.

  Now she stood in one corner, because all the chairs were occupied.

  "You see, Tony's been doing some research on that Cayman Islands company," Trader continued. "The one that's been sending money to Fountain Pharmaceuticals. Do you all remember that?" Nods from the assembled squad. "Well, he's discovered that it's a subsidiary of something called NeuroSolutions. And you'll never guess what NeuroSolutions is involved in."

  "Electrode-implants," Sonja piped up—much to everyone's surprise. Even Cadel turned to stare at her.

  "That's it," said Trader, before she could elaborate. "Basically, we're talking about a brain-machine interface. There's been a lot of research into how you can help quadriplegics run robotic arms without pushing buttons. By implanting electrodes into their brains." He proceeded as if oblivious to the sympathetic looks that were being cast in Sonja's direction. "That's what NeuroSolutions has been doing—ostensibly," he said. "Trying to interpret brain signals, and transmit them to computers. I've been reading about it on the Internet."

  And so has poor Sonja, Cadel thought, but remained silent. He knew that Sonja couldn't bear to be pitied.

  "On the one hand, therefore, we have NeuroSo
lutions, which is somehow connected to Fountain Pharmaceuticals," Trader said. "And on the other hand, we have our ten mysterious names. Which I've been investigating." Trader leaned forward, instinctively lowering his voice. "Cadel has already pointed out that six of these people died of head injuries. What he didn't pick up, however, is that all of them were behaving erratically before they died. All of them were complaining about headaches. And all of them were booked for psychiatric evaluations."

  "Wait a minute." Zac straightened, apparently jolted out of a well-fed daze. "How do you know that? Surely that's medical data? How did you find out?"

  "I have my methods." Trader flapped an impatient hand. "What's important is that those head injuries were severe. I mean, severe. They were so bad that if anyone had tried to remove some kind of implant, it wouldn't have been noticed." As Judith gasped, and Lexi's mouth dropped open, Trader hurriedly argued his case. "I'm ninety percent sure," he said, "that the encrypted database we've been trying to unlock contains information about experiments conducted on GenoME clients like Jimmy Austin—experiments involving electrode implants. I think that those six dead people were killed because their electrode implants malfunctioned." There was a brief, stunned silence. Then Hamish chuckled.

  "Oh, man," he said. "That is so cool. A zombie brigade!"

  "Hang on a minute." It was Judith who spoke, loudly and skeptically. "Is this just a guess, or do you have any proof?"

  "We'll have proof when we get into that database," Trader replied, turning to Sonja. "And we need to get in before the court hearing tomorrow. Otherwise, if GenoME tries to kill Prosper English, the police will raid the Australian branch. They'll arrest all the staff, and the whole Australian system might self-destruct, to stop the police from getting into it. In which case we'll have to start all over again."

  In response, Sonja groped toward her DynaVox screen. But Cadel—who was becoming increasingly annoyed with Trader's high-handed treatment of Sonja—spoke for her, in a sharp, combative tone.

  "Then I guess we'll just have to start all over again." Seeing Trader's mouth tighten, Cadel folded his arms. "We can't get anything useful out of that encrypted database until tomorrow night, because that's when they ll switch on the U.S. system after the weekend."

  "Yes, but—"

  "Ask Hamish. Ask Dot. They'll tell you the same thing. Even if Sonja does work out all the codes, it won't do us any good before tomorrow night."

  During the pause that ensued, Hamish screwed his face into an apologetic expression, while Dot's head moved up and down. Neither of them uttered a word, however. Zac was the one who finally addressed Trader, hesitantly.

  "If what you say is true," he said, "there are still four people wandering around out there with electrodes implanted in their brains. Including that fellow who's working for the bank. Am I right?"

  "Possibly."

  "Which begs the question: Why aren't they dead?"

  Trader shrugged. "Perhaps their implants aren't malfunctioning yet," he rejoined. "Or perhaps the other six changed their minds about having implants. It's even possible that none of these people were told about the implants; they might have had routine surgery for something else, and been used as guinea pigs. But the ones who ended up dead might have begun to realize that something was wrong. They might have started to kick up a fuss. Who knows?" He spread his hands. "We can't be sure until we check that database."

  "We-should-warn-the-four-people-who-are-still-alive," Sonja's DynaVox slowly enunciated. And all eyes swiveled toward Trader.

  "Not yet," was his decision. "It might tip off GenoME."

  Zac looked pained. "But there's a moral imperative—," he began, before Trader interrupted.

  "Right now, our moral imperative is to get the guy who's ultimately responsible: namely, Earl Toffany. If I'm right about the implants, then he must have known the truth—and there could be proof of that in the encrypted database." Trader took a deep breath. "However," he continued, "if we don't get into that database before Prosper English arrives in court tomorrow, we might lose our chance."

  "Not necessarily." Hamish was frowning, his glasses sliding down his nose. "Even if Jerry d-does panic, and tries to pull the plug on his system, we've sabotaged its self-destruct program. Just like you told us to. We should be able to stop him from destroying his files."

  "Yeah, but he can still smash the machines," Cliff objected. And Cadel pointed out that even intact machines would be useless, once it became known that the police were investigating GenoME's Australian staff.

  "If the Australian branch goes down, all the passwords will be invalidated," he said wearily. "We won't be able to piggyback on the DNA reports anymore, because you can be sure that no one in the American office will be accepting any data packets from here, no matter who's supposed to be sending them. Not if there are concerns about the police. We'd have to find another route." He rubbed his eyes, which were prickly with fatigue. "It's like Trader says," he allowed. "We'd have to start all over again."

  Hamish subsided, biting his thumbnail. Whereupon Cliff took charge of the conversation.

  "Okay," he growled, "let's forget about that database. Let's forget about police raids, and passwords, and what Jerry might do if he panics. Let's focus on the main issue here: We need to pin something on Earl Toffany. So does anyone have any ideas?" He scanned the faces around him; when there was no immediate reply, he snarled, "Come on, people, this is supposed to be Genius Squad!"

  Cadel began to knead his temples. The situation was beginning to overwhelm him; he wanted the meeting to finish so that he could assess matters in peace.

  "You'll have to fake an e-mail," he remarked with a sigh. And Trader tensed.

  "What?" said Cliff.

  "You'll have to fake an e-mail," Cadel repeated. "It's all you can do. Make up an encoded e-mail from Carolina to Earl, and be sure he can't answer it without incriminating himself." Cadel lifted his head. "It'll be risky. If it doesn't work, they'll know that we're into their system. They'll shut it all down. But if they're going to shut it down, anyway, we don't have much to lose..."

  He trailed off, suddenly depleted. For several seconds no one spoke. Lexi, who had finished her apple, tossed its soggy core into the bin. Devin burped. Zac coughed.

  "What would we put in the e-mail?" Trader said at last.

  "I don't know." Cadel gestured vaguely. "Something about Prosper English? Something about killing him?" All at once his gut began to heave in a familiar way; he became conscious of a vague unease that wasn't quite nausea. "I need to go to the toilet," he announced, rising abruptly. His chair tipped over as he bolted for Sonja's bathroom, afraid that he might be about to vomit again. But it was a false alarm. By the time he'd reached his destination, his stomach was already starting to settle.

  So he washed his face and sat for a while, taking deep breaths as he stared down at the gleaming tile floor.

  He was scared That was his problem He was scared that Prosper might escape from the Coroner's Court, or—even worse—that someone might be killed. And it troubled him profoundly that the prospect of bloodshed didn't seem to concern Cliff or Trader in the slightest. They hadn't even blanched at the thought of a perverse brain-implant experiment. And they had brushed aside any suggestion that lives might still be saved.

  Cadel recognized that mind-set. He had encountered it at the Axis Institute.

  It reminded him of Prosper English.

  Cadel would have liked to stay in the bathroom, where he felt safely shielded from outside interference. But he knew that Sonja would be wondering what had happened to him. Therefore he rose and trudged back into the kitchen—where he discovered that the meeting had begun to break up. Various members of the squad were milling around, clearing the table. It appeared that a decision had been reached.

  "Are-you-all-right?" asked Sonja, upon catching sight of Cadel. She was part of a small cluster that also comprised Judith and Lexi.

  "I'm fine," said Cadel. "What's going on? Are we all
done?"

  "I bloody hope so." Lexi groaned. "My butt's gone to sleep." And in a piercing voice, designed to be heard from some distance away, she added, "I thought this was supposed to be our day off!"

  Trader ignored her. But Judith said, "It is. And I don't see why it shouldn't be. GenoME isn't going to shut down in America just because things go wrong over here." She gave a sniff. "It's not like you can't find some other way into the American network, surely? I admit I'm not a computer person, but I don't understand why everyone's so frantic."

  "It's the passwords." Cadel cut her off. "The passwords and all the encryption keys. Didn't you hear what I said before? They'll get changed in the States if there's a problem over here; at least, they will if Earl wants to keep the police out of his system. Ten to one he'll overhaul the entire network, just to be on the safe side. And if he does, we'll be back at square one, looking for a new entry point." He fixed his attention on Sonja once more. "So what's happening tomorrow? Are we going to send an e-mail, or not?"

  "Ask-Trader," came the reply. And Lexi drawled, "Yeah, it's no good asking us. We're just the decoders. It's total job demarcation in this place."

  "I think Dot's taking care of it," Judith volunteered. She jerked her chin, and Cadel squinted across the room to where the rest of the squad's infiltration team were gathered around Trader. Even as Cadel approached it, however, this group dispersed. Dot marched off toward the lift. Hamish hurried after her. Devin made for the fridge, leaving Trader to address Cadel's concerns.

  "You look a bit white," said Trader, with a very convincing degree of solicitude. "You're not sick, by any chance?"

  "No. I always look white." Cadel dodged Trader's encircling arm. "So what's happening with this e-mail, then?"

  "Ah." Trader nodded, before going on to describe how a fake e-mail would be the squad's "last-resort scenario." He and Cliff would devise the message, while Dot and Hamish would be handling the technical side of its dispatch. "We have to encrypt it properly, and send it in exactly the right way," he said. "And, of course, we have to be extremely careful about the timing. That'll be your call. Yours and Dot's. I'm putting you on eavesdropping duty, Cadel."