Eavesdropping duty? Cadel peered up at him in confusion. But Trader seemed oblivious, breezily proposing that Cadel listen to every conversation being held in the vicinity of Jerry Reinhard's office the next morning. In the event of a sudden alert or panic, Dot would immediately fire off the fake e-mail.
"Dot and Hamish will be monitoring local e-mail traffic for the same reason," Trader said. "But that'll take more time, because of the decrypting. You're the one who'll most likely notice the first signs of agitation."
Cadel was genuinely puzzled. He knew that he was the best hacker in the squad. Why on earth did Trader want to saddle him with a job that could be done equally well by Zac, or Tony, or Judith?
"Are you sure you don't want me online?" he said. "I mean, if something unexpected crops up, I might be able to stop it."
"Mmmm-mmm." Trader patted Cadel on the back, in a mildly condescending sort of way. He even produced one of his movie-star grins. "What bothers me, Cadel, is that you're going to be a bit distracted, what with Prosper's court appearance, and everything." As he cocked his head, his smile seemed to curl at the edges, like burnt paper. "I mean, I don't want you rushing off to the toilet in the middle of a job that no one else can finish," he gently concluded. "It might make all the difference between success and failure."
Cadel flushed, then set his jaw and glared. But Trader's expression remained perfectly benign. Sympathetic, even. Cadel couldn't detect a trace of calculation or contempt.
He wondered if there was some other reason why he wouldn't be allowed online. Or whether it was simply because he had displayed signs of jangled nerves.
Either way, he wasn't going to throw a tantrum. That would just confirm that he was unstable.
"Fine," he said shortly, and turned on his heel.
Later, in Sonja's bedroom, he pondered recent events while he helped her to drink a cup of tea.
"What do you think of Trader's idea?" he finally asked. "I mean, about the brain implants?"
Sonja stabbed at her DynaVox several times before making contact, laboring away for a minute or so to spell out the reply: "It-makes-sense."
"Yeah. I know." Cadel couldn't really find fault with the proposal. He just wondered how Trader had thought of it, since he himself would never have made the leap from NeuroSolutions to dead people. "I guess I'm not so smart after all," he muttered.
At which point Lexi stuck her head around the door and hailed them both. "Oy!" she said. "Are you guys coming to the movies, or what?"
THIRTY-TWO
Cadel could feel a tension in the air when he came down to breakfast the next morning.
He discovered Judith in the kitchen, blearily preparing Sonja's porridge. Hamish was also present, munching through what looked like half a packet of cornflakes. But Lexi and Devin were still in bed, having stayed out much too late the night before.
According to Hamish, the twins were now scared to emerge from their bedrooms.
"Trader's going to flay them alive," he announced gleefully. "I'm glad I wasn't stupid enough to go."
"So they didn't end up asking him?" said Cadel, who'd refused to accompany the twins upon discovering that they hadn't sought permission for their night out at the cinema. ("Why give Trader a chance to say no?" had been Lexi's attitude.)
"Nope. They didn't ask anyone." Hamish grinned. "And now they're in big trouble."
"Trader's got more important things to worry about than those two," Judith growled, spooning porridge into a plastic bowl. "He won't even be here this morning."
"Why not?" Cadel inquired. "Where is he?"
"Hanging around the Coroner's Court. And Cliff'll be watching number eleven with Zac. So it's going to be me in charge of everything." Judith jabbed her spoon at Cadel. "That's why I need you to help feed Sonja. And get her dressed. You've got about an hour before you can start eavesdropping."
"Is Dot here?" Cadel asked.
"Downstairs." Judith shoved the bowl of porridge into his hands, before wiping her own hands on her baggy old sweater. "If you need me, I'll be kicking a certain pair of slackers out of bed," she concluded.
Feeding Sonja wasn't easy. Sometimes, if her spasms were very bad, two people were required for the job. On this occasion she managed with only one helper—Cadel—but by the time he had fed her and cleaned her up, brushed her hair and teeth, dressed her and wheeled her into the War Room, it was nearly half past eight. He didn't have a chance to comb his own hair or clean his own teeth before Amy's computer sprang to life, far away in her downtown office.
From that moment on, Cadel had to keep his ears cocked for any disturbing noises or comments from the GenoME branch. Other people had to fetch him food and drink. He couldn't even empty his bladder without first appointing a temporary replacement. And when his mobile phone trilled, he had to beg for assistance while he spoke to Saul Greeniaus.
Tony obliged, as Cadel withdrew to a quiet corner.
"Just rang to see how you are," the detective announced, through a fuzzy, unstable connection.
"I'm fine," said Cadel. "Where are you?"
"At the prison," Saul replied.
"Oh."
"Everything's under control. You don't have to worry."
"Um." Cadel wasn't so sure about that. "Is—is Prosper with you now?"
"No." Saul sounded terse and preoccupied. Cadel wondered what he was doing. "Is Ms. Currey with you?"
"Fiona?"
"She said she'd drop by to see how you were."
Cadel could hardly suppress a groan. He screwed up his face and clawed at his tangled curls.
Hamish glanced over, mouthing the words: What's wrong?
"She doesn't need to drop in," said Cadel, trying to keep the edge of desperation out of his voice. "I'm fine. Didn't she tell you? Everything's fine."
"Well, you can take that up with her." Saul's tone was noncommittal. "Meanwhile you should stay where you are, and I'll call you again when I'm done. You're at Clearview House now, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Saul—I mean, Mr. Greeniaus..."
"You can call me Saul."
"You're not going to be handcuffed to Prosper, are you?" Cadel's dreams the previous night had been laced with this fearful image. "You're not going to be driving in the same car?"
"I won't be anywhere near Prosper English," the detective assured him. "I'm not a prison officer."
"Oh. Okay."
"I've gotta go now, Cadel. Say hello to Ms. Currey for me. And don't get yourself all worked up—there's no need."
"Yes, but..." Cadel wanted to explain why the utmost caution was vital when dealing with Prosper English. But he quickly realized how futile such an exercise would be. No one else knew Prosper as well as he did. No one else could really appreciate how much of a threat the man posed. "Please be careful," was all that he could find to say, in the end. "You have to be really, really careful."
"I will. It's my job."
And Saul broke the connection, leaving Cadel to face a barrage of inquiring glances.
Apologetically, he delivered the bad news.
"Fiona might drop in again," he said, and Judith cast up her eyes.
"Oh, man," said Hamish. "Just what we need."
"Any particular reason?" Judith wanted to know. "For Chris'sake, she was only here yesterday."
"She must be in love with Cadel," Lexi muttered, casting a sly look at Sonja. "I guess she's not the only one."
"Don't be stupid!" Cadel snapped, but was distracted by Judith's next question, which concerned the timing of this proposed visit. When exactly could they expect Fiona? Cadel had to confess that he wasn't sure.
Judith sighed. "If we're expecting your social worker," she said, "then we should send Sonja upstairs right now. We'll never get her out of the War Room soon enough, otherwise. There won't be time once the alarm's tripped."
"But Sonja can't sit upstairs by herself!" Cadel objected.
"Of course not." Judith seemed miffed at the ve
ry idea. "I'll send Tony with her. And if this woman shows up, Devin can take your place under the earphones. But you'll have to move like greased lightning—I don't want a sticky beak from DoCS trailing around the house looking for you."
Cadel agreed to this plan, since he couldn't think of an alternative one. And after Sonja had been wheeled into the lift, he spent about an hour listening to clunks and clicks and creaks, interspersed by the occasional outbreak of uninteresting dialogue. If anything was happening at GenoME's Australian branch, he decided, it certainly wasn't happening in Jerry's office. Nor in Amy's, for that matter. He often heard her yawn and crack her joints between bursts of typing.
She answered the phone only once, to confirm a lunch date.
GenoME's e-mail traffic was equally tedious. Devin reported messages about interviews, supplies, and accounts, but not a single mention of gas masks, getaway cars, or Prosper English. Cliff was no luckier. According to Judith, who had been receiving regular updates, he was in Zac's van with a piece of Trader's spyware, measuring vibrations on window glass. Nothing he'd picked up so far impressed him as the least bit peculiar.
In addition to which, every GenoME staff member was at his or her normal post.
"They must be using hired goons for the job," Hamish observed at one point. This was after Devin had remarked that it seemed to be business as usual at number eleven, judging from the e-mail exchanges. "They must want alibis, or something."
"But if they'd hired someone, there would be some kind of record," Judith objected. "I would have found something in the branch accounts."
"Maybe the payments are being sent from America," said Cadel, drawn into the discussion despite himself. It was hard not to be distracted when so little was happening in Amy's office. "Maybe Carolina has a private account that we don't know about."
If there was any kind of response to his proposal, Cadel missed it. Because suddenly the sound of a ringing telephone reached his ears—all the way from Jerry Reinhard's office. Cadel listened, totally absorbed, as Jerry answered the call. Though he could hear Jerry's muffled voice, he couldn't distinguish any actual words. It was Jerry's abrupt and urgent delivery that worried Cadel.
Normally, Jerry Reinhard spoke in a very soft, deliberate sort of way.
"I think something's going on," Cadel began, addressing no one in particular.
Then the alarm buzzed.
There wasn't a moment to lose. Ripping off the headphones, Cadel sprang to his feet. He didn't stop to receive orders or ask questions. He didn't even fling a warning at Judith. He simply charged into the lift at top speed.
When he charged out again, he found himself face-to-face with Sonja and Tony, who were waiting nervously in the kitchen.
"You'd better hurry," Tony advised. "Or she might start peering through windows." It was a measure of his apprehensiveness, perhaps, that he had spoken at all—since he rarely ever did.
"Something's up at GenoME," said Cadel, who was bursting with the news. "Jerry's beginning to freak over there."
"Why?"
"I dunno why." Without pausing to elaborate, Cadel headed for the front door. He pulled it open just as Fiona was about to press the doorbell again.
She looked almost as flushed and disheveled as Cadel did.
"Oh!" Her surprise was evident. "Hello. Sorry, have I interrupted something?"
"No." Cadel's reply was too quick, and he secretly cursed himself for it. But Fiona didn't seem to notice.
"Well—that's good," she said. "So you're not busy?"
"Um..." Cadel hesitated. "Sort of."
"I just wanted to see if you were keeping yourself occupied. Instead of sitting around wondering what's going on at the Coroner's Court." Fiona squinted over his head, into the murky depths of the house. "Is Sonja here?"
"Yes."
Fiona nodded. "So you've got someone to talk to?"
"Uh-huh." Cadel had begun to feel increasingly awkward. He knew that the longer he stood guarding the threshold, the more suspicious his behavior would appear.
He also knew that if he did invite her in, the whole of Genius Squad would throw a collective fit.
"You don't have to worry about me," he said, trying to inject a cheerful note into his voice. "I've been doing computer stuff. When I'm on the computer, I completely forget everything else. So I haven't been thinking about Prosper at all."
"You haven't?"
"No."
But Fiona wasn't convinced. She studied him skeptically, and may have questioned him further if his phone hadn't rung.
As he answered the call, she stood patiently on the doorstep.
"Hello?" he said.
"Cadel?"
"Yeah."
"It's Saul. Are you still at home?"
"I'm at Clearview House, if that's what you mean."
"Who else is with you?"
"Why?" Cadel's heart skipped a beat. "What's happened?"
"Just answer the question, please!"
Cadel swallowed. He had never heard the detective speak so urgently before.
"Uh ... Sonja's with me. And Mr. Cheung. And Fiona. She just arrived."
"Put her on."
Cadel took a deep breath. "Tell me what's happened first," he insisted.
"I'll tell you when I get there. Now put her on."
"You re coming here?"
"PUT HER ON, WILL YOU?!"
Wide-eyed, Cadel handed the phone to his social worker. He had no doubt that Saul's outburst and Jerry's telephone conversation were closely linked. Something had happened. Something nasty had happened.
Cadel was desperate to return downstairs.
"Yes. Okay. No, it's not a big problem." Fiona was gripping the cell phone so tightly that her fingers looked bloodless. Nevertheless, she was doing her best to remain calm. "All right," she said into the mouthpiece. "Yes, I will. Of course. Don't worry." She signed off, then passed the phone back to Cadel. "Mr. Greeniaus will be coming over in about thirty minutes," she informed him. "I'm supposed to stay until then."
Cadel couldn't stop his shoulders from slumping. Bad news was being piled on top of bad news—and he still didn't know what happened. Except that Saul himself was alive.
But what about Prosper English?
"There's nothing we can do until we know what's going on," Fiona pointed out, laying a hand on Cadel's arm. "So why don't we go inside and have a cup of tea, and you can show me that card trick again?" With a lopsided smile, she added, "Who knows? I might even understand it the second time round."
"Oh," said Cadel. "Right. Yes. Okay." And he stepped back to let her in.
Because he didn't really have any choice.
THIRTY-THREE
The next half hour was torture.
Cadel knew that all hell must be breaking loose downstairs. Yet he had to sit glumly at the kitchen table, drinking orange juice and discussing his legal status with Fiona. At one point Tony left the room for five minutes (to make an urgent phone call, he said) but Cadel wasn't in a position to ask about this call when Tony returned. He was merely able to deduce, from Tony's slightly withdrawn expression, that the call had probably been made to Trader, or to Judith. And that the news at the other end of the line had been disturbing.
At last the doorbell rang.
Fiona wouldn't let Cadel answer it alone. She accompanied him to the door and was standing beside him when he admitted Saul Greeniaus—who looked terrible. The detective had shed his jacket to reveal a rumpled, sweat-stained shirt and a shoulder holster. His tie was hanging askew. His hair was in disarray, and his eyes were redrimmed.
He stepped across the threshold briskly, before anyone had the chance to issue a formal invitation.
"Don't come near any entry points again," he warned Cadel, banging the door shut behind him. "Not unless I'm with you. And stay away from the windows, too, if you can." Glancing toward Fiona, the detective added, "We'll need to draw the curtains. All of them."
Cadel was examining Saul's face, which was full of gri
m lines and dark shadows. It told a very clear and frightening story.
"Prosper's escaped, hasn't he?" said Cadel. "You don't know where he is."
For a moment Saul didn't reply. Seeing him hesitate, Fiona gasped. She covered her mouth with both hands.
Saul's heavy gaze seemed weighted down with contrition and self-disgust.
"I'm sorry, Cadel. We blew it. I blew it." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "There's no excuse for what happened. But we'll find him."
"What did happen?" Cadel inquired, feeling strangely calm. Saul shook his head.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I had everything under control and then: Bang! He disappeared." Once again, the detective turned to address Fiona. "You can go now. Thanks for your help. I'm sorry I screwed up your schedule."
"It doesn't matter." Fiona waved the apology aside. "This is an emergency. I'll stay."
"No." Saul was adamant. "You can't stay."
"Yes I can. I'll ring up and cancel—"
"Listen." Saul took a deep, steadying breath before attempting to outline his position. "We both have our jobs to do. Mine is to minimize risk. And you'll be making it a lot easier if you keep clear of this house for a while." As she hesitated, he appealed to her. "Please," he begged. "Please don't make me argue."
It was clear that she had reservations. Biting her lip, she fixed her eyes on his shoulder holster. "You're not bringing that gun in here?" she protested.
"Fiona—I'm sorry—I have no choice," he said.
"But this house is full of children!"
"Exactly."
"Can't you take the poor boy to a police station, or something?"
"And put him where? In a cell?" Saul placed a hand on Cadel's shoulder. "This house should be as safe as any hotel or police station. It has an alarm system. There's a surveillance team outside. Prosper English doesn't know where it is." Seeing Fiona flinch, Saul quickly tried to reassure her. "Not that Prosper will come for Cadel. He wouldn't be that stupid. But it's best to take precautions. That's all I'm doing—taking precautions."
Fiona sighed. Not being a police officer, she was in no position to argue. And she must have realized this, because she nodded in a resigned fashion before kissing Cadel on the brow. Then she took her leave. "I'll call you!" was her final promise, made as she retreated to her car.
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