Knowing that this remark would irritate Prosper, Cadel had used it to distract him. Because the last thing Cadel wanted was to advertise his keen interest in Judith's console. If he did, someone might realize how important it was.
If he didn't, on the other hand, he might get lucky.
Cadel knew that people of Prosper's generation weren't accustomed to regarding computer games as portals to the Internet. To such people, the world was a place where each piece of technology had a single, defined function: where phones and computers were communication devices, while gaming consoles were for pitting yourself against the machine in front of you. There was a good chance that Prosper had never heard of multiplayer gaming—that he might view the console as essentially harmless.
But his suspicions would be aroused if Cadel demonstrated more interest in the console than in Sonja's well-being. So Cadel began to fret about diapers. He was convinced that such fretting would annoy Prosper, who would see it as a sign of weakness. And if Prosper became annoyed, he was less likely to concentrate on the bits of equipment scattered throughout the house.
Sure enough, Prosper's flush deepened.
"First things first," he said through his teeth, adjusting his grip on Sonja—who was beginning to grow restless. "Where are the bedrooms? Through there?"
"Through there," Alias agreed. "The main's got a bathroom off it."
"Wait a minute." Cadel was thinking furiously. "Couldn't we just put her in here? I mean, we are going to give her some breakfast, aren't we? And let her watch television? It's bad enough that she doesn't have her DynaVox."
"Fine," Prosper snapped. He crossed the room in three long strides and dropped his burden onto the sofa. "Now, where are all the phones?"
"There's one in the kitchen," said Alias, "and one in the study, and one in the main bedroom."
"Go and get them," Prosper ordered. "Every phone and every modem. Now."
Obediently, Alias scurried off. Meanwhile Cadel had crouched beside Sonja, who was restless but not fully awake. Her eyes were half closed and didn't focus properly when Cadel murmured in her ear.
"Sonja? Can you hear me? It's all right. Don't worry—I'm with you." He looked up. "How much of that drug did you give her?"
"She'll be fine," said Prosper—and stiffened suddenly, lifting his chin.
Then Cadel heard it. The purr of a distant engine.
"Damn," Prosper breathed, grabbing Cadel's arm. Caught in a grip like a tourniquet, Cadel was hauled upright and out of the living room almost before he knew what was happening. He nearly tripped on the hem of his skirt.
"Wait!" he gasped. "Sonja—"
"Shh!" Prosper had once again produced his handgun. He dragged Cadel over to a small window near the main entrance of the house, from which vantage point they both had a clear view of the almost perpendicular driveway.
The noise of the engine was growing louder.
"Prosper?" Alias called, from somewhere out of sight. "Is that Vadi?"
"I don't know!" Prosper replied, disengaging the safety catch on his gun. It was clear that if the driver of the approaching vehicle wasn't Vadi, he or she was in grave danger of being shot.
This thought had barely crossed Cadel's mind when a familiar green hatchback bounced into view.
"Oh no!" he gasped—having recognized Judith's car. Before he could scream a warning, however, two unexpected things happened. He heard Prosper reengaging the pistol's safety catch, and he saw who was driving the green hatchback.
Not Judith, that was for certain.
"It's Vadi!" Prosper loudly informed Alias, and moved toward the front door. Cadel was compelled to stumble after him.
"You—you stole Judith's car?" Cadel stammered, astonished that anyone could be so stupid. A stolen car would be reported, after all. A stolen car was bound to attract attention.
But Prosper clicked his tongue.
"For goodness sake," he said, sliding his gun into his coat pocket and pulling open the front door, "do you think I'm a fool? Of course it isn't Judith's."
"The plate number—"
"Is a forgery. So is the car. And not a bad effort, either." Prosper addressed the man who was climbing out of the hatchback. "Good job, Vadi. Well done. Any trouble?"
Vadi shook his head. He was slim and young, with dark, oily skin and sleek black hair. At first glance he seemed to be quite normal; it was only after a few moments that his webbed hands, pinched nostrils, and slightly odd blink became evident to the casual onlooker.
Cadel, who had always found Vadi's presence deeply disturbing, refused to acknowledge it with a nod or a glance, staring down at the floor instead.
"Sorry I'm late." Vadi's delivery was soft and thick. "The plates weren't ready on time."
"Come in." Prosper stepped back, his bony fingers still fastened around Cadel's wrist. "You remember my son, don't you?"
"Of course."
"You'll be pleased to know that the car fooled him," Prosper announced, "so we've cleared our first hurdle. Now for the second." Releasing Cadel, he strode toward the living room. "Just keep an eye on things here, will you? I won't be a minute. Alias needs help." Disappearing around a corner, he added, "Find my son something to eat."
There followed a brief silence, during which Prosper's retreating footsteps seemed very loud. Then Vadi—who had quietly closed the front door—said, "What would you like to eat, sir?"
Cadel's heart skipped a beat. He couldn't help glancing up, convinced that Vadi was taunting him with that suavely respectful "sir." But the smooth, dusky face displayed not a trace of animosity. It was expressionless.
Cadel swallowed. Confronted by Vadi, of all people, he found himself unable to speak. Vadi's unchanged appearance brought back a host of bad memories, because Vadi had once been employed as Prosper's servant, in a house that sat high on a cliff above the sea. All kinds of traumatic things had occurred in that house. It was where Prosper had first acknowledged that Cadel was his son. It was where Prosper had confessed to murdering Cadel's mother. And it was where Prosper had first put a gun to Cadel's head, threatening to shoot him.
Vadi, moreover, was aquagenic—a genetic mutant. Beneath the high neck of his sweater, a rudimentary set of gills was concealed. And though he didn't smell fishy, or leave slimy marks on surfaces, something about him had always made Cadel's skin crawl.
It was an instinctive reaction to adulterated humanity.
"Have you had breakfast?" Vadi inquired, after failing to elicit any kind of response with his first question. "No? Then I'll make some for you. Toast, perhaps? An omelette? No mushrooms, as I recall."
"I don't want you touching my food!" Cadel blurted out. "And I don't want you touching Sonja!"
Vadi blinked, in a manner suggesting that he had more than his fair share of eyelids. Backing away, Cadel braced himself. But Vadi simply inclined his head.
"There are Pop-Tarts," he went on. "And cornflakes. I checked the supplies when I was here earlier."
"I'm not hungry," said Cadel. He turned on his heel and marched back into the living room, casting a furtive glance at the console as he did so. Yes: There was an Internet cable. The machine was set up for multiplayer gaming.
In which case, it would also have a messaging facility.
Kneeling beside Sonja, Cadel furiously reviewed his options. He knew that they weren't extensive—that the console's Internet connection would only allow him to communicate with other players, unless various time-consuming adjustments were made to its programs. And how would he ever persuade some anonymous, Californian gaming geek to make contact with Saul Greeniaus? How could a message even be dispatched, if Cadel was kept under surveillance?
"Right," said Prosper, upon reentering the room. He was carrying an armful of telephone handsets, and a sprinkling of modems. "I'm going to lock these in the garage," he announced, smirking at Cadel. "It wouldn't be fair, leaving them around to tempt you."
"What about diapers?" Cadel retorted. He had been rapidly reviewing eve
ry aspect of his current predicament and trying to project possible outcomes. "We're going to need diapers."
Prosper's eyebrows snapped together.
"For god's sake—," he began.
"We need them! For Sonja!" Squeezing her hand, Cadel added, "How far do you think we'll get without them? She doesn't have much control, you know! Over anything!"
Prosper hesitated, chewing his bottom lip. Vadi said, somewhat obscurely, "There's nothing on the way there."
"Nothing?" Prosper frowned. "No pharmacy? Not even a gas station?"
Vadi shook his head.
"Where are the nearest shops?" Prosper inquired—then rephrased the question when Vadi cast a sidelong, speculative glance at Cadel. "I mean, how long would it take?"
Vadi shrugged. "Maybe ... thirty minutes. Each way." As Prosper checked his watch, Vadi proceeded to offer advice, choosing his words with great care. "It could be done. There's no point leaving here for another ninety minutes, at least. The ... ah ... facilities won't be available."
"Are you sure about that?"
"Oh, yes. I couldn't get an earlier booking."
"Pity," said Prosper. He wore a sour kind of look, as if he'd bitten into a lemon. After a moment's consideration, he nodded at Vadi. "Okay. Do it. Take the four-wheel drive—there's a gun in the glove box. And make sure you're only carrying cash. No ID, just in case."
Vadi seemed to accept this ruling. He immediately started to empty his pockets, which yielded up a wallet, a bunch of keys, a cell phone, a Chap Stick, a pair of sunglasses, and an electronic organizer in a case—all of which he deposited on a nearby side table. "Can I keep this?" he asked, picking up the cell phone.
If there was a reply, Cadel missed it. A rush of adrenaline had temporarily affected his hearing; by concentrating fiercely on Sonja's face, he hoped to exert some control over his rapidly escalating heartbeat. Please, he thought, please, please, please don't get antsy. He was afraid that an anxious blush might color his cheeks and give him away.
"Hmmm," said Prosper, peering suspiciously at the electronic organizer now sitting on the side table. Vadi hastened to reassure him.
"That's an old PalmPilot. It has no wireless connection."
"Then what do you need it for?" Prosper wanted to know. And Vadi became slightly defensive.
"Scheduling," he replied. "Contact details."
"That's what brains are for, aren't they?" said Prosper, with ironic emphasis. "Data dumps are an awful risk, Vadi. Very insecure."
"Which is why there is no wireless connection." Vadi's response was bland. Uninflected. "I'm not smart like you, sir. My brain isn't big enough for all the instructions you give me."
The two men surveyed each other for a moment, as Cadel watched them, holding his breath. Then Prosper abruptly off-loaded his collection of equipment, piling it into Vadi's arms.
"You can take these," he ordered. "Put them in the garage. That cell phone isn't yours, I presume?"
"No," said Vadi.
"Nothing on it to worry about? You haven't entered any numbers, or names?"
"I picked it up this morning," Vadi replied, sounding faintly self-conscious. At which point Cadel realized that the cell phone had, in fact, been stolen.
"All right." Prosper seemed to approve. "You'd better take it along, then, but don't use it unless there's an emergency. What's the number, in case I have to call you?"
"Uh..."Vadi jerked his chin at the organizer. "I put it in there. I'm not good at remembering."
"Never mind. Cadel can get it if I need it." Prosper began to guide Vadi toward the front door. "The keys to the four-wheel drive are in the ignition. Off you go, and get a good supply of incontinence products for our guest." Prosper's sarcastic pronunciation of the word "guest" made Cadel want to hit him. "No dawdling. But no speeding, either. Is that understood?"
Vadi nodded. "What else should I buy?" he asked, and Prosper paused, turning to Cadel.
"Anything else she might need, dear boy? Baby food, perhaps? A teething ring?"
It was such a cheap shot that it enraged Cadel, who narrowed his eyes. "I hope you end up in a wheelchair one day," he answered unsteadily, "so I can laugh at you."
"Oh, I'm not laughing. In case you haven't noticed, I'm extremely annoyed." Prosper's tone was suddenly ice-cold. "Now answer me. Is she going to need anything else?"
"A comb. A toothbrush—"
"Apart from the obvious."
Cadel toyed with the notion of asking for a sippy cup, which would certainly make everyone's life easier. But after that snide remark about teething rings, he simply couldn't do it. So he said, "No."
"Good." Once again, Prosper addressed himself to Vadi. "I'd send Alias, if I could, but he's busy with his disguise. And I don't want him wandering about the local shops when he's all kitted out, in case ... well, in case he's recognized. So to speak."
Vadi nodded. "I understand."
"Just do your best and keep a low profile. You must have heard Alias on the subject often enough." As Vadi made for the door, Prosper darted ahead to open it for him. "I'm sorry about this," Prosper observed, as the overburdened Vadi edged past, "but I'm afraid it's unavoidable. Bad smells will always attract unwelcome attention."
With a grimace, Vadi acknowledged the truth of this remark. Then he left. Prosper didn't wait on the threshold to monitor his movements, but shut the door and returned to the living room, where he took up a position near the sofa.
"Now," he said, "since I've been deprived of all my staff, temporarily, I suppose the ball's in my court as far as housekeeping goes. So tell me, Cadel: What would you like for breakfast?"
"Pop-Tarts," said Cadel, who had been running feverish calculations in his head. And he looked up at Prosper with wide, blue, innocent eyes.
FORTY
Upon entering the kitchen, Cadel took careful note of where the toaster, blinds, and smoke detector were situated.
He was pleased with what he saw.
"My word," Prosper remarked, gazing around at all the stainless-steel appliances and expanses of granite counter-top, "no expense spared, I see."
"Vadi said there were eggs." Cadel opened the fridge. "I could scramble a few for Sonja."
"My dear boy, are you mad? I wouldn't let you anywhere near a pan full of hot eggs! Might as well give you a deep-fat fryer and have done with it." Prosper sounded amused. "I'll cook the breakfast. You can take care of your Pop-Tarts—whatever they might require. Nothing that involves an exposed flame, I trust?"
"You stick 'em in a toaster," Cadel replied. He had relinquished the fridge to Prosper, and had moved to the pantry cupboard—where an unopened box of Pop-Tarts was sitting on the bottom shelf. They were cherry-flavored.
He didn't much like cherry-flavored food of any description, but that didn't matter. Under the circumstances, he resolved to force down as much as he could.
"Let's see." Prosper reached into the fridge. "Milk. Butter. Bacon. Eggs."
"I'll get the frying pan," Cadel offered.
"You'll do nothing of the sort." Prosper's whiplash response made Cadel start. "You'll stay away from anything remotely resembling a kitchen utensil—I don't care what it is. Just stand there. Right there. And don't move."
Cadel froze, still clutching the packet of Pop-Tarts. He waited while Prosper produced from various kitchen drawers a spatula, a mixing bowl, a frying pan, and a whisk. At no point during this process did Prosper lose sight of Cadel for more than two or three seconds at a stretch.
"I promise I won't stick a paper towel in the toaster," Cadel said at last, sarcastically. And Prosper smiled.
"No chance of that, dear boy," he declared, cracking eggs with a breezy confidence. "I've got my eye on you."
"So what about my Pop-Tarts? Can't I heat them up? Will I have to eat them cold?" Cadel rattled the box under Prosper's nose. "They are meant to go in the toaster, see? It says so right here."
Prosper set down his last broken eggshell. Then he took the box and scanned the ins
tructions printed on its back. "How many do you want?" he queried, ripping it open.
"Uh ... two?"Cadel suggested.
"Two it is." Having crossed to the expanse of gleaming counter that separated the sink from the stove, Prosper deposited two Pop-Tarts into the four-slice toaster and pressed down the switch. He left the box on the counter before returning to his mixing bowl. "There are plates in that cupboard," he said. "Get out three. But no funny business—I didn't get much sleep last night."
Cadel refrained from commenting. As he retrieved three plates from a low shelf, Prosper studied him, adding milk to the eggs. "You're very quiet," Prosper finally observed. "Isn't there anything you want to ask?"
Cadel carefully laid three white plates beside the toaster. "Will you tell me where we're going?" he said when he'd finished.
"No."
"Well, then." Cadel shrugged. "Not much to talk about, is there?"
"Don't you want to talk about Niobe?" Seeing Cadel stiffen, Prosper gave a wicked grin. "Yes," he said, energetically whisking. "I thought you might be wondering about her."
Cadel swallowed. "You haven't—?"
"No. I have not." Prosper dumped his egg mixture into the pan. "Yet."
"It wasn't your idea, then? That whole—assassination attempt?"
"Oddly enough, it wasn't. Though of course I took full advantage of it." Prosper was awkwardly placed. Because of the way the stove was positioned, he couldn't scramble his eggs in comfort if he wanted to watch Cadel at the same time. Doing both meant facing away from the pan, and cutting quick glances back at it occasionally. "We didn't have much notice, what with one thing and another, but I think we did very well. Considering all the time constraints."
"What about Niobe?" Cadel demanded, though not because he cared. He was trying to engage Prosper's attention while he himself absentmindedly picked up the box of Pop-Tarts. "Where is she now?"
"That I can't tell you."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't. At this stage."
"She did you a favor," Cadel opined, easing more Pop-Tarts out of the box. After removing one from its plastic packet, he began to fiddle with it in a distracted kind of way, squeezing it, twirling it, tossing it from hand to hand. All the while, he didn't take his eyes off Prosper. "If she hadn't killed that guard, there would never have been a hearing at the Coroner's Court. And you would never have escaped."
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