Genius Squad (26 page)

‘Don’t worry, sweetie,’ she said, without much conviction. ‘You’ll be all right.’

‘Did – did – ’ Cadel couldn’t spit out the question he wanted to ask. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. Saul knew what he was thinking.

‘We’re not sure if Prosper’s responsible,’ the detective admitted. ‘It’s hard to see how he could have done it, for reasons I won’t go into.’ All at once he dropped his gaze, and rearranged his cutlery. ‘The thing is, Cadel . . . I know I shouldn’t be asking, and this is entirely off the record, but did you see anything like this when you were at the Axis Institute?’

Fiona’s mouth tightened. So did her grip on Cadel’s hand.

‘Mr Greeniaus – ’ she began, but Saul didn’t let her finish. He cut in, harshly.

‘This is
off the record
, I swear to you! On my
life
.’ All at once he stopped, as if regretting such an uncontrolled burst of emotion. After a moment, he proceeded more calmly. ‘You should know by now that the last thing I want is to harm Cadel in any way. I just need to know if there’s something I’ve missed.’ He leaned forward. ‘Please.’

Cadel tried to think. Fear never sharpened his wits, but always blurred and smothered them like fog; he had to push that fog aside before he could reason clearly. As the waiter placed a bowl of garlic bread in front of him, Cadel concentrated on what he had just heard. Poison. The Axis Institute.

He was determined not to dwell on the dead guard.

‘They taught poisoning at the Institute,’ he said at last, ‘but I never did that course.’ He cleared his throat before continuing. ‘I knew some girls who put poison under their fingernails, and scratched people.’

Conscious that Fiona was grimacing with disgust (as she always did when the Axis Institute was mentioned), Cadel shifted uncomfortably, retrieving his hand from her grasp. He reached for a piece of garlic bread.

Saul was frowning at the tablecloth.

‘You see, if Prosper did this – well, that’s one thing,’ he observed. ‘The trouble is, I can’t understand how he managed it. And if he didn’t manage it, then it’s possible that someone might be trying to kill
him.
’ He raised his eyes. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve any idea who that someone might be?’

Cadel tore off a hunk of garlic bread, and popped it into his mouth. Slowly, he shook his head.

‘It could be anyone,’ he mumbled.

‘It could be,’ Saul agreed. ‘In fact it could be anyone who’s afraid that Prosper might break down and testify. Including Earl Toffany.’

Cadel stopped chewing.

‘Who’s Earl Toffany?’ asked Fiona. And Saul replied, ‘The head of GenoME,’ before turning back to Cadel.

‘We thought it was a strange coincidence, the way GenoME opened a branch here right after Prosper was arrested,’ the detective went on. ‘We were wondering if there were plans for a gaol-break. Now we’re wondering if the plan is to kill Prosper, because he knows too much.’ He fixed Cadel with a speculative stare. ‘You must have been wondering that yourself, surely?’

Cadel couldn’t swallow his bread. If he’d tried, he would have choked. His heart was hammering against his ribcage.

He found it impossible to speak.

‘This isn’t right,’ Fiona said, breaking into the conversation. She didn’t seem angry – just tired. Tired and disappointed. ‘Cadel shouldn’t have to deal with this. He’s been through enough. I mean, I know you’re doing your job, but does it have to be at Cadel’s expense?’ She leaned across the table, so that she wouldn’t be overheard by any restaurant staff. ‘Don’t you realise how hard he finds it to cope with the whole
issue
of Prosper English?’ she implored. ‘I’ve been trying to get him counselling for that very reason.’

Cadel gasped, and began to cough. He’d inhaled a breadcrumb. As Fiona patted his back, he spluttered, ‘I’m not scared of Prosper! I’m
not
!’

‘Of course you’re not,’ Fiona replied soothingly. ‘I just don’t think you should be made to feel responsible for interpreting his actions, or assessing his state of mind. It isn’t fair.’ She turned to Saul. ‘Cadel’s already conflicted – he doesn’t need the extra pressure.’

‘All right.’ Saul raised a hand. ‘Point taken. I’m sorry.’

‘This isn’t the department talking,’ Fiona insisted. ‘I’m just concerned about a child who’s been pushed around from pillar to post – ’

‘But I’m fine!’ Cadel exclaimed. ‘God! Will you please stop
worrying
about me?’ The more they both fretted, the more guilty Cadel felt. And the more guilty he felt, the crosser he became. ‘I don’t care about Prosper! Why should I? He doesn’t matter to me one bit, so you can ask all the questions you like! Just stop making such a
fuss
!’

As soon as the words had been spoken, he realised how infantile they made him sound. Saul’s expression confirmed it. The detective bit his lip.

‘I’m sorry, Cadel,’ he said at last, quietly. ‘You’re so smart, I keep forgetting how young you are. We won’t talk about Prosper. Not unless we have to.’

‘But I don’t
care
!’ Cadel cried – then cringed as two waiters peered at him from the kitchen door. Lowering his voice, he hissed, ‘Prosper doesn’t care what happens to me, so why should I care what happens to him?’

‘Because he’s your father,’ Saul rejoined. ‘Of course you care. I’d think less of you if you didn’t.’ Saul’s melancholy regard was deeply unsettling. ‘And in case you’re worried, let me inform you that Prosper’s fine. He’s bearing up extremely well. Better than you are, in fact.’ With a wry twist of the mouth, Saul added, ‘You’d never think he was in prison, the way he talks.’

Cadel winced. He’d forgotten that Saul had been talking to Prosper English. The whole idea was dreadful. Cadel didn’t even want to picture them both in the same room; he had a horrible feeling that Prosper would somehow threaten Saul’s very existence.

‘Please be careful,’ he begged the detective. ‘Please don’t tell him you see me. Because he’ll hate that. He’ll hate
you
.’

‘It’s all right.’ Saul sounded far too confident. ‘I can handle Prosper English.’

‘No, you can’t. No one can.’

‘Cadel – ’

‘You can’t trust him an inch! He’s too clever!’

‘Cadel.’ Saul reached over to lay a steady hand on Cadel’s wrist. ‘Prosper English isn’t going anywhere. Believe me.’

Cadel subsided. He wasn’t convinced, but he could see that it would be pointless to continue. In fact he didn’t say much after that. Neither did Saul. They ate their meals in almost complete silence, though Cadel had lost his appetite. He wanted to blurt out everything he knew about GenoME and Genius Squad. He wanted to ask a hundred questions about Prosper English, Earl Toffany, and the guard who had died. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t tell the truth.

Instead he had to sit there, feeling like a complete fraud, until finally – mercifully – Fiona offered to drive him home.

TWENTY-THREE

When Cadel arrived back at Clearview House, he found it very dark and quiet.

At first glance there didn’t seem to be anyone around. He called out, but no one answered. His footsteps echoed on the bare boards of the hallway as he made for the kitchen, wondering if everyone was in the War Room. Or had something unexpected occurred? Had there been a mass evacuation?

If so, the exodus must have been made on foot; he had seen at least three cars parked out the front. Fiona had seen them too, and had driven away quite satisfied that the house was fully staffed.

Cadel, however, wasn’t so sure; if there
were
any supervisors on the premises, they were making themselves pretty scarce. Having checked the kitchen, he was about to make his way downstairs when he heard the hiss and crackle of amplified breathing. Then a voice addressed him from the microphone that was hidden away behind an electrical socket.

Clearly, Cadel’s entry must have triggered the internal alarm.

‘Cadel! Is that you?’ It was Hamish. ‘Come down, quick! We’ve done it!’

Done what?
thought Cadel. But there were rules that governed the intercom system. No one was allowed to use it for long conversations, just in case a stranger happened to approach the back door, glance through the kitchen window, and see somebody talking to a wall. So Cadel took the lift downstairs, where he was greeted by a breathless chorus.

‘There you are! Terrific!’

‘You should see all this stuff!’

‘We’ve got through to the lab!’

The War Room was buzzing with excitement. Cadel looked around. There were clumps of people everywhere: Sonja and Lexi in one corner, Cliff and Judith in another. Hamish was huddled with Dot and Devin around a single computer screen, like chilly people crouched around a fire.

As soon as he caught sight of Cadel, Hamish leapt to his feet.

‘I got through!’ he exclaimed. ‘I got into the lab computers! Jerry’s been working late, so I got through!’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Cadel. Though he hadn’t yet recovered from Saul’s news, and was still feeling shaky, he tried to respond with a show of enthusiasm. ‘Did you use Jerry’s password?’

‘That’s all we needed! It was a cinch!’ Hamish cried. ‘Now we can run a piggyback op!’

‘It’s just as we thought,’ Dot added, more coolly. She went on to explain, for Cadel’s benefit, that the lab computers did indeed dispatch regular deliveries of genetic information to GenoME’s American network, where each electronic packet was broken down, analysed and interpreted. From the information contained in these packets, GenoME could produce a series of client reports, which were swiftly sent back to the Australian branch.

In other words, every time a packet left for America, the lab computers received another by return post.

‘So it’s perfect for us,’ Cadel muttered. He was trying to concentrate on what he’d just been told. ‘We can disguise our probes as DNA profiles, and the information we get back will look like client reports.’

‘Exactly!’ Hamish chirruped.

Dot pointed out that the set-up was ideal, because the Australian lab technicians weren’t security-conscious. Once their data had been entered into GenoME’s system, the process was largely automated. Packets went out and packets came back in. The technicians didn’t appear to worry about what happened in between.

‘They’re probably too busy,’ Cadel remarked. And Hamish said, in tones of withering scorn, ‘If those lab computers got up and went to the toilet, no one would notice.’

It certainly seemed as if the lab machines were the weakest link in the GenoME network. But when Cliff strolled over and suggested piggybacking on Jerry’s emails, Hamish shook his head.

‘Uh-uh,’ he replied. ‘Jerry sits on that machine all day. It’s going to b-be hard enough, downloading his files. We don’t want to wander in and out of there too much.’

‘Jerry’s got intuition,’ Dot confirmed. ‘Like Cadel. As for Carolina, she’s paranoid. She checks and double-checks everything.’ According to Dot, while Carolina’s machine was now wide open, it was also more closely observed than the laboratory computers. ‘We should concentrate on those,’ Dot declared. ‘They’re our best chance of penetrating the American firewalls.’

And that was that. Cliff didn’t argue. He did, however, insist that someone should also inspect Carolina’s computer files, very carefully. ‘Because we can’t afford to overlook anything,’ he growled. ‘I want her emails monitored. And Jerry’s, too.’

‘Oh, we’ll do that,’ Hamish assured him. ‘We’ve already started.’ Turning back to Cadel, Hamish revealed that since Carolina and Jerry had
both
put in a late night at the office, large amounts of data had already been extracted from their well-protected hard-drives. ‘Trouble is, most of it’s encoded,’ said Hamish. ‘Which is where Lexi and Sonja come in. Decrypting is
their
job.’

Cadel glanced across at Sonja, who was struggling to bash something out on her modified keyboard. Her movements had become quite erratic, as they always did when she was tired, and her eyes were ringed with dark circles.

‘It’s getting too late for Sonja,’ he said abruptly. ‘She ought to be in bed.’

‘Oh, she’s all right.’ Cliff waved a careless hand. ‘She couldn’t be happier.’

But Cadel disagreed.

‘She’s worn out,’ he insisted. ‘I’ll take her upstairs.’

‘No.
I
will.’ It was Judith who spoke; she had been poring over her laptop, absorbed in some kind of number-crunching exercise. Now she straightened, and stretched, and hauled herself out of her seat with a great cracking of joints. ‘We have to talk about something anyway,’ she observed, and approached Sonja’s wheelchair. Her heavy, rolling gait made her look unstoppable. ‘You come with me, love, and I’ll get you sorted,’ she told Sonja. ‘You should have been in your PJs an hour ago.’

‘But we’re not finished!’ Lexi complained. ‘We haven’t got to the sub-keys yet!’

‘And you won’t. Not tonight,’ Judith said firmly. ‘You can do them tomorrow.’

Cadel watched as Judith seized Sonja’s wheelchair and pushed it towards the lift. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or resentful. On the one hand, it was nice to see someone else taking responsibility for Sonja – especially since he himself was almost dropping with fatigue. (It was never easy lifting her out of that wheelchair, even at the best of times.) On the other hand, he couldn’t quite see why Sonja and Judith got on so well. They were both mathematicians, of course, but Sonja’s attitude towards numbers was very pure and refined, whereas Judith regarded them merely as a means to an end – like a jemmy in a burglar’s tool-kit. For Judith, numbers were for sabotaging corporations, and penetrating offshore bank accounts.

Cadel wondered if Judith’s wealth could be part of her attraction for Sonja. Could Sonja be angling for a ride in Judith’s light plane, perhaps? Or a weekend at her beach-house?

But he immediately dismissed the idea. Sonja wasn’t like that.

‘So what did your copper friend have to say?’ Cliff gruffly inquired, as the lift doors closed. He fixed his small, muddy eyes on Cadel. ‘Why did he want to have dinner with you? Any particular reason?’

Oh . . .’ Cadel shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about Prosper English. ‘Just some fuss at the gaol.’

‘What fuss?’ said Hamish.