Genius Squad (52 page)

Cadel wanted to stand up. He would have, if Sonja hadn’t been such an awkward burden. But he was afraid that Prosper might grow impatient, and drive away before Sonja could be lifted to her feet.

So Cadel delivered his speech from the bottom of a roadside ditch.

‘What you don’t understand is that things have changed,’ he said. ‘Even if I do end up in limbo, it won’t be for long. Because I’m growing up now. I’m old enough to get a job. Soon I’ll be sixteen – and sixteen-year-olds aren’t children any more. You can get married when you’re sixteen.’ Peering into the car, at Prosper’s unreadable face, Cadel forced himself to forget all the lying and manipulation and downright cruelty in their shared past, so that he could concentrate on the man who had once described Cadel as his ‘crowning achievement’. By doing this, it was easier to speak with a certain degree of warmth. It was easier to formulate an argument that might just make an impression. ‘The thing is, you really don’t have to worry about me,’ Cadel quietly insisted. ‘I’m all right. I can look after myself. What I want is independence. I want to make my own choices, because that’s what growing up is about.’ Taking a deep breath, he put everything he had into his concluding remarks: all the maturity and intelligence and fervour and insight that he could summon up. He used his tongue and his brain and his huge, limpid eyes; with every natural endowment at his disposal, he tried desperately to breach Prosper’s armour-plated defences. ‘You can’t go on making my choices for me – not for the rest of my life. No father should do that,’ he pointed out. ‘Some time, you’ll have to accept that I can make my own mistakes. You’ll have to just . . . let me go.’

There was a long silence. No one moved for several seconds. Cadel waited, but Prosper’s reaction was disappointing. He didn’t speak. He didn’t even smile.

Instead the car leapt forward, whipping up clouds of dust.

As Cadel watched it depart, he felt as if his heart had turned to liquid, and was draining slowly through his ribs. But then he saw a bottle of water fly out of the driver’s window, bouncing onto the road and rolling into a pot-hole.

It was a concession, of sorts. And it lightened his mood a little.

‘Cadel,’ Saul gasped, from somewhere close by. ‘Christ, I’m so sorry. I’m
so sorry
. . .’

Cadel looked up. The detective was standing over him, having dashed to his side as soon as they were both beyond the range of Prosper’s gun.

‘He threw out the water,’ Cadel said faintly. ‘Did you see?’

‘Yeah.’ Saul squatted down. He laid a hand against Cadel’s cheek. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’ If numb was okay. ‘Are you?’

‘Sure. I’m fine.’ The detective’s hand shifted to Sonja’s sweaty forehead. ‘What about her? How’s she doing?’

‘I – I don’t know,’ Cadel said feebly. ‘I can’t tell.’

Sonja’s answering squeak was barely audible. It made Saul frown.

‘Tell you what,’ he proposed. ‘You go get that water, and I’ll take care of her. We’ll have a drink before we move.’

Cadel stared at him in bewilderment. ‘We’re moving? You mean – we’re going to walk?’

‘Are you up to it? Can you manage?’

‘Well yes, but . . .’ Cadel glanced down at Sonja.

‘Don’t worry. I can carry her. If I do, we’ll get picked up more quickly. We just have to reach the sealed road.’ Saul hesitated when he received no immediate reply. Studying Cadel, he seemed to have a change of heart. ‘Unless we’d be better off staying?’ he said. ‘It’s your call. I figure that Prosper was trying to slow us down and give himself more time, but you understand the way he thinks. What should we do?’

It was a serious question, which Cadel couldn’t answer. He regarded Saul with growing distress as he saw how earnestly – how respectfully – the detective was awaiting his response.

Cadel realised that his impassioned speech had fooled the wrong person.

‘I was lying, you know,’ he confessed.

‘Huh?’

‘It was all a big lie. About being grown up. I only said it because I wanted him to stop interfering.’ Cadel’s voice began to shake. ‘I’m good at lying. I’ve always been good at lying. Thanks to him.’

‘Hey,’ Saul murmured. Though obviously taken aback, he tried to offer what comfort he could. ‘Hey, don’t fret. It’s all right. We’ll be all right.’

‘I can’t really look after myself. I can’t even look after Sonja,’ Cadel said brokenly. ‘It’s no good asking me what we should do. I don’t
know
what to do. I don’t know anything. I’m hopeless.’

‘Hopeless?’ Saul echoed, in disbelief. ‘What are you talking about? For Chrissake, you’re an incredible kid!’

‘No. I’m not. If I was, I’d know what to do.’ Cadel felt as if he had been cast adrift – and not just because he happened to be sitting in the middle of nowhere. When he tried to envisage his immediate future, it contained one big nothing: no Prosper, no school, no Donkins, no Clearview House, no official status. And no Sonja, perhaps, if there was no Genius Squad. ‘What am I going to do?’ he cried. ‘I don’t know what to
do
!’

‘Shh. It’s okay.’ Saul kneaded Cadel’s shoulder. ‘I know what we have to do. We have to take things one step at a time. That’s all we
can
do, right now. One step at a time. All right?’

‘All right,’ Cadel sniffed.

‘Let’s go, then,’ urged Saul. And he stood up. ‘Let’s get started.’

FORTY-SIX

Cadel lay on his bed, staring out the window at a grey, wintry sky.

He didn’t have much else to look at. His room was a plain white box with a beige carpet. It contained a single bed, a desk, a chair and a built-in wardrobe; there were no pictures on the walls or colourful patterns on any of the furnishings. Even the blind and the lampshade were white.

The only personal touch in the room was Cadel’s name, scribbled in pencil under the window ledge. He had written it there during his previous occupation of this particular safe-house, immediately after Prosper’s arrest. Upon returning, he’d found that same piece of graffiti right where he’d left it nearly twelve months before.

The discovery had depressed him, because it seemed to underline the fact that nothing had really changed.

Nor was this the only cause for depression in Cadel’s life. After three weeks, Prosper English was still at large. Alias and Vadi wouldn’t cooperate with the police. Dot had managed to evade capture. Sonja had been put in a temporary home, pending a departmental decision on her placement. And Genius Squad had been disbanded.

As far as Cadel knew, none of its members had remained at Clearview House. Trader was in custody, having been denied bail on charges of abetting a forcible abduction. Though the other staff had managed to stay out of gaol, all were engaged in legal disputes of one kind or another. Cliff (who had fled to Brazil at the first sign of trouble) was fighting extradition from that country. Judith was negotiating a deal with the police, to avoid various charges of embezzlement. Even Zac Stillman was living under a cloud. Like Cadel, and Hamish, and the twins, he’d been involved in an illegal hacking operation, so it was felt that he had some explaining to do.

Cadel’s own legal predicament was now so complex that not even he had a firm grip on it any more. In fact, he’d given up. Rather than worrying himself into a frenzy about his uncertain future, he had decided to take things one step at a time – just as Saul Greeniaus had counselled. The detective’s advice had been good. Why look too far ahead, when there was nothing to see but dark clouds? Life was miserable enough already without the added burden of nagging fears and disappointed hopes.

Cadel sighed and turned over. Part of the problem was that he had been placed in a secure facility. No one knew what else to do with him. A foster-home was considered inappropriate because Prosper had identified the last one. For the same reason, Cadel’s new address was a closely guarded secret. It was feared that Prosper might be keeping tabs on Cadel’s old haunts and acquaintances, so Cadel’s friends weren’t allowed to visit him, and he wasn’t allowed to visit them. He wasn’t even allowed to use a computer, in case Dr Vee tracked him down.

Whenever Cadel asked how long these restrictions were likely to apply, he received a vague and unsatisfactory answer. Only Saul Greeniaus seemed willing to commit himself. ‘It can’t go on forever,’ Saul had said, on one occasion. ‘Even if Prosper English isn’t found, you can’t be kept like this indefinitely. There has to be a better way.’

But Saul still hadn’t found one – and meanwhile, Cadel did practically nothing all day except read, play games and watch television. He played cards with the plain-clothes police who watched over him around the clock. Sometimes he played chess with them. Every afternoon, he went to a park or beach with Saul, who made him take a walk or throw a ball around. Occasionally they met with Fiona, at a specified time in some carefully considered location: a picnic hut, perhaps, or a parked car. Cadel had also met twice with his lawyer, high in a Sydney office block.

And never, during any of these activities, had he escaped the constant attendance of his interchangeable bodyguards. They followed him into public restrooms. They flanked him at meetings. They pursued him on bushwalks, and even formed an opposing team when he and Saul were engaged in their lackadaisical softball games. (Not that Cadel liked softball much; he wasn’t exactly a sportsman. But Saul was determined that they should both get some exercise.) No matter where Cadel went, his surveillance team had to be right there with him, cluttering up the view. Intruding upon personal conversations.

Getting in his way.

He was only safe from prying eyes when shut in his bedroom – and even then he wasn’t supposed to lock the door, just in case Prosper should climb through the window.

Gazing out the same window, Cadel reminded himself once again that Sonja’s predicament was far worse than his. The restrictions that governed her life were crueller than anything he’d ever had to endure. And unlike Cadel, she could draw no comfort from the prospect of release, because her incarceration was permanent.

But he didn’t want to think about Sonja. If he did, he would start to worry – and what was the point of that? He couldn’t help her. He couldn’t visit her. He couldn’t phone her. All he could do was write letters, and hope that she managed to read them.

It troubled him to think that she couldn’t even open the envelopes by herself.

‘Cadel?’ A soft tapping interrupted his train of thought. ‘Can I come in?’

It was Saul’s voice, and Saul’s distinctive knock on the bedroom door. Cadel sat up. He checked his watch.

‘Yeah, sure,’ he said. As his visitor crossed the threshold, he added, ‘You’re early.’

‘I know.’ Saul was wearing a familiar dark suit and striped tie. He frowned to see Cadel sitting on the bed, empty-handed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing,’ Cadel replied.

‘What about those new books?’

‘I finished them.’

‘Even the puzzle book?’

‘Yes.’

Saul bit his lip. Then he sighed. Then he said, ‘Well . . . I’m here now. So we can go. Are you ready?’

Cadel nodded. He thought that the detective looked unusually tense, and wondered what could have happened. Another disagreement with the top brass, perhaps? Another reported sighting of Prosper English? Cadel knew that Saul was having a tough time all round. There was a general feeling that Prosper’s escape could be blamed, to some degree, on the detective. And the possibility that Prosper might be lurking somewhere close by couldn’t have improved Saul’s spirits.

Cadel noticed how alert the detective was as they emerged from the anonymous-looking, two-storeyed house in which Cadel had been installed. Tucked away behind a gloomy screen of camellias and rhododendrons, this bland-faced, mustard-coloured building was located at the end of a very long driveway. All around it, bankers and lawyers and advertising executives lived on huge, sprawling, leafy blocks of land; they could afford to keep themselves to themselves, and only intruded upon Cadel’s strictly enforced privacy when their car or burglar alarms went off.

Saul’s own car had been found, identified and thoroughly processed. It was now parked near the front door.

Cadel climbed into the back seat, as usual. He had to sit between his two bodyguards.

‘Where are we going today?’ he asked Saul, who was driving.

‘Glebe Point,’ the detective answered, and Cadel raised his eyebrows.

‘That’s a long way. I guess we must be meeting Fiona.’

‘Good guess,’ Saul answered. He gave the impression of being a little keyed up.

‘Does she have any news?’ Cadel inquired, without much curiosity. He had stopped expecting good news, because most of it lately had been bad. And when Saul hesitated, his fears were confirmed. ‘Something’s gone wrong, hasn’t it?’

‘No!’ Saul’s denial was vehement. ‘No, not at all. I just – I’d rather discuss it when we get there. If that’s okay.’

Cadel shrugged. ‘Okay.’

‘It’s complicated. And . . . well, we need more space.’

Saul didn’t so much as glance at the bodyguards when he said this, but he didn’t need to. Cadel knew exactly what was meant by the code words ‘more space’. So he settled back and let his three companions discuss various uninteresting subjects (football, duty rosters and superannuation) until they finally rolled down the gentle incline leading to Glebe Point Park. Only then did it occur to Cadel – for the very first time – that Fiona might actually live in the area. She was just the sort of person who would feel at home in a neighbourhood of pretty, elderly little houses crammed together on narrow streets.

‘She said she’d be waiting on that bench we used before,’ Saul declared, as he pulled into the kerb. Sure enough, Cadel spotted a tousled mop of reddish hair over near the water. He instantly recognised Fiona’s narrow shoulders and pale-green floral jacket.

She was watching seagulls wheel overhead, her attitude uncharacteristically tranquil.

Saul turned to the surveillance team. ‘We need a little privacy today,’ he announced. ‘That’s why I chose this location. I figured you’d have a good, clear view of every approach, with no obstructions and no through traffic. Can you keep your distance for half an hour?’