The Genius Wars (7 page)

I’ll have to tell Sonja
, he decided.
She’ll have to turn off the cameras at Judith’s house
.

As far as he was concerned, they would need to start taking some very serious precautions.

By noon the following day, Cadel had been released from protective custody.

He had finally been granted permission to sleep at home, and to attend his computer engineering classes. But the rest of the world was now off limits. He wasn’t even allowed to do anything on his own; wherever he went, someone else was supposed to go too. And that someone couldn’t be just anyone.

In the absence of an armed police escort, the job of protecting Cadel would fall on his old friend, Gazo Kovacs.

‘Gazo has a built-in defence mechanism,’ Saul explained, when asked to justify his choice. ‘It’s more effective than tear-gas, and he doesn’t need a permit to use it.’

He was referring to Gazo’s peculiar genetic disability: a stench so overwhelming that it could knock people out. Once upon a time, Gazo had been unable to control his mutant body odour. When Cadel had first met him, at the Axis Institute, Gazo had been wearing a sealed suit that was designed to prevent him from harming his teachers (or fellow students) whenever he became badly stressed. Since then, however, he had learned to manage whatever surge of hormones triggered this unfortunate response, so that it rarely took him by surprise and would only occur when he wanted it to. Regular massages, a change of diet, and an array of special breathing techniques had helped him to live a normal life – as had his job with a firm that specialised in
campus landscaping. Gazo now worked three days a week at the University of New South Wales; he was therefore well acquainted with every nook and cranny of the university grounds, and knew quite a few of the staff there, too.

‘He’s familiar with the layout, he has the means to protect you, and he hangs around with you quite a bit anyway,’ Saul had told Cadel. ‘In other words, he’s the perfect bodyguard. No one’s going to wonder why you’re with Gazo.’

Cadel wasn’t so sure about that. Eyebrows would certainly be raised when he rolled up to his Advanced Programming lectures with Gazo in tow. Even if questions weren’t asked, people were bound to wonder – especially if Gazo was identified as one of the men who mowed the campus lawns, and clipped the campus hedges.

However, it was pointless trying to argue. Saul was too busy to take time off work, and it wasn’t as if Cadel had a better idea. All in all, Gazo’s companionship would be preferable to that of a stone-faced, shaven-headed body-builder in a pinstriped suit and sunglasses. Cadel could only imagine the sort of effect that someone like Angus would have on a class full of computer geeks.

Not that Angus was available. Not any more. He and his colleagues had been reassigned; it was their job to protect people who had been classified as ‘likely targets’, and Cadel no longer fell into this category. He didn’t qualify for round-the-clock police protection, any more, because Prosper had ceased to pose an immediate and probable threat.

That was the official theory, anyway.

It was based on Cadel’s own hypothesis – which had been right all along. Prosper’s reappearance was nothing more than an online hoax. This was now proven beyond all doubt, thanks to a very fortunate programming error. While prowling through various CCTV networks, the police had stumbled upon yet another shot of Prosper English. In this one, however, he appeared to vanish halfway across the scene, leaving a black, Prosper-shaped hole. Various visual effects technicians had ruled that the hole was a ‘dropped frame’, and that the malware
responsible for it had failed to ‘render the lighting’. Clearly, some kind of bug was at work, though who had planted the thing was anyone’s guess.

According to expert opinion, the person behind the program had to be really, really skilled, because he’d created something revolutionary. But there were many highly skilled people in the computer graphics business – and they were scattered across the globe.

‘For all we know, he could be in Russia,’ Saul admitted, upon relaying this information to Cadel. ‘It’s an international industry now, thanks to the Net.’

‘But what makes you think this guy’s working on his own?’ asked Cadel. They were driving towards the university so that he could attend an afternoon seminar; Saul had agreed to meet up with Gazo at the Barker Street entrance. ‘I mean, this is a breakthrough piece of programming. If one person put it together, without any kind of help, why wouldn’t he sell it on the open market and make a fortune? Why would he just give it to Prosper English?’

‘Maybe he didn’t
give
it to anyone,’ Saul replied. ‘Maybe Prosper paid for it.’

‘Maybe.’ Cadel doubted very much, however, that Prosper English had enough spare cash squirrelled away in secret bank accounts to cover the full cost of something so cutting edge. It would take a great deal of money to compensate a bona fide, unsung programming genius for the loss of world domination in HDR environment mapping. ‘Or maybe Vee helped to design it,’ Cadel went on. ‘Maybe there’s a whole bunch of people involved, and they can’t go public because everyone on the development team is a fugitive of some kind. Like Dr Vee.’ After a moment’s reflection, he added, ‘Then again, maybe Prosper had nothing to do with any of this.’

Saul flashed him a startled look – just as the vehicle in front of them stopped, suddenly. For one horrifying split second, Cadel was afraid that they were going to collide with the back end of a tourist coach.

But Saul stamped on the brake, so hard that Cadel nearly bounced off the windscreen. And nothing regrettable happened after all.

‘You can’t be serious,’ Saul protested.

Cadel shrugged.

‘Prosper’s a notorious criminal,’ he said. ‘If I was some crazy hacker with a grudge, and I wanted to get even, I might consider playing a trick on the police.’ He didn’t like to mention it, but this was
exactly
the sort of thing that he himself might have done, once – with Prosper’s encouragement. ‘It would get everyone all worked up over nothing,’ Cadel finished, ‘and waste valuable resources. Never underestimate what people will do for kicks.’

Saul frowned. He was crawling along by this time, stuck in heavy traffic on Anzac Parade. The sun was glinting on tinted glass and chrome bumper bars. The bus ahead of them was belching clouds of black smoke from its exhaust pipe.

‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I don’t buy that. One of the computer guys we interviewed was talking about a scan – about running some kind of scanner over a person, to get his exact measurements for a digital double. You couldn’t do that with Prosper unless he was in the room with you.’

‘I guess not.’

‘You’re probably right, though. About this bug being engineered to distract us. Prosper might want us to think he’s in Sydney so that we won’t look too hard at what he’s
really
doing.’ Saul seemed to be thinking out loud. ‘I wonder if we’re getting too close for comfort? There’s a whole team of investigators on this case. It’s a global effort. I wonder if he feels like somebody’s closing in on him?’

Cadel grunted. He could see the Barker Street intersection coming up, and didn’t want to discuss Prosper English any more. Prosper had a tendency to dominate your life, if you let him. He was hard to shake off even when he wasn’t around.

Cadel knew that he shouldn’t be speculating, or theorising, or drawing conclusions about Prosper’s activities. The trick was
to appear
perfectly harmless
– and that would be impossible if Prosper ever deduced that Cadel was helping the police.

‘Did you tell Judith to switch off her security cameras?’ Cadel asked, changing the subject as Saul turned left.

The detective nodded.

‘Yeah,’ he rejoined. ‘Don’t worry about that. It’s covered.’

‘Are you going to pick me up when I’m done?’

‘No.’ Saul explained that Gazo would be giving Cadel a lift home. ‘He’ll stay with you there until I get back. Just make sure you check all the entry points before going in.’

‘But what if you don’t get back until late?’

‘Then he’ll have to eat dinner with you.’ Catching sight of Cadel’s troubled expression, Saul tried to reassure him. ‘You don’t have to worry about Gazo. He’s fine with this. He’s taken the week off.’

‘Is he being paid?’ Cadel demanded, hoping that the answer would be ‘yes’. Saul, however, didn’t reply; he had already spotted Gazo, who was up ahead, waiting under a kerbside tree. The kerb itself was lined with vehicles, so there was no point trying to park. Saul simply braked when he reached Gazo, instructing Cadel to hop out.

‘If there’s a problem, gimme a call,’ the detective continued. Then he addressed Gazo, who was approaching the car. ‘Thanks for this. You’re really helping me out, here.’

‘That’s okay.’ Gazo sounded embarrassed. Instead of his usual overalls, he wore black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, buttoned at the wrist. His workboots had been replaced by sober black lace-ups, and he had shaved off his wispy goatee. As he leaned towards the driver’s window, a strong smell of aftershave hit Cadel like a siren blast, or a runaway cement truck.

It was clear that Gazo had tried to dress in a manner appropriate to someone burdened with a grave responsibility. He had even slicked back his hair and slapped on a pair of sunglasses. Cadel didn’t think that the result was entirely successful. If Gazo was trying to look intimidating, his long neck, receding chin and spotty complexion undermined his efforts.

There could be no doubt, however, that outdoor manual work had done wonders for Gazo’s physique. His weedy frame had expanded, since his days at the Axis Institute. And now that he was sporting a tan – instead of a ghostly English pallor – his spots weren’t nearly as noticeable.

From the shoulders down, he made a pretty convincing bodyguard.

‘Hi, Gazo,’ Cadel muttered. He pushed open the front passenger door, clutching his computer bag. ‘Sorry about this.’

‘Nuffink to be sorry for,’ was Gazo’s generous response. ‘
I
don’t mind.’

‘You’ve got my number, haven’t you?’ Saul asked him. ‘And the campus security details?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘If you’re worried about anything, don’t hold back. Don’t think, “I wouldn’t want to bother him for no reason.” Just call.’

‘Okay.’ Gazo inclined his head solemnly. ‘Whatever you say.’

‘I’ll try to be home by six,’ Saul concluded, raising his voice as Cadel’s door slammed shut. ‘You got enough money, Cadel?’

‘I’m fine.’ Though he didn’t want to appear ungracious, Cadel couldn’t help being a little brusque. He wished that Saul wouldn’t fuss so much in the presence of someone like Gazo – who, at twenty-one, was already leading a completely grown-up life, with his own job, flat and car. The car might be a bomb, and the flat might be tiny, but they were still enviable accomplishments.

Cadel, in contrast, was living the sheltered existence of a suburban teenager, receiving handouts and obeying curfews. And although he enjoyed being an ordinary kid, he didn’t necessarily want to publicise the fact. It made him look like a wimp.

‘Bye, Saul,’ he said, moving towards the kerb. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.’ Not until he was well clear of Saul’s car did it head off, gathering speed; Cadel watched its receding number plate for a few seconds, then cleared his throat.

‘I doubt there’ll be any problems,’ he assured his friend. ‘If Prosper was anywhere
near
Sydney, he wouldn’t be trying to pretend he was here.’

‘Yeah. I know. That’s what your dad was saying.’ Gazo scratched his neck. ‘Still an’ all, it’s best to be on the safe side.’

‘I suppose so.’ After a moment’s hesitation, Cadel added, ‘Sonja and Judith want to meet me at Coffee on Campus before my lecture starts. Is that okay with you?’

‘Course it is.’ Gazo’s smile revealed jagged clumps of chipped, brownish teeth. His early life in England had been one of homelessness and deprivation; to escape it, he had agreed to enrol at the Axis Institute – where his disabling stench had been regarded as a blessing, rather than a curse. ‘Why
wouldn
’t it be okay?’ he asked. ‘We musta done it a million times before.’

‘Yeah, well … it’s different, now. There are security issues.’

‘Are there?’ Gazo stared at Cadel in astonishment. ‘I didn’t know that.’

Not for the first time, Cadel had the sense that he and Gazo were trying to communicate through a very thick glass wall.

‘Gazo, you’re on
bodyguard
duty.’ Cadel glanced around to check for eavesdroppers. But the footpath was empty in both directions, as far as the eye could see. ‘Wherever we go there’ll be security issues. It’s part of the job.’

‘Oh! Right.’ Gazo’s tone was apologetic. ‘I fought you was worried about that cafe, for some reason.’

‘No. Not especially.’ Shouldering his computer bag, Cadel headed down the brick-paved route to building K17. This particular road was lined with spindly saplings, parked cars and clusters of garbage bins; Cadel found himself falling back into his old habits, scanning every face and window and potential hiding place that he passed. With a sinking sense of despair, he realised that he was beginning to behave as if he were still at the Axis Institute. As if he constantly needed to watch for hidden threats.

No
, he thought.
Forget it
.
I’m not going to do this
.
Not again
. And he made a huge effort to switch off his antennae, deliberately focusing his entire attention on the spruced-up figure beside him.

‘Saul told me you were taking a week off,’ he said to Gazo, who nodded.

‘Yeah. That’s right.’

‘Is he paying you?’ Cadel wanted to know.

Gazo gave a snort. ‘Nah,’ he scoffed, as if the question were utterly ludicrous. ‘Doesn’t afta, does he? I still get me ’oliday pay.’

‘But it won’t be much fun. Spending a whole week as my babysitter.’ Cadel shook his head, trying to shake off the guilty feeling that troubled him like an importunate blowfly. ‘This doesn’t seem right,’ he went on. ‘You’re giving up your holiday for nothing. You should ask him if there’s some kind of police fund that he can dip into, for a little extra cash. There’s bound to be.’