Evil Genius

  Wilfreda turned on the lamp. She let Cadel fall onto a luxurious stack of pillows propped against the bed-head. She pulled off his shoes, hoisting up his long skirt to do so. ‘Now just lie still,’ she said. ‘There’s bound to be someone around here somewhere – this place is supposed to have twenty-four–seven security. I shouldn’t be long.’

  And she disappeared.

  Cadel waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded into silence. Then he got up and put his shoes back on. Their rubbery soles squeaked a little against the parquet floor of the hallway, but not enough to concern him too much. Every few steps he would stop and listen, but he couldn’t hear anything except the distant pulse of the tide, and the ticking of a nearby clock. The only thing moving was a gauze curtain, which fluttered in a sea-breeze at the end of the corridor.

  Coast’s clear, Cadel thought, and swallowed. Shaking with nervous tension, he began to tip-toe down the sweeping staircase.

  He was almost at the bottom when the living-room door burst open, and Thaddeus Roth emerged.

  FIFTY-FIVE

  Thaddeus saw Cadel and froze. For a moment they stared at each other.

  Then Thaddeus staggered.

  ‘Elspeth?’ he hissed. ‘But you’re dead! I saw you –’

  He stopped suddenly but it was too late.

  Cadel already knew.

  ‘You killed her,’ he gasped.

  ‘Cadel?’

  ‘You killed my mother.’ It was all so clear. Cadel had seen Thaddeus’s expression. He had heard the anger and the fear and the hatred in Thaddeus’s voice.

  ‘Cadel, my God!’ The psychologist stepped forward. ‘You escaped?’

  ‘Get away from me!’

  ‘Listen, Cadel –’

  Cadel turned and bolted up the stairs. He intended to lock himself in his bedroom. But Thaddeus had longer legs than he did.

  Cadel didn’t even make it to the first landing.

  ‘Wait! Cadel!’

  ‘Let go!’ Almost crazed with fear and revulsion, Cadel lashed out. He strained against the psychologist’s grip. ‘I hate you! I hate you!’

  ‘Cadel –’

  ‘I know what happened!’ cried Cadel. He kicked and clawed, exploding against the months and months of endless surveillance, the lying, the manipulation. ‘You were afraid, so you killed her! You scum! You murderer! You’ve made me a murderer!’

  ‘Shh. Calm down.’

  ‘You shit!’ Cadel spat, tears of rage and sorrow spilling from his eyes. ‘You lying scumbag! You lied to me, Prosper!’

  The psychologist blinked, and stared. He opened his mouth. Before he could speak, however, someone else did.

  ‘Hey.’

  It was Gazo. He was standing at the foot of the stairs, and he wasn’t wearing his headpiece. For the first time ever, Cadel found himself gazing at Gazo’s entire head. It was long and bony, perched on top of a long, skinny giraffe’s neck. His close-cropped hair was a murky brown, and his ears stuck out like wings.

  ‘Are you all right, Cadel?’ he asked, frowning. Startled by his appearance, Thaddeus had loosened his grasp on Cadel – who took advantage of this fact by wrenching free, and stumbling down the staircase.

  The psychologist, however, had very quick reflexes. His hand shot out, and grabbed Cadel’s collar.

  ‘Wait,’ he said.

  ‘Let go!’ Cadel gasped. He was nearly choking. ‘Gazo! Help!’

  Vaguely, Cadel was aware of Gazo’s anxious voice, bidding Thaddeus to let his friend go. Thaddeus, who had flung one arm around Cadel’s wriggling body, snapped: ‘Get out of here! Now!’ Then everything became confused. With the psychologist’s arm clamped across his chest, Cadel felt as if he was suffocating. He bucked against it – the pressure fell away, but still he couldn’t breathe. There was a terrible smell and his vision failed.

  When he came to, it was dark. He was no longer on the staircase. He was no longer inside. And though he felt someone’s arms around him, dragging him along, they didn’t belong to Thaddeus.

  He moved against them, feebly.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Vadi gasped, into his ear. ‘Calm down.’

  Cadel suddenly realised where they were. They were in front of the house, and there was Wilfreda’s ute, and there was Gazo’s car, and there . . .

  There was Gazo. Lying face down on the dirt, in a pool of light that spilled from one of the windows.

  ‘Gazo!’ Cadel croaked.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Vadi repeated. He was slowly mounting the steps to the front door, his arms hooked under Cadel’s. ‘It was a vicious smell, but I can hold my breath longer than any other man on earth. Long enough to swing a poker.’

  ‘Gazo . . .’

  ‘I’ll take care of him, never fear. But we have to be quick.’ Staggering through the door, he raised his voice. ‘Sir! Dr Roth!’ ‘Here,’ came the feeble reply. It sounded as sick as Cadel felt. Now he was in the living room, and there was Thaddeus, collapsed across one of his stylish chairs, green-faced.

  ‘Sir, are you all right?’ Vadi queried.

  ‘I’ll live.’

  ‘He was trying to take the boy,’ Vadi continued, dropping Cadel onto the sofa. ‘I knocked him out.’

  ‘Well done,’ said Thaddeus, shutting his eyes. Cadel knew just how he felt. Nauseous. Dizzy.

  But better than before. Definitely better.

  ‘Sir, I have to report that there are cars converging on the other side of the wall.’

  ‘Cars?’

  ‘Police cars.’

  Thaddeus hissed. He looked up, and caught Cadel’s eye. Cadel glanced away.

  All at once he was very, very frightened.

  ‘Sir, I think they’re staking the place out,’ Vadi went on. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘They’re coming from inland, not from the sea,’ Thaddeus replied. He straightened, and swallowed, the colour was returning to his face. ‘We need to get to the boathouse, quickly. Where’s Wilfreda? She must be here. She brought Cadel.’

  ‘Sir, I don’t know. I just got back from my sweep –’

  ‘I have next to no staff,’ Thaddeus muttered. ‘They’re all in Sydney, looking for Cadel. Dammit. Dammit.’

  ‘Sir, what about that problem out the front? I don’t think he’s dead. Should I finish him off, first?’

  ‘No!’ Cadel squawked, and the two men stared at him, long and hard. Then the psychologist’s eyes narrowed. ‘You do that, Vadi,’ he said, in the calmest of tones. ‘He knows far too much, wherever his loyalties lie. Can’t have the polizei stumbling over him, can we?’

  ‘No, sir.’

  ‘Quick as you can, then meet us at the boathouse.’

  Vadi moved. So did Cadel. He launched himself out of the deep, dense cushions of the sofa, missed his footing, and hit the floor. By the time he’d scrambled up again, Vadi was holding his arm.

  Cadel pulled free, but his head was swimming. He never made it to the front door. Vadi intercepted him.

  ‘Cadel,’ said Thaddeus. Turning, Cadel saw that the psychologist had pulled out a small, silver hand-gun. Staring down its barrel, Cadel froze. He felt, rather than saw, Vadi’s surprise.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Go. Now. I’ll take care of Cadel.’

  Hypnotised by the gleaming gun, Cadel didn’t even hear Vadi’s retreating footsteps, or the sound of the front door closing. He just stood, paralysed. Slowly, Thaddeus rose from his seat, the gun steady in his hand. Slowly, he approached Cadel.

  ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let me just point out, Cadel, that we have no time to waste on family skeletons, and the like. Once we’re in the clear, we can thrash out all your rejection issues at leisure. Until then, you’ll oblige me by holding your tongue.’ He laid one hand on Cadel’s shoulder. ‘Is that understood?’

  Cadel nodded, speechless. He could hardly see; his eyes were full of tears. Somewhere outside Vadi was killing Gazo. Gazo, who had come to Cadel’s rescue. Cadel wanted to throw back his head and howl.

>   Instead, he allowed Thaddeus to steer him into the hallway, towards the back of the house. He was feeling much better now. So was Thaddeus, obviously, though he coughed a couple of times. They were moving at a brisk pace. As they passed the staircase, someone addressed them from the first landing.

  ‘Dr Roth?’ It was Wilfreda.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Thaddeus snapped.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I was just –’

  ‘We’re getting out. Now.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They’re coming by land, so we’ll have to go by sea. I’ll need your help, Wilfreda.’

  ‘Yes, sir, of course.’

  ‘Are you armed?’

  ‘Uh –’

  ‘Never mind. We can’t linger. Come on.’

  Thaddeus didn’t wait for Wilfreda to clatter down the stairs. He forged ahead, past a number of rooms opening off the hallway, until he reached the back door. He didn’t fling it open, though. Instead, he peered through one of the panes of glass that flanked it, cautiously lifting the edge of a blind.

  Suddenly, a voice assailed them. It was a male voice, electronically magnified.

  ‘Attention! This is the Australian Federal Police! I am Detective Sergeant Ken Pearce! If there is anyone in the house, will you please come out and show yourself!’

  ‘The police!’ Behind them, Wilfreda stopped in her tracks. ‘How –’

  ‘There is no way out!’ Detective Sergeant Ken Pearce continued. ‘The house is surrounded, but we will not fire on you! If you’re in there, Mr Ivan Bleski, or anyone else associated with him, will you please show yourself!’

  ‘Look out the window!’ Thaddeus ordered. He had his hands full; one was pointing the gun, the other was clutching the back of Cadel’s neck. ‘Is it clear out the back?’

  Wilfreda took up his station at the window, twitching at its blind.

  ‘I can’t see,’ she complained, in an unsteady voice. ‘It’s too dark.’ She looked to Thaddeus for guidance, her face taut, her gaze questioning.

  ‘Attention, inhabitants of Curramulla! We will not hurt you! This is the Australian Federal Police . . .’

  Somewhere, several phones rang at once.

  ‘That’s them,’ said Thaddeus. He was frowning. ‘I’ll have to answer, or they’ll start coming in. They’ll think the place is empty.’ He cracked a mirthless half-smile. ‘Which it practically is.’

  ‘How did they find us?’ Wilfreda croaked.

  ‘I don’t know. But I can guess.’ To Cadel’s immense fright, Thaddeus squeezed the back of his neck. ‘Lights off, Wilfreda. Yes, those. All of them.’ Wilfreda slapped at a bank of light switches positioned by the back door, and most of the lights were extinguished. Now Cadel could see only the shiny highlights on Thaddeus’s nose and cheekbones, along with the gleam of his silver gun-barrel. ‘Get down to the safe-room,’ Thaddeus continued, addressing Wilfreda, ‘and bring up . . . let’s see . . . bring up three gas-masks and all the T-4 canisters. We’ll fire ’em from the back, and make for the boat. Wind’s an easterly. In the dark, we might just pull this off. And get the night goggles, too.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Do it! I’ll keep them occupied. I’ll be in the butler’s pantry.’

  ‘But even in the dark, with the gas, once we’re out there –’

  ‘Once we’re out there, we’ll have a hostage,’ Thaddeus said calmly, gesturing at Cadel with the barrel of his gun.

  Wilfreda gaped.

  ‘Him?’ she said.

  ‘Him.’

  ‘But isn’t that kind of dangerous? For him, I mean –’

  ‘Wilfreda.’ Thaddeus spoke with barely controlled impatience. ‘Who do you think told them about this place?’

  There was a brief silence. During it, the phones stopped ringing, before immediately starting up again. Wilfreda peered at Cadel.

  ‘For Chrissake . . .’ she breathed.

  ‘No time to lose, Wilfreda.’

  ‘No. Right.’

  Wilfreda turned, and hurried through a door under the stairs.

  FIFTY-SIX

  Thaddeus pulled Cadel through another door, which led into the murky dining room. But they didn’t stop there. Instead, they moved straight across the floor and darted into a small, enclosed, windowless room which dazzled Cadel when Thaddeus switched on the light. For the room was lined with shelves, all of them bearing bright glass, shining silver, jewel-like bottles. There was a phone on the wall.

  Thaddeus released Cadel’s neck. He pushed his son against one row of shelves, so roughly that a wineglass was dislodged, falling to the floor with a crash. Thaddeus then placed the barrel of his gun directly between Cadel’s eyes.

  Staring into them, his own gaze unreadable, Thaddeus picked up the wall-mounted receiver with his free hand.

  ‘H-hello?’ he quavered.

  His voice, nervous and weak and unsteady with age, was at odds with his expression. It sounded like the voice that Cadel had heard outside the warehouse, when he was still in Tommy’s custody. (No doubt Thaddeus had been with Wilfreda, beyond the double doors.) For a while the psychologist stood listening. Cadel could hear another voice jabbering away at the other end of the line.

  Cadel himself was so terrified that he couldn’t think straight. The gun had driven almost every other consideration from his head. As for Thaddeus’s expression, it was unlike anything that he had ever experienced before.

  It was so cold, so empty, that it was practically devoid of life. Cadel had seen statues with more feeling in their faces.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ Thaddeus wailed. ‘My name is Walter Felton, I’m renting from Mr Bleski! No, he’s not here! There’s only me and my wife and my grandson! What? He’s ten years old . . .’ Thaddeus suddenly winked at Cadel. The wink was so obscenely frivolous that it was somehow even worse than the gun.

  Cadel could feel his sinuses filling with unshed tears. He bit his trembling lip and choked back a sob.

  ‘Are you sure? Can you prove it?’ Thaddeus went on in a querulous tone. ‘What do you mean? I can’t leave my wife! She’s not well! She has a bad heart . . . what’s that? Phyllis? Oh my God . . . oh my God, look what you’ve done! Phyllis! Phyllis!’

  Thaddeus slammed the cordless receiver against a benchtop, returned it to his ear for a moment, and listened. Then he closed the connection.

  ‘Right,’ he said, tucking the phone into his back pocket. ‘That should hold them for a minute or so. Come on – we have to watch the access points.’

  He nudged Cadel through the door ahead of him. They retraced their steps until they were once more just below the staircase, in the centre of the house. From there, Thaddeus had a view of both the back and front doors.

  ‘This place is a joke,’ he remarked softly, still holding his gun to Cadel’s head. He was standing straight behind Cadel, who couldn’t see his eyes. ‘It’s got more holes than a sieve. Mind you, I never thought I’d be using it as a bloody redoubt. Well – I never thought anyone would find me here. Just shows you, doesn’t it? I must be getting slow in my old age.’

  Cadel said nothing. He didn’t know what to say. Staring blindly at the hall table in front of him, he felt Thaddeus tug the shoelace out of his tangled curls.

  ‘What on earth is this get-up?’ the psychologist inquired. ‘Were you trying to look like your mother?’

  Cadel shook his head, still unable to speak.

  ‘Well you do. It was the skirt that really threw me. She was a hippy at heart – she always used to wear those god-awful Indian things . . .’ He trailed off, and Cadel felt the gun-barrel quiver against his scalp. ‘I couldn’t help it, Cadel,’ Thaddeus continued, so quietly that he was barely audible. ‘She was insane. She thought we could sit down and thrash it out, the three of us – her, me and Darkkon. Apparently it never crossed her mind that he was a maniac. You don’t betray Phineas Darkkon, not if you want to stay alive. I knew he’d have us all killed. You too, because you weren’t his son.’
Thaddeus sighed. ‘I couldn’t risk that,’ he said. ‘Don’t you see? I had to choose. I had to lose one of you or all of us.’

  At that instant, while he stared at the arrangement of coral branches on the hall table, something clicked inside Cadel’s head. His eyes widened. He caught his breath, and slowly turned around, ignoring the gun that hovered at eye level. He gazed up at Thaddeus.

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  ‘Mr Felton?’ said a vaguely familiar voice. ‘Are you there?’

  Thaddeus sucked in air through his teeth. He looked over at the door beneath the stairs. Though fleeting, this glance was enough – enough to give Cadel a head start.

  He made a run for it.

  ‘Cadel!’ cried Thaddeus.

  ‘Mr Felton?’

  No shot rang out. Cadel hadn’t been expecting one. He reached the front door, and would have hauled it open.

  But before he could do so, Thaddeus was beside him, gun in hand.

  ‘Take one more step,’ Thaddeus whispered, pressing the gun against Cadel’s temple, ‘and I’ll blast your brains out.’

  Cadel froze. Then he swallowed. Then, without moving his head, he let his eyes slip sideways until they found Thaddeus.

  He and Thaddeus surveyed each other for a long, tense moment. The psychologist’s hand was rock-steady.

  Cadel took a deep breath.

  ‘No, you won’t,’ he said, and drew the latch. ‘I’m coming outside!’ he called. ‘Don’t shoot me!’

  ‘Cadel?’ The familiar voice was now directly on the other side of the door. Cadel recognised it as belonging to Kale Platz. ‘Cadel Darkkon, is that you?’

  ‘Yes! And I’m coming out!’

  There was a scuffle of boots, suggesting that the people on the front steps were taking cover. Thaddeus cocked his gun. Cadel flinched, but didn’t yield.

  Slowly, he turned the doorknob. Slowly, he pulled open the door.

  He caught a glimpse of Thaddeus’s crooked smile, as the silver gun was lowered.

  Then he walked out into a blaze of spotlights.

  ‘Hands in the air, Cadel. That’s the way. Just a few more steps . . .’

  Blinded by the glare, Cadel allowed himself to be yanked, jerked and patted down. He realised that he was crying. Someone gave him a tissue. A hand on his shoulder steered him quickly away from the house, while Kale fired questions at him. ‘Who’s in there? How many people? Have they got weapons? Guns?’