Genius Squad

  "Uh—"

  "Come on. It's right next door."

  Tugging at his sleeve, she dragged him past the first-floor bathroom into what she called her boudoir, which had purple walls and a black ceiling studded with glow-in-the-dark constellations. It wasn't very tidy (there were great heaps of clothing, magazines, and CD covers everywhere) but Cadel immediately spotted some interesting books on her bookshelf, including Computers and Intractability: A Guide to the Theory of NP Completeness. These books looked very well thumbed. In fact one of them was practically falling apart. And they aroused within him a new respect for Lexi.

  "That's a good book, isn't it? Computers and Intractability?" he said.

  "Oh, yeah." She darted forward. "But I tell you what's even better. It's this new thing I picked up, about asymmetric ciphers ... You wouldn't believe how good it is ... Where the hell's it gone?"

  As Lexi began to rifle through her bookshelf, pulling out volumes and casting them aside, Cadel glanced back to see Saul and Fiona hovering on the threshold. Saul's calm gaze moved swiftly and efficiently from one side of the room to the other, taking in the crucifix, the heart-shaped cushion, the black sateen duvet, the knitted unicorn.

  Suddenly, a piercing shriek almost deafened Cadel. It was Lexi, screaming at her brother.

  "DEVIN!" she yelled. "WHERE'S MY NEW BOOK?"

  Even Saul flinched, shocked out of his professionally detached air. Lexi bolted past him into the room next door, which was labeled DEVIN ONLY—KEEP OUT. She began to throw her brother's things around, making a great deal of noise in her search for the missing book.

  "Come on." Saul beckoned to Cadel. "Let's go upstairs."

  Cadel hurriedly complied. He escaped just ahead of Trader, who was shaking his head ruefully; together they followed Saul and Fiona to the top-floor landing, where they almost collided with a middle-aged man dressed in a neatly pressed white shirt and gray trousers. The gurgle of plumbing announced that this man had just emerged from the upstairs bathroom.

  "Ah! Tony!" said Trader. "Everyone, this is Tony Cheung. Tony, this is Cadel Piggott, and his caseworker, Ms. Currey. And this is Detective Inspector Greeniaus."

  Tony smiled politely. With his slicked-back hair and gold-framed spectacles, he looked like a lawyer or an accountant. There was a silver pen tucked into his breast pocket, and a fancy watch strapped to his wrist. When he shook Cadel's hand—apparently oblivious to the banging and screeching just below them—he did it in a brisk, businesslike way, his palm warm and dry.

  "Tony has a diploma in nursing as well as social work," Trader revealed. "Though he'll mainly be caring for Sonja, he's good with more wayward kids, too."

  As if in response, a terrific clamor arose from downstairs. Cadel realized that the twins were battling over Lexi's missing book. Either Lexi had gone to confront Devin, or Devin had answered Lexi's summons; they were now locked in mortal combat. It was hard to distinguish one from the other, because they were both yelling like football hooligans.

  "Excuse me," said Tony Cheung, in his light, pleasant, well-modulated voice. "I think perhaps I should intervene."

  "Thanks, Tone." Trader spoke gratefully. "And make sure Hamish is in the kitchen, will you? I sent him down, but you know what he's like."

  "Of course," said Tony, inclining his head. "Pleased to meet you, Cadel. Ms. Currey." Then he scooted off without a backward glance, his pace steady, his footsteps practically inaudible. Trader heaved a long-suffering sigh.

  "Those two..." He groaned and gestured at a nearby door. "That will be your room, Cadel, right next to the office. We've put a couple of beds in the office for staff on shift work, but you'll find it's very peaceful up here. Even Hamish doesn't make much noise—not like those Wienekes." The words were hardly out of his mouth when the twins' racket abruptly stopped, as if someone had flipped a switch. Cadel could only assume that Tony Cheung had reached them. "If there's anything you don't like, just tell me," Trader added, leading the way into Cadel's bedroom. "I'm afraid Lexi had a bit of a hand in this, but we were very firm. We vetoed her offer to decorate the walls with famous graffiti tags."

  Having seen Lexi's taste in interior decorating, Cadel was almost expecting to see bloodred paint or fluorescent curtains. To his relief, however, he found himself standing in a perfectly ordinary space, lit by one large window. Though the color scheme was uninspired, it wasn't offensive. And all the furnishings—including the built-in wardrobe, desk, chair, bed, and bookshelf—were brand-new.

  "Goodness," said Fiona. "Aren't these lovely!"

  "Aren't they?" Trader stroked the desktop like a furniture salesman. "Ash veneer. Lexi chose the lamp."

  "It's nice," Cadel said, astonished that Lexi should have picked such an elegant, streamlined piece of equipment. He noted with approval the number of outlets (all newly wired, he felt certain) and the lock on the door. No one would be getting into this room without his permission.

  "So what do you think?" Trader inquired. And Cadel turned to Fiona.

  "When can I move in?" he said.

  Trader laughed. Even Fiona smiled. But Saul remained impassive.

  "You can move in anytime," said Trader. "Tonight, if you want."

  "Perhaps we ought to discuss things first," Fiona suggested, and Trader agreed.

  "Take your time," he told Cadel. "Get a feel for the place. I just have to duck down and see that everything's in order." He offered everyone his toothpaste-advertisement grin. "Give me a yell when you're done," was his advice. "I'll probably be in the kitchen, showing Hamish how to crack eggs."

  And he made for the door, still smiling. Before he could cross the threshold, however, Saul Greeniaus detained him with a question.

  "I checked with DoCS," he said, "and they gave me a list of names. One of those names was Hamish Primrose. Is that the Hamish we just saw?"

  "Yes," said Trader, as Cadel caught his breath in disbelief.

  "Would he be the same Hamish Primrose who hacked into the Digital Image Department of the Roads and Traffic Authority?" asked Saul. Whereupon Trader's smile became a little lopsided.

  "You remember that, do you?" He shrugged. "It was a long time ago."

  It had been a long time ago: two years, to be exact. Cadel recalled the incident vividly. Details of the attack had been all over the Internet: Hamish had been tampering with speed-camera photographs, altering the MD5 hash of each shot. There had even been newspaper coverage. But the name of the offender had been withheld.

  "I thought Hamish Primrose came from a privileged background." Saul pressed on, remorselessly. "What's he doing in a place like this, if he's got wealthy parents?"

  Trader opened his mouth to reply. It was Fiona, however, who answered for him. Her cheeks were flushed and her tone was sharp.

  "I don't see how that's any of your business," she scolded, addressing Saul. "These kids aren't under suspicion of any crimes, are they?"

  "No," Saul was forced to concede, "but—"

  "Then, if you have a question, you should go through the proper channels," Fiona concluded. "Even children have a right to their privacy, Mr. Greeniaus!"

  This unexpected broadside had a visible effect on Saul. He stood for a moment, pondering, while Trader glanced from his face to Fiona's and back again. Trader seemed impressed. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

  Cadel felt bad. He couldn't have said why, exactly, but he didn't like to see Fiona and Saul arguing. Especially when the subject of the argument was Clearview House.

  At last Saul requested a private word with Fiona—and Trader took the hint. He politely departed, leaving his guests to talk among themselves. Cadel heard his footsteps on the stairs, loud in the sudden silence.

  It was an awkward moment.

  "I need to have a talk with Ms. Currey," Saul finally remarked. "We can do it in the office, if you want to stay here, Cadel."

  Cadel shook his head.

  "It's okay," he replied. "I'll go and check out the office."

  "Are you sure?"
Fiona sounded worried. "Don't you want to have a better look at this room?"

  "No," said Cadel, and withdrew, shutting the door behind him. But he didn't head for the office. He was far more interested in what his two advisors were going to talk about.

  So he pressed his ear against the closed door, listening hard. And he caught the low rumble of Saul's voice.

  "Look." The detective was trying to be patient. "It's inevitable that we should have different objectives, but the one thing that's paramount for both of us is Cadel's safety. And how can I ensure his safety if I don't know exactly who's living with him?"

  "Mr. Greeniaus," said Fiona, "this place has been approved and accredited."

  "I know. I realize that."

  "And I honestly can't see why you're being so negative," Fiona went on. "This seems like a perfectly good stopgap solution. The staff are well qualified. The facilities are excellent—"

  "Yes," Saul interrupted. "The facilities are excellent. That's what worries me. The security is too good. That gate, for example. And the alarm system. And there's a camera by the front door."

  Cadel frowned. He was angry with himself for missing the camera.

  He was also filled with a new respect for Saul Greeniaus.

  "But that means nothing," said Fiona. She wasn't about to admit defeat. "What makes you think all those things were installed by Mr. Lynch? They were probably put in by the previous tenants."

  "Well ... maybe."

  "I just can't see what you're getting at. If this isn't a legitimate operation, then what is it?"

  "I'm not sure." During the pause that followed, Cadel tensed. Without their dialogue to guide him, he didn't know where Saul and Fiona actually were. He couldn't tell whether they were leaving the room or not. "You have no idea what Phineas Darkkon's network was like," Saul continued at last—much to Cadel's relief. Clearly, the detective hadn't moved a muscle. "It was gigantic. We still don't know what it was capable of." Saul's tone became uncharacteristically strained, though he was still speaking quietly. "Cadel isn't an ordinary kid. We can't be too careful—it's an exceptional case."

  "Then why don't the police pay for his out-of-home care?" Fiona demanded. "If you're so worried about Cadel?"

  "We can't. The funds haven't been allocated. We don't have the jurisdiction."

  "Well, what do you expect me to do, then? You didn't like Mace, and now you don't like Clearview House. What are the alternatives?"

  A sigh. Cadel suspected that it might have been Saul's.

  "You said it was an urgent priority, to move Cadel," Fiona went on. "You said he was at risk in the Donkins' home, because of that computer message."

  "All I want," Saul said patiently, "is to make sure that Cadel is all right."

  "Oh, and you think I don't want that? You think I don't care—that I'd prefer to off-load him?" Realizing, perhaps, that she was talking too loudly, Fiona adjusted her volume. "You don't understand what this is like for me," she hissed. "I'm not supposed to play favorites—I have an enormous caseload—if I could look after him myself, I would, but I can't! I just can't!"

  Cadel swallowed. Then he heard a noise and swung around.

  A woman was emerging from the office: a small, dumpy woman with oily black hair tied up in a knot. She wore a striped blouse, a navy blue skirt, and flesh-colored stockings.

  When she spotted Cadel staring at her, she put a finger to her lips.

  "What—?" he began, at which point something clicked in his head. The shiny black hair. The double chin. The heavy eyebrows. They were all familiar. "Hey!" he said, then remembered where he was, and began to whisper. "Hey! Wait! Please!"

  He wanted to ask if she was Com's sister, but she wouldn't stop. Nor would she reply. She just kept walking past him, toward the stairs. She walked at a rapid, steady pace, like a machine. Her high heels clicked rhythmically.

  Before he could run after her, the door behind him swung open.

  "Cadel?" said Fiona. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I—yes." Cadel was embarrassed. He wondered if Saul would guess that he had been eavesdropping.

  Saul, however, seemed more interested in the woman on the stairs.

  "Who was that?" he asked.

  "I don't know," Cadel replied.

  "She didn't tell you her name?"

  "No," said Cadel.

  "Well, she didn't look very dangerous," Fiona remarked, and put her hand on Cadel's shoulder. "Listen, sweetie. Mr. Greeniaus has agreed that you can stay here, at least for a short period. And I can't see any problem. So when do you want to move in?"

  Cadel felt weak with relief. He had to clutch at a banister. "Can I move in now?" he said. Then he saw Fiona's expression and corrected himself. "I mean—this afternoon?"

  Fiona hesitated. Saul glanced at his watch.

  "What about four o'clock?" the detective proposed. "I can meet you at the Donkins' place. After my next appointment."

  Fiona blinked.

  "Oh, but—"

  "I'll help with the heavy stuff," Saul declared, to Fiona's evident consternation. Her forehead puckered.

  "That's not necessary," she pointed out. "We'll have Leslie to help us at that end, and all the Clearview staff at this end. You don't have to bother."

  "I'll help with the heavy stuff," Saul repeated flatly, and Cadel saw at once that the detective was determined to have his way.

  Fiona must have realized this, too. Because she started downstairs without uttering another word.

  THIRTEEN

  One of Cadel's most treasured possessions was a mug that Sonja had given him for his fifteenth birthday. It was covered in mathematical equations and bore the legend YOU'RE NUMBER ONE!

  Mace managed to drop this mug while he was transporting it to Saul's car. When Cadel arrived on the scene, he found the driveway scattered with delicate shards of porcelain. Mace was insisting that he had broken the mug by accident—that it had simply fallen out of the box he was carrying.

  Cadel knew better.

  "Who said you could touch my things?" he demanded, white with rage. "Who said you could set foot in my room?"

  "I did," panted Hazel, who had also appeared. She was lugging a bin liner full of Cadel's clothes. "I told Thomas he could take some books. Thomas, why did you put that mug in there?"

  "I was trying to help!" Mace whined. But Cadel wasn't fooled. He knew that Mace was determined to exact a fitting revenge for the lost bike magazines, before Cadel disappeared altogether.

  "I don't want your help," Cadel said through his teeth. "Just put that box down and leave my stuff alone."

  Mace scowled. Then he let go of the box in his arms, which hit the concrete driveway with a huge thump. Hazel squeaked. Cadel gasped.

  From his car, Saul yelled, "What's going on?"

  "Oh, Thomas!" For once, Hazel had no illusions. "How could you?"

  "He told me not to touch his stuff," Mace replied, hands on hips. He was in a dangerous mood. While probably glad to see his foster brother leave, he must have resented the fact that Cadel seemed so happy about going. "It's only books, anyway."

  "Thomas, I know you must be upset about saying good-bye."

  "He's not upset. He's jealous," Cadel snapped, so angry that he didn't care how deep a wound he inflicted. "He's jealous because somebody actually wants me. And nobody wants him."

  Mace grabbed Cadel just as Saul cried, "Hey!" Though Mace ignored this rebuke, he couldn't get a proper grip on Cadel before the two of them were being wrenched apart. Cadel then ducked behind Saul, already regretting his flash of temper.

  Mace backed off. He wasn't stupid enough to start fighting with a policeman.

  "What happened here?" asked Saul, gazing down at the shattered mug.

  "It wasn't my fault," Mace began, just as Cadel exclaimed, "He did it on purpose!" Saul held up his hand, silencing them both.

  He turned to Hazel.

  "Too many cooks spoil the broth," he said. "We don't need another body—perhaps Thomas can go a
nd do something else."

  This wasn't a suggestion; it was an instruction. And Mace didn't argue with it. Instead he stomped back into the house, passing Fiona on his way.

  She was lugging a sports bag heavily weighted with shoes.

  "What's wrong?" she said, as Hazel surrendered her own plastic bag to Saul. He took it over to the trunk of his car, while Hazel made a hurried report to Fiona.

  Cadel followed Saul. He stood watching the detective, who looked much thinner than usual in jeans and a shabby old shirt. Saul was trying to insert the overstuffed trash bag between boxes of books and compact discs.

  "Sorry about the commotion," said Cadel. "It's just that he smashed Sonja's birthday present. Deliberately. And I had to say something, even if it did get him mad."

  Saul slammed the trunk shut. He stood for a moment, contemplating his car's gleaming exterior.

  "I don't like Clearview House," he replied. "But I can understand why you want to go there." And he glanced toward Hazel's front door, his expression bleak. "Anything's worth getting out from under that poisonous little prick."

  Cadel couldn't have been more surprised. It was the first time he had ever heard Saul use such strong language. All at once Cadel realized that Saul disliked Mace just as much as he did.

  This thought was very comforting and helped Cadel to endure the good-byes that took place after the packing was done. Hazel shed a few tears. Janan's bottom lip trembled (though he brightened up when Cadel promised to send him some chocolate-bar wrappers). Even Leslie looked sad. Cadel thanked the Donkins sincerely and gratefully for their kindness; he knew that he was in their debt, and wished that he could have been an easier charge. The fact that Hazel cried at their parting, however, encouraged him. It meant that he hadn't been too much of a burden.

  Happily, there were no more encounters with Mace—who stayed holed up in his room until after Cadel had left. But Cadel did glimpse his tormentor through the rear window of Fiona's hatchback. As the car pulled out of the Donkins' driveway, Cadel turned to wave at his foster parents and saw Mace behind them, hovering at the window of Cadel's old bedroom.

  No doubt Mace was setting up some kind of booby trap for the room's next occupant.