Genius Squad

  Saul was careful to watch her until she had passed through the gates. Once she'd gone, he closed the front door, locked it, and asked Cadel who was at home. "Not Trader Lynch, obviously," the detective remarked. "I've had reports that he hasn't come in yet. Neither has Zac Stillman. But Ms. Bashford came in early. Where can I find her?"

  Cadel blinked. He was still reeling from the shock of Saul's news and had to think for a moment before a suitable lie occurred to him.

  He had forgotten that the police were monitoring all traffic into and out of Clearview House.

  "I'm—I'm pretty sure Judith's upstairs," he stammered. "In the office."

  "Well then, I'd better warn her," Saul decided, and began his ascent. But when Cadel didn't follow him, he stopped. "What is it?" he asked, glancing back.

  "Oh, I-I just have to tell Sonja. She's in the kitchen." Cadel almost blushed at how lame this excuse sounded. To his astonishment, however, it seemed to work. Without even hesitating, the detective offered to "bring everyone else down," since Sonja couldn't come up.

  "We need to run this past all of you," he explained. "Because it's going to involve the whole house."

  Cadel knew that he didn't have much time. Once he was certain that Saul had reached the first landing, he galloped into the kitchen and pounced on the intercom socket. "Judith?" he gasped. "Come up, quick! Now! Saul knows you're at home!" Then he swung around to confront Tony and Sonja. "I'll keep him out of here as long as I can, but it won't be easy. We need to make sure he doesn't see anyone using the lift."

  "What's-happened?" Sonja demanded.

  "Later. Ask me later."

  Retracing his steps, Cadel could hear Saul's raised voice as the detective called for Judith. It wouldn't take long to search the top two floors. Cadel realized that he would have to initiate some sort of delaying tactic.

  So when he reached the second landing and found himself face-to-face with Saul, he plunged straight into the topic that would have been uppermost in his mind had he not been worried about evacuating the War Room.

  "How did Prosper get away?" he asked. "I thought you had it covered."

  "We did." Clutching the banister, his brow furrowed, Saul seemed anxious to unburden himself. "Everything was going like clockwork. There were three GenoME suspects, and we picked 'em out of the crowd straight off; gas masks are pretty bulky things. Gazo Kovacs didn't so much as fart. The whole thing was handled beautifully. Prosper hadn't set foot in the courtroom, and our suspects were already in handcuffs. It was textbook. Absolutely textbook."

  "So what happened?"

  Saul shook his head, shoulders sagging. "It was an inside job," he muttered. "It had to be. Prosper just ... just walked out of a holding room. The guard with him must have been dirty. They walked out together while we were arresting the other three, and they got into a paddy wagon and drove away." It was apparent that Saul hadn't fully recovered from the shock of this maneuver. "I still can't work out if Prosper organized the escape, or if it was part of GenoME's plan," he said, almost as if he were talking to himself. "I keep thinking: If it was GenoME's doing, then why wasn't Prosper killed right there in the holding room? Because it was supposed to be an assassination attempt, not a breakout. And if GenoME did abduct Prosper from the holding room, then why didn't he kick up a fuss? He was told what GenoME intended to do. He was told to expect a bullet in the brain if he was stupid enough to play along with any so-called abduction." The detective sighed. "Unless, of course, he was being held at gunpoint..."

  "Perhaps it was Prosper's idea," Cadel suggested dully. "Perhaps he was improvising. If he saw his chance, and fooled the guard—"

  "No." Again Saul shook his head. "There was nothing improvised about this. Someone tampered with the custody protocols. Someone made sure that the guard was allowed to evacuate him in the event of a problem. A problem like those arrests we made." Saul clenched his fists. "That's how the two of them got out," he spat. "They had clearance."

  "You mean, it was a computer glitch?"

  "More or less." Hearing Cadel click his tongue, Saul peered down at him. "Can you think of anyone who might have caused it? Anyone you know?"

  Cadel shrugged. He was finding it hard to concentrate. "I'd have to look at the system with the glitch in it. The Corrective Services system," he said, though his thoughts had turned, inevitably, to Dr. Vee. A renowned hacker, Ulysses Vee had also taught a whole classful of malicious hackers at the Axis Institute. And after the institute's destruction, he had disappeared into thin air.

  Could he have resurfaced, to help his old friend Prosper English?

  "Christ, I'm sorry." Saul thumped a fist on the handrail. "I should have checked everything. Everything. You warned me, and I didn't listen."

  "Who was the guard?" Cadel inquired, disregarding these apologies. He was following his own train of thought. "The one who went with Prosper? What was his background?"

  "We're looking into it. First things first, though. I can't find Ms. Bashford."

  "Oh." Emerging from a state of absorbed reflection, Cadel had to change tack so abruptly that he stumbled over his response. "I came—I mean, they're all downstairs. Judith was in the laundry," he said.

  Saul grunted.

  "But what are you going to do?" Cadel continued, stalling for time. It was almost a relief to focus on the problem of keeping Saul away from the lift. By busying himself with this minor logistical challenge, Cadel was distracted from the question that had begun to encroach on his peace of mind like a threatening thundercloud, namely: What would Prosper do next?

  "I'm going to stay with you," Saul announced, brushing past Cadel on his way back to the kitchen. "I'm not taking any more chances."

  "But—"

  "It's nonnegotiable. The staff here will just have to deal with it. If possible, the other residents should move out." Arriving at a bend in the stairs, Saul glanced up, to catch sight of Cadel's dropped jaw. "It's a short-term solution," the detective said. "I don't like it, either. The trouble is, it's all we have."

  "But you can't stay here!" Cadel spluttered, too horrified to dissemble. "Not in the house!"

  "I'm afraid that's nonnegotiable, too," Saul declared. Upon reaching the kitchen—and finding a slightly breathless crowd gathered there—he stated his case without apology. He would be staying. There could be no arguments. Though threatened with lawyers, journalists, and the New South Wales ombudsman, he refused to budge. Not even Judith could persuade him to change his mind. "Your boss can take it up with my boss," was his flat rejoinder when she objected.

  "And in the meantime?" Devin growled. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

  "Either sit tight or get out." Saul spoke so quietly and calmly that this piece of advice didn't sound nearly as offensive as it actually was. "I'll try not to get in anyone's way. I won't interfere with the schedule. But I have to be here. All night, if necessary. Until we have a better idea of what's going on."

  Hamish groaned. Lexi swore. Her loud abuse, however, bounced off the detective like handfuls of popcorn. As for Tony Cheung's murmured protests about procedures and supervision, they were carelessly waved aside.

  "When Mr. Lynch returns, I'll take it up with him," Saul countered. "Until then, you should all just go about your business."

  Surveying his fellow squad members, Cadel realized that they would, in fact, be unable to go about their business. As long as the detective was hanging around, no one would be able to return to the War Room. No one would be able to monitor GenoME's activities.

  Except possibly Cliff and Zac, from their parking spot near number eleven.

  "I tell you what," Cadel said slowly, his mind working away at top speed."Why don't I ... Why don't I spend the day on the computer, upstairs? It's what I'd like to do, and it would mean that Mr. Greeniaus could keep out of everyone's hair." He smiled crookedly at the detective. "No offense, or anything."

  "None taken," Saul replied (as if he meant it). "But I don't want you on the computer, Cadel. And
I'll have to do regular reconnaissance patrols of the whole house. Just to keep an eye on things."

  "How regular?" Hamish demanded, and Saul shrugged.

  "I don't know. Once an hour?"

  There was a slight ripple of movement, which Cadel interpreted as a sign of dismay. He knew that everyone in the kitchen—except Saul—must be acutely anxious about urgent jobs waiting to be finished downstairs. He also knew that none of these jobs could now be his. He was stuck with Saul Greeniaus, and would be for the rest of the day. Saul had become his allotted task.

  Not that he cared much. Prosper's escape had suddenly made the whole GenoME infiltration scheme seem strangely unimportant.

  "Well, I'm sure we can arrange things," said Judith, trying to adopt a cheerful manner—without quite succeeding. "It's not the end of the world, and we're all resourceful people. In the meantime, why don't I give Trader a call?"

  But there was no need. The words were hardly out of her mouth when the back door burst open and Trader Lynch strolled in. Unlike Saul, he presented a serene and perfectly groomed appearance. His smile gleamed. His eyes sparkled. With one sweeping glance, he noted and assessed every person occupying the room.

  Then he flung out his arms and cried, "Here I am! Not to worry! Now—what seems to be the problem?"

  THIRTY-FOUR

  It was impressive, the way Trader took charge of everything. First of all, he swept Saul off to a "private interview" in the upstairs office. This tactic allowed the rest of Genius Squad to return to the War Room, while Saul was out of the way.

  Unfortunately, Cadel had to stay with the detective, who seemed reluctant to lose sight of him.

  Then, during the interview itself, Trader astounded Cadel with his rapid footwork. After listening carefully to Saul's list of demands, Trader indulged in a short period of reflection before announcing, "There is such a thing as emergency accommodation. I'll see if I can set something up for the other kids overnight." He sprang to his feet suddenly. "Just let me make a couple of calls," he said. "I won't be long. Cadel, this computer will be yours for the rest of the day." He tapped the hulking monitor that occupied most of the desktop around which they were gathered. "You can log on now, if you like," he finished. "Show Mr. Greeniaus what you can do."

  This wasn't a suggestion. It was an order, though it happened to be phrased in the chirpiest of voices. Cadel understood that Trader didn't want Saul leaving the office anytime soon. No doubt Trader was intending to rush straight down to the War Room with further instructions for the rest of Genius Squad. Cadel didn't know what those instructions might be; something to do with a mass evacuation, possibly. Perhaps Trader had access to a "fallback" residence where the squad could reassemble in peace, far away from Saul's prying eyes.

  Whatever Trader's plans were, however, they couldn't be carried out if Saul was in the immediate vicinity. So the detective had to be detained upstairs. Cadel had to move fast, before Saul decided to get up and go.

  "I might be able to trace that computer glitch," was the most diverting observation that Cadel could think of. He produced it just as the door was closing behind Trader. "You know—the one that changed the custody protocols at the Coroner's Court? I could find out who was responsible."

  Saul's eyes widened. "Really?" he said, and Cadel shrugged.

  "I could give it a try."

  Saul pondered for a moment. Then he shook his head. "No," he decided. "It would be useful, but we can't risk it. I told you before—I don't want you on the computer."

  "But—"

  "No."

  To Cadel's alarm, the detective rose from his chair. Not yet, Cadel thought. Trader needs more time. And aloud he said, "So did you arrest everyone at GenoME? You told me you were staking the place out."

  Saul hesitated. Then he sighed, and collapsed back onto his seat. "Yes, there was a raid," he glumly admitted. "The staff are being questioned—all except one. She managed to slip away just before we moved in."

  Carolina, Cadel deduced. Carolina escaped.

  "How?" he asked. "I mean, if the police were watching the building..."

  Saul described how a motorbike courier had arrived at the GenoME branch shortly before the first arrests were made. This courier had entered the reception area wearing his bike helmet, and five minutes later had apparently emerged again, carrying a large package.

  "But it wasn't him," Saul disclosed. "He was found later, tied up in a toilet cubicle. That woman we're looking for—Carolina Whitehead—must have driven off in his gear."

  "And you still haven't found her?"

  "Not yet." Saul began to drag his fingers through his hair. "She's the one we need," he fretted. "She must know something, if she's on the run. So far we've got nothing on the rest of 'em. The thugs we picked up in court are just local muscle, as far as I can see. Guns for hire..." He broke off abruptly as his eyes met Cadel's. "Sorry. I'm unloading, and I shouldn't be. This isn't your problem; you've got enough of your own. Anyway, I can't afford to waste time. I have things to do. Calls to make." The detective stood up, laying a hand on the computer. "Meanwhile, I want you to promise that you won't touch this thing."

  Cadel opened his mouth. Before he could lodge a protest, however, Saul said gravely, "If Prosper's looking for you, he'll start online. You know that."

  "But he won't find me," Cadel objected. "I won't let him."

  "Maybe not," the detective had to concede. "Maybe you're too smart. Let's not forget, though: Prosper has someone on his payroll who hacked into the systems at Corrective Services and changed the custody protocols. How hard would it be for that same person to track you down?" Without waiting for an answer, Saul hammered his point home. "What if we're talking about that guy from the Axis Institute? Ulysses Vee? Vee knows you, Cadel. He knows your style. And he's pretty sharp—you said so yourself. Are you absolutely sure he won't pick up your trail?"

  Cadel scratched his head. It was true: Dr. Vee did know him. And Dr. Vee was also a first-class hacker. However unlikely it might be, there was an outside chance that Cadel would somehow give himself away, if he logged on to the Net.

  "But what am I supposed to do all day?" he groaned. "If I can't go out and I can't use the computer, how am I going to stay busy? Because I have to stay busy. I have to." Though he didn't point out that he needed to keep his mind off Prosper English, the implication was clear.

  Saul must have picked it up, because he wrinkled his brow in a fleeting demonstration of concern. "Well ... I guess you can show me your playing-card trick," he proposed. "Ms. Currey told me about that. It sounds pretty neat."

  No doubt he meant well, but the detective could have been talking to an eight-year-old.

  Cadel was offended.

  "You don't have to call her Ms. Currey anymore," he snapped. "I mean, I know you're going out with her, so why pretend? I'm not stupid."

  Saul raised one eyebrow. He was about to speak when the door burst open and Trader walked in. Trader's expansive smile seemed to light up the whole room. Even his hairstyle was reassuring.

  "That's settled," he said. "I've found emergency accommodation for Hamish and the twins, down in Maroubra." He went on to explain that Judith would transport the three evicted teenagers in her car. "Unfortunately, no one can take Sonja for the night," he continued, "but that's okay. I'll sleep here myself and make sure she's looked after properly."

  Saul grunted—apparently satisfied—but Cadel could hardly contain his amazement. Was Trader really going to uproot Genius Squad at such a time? Was he really going to dump Hamish and the twins in some kind of refuge, when there was so much work to be done?

  "Are they all going to be together?" Cadel asked, trying not to sound as anxious as he felt. Whereupon Trader tipped him a surreptitious wink.

  "Oh, yes," said Trader. "It's a great big house near the beach. They'll love it."

  At this point Cadel remembered that Judith lived in Maroubra, where she had bought herself a sprawling seaside mansion. With all the money she'd made
plundering offshore bank accounts, she had also purchased a vineyard, a lightplane, a country house, and a safe full of gold ingots.

  Cadel relaxed slightly. He was sure that Judith's mansion would offer every kind of facility required by Genius Squad, from Internet access to spa baths.

  "And you can help those kids pack," Trader added, still addressing Cadel. "God knows, they'll need all the help they can get. Hamish couldn't pack a lunch box, let alone an overnight bag. And I don't want Lexi bringing her whole bloody wardrobe along." Having provided Cadel with a plan of action, he turned back to Saul. "Now," he said, "you were wanting a quick rundown of the alarm system?"

  Cadel had to admire Trader's cunning and self-confidence. Even the detective fell into line, reluctantly giving Cadel ten precious minutes in Hamish's room. While Trader lectured Saul on sensor pulses and power grids—dragging him all over the house to examine various junction boxes—Cadel caught up on the latest news, which Hamish delivered in a whisper as he drifted around his bedroom, trying to decide what to pack.

  "It's such b-bad luck," he lamented softly. "We're really going to need you, and you'll be stuck here with that dickhead in the stupid tie." Hamish went on to say that the forged e-mail had been sent to Earl Toffany, but that no reply had been received; that Jerry had anticipated the police raid by a minute or so, disconnecting every machine so that no one could eavesdrop on the action; and that Dot was still in the process of collating what had been salvaged from the havoc wrought by Jerry's self-destruct program, which had been more of a challenge than anyone could have anticipated.

  "It was like Alien in there," Hamish concluded, referring to his most recent virtual patrol through the GenoME network. "You could practically see all the lights flashing and the gases venting. 'Self-destruction in T minus ten seconds'— that kind of thing. Boy, I had to be quick."