"It's a bloody mess," growled Devin. Like his sister, he had made a beeline for Hamish's bedroom the minute Saul was out of sight. "No one knows what's going on anymore. The last we heard from Cliff, he was still outside number eleven, trying to see who the police were pushing into their cars."
"I can tell you that myself," Cadel hissed, with a nervous glance toward the closed bedroom door. "They picked up everyone except Carolina. She escaped."
"Really?" said Devin. "Shit. That's bad."
"Not as bad as Prosper English," was Cadel's view. But neither Hamish nor Devin seemed interested in Prosper English.
Only Lexi sympathized with Cadel's concerns.
"Poor Caddy," she crooned, winding her plump arm around his shoulders. "I guess you're really freaking out, eh? With Prosper on the loose, and all. Do you think he'll try to find you?"
"Yes," Cadel replied shortly, sliding out of her grasp.
"He'll be stupid if he does, with that copper hanging around," she said. Whereupon Devin turned away from Hamish and demanded of Cadel, in a dour tone, "How long is that cop going to stay here, for god's sake?"
"I don't know," said Cadel.
"I hope he stays for a week," Lexi chirped. "Judith's house sounds fantastic. She's got a pool and a home theater and everything! She's got a wide-screen TV in every bedroom!"
"Shh!" warned Devin. And Cadel said, "Keep it down!"
He had barely spoken before footsteps sounded on the stairs, heralding Saul's return. Devin swore under his breath, while Lexi assumed the challenging pose with which she usually confronted Saul, arms folded, lips arranged into a sneer.
Hamish didn't react at all. He was standing with a mismatched sock in each hand and a look of confusion on his face. "Are these my socks?" he asked, as Saul entered the room.
And that was the end of the informal debriefing.
Over the next half hour, Cadel began to feel increasingly isolated. He had nothing to do but watch Hamish and the twins running around with T-shirts and toothbrushes, while downstairs the squad's computers were quietly smuggled into Judith's car. Lots of noisy squabbles were staged for the purpose of distracting Saul. Lexi threw a brief tantrum after being told to remove eight pairs of shoes from her suitcase. Devin sulked when Trader insisted that he would need to pack more than just his iPod and a pair of boxer shorts.
Trader even had the brilliant idea of asking Saul to help Hamish, who was utterly incapable of logical thought when it came to filling a toiletry bag or anticipating the need for sleepwear. Because he was busy with Hamish, Saul didn't notice the way various members of Genius Squad kept disappearing into the War Room, loaded down with the quilts and pillowcases needed to disguise their computers. Nor did he query the presence of so much bed linen in Judith's car. "It's best to be on the safe side," was Judith's rather feeble explanation, which Saul accepted without a murmur.
By two o'clock, the evacuation was complete. Cadel wasn't allowed to wave good-bye from the garden. He couldn't even watch everyone leave from inside the house, which was stuffy and dark now that all the curtains were drawn. All he could do was sit in the kitchen with Sonja, listening as first Judith's car, then Tony's, roared off down the driveway, taking with them Hamish, Lexi, Devin, Judith, Tony, and Dot.
Suddenly, the house seemed very quiet. Even Trader's lustrous personality couldn't lighten the morose atmosphere. Neither could a scrappy lunch of baked beans and tinned pears. After lunch, Trader had to go out for a while. Cadel assumed that he was tracking down Cliff, or perhaps visiting Judith's house to oversee the installation of a temporary War Room. Whatever the reason for his absence, however, he was sorely missed. Sonja was never chatty at the best of times (because communicating was such an effort for her), and Saul couldn't seem to concentrate on any topic for more than a few minutes. His ear was always cocked for suspicious noises, and he kept leaping up to check windows or make phone calls.
In the end, Cadel read to Sonja for most of the afternoon. He also played a bit of Hackenbush, and gave Saul a demonstration of the Solitaire Cipher. As the hours rolled by, and Prosper remained at large, Cadel grew more and more depressed. Saul received regular updates about the progress of the police investigation, but they weren't particularly encouraging. Jerry Reinhard refused to talk. The hired thugs had said only that they'd received their instructions over the telephone, from "a woman with an American accent." Carolina still hadn't been located. As for the rest of the GenoME staff, they appeared to be totally clueless.
When Trader returned, it was time to cook dinner. Saul took charge of the preparations, rolling up his pin-striped sleeves to produce a very tasty pasta sauce. Cadel peeled the vegetables while Trader threw together a salad; it was Trader who also insisted on feeding Sonja, while his own meal grew cold. "That's what microwaves are for," he said, with a display of indestructible vivacity. He even did most of the washing up and was a huge help in getting Sonja ready for bed.
All in all, he gave a terrific impersonation of someone born to be a professional caregiver. Anyone less attentive than Cadel would have been fooled. But Cadel noticed that Trader was always hyperalert, constantly focused on the detective and what he was doing.
Saul missed this; he was too preoccupied. And whenever he did turn his attention to the people around him, it was focused almost exclusively on Cadel. He was worried about Cadel. That much was obvious from the questions he asked, and the manner in which he asked them.
"Do you want to talk to Ms. Currey?" was his first, tentative inquiry. "You can call her now if you like. It's not too late."
"No, thanks," said Cadel, who had just emerged from the second-floor bathroom—towel in hand—to find Saul leaning against the banisters outside. "Um ... I'm finished in there, if you want to use it."
But the detective ignored this offer. His face looked drawn and bruised. "Have you discussed all the recent developments with Sonja?" was his next question. "She might have something useful to contribute. You can stay in her room tonight—we could arrange it."
"No. That's okay."
"She'll be all right here. You both will." Saul jerked his thumb. "There's been a change of shift outside. Jack and Luca are on the job now—they're top guys. Really reliable. Nothing will get past them."
Cadel nodded. He didn't know what to say.
"And if anything does get past them, I'll be here. Guarding your door. So you mustn't be nervous." After a brief pause, during which Saul continued to regard Cadel with discomforting gravity, the detective said (for perhaps the fifth time in as many hours), "It's only a precaution, though. You realize that, don't you? I'm not expecting Prosper to show up." He cocked his head. "Our latest reports indicate that he might have headed south. Do you have any idea if he has a boat stashed down near Wollongong somewhere?"
"No." said Cadel. By now he had noticed the kitchen chair stationed outside his bedroom. And he pointed at it. "Is that where you're going to sit?" he asked.
"Yes."
"All night?"
"That's the plan."
"But when are you going to get any sleep?"
Saul hesitated. His gaze slid away toward the darkening stairwell. "I don't sleep much," he finally divulged. "Not when I've got things to think about." Then he glanced back at Cadel. "I hope you get enough sleep tonight, though. I don't want you lying awake worrying. Because there's no need."
"Oh, I'll be all right," Cadel insisted, knowing full well that he wouldn't be.
Sure enough, he found himself tossing and turning once he did go to bed, his head full of fearful possibilities. He could never rest easily now—not as long as Prosper was at large. Not as long as his own details were drifting around on the police computer system. It was no good relying on systems like that. It was no good relying on anything or anyone—not where Prosper was concerned.
My only chance of keeping safe, Cadel thought, is to disguise myself and disappear. Vanish off the radar. Change my name. Take my money and run.
But what would happen to S
onja if he did that? He couldn't leave Sonja. And he couldn't take her with him, either—not if he wanted to pass as someone else. Because Sonja would be impossible to disguise.
Oh god, he thought, this isn't fair. What shall I do? How am I going to solve this? There must be a solution!
And he racked his brain, finding no comfort in the muffled coughs and sighs that announced Saul's proximity. Saul was yet another problem, because he had to be shielded from Prosper English. If the two men were ever to confront each other, Saul was bound to come out worse. He would be lucky to survive, in fact.
Cadel was calculating the detective's chances when, suddenly, at about eleven o'clock, sleep overtook him. He fell into a restless doze, during which he dreamed that he was a little kid again, riding in a train with his nanny, looking for weaknesses in the rail network. Peering through a window, he caught a glimpse of a familiar face on a station platform. It was Sonja's face, wearing a lost expression. Before he could wave, however, the train slid past, gathering speed.
And he pressed his forehead against the cold glass, straining to look back.
"Cadel."
He opened his eyes. He was awake. But he could still feel something cold on his forehead.
With a lurch of his heart, he realized what it was.
"Wake up, Cadel," a familiar voice drawled. "Time to go."
PART FOUR
THIRTY-FIVE
I'm dreaming, thought Cadel. This is just another bad dream. And he shut his eyes again, willing himself to wake up.
"Come on, now. Don't dawdle." The cool, precise voice sounded faintly amused. "We're not out of the woods yet."
Cadel recognized the unmistakeable diction of Prosper English, and it made the blood turn to ice in his veins. But the silhouette hanging over him wasn't like Prosper's. It looked far more like Zac's, with its long, straight hair and loose garments.
Confused, Cadel squinted toward the open door of his bedroom, through which artificial light was streaming. He couldn't see anyone beyond it.
"Up you get," said Prosper—and this time there could be no doubt. His smooth tones were issuing from the lank-haired, hemp-clad figure beside the bed. "Don't bother making a fuss, either, because it's pointless."
"Saul." Abruptly, Cadel's head cleared. He sat up straight, careless of the gun aimed at his temple. "Where's Saul?"
"Shh."
"What have you done?" Fear rose in Cadel's throat like some kind of black bile. "Where is he?"
"In the storage cupboard." As Cadel caught his breath, Prosper added, "He's not dead, if that's what you're worried about. We couldn't risk damaging his clothes, so we used chloroform." Prosper gestured with the handgun. "Speaking of clothes, I want you out of those pajamas. Quick-smart." And he snapped on the bedside lamp.
Instantly, his face became visible—and so did the fact that he was disguised as Zac Stillman. His mane of graying hair had been tightly confined beneath a blond wig. His thin lips were framed by a false mustache and beard. His bony feet were shoved into scuffed brown sandals.
From a distance, he was probably convincing. Up close, however, there was no mistaking that sharp black gaze or imperious nose.
"I realize this must be a shock," he purred, "but you're going to have to speed things up. We haven't got all night." And he reached for a discarded sweatshirt, which he tossed at Cadel. "We have a long drive ahead of us."
Cadel didn't ask "Where to?" Of the fifty or so questions that had popped into his brain, he picked the most urgent one.
"Where's Sonja?" he demanded, fumbling with his pajama buttons. "Where's Trader?"
"You don't have to worry about Trader," was Prosper's careless reply. "Trader won't get in our way."
"What do you mean?"
"I meant exactly what I said. Trader won't get in our way. We had to tie him up, though. To make it look good." When Cadel froze, Prosper gave an impatient hiss. "Hurry, please, or I'm going to lose my temper."
Cadel was stunned. He wanted to protest but couldn't speak, let alone move. Then he heard another voice from somewhere out on the landing, and his heart skipped a beat.
"Saul?" he croaked.
"Shh!" Prosper repositioned the gun barrel against Cadel's brow, listening intently. Cadel, for his part, was so frightened that he could no longer hear anything except the loud thudding of his own pulse.
At last Prosper relaxed. "No," he said. "That's just Alias, making a phone call." He stepped back. "Get up. Now. I won't ask you again."
Clumsily, Cadel scrambled out of bed. As he shed his pajamas and put on his clothes, Prosper kept talking.
"You need a haircut," he remarked, "which is probably fortunate, all things considered. Good thing you haven't grown much. I'll just check those pockets, if I may. We wouldn't want you messing with a cell phone."
"Where's Sonja?" Cadel repeated, peering into the long face that hovered above him.
"Are those your shoes? Really, Cadel, what disgusting objects."
"Where is she?"
"In bed. Asleep. Presumably." With one foot, Prosper pushed the shoes toward Cadel. "I must admit, I'm looking forward to meeting the famous Sonja."
Cadel swallowed. "You leave her alone," he said hoarsely.
Prosper raised an eyebrow.
"My dear boy, do you really think that's an option?" he murmured. "She can't be left alone. That's the whole point, isn't it? And since Trader will be tied up for the next few hours, we're going to have to take her with us. Otherwise she might hurt herself. Fall out of bed, or something." He glanced impatiently at Cadel's illuminated bedside clock, which displayed the digits 11:53. "Besides, she's our cover story. We're supposed to be whisking her off to the hospital."
"They'll never believe it." Cadel spoke as calmly as he could, though his hands were beginning to shake. "Those police will never let you walk out of here with me. Not even if you are disguised as Zac Stillman."
"Is that so?" Prosper said, before raising his voice. "How's it going, Alias?"
"Nearly there," came the reply. And suddenly a figure appeared, framed in the doorway.
It was Saul Greeniaus.
For a split second, Cadel lost his bearings. He was disoriented. Then Saul said, "What do you think?" and Cadel realized that he wasn't looking at the detective after all.
On the contrary, he was looking at a very good impression of Saul. A pseudo-Saul, complete with shoulder holster.
"Not bad," was Prosper's opinion. "What do you think, Cadel? You know the man. Is there anything we've missed?" When Cadel didn't respond, Prosper studied his stricken face. "What's the matter? You're not going to be sick, are you?"
"Hello, Cadel." It was unutterably strange to hear Alias's bland voice issuing from Saul's mouth—though, on closer inspection, that mouth was just a little too wide to be Saul's. And those eyes weren't really big enough. "Nice to see you again, after all this time."
Alias was wearing brown contact lenses, a special wig, and thick-soled shoes, to give him height. He was also wearing Saul's shirt and trousers.
At the sight of these garments, Cadel nearly lost control.
"I take it you used his phone?" Prosper was addressing Alias, who nodded. "Good. Excellent. And the polizei didn't seem suspicious?"
"Not really," Alias replied. "A bit startled. I told them to stay put and watch the house."
"Well done."
"I told them Cadel insisted on coming with us."
"Well, let's hope there isn't some kind of clearance code that we should know about." Prosper nudged Cadel in the ribs. "Is there?"
Cadel was so preoccupied with his own despair that he'd missed the previous exchange. He had to clear his throat before answering.
"Is there what?" he said.
"Does your friend Saul Greeniaus use some kind of password when he's giving orders?" asked Prosper, and Cadel mumbled, "I don't know."
"We'd better get a move on, then." With a second nudge, Prosper urged Cadel forward. "This whole thing could blow up in ou
r faces any minute."
Together they moved out of the room and onto the landing. Here Cadel discerned a very faint, vaguely chemical smell that reminded him of something. He also spied a stack of strange boxes near a puddle of familiar clothes.
These clothes came as such a shock that he lurched to a standstill.
"Cliff!" he breathed, then rounded on Alias. "You came here as Cliff!"
"Dyed my crew cut," Alias agreed cheerfully. "And stuck a bit of padding here and there."
"Where is he? Where's Cliff?"
"For god's sake, Cadel!" Prosper snapped. "We can talk later! Right now we have to go."
On his way downstairs, Cadel tried desperately to think. But fear was clogging his brain paths. And he was distracted by the nasty, nagging, chemical odor, which seemed to follow them as they descended, and which made him feel slightly ill. It wasn't until he had reached the ground floor that he finally realized what the smell was.
Having once been exposed to a rag soaked in chloroform, he wasn't about to forget the stink of it.
"Right," said Prosper. "Now, where's Sonja? In there?"
"No!" Cadel halted again. He felt the gun barrel prod at his spine. "Please. Just leave her."
"I can't. I'm sorry."
"Please." Cadel's voice cracked, and next thing he knew Prosper's left arm was draped around his shoulders, while Prosper's gun had come to rest against his cheek.
"Don't be silly," Prosper gently advised. "She'll be perfectly safe with me, as long as you do what you're told." Seeing Alias pause just ahead of them, Prosper barked, "Go on, then! Go and get her!"
"Oh. Right," said Alias, and disappeared into Sonja's room.
"So this is the plan," Prosper continued, turning back to Cadel. "We're going to walk out of here and get into the policeman's car. Alias will be driving. I'll be holding Sonja. If you do anything to alert that surveillance team, it's Sonja who's going to suffer." Without warning, he lowered his gun and inserted it into his waistband without engaging the safety catch. Cadel realized, with astonishment, that the safety catch had never been disengaged. "I'm not going to shoot you," Prosper confessed, a little ruefully. "I couldn't bring myself to do anything of the sort. But I'll happily shoot Sonja if you give me the least bit of trouble. You understand that, don't you?"