Genius Squad

  Cadel's own legal predicament was now so complex that not even he had a firm grip on it anymore. In fact, he'd given up. Rather than worrying himself into a frenzy about his uncertain future, he had decided to take things one step at a time—just as Saul Greeniaus had counseled. The detective's advice had been good. Why look too far ahead, when there was nothing to see but dark clouds? Life was miserable enough already without the added burden of nagging fears and disappointed hopes.

  Cadel sighed and turned over. Part of the problem was that he had been placed in a secure facility. No one knew what else to do with him. A foster home was considered inappropriate because Prosper had identified the last one. For the same reason, Cadel's new address was a closely guarded secret. It was feared that Prosper might be keeping tabs on Cadel's old haunts and acquaintances—so Cadel's friends weren't allowed to visit him, and he wasn't allowed to visit them. He wasn't even allowed to use a computer, in case Dr. Vee tracked him down.

  Whenever Cadel asked how long these restrictions were likely to apply, he received a vague and unsatisfactory answer. Only Saul Greeniaus seemed willing to commit himself. "It can't go on forever," Saul had said on one occasion. "Even if Prosper English isn't found, you can't be kept like this indefinitely. There has to be a better way."

  But Saul still hadn't found one—and meanwhile, Cadel did practically nothing all day except read, play games, and watch television. He played cards with the plainclothes police who watched over him around the clock. Sometimes he played chess with them. Every afternoon, he went to a park or beach with Saul, who made him take a walk or throw a ball around. Occasionally they met with Fiona, at a specified time in some carefully considered location: a picnic hut, perhaps, or a parked car. Cadel had also met twice with his lawyer, high in a Sydney office block.

  And never, during any of these activities, had he escaped the constant attendance of his interchangeable bodyguards. They followed him into public restrooms. They flanked him at meetings. They pursued him on walks, and even formed an opposing team when he and Saul were engaged in their lackadaisical softball games. (Not that Cadel liked softball much; he wasn't exactly a sportsman. But Saul was determined that they should both get some exercise.) No matter where Cadel went, his surveillance team had to be right there with him, cluttering up the view. Intruding upon personal conversations.

  Getting in his way.

  He was only safe from prying eyes when shut in his bedroom—and even then he wasn't supposed to lock the door, just in case Prosper should climb through the window.

  Gazing out the same window, Cadel reminded himself once again that Sonja's predicament was far worse than his. The restrictions that governed her life were crueller than anything he'd ever had to endure. And unlike Cadel, she could draw no comfort from the prospect of release, because her incarceration was permanent.

  But he didn't want to think about Sonja. If he did, he would start to worry—and what was the point of that? He couldn't help her. He couldn't visit her. He couldn't phone her. All he could do was write letters and hope that she managed to read them.

  It troubled him to think that she couldn't even open the envelopes by herself.

  "Cadel?" A soft tapping interrupted his train of thought. "Can I come in?"

  It was Saul's voice, and Saul's distinctive knock on the bedroom door. Cadel sat up. He checked his watch.

  "Yeah, sure," he said. As his visitor crossed the threshold, he added, "You're early."

  "I know." Saul was wearing a familiar dark suit and striped tie. He frowned to see Cadel sitting on the bed, empty-handed. "What are you doing?"

  "Nothing," Cadel replied.

  "What about those new books?"

  "I finished them."

  "Even the puzzle book?"

  "Yes."

  Saul bit his lip. Then he sighed. Then he said, "Well ... I'm here now. So we can go. Are you ready?"

  Cadel nodded. He thought that the detective looked unusually tense, and wondered what could have happened. Another disagreement with the top brass, perhaps? Another reported sighting of Prosper English? Cadel knew that Saul was having a tough time all around. There was a general feeling that Prosper's escape could be blamed, to some degree, on the detective. And the possibility that Prosper might be lurking somewhere close by couldn't have improved Saul's spirits.

  Cadel noticed how alert the detective was as they emerged from the anonymous-looking, two-storied house in which Cadel had been installed. Tucked away behind a gloomy screen of camellias and rhododendrons, this bland-faced, mustard-colored building was located at the end of a very long driveway. All around it, bankers and lawyers and advertising executives lived on huge, sprawling, leafy blocks of land; they could afford to keep themselves to themselves, and only intruded upon Cadel's strictly enforced privacy when their car or burglar alarms went off.

  Saul's own car had been returned to him. Having been found, identified, and thoroughly processed, it was now parked near the front door.

  Cadel climbed into the backseat, as usual. He had to sit between his two bodyguards.

  "Where are we going today?" he asked Saul, who was driving.

  "Glebe Point," the detective answered, and Cadel raised his eyebrows.

  "That's a long way. I guess we must be meeting Fiona."

  "Good guess," Saul answered. He gave the impression of being a little keyed up.

  "Does she have any news?" Cadel inquired, without much curiosity. He had stopped expecting good news, because most of it lately had been bad. And when Saul hesitated, his fears were confirmed. "Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?"

  "No!" Saul's denial was vehement. "No, not at all. I just—I'd rather discuss it when we get there. If that's okay."

  Cadel shrugged. "Okay."

  "It's complicated. And ... well, we need more space."

  Saul didn't so much as glance at the bodyguards when he said this, but he didn't need to. Cadel knew exactly what was meant by the code words "more space." So he settled back and let his three companions discuss various uninteresting subjects (football, duty rosters, and superannuation) until they finally rolled down the gentle incline leading to Glebe Point park. Only then did it occur to Cadel—for the very first time—that Fiona might actually live in the area. She was just the sort of person who would feel at home in a neighborhood of pretty, elderly little houses crammed together on narrow streets.

  "She said she'd be waiting on that bench we used before," Saul declared, as he pulled into the curb. Sure enough, Cadel spotted a tousled mop of reddish hair over near the water. He instantly recognized Fiona's narrow shoulders and pale green floral jacket.

  She was watching seagulls wheel overhead, her attitude uncharacteristically tranquil.

  Saul turned to the surveillance team. "We need a little privacy today," he announced. "That's why I chose this location. I figured you'd have a good, clear view of every approach, with no obstructions and no through traffic. Can you keep your distance for half an hour?"

  On receiving an affirmative response, the detective climbed out of his car just as Fiona looked back and saw them. Immediately she jumped to her feet. And while the bodyguards were busy deploying themselves, she began to cross the wide expanse of lawn that lay between the road and the harbor.

  Saul and Cadel reached her in the middle of this lawn, where a patch of bare earth marked the site of many informal soccer games.

  "Hello!" she chirruped, wrapping her arms around Cadel. "How are you, sweetie? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine." Cadel still wasn't used to being hugged, and found it hard to respond gracefully. Instead he flushed, and ducked his head.

  At which point, with a start, he noticed that Fiona was wearing a brand-new diamond on her left hand.

  He caught his breath and looked up.

  "Are you engaged?" he said. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

  Fiona colored. Then she released him. Then she threw a telltale glance at Saul, who placed his hand gently on the small of her back. br />
  "It's one of the things we had to tell you," he affirmed. "The fact that we're getting married."

  "When?" Cadel demanded, so abruptly that Saul leveled a solemn and searching stare at him. Fiona's brow puckered.

  "You mustn't worry about it," she implored. "It doesn't mean we're going to run off and abandon you. On the contrary!"

  "I'm not worried. I'm pleased. It's great." Forcing a smile, Cadel tried not to sound as confused as he felt. On the one hand, he knew that he ought to be delighted. Two of his favorite people were forming a unit; that was cause for celebration, surely? It would mean that neither of them would now be tempted to hook up with anyone Cadel didn't like.

  On the other hand, when he saw them standing together—linked by such a warm and delicate regard—he felt as he had once felt at school, watching all the other kids playing in the sun, while he lurked alone in the shadows.

  "Let's not talk about this here," Saul suggested. He took Cadel's arm and scanned the array of benches surrounding them. "Come and sit down. There's something else you need to know, and it's important. We have to get comfortable."

  Cadel didn't want to ask why. He had a horrible feeling that Saul was afraid of what his reaction might be. And that could only mean one thing.

  Bad news.

  "It's all very complex," Fiona was saying. "And everything's connected, so we have to give you the whole story from the beginning." She sat down beside Cadel on a bench under a tree; Saul seated himself on Cadel's other side.

  Then the detective took his hand.

  "It's about Prosper," was all that Cadel heard before he interrupted Saul, his voice cracking on a high note.

  "He's dead, isn't he? Prosper's dead!"

  "No!" Saul's grip tightened. "No, it's nothing like that!"

  "As far as we can tell, he's still alive," said Fiona. And Saul added, "If he was dead, we'd find out about it some-how. He's not dead, Cadel. It's just..."

  He paused.

  "What?" Cadel was starting to feel sick. "What is it?"

  "You might find this hard to accept—"

  "What is it?"

  But Saul couldn't seem to locate the right words. He sat there with a frown on his face and a muscle twitching in his jaw until at last Fiona spoke for him. She pushed a dangling curl out of Cadel's eyes and said, "He's not your father, sweetie. Prosper English isn't your father."

  Cadel's mouth opened.

  "Remember that DNA sample the police took off him? After the prison guard died?" Fiona continued. "Well, because of what Prosper told Saul about you, and because Prosper's lawyers haven't been paid lately, the police were able to use that sample for a paternity test. Which showed that you aren't Prosper's son."

  "But-but I have to be." Cadel couldn't believe it. "He has to be my father!"

  "He can't be, sweetie. It's impossible."

  "But ... but..."

  Cadel didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to say. Then he realized that Saul was crushing his fingers.

  "Ow," he complained. "You're hurting me."

  "Sorry." The detective released him. "Cadel, there's an upside to this."

  "I know." Not wanting to look like a fool, Cadel said defiantly, "I'm glad I'm not Prosper's son. It doesn't matter to me. He's an asshole."

  "Well ... yeah. Sure. I'm glad you feel that way." Saul seemed unconvinced, however. "The thing is, if Prosper isn't your father—"

  "My father must have been Phineas Darkkon," Cadel spoke with a kind of brittle indifference. He could feel himself trembling on the edge of hysterical laughter, and he battled to suppress the urge. "Another asshole. Oh, well. At least he's dead, I suppose."

  "No, listen. I'm not finished." Saul proceeded to explain what he himself had done after discovering the truth. "It got me thinking," he said. "About that paternity test Prosper ordered fifteen years ago. Do you remember?"

  "Of course I remember." Cadel began to rub at his forehead. "You were trying to make Prosper admit that Chester Cramp did it."

  "That's right."

  "Only he wouldn't give you Chester's name."

  "No. He wouldn't." Saul grimaced. "All the same, he was about to. I'm sure of it. So I did a bit of research into Chester Cramp and discovered something interesting. Seventeen years ago, Carolina Whitehead filed for divorce. She divorced him, and then she remarried him about a year later."

  "Oh," said Cadel blankly, wishing that he could concentrate. "Why?"

  "Well, that's what I decided to ask, when I talked to her on the weekend." Seeing Cadel blink, the detective once more clasped his hand. "You see, she was picked up in Brisbane last week. She's been hiding out there all this time."

  Cadel said nothing. Following so closely on the first big shock, this second one had rendered him speechless. But he tried hard to collect his thoughts as Saul described how an apartment, a bank account, and a false identity had been awaiting Carolina in Brisbane ever since her move to Australia. "They were part of a contingency plan, in case anything happened," Saul revealed. "She was supposed to keep her head down for a couple of months, and leave when all the fuss was over, using a forged passport. But she didn't. Because she was caught." After a momentary silence—during which he appeared to be savoring a particularly gratifying recollection—Saul continued. "She wasn't very cooperative at first. In fact, she wouldn't give us a thing until I mentioned that paternity test. I was wondering if it had anything to do with her remarriage, since the two events were so close together."

  "And did it?" asked Cadel.

  "It sure did. I came straight out and asked why her husband would have lied to Prosper English about the results of that test. Because I assumed she must have known about it. But she didn't. In fact, she hit the roof."

  Cadel waited. And waited. Finally he abandoned his dazed contemplation of the harbor's choppy surface to look at Saul, who once again was lost for words. Clearly, he would rather have hit Cadel with a blunt instrument than with another piece of unwelcome information.

  So Fiona had to break the news that Carolina White-head had divorced her husband because he'd been having an affair with Cadel's mother, Elspeth. According to Fiona (who related the story in a calm and soothing manner, as if to imply that such things happened all the time), Chester had then ditched Elspeth in a successful bid to win back Carolina. And after Elspeth moved in with Phineas Darkkon, Chester had remarried his ex-wife.

  "But Elspeth and Chester must have kept seeing each other," Fiona said. "That's what Carolina thought, anyway, when she heard about the paternity test. Which was why she got so mad, I suppose. You can't blame her."

  "She felt betrayed, and blew her top before she could stop herself," Saul interposed. "I guess she figured that Chester must have lied because ... well, because..."

  He looked to Fiona for assistance. And Fiona shouldered his burden.

  "Because Chester Cramp is your real father, Cadel," she said.

  There was a long silence. Then Cadel started to laugh. He couldn't help himself. His laughter was thin and shrill, and it made Fiona recoil.

  "Dad number three!" he exclaimed. "This is crazy!"

  "I know."

  "Who's next? The Dalai Lama?"

  "I'm sorry, sweetie."

  "But are you sure?"

  "Fairly sure." This time it was Fiona who appealed to Saul for help. And Saul obliged.

  "We're not a hundred percent sure," he said. "There haven't been any tests run on Cramp's DNA. But he's confessed to being your father."

  "Cramp has?"

  "We got him on tape."

  The detective went on to recount how the police, in cutting a deal with Carolina, had persuaded her to entrap her husband. The ploy had been quite simple. It had involved a call made to Chester by his wife, during which she had claimed (falsely) that she was still on the run. She'd said that she and Prosper had decided to cooperate while they were both in hiding—an unlikely scenario, but not impossible. ("We pretended that Prosper didn't know she'd tried to have him kille
d," Saul explained. "And Chester accepted that.") Under Saul's guidance, Carolina had announced that Prosper was very angry. Why? Because by some mysterious means, he had discovered that Cadel wasn't really his son. Meaning that Chester had lied to him, all those years ago.

  And Carolina had demanded an explanation from her husband.

  "He gave her one," Saul disclosed. "He said that you were really his, but he'd been afraid to tell her because he loved her so much despite everything." Saul's tone took on a sarcastic edge. "Personally, I'm inclined to think he was more afraid of Phineas Darkkon, not to mention Prosper English. But I'm just a cynical old cop."

  He paused to examine Cadel's face, as if expecting some kind of comment. When none was forthcoming, he plowed on.

  "Cramp also said that during the various tests he'd carried out, it became clear that Phineas Darkkon was infertile. Some sort of genetic abnormality. That's why Cramp decided to point the finger at Prosper instead of Phineas—just in case Darkkon became aware of his condition at a later date. In which case Prosper would take the blame for lying, not Chester Cramp."

  The detective broke off again. Perhaps he was anticipating an inquiry, or a request. But still Cadel remained silent, staring at the broken, shifting reflections on the water.

  Saul and Fiona exchanged an uneasy look.

  "Anyway, that wasn't all we got on tape," Saul concluded. "There was other stuff, too. We're using it to go after Chester Cramp. And GenoME, of course."

  He related how police on both sides of the Pacific were currently working to have GenoME shut down; how Earl Toffany had disappeared, taking a great deal of his money with him; how Rex Austin was now under close scrutiny, thanks to his flagrantly illegal dealings with Prosper English—not to mention his funding of Genius Squad. At last, however, the detective could restrain himself no longer. "Are you all right, Cadel?" he asked.