Authors: Catherine Jinks
‘I
know.
’ Fiona spoke too loudly. She covered her mouth, then continued at a lower volume, her cheeks flushed. ‘Do you think I don’t realise?’ she hissed. ‘Do you have any idea how
hard
it is? I’m doing my best, Mr Greeniaus! I’m doing my very best for Cadel!’
‘Good,’ Saul remarked levelly. ‘And so am I. I’d be grateful if you could remember that.’
Cadel glanced up at Fiona. He was hoping that she might have been persuaded to reconsider her views. But he was doomed to disappointment. Though she looked troubled, she wouldn’t budge. No matter how good Saul’s intentions were, she said, they could easily be undermined. Suppose Cadel advised Sid and Steve on how they might penetrate this hacker’s system? Suppose they were eventually asked to testify in court? Could they
deny
that Cadel had demonstrated a clear knowledge of hacking techniques? No, they could not.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but if you want to pursue this, Mr Greeniaus, I’m going to have to call Cadel’s lawyer.’
So she did. Unfortunately, Mel could not be reached at that precise moment – and Fiona herself soon ran out of time. She had other clients who needed her. Other appointments to keep. She couldn’t stay, though she wanted to.
‘Could I drop you off at the library?’ she suggested, and Cadel shook his head.
‘I want to stay here,’ he replied. Sid and Steve had hit a dead end; as Cadel had anticipated, the hacker was making use of different time-zones to ensure his anonymity. Even when everyone
did
wake up over in Prague or Vladivostok, it would be tricky wresting an Internet Protocol number out of a Czech or Russian-speaking service provider.
Cadel could have offered several solutions to this problem, if he’d only been allowed to speak up.
‘I’d rather you didn’t stay here,’ a harassed-looking Fiona pleaded, hovering near the couch on which he was sprawled. ‘Not without a supporting adult in attendance.’
‘Last time I looked, Hazel was an adult,’ Saul remarked coolly, from one corner. Though he hadn’t been saying much, very little had escaped him.
Fiona flashed him an impatient look.
‘Hazel’s been imposed on enough!’ she snapped. ‘In fact you’re lucky she hasn’t called her
own
lawyer! How long have you been here now – two hours? This isn’t a crime scene!’
‘As a matter of fact, it is,’ Saul replied. ‘Cyber crime isn’t a virtual offence, Ms Currey.’
‘Oh, you
know
what I mean!’ Fiona said tartly. ‘Anyway, my point is – ’
‘That you want Cadel out of here,’ Saul finished. ‘Well, for your information, he’s due at Sonja Pirovic’s house in an hour or so. I was going to arrange a lift for him – unless you’ve a problem with that?’
Fiona hesitated. Clearly, she would have liked Cadel to make his own way to Sonja’s house. When she saw his mutinous look, however, she raised her hands in submission.
‘All right,’ she said. ‘I won’t argue. I haven’t the time.’
‘There’s no need to worry,’ Saul maintained, as he accompanied her to the front door. ‘Mick and Ray aren’t talkative types.’
‘I hope not.’
‘If you want, they can always take Mrs Donkin along with them.’
Fiona’s withering glare was met by a shrug. Cadel (who had followed them both) somehow sensed that Saul was teasing Fiona, though the detective remained absolutely poker-faced. It was curious to watch the two of them standing side by side, because Fiona was always so restless, and Saul was always so still. They could almost have belonged to different species.
‘
Bye, Hazel!
’ Fiona yelled. ‘
I’ll call you this afternoon!
’ Then she squeezed Cadel’s arm. ‘Have a nice time with Sonja,’ she said. ‘Give her my regards.’
Cadel nodded. As Fiona clattered down the front steps, he waited for Saul to retreat inside. But the detective seemed interested in her progress. He stood watching while she headed for her car.
‘You’re fortunate to have Ms Currey as your case worker,’ he declared, once she had roared off down the street. Cadel saw with surprise that he was in earnest. ‘She’s very serious about her job.’
‘Yeah,’ Cadel conceded. ‘I guess she is.’
‘My advice is that you get Mrs Donkin to pack you some lunch,’ Saul continued, nudging Cadel back into the house. ‘Then you can take it with you to Sonja’s, and stay until dinner. What time would you be expected home?’
‘Oh – about five, I guess.’ Cadel looked up, pursing his lips and widening his enormous eyes. ‘Can I get a lift back, as well?’ he asked.
For a moment they stared at each other. Saul’s face revealed nothing. When he spoke, however, his tone was wry. ‘Yeah, okay,’ he said. ‘But don’t push your luck, my friend. I can be just as stubborn as Ms Currey.’
Cadel soon realised the truth of this remark, for Saul wouldn’t allow him to go anywhere near Sid or Steve. The detective insisted that Cadel remain in the kitchen, helping his foster-mother to assemble a casserole, until half-past eleven. Then Saul escorted him all the way to the spotless silver sedan in which Mick and Ray were sitting, consuming a matching pair of chicken-salad wraps.
The surveillance team welcomed Cadel into their vehicle with a noticeable lack of enthusiasm.
‘Don’t get too comfortable in there,’ Saul warned him. ‘And don’t drop any of your sandwich crumbs onto the back seat.’
‘I won’t,’ Cadel sighed.
‘Mr Mattilos is doing me a favour out of the goodness of his heart, so don’t give him any trouble,’ Saul added, before addressing the driver. ‘Thanks for this, Mick.’
The driver inclined his head. Saul slapped the roof of the car and stepped back. As the engine turned over, Cadel leaned towards the window.
‘Mr Greeniaus?’
‘What?’
‘If something happens – if Sid gets lucky – can you please ring me up? I just want to know what’s going on.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Saul replied.
But whether this constituted a promise, Cadel couldn’t be sure. He watched the detective’s wiry figure diminish in size as Mick drove away from the Donkins’ house, and wondered which of the cars now left in the street belonged to Saul. No doubt Mick or Ray could have told him, if only Cadel had had the courage to ask.
Eyeing the backs of their heads, however, he decided not to. The stiffness of their necks was somehow intimidating.
He therefore remained silent during the entire length of the trip. His companions didn’t say much either. The traffic was quite heavy, and Cadel couldn’t help feeling nostalgic as he studied the complicated matrix of one particularly busy intersection. He had once brought Sydney traffic to a halt by diverting a road-crew to this very convergence of arterials. But that, of course, had been in the old days, when Prosper was still pulling his strings. He no longer messed with traffic flows or railway timetables. Not since he had learned to consider the consequences of a delayed ambulance or an overcrowded train carriage.
Sonja had taught him to think about people, as well as systems.
They reached her house shortly after twelve, and parked near the front gate. Cadel was then forced to sit in the car for seven minutes while Mick and Ray waited for what they called their ‘back-up’. With the engine turned off, it seemed very quiet. Cadel worried that the men in the front seat would hear his stomach rumbling, because he hadn’t dared eat his lunch. Not after Saul’s comment about soiling the upholstery.
At last, to cover the noise of his growling gut, he said, ‘What happens when you want to go to the toilet?’
There was a creaking, squeaking sound as Mick craned around to study him. Mick was wearing sunglasses, and his mouth looked as if it had been hacked into his face with an axe.
‘What?’ said Mick.
‘I was just wondering – what happens when you need to go to the toilet?’
Mick’s expression remained stony. His eyes were hidden by his reflective lenses. Finally he said, ‘None of your business.’
Then Ray’s walkie-talkie spluttered to life, and after a brief three-way conversation between Ray, Mick and the ‘back-up’, Cadel was informed that he could now get out. So he did. On his way to Sonja’s front door, he realised that it was in fact a very nice day – sunny, but with a slight chill in the air – and he decided that he might offer to take Sonja out for a walk after lunch. Provided, of course, that she felt up to it. Sometimes her muscular spasms could leave her exhausted by mid-afternoon.
‘Cadel!’ said Rosalie, when she answered the doorbell. ‘Hello, come in!’
‘Hello, Rosalie. How’s Sonja?’
‘Good! Good! She has many visitors today.’
Cadel stopped in his tracks.
‘Many visitors?’ he repeated. ‘You mean – her social worker?’
‘No, no.’ Rosalie bustled along the dingy hallway ahead of him, without pausing. ‘Visitors from Clearview House, you see.’
‘From
where
?’ Cadel hurried to catch up. ‘Wait! Rosalie – ’
Rosalie, however, had already reached Sonja’s room. She rapped on the door, announcing, ‘Your boyfriend is here!’ And then she pushed it open.
Stumbling to a halt beside her, Cadel saw that Sonja’s little room was occupied by three people. Sonja sat in her wheelchair. Perched on her bed was a fat, middle-aged woman with long, frizzy grey hair, who wore funky red-rimmed glasses and layers of flowing skirts, most of them either Indian or tie-dyed. And standing near the window was a bronzed, wide-shouldered, slim-waisted man with perfectly styled brown hair, dazzling white teeth, and startling green eyes. He was dressed in casual, elegant clothes that looked expensive.
He smiled at Cadel.
‘You want some tea?’ Rosalie asked, before Cadel could say anything.
‘Uh – no,’ he replied. ‘Thanks, I’m – I’ve brought my lunch.’
‘Oh! Okay.’ Rosalie nodded. ‘Lunch in half an hour, Sonja. Is that okay?’
‘
Yes-thanks
,’ the Dynavox squawked.
‘You okay, now? Not too many people?’
‘
No
.’
‘Okay – well – half an hour. I’ll be back.’
And with that, Rosalie departed, leaving Cadel alone on the threshold. There was a moment’s silence as he looked to Sonja for an introduction.
But she was in such a highly nervous state that she couldn’t control her limbs.
‘Hi,’ said the handsome man, pushing himself off the wall. ‘My name’s Trader Lynch. And this is Judith Bashford.’
‘Um . . . hi.’ Cadel glanced from one to the other. ‘You’re not – ? Am I – ?’
‘You must be Cadel Piggott. Or should I say English? Or maybe Darkkon?’ Trader’s gleaming smile widened. ‘I suppose it’s hard to decide, at this point.’
Cadel’s jaw dropped.
‘It’s all right,’ Trader continued. ‘Prosper didn’t send us. On the contrary. We’re here with a proposition – for you
and
Sonja.’
Cadel stared at Sonja, who was still struggling with her own wayward limbs.
‘But perhaps,’ Trader added, still smiling, ‘you had better shut the door first.’
‘
It’s-all-right-Cadel
.’ As Cadel stood slack-mouthed, Sonja finally forced her errant right hand to obey her. ‘
Just-listen
.
This-is-interesting.
’
Cadel blinked. Confused and disoriented, he found himself unable to reply. So Trader picked up where Sonja had left off.
‘I think you’ll be glad to hear us out, Cadel,’ he said, in a cheerful tone. ‘Trouble is, we can’t really discuss it unless we have a bit of privacy . . .’ And he nodded at the bedroom door, which still stood ajar.
Mindlessly, like an automaton, Cadel shut it.
‘There,’ said Judith. ‘That’s better.’ She had a loud, rough-edged bark that perfectly matched her hefty frame and vibrant outfit. ‘Sorry about all the cloak-and-dagger stuff. This must be a bit of a shock for you.’
‘Or maybe it isn’t.’ Trader’s gleaming grin flashed over Cadel like the beam of a lighthouse. ‘God knows, you must be used to cloak-and-dagger stuff, after the Axis Institute.’
‘Who
are
you?’ Cadel said hoarsely. ‘What do you want?’
Trader and Judith exchanged glances. Then Trader took a deep breath. ‘To be honest, Cadel, we want you. You and Sonja. We need your help,’ he rejoined, whereupon Judith slapped at the rumpled bedspread.
‘Maybe you’d better sit down,’ she kindly recommended. ‘This is going to take a while.’
Cadel, however, was reluctant to leave the immediate vicinity of the door. Flattening himself against it, he appealed to Sonja for enlightenment. ‘What’s this all about?’ he demanded, knowing that Sonja would tell him the truth.
But Sonja was having difficulties. Though Trader and Judith seemed happy to let her answer Cadel’s question, her hands wouldn’t stay on the Dynavox screen. They kept sliding off.
With a sinking heart, Cadel realised that she was too excited to communicate properly.
‘It’s not much of a solution, is it?’ Judith observed, after a short wait. She was scowling at the Dynavox. ‘Surely we can do better than that old thing? For Chrissake, this
is
the twenty-first century.’
‘We’ll look into it,’ Trader promised. Then he addressed Cadel. ‘I’ll come straight to the point, because I don’t know how long it’ll be before the police realise that we’re here – ’
‘How did you get in?’ Cadel interrupted – and Trader’s smile, which had dimmed slightly, flashed on again at double the wattage.
‘We’re meant to be social workers,’ he explained, with a twinkle in his eye. ‘But I’ll talk about that in a minute. First we have to discuss GenoME.’
Cadel sucked in his breath. GenoME was one of Phineas Darkkon’s creations: a company that, unbeknown to the general public, had once been part of Dr Darkkon’s criminal empire. GenoME offered a very expensive gene-mapping service, designed to ‘maximise the genetic potential’ of its clients. According to Earl Toffany, GenoME’s Chief Executive Officer, gene mapping was the only scientific way of identifying where a person’s strengths and weaknesses might lie. Without a gene map, he had often said, life was one big shot in the dark. GenoME’s motto was:
Messages in Matter are Messages that Matter
.
But GenoME was secretive about its methods. It wouldn’t reveal the formula used in its gene-map analysis. Some people had therefore claimed that the entire company was founded on a lie – that it was impossible to understand a person using DNA, and that GenoME was defrauding its gullible clients.