Authors: Catherine Jinks
‘Okay. Thanks,’ said Kale. ‘You wanna round everyone up?’
‘Sure.’
The obliging agent vanished again, so swiftly and silently that he might have been a genie disappearing in a puff of smoke. Kale turned back to Cadel.
‘A while ago, your dad sent us some interesting data,’ said Kale. ‘It was a set of applications designed to infiltrate all the Bluetooth appliances in a networked house. An
American
networked house.’
‘I know about that,’ Cadel interposed – then caught his breath. ‘God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Don’t tell me it was written for
Rex Austin’s
house?’ But it must have been. He could see that now. It made perfect sense.
It also settled one particular matter, for good and all.
‘I don’t think Rex is alive,’ he declared. ‘Or if he is, he’s being held captive.’
‘Whoa. Hold on.’ Kale lifted a hand. Cadel, however, wouldn’t be silenced. He found himself babbling enthusiastically, as the complete picture began to take shape in his mind’s eye.
‘Someone as paranoid as Rex Austin would be hard to get at,
unless
you infiltrated the security system in his house. I mean, you could sabotage one of his appliances, so he’d call a repair man. And you could send your
own
repair man. And that would be the end of that. Especially if you shut down all his alarms at the same time.’ Cadel could imagine the whole sorry spectacle. He could practically see it playing out in front of him. ‘It must have been Vee who designed that program,’ he mused. ‘Somehow he must have got hold of the house specs. Do we know who the architect was? Or the electrician? They might be worth talking to.’
‘We haven’t found them yet,’ said Kale. ‘But I tracked down the insurance policy on that house, and every item listed there matches the applications in the program you dug up. When you told me about Austin’s scan, I put two and two together. I suddenly remembered his beach house – because I’ve been to that house. I went there months ago, to see if he’d talk about Genius Squad. It was some spread, I’ve gotta tell you.’
‘You went inside?’ Cadel exclaimed. Kale, however, shook his head.
‘Couldn’t get past the lobby,’ he admitted. ‘Your dad hadn’t sent me those applications, back then, so I didn’t have a case that would
get
me inside.’
‘But now you do?’
‘Since we saw the insurance policy. It’s a match, all right. Looks like Austin wanted a staff-free house. He wanted a fridge that would order his food, and a robot that would clean his floors, and heating that he could turn on before he got home.’ Kale snorted. ‘Like I said, he didn’t trust people. And the more staff you have, the riskier it gets.’
‘I guess so.’ All the same, Cadel couldn’t help wondering if computers were riskier than people, in the long run. ‘So when you dug up the insurance policy, and saw that everything matched the hack from Judith’s house –’
‘I sent a team down to Laguna Beach,’ Kale concluded.
‘Right.’
‘And now I want you to check out the place yourself.’ Upon receiving no answer, Kale frowned. ‘Cadel? Did you hear me?’
‘Mmm?’ Cadel was distracted by vague memories of what he’d read about voice cloning. Was speech-synthesis technology advanced enough, nowadays, for Prosper English to imitate Rex Austin on the phone? Or had Vee devised yet more breakthrough programming – perhaps with the aid of a rogue sound engineer, instead of a computer graphics expert like Raimo Zapp?
‘Earth to Cadel? Did you hear what I said?’
‘Huh?’ Cadel snapped out of his reverie. ‘Oh. Sorry. What?’
‘I said I want you to check out Rex Austin’s place,’ Kale repeated. ‘The one at Laguna.’
‘
Me?
’
‘I’ve got a team down there right now, with a search warrant. But they haven’t found anyone. There’s no sign of Austin –
or
English. That’s why I figure you could help.’ Cadel’s lack of response drew from Kale a more detailed explanation. ‘See, if we’ve missed something, you might pick up on it. Since you
know Prosper English better than anybody.’
Cadel grunted. Though he’d said much the same thing, on any number of occasions, the thought that it might be true suddenly seemed unbearably depressing. For one thing, it implied that he and Prosper were somehow alike.
‘I doubt I know Prosper better than you,’ Cadel mumbled. ‘You’re the one who’s been investigating him all this time. You must know him pretty well by now.’
‘Yeah, but you’ve had breakfast with the guy – and lived to tell the tale. None of
us
have done that. You’ve been up close and personal.’ Seeing Cadel’s vinegary expression, Kale tried to adopt a wheedling tone (without much success). ‘It’s perfectly safe, down there. We’ve made sure it’s not bugged or booby-trapped. The way we’ve got it staked out, it’s probably safer than the Pentagon.’
Cadel said nothing. He was too busy swallowing the bitter taste in his mouth.
‘It’s up to you,’ Kale grudgingly had to concede. ‘If you don’t wanna go, you can bail out. Or we could put it off for a couple of days, while you make up your mind –’
‘I’ll go. You’re right. I should go.’ Cadel stood up. He had decided, abruptly, that there was no point fretting over the past. Not when the future seemed so uncertain. ‘When are we leaving? Now? Will I have time to go to the toilet?’
‘Uh … yeah. Sure.’ Though taken aback by this apparent change of heart, Kale clearly welcomed it. He clapped Cadel on the shoulder. ‘Do you wanna bite to eat, first?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘Did you bring a toothbrush? I can send Chuck out to buy one. And there’s a shower downstairs, if you feel like freshening up.’
‘I’m okay. Don’t worry about me,’ said Cadel, whereupon his companion pulled a wry face.
‘I
have
to worry about you, kid. You’re not sixteen yet.’ Kale began to nudge Cadel towards the door. ‘In fact I’ve fixed up a lawyer for you, but I guess she’ll have to meet us at Laguna
Beach. Since we don’t wanna be waiting around for the whole afternoon –’
‘A
lawyer?
’ Cadel stopped in his tracks. ‘What lawyer?’
‘Don’t look so scared. She’s good. She specialises in juveniles.’
‘But –’
‘You’re not under arrest. You’re just under-age.’ Kale couldn’t stop a hint of impatience from creeping into his voice. ‘You need someone to take care of your interests. I’d do it myself, if I could.’
‘But a lawyer …’ Cadel protested. ‘Lawyers cost money! And I don’t
have
any money!’
‘We’ll work something out,’ said Kale. ‘There’s a reward posted, remember? Fifty thousand dollars, for information leading to the arrest of Prosper English. If we catch him, you’ll be eligible for that reward.’ He dredged up another acidic little smile, so lacking in mirth that it was more like a scowl. ‘Hell,’ he added, ‘fifty thou should buy you at
least
two days with a third-rate lawyer. And you’ll have enough change left to treat yourself to an ice-cream sundae!’
If this was meant to be a joke, Cadel didn’t find it very amusing. Nor was he particularly reassured. In fact he began to wonder, on his way downstairs, whether Kale had told him everything he needed to know. The FBI wasn’t famous for its transparency. Cadel couldn’t help feeling that somewhere in the bureau’s archives, a big, fat file probably had his name on it.
I just hope they understand where I fit into all this,
he fretted.
I hope they understand which side I’m on.
Then he told himself to stop thinking like Prosper English, as the elevator doors slid open.
Cadel fell asleep in the car. When he woke up again, about forty minutes later, it was still moving.
‘Are we there yet?’ he drowsily inquired, peering out the window. A distant oil refinery was visible, ominous and imposing against a backdrop of dark clouds.
‘Not yet,’ said Kale, who was sitting beside him.
‘It’s funny seeing all these gum trees,’ Cadel observed. ‘It’s like we’re in Australia.’ Then he had second thoughts. ‘Except in Australia there aren’t so many oil derricks all over the place,’ he added.
No one replied. The two FBI agents in the front seat – Chuck and Feliz – hadn’t yet opened their mouths. As for Kale, he was tapping out a text message on his mobile phone.
When he’d finished, he turned to Cadel.
‘Are you hungry?’ he said. ‘We can pick up a burger, if you like.’
‘No, thanks.’ Cadel’s stomach was screwed into a tight little knot; the prospect of forcing food into it made him feel queasy. ‘Does Rex Austin have a wife?’ he asked. ‘Or children?’
‘Not any more,’ Kale replied. ‘The wife divorced him about twenty years ago. She lives in the Bahamas now. And his heir apparent’s dead, of course.’
‘Oh. Right.’ Cadel remembered something he’d learned back in Genius Squad – something about Rex’s murdered son. ‘There weren’t any other kids? Just the one?’
‘Just the one,’ said Kale.
‘So no one’s been living with him?’ Cadel wanted to get things straight in his head. ‘Not even a girlfriend?’
‘Only the faithful butler. Who got sacked.’ Kale suddenly began to reel off facts and figures, as if Cadel had hit some kind of command button. ‘Austin owns three domestic properties: an apartment in Texas, a cabin in Oregon, and the house at Laguna Beach. The beach house is his biggest expense. It was built three years ago, at a cost of eleven million dollars. A gardening service takes care of the grounds and the pool. A maid service comes in once a week –’
‘Why does he need a maid service?’ Cadel interrupted. ‘What about the cleaning robots?’
‘Maybe they don’t do windows or baths,’ Kale said drily, before continuing with his report. ‘Austin also owns a lot of commercial property in LA, New York, Dallas and Seattle. He leases a couple of private jets. He doesn’t belong to any social clubs, but he’s associated with a lot of business bodies. He owns four cars, and one’s an old pick-up. He smokes, drinks, and takes several prescription drugs for cholesterol and high blood pressure.’ As Cadel’s jaw dropped, Kale offered up a slightly crooked grin. ‘Like I said before, we’ve been monitoring his activities.’
Cadel was impressed. But then something occurred to him. ‘Has Rex filled any of his prescriptions, lately?’
This question elicited a honk of laughter from Feliz. Kale’s grin twisted sideways.
‘You’re really something,’ he said obscurely. ‘No. Rex Austin has
not
filled any of his prescriptions, lately. Not as far as we know. But you don’t really need a prescription to get drugs – not if you have enough cash. And he might be wanting to keep a low profile.’
‘I guess.’ Cadel wasn’t convinced. ‘All the same …’
‘All the same, it’s a red flag,’ Kale agreed. At which point his phone buzzed, and he had to answer it.
Once more, Cadel gazed out the window. They were still cruising along an enormous freeway, past endless housing estates. The
sea was nowhere in sight, though signs kept pointing off towards a series of invisible beaches: Hermosa Beach, Newport Beach, Hurlington Beach. Cracking towers and heavy industry were giving way to houses clustered along scrubby ridgelines. A lowering sky made Cadel wonder how bad the thunderstorms could get in California. Would they be worse than the ones in Sydney?
For a moment, his thoughts turned to Sydney, as he wondered if he was still officially dead back there. Probably not. It was fifty hours at least since he’d altered the hospital records; any discrepancies would surely have been identified and corrected. By now, in fact, Dr Vee would almost certainly have discovered the truth.
But Cadel didn’t want to dwell on Dr Vee, or the hospital records, or Sydney in general. Such gloomy reflections would only trigger feelings of guilt and loss, which Cadel couldn’t afford to entertain. Not if he wanted to keep his wits about him. So he banished all traumatic memories from his mind, focussing instead on the passing landscape.
As the road turned west, it hit a collection of yellow, sunbaked hills. Signage informed Cadel that he was travelling through the Laguna Coast Wilderness Park. A toll had to be paid, at one point; when Cadel spotted the Dix Nature Center, he experienced a fleeting sense that if he’d come here on vacation, he might have had quite a lot of fun.
And still they kept going, until a wooded valley closed in on them, shady and verdant and sprinkled with evidence of genteel tourism: art galleries, glass blowers, even something called the ‘Plectrum Dulcimer Company’.
‘There’s a taco wagon,’ Kale finally announced, breaking the extended silence. ‘You wanna taco?’
‘No, thanks.’ Cadel had spotted a crowd of men in a car park. ‘“Day Labourer Hiring Area”,’ he read aloud, as they zipped past an official-looking sign. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means that if you pay a buck, and stand there all day, someone might come along and ask you to trim the beards on their palm trees,’ said Kale. ‘Or not.’
‘Round our place, they hang out at the Home Depot parking lot,’ Chuck suddenly remarked, in a surprisingly high-pitched voice.
Feliz said nothing.
As Laguna Canyon opened onto Laguna Beach, Cadel began to sense money in the air. The canyon had puzzled him. With its quirky businesses and untamed growth, it had seemed like the sort of place that might be inhabited by ageing hippies – and Rex Austin wasn’t an ageing hippy. Laguna Beach, on the other hand, was all glamorous shops, lush trees and clipped lawns. Cadel could easily imagine a bunch of billionaires hanging out at Laguna Beach. Not billionaires like Rex, perhaps, but the other kind; billionaires with yachts and miniature poodles and bikini-wearing girlfriends.
‘Does Rex have a dog?’ Cadel wanted to know. Again, it was Kale who answered.
‘Nup.’
‘Not even a guard dog?’
‘He’s got a couple of horses in Oregon,’ Kale revealed. ‘That’s about it.’
He glanced up from his phone to scrutinise Cadel. ‘We haven’t noticed any suspicious dog deaths, if that’s what you’re wondering. And no one’s cancelled any subscriptions, either. But his private jet hasn’t left the ground in two months.’
By this time they were heading south, along a cliff-top road. To the left rose a line of steep hills, looming over terraced suburban sprawl. To the right, lots of high-density coastal architecture blocked out most of the ocean view – though here and there Cadel caught a glimpse of white caps on dark and restless waters. Palm trees whipped about in a gusty wind.