"Yes, Trader," the twins intoned solemnly.
"All right, then." Suddenly Trader seemed to run out of breath. As the squad waited, he gazed around at everyone, expectantly. Then he flapped his hands, like someone shooing chickens. "Well?" he said. "Go on. Hop to it!"
EIGHTEEN
Cadel was waiting on the doorstep when Sonja arrived at Clearview House the next morning.
She turned up in a taxi that was designed to accommodate wheelchairs, with a convoy of vehicles following close behind. Two volunteers were driving cars packed with her belongings, and Fiona had also decided to lend a hand. The first thing that Fiona said, upon catching sight of Cadel, was, "Are you all right? You look exhausted."
Cadel flushed. He had been up very late the night before, wrestling with his microphone application and getting all excited about the GenoME computer he'd identified. E-mails stored on this machine had revealed that it belonged to Jerry Reinhard's assistant, Amy Ng. And Amy occupied a desk right outside Jerry's office, in a kind of anteroom. Everyone who entered or left Jerry's office had to go past Amy.
Trader knew this from some of the conversations he'd picked up on his eavesdropping equipment.
"It's a good place to plant a bug," he'd said. "If Jerry leaves his door open, we might hear something of interest."
Unfortunately, Jerry's computer wasn't easily accessible from Amy's. Despite the fact that she was his assistant, she didn't have his e-mail address. And she was obviously required to type his letters directly into her own machine, instead of downloading them from his. As Hamish had remarked (rather shrewdly, in Cadel's opinion), "Only someone who was up to no good would be that paranoid about security."
Jerry's security was so good, in fact, that Cadel hadn't yet found any gateway into Jerry's machine—or into the lab system, either. Amy's workstation formed part of a more vulnerable network set up for the marketing department and the five potentializers. ("Who must have their own computers somewhere," Dot had remarked. "Only not in the interview rooms, obviously.") Thanks to Cadel's probe, Genius Squad had now collected most of the data stored on this lesser network. Very little of it, however, had so far been analyzed. There hadn't been enough time to read it all. Still, everyone was hoping that once it had been checked, it would yield some clue as to how GenoME's U.S. network might be infiltrated.
There was no question that a link existed between America and the Australian lab computers. It was just a matter of tracing this link. Surely there had to be a chink somewhere in the laboratory defenses. Surely somebody would find a password, or at least a firewall vulnerability.
Cadel was determined to be the one who did That was why he'd stayed up until two in the morning, working his way through GenoME's online records. In fact, he had fallen asleep while scrolling through endless pages of biographical detail.
If it hadn't been for Sonja's sudden appearance, he would still have been hunkered over his laptop, searching through birth dates and telephone numbers for something that would give him deeper access into GenoME's system.
"I'm all right," he told Fiona, slightly embarrassed by her obvious concern. "I'm not used to the new bed yet, that's all."
"No one's keeping you up, are they?"
"Of course not," Cadel lied. Then, to distract her, he hurried over to where Sonja was being settled into her wheelchair. "I'll take her round the back," he informed the taxi driver. "There's a ramp that leads into the kitchen."
Sonja was wearing her best flowered skirt and a pretty embroidered blouse. Though excitement was making her movements more erratic than usual, her brown eyes shone, and an irrepressible smile kept struggling across her face.
Cadel's answering smile made Sonja gurgle.
"You should see your bathroom!" he said, as she was trundled along a cracked cement path toward the rear of the house. "It's fantastic. And all the furniture's new. And everyone's really great—they're dying to meet you!"
Most of the squad were certainly curious, though Cadel was a little worried about one of its younger members. The previous evening, Devin had asked in his graceless way if it would be safe to allow "the spastic" near any of the computers: Was she likely to knock them about, or spew all over them? Seeing Cadel's furious scowl, Lexi had given her brother a cuff on the ear, telling him not to be so feeble. And there had followed an all-out fight, during which the twins had broken one of the stair banisters.
It was Judith who had settled that fight—much to everyone's astonishment. Though Cliff and Trader had managed to separate the twins, Judith was the one who had dragged Devin to the nearest computer and shown him Sonja's latest online discussion of pseudorandomness. Devin had stopped talking about "the spastic" after that. He had started to use Sonja's name.
Nevertheless, Cadel felt relieved that Devin wasn't around when Sonja arrived. Both Devin and Tony Cheung were, at that point, holed up in the War Room—along with Dot and Cliff. Therefore, according to Genius Squad protocol, they had to stay out of sight until every intruder was gone. Even so, quite a crowd had gathered in the kitchen to welcome Sonja. As Cadel maneuvered her over the threshold, they were greeted by a chorus of eager voices, led by the strident tones of Judith Bashford.
"Here she is!" cried Judith. "At long last!"
"Hi, Sonja, I'm Lexi. Has Cadel told you about me?"
"Lexi, you're blocking the way," said Zac. "How are they going to get in if you stand right there?"
"Nice wheels," Hamish remarked. "What's your top speed in that?"
Sonja couldn't reply, because Fiona was carrying her DynaVox. So Cadel set it up quickly while Fiona explained how it worked. Hamish was fascinated by the DynaVox. He wanted to know all about its underlying technology. When he asked if he could "give it a go," Cadel hesitated. But Sonja didn't seem to mind. Apparently she had no problem with Hamish's desire to make the DynaVox say rude words.
At last Fiona put an end to all this messing about by pushing Sonja firmly into her bedroom. Cadel was anxious that Sonja should like what she saw; he was quick to point out all the best features of the bathroom and storage facilities. Meanwhile, Judith introduced herself to Fiona and explained that Zac was one of the shift workers who would ensure that Sonja had round-the-clock tendance. "Sonja will be our main priority," Judith declared. "Trader and Cliff and Dot will take care of the other kids, while Tony and Zac and I will focus on Sonja."
Cadel devoutly hoped so. He was a little worried about exactly how much attention Sonja would be getting, if Judith and Tony became absorbed in their work. But he told himself that he could look after Sonja, if no one else was around. And he was reassured by the room across the hall from Sonja's. According to Judith, someone would sleep in this snug little chamber every night, ready to be of assistance. Sonja would never be left to fend for herself.
"Not that she won't have her privacy," Judith added. "We realize how important that is. Which is why we installed this intercom system." She began to demonstrate the system, as all around her the bedroom buzzed with activity. People hurried in and out, carrying bundles and boxes. Lexi was already pawing through Sonja's clothes. Hamish had pounced on Sonja's computer.
"I'll just plug this in, shall I?" he said. And Cadel frowned.
"No," he replied sharply. "I will."
"Shall I hang these up?" Lexi was examining one of Sonja's jumpers. "Or do you want me to throw it away? It's so little-old-lady."
"Lexi, leave that stuff alone!" Judith barked. "What are you doing here, anyway? You should be cleaning the upstairs toilet!"
Lexi scowled, then flounced from the room in a huff. Hamish followed close on her heels, ordered out by Judith because he had made a disparaging comment about Stephen Hawking (one of Sonja's pinups). When Sonja's possessions had all been brought in, Zac and the volunteers departed as well. Soon only Judith, Fiona, and Cadel remained to keep Sonja company.
Working together, they put away Sonja's books and clothes and electronic equipment. Judith excelled at the fiddly task of unpacking; she was ve
ry organized, and hated mess. Though her own appearance was rather messy, with her wild, wispy hair and layers of mismatched clothes, she couldn't abide messy accounts, or a cluttered kitchen, or a disorganized workspace. It was she who drew up the rosters and distributed the cleaning products at Clearview House. It was she who implemented laundry schedules, and bullied people into serving meals on time.
Cadel had learned all this after receiving exhaustive instructions from Judith on various domestic subjects such as scrambling eggs, disinfecting bathroom floors, sorting dirty clothes, and labeling leftovers. When he observed the way she made sure that Sonja's shoes were all neatly aligned, and that his best friend's clothes were distributed according to a well-conceived plan, he became even more convinced that Judith's loud and sloppy exterior concealed a true accountant's heart.
It didn't surprise him that she and Sonja seemed to click. Sonja herself had a preference for things like color-coding and correctly folded jumpers; it was torture to her when her possessions weren't put away properly. Disorder offended the mathematical precision of her mind.
So she and Judith were in perfect accord when it came to pattern groupings and tidy underwear drawers.
"Leggings," Judith mused at one point. "Would these be in the same subset as tights or trousers?"
"That's-easy-enough," Sonja replied. "If-we-classified-tank-tops-as-belonging-to-the-T-shirt-category, because-the-dominating-characteristic-was-fabric-type-rather-than-the-configuration-of-sleeves—"
"Then leggings would be in with tights," Judith finished. "Yes. I agree. Keep it consistent."
While she busied herself with the correct gradation of Sonja's knitwear (from summer to winter), Cadel bluetacked posters to the wall. He set up Sonja's computer and arranged her candles on the marble mantelpiece, as Fiona, in a low voice, told him that the universities were still turning him down.
"But I'm going to talk to a friend of a friend, who teaches at the University of New South Wales," Fiona informed him. "We might be able to arrange some kind of backdoor enrollment."
Cadel thanked her, though he wasn't terribly interested. University enrollment didn't seem so important anymore—not since he had joined Genius Squad. The outside world no longer mattered as much, because he had access to computers. Even Prosper English wasn't worrying him unduly. He had other things to think about.
Like his microphone application, for instance.
He was dying to tell Sonja about that. And of course he couldn't—not until Fiona had left. Cadel liked Fiona. He was grateful to her. But he grew very impatient as she hung about, fussing and fretting. It was nearly lunchtime before she finally took off, having promised to drop in the next day if she could. Judith walked her to the front door, trying not to look relieved.
Left alone at last, Cadel and Sonja knew better than to waste time. Sonja still had to visit the War Room and hadn't yet become acquainted with the whole squad. Someone was bound to burst in at any moment.
So Cadel lowered his voice and said, "What do you think?"
"Great," Sonja replied, through the medium of her DynaVox.
"Is there anything we've forgotten?"
"No."
"All the real work happens downstairs. There's a concealed lift, and it's big enough for your chair."
"Hamish-is-funny."
"Yes." Cadel wondered what she meant by "funny." Did she think that Hamish was ludicrous or amusing? Assuming the former, he said, "Those clothes of his were Lexi's idea. She wants us to look tough."
"Me-too?"
"I don't know." Cadel shrugged. "She's a bit flaky. You should just ignore her when she's like that."
"But-I-want-to-look-tough," Sonja protested. Though the metallic delivery of her DynaVox was completely toneless, her face was alight with mischief. "I-want-a-leather-jacket-and-a-nose-stud."
"Yeah, right."
"I-do. Why-shouldn't-I?"
"No reason," Cadel muttered. He couldn't exactly say, "Because you'll look stupid." Sonja was already self-conscious about the way she looked.
Quickly, he changed the subject.
"We've cracked the first-tier network at GenoME," he said. "Zac went in there, pretending to be a new client, and planted a honeytoken e-mail address. Trouble is, we haven't found the gateway to any high-security parts of the system. So far it looks as if everything we've downloaded is just housekeeping."
"Like-what?" Sonja queried.
"Oh—marketing plans. Basic invoices. Client information." Cadel headed for the door. "Here," he said. "I'll show you. Won't be a sec."
Cadel's laptop was concealed in one of the kitchen cupboards. He'd been eating a late breakfast when Sonja's arrival had interrupted him; Genius Squad rules decreed that, in such circumstances, priority should be given to hiding all laptops. Cadel had therefore shoved his own machine behind the rolled oats and raisins before rushing out to greet his best friend.
As a result, it took him only about thirty seconds to retrieve his computer and return with it to Sonja's room. On the way, he noticed that the front door was standing slightly ajar.
He also noticed that Judith and Fiona were still chatting together outside.
"Here," he said quietly, upon rejoining Sonja. "You'll be getting these files yourself, but Judith will probably want you to look at the accounts. This is what I've been looking at."
"Nice-laptop," was Sonja's comment, as he placed the machine on her desk.
"Isn't it?"
"Will-I-get-one-too?"
"Your equipment's downstairs. There's a special keyboard and everything." Hurriedly, Cadel entered a series of passwords until he had gained access to his cache of GenoME client files. "You wouldn't believe what GenoME's got in here," he continued, calling up a list of file names. "They ask the most personal questions. Medical history. Marital status. Drugs taken during the last five years. I mean, GenoME doesn't need to know that kind of thing!"
"Do-we?"
Sonja's question took Cadel by surprise. He glanced at her and discovered that she was watching him intently. All at once he felt as if he had failed to pass a moral test of some sort.
"We won't be using any of this," he stressed. "Not like GenoME. They use it, Sonja."
"It-was-given-to-them. Not-to-us."
"So what are you saying? That we should ignore these files?" He tried to defend himself, conscious all the while that she was probably justified in airing her doubts. (GenoME might have forfeited its right to privacy, but what about its poor, deluded customers?) "I'm not paying attention to most of this," he assured her. "I'm just looking for a clue that will help me get past the next firewall." He turned back to the computer and scrolled down the list of file names. "Look," he said, "this is all I do. I call up the file—like this—and I make a note of the file number, just in case, and—"
Suddenly he stopped.
There, on the screen in front of him, was a photograph of Gazo Kovacs.
PART THREE
NINETEEN
Gazo Kovacs had been Cadel's only true friend at the Axis Institute. The last time they'd seen each other, Gazo had been trying to save Cadel from Prosper English. Poor Gazo had then been knocked out and arrested. But he had been able to escape police custody because of his unique genetic condition.
When Gazo became stressed, he exuded a stench so powerful that it could render a grown man unconscious.
Needless to say, Trader found this hard to accept. He wanted to know how Gazo Kovacs could possibly be a walking stink bomb if he was currently employed as a gardener. How could he be mowing lawns while dressed up like a spaceman?
"I don't know," Cadel replied. "Perhaps he doesn't wear his special suit anymore. Perhaps he doesn't need to, because he works in the open air."
Skeptically, Trader examined Gazo's file. In it Gazo was called Russ Adams; somehow he had managed to acquire a false identity. Cadel couldn't help thinking that Gazo must have learned a lot at the Axis Institute if he was now successfully forging birth certificates and pretending t
o be someone else. Gazo gave his occupation as "land care specialist." He had been hired by the University of Sydney, and worked there four days a week. Though he admitted to being an Englishman, he made no mention of the Axis Institute.
Cadel was impressed by this. At the institute, Gazo had always come across as a dunce—good-hearted but slow. Yet here he was, cleverly keeping a low profile. The only thing he'd really confessed to was his condition. He wanted his DNA profile analyzed because he needed more information about his "unfortunate handicap," and how it might be controlled.
This last disclosure touched Cadel. All at once, he was desperate to see Gazo again—to warn him against GenoME and to question him about the Axis Institute. They needed to discuss a whole range of things. Yet this could only be done if Cadel visited the university unannounced. Otherwise Gazo might get nervous and run away.
"I don't know if it's a good idea," Trader said, when appealed to. "Those coppers out there are going to be treading on your heels. And you can't afford to dodge them, or they'll wonder why."
"I wasn't going to dodge them I was going to tell Mr Greeniaus all about it." Cadel tried to explain his reasoning. "Gazo was at the Institute. He can confirm my testimony. Mr. Greeniaus has been looking for him, and so have I."
"But if the police start hassling this friend of yours, that might alarm GenoME. He's a GenoME client, after all." Trader winced. "Christ, he might tell GenoME about you!"
"He won't. He's my friend."
"If he's such a good friend, why don't you want to give him any warning? Wouldn't he be pleased to see you? Why are you worried that he'll bolt?"
"Because he's in hiding. He's afraid of my..." It was hard to say the word. Cadel stumbled over it. "Of my father," he finished at last, reluctantly. "Gazo's afraid of Prosper English."
"Couldn't you just ring him, then?"
"I could," Cadel was forced to concede, "if I wasn't concerned about GenoME bugging his phone."