Suddenly the car swerved, as Saul pulled over. He stopped in a bus zone, jerking at his hand brake as if he were trying to snap it off. Then he swung around to confront Cadel, his face so pale that his eyes looked almost black.
"Do you mean to say you approached this guy?" Saul demanded. "Do you mean to say you set up a meeting without telling me first?"
Cadel flinched. But he refused to buckle. "If I'd told you first, you wouldn't have let me go," he pointed out.
Saul wasn't impressed. His voice became rougher.
"Have you any idea of the risks involved in what you just did?" he exclaimed, and Cadel scowled.
"Yes. As a matter of fact. I calculated them." Seeing Saul open his mouth, Cadel cut him off. "Don't you understand what I've been doing for most of my life? Don't you understand that calculating risk is what I do best? When I was thirteen, I even started developing a formula for predicting people's behavior." Catching sight of Saul's blanched knuckles on the steering wheel, Cadel forced himself to continue in quieter, more even tones. "Do you think I can't work out the odds of Gazo being a plant?" he said. "Mr. Greeniaus, they're negligible."
By this time Saul wasn't staring at him anymore. The detective's full attention was fixed on the windshield; a nerve was twitching high on his left cheek.
"And what about my job?" he asked, exerting enormous control over his delivery. "Is that negligible, too? I'm supposed to keep you safe. Did you take my situation into account when you did your calculations? Do you understand what I just went through?"
Cadel flushed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I really am." Sensing that his apology wasn't accepted, he blurted out, "But you wouldn't have let me go! And if I hadn't gone, Gazo wouldn't have talked! And the whole thing would have been a disaster!" When there was still no reply, he began to lose patience. "I got you another witness, didn't I? You should be pleased," he protested.
Saul said nothing. He simply adjusted his hand brake and gearshift, then swung out into the traffic.
Not another word was uttered by either of them during the rest of their trip back to Clearview House.
When they arrived, Saul didn't simply drop Cadel at the front steps. Instead the detective climbed out of his car and requested a meeting with Sonja. "I've been told that Sonja moved in today," he announced, "and I think it would be a good idea if I said hello."
"So she knows that you're keeping tabs on her?" Cadel said waspishly. The words had barely left his mouth before he regretted them. They sounded childish. Vindictive. "She's probably home," he mumbled, trying to make amends. Then it occurred to him that Sonja might be in the War Room, and he racked his brain for a story that would account for her absence if she was. "Unless Judith's taken her for a walk," he concluded feebly.
However, Sonja wasn't downstairs working. She was in her own room, and Zac Stillman was combing her hair. At least, he was trying to.
But he didn't appear to have mastered the knack.
"Here," said Cadel, upon observing the way Zac was clumsily dabbing at Sonja's head. "I can do it." He took charge of the comb and stationed himself in his customary hair-combing position, slightly to the rear of Sonja's wheelchair. Saul's brown eyes met Sonja's own as the detective quietly absorbed the scene in front of him.
Meanwhile, Zac relinquished his duties with evident relief.
"I've got to start dinner now," he said, stooping slightly to converse with Sonja. "Are you going to be all right with Cadel?"
"Yes," the DynaVox buzzed.
"Good. Right." Zac nodded at Saul on his way out. "Just give me a yell if you need anything."
"We will," said Cadel, wondering how on earth Sonja was supposed to give anyone a yell. (With her intercom, perhaps?) Picking gently at a knot of food-encrusted hair, Cadel became conscious that Saul was watching him.
But when he looked up, the detective glanced away—and stepped forward to shake Sonja's hand.
"How are you doing?" Saul murmured. "Settling in okay?"
Sonja couldn't respond until he had dropped her hand. Then she asked, through her DynaVox, "Is-that-a-gun-in-your-coat?"
If she was trying to startle him, there was no indication that she had succeeded. Saul calmly informed her that it was indeed a gun, but that he wasn't allowed to let anyone else handle it.
"Did-you-shoot-Gazo?" Sonja inquired. Owing to the mechanical timbre of the DynaVox, this sounded like a serious question. But Cadel knew that it wasn't. He could tell by the mischievous tilt of her head and the clicking in her throat.
It was obvious to Cadel that Sonja was in an exultant mood. She must have enjoyed her day, he decided.
"She's joking," he assured the detective. "Don't be such a ghoul, Sonja." He was afraid that Saul might be offended.
The detective, however, didn't appear to notice the implied insult in Sonja's query. He was far more interested in something else.
"So you knew about Gazo, did you?" he said. Though his voice was flat, his expression was reproachful as he eyed Sonja, his hands on his hips and his posture very erect. "Didn't you realize what a big risk it was for Cadel? Going out there to meet up with Gazo Kovacs, of all people?"
"Cadel-is-an-expert-at-calculating-risk." Sonja spelled out her reply letter by ponderous letter. "I-wasn't-worried."
"Well, you should have been," was Saul's tart comeback. Then he softened, unable to maintain a harsh demeanor when confronted by Sonja's splayed fingers and twisted legs. "Look," he went on, "I know you can't use the phone, but you do have e-mail access. If I give you my details, could you at least text me a warning the next time he decides to do something crazy?"
"It wasn't crazy—," Cadel began. Saul, however, wouldn't let him finish.
"Everyone makes mistakes," he pleaded, still addressing Sonja. "Even Cadel. If you're his friend, you should be worried about his safety. That's all I'm saying. You should be watching his back."
Sonja had to work hard at her response. It took a while, because her muscles weren't cooperating. Nevertheless, Saul refrained from interrupting the process with further comments of his own.
Cadel noticed this with approval, even though he resented Saul's desire to co-opt Sonja as part of the surveillance team.
"Did-Gazo-threaten-anyone?" Sonja finally asked. "Did-he-refuse-to-cooperate?"
"No. Not at all." Cadel couldn't help sounding a touch defiant. "He told me he'd make a statement at five o'clock. At home. After he puts his protective suit on."
"So-Cadel-was-right," Sonja pointed out, her eyes straining toward the detective. "He-wasn't-in-any-danger. If-he-had-been, I-would-have-asked-him-not-to-go."
The detective sighed. He shook his head and checked his watch. Then he conceded defeat—albeit in a roundabout sort of way.
"Kovacs did seem pretty cooperative," he admitted. "I'm hoping we'll get some useful stuff out of him, provided he doesn't disappear in the meantime." Fixing Cadel with a severe and slightly weary look, he promised to report on his interview with Gazo. "But I'd be grateful if you didn't talk to him before I talk to you. Okay?" he requested.
"Okay," Cadel muttered.
"Thanks." The detective nodded abruptly, first at Cadel, then at Sonja. "See you later," he said, and headed for the door.
Before reaching it, however, he stopped to direct a parting shot at Cadel.
"Did you tell anyone else around here where you were going?" he asked, narrowing his eyes. Whereupon Cadel pulled his most innocent face, all crumpled brow and blank incomprehension.
"I said that I had to visit a friend," was his careful rejoinder—which seemed to satisfy Saul. The detective promptly took his leave, marching out of the house before Cadel could offer to accompany him. The front door slammed; heavy footsteps sounded on the veranda.
Cadel felt lousy. Again, he hadn't exactly lied—he just hadn't told the entire truth.
"He's-nice, isn't-he?" Sonja declared, after she had heard Saul's car drive away. "You-can't-help-liking-him. Most-people-don 't-have-the-guts-to-shake-m
y-hand."
"They're probably scared it'll fall off," Cadel joked, taking refuge in flippancy to disguise his burgeoning sense of guilt. "So how did you get on with Judith?"
"Good. How-did-you-get-on-with-Gazo?"
"Good. Until Saul showed up. Then it got a bit stinky."
Sonja's chin jerked as she strained to catch his eye.
"If they'd both just relax, everything would be fine," Cadel continued. "But Saul doesn't trust Gazo, and Gazo doesn't trust Saul. Which is ridiculous."
He grimaced as he dragged his comb through Sonja's hair, distracted by the thorny issue of what would happen if Gazo's name appeared on the police network. Something like that might cause serious problems. Suppose Carolina Whitehead or Jerry Reinhard had infiltrated the police computer system? Suppose they were hunting down information about Prosper English? It was unlikely, but not impossible. If they were smart enough to hack into their clients' computers, they might be smart enough to penetrate police security. And they certainly didn't seem to mind breaking the law.
If they had been sniffing about, then they might stumble across Gazo's name. Gazo might be mentioned as a possible police informant. And how would they react then? By avoiding further contact with him? Or would Carolina try to use him in some way—by feeding him misinformation, perhaps?
Cadel decided that this last scenario was highly improbable. It was far more likely that GenoME would cut off all contact with Gazo, if he was discovered to be cooperating with the police. For this reason, Cadel decided not to interfere. He could imagine how awkward it would be, telling Saul not to post Gazo's name on the police system. The detective would naturally ask why, and Cadel would be unable to answer. Not without exposing Genius Squad.
All the same, Gazo's vulnerable situation worried Cadel. And he found that he needed reassurance about it from Sonja.
"I can't help wondering what will happen if Gazo's mentioned on the police network, and GenoME finds out somehow," he said. "I mean, surely they wouldn't do anything nasty? It's not as if he knows enough to be a threat." Hesitating for an instant, his comb poised, Cadel added, "What do you think?"
"I-think-you-worry-too-much," Sonja answered. "If-GenoME-wants-to-harm-Gazo, we'll-have-plenty-of-warning. Until-then, you-should-forget-about-it."
"I suppose so."
"You-know-what-your-trouble-is?" She grinned up at him, before fixing her attention once more on the DynaVox screen. "You-did-that-World-Domination-course-for-so-long, you-think-you' re-still-responsible-for-every-little-thing!'
TWENTY-ONE
When Cadel's mobile rang the next morning, he was down in the War Room, listening to Amy Ng conducting a telephone conversation on the other side of town.
Reception was pretty good, on the whole. Cadel's bug seemed to be working. Even so, during the first half hour of its operation, nothing much had been gleaned from the snatches of dialogue overheard outside Jerry's office—except that his assistant's dog was suffering from some kind of bowel complaint.
"Yeah?" said Cadel, answering his own phone. "Who is it?"
"Saul Greeniaus," came the clipped reply. "Have you got a minute?"
Cadel rose from his seat and moved to a deserted corner of the basement.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "I've got a minute. What's up?"
"You'll be pleased to know that Gazo Kovacs was very cooperative," Saul announced.
"Oh. Good." (Cadel refrained from saying "I told you so.")
"The trouble is, he wants to see more of you. And I don't think that would be wise, Cadel."
"Why not?"
"Because he's gone and got himself involved with GenoME." As Cadel swallowed and glanced over to where Trader was sitting, Saul pressed for a response. "Cadel?"
"Yeah. I know. He told me."
"And do you know that GenoME is believed to have been Phineas Darkkon's idea?"
"Of course." It was almost an insulting question, but Cadel let it pass.
"We've never been able to establish how much Prosper English was involved in its day-to-day operations, but we've been keeping a close eye on GenoME," Saul related. "For instance, we think it's highly suspicious that GenoME should have opened a branch in Australia shortly after Prosper was incarcerated. It makes you wonder."
"What do you mean, you're keeping a close eye on GenoME?" Cadel couldn't think of a subtler approach. And he needed an answer. Urgently. "I mean, are you tapping their phones, or what?"
"Of course we're not tapping their phones." Saul's tone implied that Cadel had been watching too many espionage movies. "We' d need a good reason to do that, and there's no indication that anyone at GenoME has put a foot wrong so far." A pause. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason," Cadel said quickly. Then, realizing how suspicious this sounded, he tried for a more plausible excuse. "I just figured that if you've been tapping their phones, you might know how interested they are in Gazo. Because if they're not interested in him, why should they find out about me?"
"Well—as I said, we're not tapping their phones. So we've no idea if they're keeping tabs on your friend. But it would be better if you didn't make contact with him for a while." A noise like a sigh reached Cadel's ear. "Will you promise me that, please?"
"I suppose so." Cadel realized that Trader was approaching him, looking curious. "But you've got to explain to Gazo. Explain that it's not my fault if I don't talk to him."
"I will. Don' t worry."
"Will he be going back there? To GenoME?"
"It might seem suspicious if he doesn' t," Saul decided. "We'll consider it. We'll work out what to do."
"Okay." By this time Trader was hovering nearby, his eyebrows raised, his expression vigilant. Staring at him, Cadel said, "Uh—Mr. Greeniaus?" And Trader screwed up his nose.
"What?" Saul asked.
Cadel took a deep breath. "Should you be talking to me like this? I mean—without Fiona?"
A muffled curse suggested that Cadel had hit a sore spot. "Damn it," Saul muttered. "I forgot about that."
"Don't worry. I won't tell her."
"No. You won't. Because I'll tell her myself," Saul replied. "I don' t believe in keeping secrets."
"So what was that about?" Trader wanted to know, when Cadel had cut the connection. He was inspecting Cadel's red face and twisted mouth.
"Oh—nothing much." Cadel decided not to repeat Saul's comment, which had struck a nerve. Keeping secrets was all that Cadel seemed to be doing lately. "Apparently the police are monitoring GenoME."
"How?"
"I don't know. Not with phone taps, anyway."
Trader pondered for a moment, rubbing his chin. Then he shrugged.
"I'll get Hamish to poke around in the police network again," he declared. "Check out what they might be up to." Seeing Cadel's bemused look, he grinned. "Unless you want to do it yourself?"
Cadel shook his head. He had never hacked into any police computers himself—and he didn't intend to, either. Not if it meant facing Sonja's disapproval. Nevertheless, he realized that Genius Squad made a habit of raiding the police system. (He himself had been tracked down after Hamish had found Hazel's address there.) So he didn't bother to voice his objections. He just waited, mutely.
"I'll put Hamish on to it now," Trader decided, glancing over to where Hamish was eavesdropping on Amy Ng's latest telephone conversation. "With any luck, he'll have something to report at the update meeting." He checked his watch. "That's at 2:00 P.M., did you know?"
Cadel nodded.
"By then we should have a pretty good idea of what we've got so far, in terms of improved access," Trader finished. "I damn well hope we'll have something to show for all this work. Rex Austin's been breathing down my neck."
Trader's hopes, however, were fated to be dashed. By two o'clock little progress had been made; the whole squad was still groping around in the dark, trying to find an access point into the high-security systems at GenoME. There had been a brief moment of excitement when Devin had uncovered an obscure little tax
invoice, on Amy's machine, which included the IP address for a computer that appeared to be Jerry's. But as Hamish pointed out, an IP address was useless without a password.
Sitting around the kitchen table, with the dishwasher grinding away nearby, everyone struggled to come up with a new approach to the problem. Everyone, that is, except Dot.
Though the input from Cadel's microphone was being recorded, it had been agreed that whenever Amy Ng's computer was operational, somebody had to monitor what it was picking up—just in case a comment was made that required immediate attention.
So Dot was downstairs, on eavesdropping duty.
"I still say our b-best way in is through Jerry's laptop," said Hamish, who was picking at his cuticles. "He takes that home, so he must use it."
"Maybe he does," said Cliff, "but I haven't been able to intercept any wireless transmissions. Yet."
"Ten to one he's got a Virtual Private Network going," Hamish continued—almost thinking aloud. "He probably scrambles signals through a modem and has a descrambler sitting on his desk. Next to his office computer."
All eyes turned to Cliff, who folded his arms and scowled.
"We can't just nick the laptop," he said. "I've said it time and again: No footprints. We'd have to use it without alerting him."
"Doesn't he go anywhere on the weekend?" Zac inquired diffidently. "Could we just visit his flat while he's out for a stroll?"
Heaving a sigh, Cliff described the stringent security at Jerry Reinhard's residence. It would be impossible to get past that, Cliff insisted; he and Trader had already tried.
"Man-in-the-middle," squawked Sonja's DynaVox.
Instantly Cadel understood.
"What did she say?" asked Lexi. "Manny what?"
" 'Man in the middle,' " Cadel repeated. "It's the sort of thing you'd use to intercept a Diffie-Hellman code." When that clarification failed to ring a bell for most of the people around him, he added, "What Sonja's saying is that instead of targeting the laptop, we should target the descrambler."