The Genius Wars (38 page)

As Cadel pieced together a possible scenario, he blocked out all the distractions in his immediate vicinity. There was a pattern emerging; he could feel it. Raimo Zapp had been associating with Prosper English, who in turn had helped Rex Austin to set up Genius Squad. Raimo had a scan of Rex on file. Devin had been preying on Rex’s bank accounts. And as soon as Cadel had moved in with Devin, Prosper had found out about it.

Could Rex and Prosper still be cooperating? Cadel thought it very likely. He had never met Rex Austin, and neither had Kale Platz, or Saul Greeniaus. Rex was a hard person to get hold of; he could buy enough lawyers, security guards and personal assistants to keep the rest of the world at bay. But what if Prosper English had wriggled his way through Rex Austin’s defences? What if the two men were in cahoots?

And what if Rex had somehow identified the thief who was preying on his bank deposits?

Devin’s name would certainly ring a bell with Prosper, who might have decided to keep an eye on him after all – despite the fact that Cadel hadn’t met with the Wienekes for months. Of course, Devin didn’t get out much. And when he did, it was usually at night. Plotting his movements via local CCTV networks would have been next to impossible. So how had it been done? Online, perhaps? Did Vee have Devin’s passwords?

And then, suddenly, Cadel recalled the USB rocket launcher that Devin had received as a thank-you for buying so many other gadgets. Perhaps it hadn’t been a gift at all. Perhaps it had been a Trojan Horse – a bug disguised as a generous gesture. Cadel could easily imagine someone like Dr Vee keeping track of Rex Austin’s money, as it moved from the billionaire’s bloated
coffers to Devin’s false accounts to the online cash registers of Apple Mac and Microsoft. Perhaps Vee had noted Devin’s purchasing habits, and faked a delivery to match them. Perhaps Devin’s greed had been Cadel’s undoing.

If so, then Prosper could have been listening to every word uttered in the basement of Clearview House. The thought made Cadel feel quite faint. He blinked and shook his head, trying to expel a rising sense of panic. Lifting his gaze from the computer, he sought to comfort himself with an everyday suburban scene: the bustle and clatter of a busy food court.

That was when he realised that something had changed. Around him, the tables were empty. A breathless hush had replaced the murmur of conversation. No one was hovering behind the steaming displays of hot food.

His heart seemed to do a backflip.
Oh my God
, he thought.
What’s happened?

‘Cadel,’ a lone voice said. ‘Are you okay?’

Cadel looked around. Kale Platz stood about three metres away, small and slim and dressed in a rumpled grey suit that was exactly the same colour as his eyes. He’d grown a moustache since his last visit to Australia, but otherwise his sallow, long-jawed face hadn’t changed much. What remained of his mousy hair was still cut very short.

His tense demeanour didn’t do much to calm Cadel’s fears.

‘He-hello,’ Cadel stammered. ‘What’s going on?’

‘You tell me.’ Kale was watching him intently. ‘Is there anything I should know?’

‘Yeah. Lots. I’ve got some really interesting stuff here.’ But even as he spoke, Cadel knew that he’d misinterpreted the question. Several large men in dark suits were positioned around the vacated food court. A uniformed police officer had joined two security guards in front of a pizzeria outlet. ‘Is this … ? Are you … ? I’m not carrying a bomb, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

‘Did you come here with anybody?’

‘No.’

‘Where did you get that computer?’

Cadel swallowed. It dawned on him that the food court must be in a state of lockdown. Somehow this particular wing had been cordoned off, while Cadel had been wrapped in a daze of calculations.

I’ve really got to stay more alert
, he told himself.
What if Kale had been Prosper English?

‘This isn’t a trap,’ he assured the FBI agent. ‘No one kidnapped me. It was my own idea.’

‘What’s in the bag?’

‘Clothes. Oh – and a wardriving antenna, but –’

‘Push it towards me. With your foot.’

‘But –’

‘
Do it
.’

Seething, Cadel did as he was told. He surrendered his green bag. He lifted his hands from the keyboard. He stood up to let Kale pat him down.

But when Kale reached for the laptop, Cadel said, ‘Wait. Hang on. I have to show you something on that.’

‘Later,’ the FBI agent rejoined. He shut the computer with a
snap
, before carelessly tucking it under his arm. Several of his colleagues were converging on Cadel, who didn’t like to see his precious laptop being treated in such a cavalier fashion.

‘Please be careful,’ he begged, as Kale hustled him towards the nearest exit. Other agents closed in around them, to form a protective barrier. ‘That computer has some really important stuff on it. Stuff that needs to be backed up.’

‘Has anyone else been using it?’ Kale asked.

‘Using what?’ said Cadel. ‘My computer?’

‘Has anyone else had access to it? Either directly or indirectly?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think I would have noticed if it had been interfered with,’ Cadel retorted. By now they were heading towards a service lift, down a corridor that hadn’t been decorated with consumers in mind. There was a lot of bare concrete and scratched paint;
clearly, this part of the mall was for staff only. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ he continued. ‘Prosper doesn’t know I’m here. At least, I don’t
think
he knows. I’m one step ahead of him, now. I’ve got some good data, I just have to work out what it means.’

Kale, however, wasn’t listening. He was too busy coordinating Cadel’s transferral from one floor to another, using a walkie-talkie to communicate with various unseen colleagues stationed around the mall. So Cadel gave up. He stopped trying to explain and allowed himself to be delivered, like a prisoner or a parcel, into the custody of the FBI. From the service lift he obediently followed Kale across an unpopulated strip of car park, until they arrived at a small cluster of dark, shiny fourwheel drives. One of these cars had been earmarked for Kale and Cadel; its driver lurked behind a heavily tinted windscreen. Half a dozen armed escorts piled into the other two vehicles, which were supposed to be shielding the front and rear of Cadel’s car.

‘Where are we going?’ he inquired, as soon as they were on the move.

‘Westwood,’ said Kale, from beside him.

‘What’s that?’

‘It’s where I work,’ Kale replied. ‘In a secure facility.’

‘Is it very far?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not a gaol, is it?’

The FBI agent slowly turned his head. He studied Cadel with a piercing gaze as their vehicle jolted over a speed bump and swerved onto the street. There was a brief pause.

‘No,’ Kale said at last. ‘Why?’

Cadel shrugged. ‘I dunno,’ he muttered. ‘That’s what secure facilities usually are. Aren’t they?’

‘Not this one. The Federal Building was designed to keep people
out
.’

‘Oh.’

‘On the other hand,’ Kale drawled, ‘maybe gaol is the best place for you, after the stunt you’ve pulled.’

Cadel’s heart sank. He’d been hoping for a short respite before the reproaches started flying about. But he took a deep breath and tried to defend himself.

‘I was going to pay back the money,’ he quavered. ‘Just as soon as I could.’

Kale’s eyebrows jumped. ‘What money?’

‘Uh –’

‘There’s
money
involved?’

‘I had to buy a plane ticket,’ Cadel pointed out. ‘It was a phoney deposit –’

‘From where?’

‘From nowhere. It didn’t
belong
to anyone. It wasn’t
real
money.’

Kale clicked his tongue. ‘This gets better and better,’ he growled. ‘A false passport, an illegal entry, and now a fraudulent transaction.’

‘I told you, I was going to pay it back!’

‘You think that makes everything all right?’ Kale said roughly. He fixed Cadel with a baleful glare. ‘What the
hell
is the matter with you? Huh? I thought you were meant to be some kinda genius?’

Cadel bristled. He’d been expecting condemnation, but nothing quite so harsh. ‘You don’t understand –’ he began, before Kale interrupted him.

‘No.
You
don’t understand,’ the agent snapped. ‘You are in deep shit, kiddo. Not only with your poor old dad, but with the Department of Homeland Security, and with the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and with the entire Australian police force –’

‘
I had to do this!
’ Cadel cried, flushing. ‘Prosper English is trying to kill me! I have to track him down!’

‘
You
have to track him down?’

‘Yes!
I
do!’

‘Because no one else can? Is that it?’

Cadel flinched away from the sneer in this question, but it didn’t silence him. ‘Yes. That’s right,’ he confirmed quietly,
lifting his chin and squaring his narrow shoulders. ‘Because no one else can do what I can do.’

The FBI agent uttered a wet, scornful noise.

‘You might want to listen to yourself,’ he rapped out. ‘You might want to consider what you sound like when you say something like that. The word “megalomaniac” springs to mind.’

Cadel gasped. ‘I’m not a megalomaniac!’

‘No?’

‘I’m a
realist
.’

‘Yeah,’ Kale scoffed. ‘I’ve heard that before. From inside traders. And insurance scammers. They all say “Let’s be realistic, here. Who really loses out?” ’ He leaned forward, thrusting his flattened nose and beetling brows at Cadel. ‘They all seem to think the law doesn’t apply to
them
.’

Cadel was beginning to falter beneath this barrage of accusations. He felt winded, as if Kale had kicked him in the solar plexus. He also felt bewildered. Surely his motives were obvious? He’d been trying to
save lives
. Prosper had knocked his house down, for God’s sake!

‘You can’t talk to me like that,’ he said at last, hoarsely. ‘Everyone I care about is ending up in hospital. I’m living like a fugitive because the police can’t catch Prosper English. And you’re blaming
me
for doing what it takes?’

‘Lying? Stealing?’

‘It’s got me a whole lot closer to Prosper English than
you
are!’

‘So what you’re saying is: the end justifies the means.’ Kale’s tone was dry and flat as he flipped open a packet of chewing gum. ‘Wasn’t that Stalin’s excuse? You still got a ways to go, son. Looks like Saul hasn’t beat all that Axis Institute crap outta you, just yet. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t always play by the rules himself – especially where his family’s involved. Personally, I wouldna let you anywhere
near
this case.’ He popped a blue capsule into his mouth. ‘One thing I do know, after so many years on the job: by acting like the guys you’re after, you end up just the same,’ he concluded. Then he leaned forward to address
his colleague. ‘Keep it tight, Chuck, or some A-hole’s going to cut in ahead of us.’

Cadel turned to stare out the window. His hands were shaking. His stomach was churning. His eyes were glazed with tears.
It’s because I’m so tired,
he assured himself.
If I wasn’t so tired, I wouldn’t be so upset.

He knew it was more than fatigue, though. Kale had touched a sore spot. He had tapped straight into one of Cadel’s greatest fears – just as Gazo had.

What if Prosper English had left a permanent brand? What if Cadel’s default setting would always be the one that Prosper had programmed into him, so many years ago?

‘I guess it could be worse,’ Kale suddenly remarked. ‘At least you had the sense to call me. That’s gotta count in your favour. What we need to do now is make sure there’s nothing else I should know about. Nothing that needs to be squared away with the right people.’
Chomp-chomp-chomp
went his jaw. ‘You’d better give me a full debrief. Every detail, from the time you left police custody.’

But Cadel shook his head.

‘I can’t,’ he croaked, thinking of Gazo and Lexi and Devin.

‘Cadel –’

‘I’m not a snitch.’

Kale sighed. ‘Okay – how about this?’ he said. ‘Anyone else involved, you call ’em X or John Doe. Whatever.’

‘You might still know who they are.’

‘I might,’ Kale conceded. ‘But there’s nothing I can do about it. This won’t be a formal statement. You’re not making any admissions relating to these people. And it’s not like they’re in my jurisdiction.’

Cadel hesitated.

‘I’m not lying to you. I don’t make a habit of lying. Like I said before, there’s a right way and a wrong way.’ Cocking his head, Kale fixed Cadel with a steady, searching look. ‘If you want me to watch your back, I’ve gotta know what kind of trouble might be heading straight for you. And I can’t do that without information.’

It was a perfectly valid point. Cadel could see the sense of it. And he wasn’t feeling strong enough to stand firm, what with his queasy stomach and his growing fatigue.

‘All right,’ he said. Then he launched into a halting account of the previous two and a half days.

‘Hey. Buddy.’

Cadel jerked awake. He had been dreaming that he was in the Beverley Center food court, and that someone was sitting across the table from him: a grey-haired man in a tweed jacket. At first glance this man had looked like Prosper English – but only at first glance. Closer inspection had revealed that his pale skin was growing browner and more leathery; his dark eyes were beginning to turn blue; his mobile mouth was hardening into an iron trap. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ he’d said crossly, in Raimo’s voice. ‘You know who ah am. Just think about it.’

Rex Austin
, Cadel thought, as he sat up. He was on a couch, in an office. The office was on the tenth floor of the Federal Building, at 11,000 Wilshire Boulevard, Westwood. He remembered that, now. He remembered where he was. Kale had brought him to the Los Angeles headquarters of the FBI, which occupied several floors of a huge white tower set in a vast expanse of asphalt car park. After passing through all kinds of security checks (scanners, metal detectors, code-locked doors), Cadel had finally arrived at Kale’s work space, which looked just like any other work space with its array of desks, cubicles, computers, telephones, and ergonomic chairs. There was also an office with a couch in it; Cadel had been invited to use this couch once he’d finished telling Kale all about recent events involving Raimo Zapp, Rex Austin, and the basement of Clearview House.