Evil Genius (54 page)

"I can't come myself," Thaddeus apologized, checking his watch again. "I have a lot to do. In fact, I probably won't be here when you get back. But don't worry, I won't have forgotten you."

"It's okay," said Cadel, through a mouthful of omelette.

"You realize that this is all
your
fault, young man." Thaddeus flashed his canine teeth as he rose. "If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be in this mess. I hope you're suitably contrite."

Contrite? Puzzled, Cadel stared up at Thaddeus, who had never before uttered anything that even remotely resembled the words "you ought to be ashamed of yourself." In response, Thaddeus laughed out loud.

"My dear boy," he said, ruffling Cadel's hair, "don't look so alarmed. There's no need for you to be contrite about
anything.
As a matter of fact, I'd be very upset if you were."

Then he strode from the room.

A few minutes later, Vadi returned with the coffee. When Cadel told him that Thaddeus had already gone, the young man looked slightly sick.

It was this change of expression that convinced Cadel once and for all. He had to get out. While Thaddeus might be all smiles at the moment, he was still dangerous. There was no telling what he might do if crossed.

As Cadel ate his breakfast, he considered his situation. He was sitting on a headland, but he didn't know which headland. How far was he from the nearest community? He had a vision of himself slogging along a bleak seaside road, as exposed and vulnerable as a newly shorn lamb in a paddock. He would be escaping on foot, and Thaddeus had a car. Probably more than one, in fact. Cadel wouldn't stand a chance.

So it would be pointless trying to escape from here. Once he'd picked up his documents and his disguise,
then
he would slip away from Vadi. Perhaps on the drive back to this house? A pit stop at a gas station? Cadel could ask to use the bathroom, don his disguise, sneak out, and hitch a lift with another customer. A truck driver, perhaps. He seemed to recall that truck drivers were usually eager to pick up young female hitchhikers. Especially young female hitchhikers who had been dumped by their boyfriends. "I can't let him see me," Cadel would say. "Please, I've got to get away!"

Perhaps, if he whispered, no one would notice that he didn't have a girl's voice.

After breakfast, he accompanied Vadi to a sleek gray BMW parked near the front steps. Outside, the light was dazzling. It flooded a scene of great beauty, which nevertheless made Cadel's heart sink. How far away they were from everything! The house, a modern structure made of glass and steel and stone, was sitting right on the point of a wooded headland. Behind it rose a hill covered in gum trees, through which threaded a winding road. The road led straight to Thaddeus's front door, switching from asphalt to gravel where it formed a circle at the base of the steps that led up to the house. There was no garden wall that Cadel could see—just the road appearing out of the bush. Between the bush and the house was a lawn, a fountain, a handful of trees, and a collection of heathery shrubs. Seagulls wheeled overhead.

"Where are we?" Cadel asked when Vadi was comfortably installed in the driver's seat.

"Curramulla," said Vadi, turning a key in the ignition. As they followed the curving road up into the trees, Cadel racked his brain. Curramulla? It didn't ring a bell.

Only when they had traveled for about five minutes, and passed through an automatic gate in a high brick wall, did Cadel begin to understand. He saw the brass letters by the gate and realized that Curramulla was the name of the
house.
The house and all the land attached to it, which must have cost a fortune.

Cadel wondered if Thaddeus owned any other headlands around the place. Or any islands, perhaps? Someone like Thaddeus could only live in very isolated spots, away from prying eyes. Where he could come and go without being noticed by sticky-beak neighbors.

After leaving Curramulla, Vadi and Cadel drove for a long time on a rather featureless highway, littered with turnoffs. Cadel didn't recognize many of the names, though one or two of them seemed familiar. Vadi was heading north, at any rate. The young man drove in silence, his dark eyes fixed on the road ahead. Cadel noticed the webbing between his fingers; it reached almost to the lower knuckles. He wondered about Vadi's feet: Were they also webbed? But Cadel didn't let his gaze linger on Vadi's webbed fingers, or his pinched nostrils, or his oily skin. In fact, he made a point of keeping his face turned away from his companion. There were plans to be made, after all. Cadel didn't want to reveal himself while he plotted and schemed. The slightest change of expression could be dangerous.

Then he saw the turnoff to Wollongong and began to get a sense of where Thaddeus was living.

"Oh!" he said. "We
are
far away."

Vadi said nothing. But that didn't matter: Cadel knew where he was now. He settled in for a long drive—much longer than he'd anticipated—calculating that they wouldn't reach the North Shore until at least three o'clock, or even later. If he managed to escape during the trip back to Curramulla, then he might find himself still wandering around when night fell. Would that be a good thing or bad? Probably bad. While the darkness would make him harder to find, it would also be dangerous for an unaccompanied girl.

He thought he might go interstate, to begin with. Not by air; airline databases were too vulnerable. No, he would hitch a lift. Or buy a train ticket. Something like that.

He was still weighing up his options when he dozed off, waking with a start to the sound of a nearby horn. Blearily, he gazed around. They were on the Pacific Highway, crawling through Chatswood.

"Jeez," he mumbled, and checked the car clock. "It must have been that chloroform."

Vadi didn't reply.

"Ugh," said Cadel. His mouth was dry. "I'm really thirsty."

"There's lemonade in the glove box," Vadi informed him. To Cadel's surprise, the lemonade was homemade. It had been poured into a stainless-steel thermos, and was very, very good.

Cadel sipped it quietly until they were farther up the highway. Then he instructed Vadi to "turn off here."

"It's all right, sir," Vadi replied. "I know the way."

He did, too. He guided the big, purring car through a maze of peaceful suburban streets until he reached the Piggotts' house, which could not be seen behind its hedge. The sight of that hedge filled Cadel with a complicated mixture of anger, fear, and nostalgia. He reached for his door handle.

"Wait," said Vadi, and punched the horn several times. Obediently, Cadel waited. At last Stuart Piggott appeared, lumbering down the driveway onto the road. He raised his hand in greeting.

Cadel suddenly felt sick.

"Okay, sir." Vadi nodded at him. "Dr. Roth has instructed me to keep watch here until you're done."

"Th-thanks," Cadel stammered. Slowly, he got out of the car. Slowly, he approached Stuart Piggott—or James Guisnel—who gestured toward the unseen house.

"Any help you need, just ask," James said calmly. "Sue's inside."

For a moment, Cadel was speechless. He gazed up into the fat, red face with loathing. Thaddeus had never mentioned the Piggotts! He had never said that
they
would still be here!

Cadel turned abruptly and began to trudge up the driveway. But when he heard the crunch of James's tread behind him, he stopped.

"You can stay here," he croaked.

"But—"

"
Stay here.
" He whirled around, his face working. "I don't need
your
help!"

How he hated them both! It must have shown in his expression, because James pursed his lips and shrugged. There was obviously no point arguing. Cadel left him there at the mailbox.
I should have spat at
the bastard,
Cadel thought.
I should have punched him in his big, fat belly.
Sweating and panting, his teeth clenched, Cadel marched toward the house without once looking back. Upon reaching the front door, he kicked it open with such force that it almost sprang back into his face. Then he headed toward his bedroom.

"Cadel?" A familiar voice hailed him from the kitchen. "Is that you?"

Mrs. Piggott. Sue whatever-her-name-was. Cadel didn't even want to look at her.

"Piss off," he hissed, without turning his head.

"Cadel—"

"
Get out of here!
" He rounded on her, the hot blood rushing to his cheeks. "I don't want to see you! You make me sick!
Get the hell out of here,
you piece of slime!"

"Just doing our jobs," the woman responded coolly. In the shadowy vestibule, it was hard to see her face. "No need to get personal."

"No need to get...?" Cadel was gasping for breath.
No need to get personal
? She was supposed to have been his
mother,
for god's sake! "That's been your motto all along, hasn't it?" he cried. "'No need to get personal!' Funny way to bring up a kid, don't you think?"

Sue shrugged. Cadel, almost retching with disgust, stumbled down the hallway. She was right behind him when he reached his bedroom door.

"I told you to get lost," he spat.

"I'm not supposed to leave you alone."

"You
what
?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "All you ever
did
was leave me alone!"

"I—"

"Get the hell out of here!
Get out!
Or I'll tell Thaddeus you hit me!"

The woman recoiled. It was as if Cadel had hit
her.
Cadel threw himself over the threshold and slammed the door in her face. Then he locked it. He was nearly in tears by this time, but he told himself that it was all right. Thaddeus wouldn't suspect anything. It was natural to feel the way he did about the Piggotts. It was natural to hate them after being forced to endure them for so many years.

But he would have to pull himself together. This was no time to lose his cool.

He glanced around the room, which hadn't changed a bit. Everything was in its proper place, including the computer. He had lost his backpack—Max had taken it—but that didn't matter. He kept another on the top shelf of his wardrobe. Once he had dragged it down, he turned on the computer and pretended to download information. Meanwhile, between commands, he rifled through his wardrobe. Pulled out an innocent-looking T-shirt. A pair of leather shoes. The jacket with the forged documents concealed in its lining.

His Indian skirt and makeup were concealed inside a folded sweater. Knowing that his movements were probably being monitored, he had to remove this garment from under his bed and place it in his backpack without allowing any stray bits of hem to show. He had just accomplished this tricky maneuver to his satisfaction when he heard Vadi's horn again: three short, sharp blasts in the distance.

There was a shriek from somewhere nearby.

Cadel, who had been kneeling, rose to his feet. Footsteps pounded down the corridor.

"Cadel!" Sue cried. She began to jiggle the knob on his bedroom door. "Quick! Come on!"

Cadel hesitated.

"
Cadel!
"

"What?"

"Open this
door!
They're
coming!
"

And then the shots rang out.

Cadel had twice before heard gunshots, at the Axis Institute. He recognized them instantly.

Out in the hall, Sue cursed him.

"
Quick!
" she shrieked. "
Goddammit!
"

She began to kick at the door. Cadel stood frozen. He didn't know what to do. He heard her gabbling away between kicks—
Tory, this is Pepper. We're clocked, repeat, clocked
—and realized that she must be talking into a cell phone, or a two-way radio.

What did "clocked" mean? Spotted? Pinned down?

"
Cadel!
" Sue yelled, and all at once there was an enormous
crash
from the direction of the living room. Cadel heard the sound of hurried footsteps. Raised voices. Another shot, closer this time...

Cadel dived under the bed. He was scared out of his wits—too scared even to think. He curled himself into a tiny ball, holding his breath, as the terrifying noises continued. Lots of yelling. A heavy tread that seemed to shake the foundations. Glass breaking. Doors banging.

Please, God,
Cadel prayed to himself,
please, God, save me. Please don't hurt me. Don't let them find me.

Thump.
His own door had just repelled a large weight.

"Hello?" A voice was raised, outside in the hall. A male voice with an American accent. Cadel didn't recognize it. "This is the police! Is anyone in there?"

Cadel swallowed.
The police
?

But it might not be.
A little warning sounded inside his head.
It might be something to do with Max. That's an American accent, after all.

"Hello?" the male voice repeated, and there followed a short, muttered conversation. Then the whole room seemed to explode. Cadel couldn't help squeaking; the vibration ran straight up his spine and made his ears ring. He cowered. He trembled. He tried to disappear.

As his door slammed against the wall, he realized what had happened. Someone had shot out the lock.

"Check the wardrobe," one man ordered. Cadel couldn't see him through the hanging folds of handwoven bedspread, but he could feel the weight of each heavy boot hitting the floor. He was certain that anyone in the room must have picked up the pounding of his own heart. He tensed every muscle. He tried to stop breathing...

Light hit his face.

The game was up.

"Ah." A pair of small gray eyes. A long jaw. A gun muzzle. "Here he is. Under here." The gun was whisked away, as the man with gray eyes dropped to one knee. "It's all right, Cadel," he said. "I'm a friend of Sonja."

Nothing but that particular name would have pierced Cadel's cocoon of fear. Sonja. A friend of
Sonja
?

"You can come out," the man continued, trying to soften the gruffness of his tone. "I won't hurt you. My name's Kale Platz, and I work for the U.S. government."