TWENTY

Saul Greeniaus was already on his way to the university when Cadel phoned him. Ten minutes later, the detective arrived, dressed in a neat gray suit and flanked by the surveillance team.

Cadel immediately became conscious of an unpleasant smell.

"Fertilizer?" said one of the surveillance team, screwing up his nose as he eyed the newly dressed garden bed. "I hate that stuff."

"It's me," mumbled Gazo. "I'm sorry."

Cadel was alarmed. He had experienced the impact of Gazo's gale-force stench in the past and didn't particularly want to endure it again.

"Are you going to be all right?" he asked, edging away from his friend. "Are you going to be able to control it?"

"I fink so." Gazo was still hunched on the concrete bench beside Cadel, nervously wringing his hands. "Long as they don't arrest me."

"They're not going to arrest you," said Cadel. And he addressed Saul Greeniaus. "You don't want to arrest him, do you? You just want to talk to him."

Saul's dark gaze traveled from Cadel to Gazo. His expression was impassive.

"We'd like to interview Mr. Kovacs, yes," he rejoined, in dry and formal tones. "Mr. Kovacs has a lot of questions to answer."

Cadel began to cough. The smell was getting worse; even the surveillance team retreated a few steps.

Saul's eyes widened.

"Gazo—hack-hack!—doesn't have to tell you anything!" Cadel spluttered. He rose and stumbled away from Gazo, who was trying to calm himself with a deep-breathing exercise. "If you scare him, he's going to end up—hack-hack—knocking us all out!"

Cadel had hardly finished speaking when Saul grabbed his arm. The surveillance team had already whipped out a couple of handkerchiefs to clamp over their noses and mouths. Saul was breathing in shallow little gasps as he pushed Cadel behind him.

"You'd better get out of here," the detective coughed. But Cadel shook him off irritably.

The smell was already weakening.

"Don't be stupid," said Cadel. "Gazo won't hurt me. I told you, he wants to help."

"I've got me old airtight suit at home," Gazo suddenly remarked. "Maybe I should put it on before I talk to anyone."

"That's a good idea." Cadel looked up at Saul. The detective's attitude toward Gazo didn't impress Cadel; it was little short of antagonistic. "Why don't you meet Gazo at his house this afternoon?" Cadel suggested. "Around five o'clock, say? That would give him time to put on his protective suit and call a lawyer." He turned to Gazo. "I think you should get yourself a lawyer, just in case."

Gazo swallowed. The surveillance team gagged.

For a moment, Cadel felt dizzy. He staggered, and Saul seized his arm again.

"Jesus," the detective choked out.

"I'm not saying you'll need a lawyer," Cadel said faintly, gulping down lungfuls of clean air. "Gazo? I'm sure you won't. But it's best to be on the safe side."

"Yeah. I understand." Gazo was beginning to sweat. "Maybe you'd better go," he advised anxiously. "Maybe you'd better all go. I'll be fine if I do some meditation."

"What's your address?" rasped Saul. When Gazo gave it to him, the detective produced a mobile from inside his jacket and made a brief, one-handed entry before adding, "I sure hope I'm gonna find you there this afternoon, Mr. Kovacs I sure hope you won't do anything stupid "

"Of course he won't!" Cadel was growing cross. Why did Saul have to be so unreasonable? "If he wanted to disappear, he'd have done it already. Ow!" Saul's grasp on his arm had tightened. "Don't do that!"

"Is this your correct address, Mr. Kovacs?" the detective queried, ignoring Cadel. "Are you quite sure?"

Gazo nodded.

"And could I have your phone number, please?" Saul went on.

Gazo recited it from memory, his forehead creasing as Cadel tried to wriggle out of Saul's iron grip. At last Gazo said, in a slightly sullen manner, "You know, Cadel's just a kid, and he's small, too. I don't like it when people push 'im around."

Saul's reaction to this comment was unexpected. He studied Gazo in silence for a good ten seconds, then released Cadel and slipped the mobile back into his pocket.

"Point taken," the detective replied, before shifting his attention from Gazo to Cadel. "I'll drive you home now. Since we need to give Mr. Kovacs some space."

Cadel blinked. "Oh, but—"

"If you stay here," Saul interrupted, "Nick and Luca will have to stay here with you. And I think Mr. Kovacs would prefer it if they didn't. Wouldn't you, Mr. Kovacs?"

Gazo didn't know how to answer. He shifted about on his seat. At the same time, the air thickened with a faint, fetid odor that sent Cadel reeling backward.

"All right," he gasped. "Okay. Maybe that's the best thing. Are you all right with that, Gazo?"

"Yeah," Gazo muttered. "Sorry, Cadel."

He lifted a hand, and the police seemed to view this action as some kind of signal. They immediately withdrew, dragging Cadel with them. He found himself being hustled through a door, into a foyer, and then out onto a stretch of avenue—where two unmarked police cars had been left in a NO STANDING zone. He recognized one of these vehicles as the surveillance team's car. The other belonged to Saul Greeniaus.

"Get in," said the detective, disengaging all of its locks. Cadel climbed into the front passenger seat. He knew that Saul wasn't happy, but he wasn't happy himself. So that made two of them.

Saul didn't speak again until he had started the engine and was driving toward King Street.

"I hope you didn't give that guy your address," he snapped.

"No," said Cadel.

"Then don't. Not yet. Not until we've checked him out."

Cadel heaved a long-suffering sigh. "You can't arrest him. Not without gas masks," he said. When there was no reply, Cadel tried another tack. "You shouldn't be so suspicious. Gazo isn't a crook. He's just trying to help."

"You can't be sure of that, Cadel."

"Yes, I can."

"How do you know he's not working for Prosper English?" Accelerating onto King Street, Saul flicked his passenger a stern, admonishing glance. "He made contact with you, didn't he? How do you know it's not a trap?"

"Because he didn't make contact with me. I made contact with him." Hearing Saul's intake of breath, Cadel hurriedly continued. "I used the Internet," he volunteered. (This wasn't a lie; it simply wasn't the whole truth.) "He calls himself Russ Adams now, and that's an alias he thought up at the Axis Institute."

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-my-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!'