THIRTY-THREE

The next half hour was torture.

Cadel knew that all hell must be breaking loose downstairs. Yet he had to sit glumly at the kitchen table, drinking orange juice and discussing his legal status with Fiona. At one point Tony left the room for five minutes (to make an urgent phone call, he said) but Cadel wasn't in a position to ask about this call when Tony returned. He was merely able to deduce, from Tony's slightly withdrawn expression, that the call had probably been made to Trader, or to Judith. And that the news at the other end of the line had been disturbing.

At last the doorbell rang.

Fiona wouldn't let Cadel answer it alone. She accompanied him to the door and was standing beside him when he admitted Saul Greeniaus—who looked terrible. The detective had shed his jacket to reveal a rumpled, sweat-stained shirt and a shoulder holster. His tie was hanging askew. His hair was in disarray, and his eyes were redrimmed.

He stepped across the threshold briskly, before anyone had the chance to issue a formal invitation.

"Don't come near any entry points again," he warned Cadel, banging the door shut behind him. "Not unless I'm with you. And stay away from the windows, too, if you can." Glancing toward Fiona, the detective added, "We'll need to draw the curtains. All of them."

Cadel was examining Saul's face, which was full of grim lines and dark shadows. It told a very clear and frightening story.

"Prosper's escaped, hasn't he?" said Cadel. "You don't know where he is."

For a moment Saul didn't reply. Seeing him hesitate, Fiona gasped. She covered her mouth with both hands.

Saul's heavy gaze seemed weighted down with contrition and self-disgust.

"I'm sorry, Cadel. We blew it. I blew it." A muscle twitched in his cheek. "There's no excuse for what happened. But we'll find him."

"What did happen?" Cadel inquired, feeling strangely calm. Saul shook his head.

"I don't know," he admitted. "I had everything under control and then: Bang! He disappeared." Once again, the detective turned to address Fiona. "You can go now. Thanks for your help. I'm sorry I screwed up your schedule."

"It doesn't matter." Fiona waved the apology aside. "This is an emergency. I'll stay."

"No." Saul was adamant. "You can't stay."

"Yes I can. I'll ring up and cancel—"

"Listen." Saul took a deep, steadying breath before attempting to outline his position. "We both have our jobs to do. Mine is to minimize risk. And you'll be making it a lot easier if you keep clear of this house for a while." As she hesitated, he appealed to her. "Please," he begged. "Please don't make me argue."

It was clear that she had reservations. Biting her lip, she fixed her eyes on his shoulder holster. "You're not bringing that gun in here?" she protested.

"Fiona—I'm sorry—I have no choice," he said.

"But this house is full of children!"

"Exactly."

"Can't you take the poor boy to a police station, or something?"

"And put him where? In a cell?" Saul placed a hand on Cadel's shoulder. "This house should be as safe as any hotel or police station. It has an alarm system. There's a surveillance team outside. Prosper English doesn't know where it is." Seeing Fiona flinch, Saul quickly tried to reassure her. "Not that Prosper will come for Cadel. He wouldn't be that stupid. But it's best to take precautions. That's all I'm doing—taking precautions."

Fiona sighed. Not being a police officer, she was in no position to argue. And she must have realized this, because she nodded in a resigned fashion before kissing Cadel on the brow. Then she took her leave. "I'll call you!" was her final promise, made as she retreated to her car.

Saul was careful to watch her until she had passed through the gates. Once she'd gone, he closed the front door, locked it, and asked Cadel who was at home. "Not Trader Lynch, obviously," the detective remarked. "I've had reports that he hasn't come in yet. Neither has Zac Stillman. But Ms. Bashford came in early. Where can I find her?"

Cadel blinked. He was still reeling from the shock of Saul's news and had to think for a moment before a suitable lie occurred to him.

He had forgotten that the police were monitoring all traffic into and out of Clearview House.

"I'm—I'm pretty sure Judith's upstairs," he stammered. "In the office."

"Well then, I'd better warn her," Saul decided, and began his ascent. But when Cadel didn't follow him, he stopped. "What is it?" he asked, glancing back.

"Oh, I-I just have to tell Sonja. She's in the kitchen." Cadel almost blushed at how lame this excuse sounded. To his astonishment, however, it seemed to work. Without even hesitating, the detective offered to "bring everyone else down," since Sonja couldn't come up.

"We need to run this past all of you," he explained. "Because it's going to involve the whole house."

Cadel knew that he didn't have much time. Once he was certain that Saul had reached the first landing, he galloped into the kitchen and pounced on the intercom socket. "Judith?" he gasped. "Come up, quick! Now! Saul knows you're at home!" Then he swung around to confront Tony and Sonja. "I'll keep him out of here as long as I can, but it won't be easy. We need to make sure he doesn't see anyone using the lift."

"What's-happened?" Sonja demanded.

"Later. Ask me later."

Retracing his steps, Cadel could hear Saul's raised voice as the detective called for Judith. It wouldn't take long to search the top two floors. Cadel realized that he would have to initiate some sort of delaying tactic.

So when he reached the second landing and found himself face-to-face with Saul, he plunged straight into the topic that would have been uppermost in his mind had he not been worried about evacuating the War Room.

"How did Prosper get away?" he asked. "I thought you had it covered."

"We did." Clutching the banister, his brow furrowed, Saul seemed anxious to unburden himself. "Everything was going like clockwork. There were three GenoME suspects, and we picked 'em out of the crowd straight off; gas masks are pretty bulky things. Gazo Kovacs didn't so much as fart. The whole thing was handled beautifully. Prosper hadn't set foot in the courtroom, and our suspects were already in handcuffs. It was textbook. Absolutely textbook."

"So what happened?"

Saul shook his head, shoulders sagging. "It was an inside job," he muttered. "It had to be. Prosper just ... just walked out of a holding room. The guard with him must have been dirty. They walked out together while we were arresting the other three, and they got into a paddy wagon and drove away." It was apparent that Saul hadn't fully recovered from the shock of this maneuver. "I still can't work out if Prosper organized the escape, or if it was part of GenoME's plan," he said, almost as if he were talking to himself. "I keep thinking: If it was GenoME's doing, then why wasn't Prosper killed right there in the holding room? Because it was supposed to be an assassination attempt, not a breakout. And if GenoME did abduct Prosper from the holding room, then why didn't he kick up a fuss? He was told what GenoME intended to do. He was told to expect a bullet in the brain if he was stupid enough to play along with any so-called abduction." The detective sighed. "Unless, of course, he was being held at gunpoint..."

"Perhaps it was Prosper's idea," Cadel suggested dully. "Perhaps he was improvising. If he saw his chance, and fooled the guard—"

"No." Again Saul shook his head. "There was nothing improvised about this. Someone tampered with the custody protocols. Someone made sure that the guard was allowed to evacuate him in the event of a problem. A problem like those arrests we made." Saul clenched his fists. "That's how the two of them got out," he spat. "They had clearance."

"You mean, it was a computer glitch?"

"More or less." Hearing Cadel click his tongue, Saul peered down at him. "Can you think of anyone who might have caused it? Anyone you know?"

Cadel shrugged. He was finding it hard to concentrate. "I'd have to look at the system with the glitch in it. The Corrective Services system," he said, though his thoughts had turned, inevitably, to Dr. Vee. A renowned hacker, Ulysses Vee had also taught a whole classful of malicious hackers at the Axis Institute. And after the institute's destruction, he had disappeared into thin air.

Could he have resurfaced, to help his old friend Prosper English?

"Christ, I'm sorry." Saul thumped a fist on the handrail. "I should have checked everything. Everything. You warned me, and I didn't listen."

"Who was the guard?" Cadel inquired, disregarding these apologies. He was following his own train of thought. "The one who went with Prosper? What was his background?"

"We're looking into it. First things first, though. I can't find Ms. Bashford."

"Oh." Emerging from a state of absorbed reflection, Cadel had to change tack so abruptly that he stumbled over his response. "I came—I mean, they're all downstairs. Judith was in the laundry," he said.

Saul grunted.

"But what are you going to do?" Cadel continued, stalling for time. It was almost a relief to focus on the problem of keeping Saul away from the lift. By busying himself with this minor logistical challenge, Cadel was distracted from the question that had begun to encroach on his peace of mind like a threatening thundercloud, namely: What would Prosper do next?

"I'm going to stay with you," Saul announced, brushing past Cadel on his way back to the kitchen. "I'm not taking any more chances."

"But—"

"It's nonnegotiable. The staff here will just have to deal with it. If possible, the other residents should move out." Arriving at a bend in the stairs, Saul glanced up, to catch sight of Cadel's dropped jaw. "It's a short-term solution," the detective said. "I don't like it, either. The trouble is, it's all we have."

"But you can't stay here!" Cadel spluttered, too horrified to dissemble. "Not in the house!"

"I'm afraid that's nonnegotiable, too," Saul declared. Upon reaching the kitchen—and finding a slightly breathless crowd gathered there—he stated his case without apology. He would be staying. There could be no arguments. Though threatened with lawyers, journalists, and the New South Wales ombudsman, he refused to budge. Not even Judith could persuade him to change his mind. "Your boss can take it up with my boss," was his flat rejoinder when she objected.

"And in the meantime?" Devin growled. "What are we supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Either sit tight or get out." Saul spoke so quietly and calmly that this piece of advice didn't sound nearly as offensive as it actually was. "I'll try not to get in anyone's way. I won't interfere with the schedule. But I have to be here. All night, if necessary. Until we have a better idea of what's going on."

Hamish groaned. Lexi swore. Her loud abuse, however, bounced off the detective like handfuls of popcorn. As for Tony Cheung's murmured protests about procedures and supervision, they were carelessly waved aside.

"When Mr. Lynch returns, I'll take it up with him," Saul countered. "Until then, you should all just go about your business."

Surveying his fellow squad members, Cadel realized that they would, in fact, be unable to go about their business. As long as the detective was hanging around, no one would be able to return to the War Room. No one would be able to monitor GenoME's activities.

Except possibly Cliff and Zac, from their parking spot near number eleven.

"I tell you what," Cadel said slowly, his mind working away at top speed."Why don't I ... Why don't I spend the day on the computer, upstairs? It's what I'd like to do, and it would mean that Mr. Greeniaus could keep out of everyone's hair." He smiled crookedly at the detective. "No offense, or anything."

"None taken," Saul replied (as if he meant it). "But I don't want you on the computer, Cadel. And I'll have to do regular reconnaissance patrols of the whole house. Just to keep an eye on things."

"How regular?" Hamish demanded, and Saul shrugged.

"I don't know. Once an hour?"

There was a slight ripple of movement, which Cadel interpreted as a sign of dismay. He knew that everyone in the kitchen—except Saul—must be acutely anxious about urgent jobs waiting to be finished downstairs. He also knew that none of these jobs could now be his. He was stuck with Saul Greeniaus, and would be for the rest of the day. Saul had become his allotted task.

Not that he cared much. Prosper's escape had suddenly made the whole GenoME infiltration scheme seem strangely unimportant.

"Well, I'm sure we can arrange things," said Judith, trying to adopt a cheerful manner—without quite succeeding. "It's not the end of the world, and we're all resourceful people. In the meantime, why don't I give Trader a call?"

But there was no need. The words were hardly out of her mouth when the back door burst open and Trader Lynch strolled in. Unlike Saul, he presented a serene and perfectly groomed appearance. His smile gleamed. His eyes sparkled. With one sweeping glance, he noted and assessed every person occupying the room.

Then he flung out his arms and cried, "Here I am! Not to worry! Now—what seems to be the problem?"