Evil Genius

by Catherine Jinks

  ‘I know Thaddeus’s mobile number,’ Cadel said at last.

  ‘So do I,’ the Virus retorted. His expression was grave; there were no more giggles. No more smirks.

  ‘Who was it?’ asked Cadel.

  ‘Nobody important.’ Dr Vee wiped his nose. ‘You wait here,’ he went on. ‘Dode boove. I’ll be back.’

  For such a large, unwieldy person, he disappeared very quickly. Through the glass panels in the door, Cadel saw him cross the stairwell and dive into his office. Realising that the coast was now clear, Cadel returned to his computer. He had left it connected to the spy sweep, so he had to pull out fast, before anyone noticed.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ croaked a small, toneless voice. It was Com. Cadel looked up in surprise.

  ‘Oh – well – I don’t know. Exactly,’ he replied. ‘There’s been some sort of accident. At Yarramundi. Some sort of explosion, or – or . . .’ He trailed off, swallowing hard. But Com seemed unimpressed. He simply grunted and returned to his work.

  Cadel decided to try Luther’s phone. Just to make sure. To his dismay, he couldn’t get through. A recorded voice informed him that the number he had tried to reach was ‘currently out of order’.

  ‘Cadel!’ It was the Virus. He slapped open the door and leaned into the room. ‘Thaddeus wants you hobe.’

  ‘Home?’

  ‘I just spoge to Thaddeus. He wants you to go hobe.’

  ‘But –’

  ‘Dow, Cadel.’

  Clunk! The door swung shut again as Dr Vee withdrew. Hurriedly, Cadel packed his bag. His hands were shaking; something, he knew, must be very, very wrong. On his way out, he stopped beside Com and tapped his classmate’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ve been ordered to go,’ he said.

  ‘Hnn?’

  ‘I’ve been told to go home. You might want to think about going home yourself.’ Cadel’s voice was as unsteady as his hands. ‘It might not be very safe around here.’

  Com stared at Cadel as if he were mad. Then he turned back to his computer screen.

  Cadel shrugged.

  ‘Suit yourself,’ he muttered. He was already outside, halfway to the front gate, when he remembered Gazo. Should Gazo be warned? Would it be safe to knock on his door? Cadel was wary of displaying too much concern for Gazo. He wasn’t supposed to have any friends – not according to Dr Darkkon.

  Maybe I can ask Gazo for a lift, Cadel thought, his pace slowing. There’d be nothing suspicious about that, would there?

  And then he saw a very odd sight.

  Beyond the high iron gate, two men were waving at him. He didn’t recognise either of them. One was tall, with a big belly and grey hair. One was shorter, stocky and dark. They both wore suits.

  Frowning, Cadel approached them cautiously.

  ‘Hey, kid,’ said the big one, when Cadel was close enough to hear. ‘Is this the Axis Institute?’

  Cadel nodded.

  ‘There’s no sign,’ the smaller one observed. He was quite young, with enormous brown eyes and glossy black hair. ‘We weren’t sure if we had the right place.’

  ‘Are you a student here?’ his companion inquired, whereupon Cadel nodded again. The two men exchanged glances.

  ‘Well, we’re police officers,’ said the smaller one, ‘and we’re looking for a Mr Paul Souvry. His mother said he works here – is that right?’

  Cadel blinked. Paul Souvry was a name that Alias often used.

  Why would the police be looking for Alias?

  ‘What do you want with Mr Souvry?’ he finally asked, opening his eyes very wide. ‘What’s he done?’

  ‘That’s what we have to find out.’ The big policeman had a relaxed, genial air about him. ‘You look pretty young to be studying here. How old are you, anyway?’

  ‘Fifteen,’ Cadel lied.

  ‘Yeah? I thought this place was a college, not a school.’

  Cadel eyed the two men, who would have towered over him if the bars of the gate hadn’t intervened. ‘I’m on an escalated learning program,’ he mumbled, uncertain of what he should do. How could he possibly leave, without letting them in? Would he get into trouble if he did?

  More importantly, did he want to let them in?

  ‘An escalated learning program,’ the younger policeman repeated. ‘That’s pretty cool.’

  ‘Isn’t this place supposed to be for problem kids?’ asked his companion. ‘You don’t look like a problem kid to me.’

  Cadel peered up at him warily from beneath a fringe of curls. ‘My problem is that I’m very intelligent,’ he said, and both men laughed.

  ‘Yeah, that must be a problem,’ said the younger one.

  ‘So what’s your name then, Brainiac?’ the older one wanted to know, and Cadel stiffened.

  ‘Why?’ he said.

  ‘Well, we can’t just keep on saying “kid”, can we?’

  ‘You haven’t told me your names,’ Cadel pointed out.

  ‘Haven’t we? I’m sorry.’ The big one was teasing Cadel in a way that Cadel had always found annoying. Some people simply could not take him seriously because he was so small. ‘I’m Bob, and this is Lou,’ the big man went on. ‘And we’re looking for Mr Souvry. Have you seen him this morning?’

  ‘No,’ Cadel replied.

  ‘Is he in there?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Can you let us in then? So we can have a look? His mum said he was at work.’

  Cadel hesitated. He glanced up at one of the cameras affixed to the gatepost. Lou followed his gaze.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cadel said at last, confused by all these references to Alias’s mum. As far as he knew, Alias didn’t have a mum. According to Adolf’s files, she had died more than ten years before. ‘I’d have to ask.’

  ‘Ask who?’ Though Bob had the wide girth, cheerful voice and pleasant manner of a department-store Santa Claus, there was something watchful about his eyes. ‘You mean there’s someone in there we can talk to?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Cadel replied, backing away. ‘I’ll have to see.’

  ‘Kid, wait –’

  ‘I don’t want to get in trouble,’ Cadel explained, and turned on his heel.

  ‘Hang on! What’s your name? You didn’t tell us!’

  ‘Galileo!’ Cadel shouted, over his shoulder. Then he hurried back into the seminary building.

  He was confused and nervous. Why were the police searching for Alias? Would it have done any good to talk to them? No, he decided – of course not. Not with all that surveillance equipment around. He couldn’t afford to look suspicious. And letting the police into the institute would have looked highly suspicious.

  Most of the staff offices were on the same floor as Hardware Heaven. Alias had been assigned a room between Art’s and Dr Deal’s. When Cadel reached it, he saw with a start that the locks on Art’s door had all been destroyed. One was punched out, one ripped apart, and one melted. He stood staring at them, his fist poised to knock.

  Could this be Max’s work?

  ‘Cadel!’ It was the Virus, emerging from his own office. ‘Whad the hell are you dooig? I thought I told you to go hobe.’

  ‘The locks . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Look. The locks.’

  Dr Vee waddled over, frowning. He peered at the damage and sucked air through his teeth. Cautiously, he pushed the door open.

  Art’s room was a mess. Normally, he kept it very neat, but now there were papers strewn over the floor, drawers upended, coffee cups smashed. The stuffing had even been ripped out of the chairs.

  Dr Vee hissed again.

  ‘There are police outside,’ Cadel informed him, hesitantly. ‘They’re looking for Alias.’

  Dr Vee’s head swung around. ‘Alias?’ he echoed.

  ‘I thought I should warn him, if he’s around,’ Cadel went on, shrinking away from the Virus’s hard stare. ‘I didn’t think I should let them in, without asking –’

  ‘Whad did they say?’

&nbs
p; ‘They said . . .’ Cadel tried to remember. ‘They said they wanted to talk to him. They said his mother told them he was here.’

  ‘His buther?’ said Dr Vee, his face contorted into an expression of utter bewilderment before it suddenly cleared. At the same moment, a neuron sparked somewhere in Cadel’s head.

  Of course! That hadn’t been Alias’s mother. That had been Alias himself. No doubt the police had arrived at his house and he had sent them off on a wild goose chase. While he made his escape. Disguised as his own mother.

  ‘All ride,’ growled Dr Vee. ‘All ride, I’ll take care of it. You go.’

  ‘But how can I? If I leave, I’ll let them in.’

  ‘Take the back gade.’ Dr Vee was referring to the gate that led out of the car park. ‘Here,’ he said, fishing around in his shirt pocket. ‘You can borrow this parking permit – just swibe it when you ged there.’

  ‘But I’ve got a key card –’

  ‘Won’t worg. You deed one of these.’

  ‘Oh!’ Cadel recognised the piece of plastic that Dr Vee was waving at him. He had seen it in the glove box of Abraham’s Ford Cortina. ‘It’s okay,’ he said, with a flash of inspiration. ‘I can get a lift. Gazo can give me a lift.’

  ‘Whadever,’ said the Virus. ‘Just ged hobe, for God’s sake, or Thaddeus will ead me alive.’

  ‘Is he here, now?’

  ‘Here? Of course nod! He’s headig for Yarramundi! Cadel –’

  ‘I know. I know. I’m going.’ Cadel dashed off down the corridor, which led to the dormitory wing. This had been shoved onto the back of the seminary building some time in the nineteen-sixties; it was a shabby structure, full of sprayed cement and leaking windows and ancient light fittings. While Dr Darkkon had poured money into the business side of the institute, he hadn’t worried much about the comfort of boarders, especially when those boarders were so terribly destructive. They were always smashing glass and setting fires and kicking holes in doors and yanking electrical wiring out of wall sockets. Cadel hadn’t been surprised, on first entering the dorms, to discover that they were grim and dreary and furnished with pieces of Salvation Army junk.

  On this occasion – his second visit – he noted the number of empty rooms, open doors and scorch marks. The whole place smelled of mouldy carpet. Gazo’s room was labelled. His name was scrawled on the door in marker pen.

  ‘Gazo,’ said Cadel, rapping one finger against this name. ‘Are you there? It’s me! Cadel!’

  There was a thump from behind the door. Then Cadel heard Gazo’s voice. ‘Cadel? Is that you?’

  ‘Yes! I need a lift! Can you help me?’

  ‘Oh – uh – hang on . . .’

  More thumps. Cadel was forced to wait several minutes before the door was finally yanked open to reveal the room beyond. Cadel had never seen Gazo’s room before. He looked curiously at the single bed, draped in a grimy chenille cover; at the untidy desk, which was made out of concrete bricks and wooden planks; at the milk crates overflowing with dirty clothes, newspapers, old towels and dog-eared textbooks. A rather nasty smell was hanging in the air.

  ‘I had to get me suit on,’ Gazo panted. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ said Cadel. ‘Can you give me a lift home?’

  ‘Now?’

  Cadel nodded. Gazo looked pleased.

  ‘Sure,’ he said.

  With Abraham’s parking permit clutched in his soiled white glove assembly, Gazo locked up his room and followed Cadel down to the car park. They didn’t see anyone on the way. Nevertheless, Cadel said nothing, and Gazo followed his lead. Outside, the air was damp; though it wasn’t raining, the pavements gleamed with moisture. The Ford Cortina was beaded with droplets.

  ‘You’ll afta tell me the way,’ Gazo remarked, as he pulled open the driver’s door. (Its lock, Cadel noticed, had not been repaired.) ‘Where do you live?’

  ‘North Shore,’ Cadel replied. He climbed into the passenger seat next to Gazo and sat clutching his backpack while Gazo fiddled with various wires. He couldn’t see the front gate from the car park. He couldn’t see what the police were doing.

  He couldn’t see any Grunts around, either.

  ‘Right,’ said Gazo, raising his voice over the sound of the engine, which had suddenly roared into life. ‘North Shore it is.’ Though the Ford was a heap of junk, Gazo drove it surprisingly well, swinging out of the car park and guiding it through the back gate much more efficiently than Abraham ever had. He even seemed to know the road rules.

  Cadel looked at him with growing respect.

  ‘You can drive,’ said Cadel.

  ‘Course.’ Gazo returned his look. ‘What’s wrong? Are you sick, or somefink?’

  Cadel stared out the window. ‘Haven’t you heard?’ he said.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Tracey’s dead. Tracey Lane. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘You what?’ Gazo said stupidly. He jerked at the gear stick, which made a clunking noise.

  ‘Dr Deal’s in police custody,’ Cadel continued, in a toneless voice. ‘The police were at the gate this morning, asking for Alias. And something’s wrong at Yarramundi. Something’s exploded.’ ‘Exploded?’

  ‘Or leaked. Or brought the whole place down. I don’t know what’s happened. There’s a lot of people missing. It’s a real mess.’

  ‘Christ,’ Gazo murmured. He drove along in silence for a while before asking the question that Cadel had been dreading.

  ‘Do you think,’ he said, ‘it’s because we –’

  ‘Don’t ask me,’ Cadel interrupted. He emphasised the word ‘ask’ rather than the word ‘me’ in the hope that Gazo would get the message. They couldn’t talk about the envelope; the car might be bugged. ‘I don’t know what’s going on.’

  ‘Where’s Thaddeus? Has someone called him?’

  ‘The Virus did. Thaddeus is heading for Yarramundi right now.’

  ‘Oh.’

  There was another long pause. Gazo seemed to be thinking. Cadel told him what road to take, and he followed the directions automatically. At last, Cadel cleared his throat.

  ‘I think something’s happened to Luther,’ he said. ‘And Adolf.’ He fixed his compelling stare on Gazo, who must have caught it out of the corner of his eye, because he shifted uneasily. ‘God knows what’s happened to all the computer files,’ Cadel added. ‘We’ll find out soon enough, I suppose. My guess is that they’ve been blown up.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Things are a bit chaotic,’ Cadel went on, gazing intently at Gazo. ‘If I were you, I’d keep a low profile. A very low profile. In fact . . .’ Cadel hesitated. Should he or shouldn’t he? But it was a fairly harmless suggestion, in the circumstances. ‘I’d keep on my toes. In case you have to leave in a hurry.’

  They stopped at a traffic light. Gazo turned to look at Cadel through his mask. Beyond him, the car beside them was full of staring faces. Cadel could lip-read the child in the back seat, who was pointing at Gazo. ‘A spaceman!’ he was saying. ‘A spaceman, mummy!’

  ‘You fink it’s gunna get that bad?’ Gazo said quietly. Studying his half-concealed face, Cadel realised, with a surge of relief, that he understood what Cadel was trying to say. Thank God!

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Cadel. ‘I’m just warning you. Be prepared. Things could get sticky.’ Sticky enough to allow Gazo a means of escape. If Luther was dead, and Adolf’s files were destroyed, then Gazo might have a chance. ‘The light’s changed, by the way.’

  Gazo grunted, and the car lurched forward. They were over the Harbour bridge, now, and heading north.

  ‘But what’ll I do if I can’t live at the institute?’ Gazo asked carefully. ‘I mean, what should I do?’

  ‘Get a job at a tip,’ Cadel suggested. ‘A tannery. Someplace like that.’ Someplace smelly.

  ‘But they wouldn’t hire me.’

  ‘Yes they would. You went to Forgery class. I bet you could forge the right references.’ Cadel watched Gazo turning things over in his he
ad. ‘And you’ve got this car, remember,’ Cadel added. ‘This car must be worth something.

  ‘The car. Yeah. But –’’

  ‘I’d get rid of it, if I were you,’ Cadel added. He hoped that Gazo understood. He thought he probably did, to judge from the glance that flashed across the car. Abraham’s Ford could be traced. If Gazo kept it, he would be risking discovery.

  ‘Right,’ said Gazo, and nodded.

  ‘Turn here. First left. It’s quicker.’

  They didn’t talk again until they had reached the tall, green hedge and the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to Cadel’s house. Gazo parked, but didn’t switch off the engine. He turned in his seat and looked Cadel full in the face.

  ‘What are you gunna do?’ he asked gravely. ‘If the institute shuts down?’

  ‘Oh, I’ll be all right,’ said Cadel. ‘I’m the crown prince, remember?’

  ‘Are you sure? Because –’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Cadel spoke firmly. ‘Bye, Gazo.’ He didn’t want to extend this conversation, which was already perilously close to being emotional. As he extracted himself from the car, however, he added: ‘Thaddeus will probably sort things out. But just in case he doesn’t – well, take care.’

  ‘Cadel . . .’

  ‘What?’ Cadel was becoming impatient. ‘What is it?’

  ‘I could hang around, if you want me to.’ Gazo’s tone was hesitant. ‘Maybe, if fings do get sticky, you shouldn’t be on your own.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ Cadel realised that Gazo was still at a complete loss. He didn’t know what to do with himself. ‘I told you. Thanks for the lift, Gazo.’

  ‘I’ll give you a call, okay?’

  ‘Better not.’ What did the silly fool think he was doing? ‘Bye, now.’

  ‘Wait!’ Gazo put out one gloved hand. ‘Wait. Cadel, I can’t just go off like this . . .’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Well . . . I mean . . .’ Behind his mask, Gazo was turning red. He seemed flustered. ‘No offence, but you’re just a little kid. You shouldn’t be on your own. Not wiv all this stuff going down.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Cadel was genuinely astonished. ‘I told you, I’m fine.’

  ‘Yeah, but –’

  ‘Please, Gazo. The best thing you can do is disappear. I mean it.’ Slamming the door, Cadel lifted his hand. ‘Bye!’ he said.