Suddenly Cadel remembered him. From the train to Strath-field. He’d been slumped in one corner, snoozing.
‘By all that’s holy,’ Nikolai said, as the taxi surged forward again. ‘Cadel Darkkon.’
‘He walked straight out of that goddamn police station,’ Wilfreda exclaimed. ‘All by himself.’
‘I’m not surprised,’ said Nikolai. ‘Dressed up like that.’
‘But you recognised him.’
‘I was trained to.’ Nikolai pulled a pair of sunglasses out of his breast pocket. ‘You should wear these,’ he advised, passing them to Cadel. ‘Your eyes always give you away.’
Numbly, Cadel put on the sunglasses. He didn’t know what to do. What was he going to do? How had this happened?
‘I wasn’t expecting you, Cadel,’ Wilfreda remarked, almost as if she’d read his mind. ‘Christ, I was here on another job entirely.’
‘We all were,’ said the man in the leather jacket. ‘What are you going to do about that, now?’
‘This has priority.’ Wilfreda glanced up into the rear-view mirror; for a moment, Cadel saw her eyes. ‘Do you know they’ve got Barry Deakin holed up in there?’ she asked him.
Cadel stared at her, mutely.
‘Well, they do,’ she continued. ‘That’s who we were after. Thaddeus hadn’t even tracked you down. I only just got the alert about you myself. I was on standby while he checked his sources.’ She chuckled. ‘God, he’s going to be pleased.’
‘What happened to the others?’ asked the man in the leather jacket. He was staring morosely at Cadel. ‘What happened to Sue Croft? She was with you, wasn’t she?’
‘Leave it, Busy.’ Wilfreda’s voice was cold. ‘Watch the road. It could be a decoy. They didn’t let you go, did they, Cadel?’
Cadel swallowed.
‘No,’ he said hoarsely. ‘At least – I don’t think so . . .’
‘How’d you do it, then? How’d you get out?’
‘I – I went to the toilet. Changed my clothes. Sneaked down the fire stairs.’ Feeling the tears rush to his eyes, Cadel clamped his mouth shut. All that work for nothing!
‘What a stroke of luck,’ said Wilfreda. ‘Still, we’d better switch cars. I’ll just take care of it.’
‘And use the Stage One car?’ Busy protested. ‘What about Rudy’s team? What if they need to switch?’
‘I told you. Cadel has priority.’
Cadel couldn’t think straight. He was putting all his energy into fighting back his tears. It was a disaster, a total disaster. They had seen his disguise; he could never use it again. All he had now were his documents, and what use were they if he couldn’t use his disguise?
Then he remembered. He had told Bronwyn about Curramulla.
Was that where they were going now?
‘I’m – I’m thirsty,’ he said, grasping at straws.
‘Sorry, Cadel. Can’t stop now. Got to put some distance between us and them.’ Wilfreda glanced into the mirror again. ‘Maybe later. After we’ve switched cars.’ Once again, she picked up her phone.
Cadel subsided. He sat trying to focus, but all he could think was: Thaddeus will know. If the police turn up at Curramulla, Thaddeus will know who told them about it.
Wilfreda was driving carefully. She didn’t exceed the speed limit, and was as brief as possible with her phone calls. Cadel wondered if there was any way he might get her to run into the back of somebody else’s car, but dismissed the idea at once. If it was a minor accident, Wilfreda wouldn’t stop. And if it was major, what chance would he have to get out, wedged as he was between two bodyguards? No – his best chance would be when they switched cars.
He would demand to go to the toilet. Pee all over Busy’s fancy boots if he had to. The important thing was to stay alert.
They drove for about twenty minutes, then plunged into a suburb of old brick bungalows, dodging and weaving through a network of almost identical streets. At last they reached a plain house with an attached garage. Wilfreda headed straight for the garage. Its blue roll-a-door ascended as they approached.
Within seconds it was rolling down again behind them.
‘Wait,’ said Wilfreda, her gaze on the rear-view mirror. ‘Wait, wait . . . now!’
Everyone moved with bewildering speed. The moment the garage door closed, Cadel was jerked out of the car and hustled to the back of the filthy old garage, where another door led to a paved backyard. ‘I need to go to the toilet!’ he exclaimed, but nobody seemed to hear. They all charged straight past a rotary clothesline into a corrugated iron shed, where a second car was waiting. This was a red Daihatsu four-wheel drive.
When Wilfreda tried to push Cadel into the back seat, he jammed his hands against the door frame.
‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I need to –’
‘Later,’ Wilfreda snapped. ‘In a minute.’
Her grim expression subdued Cadel. So did the brisk, professional behaviour of her companions. Everything seemed to have been planned and practised. There wasn’t a single wasted gesture or fumbled step. In one minute and twenty-two seconds precisely they were out of one car and into the other. Before two minutes were up, they were on the road again.
Something about the smooth execution of this manoeuvre frightened Cadel. It indicated what he would be up against if he tried to run away. He decided to wait a little. Until they had been driving for a while and had relaxed their guard.
Unfortunately, however, his companions never relaxed their guard. During the next half hour, no one spoke or even stopped watching the road. When Cadel finally, desperately, requested a pit-stop, Wilfreda took a detour through another suburb and parked, not at a busy petrol station, but beside a deserted sports field. Here, a toilet block stood in the middle of a barren waste of boggy ground. There wasn’t anything much around, not even a tree or a bush. It was getting dark, but not dark enough. If Cadel did climb out a window, he would be spotted long before he could reach any kind of cover. And there was no one in sight to ask for help.
‘Make it quick,’ said Wilfreda, parking beside the toilet block. ‘Nikolai, go in with him.’
The place stank. The cubicle doors wouldn’t lock. There wasn’t even any toilet paper. And Nikolai stood right by the door to Cadel’s cubicle, holding it shut. Waiting.
Listening.
Cadel had to admit defeat. He did what he had to do before returning glumly to the car. It’s all right, he told himself. You have to grab opportunities when they happen.
Once again, he found himself penned in by Busy and Nikolai. Busy had BO, and Nikolai’s breath smelled of garlic. It was enough to make anyone sick.
This gave Cadel an idea.
‘I feel sick,’ he said, when they were drawing close to Wollongong.
‘You what?’ said Wilfreda.
‘I feel sick. Car sick. I have to sit in front, with the window down.’
‘For Chrissake,’ Wilfreda muttered.
‘That’s not wise,’ Nikolai remarked. ‘He won’t be properly covered.’
‘Are you going to spew?’ Busy asked Cadel. ‘You’d better not spew on me.’
‘Here,’ said Wilfreda, emptying her handbag and passing it over. ‘If you’re going to spew, spew in that. I’m not stopping. Not again.’
‘But I feel sick,’ Cadel whined. ‘It’s smelly back here! I need fresh air!’
‘Climb in the front then. Quickly.’
‘Wilfreda –’
‘Shut up, Nikolai! I don’t want him spewing in the car!’
Cadel saw his chance. As he clumsily hauled himself through the space between the two front seats, he fell. Deliberately. He grabbed the gearstick as he thrust his knee at it, pushing it forward into ‘park’.
Then everything went crazy.
FIFTY-FOUR
‘Cadel?’
‘He’s awake, look.’
‘Oh, Christ. Thank God. Cadel.’
It was Wilfreda. She wasn’t driving, any more. The car was motionless.
&nb
sp; Cadel’s head hurt.
‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ Nikolai sounded worried. ‘Someone’s stopping.’
‘Cadel. Look at me. Say something. Can you hear me?’
‘Yeah,’ Cadel slurred. He could hear Wilfreda, and see her too. What had happened? He remembered a cracking pain, and a flash of light.
He must have hit his head on something. The windshield?
Looking past Wilfreda’s wig, which had been partially dislodged, Cadel saw that the windshield wasn’t broken. Though there was a smear of blood on it. His own blood?
He realised that he was lying across the front passenger seat, his bare legs crumpled against the dashboard.
‘Can you move?’ said Wilfreda.
‘Uh . . .’
‘Are you okay?’ a breathless voice inquired. It was coming from far away. From outside the car. ‘What happened? Oh my God –’
‘It’s all right,’ said Nikolai, coolly. ‘We’re all fine.’
‘But –’
‘She knocked the gearstick,’ Nikolai explained, while Cadel struggled to rearrange his legs and sit up. He felt a bit dizzy, and his wrist hurt. He couldn’t put any weight on it.
‘Ouch!’ he croaked.
‘Do you want me to call an ambulance?’ Someone was peering in through the front passenger window – a young man with a beard. He was barely visible in the murky light.
‘We’re fine,’ said Wilfreda. ‘We’ll take care of it.’
‘Are you sure? Because –’
‘I’m sure. Thanks.’ The Daihatsu’s engine was still running. Wilfreda hauled at its wheel and began to guide the car back onto the road. The bearded young man had to jump aside.
Something clanked as they bounced over a ditch and across the gravel-strewn shoulder. But nothing fell off.
‘He’s got a bloody cell phone,’ said Nikolai, looking back. ‘He’s reading our licence.’
‘It’s okay.’ Wilfreda was scrabbling around for her mobile phone. ‘Just look after Cadel.’
‘How can I?’
‘Get him in the back with you, stupid! Make sure he lies down!’
‘Ow-augh!’ Busy suddenly groaned. ‘My neck.’
‘Shut up!’ snapped Wilfreda.
Cadel was beginning to understand what had happened. They had swerved off the road but hadn’t hit anything. Someone behind them had pulled over to help. Wilfreda had left the scene as quickly as possible.
And Cadel had lost his chance, too dazed to manage an escape attempt.
Even now, he wasn’t quite himself.
‘I’m going to be sick,’ he moaned, and vomited onto the floor.
‘Oh, Christ,’ said Wilfreda into her mobile. ‘Hello? Who’s that? Lennox? Oh. Well, I need a pick-up now, I’m in a dead car and I’ve got cargo. Forget that, it’s solved. It’s sorted. Yes! Well, use the bloody ute, then, just get up here with it! I don’t know, behind Yorkie’s? Okay. Okay, good.’ She signed off with a curse. ‘What a shambles. Nobody seems to know what the hell is going on.’
Cadel allowed himself to be dragged, awkwardly, into the back seat. He had lost Nikolai’s sunglasses. He felt something trickling down his forehead: blood, perhaps? Nikolai pressed a handkerchief to the wound.
‘Lie down,’ he ordered. ‘Stretch out. Put your head here.’
‘Is he hurt bad?’ Busy wanted to know. ‘If he is, we’re dead.’
‘Shut up!’ spat Wilfreda. ‘He’s fine! He’ll be fine!’
‘He was out,’ said Nikolai gravely. ‘Out cold. That’s not good.’
‘He was out for five seconds. That’s nothing.’
‘You should call a doctor.’
‘I will. When we get there.’
Cadel’s mind was beginning to clear. He understood, when Wilfreda pulled off the road and parked, that they were waiting for another car – a car that wouldn’t attract unwelcome attention on the highway. With his head cradled in Nikolai’s lap, Cadel couldn’t see where they were waiting, except that it was dark. Nikolai refused to let him sit up.
‘Not until you must,’ said Nikolai.
‘But I feel all right,’ Cadel protested. ‘I feel better . . .’
‘No more risks. Not now.’
‘You’ve caused enough trouble,’ Busy interjected, in bitter accents. ‘Can’t you just do what you’re told?’
Cadel decided not to argue the point with his companions. He was lucky; it hadn’t even crossed their minds that he had nudged the gearstick on purpose. If he was obedient, the possibility might never occur to them.
So he lay quietly, trying to plan ahead. After about half an hour of tense silence, he heard a vehicle pull up somewhere nearby. Wilfreda murmured something under her breath. There was a fusillade of slamming doors. Nikolai said: ‘Can you get up? Cadel?’
‘I – I don’t know.’ Cadel had decided to fake severe injury. It was, he thought, a way of tipping the balance in his favour. If he looked ill enough, they might underestimate him. ‘I feel dizzy.’
‘Wilfreda? Did you hear that?’
‘I heard,’ said Wilfreda, shortly. She sounded to Cadel as if she was outside the car. ‘You’d better carry him. Busy? Help Nikolai.’
I can’t,’ whined Busy. ‘My neck . . .’
‘Oh for Chrissake! Len, you do it.’
Through half-closed eyes, Cadel saw a wiry little man with a crooked nose and a huge Adam’s apple thrust his bald head into the car. He took hold of Cadel’s legs, and he and Nikolai awkwardly transferred Cadel from the red Daihatsu to the elevated cabin of a white utility truck. As they did so, Cadel took in his surroundings from beneath drooping eyelids. He couldn’t see much, in the evening dimness. He thought there might be a fence on one side of him, and a eucalyptus sapling on the other. Beyond the eucalypt was a kind of shadowy dip – a culvert? – and beyond it a two-storey building studded with glowing security lights. A faded sign on this building said: ‘Brakes – Wheel alignment – Spare parts’.
‘Where are we supposed to sit?’ Busy demanded, gazing at the ute.
‘You’re not,’ said Wilfreda. ‘There’s no room. I’ll take the ute. The rest of you can make your own way back.’
‘What?’
‘Yorkie might let you borrow one of his cars,’ Wilfreda went on, climbing into the ute beside Cadel. ‘Or you can nick one.’
‘But –’
‘My advice is to get rid of that Daihatsu quick smart.’
Cadel almost felt sorry for the three men left standing in the cloud of dust that was left behind as Wilfreda drove away. Almost, but not quite. He was too worried about his own immediate plans to concern himself with theirs. Although he was now sitting right beside a door, that door was much higher off the ground than the taxi’s doors had been. Jumping out at a red light would therefore be rather more dangerous. After his disastrous attempt to disable the Daihatsu, he wondered if he should risk tangling with another moving vehicle.
Probably not.
So he concentrated on looking sick. It wasn’t hard. His head still hurt where he’d bumped it, and he thought that he’d probably sprained his wrist. Slumped against the passenger-side window, he moaned occasionally, and let his lips go dry. Once or twice, Wilfreda addressed him.
‘Cadel? You still with me? Hang in there, kid.’
‘I want to lie down.’
‘You will. In a minute. We’re not far away.’
She was right. It didn’t seem all that long before they passed through the gates to Curramulla, and were bumping along Thaddeus’s private road. When they reached the house, Wilfreda pulled up right next to the front steps.
Cadel saw the car immediately. Abraham’s car.
Gazo’s car.
It was parked under one of the windows, which blazed with light. The whole house was lit up, keeping the night at bay.
‘What – what – ?’ Cadel stammered. He couldn’t believe it. Abraham’s car?
‘Dammit,’ Wilfreda muttered. ‘Where is everyone? Cadel?
We’re home.’
Cadel tried not to wince. Home? What a terrible thought! ‘That car,’ he said. ‘Why – why is it here?’
‘Huh? Oh.’ Wilfreda shot the Cortina a careless glance. ‘Your friend brought it when he rescued Vadi.’
‘When he what?’ Cadel couldn’t believe his ears.
‘Come on. Out.’
‘But what happened?’ As Wilfreda hopped from her seat and came around to his side of the ute, Cadel pressed her for an explanation. ‘Are you talking about Gazo? The guy in the spacesuit?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘But –’
‘He was watching your house, apparently.’ Wilfreda opened the car door, and helped Cadel down. ‘Don’t ask me why. Worried about you, he said. Maybe Dr Roth didn’t tell him you were all right – he has a lot on his mind, has Dr Roth.’
‘So – so Gazo was there when the police raided us?’
‘Vadi spotted him. Vadi had to move fast, with the cops swarming around. He jumped into your friend’s car. Made him come back here.’ Wilfreda peered into Cadel’s face. ‘You feeling better, now?’
‘Not really.’ Remembering that he was supposed to be concussed, Cadel hung off Wilfreda, dragging his feet as they slowly climbed the stairs to the front door. His mind was whirring. If Gazo was around – why, he had an ally! Unless he had underestimated Gazo. Perhaps Wilfreda had lied. Perhaps Gazo, too, was one of Thaddeus’s creatures.
‘I’ll take you straight up to your bedroom,’ Wilfreda gasped. ‘Then I’ll get some help. Hello? Dammit.’
No one answered her hail. So she unlocked the door and entered the house, which, though well lit, was apparently unoccupied. Cadel’s heart began to beat more quickly. If she left him here, and went to get help . . . why, he could walk straight out again! Walk straight out and take the truck!
He had never driven a ute before – he had never even driven a car before – but he knew all about it, in theory. He understood engines better than most people. Surely it couldn’t be too hard? ‘Here,’ said Wilfreda, having heaved him upstairs and into his bedroom. The bed had been remade. The photograph of Cadel’s mother was still sitting between the lamp and the clock.
Evil Genius Page 45
