‘Will you be going with Officer Bristow?’
‘Sure.’
‘And how do you intend to disguise yourself, exactly?’
‘Oh.’ Cadel hadn’t really thought about that. He had been too busy presenting his case. ‘Well, let’s see,’ he faltered, glancing at Richard for input. ‘I guess – I guess I ought to start with my hair …’
TEN
Cadel looked like a circus clown.
His bulging cheeks were full of cotton gauze padding. Two pieces of duct tape were dragging back the corners of his eyes. Builder’s putty had been placed behind each ear to make them stick out more, and a fluffy white Santa’s beard was blurring the contours of his chin. Despite the fact that it was a warm day, a long scarf had been wrapped around his neck, while his hair had been tucked beneath four layers of woollen beanie – not only to conceal his distinctive crop of curls, but to increase the circumference of his head.
On his feet were a pair of Fiona’s high-heeled shoes, which (being slightly too big) had been stuffed with balls of old newspaper. To give him more bulk, he had donned one of Saul’s jackets. And because he wasn’t broad enough to fill the jacket, it had been fitted with several sets of shoulder pads. He had a cushion tied around his waist, a folded towel shoved down the back of his running shorts, and a ski glove on each hand.
His striped leggings were designed to mislead, since he’d never worn anything remotely like them before.
‘You can’t go out in that,’ Fiona had said, upon first laying eyes on his costume. Though barely able to keep a straight face, she had tried to be firm. ‘You’ll get arrested.’
‘I don’t have a choice.’ Staring into her bedroom mirror, Cadel had been appalled but satisfied. He had managed to give himself the dimensions of a wine-glass; the skinny column of his candy-striped legs supported a big, round, no-neck ball. Not a single component of his outfit actually belonged to him, and his face was hugely distorted, what with its chipmunk cheeks, almond-shaped eyes, and brown, cosmetic freckles. ‘Anyway, nobody will see me.’
‘Except this Andrew person.’
‘Yeah, but Saul told him about my disguise.’ Gazing up at the detective, Cadel had sought confirmation. ‘You did, didn’t you? You warned him when you rang.’
‘Ye-e-es.’ Saul’s response had been gruff and slow. ‘Except I didn’t realise that you’d be in fancy dress.’
Oddly enough, he hadn’t been trying to suppress a grin. Though Fiona had bitten the insides of her cheeks, and Reggie had snorted lemonade through his nose, and Angus had laughed until he was doubled over, Saul must have been too tired or worried to find the Santa beard amusing.
Perhaps he would have cracked a smile or two if he’d been allowed to take part in the expedition. He certainly would have felt a little less anxious about it. There had even been talk of letting him make his own way to Newtown, in Reggie’s GPS-encumbered four-wheel drive, while Cadel went in the Corolla with Reggie. But Cadel had scuttled that idea. Suppose the hacker was scanning CCTV footage for Saul as well? Suppose Saul’s measurements triggered some kind of alarm? It was unlikely that even the most sophisticated software would register either of the bodyguards, since they hadn’t yet played a big part in Cadel’s life. Saul, however, was different – as were Fiona and Gazo.
Cadel didn’t want to risk being spotted.
Not that he was exactly inconspicuous himself, wearing high heels and a fake beard. He realised that. It wasn’t his intention, however, to escape the notice of anyone with a functioning set of eyes; he was merely trying to fool a piece of software. And since that meant parading around like a demented pre-schooler dressed up for Halloween, he had asked Reggie to park Saul’s Corolla in the laneway behind the house.
Cadel wasn’t worried about security cameras. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t a single security camera anywhere near his place. His main concern was that, if he left by the front door, he might be recognised (and ridiculed) by one of the neighbourhood kids. Having spent most of his early years being picked on by larger, louder, dumber boys who had regarded him as a weird little smart-arse, Cadel wanted to avoid falling back into the same old rut.
He had therefore made his departure through the back gate, with a raincoat over his head. And he had dived into the waiting Corolla like a rabbit into its hole – closely followed by a snickering Angus.
‘What the hell is the deal with those shoes?’ Angus asked, as Reggie pulled away from the kerb. ‘If you’re trying to look like a woman, kid, you should lose that beard. It’s a dead giveaway.’
‘It’s a bloody joke, is what it is,’ Reggie snarled. Though Cadel’s get-up had amused him at first, he now regarded it as something of an insult. Either he didn’t like it because he saw it as a puerile, attention-seeking tactic that was bound to backfire, or he didn’t like it because it made him look stupid. ‘Call that a disguise? You might as well be wearing Mickey Mouse ears.’
‘It’s not meant for people,’ Cadel retorted, from behind Angus. ‘I told you, it’s aimed at a piece of software.’ He was sweating profusely by this time; the scarf and beanies and ski-gloves were made for much colder weather. ‘Could you turn on the air-conditioning, please?’ he begged. ‘I don’t want my freckles washing off.’
‘I dunno if the air-conditioning even works in this bomb,’ was Reggie’s morose retort. However, he grudgingly fiddled with the dashboard dials as the car crawled along in heavy traffic.
Their trip lasted about twenty-five minutes, and ended with an illegal right-hand turn across the path of an oncoming bus. It was an unpopular move, which resulted in a chorus of blaring car horns. ‘Wish we were in the squad car,’ Reggie muttered, pulling into a driveway that was blocked by a steel-barred gate. ‘One blast of a siren would shut ’em all up.’
But Angus wasn’t listening. He had leaned out of the car to push a wall-mounted button. Meanwhile, Cadel had sunk low in his seat, acutely conscious of the fact that they were now planted squarely across a busy urban footpath. Thanks to his display of bad manners, Reggie had practically ensured that some curious pedestrian would try to peer through the Corolla’s rear window. And if that happened, Cadel’s Santa beard would arouse widespread interest.
He heaved a sigh of relief when the steel-barred gate slid open.
‘Not much room,’ Reggie grumbled, upon rolling into a small car park packed tight with vehicles. Beyond it, a low, narrow building lay huddled behind a screen of bushes. No signage was visible near the glass entrance doors.
‘Are you sure this is the place?’ Angus queried. Then, as Reggie halted in the middle of what was clearly a through-way, he said, ‘Are you sure we can stop here?’
‘No lines,’ Reggie countered. ‘No nothing.’ He switched off the engine. ‘This is the place. Saul gave me the directions himself.’
Cadel remained silent. He couldn’t bear the thought of getting out. He dreaded exposing himself to the incredulous stares of complete strangers. They’re going to think I’m mad, he decided, with a sinking heart.
But he didn’t have much choice. So he left the car and made his way inside, clutching Reggie’s arm for support. (It was hard to balance all the extra padding on top of Fiona’s high-heeled shoes.) By the time they reached the reception desk, Cadel was hanging off both his bodyguards like a sack full of tinned groceries.
‘Uh – we’ve got an appointment with Mr Hellen,’ Reggie informed the dark-haired receptionist, who couldn’t conceal her amazement. Though she promptly picked up a phone, her stunned gaze lingered on Cadel.
‘What name is it?’ she asked. At which point Cadel took over.
‘Could you please tell him we’re here with that footage?’ he mumbled through his beard. He had forgotten to check whether the building was wired for sound, and didn’t want to take any chances. It was possible that his name might trigger some kind of online alert. ‘He’ll know who we are. It’s police business.’
The receptionist swallowed. Cadel was convinced that s
he was trying not to laugh – and his suspicions were confirmed when she requested, in a wobbly voice, that they take a seat. Clearly, she found the contrast between his Santa beard and the words ‘police business’ irresistibly comical. He didn’t blame her. He probably would have felt the same way. But there was no telling how many webcams were lurking in his immediate vicinity, so he wasn’t tempted to remove his disguise.
That was why he nearly sprained an ankle as he headed towards the waiting area. Only when he’d collapsed onto the nearest couch did he feel secure enough to take off Fiona’s stiletto heels. Sitting down, he didn’t need them to increase his height. That was the role of the towel stuffed into his running shorts.
He began to rub his aching toes while Reggie and Angus seated themselves next to him. The room in which they found themselves occupied nearly the entire top floor of an old warehouse, which had been transformed into a stylish space full of steel and glass and exposed brick. Swags of cable spilled from desktops burdened with computer equipment. Row upon row of hunched figures sat hypnotised in front of glowing screens, some with headphones clamped to their ears, some surrounded by half-eaten chocolate bars and greasy paper bags.
None of these young people seemed aware of Cadel’s presence, let alone his fake beard. They were all too wrapped up in what they were doing.
Or perhaps, because they worked in the film industry, they were simply used to seeing outlandish costumes.
‘Reckon that’s him?’ Angus observed, under his breath. He was squinting at a man who had suddenly appeared at the top of a nearby staircase. This staircase led down to some mysterious lower level. ‘Doesn’t look much like a boss, if you ask me.’
‘Yeah, but he’s the only one old enough to be an expert,’ Reggie quietly remarked, before jumping to his feet. Angus followed his example, while Cadel fumbled to put on his shoes again.
The man approaching them had a lot of black hair and stubble. He wore faded jeans, scuffed sneakers, and a slightly frayed shirt. As he loped across the polished wooden floor, his dark gaze came to rest on the Santa beard – and remained glued there.
He lifted an eyebrow.
‘Hello,’ he said. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘Mr Hellen?’ Reggie stuck out his hand.
‘Yeah.’ The newcomer’s tone was cautious as he exchanged a lacklustre handshake. He still couldn’t take his eyes off Cadel. ‘Just make it Andrew …’
‘Detective Greeniaus wasn’t able to come with us,’ Reggie announced, getting straight down to business. He produced his identification, and would have introduced the rest of his party if Cadel hadn’t stopped him.
‘Wait,’ said Cadel. He kept his voice low and husky, just in case. ‘Would you mind telling me if your security system has an audio feed?’ he went on, meeting Andrew Hellen’s quizzical stare with a kind of desperate fearlessness. When Andrew’s other eyebrow went up, Cadel rephrased the question. ‘Is this conversation being recorded?’
‘Not unless you’re doing it,’ Andrew replied. He was beginning to look decidedly ill at ease. ‘Why? What’s the problem?’
‘No problem,’ Angus rumbled. ‘I’m Officer McNair, and this young man is Cadel Greeniaus, and he needs to ask you something. After which we’ll be on our way.’
‘I realise how weird this must seem, but I’m not a lunatic.’ Cadel plucked at the white fluff that was hanging off his chin. ‘This beard is a security precaution.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Andrew nodded, though not as if he were wholly convinced.
‘I honestly know what I’m talking about. I’m doing a computer engineering degree,’ Cadel continued. ‘Did Saul Greeniaus tell you much about this CCTV bug? Because I’m the one who discovered it.’
Andrew murmured something to the effect that he employed a few teenagers himself. Then he said, ‘The guy on the phone mentioned a CG figure popping up everywhere. On DVR networks. Is that what you’re talking about?’
‘Yes,’ Cadel replied. Whereupon Andrew shook his head.
‘I dunno,’ he countered. ‘I can’t figure out how that would work.’
‘Let me show you the footage.’ Having removed one ski glove, Cadel produced a disc from inside Saul’s jacket. ‘Maybe if you see it, you’ll be able to help.’
Andrew’s doubtful expression wasn’t encouraging. Nevertheless, he politely capitulated, leading his guests into a cramped, dark, windowless room containing a desk, several chairs, and masses of expensive-looking technology. Dirty cups were strewn everywhere.
Cadel couldn’t see any cameras.
‘Do you want a coffee?’ Andrew inquired, as he settled himself in front of a computer screen. ‘Or a soft drink or something?’
‘No, thanks.’ Cadel handed over the disc. ‘This is clean. Don’t worry – it won’t infect your system.’
If Andrew was at all worried about his system, he kept his feelings to himself. With perfect equanimity he inserted Cadel’s disc into a disc drive, while Angus and Reggie piled through the door, filling the tiny room almost to bursting point. Angus, especially, seemed far too big for such a small space; he kept stealing wistful glances at the coffee cups.
Reggie positioned himself in a strategic manner, radiating distrust from every pore. Cadel wondered if he was put off by Andrew’s long hair and unshaven chin.
‘That’s him.’ Cadel indicated Prosper’s digital double when it materialised on the screen. ‘He walks across every shot, and … see? That’s the light probe. You’ll find one of them in every shot, too.’
Andrew grunted. He watched the sequence of images with quiet concentration until he reached the Prosper-shaped hole. Then he grunted again.
‘There’s the mistake,’ Cadel remarked, unnecessarily. ‘That pretty much clinched it for everyone.’ He had been watching Andrew’s face, which was long and craggy and well-worn. Experience was written all over it. ‘So what do you think? Is there anyone who might have done this? Anywhere in the world? I’m pretty sure I know who managed the infiltration side of things, but I don’t really understand the whole CG process. Not enough to recognise a signature style, or an area of expertise …’
‘This picture is really rough.’ Andrew flicked at the screen with one finger. ‘It’s what you’d call degenerated HDRI. The worse the image is, the easier it is to fake.’
‘But you can tell it’s fake,’ said Cadel.
‘Nup.’ Once more, Andrew shook his shaggy head. ‘Not to look at. Not if the picture’s this rough.’
‘Oh.’ Cadel was crestfallen. He’d hoped for a telltale clue that might be visible to a trained eye. ‘But you’d have to be pretty good, wouldn’t you? To pull this off?’
‘You’d have to be brilliant,’ Andrew confirmed. ‘I couldn’t do it. I don’t know anyone who could.’
Cadel’s heart sank even further. ‘What, no one at all?’ he groaned.
Andrew gave a shrug. Then he peered up at Cadel, who was hovering beside him, and said, ‘Is that what you want? A name?’
‘If possible.’ Taking a deep breath, Cadel tried another approach. ‘How would you tackle something like this? I mean, where would you start, if you wanted to tweak a real-time data stream?’
Andrew sighed as he dragged his fingers through his hair, muttering a few, disjointed observations about the need for a ‘full-on, games-style rendering engine’ and how you’d have to ‘throw it into a 64-bit range’. Cadel found it impossible to follow him. ‘Thing is, though, I’m not a programmer,’ Andrew finished. ‘You’d want to talk to somebody with a maths brain. A software developer, or one of those guys who like tinkering with the software they’ve already got.’
‘Like who?’ Cadel pressed.
‘I dunno. Somebody like Stephen Regulus. He built “Massive” – have you heard of “Massive”?’
Cadel gave a nod, almost dislodging his beard. He knew about the revolutionary computer-graphics software called ‘Massive’. He had even heard of Stephen Regulus. But Regulus wasn’t anything like the culprit
they were searching for. Regulus wasn’t an outsider. ‘This malware,’ said Cadel, taking a different tack, ‘it’s ground-breaking stuff, right? I mean, you could make your fortune with this.’
‘Right. Yeah.’ Andrew sounded absolutely definite.
‘And it’s being used by a crook,’ Cadel went on. ‘To sabotage systems.’ For a moment he let this fact sink in; then he resumed. ‘Is there anyone in your industry who’s smart enough to assemble a package like this, but who’s a bit of a crook himself? Someone who’s got a dodgy reputation? Someone you wouldn’t employ, because you wouldn’t trust them?’
There was a long pause. Andrew surveyed Cadel in a pensive manner, as if there was something frankly dubious about asking such questions.
‘Well … no,’ said Andrew.
‘They wouldn’t have to be from Australia. I’m talking about anywhere in the world.’
‘Uh …’
‘Like America, maybe?’ Cadel had remembered the ghostly mansion. ‘Or Canada?’
‘If you can help us, sir, it would be a wise decision,’ Reggie growled, from the threshold. He didn’t flinch when Andrew regarded him with a palpable air of disbelief. ‘This is a criminal conspiracy we’re talking about.’
‘Even if you know someone who might know someone,’ Cadel suggested. At which point, inexplicably, Andrew gave in.
‘There’s a guy I met in LA, once,’ he said. ‘Guy called Raimo Zapp the Third. Weird guy.’
‘Raimo Zapp the Third?’ Cadel repeated.
‘Yeah.’ Andrew’s dry tone spoke volumes. ‘I think it’s a deed-poll name. Which tells you pretty much all you need to know about him.’
Nevertheless, he went on to relate what he’d heard about Raimo Zapp the Third. Raimo had been blacklisted by many of Hollywood’s special-effects companies because he had been caught stealing scans of famous movie stars. These scans were collections of visual data (amassed by laser scanners) which, when processed, gave film-makers the information they needed to create digital doubles; Raimo had sold the scans to certain underground directors whose movies weren’t the kind that any respectable star could afford to appear in. When Raimo was sacked for this misconduct, he had promptly sabotaged his former employer’s software protocols. According to Andrew, an entire army of digital robots had started breaking into dance routines whenever it was instructed to engage another army in hand-to-hand combat.
The Genius Wars Page 11
