Evil Genius (57 page)

"Wait!" he said. "I need to—"

"Later," Wilfreda snapped. "In a minute."

Her grim expression subdued Cadel. So did the brisk, professional behavior of her companions. Everything seemed to have been planned and practiced. There wasn't a single wasted gesture or fumbled step. Within minutes they were out of one car, into the other, and on the road again.

Something about the smooth execution of this maneuver 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 gas station but beside a deserted sports field. Here, a portable toilet stood on the edge 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 portable toilet block. "Nikolai, go in with him."

The place stank. The stall 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. Carsick. I have to sit in front, with the window down."

"For Chris'sake," 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 gearshift as he thrust his knee at it, pushing it forward into
PARK.

Then everything went crazy.

"Cadel?"

"He's awake, look."

"Oh, Christ. Thank God.
Cadel.
"

It was Wilfreda. She wasn't driving anymore. The car was motionless.

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 realized that he was lying across the front 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 gearshift," 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's 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 license."

"It's okay." Wilfreda was scrabbling around for her cell 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 cell. "Hello? Who's that? Lennox? Oh. Well, I need a pickup
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 pickup, 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 backseat. 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."

Wilfreda pulled off the road and parked.

Cadel's mind was beginning to clear. He understood 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 gearshift 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 favor. 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 Chris'sake! 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 eucalyptus was a kind of shadowy dip—a culvert?—and beyond it a two-story building studded with glowing security lights. A faded sign on this building said
BRAKES— WHEEL ALIGNMENTMDASH;SPARE PARTS.

"Where are
we
supposed to sit?" Busy demanded, gazing at the truck.

"You're not," said Wilfreda. "There's no room. I'll take the pickup. 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 truck, beside Cadel. "Or you can steal one."

"But—"

"My advice is to get rid of that Daihatsu quick-smart."

Cadel almost felt sorry for the three men 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. Jump ing 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 truck, Cadel pressed her for an explanation. "Are you talking about Gazo? The guy in the space suit?"

"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 pickup 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. Wilfreda turned on the lamp. She let Cadel fall onto a luxurious stack of pillows propped against the headboard. She pulled off his shoes, hoisting up his long skirt to do so. "Now just lie still," she said. "There's bound to be someone around here somewhere—this place is supposed to have twenty-four-seven security. I shouldn't be long."

And she disappeared.

Cadel waited until the sound of her footsteps had faded into silence. Then he got up and put his shoes back on. Their rubbery soles squeaked a little against the parquet floor of the hallway, but not enough to concern him too much. Every few steps he would stop and listen, but he couldn't hear anything except the distant pulse of the tide, and the ticking of a nearby clock. The only thing moving was a gauze curtain, which fluttered in a sea breeze at the end of the corridor.

Coast's clear,
Cadel thought, then swallowed. Shaking with nervous tension, he began to tiptoe down the sweeping staircase.

He was almost at the bottom when the living-room door burst open and Thaddeus Roth emerged.

Thaddeus saw Cadel and froze. For a moment they stared at each other.