With the competition wiped out, Dr. Darkkon wouldn't have to share any of his global plunder.
It was a pretty far-fetched idea, though not totally stupid. Cadel had sometimes wondered about Dr. Darkkon's motives himself. He had one advantage over Max, however: He knew how important he was to his dad. If Dr. Darkkon had founded the institute simply so that Cadel could pit his skills against the best (or worst) in the business and thereby educate himself as to the workings of the criminal mind—well, it wouldn't have surprised Cadel. Not one little bit.
Scrolling through endless paranoid e-mails, Cadel began to feel sorry for Max. The Maestro, he decided, was slightly wrong in the head. So was Carla, to judge from her ranting messages. It didn't surprise Cadel that she had been mysteriously struck down. If she hadn't done it to herself, by accident, there were lots of other people who would surely have been happy to see her wheeled off on a stretcher. Even Art had become the target of her fury. In one of her most recent e-mails, she had accused him of stealing her favorite earrings and replacing them with imitations so perfect that only she could tell the difference.
Crazy, thought Cadel, shaking his head. Really crazy.
He sat back and thought hard. The entire institute was riddled with fear, distrust, conflict. Everyone seemed to be fighting with somebody else—except perhaps Thaddeus. Art had even made a clumsy attempt to break into Brendan's computer files. (Cadel got quite excited when he stumbled on that little effort.) Brendan juggled a lot of bank accounts, owing to the nature of his job. He kept details of these accounts on his computer. Most of the accounts had been opened with fake names, and none contained much money. The money they
did
contain never remained in the same place for long. As a result, Brendan's security was very poor, and Art didn't have any trouble getting past it. But his forays into Brendan's database were so ill-disguised that there were bound to be problems one day, when Brendan finally realized what was going on.
It was an interesting task, trying to map out all the interconnecting feuds. Cadel had been doing it for a while, but only in a patchy, halfhearted way—not with the kind of unrelenting dedication that he now applied to the job. In fact, he spent most of the day piecing various feuds together in his head. But he was repeatedly interrupted: first by a brief power blackout (not unusual at the institute); then by the sudden appearance of Dr. Vee (who presented each of his students with an "exercise" that involved rescuing their data from a byte-munching virus); and then by Gazo Kovacs. Gazo slouched into the room around lunchtime, when Cadel was in the middle of Dr. Vee's exercise. Having just isolated a crucial anomaly, Cadel was in no mood to exchange campus gossip with Gazo; he didn't even reply to Gazo's first greeting.
Gazo, rebuffed, picked up a binary printout and stared at it, blankly, before putting it down again.
"Are you going to lunch?" he asked.
"No," replied Cadel.
"Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Me neither. I can't. They're searching me room. For Carla's vial. They're searching every room in the dormitory." He sighed. "So I can't get in."
"You're not supposed to be here, Gazo," Cadel pointed out, hardly aware of what he was saying. The computer screen held him mesmerized. "Dr. Vee doesn't like you here."
"I know." Gazo sounded glum, even through his voice-warping transmission filter. "Nobody wants me nowhere."
"Well, I'm in the middle of something. I can't help you."
"So the vial
has
been lost?" Sark suddenly inquired, raising his head. "I knew it."
"There might not even
be
a vial," Richard interjected. He had also become caught up in the conversation despite the fact that his computer memory was rapidly being consumed in front of his eyes. "It might be just a myth. Dr. Vee didn't seem worried."
"Dr. Vee
left
" Sark pointed out. "Or haven't you noticed?"
"And the sooner we stop this monster, the sooner
we
can leave," said Cadel. "Anyone had any luck? I think I have."
He fell into a technical discussion with the other infiltration students—a discussion so dense and difficult that Gazo soon drifted away. With his departure, only four people remained in Hardware Heaven: Com, Sark, Richard, and Cadel. By two o'clock that number had been reduced to two. In an unusual gesture of goodwill, the students of Dr. Vee had pooled their resources and defeated his virus after about only ninety minutes' work. Richard and Sark were too scared of Carla's deadly organism to compete with each other. They simply wanted to get out—fast.
Cadel wasn't worried. He had a feeling that if there was any real danger, Thaddeus would have ordered him home long ago. This hunch proved to be correct; when he attended Brendan's embezzlement class, he found that Douglas and Phoebe were both present. So after the class, he returned to Hardware Heaven, where he remained until late afternoon. Com also stayed. He was still there when Cadel left.
Cadel wondered, briefly, if he slept there every night, in front of his computer.
"What happened to your
face?
"
Mrs. Piggott was in the kitchen when Cadel arrived home. She was mixing herself some kind of alcoholic drink with the blender.
Cadel cursed his luck.
"Nothing," he said.
"
Nothing?
Don't give me that. You look like you've been hit by a truck!"
"I do not." Cadel was annoyed. It wasn't
that
bad. "I fell down."
"Why didn't you call me?"
Cadel shrugged. He was trying to get out of the kitchen. He wanted to talk to Kay-Lee.
"Oh god," said Mrs. Piggott, glancing at her watch, "I suppose I should take you to see a doctor but I've got a client waiting for me—I'm already late."
"I don't need to see a doctor," Cadel replied firmly. "It doesn't even hurt." It did, but he wasn't going to say as much. "I'm fine. It happened yesterday. Thaddeus had a look at it."
"Dr. Roth had a look at it?"
"Yes."
"I don't think he's a
medical
doctor, is he?"
"He said I was fine."
Fortunately, Lanna seemed to accept this. Perhaps she just wanted to because she was late for an appointment. After informing Cadel that he could order pizza for dinner—or maybe heat up a couple of boxes of Lean Cuisine—she whizzed off in a cloud of expensive perfume.
Cadel breathed a sigh of relief. He went to his computer and typed out a message to Kay-Lee.
Excitement at work today,
he wrote.
Unpopular teacher struck down by mysterious illness. There's probably a formula for that drifting around; in fact, newspaper headlines are often written to a "formula." "Unpopular Teacher Struck Down by Mystery Illness"—how would you reduce that headline to a nice, tidy equation?
Nobody's much concerned about the sick teacher, probably because the staff all hate each other. It's interesting. I've been trying to get a handle on the politics of that place—in a spirit of scientific curiosity. I've got a feeling that it might be important.
He wrote and wrote—about computer glitches, and health-and-safety issues, and "a girl who was attacked in the library bathroom," wishing at the same time that he could write about defeating Dr. Vee's virus, and being jumped on by Dr. Deal, and having to cope with the threat of a deadly organism. Going to see Thaddeus three times a week was all very well, but on the days when he didn't, Cadel was often desperate to talk to someone. Someone with whom he could be completely honest, without worrying about the impact his honesty might have. Someone whom he could trust.
While he waited for Kay-Lee to reply, he ate a microwaved frozen pizza, a packet of chips, a cracker, a bowl of soggy cornflakes, and a chocolate bar, thinking about Dr. Deal. He had a class with Dr. Deal the very next day. Would it be safe to go? Probably. With so many witnesses around, Dr. Deal wouldn't try anything. Cadel didn't think he was going to try anything, anyway. After all, Dr. Deal wasn't called Dr. Deal for nothing. If possible, he liked to negotiate his way out of a problem; that was his specialty, in fact. He didn't think the lawyer would resort to violence.
Not against someone who wasn't a young girl.
Cadel wondered if Dr. Deal had ever attacked Gemini, and what the twins might have done if he had. He wondered what had actually hap pened to those girls. Nothing in Luther's online reports suggested that Niobe had been tracked down, but she could still be in danger. Cadel's heart sank at the thought of Luther Lasco. Luther was to blame for what had happened to Gemini. The scar he had left on Jem's cheek was the cause of the whole sorry mess in which the twins had become embroiled.
Oh well,
Cadel told himself.
The twins weren't very bright, anyway.
Not like Kay-Lee.
After finishing his meal, Cadel expected to find Kay-Lee's reply waiting for him when he returned to his computer. But he found nothing. Disappointed, he reluctantly attacked his embezzlement homework, which kept him busy for another thirty minutes. By seven o'clock, however, Kay-Lee still hadn't replied.
Cadel waited up. He organized his data on the institute staff, wrote a few Partner Post e-mails, sorted out his finances, and finished an essay for Maestro Max. When Lanna arrived home, at eleven—alone, because Stuart was away—she told Cadel to turn off the lights and go to bed. So he was forced to wait in the dark until she had gone to sleep, before checking his e-mail for the last time.
Still nothing.
He didn't sleep very well. The next morning he sent another message to Kay-Lee, asking if she was all right. On the train to the institute he fretted about her. Could her computer be down? Could she be on holiday? She hadn't said anything about going away.
Then again, how much did he really know about her? Almost nothing.
Upon reaching the institute, Cadel went straight to Hardware Heaven. He checked his e-mail—still no luck. He poked around, looking for information on Kay-Lee that he hadn't already dug up from the various databases open to creative hackers. He knew her address, of course, and her date of birth. He knew her mother's name and her father's name, her GPAs, her nursing exam scores (they weren't so terrific, oddly enough), and how much she made on the job. He knew that she regularly shopped at a particular supermarket and sometimes bought her clothes in a city department store. He knew that she had a driver's license, one sister, two credit cards, and a subscription to a crafts magazine.
Cadel knew all these things, and they amounted to absolutely nothing. When he considered them (especially the crafts magazine), he felt as if he didn't know Kay-Lee at all. And though he tried very hard that day, he was unable to track down much more information. He did find out that she had lived in Drummoyne and worked briefly at a big teaching hospital before moving to the nurses' quarters at Weatherwood House. But what did these facts amount to?
Very little, in Cadel's opinion.
He kept checking his e-mail, with no success. And he had to drag himself away from his computer more than once; he had classes to attend, after all. The first was with Dr. Deal. It was in the morning and took place in lecture-room one. When Cadel trudged down there at ten o'clock, he wasn't concerned that he was about to confront the lawyer for the first time since their meeting in the men's room. Cadel was far more worried by his failure to receive any kind of response from Kay-Lee. It was distracting. It was
distressing.
"Hi," said Gazo when Cadel arrived. So far, they were the only two who had turned up. "Did you hear about Doris?"
"Huh?" said Cadel.
"Did you hear about Doris?"
"No." Cadel wasn't particularly interested but tried to pretend that he was. "What about Doris?"
"They took her away." Gazo's tone was mournfully self-important. "Abraham told me."
"What?"
"He was in the labs, and she was in the labs doing some kind of Contagion project, and Luther came, and they took her away."
Cadel blinked. He tried to focus his mind.
"Who's 'they'?" he said sharply. "Luther and who else?"
"I dunno."
"What do you mean, 'they took her away'? Did they drag her away? Did she walk away? What?"
"I dunno."
"It was Adolf and Luther," a voice suddenly interjected. The voice belonged to Abraham. He had approached them noiselessly, padding down the corridor in enormous rubber-soled shoes. He was wearing dark glasses and a jacket lined with sheepskin—though it was quite a warm day for early May. His hair didn't seem to be growing back, and his white scalp gleamed.
"Oh. Hello," said Cadel.
"They cornered her in room 309," Abraham revealed in a tired voice. "There wasn't any fuss. They said they wanted to talk to her about anything she might have found on the floor of the labs. They were talking about the vial." Abraham swallowed. "I know, because they asked me about it, too. Last night. They talked to me for an
hour.
" He wiped his fist across his shiny forehead and shivered, pulling the sheepskin jacket tightly around him. "They really gave me the third degree."
Cadel winced. "You mean...?"
"Did they
hit
you?" Gazo demanded.
"No, no." Abraham hunched his shoulders irritably. "Nothing like that. They just went at me. On and on. Anyway, I knew that wasn't
really
why they wanted Doris."
Cadel frowned. "Oh?" he said.
"I was in 309 myself, when they found me last night, and they did it right there. Closed the door and got stuck in. They didn't make me go anywhere else. There's something fishy going on with Doris."
"
But you
were with her, weren't you?" Cadel pointed out. "I mean, perhaps they wanted a bit of privacy, don't you think?"
Abraham shook his head. "Nah."
"But—"
"They didn't know I was there," Abraham admitted. "I was ... I was in the supply cabinet."
"The supply cabinet?"
Abraham scowled. "Sometimes the light gets too much for me, okay?" he snapped.