"And that's all I have to do?"
"That's all you have to do."
"Well—it sounds okay," Gazo conceded. "But the car—"
"This is the Axis Institute, Gazo. For god's sake, you'll probably earn extra marks for stealing Abraham's car."
Gazo blinked. Then he smiled.
"You're right," he chuckled. "Hey, I might even pass if I do this!"
"I hope not," said Cadel seriously. "If you pass, it'll mean that you're like the rest of them. And you're not. You're better than they are. You're like me—you're a fully evolved human being." He took the rest of Abraham's CDs from the glove box and stuffed them into his bag, just to lull the suspicions of anyone who might be watching. Breaking into a car was all right as long as it was done to steal something. Breaking into a car so that you could talk with a friend—
that
was questionable.
"All right," Cadel said, his fingers clamped around the door handle. "You got all that?"
"Yeah."
"You know what to do?" Gazo nodded.
"Good luck, then." Cadel pushed open his door. "I'll see you later."
As he walked away from the parking lot, he didn't look back to watch Gazo drive off.
He couldn't afford to.
Cadel's next stop was Hardware Heaven. Here he pretended to be correcting his embezzlement homework. In fact, he was copying Sonja's algorithms to the back of his money-laundering exercise. To do this effectively, he had to hunch over the document, shielding it from wall-mounted security cameras and even from his own computer screen. (Because who could tell what kind of monitoring devices were installed around the institute?)
He was sweating by the time he'd finished.
The homework went back into his bag. Then he hitched a ride on Dr. Vee's spy sweep and hopped off at Brendan's database. Sure enough, Art had been poking around in Brendan's financial files, so clumsily that he had left electronic fingerprints all over the place. Upon checking Art's computer, Cadel saw that Art had made copies of the Maestro's account details.
He wondered how long it would take Art to steal the money that was in these accounts. Not long, probably. Not when he could easily forge a driver's license or a passport bearing his own photo alongside Max's name. Cadel was quite sure that Art
would
steal the money, because there was a lot of it—several million dollars. And why sift through Brendan's financial files unless you were planning to steal something? According to Cadel's calculations, Art wouldn't be able to resist several million dollars. He had once spent three years in jail because he hadn't been able to resist three hundred thousand.
The trouble was that stealing from Brendan would be a good deal safer than stealing from Max. Cadel realized this. He had taken it into account when drawing up his plans. Art wouldn't steal a cent from Max unless he was fully prepared to duck out of sight once the money was his. Ducking out of sight wouldn't be a problem for Art: No doubt he had plenty of false identification papers to fall back on. Cadel was counting on the fact that Art would disappear before Max found out what he'd done. And if he
was
discovered—well, that would be another way of removing a name from Cadel's list. It wasn't Cadel's preferred way, but it would have the same result.
In either case, Art would no longer be around to talk about Cadel's Ariel disguise.
Moreover, if Max did catch Art, then Cadel's name wouldn't even be mentioned. Brendan would cop all the blame. (He was an embezzler by trade, wasn't he?) Again, this wasn't a possibility that Cadel much liked. He didn't
want
to see Brendan's head blown off. But he had made certain other plans, involving Alias and Dr. Deal, which would ensure that Brendan was given some warning. Some warning and a chance to disappear.
He couldn't warn Brendan himself. He couldn't risk it. Writing out the brainteaser had been dangerous enough. Anything more and he would look too involved.
"I've got to do it," he muttered to himself. "I can't help it. I've got no choice."
Having satisfied himself that everything was going to plan, Cadel shut down his computer and went to give Brendan his homework. Sooner or later Brendan would mark that homework. And when he did, he would see Sonja's brainteaser, written out in Cadel's hand. There was nothing that Brendan liked so much as a mathematical puzzle. With any luck, this one would distract Brendan from his computer files until after Art had stolen Max's money.
Then it would just be a matter of ensuring that Brendan was warned before Max found out.
After dropping his homework off at Brendan's office, Cadel went to buy some lunch. He was worried about Gazo. There was nothing terribly complicated about sliding an envelope under Adolf's door, but if anyone could mess up such a simple exercise, Gazo certainly could. Standing at the refectory counter, Cadel checked his watch. Eleven forty-five: two and a half hours to go. He wasn't concerned about the Yarramundi security system. It would be easy to disable. And if anyone ever tracked down the cause of the glitch, it would be traced to Dr. Vee's spy sweep. No one would start investigating Cadel—at least, not until he was long gone.
No, his only worry was Gazo.
Cadel took his lemonade and his chicken roll back to Hardware Heaven. Here he scanned the Axis network for security alerts involving Gazo, the Ford Cortina, or anything else that might have an impact on his plan. He found nothing. There was very little activity on the network. The Grunts reported that Tracey Lane was heading for Yarramundi. Terry was at work upstairs. Luther was taking a class.
Dr. Vee strolled into the room at about one, by which time Com, Sark, and Richard were also present. Dr. Vee challenged them all to download the password-management files of a certain university's computer network. He asked them to bombard the management files with as many possible passwords as they could, as quickly as they could. Dr. Vee was interested in how fast they could be. "If you find the right password," he said, "there's some cutting-edge software being tested on that network, and you'll have first dibs. But I'm giving top marks for top speed. You can use your password dictionaries or whatever else you fancy. I want to see how far you've got. Just go, go,
go.
"
Com won, in the end. Cadel might have done better if he hadn't been watching the clock. The countdown to 2:15 was distracting him. When Dr. Vee finally left, at five past two, Cadel breathed a huge sigh of relief.
Ten minutes wasn't much, but it was enough.
Yarramundi's Banksia Wing cameras went down at two fifteen precisely. Cadel put a block on the fail-safe as well, but couldn't do much about the backup alarm, which was attached to a separate, closed-loop system. This alarm began to sound at 2:18 in the control room, where the Grunt on duty spent about five minutes trying to find out what had happened, doggedly working through the correct procedures, which Cadel had memorized. (Cadel, who was plugged into Yarramundi's security system, registered every query and reroute.) Having failed to correct the problem, the Grunt called Adolf's office. Cadel had anticipated this step, because it was laid out clearly in the procedures. He also knew that the call wouldn't be answered, because Adolf was in the armory with Thaddeus. The Grunt then called Luther, at 2:23, and this call
was
answered. At 2:24, the connection was broken as Luther hung up.
Luther's office was just around the corner from Adolf's. It was possible that Luther marched straight around this corner and passed Adolf's door—an activity that would have taken him as little as thirty seconds. Cadel prayed that Gazo hadn't lingered in the corridor until 2:25. If he had, there was a slight chance that Luther might have seen him. Not that it would matter now, of course, because Luther would have other things on his mind. But later?
Cadel quickly brought the camera network back online. He knew that by the time Luther reached the control room, everything would be restored to its normal state. With any luck, there wouldn't even be an investigation. Luther might simply blame the Grunt for spilling coffee over the circuitry panel, or something equally stupid. The systemsfailure report might simply record the incident, and conclude with the words:
Failure undiagnosed. Functions normal. Recommend systems upgrade.
Cadel very much hoped so.
He would have liked to shut down his computer and go for a walk, but he couldn't. He had to stay and monitor the Axis network for any alerts that might crop up, owing to his minor act of sabotage. Only at three o'clock did he feel safe enough to leave his computer and wander off to his embezzlement class, which he didn't dare miss. For one thing, Thaddeus didn't like it when he missed embezzlement. For another, Cadel wanted to know if Brendan had looked at his homework yet.
When he arrived, however, Brendan's door was shut. And Douglas Prindle was waiting outside.
"No answer," he informed Cadel, in his dry, croaking voice.
"Oh."
They both gazed down the corridor, first to the right, then to the left. There was no one about. Douglas glanced at his watch.
"Phoebe, too," said Cadel.
"Phoebe's always late. Brendan never is."
"I suppose so."
"He'd better turn up soon," Douglas rasped, more to himself than to Cadel. "I can't hang around all day—I told the boss I was going to my cardio checkup."
Suddenly the elevator chimed, and they both turned to look. When the metal doors slid open, Phoebe stepped out. She was as plump and glossy as a Chinese pheasant in black and gold and purple. Her feet were wedged into glamorous high-heeled shoes.
"What's up?" she inquired, clicking toward them. "Isn't he here yet?"
"Apparently not," Douglas replied.
"Have you tried?"
"I knocked."
Phoebe made an impatient noise. She went straight up to Brendan's door and turned the knob. Much to everyone's surprise, it yielded to her pressure.
"Hello?" she said, pushing the door open. "Oh! Mr. Graham?"
Cadel stood on tiptoe to peer over her shoulder. He saw that Brendan was inside his office after all, sitting at the desk, staring at the wall. He didn't respond to Phoebe's voice.
"
Mr. Graham,
" she repeated, more loudly. "It's three o'clock. We're all here."
Still no reaction.
Phoebe turned to look at Douglas, her dark eyes wide and frightened.
"You don't think he's ... he's...," she stammered but was unable to finish the sentence. Douglas pushed past her. He approached Brendan and touched him lightly on the shoulder. "Brendan?" he said. "Hello?"
"Is he breathing?" Phoebe squawked.
"Of course he's breathing!" Douglas sounded cross. This time he grabbed Brendan's arm and gave it a shake. "
Brendan! Snap out of it!
"
"Maybe he's had a stroke," Phoebe suggested, as Douglas waved a hand in front of Brendan's glazed blue eyes. When they didn't blink, he frowned and stepped back suddenly.
"This is no good," he muttered. "Something's wrong."
"We should get someone," said Phoebe. "We should call an ambulance."
"Don't be a fool." Douglas walked back into the corridor. "This has nothing to do with us—it's staff business. We'll just knock on a few doors. You start that side, I'll start this side."
He completely ignored Cadel, who wasn't important now that Phoebe had arrived. As she and Douglas began to pound on neighboring doors, Cadel moved into Brendan's office. Cautiously, fearfully, he advanced toward the desk. Brendan didn't twitch a muscle. He seemed utterly absorbed in some private meditation, blind and deaf to the outside world.
In front of him lay Sonja's brainteaser.
"Brendan?" said Cadel, in a small voice. "Can you hear me?"
No reply. Cadel reached for his homework. He had a horrible feeling that it might have something to do with Brendan's condition, and he didn't want anyone else to find it. But he couldn't remove it without lifting Brendan's hands, one by one. They were limp and cold and heavy.
Staring into Brendan's eyes, he could see his own reflection—and nothing else.
Cadel broke into a sweat. He stuffed his homework into his bag and headed for the door. On the threshold he almost collided with Art, who had been summoned by Phoebe. "Just let me have a look," Art was saying. "Oh! Hello, Cadel."
"He's sick," Cadel mumbled. "There's something wrong with him."
"Let me have a look," Art said again.
It didn't take him long to reach a decision. Something definitely
was
wrong. Brendan appeared to be in a kind of cataleptic state. Having made this diagnosis, Art ordered Phoebe to fetch Thaddeus. But Thaddeus was at Yarramundi. So Art called Thaddeus there and was told to wait. Thaddeus would head back immediately. In the meantime, no one was to touch anything.
"It might be some kind of poison," Art revealed, after speaking to Thaddeus. "Terry's supposed to take a look. Would someone go and get him, please?"
"I will," said Douglas.
"All right." Art waved a hand at Cadel and Phoebe. "You two can leave. There'll be no class today. If you're needed, you'll be informed."
Cadel swallowed. "But—"
"There's nothing you can do here, Cadel," Art assured him. "You're not a doctor, are you?"
"No, but—"
"Then off you go."
There was no point arguing—it might have looked suspicious. So Cadel trudged away, acutely conscious of the folded sheet of paper in his pocket. Was Sonja's brainteaser really the cause of this whole frightening incident? Or was it a coincidence that Brendan had plunged into a trance while marking Cadel's homework?
Cadel had a horrible feeling that he had miscalculated. Badly.
Cadel couldn't stay at the institute for much longer: He had his usual session with Thaddeus at half past five. So at 4:40 he left, catching a train to the psychologist's office. On the way, he disposed of Abraham's letter and Sonja's brainteaser. He tore them up into very small pieces and flushed them down a railway-station toilet.
When he reached his destination, he discovered that Thaddeus was late.