Maybe I can ask Gazo for a lift, Cadel thought, his pace slowing. There'd be nothing suspicious about that, would there?
And then he saw a very odd sight.
Beyond the high iron gate, two men were waving at him. He didn't recognize either of them. One was tall, with a big belly and gray hair. One was shorter, stocky and dark. They both wore suits.
Frowning, Cadel approached them cautiously.
"Hey, kid," said the big one, when Cadel was close enough to hear. "Is this the Axis Institute?"
Cadel nodded.
"There's no sign," the smaller one observed. He was quite young, with enormous brown eyes and glossy black hair. "We weren't sure if we had the right place."
"Are you a student here?" his companion inquired, whereupon Cadel nodded again. The two men exchanged glances.
"Well, we're police officers," said the smaller one, "and we're looking for a Mr. Paul Souvry. His mother said he works here—is that right?"
Cadel blinked. Paul Souvry was a name that Alias often used.
Why would the police be looking for
Alias
?
"What do you want with Mr. Souvry?" he finally asked, opening his eyes very wide. "What's he done?"
"That's what we have to find out." The big policeman had a relaxed, genial air about him. "You look pretty young to be studying here. How old are you, anyway?"
"Fifteen," Cadel lied.
"Yeah? I thought this place was a college, not a school."
Cadel eyed the two men, who would have towered over him if the bars of the gate hadn't intervened. "I'm on an escalated-learning program," he mumbled, uncertain of what he should do. How could he possibly leave without letting them in? Would he get into trouble if he did?
More importantly, did he
want
to let them in?
"An escalated-learning program," the younger policeman repeated. "That's pretty cool."
"Isn't this place supposed to be for problem kids?" asked his companion. "You don't look like a problem kid to me."
Cadel peered up at him warily from beneath a fringe of curls. "My problem is that I'm very intelligent," he said, and both men laughed.
"Yeah, that must be a problem," said the younger one.
"So what's your name then, Brainiac?" the older one wanted to know, and Cadel stiffened.
"Why?" he said.
"Well, we can't just keep on saying 'kid,' can we?"
"You haven't told me
your
names," Cadel pointed out.
"Haven't we? I'm sorry." The big one was teasing Cadel in a way that Cadel had always found annoying. Some people simply could not take him seriously, because he was so small. "I'm Bob, and this is Lou," the big man went on. "And we're looking for Mr. Souvry. Have you seen him this morning?"
"No," Cadel replied.
"Is he in there?"
"I don't know."
"Can you let us in, then? So we can have a look? His mum said he was at work."
Cadel hesitated. He glanced up at one of the cameras affixed to the gatepost. Lou followed his gaze.
"I don't know," Cadel said at last, confused by all these references to Alias's mum. As far as he knew, Alias didn't
have
a mum. According to Adolf's files, she had died more than ten years before. "I'd have to ask."
"Ask who?" Though Bob had the wide girth, cheerful voice, and pleasant manner of a department-store Santa Claus, there was something watchful about his eyes. "You mean there's someone in there we can talk to?"
"I don't know," Cadel replied, backing away. "I'll have to see."
"Kid, wait—"
"I don't want to get in trouble," Cadel explained, and turned on his heel.
"Hang on! What's your name? You didn't tell us!"
"Galileo!" Cadel shouted over his shoulder. Then he hurried back into the seminary building.
He was confused and nervous. Why were the police searching for Alias? Would it have done any good to talk to them? No, he decided—of course not. Not with all that surveillance equipment around. He couldn't afford to look suspicious. And letting the police into the institute would have looked highly suspicious.
Most of the staff offices were on the same floor as Hardware Heaven. Alias had been assigned a room between Art's and Dr. Deal's. When Cadel reached it, he saw with a start that the locks on Art's door had all been destroyed. One was punched out, one ripped apart, and one melted. He stood staring at them, his fist poised to knock.
Could this be Max's work?
"Cadel!" It was the Virus, emerging from his own office. "Whad the hell are you dooig? I thought I dold you to go hobe."
"The locks..."
"Whad?"
"Look. The locks."
Dr. Vee waddled over, frowning. He peered at the damage and sucked air through his teeth. Cautiously, he pushed the door open.
Art's room was a mess. Normally, he kept it very neat, but now there were papers strewn over the floor, drawers upended, coffee cups smashed. The stuffing had even been ripped out of the chairs.
Dr. Vee hissed again.
"There are police outside," Cadel informed him hesitantly. "They're looking for Alias."
Dr. Vee's head swung around. "'Alias'?" he echoed.
"I thought I should warn him, if he's around," Cadel went on, shrinking away from the Virus's hard stare. "I didn't think I should let them in, without asking—"
"Whad did they say?"
"They said..." Cadel tried to remember. "They said they wanted to talk to him. They said his mother told them he was here."
"His
buther
?" said Dr. Vee, his face contorted into an expression of utter bewilderment before it suddenly cleared. At the same moment, a neuron sparked somewhere in Cadel's head.
Of course! That hadn't been Alias's mother. That had been Alias himself. No doubt the police had arrived at his house and he had sent them off on a wild-goose chase. While he made his escape. Disguised as his own mother.
"All ride," growled Dr. Vee. "All ride, I'll dake care of id. You go."
"But how can I? If I leave, I'll let them in."
"Take the back gade." Dr. Vee was referring to the gate that led out of the parking lot. "Here," he said, fishing around in his shirt pocket. "You can borrow this parking permit—just swibe id when you ged there."
"But I've got a key-card—"
"Won't worg. You deed one of these."
"Oh!" Cadel recognized the piece of plastic that Dr. Vee was waving at him. He had seen it in the glove box of Abraham's Ford Cortina. "It's okay," he said, with a flash of inspiration. "I can get a lift. Gazo can give me a lift."
"Whadever," said the Virus. "Just ged
hobe,
for god's sake, or Thaddeus will ead me alive."
"Is he here, now?"
"Here? Of course nod! He's headig for Yarramundi! Cadel—"
"I know. I know. I'm going." Cadel dashed off down the corridor, which led to the dormitory wing. This had been shoved onto the back of the seminary building sometime in the nineteen sixties; it was a shabby structure, full of sprayed cement and leaking windows and ancient light fixtures. While Dr. Darkkon had poured money into the business side of the institute, he hadn't worried much about the comfort of boarders, especially when those boarders were so terribly destructive. They were always smashing glass and setting fires and kicking holes in doors and yanking electrical wiring out of wall sockets. Cadel hadn't been surprised, on first entering the dorms, to discover that they were grim and dreary and furnished with pieces of Salvation Army junk.
On this occasion—his second visit—he noted the number of empty rooms, open doors, and scorch marks. The whole place smelled of moldy carpet. Gazo's room was labeled. His name was scrawled on the door in marker pen.
"Gazo," said Cadel, rapping one finger against this name. "Are you there? It's me! Cadel!"
There was a
thump
from behind the door. Then Cadel heard Gazo's voice. "Cadel? Is that you?"
"Yes! I need a lift! Can you help me?"
"Oh—uh—hang on..."
More thumps. Cadel was forced to wait several minutes before the door was finally yanked open, to reveal the room beyond. Cadel had never seen Gazo's room before. He looked curiously at the single bed, draped in a grimy chenille cover; at the untidy desk, which was made out of concrete bricks and wooden planks; at the milk crates overflowing with dirty clothes, newspapers, old towels, and dog-eared textbooks. A rather nasty smell was hanging in the air.
"I had to get me suit on," Gazo panted. "Sorry."
"That's okay," said Cadel. "Can you give me a lift home?"
"Now?"
Cadel nodded.
Gazo looked pleased. "Sure," he said.
With Abraham's parking permit clutched in his soiled white glove assembly, Gazo locked up his room and followed Cadel down to the parking lot. They didn't see anyone on the way. Nevertheless, Cadel said nothing, and Gazo followed his lead. Outside, the air was damp; though it wasn't raining, the pavements gleamed with moisture. The Ford Cortina was beaded with droplets.
"You'll afta tell me the way," Gazo remarked, as he pulled open the driver's door. (Its lock, Cadel noticed, had not been repaired.) "Where do you live?"
"North Shore," Cadel replied. He climbed into the passenger seat next to Gazo and sat clutching his backpack while Gazo fiddled with various wires. He couldn't see the front gate from the parking lot. He couldn't see what the police were doing.
He couldn't see any Grunts around, either.
"Right," said Gazo, raising his voice over the sound of the engine, which had suddenly roared into life. "North Shore it is." Though the Ford was a heap of junk, Gazo drove it surprisingly well, swinging out of the lot and guiding it through the back gate much more efficiently than Abraham ever had. He even seemed to know the road rules.
Cadel looked at him with growing respect.
"You
can
drive," said Cadel.
"Course." Gazo returned his look. "What's wrong? Are you sick or somefink?"
Cadel stared out the window. "Haven't you heard?" he said.
"Eh?"
"Tracey's dead. Tracey Lane. Didn't you know?"
"You what?" Gazo said stupidly. He jerked at the gearshift, which made a clunking noise.
"Dr. Deal's in police custody," Cadel continued, in a toneless voice. "The police were at the gate this morning, asking for Alias. And something's wrong at Yarramundi. Something's exploded."
"
Exploded
?"
"Or leaked. Or brought the whole place down. I don't know what's happened. There's a lot of people missing. It's a real mess."
"Christ," Gazo murmured. He drove along in silence for a while before asking the question that Cadel had been dreading.
"Do you think," he said, "it's because we—"
"Don't ask me," Cadel interrupted. He emphasized the word
ask
rather than the word
me
in the hope that Gazo would get the message. They couldn't talk about the envelope; the car might be bugged. "I don't know what's going on."
"Where's Thaddeus? Has someone called him?"
"The Virus did. Thaddeus is heading for Yarramundi right now."
"Oh."
There was another long pause. Gazo seemed to be thinking. Cadel told him what road to take, and he followed the directions automatically. At last, Cadel cleared his throat.
"I think something's happened to Luther," he said. "And Adolf." He fixed his compelling stare on Gazo, who must have caught it out of the corner of his eye, because he shifted uneasily. "God knows what's happened to all the computer files," Cadel added. "We'll find out soon enough, I suppose. My guess is that they've been blown up."
"Really?"
"Things are a bit chaotic," Cadel went on, gazing intently at Gazo. "If I were you, I'd keep a low profile. A
very
low profile. In fact..." Cadel hesitated. Should he or shouldn't he? But it was a fairly harmless suggestion, under the circumstances. "I'd keep on my toes. In case you have to leave in a hurry."
They stopped at a traffic light. Gazo turned to look at Cadel through his mask. Beyond him, the car beside them was full of staring faces. Cadel could lip-read the child in the backseat, who was pointing at Gazo. "A spaceman!" he was saying. "A spaceman, mummy!"
"You fink it's gonna get that bad?" Gazo said quietly. Studying his half-concealed face, Cadel realized, with a surge of relief, that he understood what Cadel was trying to say. Thank god!
"I don't know," said Cadel. "I'm just warning you. Be prepared. Things could get sticky." Sticky enough to allow Gazo a means of escape. If Luther was dead, and Adolf's files were destroyed, then Gazo might have a chance. "The light's changed, by the way."
Gazo grunted, and the car lurched forward. They were over the Harbor Bridge now, and heading north.
"But what'll I do if I can't live at the institute?" Gazo asked carefully. "I mean, what should I do?"
"Get a job at a dump," Cadel suggested. "A sewage plant. Someplace like that." Someplace smelly.
"But they wouldn't hire me."
"Yes, they would. You went to forgery class. I bet you could forge the right references." Cadel watched Gazo turning things over in his head. "And you've got this car, remember," Cadel added. "This car must be worth something."
"The car. Yeah. But—"
"I'd get rid of it, if I were you," Cadel added. He hoped that Gazo understood. He thought he probably did, judging from the glance that flashed across the car. Abraham's Ford could be traced. If Gazo kept it, he would be risking discovery.
"Right," said Gazo, and nodded.
"Turn here. First left. It's quicker."
They didn't talk again until they had reached the tall green hedge and the stone gateposts that marked the entrance to Cadel's house. Gazo parked but didn't switch off the engine. He turned in his seat and looked Cadel full in the face.
"What are you gonna do?" he asked gravely. "If the institute shuts down?"
"Oh,
I'll
be all right," said Cadel. "I'm the crown prince, remember?"
"Are you sure? Because—"
"I'm sure." Cadel spoke firmly. "Bye, Gazo." He didn't want to extend this conversation, which was already perilously close to being emotional. As he extracted himself from the car, however, he added, "Thaddeus will probably sort things out. But just in case he doesn't—well, take care."