The Genius Wars (15 page)

‘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.

‘Like I said, I met this guy in LA, at a Siggraph conference,’ Andrew revealed. ‘Way before he messed up. He had a hell of an attitude.’

‘What do you mean?’ Cadel asked.

‘Oh … chip on his shoulder. He was mad at everyone. Went on and on about CG people not getting the kind of respect they deserve.’ An ironic smile flickered across Andrew’s face, as if he were enjoying a private joke that didn’t happen to be terribly funny. ‘It was a big rant,’ he declared. ‘I pretty much tuned out.’

Cadel bit his lip, thinking hard. It was a long shot. A
very
long shot. There was nothing to indicate that Raimo Zapp the Third had anything to do with the CCTV malware.

On the other hand, he might have connections. Useful, antisocial connections.

‘Would you be able to contact him?’ Cadel inquired. ‘Do you know where he lives?

‘No, but I could ask around.’ Andrew was extracting Cadel’s disc from the disc drive. ‘You want me to do that?’

‘Yes, please.’

‘Raimo isn’t a shy sort of bloke,’ Andrew offered, handing the disc back to Cadel. ‘Someone’s bound to know where he is.’

‘If you find out, can you tell me?’

‘Sure.’ Andrew pulled out his phone. ‘What’s your number?’

Cadel hesitated. After reviewing the various possibilities, he realised that Reggie’s phone was probably safer than Saul’s, or Fiona’s, or Judith’s. So it was Reggie’s number that Andrew finally entered into his electronic phone book.

Then Cadel decided to finish up; he had spotted Andrew’s knee bouncing impatiently, and was wondering if they had out-stayed their welcome.

‘Okay – well – I guess that’s all,’ Cadel said. ‘Unless you can think of any other names?’

‘Sorry.’ Andrew rose. ‘Not many sociopaths in this business.’

Though his delivery was bland, the gleam in his eye suggested that he was once again enjoying a private joke. But he became more serious as he accompanied his three guests back to the reception area. There, after bidding them good luck, he divulged one final piece of information.

‘I just remembered something Raimo told me,’ he observed. ‘Guy kept saying he was such a genius that his latest idea would take the world by storm. Which is the
second
reason I didn’t take him too seriously.’

Cadel frowned. ‘The first being …?’

‘His name.’

‘Oh. Right.’

‘Course, he didn’t go round wearing a fake beard, but … well, you can’t judge a book by its cover,’ Andrew concluded, with a crooked smile and a sideways glance.

Then he pressed a button on the wall, whereupon the steel-barred gate outside slowly began to slide open.

When Cadel arrived at the Sydney Children’s Hospital, he wasn’t wearing a fake beard, or high heels. He had decided that such a disguise would be useless, since Prosper’s surveillance team was probably keeping a very close eye on Sonja’s visitors. While pillows and ski-gloves might have been enough to fool a computer program, they wouldn’t fool anyone watching real-time footage from the hospital’s CCTV network.

Besides, he didn’t want to appear in public looking like a complete idiot.

So he showed up at Ward C3 in his usual t-shirt and corduroys, with a big box of liquorice allsorts. Sonja loved liquorice allsorts. She loved their geometric patterns, and the fact that they were so easy to chew. Cadel figured that, even if she couldn’t eat them, they would be something cheerful for her to look at.

He also brought Fiona, Reggie and Angus with him. Saul had promised to meet them later; he was busy chasing down some kind of lead in Reggie’s car, so the two bodyguards had been forced to squeeze into Fiona’s little hatchback. On Cadel’s advice, they had decided not to take Saul’s borrowed Corolla anywhere near the hospital cameras – just in case someone happened to spot Cadel climbing out of the back seat. ‘That car’s supposed to be secure,’ Cadel had said. ‘But it won’t be, once our hacker gets hold of its number plate.’ He knew that there would be cameras positioned around the car park, and at many of the drop-off points. That was why, from the moment they swept
through the hospital’s entrance gates, he felt as if he were being watched.

This feeling strengthened as he approached the front door. It was like approaching a hidden nest of snipers. Things weren’t so bad once he had crossed the threshold; he couldn’t see much surveillance equipment inside. Nevertheless, he remained jumpy and anxious, despite the presence of his bodyguards.

By the time he reached the third floor, he was drenched in sweat.

Ward C3 South had been set aside for teenagers. Opposite the nurses’ station, three large noticeboards were covered in snapshots of young people, some wearing bandages and hospital gowns, some decked out in party dresses or hiking gear. Gazing at these photographs, Cadel saw braces and pimples and nose-studs. He saw shiny balloons and stuffed animals. It was a vibrant display that somehow made the grey carpet and pus-yellow walls look even sadder.

Sonja’s room was at one end of a long, rather dingy corridor. Fiona obtained directions from a nurse, then led the way past glimpses of wheeled beds and drawn curtains and flickering television screens. As he drew nearer to their destination, Cadel found it more and more difficult to breathe. His hands were shaking and his mouth was dry. He felt sick in the stomach.

‘We’ll wait here,’ Reggie suddenly announced. He nodded at Angus, who had already attracted one or two curious stares; the two men then stationed themselves on either side of Sonja’s door, standing at ease with their hands clasped in front of them.

Cadel hesitated.

‘Go on, sweetie,’ Fiona urged, giving him a nudge. ‘Why don’t you go in, and I’ll get myself a cup of coffee before I say hello.’

‘But –’

‘You’re the one she’ll be wanting to see.’

Cadel wasn’t so sure about that. Sonja was no fool. She must have realised that her injuries were somehow related to his presence in her life – unless, of course, she hadn’t been well enough to think about anything, lately.

When he stumbled into her room, clutching the liquorice allsorts, his heart was pounding like a jackhammer.

The room contained two beds, one of which was empty. The other stood near the window, surrounded by various trolleys and cabinets. Sonja’s old Dynavox machine was sitting on a wheeled bedside table, and her splinted leg was wedged into a kind of trap or cage, designed (no doubt) to keep it absolutely still. Beneath the bandage wrapped around her forehead, her eyes were sleepy and bruised-looking.

But they brightened when she saw Cadel.

‘Gnnn!’ she squawked, groping for her Dynavox. The sight of her thin, knotted, straining fingers was too much for him. They were so brittle. So
vulnerable.

His lips began to shake. He had to blink back tears. Seeing this, Sonja became distressed. Her muscles reacted as they usually did, tightening uncontrollably. Her back arched. Her neck twisted. One arm slammed against the Dynavox.

Cadel realised that he was going to have to start talking, no matter how big the lump in his throat might be. Otherwise Sonja would thrash about until she hurt herself.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘Naa.’ Her eyebrows snapped together.

‘I’ve brought you some of these.’ He held up the allsorts, sniffing hard. The important thing, he knew, was to get her calmed down. ‘Is there somewhere special I should put them? You haven’t got a lot of space.’

‘Eeh.’ Sonja flung out a hand, leaning towards him, and he recognised the gesture. She was reaching for his gift. So he placed it on the bed beside her, before leaning down to kiss her, very carefully, on the cheek.

‘I guess Judith must have told you what happened,’ he croaked. ‘About my phone being hijacked, and sending a signal through to your Bluetooth connection.’ He cast around for a chair. ‘I didn’t even know my Bluetooth was on. Someone sabotaged my phone, somewhere along the line. Dot, probably.’

Having located a vinyl-upholstered seat in one corner, he positioned it closer to the bed – while Sonja struggled to spell out a message.

‘
The-Wife,
’ her Dynavox finally pronounced, in its toneless, electronic voice. Cadel raised his eyebrows.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘You heard about that, did you?’

‘
Trace,
’ was her painfully slow response. Then: ‘
Chatroom.
’

‘No.’ He understood exactly what she was talking about. ‘Whoever hacked The Wife hasn’t shown up again. The police have been monitoring his Command and Control access point, but it’s useless, I reckon. He won’t come back.’ In an effort to reassure her, he added, ‘I’ll make sure it’s all cleaned up in there before you go home. Don’t worry. I’ll rip out the cameras, if I have to.’

He didn’t say anything about the hospital cameras, though they were certainly preying on his mind. So too was the fact that, without a doubt, there were online systems governing every aspect of the hospital’s management: shifts, admissions, medical records, waiting lists. When it came to computerised environments, hospitals were just as heavily wired as banks, or airports, or smart homes.

The whole idea made his skin crawl. He felt as if there were mines buried under the floor, and peep-holes drilled through the light fittings.

‘
Not-your-fault,
’ Sonja spelled out doggedly. ‘
Stop-worrying-now.
’

Cadel swallowed. ‘I was the target,’ he muttered, staring at his feet. ‘Not you. If I hadn’t been there, right at that moment –’

‘
Ho-hum. Boring.
’ Though she might have been out of practice, Sonja was still able to communicate well enough with her Dynavox. As Cadel glanced up in surprise, she went on. ‘
Not-always-about-you-you-you.
’

Stung, he began to protest. ‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying –’

‘
Prosper-hates-me-more,
’ she interrupted, stabbing at the keyboard in front of her. ‘
So-how-will-you-stop-him?
’

It was hard to judge her mood. The Dynavox droned out its messages, and her face was being yanked about by uncooperative muscles. But Cadel thought that he could see a glint in her eye; he sensed that she was being deliberately provocative. To lighten the atmosphere, perhaps? To vent her frustration? He couldn’t tell.