The Genius Wars (36 page)

It didn’t matter, though, because the cab driver was completely uninterested in his passenger’s true identity. There was only one thing that concerned him: whether Cadel had enough money to pay for a trip to Canoga Park.

‘Thassa long way,’ he warned Cadel. ‘That will cost you – oh, more’n fifty bucks.’

‘It’s okay.’ Cadel had three hundred and seventy-five American dollars in his wallet, courtesy of Gazo’s bank account. ‘I’ll need you to wait for me at the other end, too. Can you do that?’

‘Yeah. But it might be a hundred. A hundred plus.’

‘That’s fine.’

‘You got the money?’

‘I’ve got it. Could we go?’

Cadel was growing nervous. He didn’t want to linger near the camera-infested airport. He was also worried about his
appearance, which seemed to be having a bad effect on the cab driver. Did Cadel really look so untrustworthy? Was there something dishonest about his face or his clothes or his voice? Why did he give the impression that he couldn’t pay his bills?

It was only later, after they had traversed Los Angeles, that Cadel realised what the problem really was. Canoga Park lay in the San Fernando Valley, more than sixty kilometres north-west of the airport. To get there, the cab had to cut through endless stretches of suburban sprawl, passing strip malls and shopping centres, parks and schools, flyovers and construction sites. Though he didn’t see any beaches or movie stars, Cadel did see all kinds of things that he’d never laid eyes on before: billboards ten storeys high, advertising new television shows; streets and streets of beautiful houses with gardens so perfectly manicured that they looked like film sets; a white church the size of a parliament house, occupying an entire hill; block after block of stores that were covered in Spanish signage. He saw diners and pet salons, yellow school buses and black-and-white police cars. It was all so new and dazzling that it kept him confused and off-balance for quite some time.

But as the meter ticked away, he gradually began to understand one all-important fact. In Los Angeles, the wealthy people were so immensely rich that, by comparison, the poor people seemed somehow poorer. And after taking such a long tour through neighbourhoods where every house looked like a miniature Greek temple, or Renaissance palace, or Georgian country seat, Cadel quickly realised – upon reaching Canoga Park – that he had arrived in one of the less prosperous parts of town.

Suddenly, he understood his driver’s concern. The problem wasn’t Cadel’s youth, or his cheap clothes, or his lack of luggage. The problem was his destination.

Gazing out at dusty yards and peeling paint, it occurred to Cadel that a lot of people in Canoga Park wouldn’t be able to afford a one-hundred-dollar cab fare.

Raimo Zapp’s house came as a big surprise.

It was a small, shabby place that seemed to be cowering behind a two-car garage. The front yard was unfenced, and badly in need of a mow; apart from the neglected lawn it contained only a shaggy palm tree and a letterbox. The aluminium windows were all firmly shut, as were the venetian blinds that hung rather crookedly behind them. Pale stucco walls were streaked with grey stains, and paint was peeling off the shutters.

Cadel had expected something a little more flash, despite the fact that Raimo’s neighbours were all living in similar houses, on a street that had a dusty, depressed air about it. Surely a visual-effects genius didn’t have to scrape around for spare cash? Surely Prosper’s bribes must have been temptingly substantial?

Only later did it occur to Cadel that Raimo had probably been spending his money on the latest computer graphics equipment – which could cost hundreds of thousands (if not millions) of dollars. All over the world, techno-geeks were constantly skimping on things like food, clothes and deodorant so that they could buy the latest gadget or game. Cadel could understand this compulsion perfectly.

‘I’m going to leave my stuff in the car,’ he said to the driver. ‘If you wait here, I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes.’ Seeing a mistrustful frown reflected in the rear-view mirror, Cadel added, ‘There’s a laptop in this bag. It’s worth a lot more than my fare, so I’ll definitely be coming back for it. Okay?’

A grunt was the only response from the man behind the wheel. Now that the money issue had been resolved, nothing seemed to perturb him; on his way to Canoga Park he hadn’t so much as blinked when a monstrous truck had veered into the lane just ahead of his cab, almost clipping its front fender. The bewildering tangle of freeways hadn’t fazed him in the least, and he hadn’t asked a single question during the entire course of the trip.

Nevertheless, Cadel had decided not to push his luck. Changing clothes in the taxi might have been a little too weird for the driver to stomach. And although Cadel could have changed in a big shopping mall somewhere – ditching his old cab as a girl before hailing a new one looking more like himself – he was pretty sure that an American shopping mall would be full of cameras.

As for using a more isolated bathroom, it simply wasn’t an option. Deserted football fields weren’t usually supplied with working taxi stands, no matter what city you were in.

So he had decided to approach Raimo as Ariel, despite being extremely concerned about a prolonged, face-to-face encounter. Would all the sniffing and coughing be enough to disguise his voice? Was Raimo the kind of computer jockey whose inexperience with girls would leave him so dazzled by a display of jewellery and make-up that he wouldn’t see through them? It was difficult to say – especially since Niobe was part of the equation.

Cadel didn’t know if she was still around. If she was, it was doubly important that he conceal his true identity. And even if she wasn’t, she might very well have told Raimo about him. Or
Prosper
might have told Raimo about him. Either way, it was possible that Raimo might recognise him if he turned up as Cadel, in his usual sneakers and t-shirt.

On the whole, Ariel was a safer bet. Therefore Cadel marched up Raimo’s driveway in Ariel’s high heels, with Ariel’s ponytail bobbing against the back of his neck and Ariel’s skirts swishing around his ankles. He tried to remember what he had learned at
the Axis Institute about disguising himself.
Transformation isn’t as hard as you might think, if you’ve got the right attitude
, his teacher had once told him.
Whether you’re making yourself visible or invisible, the thing about a disguise is that half the time you can hide behind just one prominent feature. A big nose. An awful tie. Even a giant pimple. People will be so busy noticing whatever it is that they won’t pay much attention to the rest of you
.

Cadel decided that his fake cold might serve as a distracting focal point. And as he pushed the doorbell, he wiped his nose on his handkerchief, aware that someone might be inspecting him through the peephole in the front door.

At last he heard footsteps from somewhere inside. They grew louder and louder, before stopping abruptly. There was a scraping, jingling noise, which he identified as the sound of a security chain being fastened.

The door opened a few centimetres, revealing two luminous brown eyes magnified by a funky pair of orange-rimmed glasses.

‘What do
you
want?’ a reedy voice inquired.

‘Oh – ah – are you Raimo?’ asked Cadel. His own voice was so shrill with nerves that it had a convincingly feminine pitch to it.

‘Why? Who wants to know?’

‘I’m Ariel.’

‘Who?’

‘
Ariel
. I’m Warren’s friend? He told me he sent you an email.’

‘Oh.’ There was a pause. ‘Okay …’

‘He wanted me to give you something.’

The orange glasses disappeared for a few seconds. There was more scraping and jingling, then the door creaked open further. Cadel found himself staring at a man of about his own height, who was dressed in a black t-shirt, tight black jeans, and pointytoed snakeskin boots.

‘Ah’m Raimo,’ said the man. His short body and long limbs made him look vaguely like an insect. So did his all-black outfit and his small, bony skull, which was clearly visible beneath a close-cropped layer of peroxided hair. Despite the bags under his
eyes, he didn’t seem to be very old – perhaps in his mid-twenties. ‘You better come in, ah guess.’

Cadel obeyed, trying not to look as scared as he felt. It was like walking into a freezer, thanks to the power of Raimo’s cooling system. With every step, old sweet wrappers crunched beneath Cadel’s shoes; there were hundreds of wrappers strewn across the shag pile carpet, which was a bright, almost fluorescent green. The house reminded him of Com’s place, because it had stale-smelling air and grubby paintwork. Com’s place, however, had been damp and mouldy, with small windows and high ceilings, whereas Raimo’s house was a 1960s box, cramped and unadorned and full of filtered glare. What’s more, there were no walls of old computer equipment. Raimo’s technology was all cutting edge, except for his collection of antique pinball machines. Cadel was hugely impressed by those – and by the more modern arcade games, as well. He couldn’t believe how many of them had been jammed into the front room, which otherwise housed only a bar fridge, a wall-mounted flat-screen TV, and a novelty chair shaped like an enormous red hand.

Raimo sat down on the palm of this hand, leaning back against its fingers.

‘So what’s the story?’ he inquired, folding his arms and crossing his legs. His tone was imperious; he had a southern accent. ‘Suddenly ah get an email outta the blue from someone ah never met, saying he works for Andrew Hellen and asking if ah kin place a body scan. Like ah’m some sorta distribution point. What is this, a set-up? Huh? Are you trying to finger me – is that it?’

Cadel played dumb. From the very beginning he had cast himself in the role of ignorant messenger, sent on a mission that he didn’t understand. ‘Hey!’ he squeakily protested. ‘I’m just doing Warren a favour.
I
don’t know what it’s all about.’

This, of course, was a lie. Cadel had devised the whole scenario. Though the email sent to Raimo had supposedly been written by Hamish’s friend Warren, it had actually come from Cadel – who had secured Raimo’s email address from a certain
Los Angeles utilities database. While impersonating Warren, Cadel had offered Raimo a scan of Nicole Kidman, feeling sure that such a prize would be irresistible. Cadel’s message had also warned Raimo that a friend would bring the scan to Los Angeles and collect payment for it; there could be no question of dispatching such an enormous file through cyberspace, where it was bound to go astray.
I know there must be a market out there I just don’t know where it is
, Cadel had written.
I figure you can pay me a percentige of the Fee & I can keep a look out for more good scans we could have an arangemint.

He wasn’t sure whether Raimo would take the bait, so he’d tried not to sound too crisp and professional. The spelling mistakes had been deliberate – as had the somewhat grandiose style. In striving to come across as a greedy teenager, Cadel had even used various computer-gaming terms, describing Ariel as his ‘avatar’, and commiserating with Raimo for having been ‘seriously ganked’ by the computer graphics industry.
Andrew Hellen says you got XP with black market scans
, Cadel had explained,
and my friends going to LA so why not?

Ariel herself was another convincing element in his plan. No self-respecting police force would send a sick teenager to entrap a suspect: at least, that was Cadel’s theory. He knew that his age was a definite plus. For that reason, he adopted the fretful whine of a spoiled suburban princess – the sort of girl who would be utterly clueless when it came to any form of computer technology other than Facebook and iPhones.

‘All Warren did is give me this,’ he continued, coughing piteously as he produced a USB drive. ‘I’m supposed to give it to you once you pay for it. That’s all he told me. Apart from the name and address.’

Raimo’s lip curled in a sneer. ‘Are you kidding?’ he scoffed. ‘You think ah’d hand over money for something sight unseen?’

‘That’s what he
told
me.’

‘Well, you kin forget it,’ said Raimo, nodding at the sliver of metal in Cadel’s palm. ‘That could be anything. Hay-ell, it could be
nothing
.’

‘But I’m supposed to get the money!’ Cadel’s voice cracked as it mounted towards a squeal. ‘Can’t you just call him?’

‘Why don’t
you
call him?’ was Raimo’s uncooperative response.

‘Because my phone doesn’t work over here.’

‘Are you from Australia too?’

‘Of course I am!’ Cadel was careful to sound affronted. It was easier to stay high-pitched, that way. ‘Can’t you tell?’

Raimo shrugged. He was watching his visitor with bright, unblinking eyes, and something about the way he sat there – a dark little dot in a giant red hand – made him look like a squashed mosquito.

‘What about
your
phone?’ Cadel suggested. ‘We could use that.’

Raimo said nothing. Instead he uncoiled his limbs and stood up.
Crunch-crunch-crunch
went the soles of his boots, as he strode through a sea of sweet wrappers. Cadel nervously followed him down a narrow hallway, past a room fitted out as a home cinema. The screen in this room was gigantic; it faced two rows of raked, adjustable seats, which were upholstered in plum-coloured velvet and fitted with cup holders and footrests. It seemed obvious to Cadel that Raimo had blown all his money on the most luxurious home cinema known to man.

And then they passed the room next door.

Confronted with rack upon rack of eye-popping computer technology, Cadel realised that he was mistaken. The greater part of Raimo’s wealth must have been poured, not into home cinema wiring, but into the kind of equipment that NASA would have envied. All at once, Raimo’s arctic air-conditioning made perfect sense. It was clearly for the benefit of his machines, which exuded a lot more heat than your average suburban family. Hovering on the threshold, Cadel saw that several holes had been punched in one wall, so that cables could be run from an adjoining room. The only trace of human occupation was the layer of wrappers on the floor.