The Genius Wars Read Online Free PDF

two-storeyed house behind a screen of rhododendrons. This house stood in a large, flat, featureless garden; there was a sweeping view of every approach from its top floor, and full CCTV coverage of every single entry point. The bedrooms were numerous enough to sleep four bodyguards, working twelve-hour shifts. The security system included automatic gates and isometric locks.
    But the décor inside was abysmal: all blank walls and featureless space. Cadel had never liked it in the past, and now – having lived in a proper home for six months – he loathed every single white door, white tile and white cornice that currently imprisoned him. After his brief taste of freedom, the blandness of the safe house was even harder to take.
    And his name was
still
scrawled under the window ledge!
    It was eighteen months since he’d written it there, during his first Roseville sojourn. At the time, he’d been glad enough to find a safe haven, free of Prosper English. After living most of his life in something that resembled a stage set peopled with frauds, he’d found the safe house oddly restful; at least it wasn’t pretending to be cosy or welcoming. At least it was
honest
. Then he’d moved into a foster home, which (because of the people he’d shared it with) had been far, far worse than the gilded cage in which he’d spent his childhood. From the foster home he’d escaped to Clearview House, where various members of GeniusSquad were residing in a curious establishment, half bunker and half boarding school. This address had been a facade too, with a lie at its very core. Nevertheless, he’d preferred it to the safe house, which had received him yet again after Prosper’s escape from prison.
    The second visit to Roseville had lasted three months. Three whole months! It had seemed like three years. Yet he hadn’t really understood how bad it was, back then. Not in his heart of hearts.
    Now that he had a real home, he understood only too well.
    Home
, he thought.
I want to go home
.
    Shutting his eyes, he tried to pretend that he was sitting in his own bedroom. He conjured up a mental image of its silver walls, its blue ceiling, and its chequerboard floor; he remembered carefully filling in those black-and-white squares, one by one, after Fiona had traced their outlines. Together she and Cadel had painted the whole room, working side by side for three consecutive weekends – and it was Cadel who had been allowed to choose the colour scheme. ‘You’re the one who has to sleep in here,’ Fiona had said, cheerfully acceding to his request for a room that felt like ‘the inside of a computer’. She had also bought him a giant plastic chess piece for Christmas (to match the floor), and had helped him to cover the top of his desk with binary-code contact paper, which she had sealed with several coats of clear polyurethane.
    Cadel had been impressed by her home-decorating skills. Thanks to Fiona, their humble two-bedroomed cottage had been transformed into a warm and colourful nest, full of refinished furniture and recycled objects. Saul hadn’t contributed much; he was interested in the house only because it contained his family. If Fiona wanted a cowrie-shell curtain, and Cadel wanted a shiny silver bedroom, that was fine by Saul – who didn’t feel the need to project his own personality onto the fixtures and fittings. To Saul, the zebra-striped hooked rug and driftwood chandelier were just an extension of Fiona; therefore they met with his complete approval.
    He was a quiet sort of person to live with, very neat and restrained. Yet he managed to make his presence felt, despite the fact that he didn’t talk much. He would mow lawns, string up fairy lights and visit garden centres without a word of protest. He would wash dishes and vacuum rugs in the most thorough and painstaking fashion, deriving a peculiar sort of pleasure from every routine chore. Upon walking into the kitchen after a hard day’s work, he would