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insisted, staring at the fuzzy recording like a rabbit caught in the glare of oncoming headlights. ‘That’s Prosper English. I’d recognise him anywhere.’

FOUR
    Sitting in front of the safe-house computer, Cadel examined the image displayed on its screen.
    There could be no doubt that he was looking at Prosper English. Despite the poor quality of the digital video recording, Prosper’s high cheekbones and lanky frame were unmistakable. So was his tweed jacket. Prosper had always favoured professorial outfits, and Cadel recognised this one – which also featured a matching waistcoat and leather elbow patches. But why had Prosper chosen it? Why hadn’t he disguised himself? If he had shaved his head or donned a hooded anorak, he might never have been detected. Yet he’d kept on wearing the same old clothes, in shot after shot after shot.
    What on earth was he up to?
    Cadel couldn’t figure it out. Nothing made sense. Though the car park sighting suggested that Prosper might have a car, the station sighting suggested otherwise. Though the sunglasses were a form of camouflage, the tweedy jacket was anything but. And the five-second film clips didn’t provide nearly enough information. Were there any banks nearby? Any bus stops? Any doctors or pharmacies or Internet cafes? Cadel didn’t know. He couldn’t even work out if Prosper was following anyone, because there wasn’t enough footage. The police had provided only seven brief glimpses of Prosper, as he passed seven different cameras. If he was in pursuit of a person who happened to be more than five seconds ahead of him, it wasn’t apparent. Not to Cadel, anyway.
    What I need
, he thought,
is better coverage. Better coverage and proper geographical background.
    But he wouldn’t be asking for anything like that. Suppose his request made its way into an official email? Suppose there was a leak? Suppose Prosper had told Dr Vee to monitor the police network? Cadel wasn’t about to take any more risks; keeping the files had been hazardous enough. ‘I don’t know if I can do that,’ Saul had muttered, when asked if he would leave the disc behind. ‘I thought we agreed that you shouldn’t get involved?’
    ‘I won’t get involved,’ Cadel had assured him. ‘I’m just going to take another look at those files.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because I might as well. Because they’re already here.’
    ‘This isn’t your job, though. You should be doing something else.’
    ‘Like what? I can’t go online. I can’t talk to Sonja. I’ve done all my homework, and I’m sick of watching TV. What else
can
I do?’
    It was a good question, to which Saul had been unable to provide a ready answer. So he’d given in. He’d surrendered his disc to Cadel, who had promised faithfully not to download anything off it. ‘I’ll give it back to you when I see you tonight,’ Cadel had said. ‘I won’t use my laptop, don’t worry.’
    ‘You have to be careful.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘Prosper’s not stupid.’
    ‘I
know
.’ Cadel didn’t need to be told how smart Prosper was. Only a smart man could have escaped from prison. Only a smart man could have
stayed
out of prison. Yet suddenly Prosper had resurfaced – in Sydney, of all places – wearing clothes that were bound to be recognised. It was a dumb thing to do, and Prosper wasn’t dumb.
    So what was he thinking?
    Cadel studied the recorded scene in front of him, searching for clues. There had to be a pattern to Prosper’s movements, buried somewhere inside the captured data. Prosper’s timing was important. His choice of route was important. So was hisdecision to cross the foyer of a multi-storeyed office block in downtown Sydney. He hadn’t used an elevator; he hadn’t taken the stairs; he’d simply walked through the foyer.
    Why?
    Cadel gnawed at his thumbnail, wishing that he could ask Sonja for help. Sonja was good with patterns, just as Cadel was good with systems. She could always spot the numbers lurking