And he had to keep moving. If he didn't, any cameras focused in his direction might get a firm lock on the receipt itself. Cadel didn't want anyone reading it. Not if it happened to be what he thought it was. And he couldn't disable the security system because it might look odd right after Emma's visit. Someone was bound to wonder about that.
Taking a deep breath, he rose from his chair. He plucked a pair of underpants and a pair of clean socks from his chest of drawers. He went into his bathroom, turned on the shower, and began to undress.
When the moment came, he found out everything he needed to know. There, on the back of the receipt, was scrawled a long and complicated series of algorithms. There was no accompanying explanation—there didn't have to be. Cadel knew what he was looking at. Or rather, he knew where it came from. He didn't know
exactly
what it was, because he didn't have time to untangle the knots of numbers.
He had to lay aside the precious document in case he was being watched. He had to tuck it into his wallet, with an obvious lack of interest, and leave it there for the rest of the evening. Perhaps tomorrow, on the train...
Cadel had never been forced to exert such self-control. It actually gave him a headache. Unable to think about anything else, he slumped in front of the widescreen TV until the Piggotts arrived home, together, at about eleven o'clock. They appeared to be slightly drunk. Stuart was noisier than usual, and Lanna was tripping in her stiletto heels. Upon catching sight of Cadel, they immediately packed him off to bed. Then they kept him awake for another hour by knocking over wineglasses and laughing loudly.
Cadel was almost tempted to tell them that they should go back to their real families. But he didn't. He simply lay in bed, wondering what he should do about Abraham's post-office box. Now that he had Sonja's brainteaser, there would be no risk of exposing her if he went to Strathfield post office. And he wanted to confirm, once and for all, what Terry and Luther's secret experiment was all about. Abraham had already told Cadel that Terry possessed the vial—could that be what they were experimenting with?
Cadel's eyes widened as this explanation popped into his head. It occurred to him that if Terry and Luther were experimenting with the vial's contents, then they must be experimenting
on
something. Or somebody. Poetic justice ... poetic justice...
Could they be experimenting on Doris Deauville?
It would make sense. Doris had disappeared around the same time as the vial had. Everyone assumed that Luther had "taken care" of her. But what if he hadn't done it through the usual channels? What if he had hidden her away in Terry's lab, to use as a subject?
Cadel swallowed. It was a dreadful thought. Not only that, it wasn't something that Thaddeus would approve of. Experimenting on stray dogs was one thing; experimenting on people was dangerous. There were rules governing the disposal of troublesome students. Cadel had seen them on the Axis network. The important thing was always to get the bodies off campus. The institute must never, ever be implicated.
No, Thaddeus wouldn't like this at all. As Abraham would have known.
Cadel wondered if Abraham might have stumbled on Doris in the labs. It was likely. In fact, the odds were pretty high. But he needed proof. He needed to check Abraham's post-office box.
The only thing that worried him was Thaddeus. Thaddeus would find out that Cadel had visited the post office, and what then? Thaddeus hadn't liked it when Cadel ran around doing things for Abraham—who was dead now, in any case. What kind of excuse would it be if Cadel told Thaddeus that he had been collecting Abraham's precious "work"?
No, he wouldn't mention Abraham. He would say ... he would say...
Ah!
If asked, he would say that the post-office box belonged to Mrs. Brezeck.
It was a far-fetched explanation, which could be disproved quite easily. But that didn't matter.
According to Cadel's calculations, there was an 82.3 percent chance that he would be gone before anyone thought to check it out.
The next morning, Cadel set his alarm for six thirty. He had to get up early because he wanted to be in Strathfield by nine. After taking great delight in banging around the kitchen (until, from the Piggotts' bedroom, a shrill wail begged him
to please
be quiet), he headed for the station and wriggled into the crush of a commuter train. It was packed so tightly that Cadel doubted very much if the surveillance team could have got on, too. Still, he wasn't concerned if it had. He'd prepared an excuse. He wasn't trying to be furtive. When the crowds piled out at Central Station, he didn't try to lose himself in them. On the contrary, he hung back. Already half suffocated from a trip spent wedged under somebody's armpit, he needed a little air.
It was no joke braving the rush hour when you were smaller than everyone else.
The train from Central to Strathfield was almost empty. For that reason, Cadel was able to spread out a bit and even glance at Sonja's brainteaser. Of course, he had to be careful. It wouldn't do to study the crumpled document with too much interest. But he pretended to go through his pockets, examining every candy wrapper, expired train ticket, and used handkerchief before checking his wallet. The train tickets and candy wrappers were tossed on the floor. The used handkerchief was returned to his pocket. The Cerebral Palsy Center receipt was smoothed out and placed between the pages of his embezzlement homework, which he reviewed with unseeing eyes as the train clattered along. Revising his homework was a natural thing to do. And leaving a loose piece of paper tucked into it was natural as well, if you looked absentminded enough.
Cadel didn't know if the little Asian lady sharing his carriage was employed by Adolf. He thought perhaps not. The only other occupant—a fat, elderly man who was snoozing away in a corner seat—didn't look like a Grunt, either.
But Cadel wasn't taking any chances.
At Strathfield, he found the post office without difficulty. A quick scan of the premises told Cadel that there were no awkwardly placed security cameras scattered around. He was able to open box number twenty-three, extract two sheets of paper from inside it, and read through them without running the slightest risk of sharing his discovery with someone else. After all, any nearby Grunts could hardly sidle up and peer over his shoulder.
Abraham's secret did concern Doris. In a signed statement, Abraham declared that he had overheard Terry and Luther whispering together about how Doris's corpse might be disposed of when they had "completed their experiment." On another occasion, Abraham had seen Terry slipping into a supply cupboard and locking it behind him. Terry had not emerged again for another forty minutes.
When he did so,
Abraham wrote,
I heard a woman groaning.
Cadel shut his eyes for a moment.
I heard a woman groaning.
He felt sick just thinking about it. He didn't
want
to think about it. But he had to. He had to keep reading.
Having also seen Terry filch Carla's vial,
he read,
I am convinced that he is using its contents to infect Doris Deauville. This is a dangerous and foolhardy act.
By now,
Cadel thought,
she might be dead.
And he rammed the statement into his pocket, wondering what to do. Should the document be kept or destroyed?
He pondered this question all the way to the institute, where he was just in time for Dr. Deal's class. He decided, as he walked into lecture-room one, that he would destroy the statement. Flush it down a toilet, perhaps. A
public
toilet.
"Ah. Mr. Darkkon," Dr. Deal remarked. "So you've decided to join us? Excellent. Two's company, as they say, but I prefer a crowd."
Cadel knew better than to sit beside Gazo. It would have looked too friendly. Instead, he found himself a spot down in front, where he spent the next hour fielding every question that Dr. Deal threw at them both. Cadel even answered the questions specifically directed at Gazo, who would not, he knew, be able to answer them.
"There's no need to show off, Mr. Darkkon," Dr. Deal finally said. "We all realize that you're a genius, you don't have to rub our noses in it."
Cadel was pleased. He preferred it that Dr. Deal should have thought him vain rather than kind, since kindness was regarded with such suspicion and hostility at the Axis Institute.
Gazo, however, didn't make the same mistake as Dr. Deal. Though dim-witted in some ways, he was always on the alert for compassionate gestures.
"You're a mate, Cadel," he said, after they had been dismissed. "You really saved me arse today."
Cadel said nothing. They were skirting the parking lot, but they still weren't safe. Cadel knew of only one place where they could talk frankly.
"Abraham's car's still here," he observed, stopping in his tracks. Gazo did the same.
They both stared at Abraham's beat-up old Ford Cortina.
"I wonder who'll get it now?" said Gazo. It was exactly what Cadel had hoped he would say.
"Maybe it'll be finders keepers," Cadel replied, and gazed up at his friend. "What do you think?" he asked. "Do you think you can get in?"
Gazo's eyes widened behind his plastic face-screen. He glanced at the car, then back at Cadel.
"I bet you could drive it away and no one would notice," Cadel continued. "Could you? Drive it away?"
"Well, yeah, but—"
"No one's going to give a damn. You realize that, don't you? Who's going to care?" As Gazo hesitated, Cadel added, "Except Abraham's family."
"Abraham's family," Gazo mumbled. "He really hated 'em."
"Yeah. He did."
Gazo looked around. There was no one in sight, though that didn't mean much. Several banks of seminary windows overlooked the parking lot.
"It's no big deal," said Cadel, scanning the windows for signs of life. "What's to stop you? The owner's dead, isn't he?"
Gazo didn't need any more encouragement. He waddled over to Abraham's car, removed a long steel implement from his bag, and had the driver's door lock disabled in a matter of seconds.
Despite himself, Cadel was impressed.
"Wow," he said. "You really
can
do that!"
"Hop in," Gazo urged, his nervous gaze skipping from car to car, from window to window. "No point hanging about."
Thanks to his suit, Gazo was barely able to fold himself into the front seat of Abraham's little car. But he managed it somehow and unlocked the passenger door for Cadel. Then he began to fiddle around with the steering column.
But Cadel stopped him.
"Wait," said Cadel, placing a hand on Gazo's wrist. "Wait. Just listen."
Gazo froze, looking surprised. Cadel released him, and began to poke around in the glove box. He wanted to look like a scavenger, not like a conspirator.
The glove box, he noticed, was full of CDs—most of them featuring organ music.
"I'll make this quick," he said. "You want to get out of here, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"I know you do, Gazo. You're failing. You're scared stiff. Isn't that right? Don't worry, this car won't be bugged. Not yet."
Speechless, Gazo stared at Cadel, who began to lose patience.
"Look," he snapped, "do you want my help or not? Because I can help you, if you help me. We can
both
get out."
"
You?"Gazo
gasped. "But—"
"I hate this place. I hate it. My dad wants me here, but he's crazy. I swear. He's off his head. And Thaddeus—well, Thaddeus does everything my dad tells him to do."
Gazo winced. Cadel, who knew how big a risk he was taking, reminded himself that if Gazo should ever repeat this conversation to Thaddeus, there was always one excuse that might sound convincing. "It was a trick," Cadel would say. "Of course I don't hate my dad. But I had to make Gazo trust me."
"Listen," he now declared. "If I can get away, then I can help you. With money and things. Identification papers. But I need you to do something first. Without telling anyone. Will you?" Dragging a CD case out of the glove box, Cadel waved it under Gazo's nose. "We don't belong here," he said, taking the opportunity to focus his laserlike gaze on Gazo's face mask. "You know we don't belong here, this is a madhouse. And we're not mad.
Please,
Gazo. We don't have much time."
"All—all right," Gazo stammered. "But what do you want me to do?"
"It's very simple." Cadel explained quickly what would happen. That afternoon, when Gazo was at Yarramundi, Cadel would infiltrate the Yarramundi security system via Adolf's computer. For exactly ten minutes, he would disable the program that controlled the surveillance cameras near Adolf's office. "Your first class isn't until three, is it?" he asked.
"Yeah, but—"
"And you usually get a lift with someone?"
"Yeah, but—"
"Gazo, listen. You can take this car."
"This
car?
"
"You have to. You have to get there early. By 2:15. You can do it, if you've got your own car. Between 2:15 and 2:25, I'll disable the cameras. That's when I want you to slip Dr. Deal's homework envelope under the door of Adolf's office. The envelope he just gave you then."
Gazo gaped.
"It won't have your prints on it, Gazo, because you always wear gloves," Cadel explained. "The only prints on it will be Dr. Deal's. No one will be able to connect you with it."
"But—"
"You just have to take the homework out and put something else in." Folding himself double, Cadel pretended to be searching under the seat. In fact, he was removing from his bag the rap-compilation CD case. After wiping it with a tissue, he carefully handed the case to Gazo, without allowing his skin to touch it again. "Here," he said. "Stick this in the envelope. Not the case—just the disc. Have you got a watch?"
"It's in my bag. But—"
"Go now," Cadel instructed. "Enjoy yourself. Drive around a bit. Just make sure you're inside Yarramundi by two. Then slip this CD, in Dr. Deal's envelope,
under Adolf's office door.
There won't be anyone behind the door, I guarantee it. The Fiihrer will be in a meeting."