But what did that mean, exactly?
How should it make him feel?
"Do you believe me, Cadel?" Thaddeus was trying to sound calm. "I know that I've told you not to believe anyone about anything, but—"
"I believe you," Cadel interrupted. An anxious Thaddeus made him uneasy. He wanted to put the psychologist's mind at rest.
"Is that the truth? Look at me, Cadel."
Reluctantly, Cadel obeyed. The two of them regarded each other, until a ghost of a smile touched Thaddeus's mouth.
"I can't always tell," he confessed. "It's not something you ought to know, but with that face of yours, I can't always tell if you're lying or not. Are you?"
"No."
"You've every right," Thaddeus conceded, recovering himself. He straightened, released the back of the chair, and allowed his smile to develop into something more confident. "I don't expect you to act out of sentiment. If you did, I would have failed. But consider this, Cadel: When you discover that I'm your father—and you will discover it, I assure you—then you may feel inclined to tell Dr. Darkkon. That would be a mistake. You should have no illusions about him. He will not be grateful. He will try to destroy you—and me. Now, I can protect my self. But you?" Thaddeus shook his head, without taking his eyes off Cadel. "You'll gain nothing from revealing the truth to Darkkon. You'll ruin everything, for both of us." Placing his elbows on the back of the armchair, Thaddeus clasped his hands together and raised his eyebrows. "Do you understand?" he finished.
Cadel understood, all right.
"Yes," he said.
"Good." Thaddeus looked at the picture of Cadel's mother, which lay on the bed. "You can keep that," he added. "I would have given it to you before, but ... well, you were very young. I didn't want you questioning Darkkon. He would have told you all kinds of lies, and then if I'd tried to correct them, in private, your resentment might have shown."
"He did tell me lies," Cadel pointed out dully. "He told me she ran away."
"Yes. Well. I'm sorry about that."
"
Did
she run away, or didn't she?"
"She might have, given time." Thaddeus seemed to be searching for the right words. "She would have taken you with her, though. She would never have left you, Cadel. She loved you."
"She did?"
"Oh yes."
Cadel wondered if this was the truth. He realized that Thaddeus had succeeded in teaching him at least one thing—namely, to doubt everything that he was told.
"It's very late, Cadel. You should go to bed. Sleep on it."
"But what happens now?"
"We'll discuss that in the morning. You've had a hard time. You need your sleep." For a moment, Cadel was sure that Thaddeus intended to pull back the covers on his bed—perhaps even tuck him in. But something about Cadel's body language must have made Thaddeus change his mind.
So he headed for the door instead.
"Good night, dear boy," he murmured. "Sweet dreams. I'll see you tomorrow."
He left the room as silently as he had entered it. Cadel, who was exhausted, pulled down his own covers before climbing into bed.
Sweet dreams,
he thought. What a laugh.
He would have started turning things over in his head, given half the chance. But he couldn't. He couldn't even stay awake.
He fell asleep before he had managed to turn off the bedside lamp.
Cadel woke at midday, after sleeping like a dead man. Sunlight was streaming into his room. His corduroy trousers were laid out for him, neatly washed and pressed; beside them were a blue sweatshirt and a vinyl jacket. A pair of gleaming white sneakers was sitting on the floor. Everything, except the cords, was brand-spanking-new, and slightly too big for him.
As he dressed, Cadel tried to plan his next move. He had to get away. He had to return to the Piggotts' house, grab his forged documents (as well as his Ariel disguise), and go. Just go. With Art and Alias dead—with Brendan out of the picture—he could safely disguise himself as Ariel. He could bury himself in some out-of-the-way place, forge more documents, dye his hair, change his name, pretend to be sixteen, get a job in a fast-food outlet....
He suddenly thought of Sonja. What about Sonja? How could he contact her? Through the Internet, obviously. Through many far-flung re-mailers. He could stay ahead of Thaddeus,
and
Dr. Vee, if he just kept moving. And perhaps, after a few years, he might have changed so much (with the help of a little plastic surgery?) that he could actually approach her again.
Cadel realized that he was starting to stray into fantasyland. The important thing, the hardest thing, would be to get away in the first place. Once he'd done that, he could afford to concentrate on his long-term future—which wouldn't include Thaddeus.
The previous night, Cadel had been confused. Now his mind was clear, but he hadn't changed it. Thaddeus might be his father, or he might not. Whatever he was, it made no difference to Cadel. It was irrelevant. Cadel still wanted nothing more to do with him. Thaddeus was a brilliant man—a man whom Cadel still admired, despite himself. But Thaddeus couldn't be trusted. Not one iota.
Limping to the window, Cadel pulled the filmy curtain aside. Beyond it, the sun was blazing. He had to squint, and lift his hand to shield his eyes, before he could see what lay spread out at his feet. It was the sea, dark and serene under a cloudless sky. Far off, on the horizon, he could just make out the shape of a large ship—a tanker, perhaps. To his right, if he craned his neck, he could see headlands folding back like bedcovers. To his left, he thought he spied a beach.
Where
was
he?
Below him, waves crashed against an unseen cliff face. There was a terraced area, planted with hardy shrubs, and a patio wet with salt spray.
Good place to get rid of a body,
Cadel thought, and shuddered. He
had
to get out.
After dressing, he cautiously sidled into the corridor that bisected the top floor of this startling house. Would he be lucky enough to escape detection? Would he be able to walk straight downstairs and out the front door? For an instant his heart leaped; then he heard a voice from the bottom of the staircase.
"Good morning, sir." It was Vadi. "How is your foot this morning?"
Cadel cursed silently to himself. It was obvious that Vadi had been appointed to watch over him. There would be no slipping out of
this
house. Not while Vadi was around.
Not, at least, until Cadel had a better grasp of the building's layout and security systems.
"Uh—my foot's fine," said Cadel. In fact, it was still sore, but not nearly as painful as it had been the previous night. "Where did the shoes come from?"
"I went shopping," Vadi replied, enigmatically. "Would you care for something to eat, sir?"
"Urn..." Cadel hesitated. He felt squeamish about accepting food from Vadi. An image of worms and oysters flashed into his mind. But he suddenly realized that he was famished. "Maybe ... toast?"
"Of course, sir." Vadi was still dressed in his tailcoat, which looked a little odd in the harsh light of day. "Anything else? An omelette, perhaps? With bacon?"
"Well ... yes. Okay."
"Mushrooms? Fried tomatoes?"
"No thanks." Cadel didn't like mushrooms. And he preferred his tomatoes cold. "Where's the bathroom again?"
"Directly to your left," Vadi replied. He went away to order the omelette but was back by the time Cadel had finished in the bathroom. Cadel then followed him into a downstairs room that overlooked the spray-lashed terrace. On a pale marble floor stood a long wooden table and six chairs. The table was laid with a white linen cloth, a damask napkin, silver cutlery, a crystal glass, and a jug of orange juice. There was also a folded newspaper lying beside the jug.
It was like being in a hotel, Cadel decided, intimidated somewhat by the silence, the high ceiling, and the immense, enfolding view that he could see through a wall of windows.
Vadi waited behind a chair until Cadel had sat down on it. Then he pushed the chair toward the table and disappeared.
Cadel looked at the newspaper.
He wondered if it was there for a reason. Was he supposed to pick it up? Read a certain story about a dead man, or a mysterious explosion, or a warehouse fire? He wasn't sure. Above him, from the vaulted ceiling, dangled a lamp made of wrought iron. Behind him, a strange modern tapestry, all blurred lines and muddy colors, hung from another piece of wrought iron: a twisted black bar with frayed, clawlike ends. In front of him, the endless ocean made him feel very small.
"Ah. Cadel." All at once Thaddeus appeared, as if he had walked through a secret hatchway. "How are you this morning? Or this afternoon, I
should
say." He glanced at his watch. "At least you've managed to catch up on your sleep. How's the foot?"
"Fine," said Cadel. He realized, with a sinking heart, that his bruised bone (or whatever it was) would undoubtedly hinder him when he tried to escape. It wouldn't be easy running away with a dud foot.
"Is Vadi attending to you?" asked Thaddeus.
"Yes."
"Do you like the view? Impressive, isn't it?"
"I guess." Cadel glanced at the window. "Where are we, anyway? The south coast? Somewhere like that?"
"Somewhere like that."
Cadel waited, but Thaddeus didn't elaborate. He only smiled. So Cadel continued.
"Is this your house?" he asked.
"Not exactly. It belongs to a man called Ivan. Very good citizen. Pays his taxes. Never makes himself conspicuous. The sort of person it's impossible to locate, when all's said and done."
"Oh," said Cadel. So Thaddeus lived here under an assumed name. It made sense. "Who else lives here?"
"Vadi. Wilfreda. She cooks. He cleans."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
"So you don't..." Cadel paused, wondering how to phrase his next question. "You don't have a family?" he concluded, at which point Thaddeus narrowed his eyes.
"Of course I have a family," he rejoined. "You are my family, Cadel."
"Oh. Right." For a moment, Cadel had forgotten. "I mean, any
other
family."
"No. I told you. Your mother is dead." Thaddeus, who had been standing near the door, crossed the room and sat next to Cadel. He was wearing a silk waistcoat over a soft linen shirt. His sleeves were rolled up. "We have to discuss our plans, Cadel, before you talk to Phineas again. Axis is finished, as you know. The police are swarming all over it now, though I've tried very hard to contain the damage. Unfortunately, while Vee has erased all the files, and we've sealed off Yarramundi, I can't do much about our troublesome Dr. Deal. God knows what he's told the police by now. Even if I disposed of him today, it wouldn't guarantee our safety. He could have spilled his guts the minute he gave himself up. That's why we have to pull out."
Thaddeus looked around as Vadi entered the room, bearing a tray. On the tray were a toast rack, a small bowl full of marmalade, and an omelette arranged on a plate under curls of bacon and tufts of parsley. Vadi unloaded the tray with swift, deft movements. Thaddeus asked him for coffee.
"Yes, sir."
"Black. It's for me."
"Yes, sir."
Vadi withdrew. Cadel attacked the omelette with enthusiasm. He almost forgot that Thaddeus was watching him.
"Fortunately, Deal doesn't know you as Cadel Piggott," Thaddeus remarked. "Nobody at the institute did except Adolf and some of the Grunts. They had to know for security reasons, but I thought it best to keep your whereabouts a secret otherwise. In case some of your fellow students got any ideas into their heads."
"But it was on my security card," Cadel pointed out. "My name
and
my address." Suddenly a vivid picture flashed into his mind. He saw himself trying to persuade Sonja that he was really Cadel Piggott. Waving the card at her.
So
that
was how she'd found him! She'd seen his address!
"Yes, but who saw your security card except the scanners?" Thaddeus wanted to know. "You didn't show it around, did you, Cadel? You were told not to."
"I didn't." Cadel opened his eyes very wide, his jaws working. "I didn't show it to a single person."
On campus,
he added to himself.
"Then we've got a good head start," said Thaddeus. "We can disappear much more easily. You might have to change your name for a while—"
"Disappear?" Cadel interrupted, spraying food everywhere. He swallowed quickly. "What do you mean?"
"We can't hang around, dear boy. What with the doctor, and the chaos at Yarramundi, there'll be a feeding frenzy very soon. Police and media and I don't know what else. Phineas will understand."
"But—but—"
"But what?" Thaddeus folded his arms and studied Cadel's expression. "Surely you agree with me?"
"But I have to get back home! I mean, to the North Shore!" Cadel knew that his voice was too loud, too urgent, and tried to lower it. Without much success. "There's stuff I need."
"What stuff?"
"Stuff. Work."
"That Brezeck business is immaterial now. You won't be around to persecute any longer."
"It's not that! It's—it's my program! All my calculations..." Actually, it was Cadel's forged documents. His disguise. They had to be retrieved or he was doomed. "
Please,
Thaddeus!"
"Take it easy. I'll send someone to get them."
"No, no! They're hidden! It has to be me! Anyone else will just wreck them!"
There was a tense silence. Thaddeus threw back his head and looked down his long nose at Cadel. Cadel clenched his fists and tried not to sweat. Instead, he concentrated on replicating the kind of sulky, mulish countenance that he had often seen at school—the face of a child who's been denied a fancy new toy, or a trip to the beach.
"Well," said Thaddeus, at last, "I suppose that house is pretty safe at this stage. Barry doesn't know the address, or your alias. The rest of them who
did
know are out of the picture—except Vee, and he's no threat. All right, you can go."
"Thanks," said Cadel.