Gazo too was impressed. 'You look great, Cadel,' he gasped. 'Wow! You look just like a girl!'

'But would you have recognised me?' Cadel asked. 'That's the important thing.'

'I dunno.' Gazo c.o.c.ked his head to one side. 'You look the same but not the same.'

'Like your own twin sister,' said Abraham hoa.r.s.ely, and he began to cough. Doris snorted.

'He does not look like a girl,' she sneered. 'He's wearing great big hiking boots!'

'Yes, that's the whole point.' Abraham shot Doris a weary, contemptuous look. His eyes were bloodshot. 'He's not trying too hard. Teetering around on silly stiletto heels doesn't make a person more female.'

Doris, who was teetering around on stiletto heels herself, flushed and scowled. Cadel tried to change the subject.

'You look good, Abraham,' he said. 'You had me convinced, for a moment.'

Abraham grunted. Then Gazo said: 'There's Alias. He's dressed up as Kunio.'

Everyone turned to watch a figure in a military uniform stride briskly towards them. As it drew nearer, Cadel was astonished at the brilliance of the disguise that Alias had achieved. He looked exactly like Kunio, right down to the shape of his nose. It was astonishing.

Suddenly the advancing figure stopped, and pointed. A babble of frantic j.a.panese filled the air.

'Wow,' said Gazo, in reverent tones. 'He even knows the lingo.'

But as the bowler-hatted Kunio began to laugh, Cadel realised what was going on. The real Kunio had only just arrived. The other Kunio was, in fact, their instructor.

Behind the suit, gla.s.ses, wig, beard, moustache and make-up, he didn't really resemble Kunio much at all.

'Dear me,' he said, with a big, toothy grin, 'when are you people going to learn? Rule number one: don't just ignore the foreign guy who can't speak the language, and didn't understand what he was supposed to do today. Otherwise you might get caught out.' He patted Kunio's gold-braided shoulder, confusing the j.a.panese student even more. 'Okay, everyone, let me look at you. Properly.'

Cadel didn't know if his disguise would pa.s.s inspection. He had applied some of Mrs Piggott's make-up (lip gloss, mascara and eye-shadow), tied his curly hair up with a ribbon, bought an old Indian cotton skirt and a pair of snap-on earrings from a thrift shop, and donned one of Mrs Piggott's knitted jackets over an old black t-shirt. The bust concealed by this t-shirt had been achieved by stuffing a bra with sports socks.

As Abraham had said, Cadel now looked just like his own twin sister. But would such a transformation be good enough for Alias?

'Hmm,' said Alias, stopping in front of Abraham. 'Not bad. Not bad at all. I like to see a student getting serious about his a.s.signments, Mr Coggins: shaving your head shows a lot of commitment. And a costume like this is like a uniform a people look at it, rather than at you. But remember, for that very reason, you're not going to slip in quietly when you're dressed as a Buddhist monk a not unless you're trying to crash the Dalai Lama's birthday party. Understand?'

Abraham nodded.

'Good. Okay. Now a Mr Kovacs . . .' Alias confronted Gazo. 'You're an unusual case, Mr Kovacs, but you do have certain advantages. For instance, there's only about thirty square centimetres of your body that you have to worry about. My advice is: listen and learn. Because today we'll be having a lesson on make-up.' Moving sideways, Alias reached Doris. 'Ye-e-es. You know, I like this one. A brave attempt. It would only work in a very small number of places, though. Might I recommend, Ms Deauville, that you try something on the other end of the gender spectrum? You might find that you're highly successful when impersonating a man.'

No one laughed at this. It wasn't meant to be a joke. Doris seemed bewildered, but didn't ask for more details. So Alias moved on.

'Well, well,' he said with a smile. 'Mr Darkkon. Or should I say Miss Darkkon? That's a very elegant little disguise. Simple. Simplicity is important. You can't always be carrying around a briefcase full of false eyelashes and prosthetic ears.' He waved his own briefcase to ill.u.s.trate the point. 'But since I am carrying around just such a briefcase, we might begin our lesson, now a and we'll have to do that in the toilets. Staff toilets, of course. We'll try the men's, I think, under the circ.u.mstances.' He winked at Cadel and offered his arm to Doris. 'Need help in those heels, Ms Deauville? I know I would.'

For an employee of the Axis Inst.i.tute, Alias was surprisingly polite. Even Doris was disarmed by his placid, friendly style. Like the other three students, she followed him obediently to the closest staff toilets, which were quite luxurious. The mirrors above the two vanity sinks were ringed with blazing light bulbs, and there was a lot of polished granite scattered about.

One of the mirrors had been cracked, however (it looked like a bullet hole), so Alias set up in front of the other one. For the next hour he demonstrated various tricks of the makeup artist's trade, transforming Abraham into an old man and Doris into a young one. He also distributed a shopping list of basic 'must-have' cosmetics, lectured the cla.s.s on what distinguishes a bad wig from a good one, and gave them each a set of fake fingernails. These were split, yellowish and diseased-looking.

'You don't have to pay for them,' he advised, in his strangely unmemorable voice. 'I just want to see you make good use of them. Except you, Gazo, obviously.'

Gazo, who had been looking worried, immediately brightened. When the cla.s.s was dismissed, he took the opportunity to thank Alias. Cadel didn't bother to wait for him, but headed straight to the library, head down. He was embarra.s.sed about his disguise. For this reason he had donned it in one of the more obscure toilets, by the lift on the upper floor of the stacks. As far as he knew, no one ever used this bathroom. Cadel had discovered it on his second trip to the stacks when he had been looking for a special text on white-collar crime. He had managed to find the text, but on his way back to the lift had heard a strange sound. His immediate reaction had been to dart through the nearest door, which had opened into a dingy men's bathroom.

Nothing had pursued him. After waiting a few minutes, he had risked returning to the lift. Thereafter, Cadel had sometimes used this same bathroom as a hiding place when he couldn't cope with Gazo any more, or as a spot where he could squeeze the odd pimple in private. It was the perfect place to peel off his twin sister, without any offensive questions being asked. He always felt pretty safe there because no one else ever seemed to be in it.

Until now.

He was stationed in front of a mirror, opening his backpack, when he heard the noise. A scuffling sound. Looking up, he scanned the reflection of the cubicle doors behind him, noting that they were all closed. There was a sizeable gap between the bottom of each door and the concrete floor beneath it, but the room was so poorly lit that Cadel couldn't spot any ankles or feet framed in these gaps.

'h.e.l.lo?' he faltered.

No reply. Cadel, however, decided not to wait around. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and was on his way out when a cubicle door banged open behind him. Something large rushed across the room. Cadel screamed and grabbed at the door-handle, but was jerked back. Lifted. He kicked and clawed, and was pushed to the ground. A heavy weight fell on him.

'Make one more sound,' a voiced rasped, 'and I'll throttle you.'

'Help!' Cadel cried. He hadn't meant to call out; it hadn't been a conscious decision. The punch that landed on his jaw took him completely by surprise.

It seemed to rattle every tooth in his head. He actually saw stars. When he recovered his vision, he was on his back, staring into the blotched, sweaty face of Dr Deal.

'What you have to understand, my dear,' Dr Deal panted, 'is that you can't just walk into the men's lavatories and expect to get away with it a '

'I'm not!' Cadel struggled to rise, and was slapped down again. 'Stop it!' he screeched.

And Dr Deal stopped. Abruptly, he reared back, his weight tumbling off Cadel, his expression changing. He went white.

'Cadel?' he gasped.

TWENTY-FOUR.

Cadel and Dr Deal stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Cadel put a hand to his throbbing cheek. 'Oh my G.o.d,' said Dr Deal. 'Oh my G.o.d a are you all right? Are you hurt?' 'What were you doing?' Cadel was on the verge of tears, but tried to blink them away. His voice shook. 'Are you crazy?'

'No. I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you.' Dr Deal stretched out a hand, which Cadel knocked aside. 'You looked like a girl!' the lawyer burst out. 'How was I supposed to know . . . ? It was a mistake!'

Cadel scrambled to his feet. His knees were shaky; his lip was stinging. When he touched it, blood leaked onto his finger.

Dr Deal began to pick up Cadel's scattered belongings, which he thrust into Cadel's backpack. 'Ice,' he said breathlessly. 'I'll get you some ice.'

'Go away,' Cadel yelped. 'Leave me alone.'

'You don't want to swell up, Cadel. Christ!' Dr Deal sounded scared. 'It was an accident. You don't need to tell anyone. Here.' Straightening, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a wallet. 'Here. How much do you want? I've got a let's see a I've got six hundred and thirty-five dollars. Take it. It's yours.'

Cadel narrowed his eyes at the wad of notes being thrust at him. Though still in shock, he was rapidly working out what must have happened. Dr Deal had mistaken him for a girl. And so Dr Deal had jumped on him.

No doubt the lawyer had jumped on a lot of girls. Cadel's father had mentioned Dr Deal and female students in the same breath. Whether the lawyer simply liked to punch up girls, or whether he had other plans in mind for them, Cadel didn't know. He didn't want to know. He was disgusted a and furious. He was sure that one of his teeth was loose.

'Take it, Cadel, for G.o.d's sake!' Dr Deal implored. 'I tell you what a I'll give you a high distinction. You don't have to do another stroke of work for the rest of the year. I'll cover for you. I will. Just don't tell anyone.'

Cadel regarded him sombrely.

'Cadel, I'm sorry!' The lawyer was in tears, now; Cadel wondered what he had been warned would happen if he ever laid a finger on Dr Darkkon's son. Something pretty frightening, obviously.

Cadel turned to look at himself in the mirror. Blood was trickling down his chin. His cheek was red, turning purple.

'Here,' said Dr Deal, and ripped a paper towel from its dispenser. Cadel took it, wet it, and laid it on his lip.

Behind his own reflection he could see that of Dr Deal, red and ruffled and bobbing about like a seagull on a choppy tide.

'Look,' the lawyer continued, running his hands over his bald patch, 'I'll draw up a contract. Free legal services for the rest of your life. Iron clad. We'll keep a copy in a '

'I'll think about it,' Cadel interrupted. Whereupon the lawyer stopped moving.

'What?'

'I'll think about it.' Cadel turned to face him. 'I'll think about what I want.'

Dr Deal swallowed.

'And you won't tell?' he quavered.

'No.'

It had occurred to Cadel that if his father was blackmailing Dr Deal, there was no reason why he himself shouldn't do the same thing. The trouble was, he couldn't decide what to ask for. His head was still spinning.

Dr Deal hesitated. He looked slightly calmer.

'You should put some ice on that,' he said.

'I'm going home.'

'Fine. Good idea.' Dr Deal dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief. 'I'll mark you present at cla.s.s this afternoon, if you want me to. Do you need a lift?'

'I'll get a cab.'

Cadel's skin crawled at the thought of entering Dr Deal's car. Only a fool would do anything so stupid. For all Cadel knew, the lawyer intended to strangle him and dump his body, rather than risk having Dr Darkkon discover what had just happened.

'Don't do anything stupid,' Cadel added, as he inched towards the door. 'My dad has me under constant surveillance.'

As far as Cadel knew, this was an empty threat, designed to throw Dr Deal off balance. Only later, when he had escaped to another men's room and stripped off his disguise, did he begin to wonder: could it be true? Could Dr Darkkon actually be keeping an eye on him, using all the advanced technology at his disposal?

There was every chance, Cadel admitted to himself, that his computer phone had a location-tracking device embedded within it. Why not, after all? Dr Darkkon had spent a great deal of time and money pursuing his son all the way to Australia. There was no reason why he should risk losing Cadel again, even for an hour. Not when the Axis Inst.i.tute was probably crawling with fledgling kidnappers.

Cadel found the idea of being tracked a bit depressing. Sitting in a cab, nursing his sore cheek, he wondered if his father already knew about Dr Deal's attack. What if that dingy men's room had been under video surveillance? Cadel hadn't noticed any cameras, but that didn't mean much. The level of technology available to Dr Darkkon was such that he could have hidden a camera anywhere he wanted: in a hand dryer, a light fitting, a knothole.

Just in case he hadn't, however, Cadel ran through a list of possible excuses for skipping cla.s.s. An upset stomach, from the refectory food? An electric shock, from a hot-wired doork.n.o.b? He definitely didn't want anyone to find out about the attack. For one thing, keeping a secret like that would allow him to blackmail Dr Deal. For another, well, Cadel couldn't help feeling squeamish about what might happen should his father discover the truth. It was stupid a weak, even a but Cadel just didn't like the idea of a.s.sa.s.sination. Not even the a.s.sa.s.sination of Dr Deal.

In the end, of course, Cadel didn't need an excuse for skipping cla.s.s. If he hadn't been feeling so shaken a so muddleheaded and disinclined to think a he would have realised that the state of his face was all the excuse he needed. Despite all the ice that he applied to his bruises that afternoon, he walked into his five-thirty appointment with Thaddeus looking badly knocked about.

Thaddeus rose. 'What happened?' he said, his voice sharp. 'Who did it?'

Cadel blinked.

'Oh, this?' he replied. 'It was my fault.'

'Who hit you?'

'No one.'

'Don't be a fool!' snapped Thaddeus, and Cadel swallowed. Thaddeus was frightening when he wanted to be; his cold, chiselled face was enough to make anyone quail. Nonetheless, Cadel stood his ground.

'I was trying to break up a fight,' he muttered.

'You what?'

'It was an accident. They weren't trying to hit me.'

'Who wasn't?'

'It doesn't matter.'

'It most certainly does.'

'No. Really. I'm all right.'

'Was it that Gazo creature? Your pet moron?'

'No!' Cadel was alarmed. While Gazo could be irritating, Cadel didn't want him smashed up in a faked car crash. Certainly not because Cadel had received a black eye. 'It wasn't anyone in first year.'

'Who, then?' Thaddeus demanded. 'Why this misplaced sense of loyalty?'

'It's not that.'

'No?' Thaddeus examined Cadel's head. He pa.s.sed his fingers in front of Cadel's eyes, up and down, from side to side: 'Can you see this? What about this? How many fingers? Three? And you didn't pa.s.s out at all? Good.' Thaddeus looked very tall to Cadel a who, when he was finally released, sank onto the maroon couch. More and more, Cadel felt the need to hold back. Maybe this feeling had something to do with his earlier thoughts on surveillance. Maybe he just wanted to see what would happen.

He had never before concealed anything of importance from Thaddeus. 'It's a practical consideration,' he said at last. Then he glanced up at the psychologist, who raised his eyebrows.

'Indeed?'

'Grat.i.tude,' Cadel went on, slowly, 'can be a great motivator.' He took a deep breath. 'Choose your tools,' he chanted. 'Isn't that what Dad always says? I want to see how this pans out. I want to see if someone will work for me.'

Thaddeus seemed to reflect for a moment, before dropping into the couch opposite Cadel. He sat with his hands pressed together.

'Grat.i.tude,' he drawled, 'is a form of blackmail.'