All the same, he was fully responsible for his own unhappy fate.

'Was Abraham a friend of yours?' Terry went on, studying Cadel curiously. 'I didn't know.'

'He a he must have liked me,' Cadel replied, not knowing how to answer. His mind was working furiously. Would Abraham's death require a change of plans? No, probably not. No, he would stick to his original scheme. Terry had the vial. Terry could therefore be rattled. And if Luther was involved too, then Terry was bound to contact him. 'If he hadn't liked me, he wouldn't have asked me to collect all his stuff.'

'Well, feel free,' said Terry. 'You might as well clear it all out. I certainly don't want it.'

Cadel frowned. 'You don't?'

'Course not. Load of rubbish. Sorry to say it, but he was a mad b.u.g.g.e.r. Completely mad.' Terry surveyed his office again, hands on hips. He seemed to be losing interest in Cadel. 'There isn't much here, as far as I know, because poor old Abe was paranoid. Used to drag most of his notes and things home with him. But what there is, you'll find in his desk. It's in 311. Hang on a I'll punch the code in for you.'

'But a I mean, if he's dead, he won't need his stuff, will he?'

Terry shrugged. 'If it stays here, it'll get thrown away. Up to you.'

'Well . . . there's not much point. I don't think I'll bother,' said Cadel, and took a deep breath. Now, he thought. 'Abraham gave me something for you. He said it was his last will and testament. I don't know if it really is. He told me not to read it.' Cadel produced the folded printout from his pocket, concentrating fiercely on his hands. If they shook, it would be fatal. 'He wasn't very well, so . . . I don't know.' Cadel hesitated, willing himself to adopt a wry tone. 'It might not make much sense.'

Terry sighed. He took the paper but didn't open it up.

'Right, right,' he said. 'Thanks, Cadel.' Once again, his attention was focused elsewhere. 'I'll look at it later.'

'Do you know when the funeral is?'

'What?'

'Do you know when the funeral is?'

It took Terry a moment to process this question. Once he had, he shook his head.

'Sorry. No idea.'

Cadel nodded, and took his leave quickly. All of a sudden his pulse was jumping. He was dizzy with terror. His heart felt as if it was in his throat, and sweat was breaking out all over his body. Plunging into the bathroom near the lifts, he shut himself in a cubicle, where he sat on the toilet seat and took deep, calming breaths.

He had done it. He had taken the first step a removed the first brick. Somehow, though, this was different to anything he had ever done before. The sports hall, the rail system, his fellow year-twelve students a none of these targets had been the least bit frightening.

Never before had he been so close to losing his nerve.

'Don't be a fool,' he told himself, blinking back tears. 'Don't be a sissy.' He had been shaken by the news of Abraham's death a that was his problem. He couldn't stand the thought of all that waste. The precious notes, binned. The feverish brain, snuffed out. It was so pathetic. Poor Abraham. Poor, pitiful Abraham.

Cadel swallowed fiercely. This was no good, he told himself. He had to stay sharp. If he stayed sharp and didn't let his emotions get the better of him, then this audacious plan might just succeed.

With an enormous effort, he pulled himself together. Washing his face helped, as did one of Thaddeus's travel sweets, which he had tucked into his backpack. He glanced at himself in the mirror. Not bad, he thought. A bit pale, but not bad.

He squared his shoulders and marched back out the bathroom door a only to find Terry waiting for a lift.

Cadel couldn't help flinching as the lecturer swung around.

'Cadel!' Terry exclaimed. 'Did you read that thing?'

Cadel decided to play dumb.

'What thing?' he asked, bringing his most ingenuous look into play.

'You know what thing!' Terry snapped.

'Oh, you mean that a '

'The thing you gave me! The letter! Are you sure you didn't read it?'

'No.' Cadel's tone was hurt. 'He told me not to. Why, was it stupid? I'm sorry, but he was sick. It's not my fault if a '

'He was blaming me for making him sick,' Terry interrupted. 'Did he tell you that? Hmmm?'

'He a '

'Because it's not true. It had nothing to do with me.'

'I know.'

'The crazy fool was losing his mind.'

'Yes.' Cadel nodded sagely. 'I said he was. But you don't have to worry a everyone knows he was doing it to himself.'

Terry stared at Cadel intently for a moment, studying his artless face. Then he seemed to dismiss any suspicions that he might have had, turning abruptly to jab at the 'down' b.u.t.ton. 'Come on,' he growled. 'Where is this stupid thing?' Overcome with impatience, he abruptly headed for the fire stairs.

Cadel waited. He moved to the window, from which he had a clear view of Terry's sleek red convertible. After about five minutes, Terry emerged from the seminary building and hurried towards the car park. He was holding his mobile phone to his ear.

His phone!

Cadel couldn't help cursing aloud. Why was the stupid moron using a mobile? Didn't he realise how insecure a mobile phone could be? Cadel's heart sank as he realised how incomplete his data was. He had calculated that Terry would use his normal email route to alert Luther. Obviously, his calculations had been wrong. Were his IQ specifications at fault, or had he underestimated the panic factor?

Perhaps Terry was simply calling Tracey. Cancelling a lunch, or something. But his gesture of frustration, when he failed to connect with the person he'd called, seemed a little too violent for that.

Cadel watched him kick the front tyre of his car, take a deep breath and regain control of himself. Then he spoke into the mobile, but only briefly. (Leaving a message, Cadel decided.) Even as the mobile snapped shut, Terry was climbing behind the wheel of his convertible. The driver's door slammed so loudly that even Cadel could hear it from his lofty position; as its engine roared to life, the zippy vehicle shot out of its parking spot, did a three-point turn, and careened off into the distance.

Cadel waited. Sure enough, another car a small and grey a pulled away from a nearby kerb and began to follow the convertible. The question was: to where? There was a high probability that Terry had gone to rifle through Abraham's bedroom. He would have had the address, after all. But Cadel wasn't taking anything for granted. Not after his phone mistake.

He scurried back down to Hardware Heaven. Here he would be able to monitor Terry's movements, tracking the regular reports filed by the two Grunts who were d.o.g.g.i.ng his footsteps. Adolf had installed a rather elegant little system which involved routing coded telephone text messages through to a continually operating program on his computer, via a modem. Cadel liked this system very much. He liked it because it gave him full access to every surveillance report received by the Fuhrer, including those that concerned his own movements. From the surveillance reports, Cadel learned that he himself had been followed to the hospital. To Abraham's house. To his old school. The latest report was brief, but informative. Subject Ib02 at A.I. seminary building. (b.a.s.t.a.r.ds, thought Cadel. Why don't you leave me alone?) Checking the other reports, he saw that the Grunts in the grey car were entering their latest update. Subject Ir31 a en route. In pursuit. Standby.

Obviously, it was too soon for a destination.

Then Cadel had an idea. He abandoned his computer and picked up Dr Vee's phone, dialling Luther's number. You have reached extension 3812, Luther's recorded voice informed him. Please leave a message after the tone. There followed three beeps, signalling three messages.

Could one of them have been left by Terry?

It took Cadel just ten minutes to chase down Luther's message access code. Chasing down these codes was a hobby of his. He had used his skill to good effect when sabotaging the exam efforts of his fellow year-twelve students at Crampton College. Having identified Luther's code, Cadel listened to the three recorded messages.

Sure enough, the third had been left by Terry. Luther, where are you? We've got a problem. Someone found out about our project. He's not in the picture now, but there might be others. Call me. Click.

Cadel, who had been holding his breath, released it in a great sigh. Thank G.o.d, he thought. But how to copy it, from this distance? Before it was erased? Through a modem, onto a disk drive?

Though it was a complicated little piece of engineering, it wasn't beyond him. The trouble was, it would have to be done on his own computer, after which every trace of the operation would have to be utterly erased. He couldn't risk using Sark's computer. He wouldn't have time. It was only fifteen minutes until the scheduled start of his next session with Dr Vee, and someone might walk in at any moment.

Fortunately, there was a stack of blank compact discs in the stationery cupboard, available to everyone who spent time in Hardware Heaven. You simply had to open the cupboard door with your personal access code. Cadel, of course, didn't use his own; he used Sark's. Then he sat down and copied Terry's message onto the disk he'd chosen.

He was just finishing up when Sark slouched into the room, looking disgruntled.

'Where's Com?' Cadel asked, and received a shrug in reply. 'Is he sick?'

'How should I know?'

'Where were you? Where is everyone?'

'What are you, my mother?' Sark flung himself into his chair and turned on his machine.

Cadel held his breath. He had done his best to wipe out all traces of recent activity, but things like a warm monitor were impossible to disguise.

'For Chrissake,' Sark spluttered.

'What?' said Cadel, his heart contracting.

'This b.l.o.o.d.y DN server hasn't crashed! I must have missed one of the G.o.dd.a.m.n machines, G.o.ddammit!'

Cadel breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Then Dr Vee waddled through the door and announced that it was time to 'extrapolate, gentlemen'.

For the time being, Cadel knew, he would have to abandon his spy work.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

From his Infiltration cla.s.s, Cadel went straight to Dr Deal's, where he informed Gazo that Abraham was dead. (Gazo didn't say much. What, after all, was there to say?) They parted at five, after collecting their buff-coloured envelopes. Gazo wandered off to the dormitories in his increasingly hapless way, while Cadel jumped into a cab. His usual session with Thaddeus was scheduled for half-past five. It wouldn't do to run late. He had to appear as keen as he always had been, despite his true feelings.

When he arrived at the psychologist's office, he was allowed to go straight up. Thaddeus was waiting at his desk, reading a newspaper.

'Ah, Cadel,' he said. 'You're here. I take it this means you're feeling better?'

Cadel nodded.

'No more nausea? No headaches?'

'No.'

'So it must have been some kind of twenty-four hour bug, then?'

'I guess.'

'Good, good.' Thaddeus rose and stretched. The way he did this made Cadel think of a panther. 'I suppose you wouldn't have been running around so much if you hadn't been feeling better,' Thaddeus added, with a glint in his eye. Cadel met the challenge head-on.

'Oh, you mean the hospital, and that,' he said.

'The hospital. Your old school. Number 16 Waterloo Street . . .'

'I had to go and see Abraham,' Cadel insisted, allowing a touch of impatience to enter his voice. 'He asked me to go and pick up his stuff. Said I was the only one he trusted.'

'Ah. Yes. Abraham. What a pity.'

'And now I've got his stuff, and I don't know what to do with it.' Cadel grimaced. (Don't overact, he thought. Keep it natural.) 'Underpants and things.'

'Underpants? Dear me.' 'What should I do with it?' Cadel gazed up at Thaddeus in a guileless fashion. 'Should I take it back to his house, or what?' 'My dear boy,' Thaddeus replied, his expression unreadable. 'Why should you feel it necessary to ask?'

Cadel blinked.

'You mean a '

'I mean that if there's any reason not to throw it in the nearest garbage bin, I should like to hear what that reason might be.' In the pause that followed, Cadel flushed. Thaddeus seemed to register this. 'It amazes me that you went to visit that pathetic creature in the first place,' he continued. 'Were you hoping to gain anything from it? Anything specific?'

'I a I don't know.' Cadel thought back. Why had he been moved to answer Abraham's summons? Because Gazo had asked him to? Because he was searching for a way out? Because it seemed like the right thing to do? None of these reasons, he knew perfectly well, would be acceptable to Thaddeus. 'I suppose I thought it might be interesting,' he said. 'In case he had something useful to say.'

'And did he?'

'Not really,' Cadel lied.

'So it was a complete waste of time.'

Cadel scratched his arm.

'Instilling loyalty is all very well, Cadel,' Thaddeus went on, propping himself against the desk, 'but only if the subject is worth the effort. I have to tell you, your father is not pleased. Abraham should never have called that ambulance. He should never have gone to hospital. Now there's talk of bringing the Coroner in, and you, Cadel, have been identified as Abraham's friend. You gave your name to the medical staff. How could you have been so stupid?'

Cadel swallowed.

'Perhaps you're still not quite well,' Thaddeus suggested slowly, his gaze locked on Cadel's face. 'You seem to be behaving in a very heedless manner a one might almost say an impulsive manner. That isn't like you.'

'Sorry,' Cadel murmured, and Thaddeus shrugged.

'It's done now,' he said. 'We must simply make sure that you don't become further involved in Abraham's mess. You say you collected some of his possessions?'

'Oh, yes. Right here. His address book and his dressing gown a '

'Give them to me. I'll have someone return them. I don't want you approaching that house, or that hospital, again.'

Obediently, Cadel surrendered everything in his backpack that had belonged to Abraham. He did so without disturbing the precious computer disk concealed in one of its pockets.