Cadel's bath was waiting at the top of the staircase, in the most luxurious bathroom that he had ever seen. It was all made of marble; there was a gilt-framed mirror, and a headless Greek statue in an alcove, and about twenty towels of every imaginable size. The sunken bath itself was so big that two steps led down into it.

'Is there anything else you need, sir?' Vadi inquired, hovering on the threshold. Cadel eyed him nervously. He looked almost normal, and yet . . . why was he wearing such a high collar?

Surely he didn't have gills?

'No,' Cadel replied, in a shaky voice.

'If you think of anything, just call,' said Vadi, gesturing at an intercom panel with a phone attached. 'Your bedroom is next door.'

'Okay.'

'It's a very great honour to meet you at last,' Vadi added gravely; and before Cadel could recover from his surprise, the young man withdrew, closing the door gently behind him.

Cadel hesitated. He was feeling so groggy that he actually had to think about what to do next. Clothes off, of course. Into the bath. The water was scented, and just the right temperature; Cadel sighed as the warm, fragrant liquid engulfed his bruised body. He almost fell asleep in it. Afterwards, he dried himself on the largest towel that he had ever seen, which he removed from a heated towel rail. Even the mirror over the vanity was heated, to prevent it from steaming up.

A pair of men's summer pyjamas had been laid out for him. (They were far too big.) He made use of the toothbrush and toothpaste that had also been provided. When he finally, cautiously, pushed open the door, Vadi was waiting for him in the corridor outside.

'This way, sir,' he said.

After the bathroom, Cadel was expecting something even more luxurious in the bedroom: a four-poster bed, perhaps? An alabaster fireplace? A gilded ceiling? To his surprise, the bedroom was furnished quite simply. It had creamy walls, creamy curtains and a creamy bed. The lamps were made entirely of blown gla.s.s. The only painting was a strange, dreamlike landscape which, on closer inspection, wasn't really a landscape at all, but an abstract collection of colours.

The clock on the bedside table said two-fifteen a.m.

'Would you like a hot drink, sir?' Vadi queried. 'I've heated up some cocoa.'

'No, thanks.'

'Anything to eat, or to read?'

Cadel shook his head. He simply wanted Vadi out of his room. This was unfair, he realised, but the whole aquagenic thing made him uneasy. He didn't know what to say, or where to look. He had a horrible feeling that the guy might smell sort of fishy.

One whiff of fish, and Cadel would vomit. He knew that. Besides, he had seen something else on the bedside table, standing between the lamp and the clock. It was a photograph in a silver frame.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, and was staring at it, mesmerised, when Vadi left the room.

The woman in the photograph was Cadel's mother. She had to be a there was no other explanation. Her eyes were exactly the same as his. She was smiling, and even her teeth were the same. She wore a pale yellow top, and the wind was blowing her hair back. She looked young, and happy, and pretty, and . . . and nice. Really nice.

Not like a junkie at all.

Cadel lowered himself onto the bed, still gazing at the photograph. Suddenly, it was all too much: the chloroform, Max, the fire, the foot, the long drive through the night, and now this. On top of everything else. His mother, laughing up at him from a silver frame.

Tears spilled down his cheeks. Oh, Mum, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut. What am I going to do? Why aren't you here to help me?

'Cadel?'

It was Thaddeus. He had entered the room as silently as mist.

Cadel looked up.

'Why did you do this?' he asked in a hard, accusing tone.

'Do what?'

'Put this here! This is my mother!'

'Yes.'

'She looks just like me!'

'Thank G.o.d,' said Thaddeus. 'Or Darkkon might have suspected that you weren't his child.'

For several seconds, Cadel didn't understand what Thaddeus had just said. It was the psychologist's taut expression that caused him to backtrack a to review the words that he had, at first, ignored.

Darkkon might have suspected that you weren't his child.

What was that supposed to mean?

'Huh?' he said, gaping like a fish.

'It's time you knew,' Thaddeus explained quietly, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light. 'You're my son, Cadel.'

Cadel's mind went blank. He just sat there, slack-jawed. He couldn't move. He couldn't speak.

No one said anything for a long, long time.

Finally, Cadel bleated: 'Wh-what?'

'You're my son.' Thaddeus's pale face was flushed. 'I'm you're real father.'

'No you're not.'

'Yes, I am. I'm sorry, but it's true. Your mother and I . . .' For the first time, Thaddeus faltered. He scratched his nose and looked away. 'She was so sweet. So young. She had no idea what she was getting herself into. He treated her like a pet parakeet, and she turned to me for help . . .'

'No!' Cadel cawed.

'Listen a '

'You're lying!' Cadel felt hot. He felt ill. It was as if the whole world had turned upside down. When Thaddeus approached him, he pulled back. So Thaddeus sat down on an upholstered armchair nearby.

'Phineas didn't trust her, you see,' the psychologist continued quietly. 'Even in the beginning, when she loved him, he used to lock her up. Put things in her food to make her sick, so she couldn't leave the house. He was paranoid. He thought she was bound to betray him, because she was so young and beautiful, and he was so old and ugly.' Thaddeus cracked a mirthless half-smile. 'Well, he got his wish. He was proven right. In the end, she was so miserable that she turned to me. And then she had you. And when that happened, Phineas got tests done. DNA tests. Because he still didn't trust her.' The smile died. 'You're my son, Cadel. There's no doubt about it.'

Cadel shook his head. 'No,' he mumbled.

'Phineas never found out, of course.'

'No!' Cadel covered his ears. But Thaddeus leaned forward, and gently unclamped one of Cadel's hands. Cadel pulled away from him. 'The irony is, while he didn't trust her, he trusted me whole heartedly,' the psychologist explained. 'He asked me to arrange the tests. Naturally, I faked the results. He was convinced that you were his child. In the end, though, it didn't help your mother. He still destroyed her.'

'This isn't true,' Cadel gasped.

'I'm afraid it is. He became obsessed with the idea that she was going to leave him, so he had her killed.' Thaddeus took off his gla.s.ses, and wearily rubbed his eyes. 'If I'd known what he was planning, I would have stopped it, of course. But he arranged it himself. Pretended that she'd left him. I think he was ashamed to admit what he'd done, even to me.'

'But a '

'I know what I told you,' Thaddeus interrupted, replacing his gla.s.ses in order to peer intently into Cadel's face. 'I told you I'd caught up with the culprits. Well, I did. And I had my revenge. What Darkkon doesn't realise is that I traced your mother's killers back to him. He doesn't know that I know.'

Cadel swallowed. His hands dropped slowly from his ears to his knees. He couldn't have been more dazed if Thaddeus had hit him around the head with a truncheon. Nothing made sense any more. Everything was a lie.

What if Thaddeus was lying to him even now?

'You might be asking yourself: why didn't I revenge myself on Darkkon as well?' Thaddeus went on, still watching Cadel intently. 'The answer is that I did. I was the source of the anonymous tip that landed him in gaol. If I'd had him killed, the whole empire would have broken up, because at that stage he was in control a not me. Without him, everyone would have been at each other's throats, fighting over the spoils. I wouldn't have been able to stop it, because I didn't know who everyone was, or what they were doing. That can't happen any more. Even if Darkkon dies, it won't matter, because I have it all in hand, now. I'm running this operation, Cadel. He thinks I'm doing it for him. But I'm doing it for you.'

Cadel found that he was staring at Thaddeus. He couldn't help himself. The psychologist's voice, always smooth and rea.s.suring, had a hypnotic effect.

'You're his heir, Cadel, and he's dying.' Thaddeus placed a hand on Cadel's. 'He has cancer. He hasn't told you a he hasn't told me a because he thinks he'll beat it, but he won't. He's an old man. A very old man. When he dies, you'll get everything. Which won't mean much, unless you have me to help you. I know every tax shelter and sh.e.l.l company and payoff recipient in this whole empire. Without me, it would fall apart. You'd never keep it together by yourself a not yet. If we pool our resources, we can go further than Darkkon ever did.'

The crispness of Thaddeus's tone dispersed the fog in Cadel's head. He began to think again. He realised that he was in a very, very dangerous position. One wrong move, one wrong word, and he might cause offence.

Thaddeus seemed to be offering him . . . what? The keys to the kingdom? Cadel didn't want the kingdom. It would mean more skulking around. More endless surveillance. More Thaddeus, watching his every move.

He just wanted to be free.

Thaddeus misread his hesitation.

'I'll be honest with you, Cadel a this wasn't only for your sake. It was for mine as well,' he admitted, squeezing Cadel's hand tightly. 'GenoME won't move without Darkkon's say-so. Neither will any of the franchises. When you succeed him, however, they'll obey you. They'll have to, as long as I'm backing you up. It's not going to work without both of us. I knew that from the beginning. There was a certain amount of self-interest involved.' Thaddeus gave a short, shaky laugh. 'Frankly, I always knew that Darkkon would dig his own grave. He's mad, you see. Brilliant, but mad. All these insane plans for the future of the world. I mean, it's delusional. I always knew that if I positioned myself properly, I'd be able to take over when he finally dropped out of the race. It was just a matter of . . . well, making myself indispensable.'

Cadel gazed at Thaddeus with blank eyes. Something about his grave expression caused Thaddeus discomfort. After shifting in his seat, the psychologist suddenly launched himself out of it, releasing Cadel's hand and pacing the floor. Cadel had never seen him so disturbed.

'If you want proof,' the psychologist said, dragging his fingers through his hair, 'you're welcome to it. You can arrange your own paternity test. Pick a firm out of the phone book a I don't mind. I'd be delighted. I want you to know. I want you to convince yourself that I'm your father.' He stopped abruptly and clutched the back of the armchair with both hands. 'Darkkon could never have produced something like you,' he insisted, with subdued fierceness. 'All his crazy ideas have left him muddleheaded. You're not like that. You're a clear thinker. Logical. You don't let yourself get distracted by emotional commitments to idiotic world views. You're like me, only greater. A miracle. I might have made a difference, in my time, but you are my crowning achievement.'

Cadel dropped his gaze, unnerved to have caught a glimpse of Thaddeus's heart. The glimpse left him shaken. All at once, he realised that he was being told the truth. Thaddeus was his father. It was written all over the psychologist's hawk-like features.

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 a '

'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 a and you will discover it, I a.s.sure you a 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 a and me. Now, I can protect myself. 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 realised that Thaddeus had succeeded in teaching him at least one thing: namely, to doubt everything that he was told. By Thaddeus.

'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 a 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.

FIFTY-ONE.

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 doc.u.ments (as well as his Ariel disguise) and go. Just go. With Art and Alias dead a with Brendan out of the picture a he could safely disguise himself as Ariel. He could bury himself in some out-of-the-way place, forge more doc.u.ments, 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 remailers. 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.