Evil Genius Read Free Page B

I see it? I'm very, very familiar with contempt, believe me." Turning suddenly, Thaddeus crossed the room to the French doors, where he stood with his back to Cadel, gazing out over the treetops. "Have you ever wondered about your
real
parents?" he said at last.
    "I guess...," Cadel replied. Fie was growing extremely uncomfortable.
    "You must have tried to find out who they are," said Thaddeus. "Someone like you. With the Net so close at hand."
    "I tried," Cadel admitted. In fact, he had tried very hard. He had dug through the Piggotts' family archives (such as they were) and found a birth certificate that listed his father as Daryl Poynter-Chuffley and his mother as Susan Jones. Unfortunately, he had got no further. There were no Poynter-Chuffleys to be found on the Internet—not even on various births, deaths, and marriages sites—and as for Susan Jones, well, that was a name too common to be traced. He could find no hospital records, because his birth had apparently taken place at home. And the home in question no longer existed, according to his research. It had been torn down to make way for a shopping mall.
    Furthermore, he could find no trace of
himself
on the Internet. No online birth certificates. No online adoption records. So far, the only thing Cadel had learned was that his first name meant "battle" in Welsh.
    It was all very peculiar.
    Thaddeus spun around. He walked slowly back to where Cadel was sitting, then stood with his hands clasped behind him, contemplating his young client.
    "What if I told you who your father is?" he said at last.
    Cadel gasped.
    "My—my
real
father?" he stammered.
    "That's right."
    "You know who my real father is?"
    "I've always known," Thaddeus said calmly. Placing his hands on the armrests of Cadel's chair, he bent at the waist until his head was almost level with his client's. "I work for him, you see. He employs me to keep an eye on you."
    "But—"
    "He can arrange these things. He has a lot of influence, despite the fact that he's been in prison for the last five years or so." Thaddeus's gaze bored into Cadel like an ebony drill-bit. "His name is Darkkon. Dr. Phineas Darkkon. You might have heard of him."
    Mutely, Cadel shook his head. He was overwhelmed. For a long time, he had worked hard to suppress all interest in his real parents. Having been unable to trace them, he had come to the conclusion that fretting about them would be pointless; it would ultimately drive him mad.
    And now, all of a sudden, he was being offered the truth. After so many years, he wasn't sure if he could handle it. He was almost afraid.
    "Your father was sentenced to life imprisonment," Thaddeus explained. "You were taken away from him, but he swore that he would never lose sight of you and that you would come to know from whose blood you sprang. Therefore, despite the American government's best efforts to keep you ignorant and unaware, your father has triumphed. Once again." Thaddeus pushed himself upright, so forcefully that the back of Cadel's wheeled typist's chair struck the rim of Thaddeus's desktop. "The Piggotts know nothing of this, naturally."
    Cadel drew his knees up under his chin. In a breathless voice, he said: "Are you lying?"
    "No."
    "Truly?"
    "Truly." Thaddeus folded his arms. "Though you're right to doubt me, of course. You should always doubt everyone."
    "What about my mother?"
    "Ah." Thaddeus took a deep breath. His tone softened. "Your mother died, Cadel. I'm sorry."
    Cadel swallowed. He didn't know if he was sorry or not. "How?" he croaked.
    "It was an accident, I'm afraid. Very unfortunate." A pause. "Your father was devastated."
    "What did he do?"
    "Do?"
    Cadel lifted his head and looked Thaddeus in the eye. "What did he do
wrong?
Why is he in jail?"
    At that moment there was a knock on the door. Thaddeus glanced at his watch with a frown.
    "Your next client is here," Wilfreda announced from out on the landing.
    "Thank you," Thaddeus replied. He smiled at Cadel. "Time's up,