Chisum was an undercover agent of AMEXICO, the top-secret organisation that Steve had joined at the beginning of March. With only four months' service under his belt, Steve was still what the organisation called a 'wet-back', and would be for some time yet. Chisum had been a fully fiedged mexican for years but, unlike Steve, he had never been overground. He was employed by the section handling internal a.s.signments - and two of his current files bore the names of Steve and Roz Brickman.

Following Roz's arrival at Inter-State U to complete the second, more advanced stage of her medical studies, Chisum had been put on her case, then when her kin; brother had returned to the Amtrak Federation in the fourth quarter of 2989, Chisum had gone to work on him too.

The fact that Chisum had a 'file' on them did not mean he knew all about them. The First Family, which controlled access to the data stored on COLUMBUS, only dispensed information on a 'need-to-know'

basis. No one had thought it necessary to explain to him why he was required to deceive these two young people. Apart from being provided with their basic bio-data and training profiles, the only piece of inside information he had managed to acquire was the fact that they had both been programmed at an early age and were cla.s.sified as 'sensitives'.

That rare attribute was enough to gain them an ST-Listing, but there might be other factors of which he had not been advised. They might not, for instance, be kin-brother and -sister. The presence of mind-blocks suggested that maybe it was not the President-General's seed which had fertilised the eggs placed to hatch in Annie Brickman's womb. Or it could be that neither had been implanted in Annie and carried to term. They could have been changed without her knowledge for her own babies at.birth- or she might have agreed to act as their surrogate guard-mother.

The possibilities were endless. Chisum knew from previous a.s.signments that some strange things went on at the Life Inst.i.tute, and most of the work was carried out behind closed doors.

Only Fran - their controller and his present boss - had access to the full story. And like all controllers, Fran was Family. Not only that, she was closely related to the President-General - an indication that Roz and Steve might be far more important than he realised.

During the evening of the same day, Roz Brickman was summoned to the Princ.i.p.al's study. Entering the outer office where, during working hours, several administrative a.s.sistants formed a defensive line against visitors seeking to enter the inner sanctum, Roz found the Princ.i.p.al, Russell Waxmann, bent over one of the VDUs, pecking away at the keyboard. Roz waited until he tore his attention away from the screen, then introduced herself and presented her ID card. He gave it a cursory glance and told her to go on through, promising to join her directly.

Waiting for her in the wood-lined, carpeted room were a man and a woman dressed in black and silver-blue jumpsuits - the standard outfit worn by AMEXecs.

Roz recognised them as the special investigators from AMEX's Legal Division who had visited her in the medical school's private hospital ward, following the appearance of the mysterious wounds in her right arm and head. And she realised why Waxmann had elected to stay outside. If she was in trouble, he wanted to stand well back to avoid the fallout.

The man asked her to hand over her ID card. Roz produced it without demur. The female exec then told her that her a.s.sistance was required in connection with an ongoing investigation. Roz indicated her willingness to help in any way she could, then, without more ado, she was ushered into the Princ.i.p.al's private elevator and taken down to the medical school's own subway station.

After a journey which involved two shuttle interchanges, Roz and her silent escort reached an unnamed subway station whose walls were clad with black marble.

An elevator ride took them up to Level Three-1 and into an office which, to judge from the colour scheme of the subway station marbled corridors, carpeted elevator and the sleek room furnishings, was almost certainly in the Black Tower. This was the lair of the organisation men and women, the high-wires with the top-rated ID cards and s.p.a.cious quarters in the new flashy accommodation deeps.

'Go on through,' said the male exec, breaking his silence. 'We'll pick you up later."

Roz was inwardly relieved to know that there was going to be a 'later'.

It was the first encouraging word that anyone had offered her since Chisum had dropped his bombsh.e.l.l earlier in the day. From that moment on, her mind had been in a turmoil. She stepped into the turnstile door and was rotated through into the adjoining office.

Standing behind the desk was another man wearing a black and silver-blue jumpsuit. But this one had sleeves laced with gold wire, a sign she was dealing with someone from the top deck.

Roz snapped to attention. The man, who had a high forehead and lean, angular features, motioned her to sit down in the chair facing the desk. The high-wire stayed on his feet. Placing his hands behind his back, he stalked slowly round her like a predator circling its exhausted prey.

'You don't need to know who I am,' said Karlstrom.

'But I can a.s.sure you that I know everything there is to know about you and your kin-brother and you should bear that in mind before replying to the questions I shall put to you. Any attempt to conceal information will have unpleasant consequences. Is that clear?"

Roz nodded.

'Steven is no longer in the A-levels." Karlstrom fixed her with his deep-set penetrating gaze. 'But then I expect you already know that."

Roz paled but did not reply.

'As I thought." Karlstrom pa.s.sed between her and the desk, then snaked round behind it. 'I have studied the taped reports of the psychosomatic wounding you experienced when your kin-brother was shot down last June. And I am aware that you have been subjected to further distress since." He paused expectantly. 'I see.

You prefer to make no comment. Very well. Take a look at this."

Karlstrom swivelled a pedestal-mounted video screen towards her and hit a b.u.t.ton on the desk console. A coloured line appeared and expanded to fill the entire screen, It was a picture of Roz, taken by a concealed video camera. She lay on her side asleep in her bunk, the covers pulled up to her chin. The image was sharp, every detail clear; people studying for medical doctorates slept with the lights on like everyone else.

Roz saw her sleeping self open her mouth, saw her face muscles tighten to issue a soundless scream, then saw an invisible arrowhead punch a hole through her cheek. The screen Roz rolled her head from side to side, revealing an exit wound on the other cheek, then she sat up and clutched her face. The blood seeped through her fingers and trickled down on to the back of her wrists.

Kicking aside the duvet, she ran barefoot out of camera range in the direction of the washroom.

The picture changed. This next camera had been positioned to cover the line of hand basins and the communal showers. Roz found herself wondering what other activity the watchers had recorded since the cameras were installed. Or were these hidden eyes everywhere - not just for her, but to keep tabs on the whole cla.s.s? The whole school .

. . ? Where did it end?

Her screen self entered and hurried across to examine her face in the wall-to-wall mirror mounted above the hand basins. The palms of her hands and cheeks were coated with blood. She opened up both taps, spat out a mouthful of blood, then pulled some cotton tissues from the nearest dispenser and swabbed her face and hands. Roz saw herself pause and stare at her mirror image, and she silently recalled the moment and the surprise she had felt then and which her screen self now displayed.

The hidden camera zoomed in as she examined her face closely. The wounds were closing before her eyes. A minute later, the skin was whole; only a bruise remained to mark the point where the arrow had pierced her cheeks. She took a closer look, clearly doubting the evidence of her own eyes, then accepted the event with a shrug and rinsed her mouth to get rid of the last traces of blood.

The tape then switched back to a wide-angled view from the camera aimed at her bunk-s.p.a.ce. The digital time display in the top right-hand corner of the screen showed that it was 0630. Other students moved past in various stages of undress and alertness. Roz saw and heard herself explaining to Gina B!ackwell - the student in the next bunk that the blood on her pillow was the result of a sudden nosebleed.

Karlstrom hit the 'Off' b.u.t.ton. 'Remarkable." He sat down behind the desk and gazed at Roz over his steepled fingers. 'May I now take it you are prepared to concede that this is a true record of what happened?"

'Yes,' whispered Roz.

'Yes, sir,' said Karlstrom.

'Of course. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to -' Karlstrom silenced her with an abrupt wave. 'Would I be correct in a.s.suming that when these woundings have taken place you also made mental contact with your kin-brother? Would you say, for example, that you were able to visualise his location as well as the, ahh ...

stressful conditions he finds himself in?"

'To some extent, yes, sir. Sometimes it's just a vague out-of-focus impression, at other times it's like actually being there."

Karlstrom accepted this with a thin smile. 'As when Clearwater entered the hut where your kin-brother was spending the night. That was one picture that came over very well."

Roz felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Her questioner had not been lying when he said he knew everything.

Which meant they probably had pictures of her trying to get inside Steve's jumpsuit. The thought that cold-eyed strangers had been secretly watching her every move, listening to every word, made her feel sick.

'Can you speak to each other?"

'Sometimes I hear a voice, but it's not like a conversation. I feel his thoughts enter my head, share his emotions, see what he sees. But I think it's my own mind that puts it all into words."

'Can he do the same?"

'Sometimes. It depends."

Karlstrom looked amused. 'On what?"

'On whether he's in a receptive mood. He doesn't understand why we are bound together or how it works, and that scares him. Most of the time he tries to shut me out."

'But he heard you clearly enough when he was being brought back to Grand Central on the shuttle. "They are watching me", I think you said. Who were you talking about, Roz?"

Oh, Christopher! They had taped every last word! 'I I don't know,'