MORTAL FEAR [154-066-4.5]

By: ROBIN COOK

Category: Fiction Medical

Synopsis:

No synopsis available.



BERKLEY BOOKS, NEW YORK
This Berkley book contains the complete
text of the original hardcover edition.

MORTAL FEAR

A Berkley Book / published by arrangement with
the author

PRINTING HISTORY
G. P. Putnam's Sons edition / January 1988
Berkley edition / February 1989

All rights reserved.
Copyright @ 1988 by Robin Cook.
This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part,
by mimeograph or any other means, without permission.
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ISBN: 0-425-11388-4

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

10 9
 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This book could not have been written without the
support and encouragement of all my friends who have
-helped me in a difficult time.
You all know who you are, and you all have my heartfelt thanks.

For my older brother, Lee, and
my younger sister, Laurie.
I've never been between two nicer people.

 PROLOGUE

OCTOBER 11, WEDNESDAY P. M.

The sudden appearance of the foreign proteins was the molecular
equivalent of the Black Plague. It was a death sentence with no chance
of reprieve, and Cedric Haning had no idea of the drama about to happen
inside him.

In sharp contrast, the individual cells of Cedric Haning's body knew
exactly what disastrous consequences awaited them. The mysterious new
proteins that swept into their midst and through their membranes were
overwhelming, and the small amounts of enzymes capable of dealing with
the newcomers were totally inadequate. Within Cedric's pituitary gland,
the deadly new proteins were able to bind themselves to the repressors
that covered the genes for the death hormone. From that moment, with the
fatal genes exposed, the outcome was inevitable. The death hormone began
to be synthetized in unprecedented amounts. Entering the bloodstream,
the hormone coursed out into Cedric's body. No cell was immune. The end
was only a matter of time. Cedric Harring was about to disintegrate into
his stellar elements.

The pain was like a white-hot knife starting somewhere in his chest and
quickly radiating upward in blinding paroxysms to paralyze his jaw and
left arm. Instantly Cedric felt the terror of the mortal fear of death.
Cedric Harring had never felt anything like it.

By reflex he gripped the steering wheel of his car more tightly and
somehow managed to stay in control of the weaving vehicle as he gasped
for breath.

He'd just entered Storrow Drive from Berkeley Street in downtown Boston,
and had accelerated westward, merging with the maddening Boston traffic.

The images of the road swam before him and then receded, as if, they
existed at the end of a long tunnel.

By sheer strength of will, Cedric resisted the darkness that threatened
to engulf him. Gradually, the scene brightened. He was still alive.
Instead of pulling over, instinct told him his only chance was to get to
a hospital as fast as possible. By lucky coincidence the Good Health
Plan Clinic was not too far off..Hold on, he told himself.

Along with the pain came a drenching sweat that started on Cedric's
forehead but soon spread to the rest of his body. Sweat stung his eyes,
but he dared not loosen his grip on the steering wheel to wipe it away.
He exited the highway onto the Fenway, a parklike complex in Boston, as
the pain returned, squeezing his chest like a cinch of steel wire. Ahead
cars were slowing for a traffic light. He couldn't stop. There was no
time.

Leaning forward, he depressed the horn and shot through the
intersection.

Cars went by, missing him by inches. He could see the faces of the
startled, and enraged drivers. He was now on Park Drive with the Back
Bay Fens and the scruffy victory gardens on his left. The pain was
constant now, strong and overpowering. He could hardly breathe.

The hospital was ahead on the right, on the previous site of a Sears
building. Only a little further. Please ... A large white sign with a
red arrow and red letters that said EMERGENCY loomed above.

Cedric managed to drive directly up to the emergency room platform,
braking belatedly and crashing into the concrete abutment. He slumped
forward, hitting the horn and gasping for breath.

The first person to reach his car was the security guard. He yanked open
the door and after a glance at Cedric's frightening pallor yelled for
help.

Cedric barely choked out the words, "Chest pain." The head nurse, Hilary
Barton, appeared and called for a gurney. By the time the nurses and the
security man had Cedric out of the car, one of the emergency room
residents had appeared and helped maneuver him onto the stretcher. His
name was Emil Frank and he'd been a resident for only four months. A
few years previously he would have been called an in-, term. He too
noticed Cedric's cream-colored skin and prohise perspiration.

"Diaphor-esis," he said with authority. "Probably a heart attack."

Hilary rolled her eyes. Of course it was a heart attack. She rushed the
patient inside, ignoring Dr. Frank, who'd plugged his stethoscope into
his ears and was trying to listen to Cedric's heart.

As soon as they reached the treatment room, Hilary ordered oxygen, IV
fluids and electrocardiographic monitoring, attaching the three main EKG
leads hersele As soon as Emil had the IV going, she suggested to him
that he order 4 mg. of morphine to be given IV immediately.

As the pain receded a little, Cedric's mind cleared. Even though no one
had told him, he knew he'd had a heart attack. He also knew he'd come
very close to dying. Even now, staring at the oxygen mask, the IV, and
the EKG machine as it spewed paper out onto the floor, Cedric had never
felt so vulnerable in his life.

"We're going to move you to the coronary care unit," Hilary said.

"Everything is going to be okay." She patted Cedric's hand. He tried to
smile. "We've called your wife. She's on her way."

The coronary intensive care unit was similar to the emergency room as
far as Cedric was concerned-and just as frightening. It was filled with
esoteric, ultramodern electronic technology. He could hear his heartbeat
being echoed by a mechanical beep, and when he turned his head he could
see a phosphorescent blip trace across a round TV screen.

Although the machines were frightening, it was a source of some
reassurance to know all that technology was there. Even more reassuring
was the fact that his own doctor, who had been paged shortly after
Cedric's arrival, had just come into the ICU.

Cedric had been a patient of Dr. Jason Howard's for five years. He had
begun going when his employers, the Boston National Bank, insisted that
senior executives have yearly physicals. When Dr. Howard suddenly sold
his private practice several years previously and joined the staff of
the Good Health Plan (GHP), Cedric had dutifully followed. The move
required changing his health plan from Blue Cross to the prepaid
variety, but it was Dr. Howard that had attracted him, not GHP, and
Cedric had let Dr..Howard know it in no uncertain terms.

"How are you doing?" Jason asked, grasping Cedric's arm but paying more
attention to the EKG screen.

"Not ... great," Cedric rasped. It took several breaths to get out the
two words.

"I want you to try to relax."

Cedric closed his eyes. Relax! What a joke.

"Do you have a lot of pain?"

Cedric nodded. Tears were running down his cheeks.

"Another dose of morphine," Jason ordered.

Within minutes of the second dose, the pain became more tolerable. Dr.
Howard was talking with the resident, making sure all the appropriate
blood samples had been drawn and asking for some kind of catheter.
Cedric watched him, reassured just seeing Howard's handsome, hawklike
profile and sensing the man's confidence and authority. Best of all, he
could feel Dr. Howard's compassion. Dr. Howard cared.

"We have to do a little procedure," Jason was saying. "We want to insert
a Swan-Ganz catheter so we can see what's going on inside. We'll use a
local anesthesia so it won't hurt, okay?"

Cedric nodded. As far as he was concerned, Dr. Howard had carte -blanche
to do whatever he felt was necessary. Cedric appreciated Dr. Howard's approach. He never talked down to his patients-even when Cedric had had
his physical three weeks ago and Howard had lectured him about his high
cholesterol diet, his two-pack-a-day cigarette habit, and his lack of
exercise. If only Id listened, Cedric thought. But despite Dr. Howard's
doomsday approach to Cedric's lifestyle, the doctor had admitted that
the tests were okay. His cholesterol was not too high, and his
electrocardiogram had been fine. Reassured, Cedric. put off attempts to
stop smoking and start exercising.

Then, less than a week after his physical, Cedric felt as if he were
coming down with the flu. But that had been only the beginning. His
digestive system began acting up, and he suffered terrible arthritis.
Evenhis eyesight seemed to deteriorate. He remembered telling his wife
it was as though he had aged thirty years. He had all the symptoms his
father had endured during his final months in the nursing home.
Sometimes when he caught an unexpected glimpse of his reflection, it was
as if he were staring at the old man's ghost.

Despite the morphine, Cedric felt a sudden stab of white-hot, crushing
pain. He felt himself receding into a tunnel as he had in the car. He
could still see Dr. Howard, but the doctor was far away, and his voice
was fading. Then the tunnel started to fill with water. Cedric choked
and tried to swim to the surface. His arms frantically grappled the air.

Later, Cedric regained consciousness for a few moments of agony. As he
struggled back to awareness, he felt intermittent pressure on his chest,
and something in his throat. Someone was kneeling beside him, crushing
his chest with his hands. Cedric started to cry out when there was an
explosion in his chest and darkness descended like a lead blanket.

Death had always been Dr. Jason Howard's enemy. As a resident at
Massachusetts Ge n*eral, he'd carried that belief to the extreme, never
giving up on a cardiac arrest until a superior ordered him to stop.

Now he refused to believe that the fifty-six-year old man whom he'd
examined only three weeks earlier and had declared generally healthy was
about to die. It was a personal affi-ont.

Glancing up at the monitor, which still showed normal EKG activity,
Jason touched Cedric's neck. He could feel no pulse. "Let me have a
cardiac needle," he demanded. "And someone get a blood pressure." A
large cardiac needle was thrust into his hand as he palpated Cedric's
chest to locate the ridge on the sternum.

"No blood pressure," reported Philip Barnes, an anesthesiologist who had
responded to the code call that automatically went out when Cedric
arrested. He'A, placed an endotracheal tube into Cedric's trachea and
was ventilating him with oxygen by compressing the Ambu bag.

To Jason, the diagnosis was obvious: cardiac rupture. With the EKG still
being recorded,. yet no pumping action of the heart, a situation of electromechanical dissociation prevailed. It could mean only one thing. The
portion of Cedric's heart that had been deprived of its blood supply had
split open like a-squashed grape. To prove this hortendous, diagnosis,
Jason plunged the cardiac needle into Cedric's chest, piercing the
heart's pericardial covering. When he drew back on the plunger, the
syringe filled with blood. There was no doubt. Cedric's heart had burst
open inside his chest.

"Let's get him to surgery," Jason shouted, grabbing the end of the bed.

Philip rolled his eyes at Judith Reinhart, the coronary care head nurse.
They both knew it was futile.

At best they might get Cedric on the heart-lung machine, but what then?

Philip stopped ventilating the patient. But instead of helping to push
the bed, he walked over to Jason and gently put an arm on his shoulder,
restriaiming: him. "It's got to be cardiac rupture. You know it. I know
it.

We've lost this one, Jason."

Jason made a motion to protest, but Philip tightened his hold. Jason
glanced at Cedric's ivorycolored face. He knew Philip was right. As much
as he hated to admit it, the patient was lost.

"You're right," he said, and reluctantly let Philip and Judith lead him
from the unit, leaving the other nurses to prepare the body.

As they walked over to the central desk, Jason admittea that Cedric was
the third patient to die just weeks after having a clean physical. The
first had been another heart attack, the other a massive stroke. "Maybe
I should think about changing professions," Jason said half seriously.
"Even my inpatients have been doing poorly."

"Just bad luck, Philip said, giving Jason a playful poke in the
shoulder.

"We all have our bad times. It'll get better."

"Yeah, sure," Jason said.

Philip left to return to surgery.

Jason found an empty chair and sat down heavily. He knew he'd have to
get ready to face Cedric's wife, who would be arriving at the hospital
at any moment. He felt drained. "You'd think by now I'd have gotten a
little more accustomed to death," he said aloud.

"The fact that you don't is what makes you a good doctor," said Judith,
attending to the paperwork associated with a death.

Jason accepted the compliment, but he knew his attitude toward death
went far beyond the profession. Just two years ago death had destroyed
all that Jason held dear. He could still remember the sound of the phone
at quarter past midnight on a dark November night. He'd fallen asleep in
the den trying to catch up on his journals. He thought it would be his
wife, Danielle, calling from Children's Hospital, saying she'd be
delayed. She was a pediatrician and had been called back to the hospital
that evening to attend to a preemie in respinatory distress. But it had
been the turnpike police. They called to say that a semi coming from
Albany with a load of aluminum siding had jumped the central divider and
rammed into his wife's car head-on. She had never had a chance.

Jason could still remember the trooper's voice, as if it had been
yesterday. First there'd been shock and disbelief, followed by anger.
Then his own terrible guilt. If only he'd gone with Danielle as he
sometimes had,. and read at county Medical Library. Or if only he'd
insisted she sleep at the hospital.

A few months later he'd sold the house that was haunted by Danielle's
presence and his private practice and the office he'd shared with her.
That was when he had joined the Good Health Plan. He'd done everything
Patrick Quillan, a psychiatrist friend, had suggested he do. But the
pain was still there, and the anger, too.

"Excuse me, Dr. Howard?"

Jason looked up into the broad face of Kay Ramn, the unit secretary.

"Mrs. Harring is in the waiting. room," Kay said. "I told her you'd be
out to talk with her."

"Oh, God," Jason said, rubbing his eyes. Speaking to the relatives after
a patient died was difficult for any doctor, but since Danielle's death,
Jason felt the families' pain as if it were his own.

Across from the coronary care unit was a small sitting room with
outdated magazines, vinyl chairs and plastic plants. Mrs. Harring was
staring out the window that faced north toward Fenway Park and the
Charles River. She was a slight woman with hair that had been allowed to
go naturally gray.

When Jason entered, she turned and looked at him with red-rimmed,
terrified eyes.

"I'm Dr. Howard," Jason said, motioning for her to sit. She did, but on
the very edge of the chair.

"So it is bad ..." she began. Her voice trailed off.

"I'm afraid it is very bad," Jason said. "Mr. Harring has passed away.
We did all we could. At least he didn't suffer." Jason hated himself for
voicing those expected lies. He knew Cedric had suffered. He'd seen the
mortal fear in his face. Death was always a struggle, rarely the
peaceful ebbing of life portrayed in film.

The color drained from Mrs. Harring's face, and for a moment Jason
thought she would faint. Finally, she said, "I can't believe it."

Jason, nodded. "I know." And know he did.

"It's not right," she said. She looked at Jason defiantly, her face
reddening. "I mean, you just gave him a clean bill of health. You gave
him all those tests and they were normal! Why didn't you find something?
You might have prevented this."

Jason recognized the anger, the familiar precursor to grief. He felt
great compassion for her. "I didn't exactly give him a clean bill of
health," he said gently. "His lab studies were satisfactory, but I
warned him as I always did about his smoking and diet. And I reminded
him that his father had died of a heart attack. All these factors put
him in a highrisk category despite his lab values."

"But his father was seventy-four when he died. Cedric is only fifty-six!

What's the point of a physical if my husband dies just three weeks
later?"

"I'm sorry," Jason said softly. "Our predictive abilities are limited.
We know that. We can only do the best we can."

Mrs. Harring sighed, letting her breath out. Her narrow shoulders sagged
forward. Jason could see the anger fading. In its place came the
crushing sadness. When she spoke, her voice was shaking. "I know you- do
the best you can. I'm sorry."

Jason leaned forward and put his hand on her shoulder. She felt delicate
under her thin silk dress. "I know how hard this is for you."

"Can I see him?" she asked through her tears.

"Of course." Jason got to his feet and offered her a hand.

"Did you know Cedric had made an appointment to see you?" Mrs. Harring
said as they walked into the corridor. She wiped her eyes with a tissue
she'd taken from her purse.

"No, I didn't," Jason admitted.

"Next week. It was the first available appointment. He wasn't feeling
well."

Jason felt the uncomfortable stirring of defensive concern. Although he
was certain no malpractice had been committed, that was no guarantee
against a suit.

"Did he complain of chest pain when he called?" Jason asked. He stopped
Mrs. Harring in front of the CCU door.

"No, no. Just a lot of unrelated symptoms. Mostly exhaustion."

Jason breathed a sigh of relief.

"His joints ached," Mrs. Harring continued. "And his eyes were bothering
him. He was having trouble driving at night."

Trouble driving at night? Although such a symptom did not relate to a
heart attack, it rang some kind of a bell in Jason's mind.

"And his skin got very dry. And he had lost a great deal of hair-"

"Hair naturally replaces itself," Jason said mechanically. It was
obvious that this litany of nonspecific complaints had nothing to do
with the man's massive heart attack. He pushed open the heavy door to
the unit and motioned Mrs. Harring to follow him. He guided her into the
appropriate cubicle.

Cedric had been covered with a clean white sheet. Mrs. Harring put her
thin, bony hand on her husband's head.

"would you like to see his face?" Jason asked.

Mrs. Harring nodded, tears reappearing and streaming down her face.
Jason folded back the sheet and stepped back.

"Oh, God!" she cried. "He looks like his father did before he died!" She
turned away and murmured, "I didn't realize how death aged a person."

It doesn't usually, Jason thought. Now that he wasn't concentrating on
Cedric's heart, he noticed the changes in his face. His hair had
thinned.

And his eyes appeared to have receded deep into their orbits, giving the
dead man's face a hollow, gaunt look, a far cry from the appearance
Jason remembered..when he'd done Cedric's physical three weeks earlier.
Jason replaced the sheet and led Mrs. Harring back to the small sitting
room. He sat her back down and took a seat across from her.

"I know it's not a good time to bring this up," he said, "but we would
like permission to examine your husband's body. Maybe we can learn
something that will help someone in the future."

"I suppose if it could help others Mrs. Harring bit her lip. It was hard
for her to think, much less make a decision.

"It will. And we really appreciate your generosity. If you'd just wait
here, I'll have someone bring out the forms."

"All right," Mrs. Harring said, with resignation.

"I'm sorry," Jason told her again. "Please call me if there is anything
I can do."

Jason found Judith and told her that Mrs. Harring had agreed to an
autopsy.

"We called the medical examiner's office and spoke to a Dr. Danforth.
She said they want the case," Judith told him.

"Well, make sure they send us all the results." Jason hesitated. "Did
you notice anything odd about Mr. Harring? I mean, did he appear
unusually old for a man of fifty-six?"

"I didn't notice," Judith said, hurrying away. In a unit with eleven
patients, she was already involved in another crisis.

Jason knew that Cedric's emergency was putting him behind schedule, but
Cedric's unexpected death continued to disturb him. Making up his mind,
he called Dr. Danforth, who had a deep resonant voice, and convinced her
to let the postmortem be done in house, saying death was due to a long
family history of heart disease and that he wanted to compare the heart
pathology with the stress EKGs that had been done. The medical examiner
graciously released the case.

Before leaving the unit, Jason used the opportunity to check another of
his patients who was not doing well.

Sixty-one-year-old Brian Lennox was another heart attack victim. He had
been admitted three days previously, and although -he'd done well initially, his course had taken a sudden turn for the worse. That morning
when Jason had made rounds he had planned to move Lennox from CCU, but
the man was in the early throes of congestive heart failure. It was an
acute disappointment for Jason, since Brian Lennox had to be added to
the list of Jason's inpatients who had recently gone sour. Instead of
transferring the patient, Jason had instituted aggressive treatment for
the heart failure.

Any hope of a rapid return by Mr. Lennox to his previous state was
dashed when Jason saw him. He was sitting up, breathing rapidly and
shallowly in an oxygen mask. His face had an evil grayness that Jason
had learned to fear. A nurse attending him straightened up fi-om
adjusting the IV.

"How are things going?" Jason asked, forcing a smile. But he didn't have
to ask. Lennox lifted a limp hand. He couldn't talk. All his attention
was directed toward his breathing efforts.

The nurse pulled Jason from the cubicle into the center of the room. Her
name tag said Miss. Levay, RN. "Nothing seems to be working," she said,
concernedly. "The pulmonary wedge pressure has gone up despite
everything.

He's had the diuretic, the hydralaizine and the nitroprusside. I don't
know what to do."

Jason glanced over Miss. Levay's shoulder into the room. Mr. Lennox was
breathing like a miniature locomotive. Jason didn't have any ideas save
for a transplant, and of course, that was out of the question. The man
was a heavy smoker and undoubtedly had emphysema as well as heart
trouble. But Mr. Lennox should have responded to the medication. The
only thing Jason could imagine was the area of the heart involved with
the heart attack was extending.

"Let's get a cardiology consult stat," Jason said. "Maybe~ they'll be
able to see if the coronary vessels are more involved. It's the only
thing I can think of. Maybe he's a candidate for bypass."

"Well at least it's something," said Miss. Levay. Without hesitation,
she went to the central desk to call.

Jason returned to the cubicle to dispense some compassion to Brian
Lennox.

He wished he had more to give but the diuretic was supposed to reduce
fluid while the hydralazine and nitroprusside were supposed to reduce
pre-load and after-load on the heart. All of this was geared to lower
the effort the heart had to expend to pump the blood. This would allow
the heart to heal after the insult of the heart attack. But it wasn't
working. Lennox was slipping downhill despite all the efforts and all
the technology. His eyes now had a sunken, glazed appearance.

Jason put his hand on Brian's forehead and pushed the hair back from his
perspiring brow. To Jason's surprise, some of the hair came out in his
hand. Momentarily confused, Jason stared at it, then he carefully pulled
on a few other strands. They came out as well with almost no resistance.

Checking the pillow behind Brian's head, Jason noticed more hair. Not
anenormous amount but more than he would suspect. It made him wonder if
any of the medications he'd ordered had hair loss as a potential side
effect.

He made a mental note to look that up in the evening. Obviously hair
loss was not a major concern at the time. But it reminded him of Mrs.
Harring's comment. Curious!

After leaving word that he should be called after the cardiology consult
on Brian Lennox and after one more masochistic glance at the
sheet-wrapped corpse of Cedric Harring, Jason left the coronary care
unit and took the elevator down to the second floor, which connected the
hospital with the outpatient building. The GHP Medical Center was the
impressive central facility, of the large prepaid health plan. It
incorporated a four-hundred-bed hospital with an ambulatory surgery
center, separate outpatient department, a small research wing, and a
floor of administrative offices. The main building, originally designed
as a Sears office building, had an art deco flair. It had been gutted
and totally renovated to incorporate the hospital and the administrative
offices. The outpatient and research building was new, but it had been
built to match the old structure, with the same careful details. It
was built on pillars over a parking lot. Jason's office was on the third
floor, along with the rest of the department of internal medicine.

There were sixteen internists at the GHP Center. Most were specialists,
though a few like Jason maintained a generalized practice. Jason had
always felt that the whole panoply of human illness interested him, not
just specific organs or systems.

The doctors' offices were spread around the perimeter, with a central
desk surrounded by a waiting area with comfortable seating. Examining
rooms were clustered between the offices. At one end were small
treatment rooms. There was a pool of support personnel who were supposed
to rotate positions, but in actual fact the nurses and secretaries
tended to work for one or another of the doctors. Such a situation
promoted efficiency since there could be some adaptation to each
doctor's eccentricities. A nurse by the name of Sally Batman and a
secretary by the name of Claudia Mockelberg had aligned themselves with
Jason. He got along well with both women, but particularly Claudia, who
took an almost motherly interest in Jason's well-being. She had lost her
only son in Vietnam and contended that Jason looked just like him
despite the age difference.

Both women saw Jason coming and followed him to his office. Sally had an
armload of charts of waiting patients. She was the compulsive one, and
Jason's absence had disturbed her carefully planned routine. She was
eager to "get the show on the road," but Claudia restrained her and sent
her out of the room.

"Was it as bad as you look?" Claudia asked.

"Is it that obvious?" Jason said as he washed his hands at the sink in
the comer of the room.

She nodded. "You look like you've been run over by an emotional train."

"Cedric Harring died," he said. "Do you remember him?"

"Vaguely," Claudia admitted. "After you got called to the emergency
room, I pulled his chart. It's on your desk."

Jason glanced down and saw it. Claudia's efficiency was sometimes
unnerving.

"Why don't you sit down for a few moments," Claudia suggested. More than
anyone else at GHP, Claudia knew Jason's reaction to death. She was one
of only two people at the Center in whom Jason had confided about his
wife's fatal accident.

"We must be really behind schedule," Jason said. "Sally will get her
nose bent out of shape."

"Oh, screw Sally." Claudia came around Jason's desk and pushed him
gently into the seat. "Sally can hold her water for a few minutes."

Jason smiled in spite of himself. Leaning forward, he fingered Cedric
Harring's chart. "Do you remember last month the two others who died
just after their physicals?"

"Briggs and Connoly," Claudia said without hesitation.

"How about pulling their charts? I don't like this trend."

"Only if you promise me you're not going to let yourself "-Claudia
paused, struggling for a word$4 get into a dither over this. People die.
Unfortunately it happens. It's the nature of the business. You
understand? Why don't you just have a cup of coffee."

"The charts," Jason repeated.

"Okay, okay," Claudia said, going out.

Jason opened Cedric Harring's chart, glancing through the history and
physical. Except for his unhealthy living habits, there was nothing
remarkable. Turning to the EKG and the stress EKG, Jason scanned the
tracing, looking for some sign of the impending disaster. Even armed as
he was with hindsight, he could find nothing.

Claudia came back and opened the door without knocking. Jason could hear
Sally whine, "Claudia ..." but Claudia shut the door on her and came
over to Jason's desk. She plopped down Briggs's and Connoly's charts in
front of him.

"The natives are getting restless," she said, then left.

Jason opened the two charts. Briggs had died of a massive heart attack
probably similar to Harring's. Autopsy had shown extensive occlusion of
all of the coronary vessels despite the EKG done during his physical
four weeks prior to his death being as normal-looking as Harring's.

Also like Harring's, his stress EKG had been normal. Jason shook his
head in dismay. Even more than the normal EKG, the stress EKG was
supposed to pick up such potentially fatal conditions. It certainly
suggested that the executive physical was an exercise in futility. Not
only was the examination failing to pick up these serious problems, but
it was giving the patients a false sense of security. With the results
being normal, there wasn't motivation for the patients to change their
unhealthy lifestyles. Briggs, like Harring, had been in his late
fifties, was a heavy smoker, and never exercised.

The second patient, Rupert Connoly, had died of a massive stroke. Again,
it had been a short time after an executive-style physical, which in his
case had also revealed no alarming abnormalities. In addition to a
generally unhealthy lifestyle, Connoly had been a heavy drinker, though
not an alcoholic. Jason was about to close the chart when he noticed
something he had missed before. In the autopsy report the pathologist
had recorded significant cataract development. Thinking that he'd not
remembered the man's age correctly, Jason flipped to the information
page. Connoly was only fifty-eight. Now cataracts were not entirely
unknown at fifty-eight, but it was nonetheless rare. Turning to the
physical, Jason checked to see if he'd noted cataracts. Embarrassingly
he'd failed to include them, noting he described the "eyes, ears,
nose, and throat" as being within normal limits.

Jason wondered if he were getting sloppy in his "old" age. But then he
noticed he described the retinas as appearing normal as well. In order
to have visualized the retinas, Jason would have had to have sighted
through a cataract. Not being an ophthalmologist, he knew his
limitations in this regard. He wondered if certain kinds of cataracts
impede the passage of light more than others. He added that question to
his mental list of things to investigate.

Jason stacked the charts. Three apparently healthy men had all died a
month after their physicals. Jesus, he thought. People were often scared
of going to hospitals. If this got out, they might stop getting
checkups.

Grabbing all three charts in his arms, Jason emerged from his office. He
saw Sally stand up in the central desk area and look at him expectantly.

Jason silently mouthed "two minutes" as he walked the length of the
waiting area. He passed several patients whom he treated with nods and
smiles. He slipped into the hall leading to Roger Wanamaker's office.
Roger was an internist who specialized in cardiology and. whose opinion
Jason held in high esteem. He found the man leaving one of the
examination rooms. He was an obese man with a face like an old hound dog
with wattles and lots of extra skin.

"How about a sidewalk consult?" Jason asked.

"It'll cost ya," Roger teased. "Whatcha got?"

Jason followed the man into his disheveled office.

"Unfortunately, some pretty embarrassing evidence." Jason opened the
charts of his three late patients to the EKG sections and placed them in
front of Roger. "I'm ashamed to even discuss this, but I've had three
middle-aged men die right after their fancy executive physicals showed
them in pretty good health. One was today. Cardiac rupture after a
massive MI. I did the physical exam three weeks ago. This is the one.
Even knowing what I do now, I can't find even a bit of trouble or any of
the tracings. What do you think?"

There was a moment of silence while Roger studied the EKGs. "Welcome to
the club," he finally said.

"Club?"

It "These EKGs are fine , Roger said. "All of us have had the same
experience.

I've had four such cases over the last few months. Just about everybody
who's willing to bring it up has had at least one or two."

"How come it's not come up?"

"You tell me," Roger said, with a wry smile. "You haven't exactly been
advertising your experience, have you? It's dirty laundry. We'd all
rather not call attention to it. But you're acting chief of service. Why
don't you call a meeting?"

Jason nodded glumly. Under the aegis of the GHP administration, which
made all of the major organizational decisions, chief of service was not
a desirable position. It was rotated on a yearly basis among all the
internists, and had fallen onto Jason's shoulders two months previously.

"I guess I should," Jason said, collecting his charts from Roger's desk.

"If nothing else, the other doctors should know they're not alone if
they've had the same experience."

"Sounds good," Roger agreed. He heaved his considerable bulk to his
feet.

"But don't expect everybody to be quite as open as you are."

Jason headed back to the central desk, motioning to Sally to ready the
next patient. Sally took off like a sprinter. He then turned to Claudia.

"Claudia, I need a favor. I want you to make a list of all the annual
physicals I've done over the last year, pull their charts, and check on
their state of health. I want to be sure none of the others have had
serious medical problems. Apparently some of the other doctors have been
having similar episodes. I think it's something we should look into."

"It's going to be a big list," Claudia warned.

Jason was aware of that. In its desire to promote what it called
preventive medicine, GHP had been strongly advocating such physicals and
had stream lined the process to take care of the maximum number of
people. Jason knew that he did, on the average, between five and ten a
week.

For the next several hours, Jason devoted himself to his patients, who
treated him to an endless stream of problems and complaints. Sally was
re lentless, filling examining rooms the moment the previous patient
vacated. By skipping lunch, Jason was actually able to catch up.

in the middle of the afternoon, as Jason was returning from one of the
treatment rooms where he had done a sigrnoidoscopy on a patient with
recur rent ulcerative colitis, Claudia caught his attention and motioned
for him to come over to the central desk. She was sporting a cocky smile
as Jason approached. He knew something was brewing.

"You have an honored visitor," Claudia said with pursed lips, imitating
a Lily Tomlin character.

"Who?" Jason asked, reflexly scanning the adjacent waiting room area.

"He's in your office," Claudia said.

Jason shifted his eyes toward his office. The door was closed. It wasn't
like Claudia to put someone in there. He looked back at his secretary.

"Claudia?" he questioned, extending her name out as if it were more than
three syllables. "How come you allowed someone in my office?"

"He insisted," said Claudia, "and who am I to refuse? PV

Obviously whoever it was had offended her. Jason knew her that well. And
whoever it was certainly had some kind of stature at GHP. But Jason was
tiring of the game. "Are you going to tell me who it is or am I supposed
to be surprised?"

"Dr. Alvin Hayes," Claudia said. She batted her eyes and made a sneer.

Agnes, the secretary who worked for Roger, snickered.

Jason waved at them in disgust and headed for his office. A visit by Dr.
Alvin Hayes was a unique occurrence. He was the GHP token and star
researcher, hired by the Plan to promote its image. It had been a move
reminiscent of the Humana Corporation's hiring Dr. William Devries, the
surgeon of artificialheart fame. GHP, as a health-maintenance
organization (HMO), did not support research per se, yet it had hired
Hayes at a prodigious salary in order to expand and augment its image,
especially in the Boston academic community. After all, Dr. Alvin Hayes
was a world-class molecular biologist who had been on the cover of Time
magazine after having developed a method of making human growth hormone
from recombinant DNA technology. The growth hormone he had made was
exactly like the human variety. Earlier attempts had resulted in a
hormone that was similar but not exactly the same. It had been
considered an important breakthrough.

Jason reached his office and opened the door. He could not fathom why
Hayes would be paying him a visit. Hayes had all but ignored Jason from
the day he had been hired over a year previously, despite the fact
they'd been in the same Harvard Medical School class. After graduation
they had gone their separate ways, but when Alvin Hayes had been hired
by GHP, Jason had sought the man out and personally welcomed him. Hayes
had been distant, obviously impressed by his own celebrity status and
openly contemptuous of Jason's decision to stay in clinical medicine.
Except for a few chance meetings, they ignored each other. In fact,
Hayes ignored everyone at the GHP, becoming more and more what people
referred to as the mad scientist. He'd even gone to the extreme of
letting his personal appearance suffer by wearing baggy, unpressed
clothes and allowing his unkempt hair to grow long like a throwback to
the turbulent sixties. Although people gossiped, and he had few friends,
everyone respected him. Hayes worked long hours and produced an
unbelievable number of papers and scientific articles.

Alvin Hayes was sprawled in one of the chairs facing Jason's antique
desk.

About Jason's height, with pudgy, boyish features, Hayes's unkempt hair
hung about his face, which appeared more sallow than ever. He'd always
had that peculiar academic pallor that characterizes scientists who
spend all their time in their laboratories. But Jason's clinical eye
noted an increased yellowishness -as well as a laxness that made Hayes
look ill and overly exhausted. Jason wondered if this was a professional
visit.

"Sorry to bother you," Hayes said, struggling to his feet. "I know you
must be busy."

"Not at all, Jason lied, skirting his desk and sitting down. He removed
the stethoscope draped around his neck. "What can we do for you?" Hayes
appeared nervous and fatigued, as if he hadn't slept for several days.

"I have to talk to you," he said, lowering his voice and leaning forward
in a conspiratorial fashion.

Jason flinched back. Hayes's breath was fetid and his eyes had a glassy,
unfocused look that . gave him a slightly crazed appearance. His white
laboratory coat was wrinkled and stained. Both sleeves were pushed up
above his elbows. His watch fitted so loosely that Jason wondered how he
kept from losing it.

"What's on your mind?"

Hayes leaned farther forward, knuckles resting on Jason's blotter. He
whispered, "Not here. I want to talk with you tonight. Outside of GHP."

There was a moment of strained silence. Hayes's behavior was obviously
abnormal, and Jason wondered if he should try to get the man to talk to
his friend Patrick Quillan, thinking a psychiatrist might have more to
offer him. If Hayes wanted to talk away from the hospital, it couldn't
be about his health.

f'It's important," Hayes added, striking Jason's desk impatiently.

"All right," Jason said quickly, afraid Hayes might throw a tantrum if
he hesitated any longer. "How about dinner?" He wanted to meet the man
in a public place.

"All right. Where?"

"Doesn't matter." Jason shrugged. "How about the North End for some
Italian food?"

"Fine. When and where?"

Jason ran down the list of restaurants he knew in the North End section
of Boston, a warren of crooked streets that made you feel you'd been
mystically transplanted to southern Italy. "How about Carbonara?" he
suggested.

"It's on Rachel Revere Square, across from Paul Revere House."

"I know it," Hayes said. "What time?"

10 Eight?"

"That's fine." Hayes turned and walked somewhat unsteadily toward the
door.

"And don't invite anyone else. I want to talk with you alone." Without
waiting for a reply, he left, pulling the door shut behind him.

Jason shook his head in amazement and went back to his patients.

Within a few minutes, he was again absorbed in 'his work, and the
bizarre episode with Hayes slipped into his unconscious. The afternoon
drifted on without unwelcome surprises. At least Jason's outpatients
seemed to be doing well and responding to the various regimens he'd
ordered. That gave a needed boost to his confidence that the Harring
affair had undermined.

With only two more patients to be seen, Jason crossed the waiting room
after having done a minor surgical procedure in one of the treatment
rooms.

Just before he disappeared into his office to dictate the procedure, he
caught sight of Shirley Montgomery leaning on the central desk and
chatting with the secretaries. Within the clinical environment, Shirley
stood out like Cinderella at the ball. In contrast to the other women,
who were dressed in white skirts and blouses or white pants suits,
Shirley wore a conservative silk dress that tried but failed to hide her
attractive figure. Although few people could guess when seeing her,
Shirley was the chief executive officer of the entire Good Health Plan
organization. She was as attractive as any model, and she had a Phd in
hospital administration from Columbia and a master's degree from the
Harvard Business School.

With her physical and mental attributes, Shirley could have been
intimidating, but she wasn't. She was outgoing and sensitive and as a
result she got along with everyone: maintenance people, secretaries,
nurses, and even the surgeons. Shirley Montgomery could take personal
credit for providing a good portion of the glue that held GHP together
and made it work so smoothly.

When she spotted Jason, she excused herself from the secretaries. She
moved toward him with the ease and grace of a dancer. Her thick brown
hair was swept back from her forehead and layered along the side into a
heavy mane.

Her makeup was applied so expertly that she didn't seem to be wearing
any.

Her large blue eyes i&one with intelligence.

"Excuse me, Dr. Howard," she said formally. At the very comers of her
mouth there was the faint hint of a'smile. Unknown to the staff, Shirley
and Jason had been seeing each other on a social basis for several
months. It had started during one of the semiannual staff meetings when
they had met each other over cocktails. When Jason learned that her
husband had recently died of cancer, he felt an immediate bond.

During the dinner that followed, she told Jason that one morning three
years ago her husband had awakened with a severe headache. Within months
he was dead from a brain tumor that had been unresponsive to any
treatment. At the time they had both been working at the Humana Hospital
Corporation.

Afterward, like Jason, she had felt compelled to move and had come to
Boston. When she told Jason the story, it had affected him so deeply
that he'd broken his own wall of silence. That same evening he shared
his own anguish concerning his wife's accident and death.

Fueled by this extraordinary commonality of emotional experience, Jason
and Shirley began a relationship that hovered somewhere between
friendship and romance. Each knew the other was too emotionally raw to
move too quickly.

Jason was perplexed. She had never sought him out in such a fashion. As
usual, he had only the vaguest notion of what was going on inside her expansive mind. In so many ways she was the most' complicated woman he'd
ever met. "Can I be of assistance?" he asked, watching for some hint of
her intent.

"I know you must be busy," she was saying now, "but I was wondering if
you were free tonight." She lowered her voice, turning her back on
Claudia's unwavering stare. "I'm having an impromptu dinner party
tonight with several Harvard Business School acquaintances. I'd like you
to join us. How about it?"

Jason immediately regretted having made plans to eat with Alvin Hayes.
If only he'd agreed to see the man for drinks.

"I know it's short notice," Shirley added, sensing Jason's hesitation.

"That's not the problem. The trouble is that I promised to have dinner
with Alvin Hayes."

"Our Dr. Hayes?" Shirley said with obvious surprise.

"None other. I know it sounds peculiar, but he seemed almost distraught.

And though he's hardly been friendly, I felt sorry for the man. Dinner
was my suggestion."

"Damn!" Shirley said. "You'd have enjoyed this group. Well, next time ..

"I'll take a rain check," Jason said. She was about to leave when he
remembered his conversation with Roger Wanamaker. "I probably should
tell you I'm going to call a staff -meeting. A number of patients have
died of coronary disease which our physicals have missed. As acting
chief of service I thought I should look into it. Dropping dead within a
month of receiving a clean bill of health from us doesn't make for good
PR."

"Dear God," Shirley said. "Don't go spreading rumors like that!"

"Well, it's a bit unnerving when someone you've examined with all your
resources and declared essentiary healthy comes back to the hospital
with a catastrophic condition and dies. Avoiding such an . 44

event is the whole purpose of the executive physical. I think we should
try to increase the sensitivity of our stress testing."

",Am admirable goal," Shirley agreed. "All I ask is that you keep it low
key. Our executive physicals play a major role in our campaign to lure
some of the larger corporate clients in the area. Let's keep this an
in-house issue."

"Absolutely," said Jason. "Sorry about tonight."

The too," Shirley said, lowering her voice. "I didn't think Dr. Hayes
socialized much. What's up with him?"

"It's a mystery to me," Jason admitted, "but I'll let you know."

"Please," Shirley said. "I'm one of the main reasons GHP hired the man.
I feel- responsible. Talk to you soon." She moved off, smiling to nearby
patients.

Jason watched her for a moment, then caught Claudia's stare. She
guiltily looked down at her work. Jason wondered if the secret was out.
With a shrug he went back to his last two patients.

Late fall in Boston was an exhilarating season for Jason despite the
bleak winter it heralded. Dressed in his Indiana Jones-style fedora and
his "lived-in" Burberry trench coat, he was adequately protected fi-om
the chilly October night.

Gusts of wind blew the yellowed remains of the elm leaves around Jason's
feet as he trudged up Mt. Vernon Street and passed through the columned
passageway under the State House. Crossing the Government Center
promenade, he skirted the Faneuil Hall Marketplace with its street
performers and entered the North End, Boston's Little Italy. People were
everywhere: men standing on street comers and talking with animated
gestures; women leaning out the windows gossiping with their friends on
the opposite side of the street. The air was filled with the smell of
ground coffee and almond-flavored baked goods. Like Italy itself, the
neighborhood was a delight to the senses..

Two blocks down Hanover Street, Jason turned right and quickly found
himself in sight of Paul Re- vere's modest wood clapboard house. The
cobblestoned square was defined by a heavy black nautical chain looped
between metal stanchions. Directly across from Paul Revere's house was
Carbonara, one of Jason's favorite restaurants. There were two other
restaurants in the square but neither was as good as the Carbonara. He
mounted the front steps and was greeted by the maltre d', who led him to
his table by the front window, affording him a view of the quaint
square. Like many Boston locations the scene had an unreal quality, as
though it were the set for some theme park.

Jason ordered a bottle of Gavi white wine and munched on a dish of
antipasto while waiting for Hayes to appear. Within ten minutes, a cab
pulled up and Hayes got out. For a few moments after the cab had left,
he just stood on the sidewalk and -peered back up North Street from the
direction he had come. Jason watched, wondering what the man was waiting
for. Eventually, he turned and entered the restaurant.

As the mattre d' escorted him to the table, Jason noted how out of place
Hayes seemed in the elegant decor and among the fashionably dressed
diners.

In place of his stained lab coat, Hayes was wearing a baggy tweed jacket
with a torn elbow patch. He seemed to be having trouble walking, and
Jason wondered if the man had been drinking.

Without acknowledging Jason's presence, Hayes threw himself into the
empty seat and stared out the window, again looking up North Street. A
couple had appeared, strolling arm in arm. Hayes watched them until they
disappeared from view down Prince Street. His eyes still appeared
glassy, and Jason noted that a web of new, red capillaries had spread
out over his nose like a sea fan. His skin was pale as ivory, not too
dissimilar to Harring's when Jason had seen him in the CCU. It seemed
certain that Hayes was not well.

Fumbling in one of the bulging pockets of his tweed jacket, Hayes
brought out a crumpled pack of unfiltered Camels. He lit one with
trembling hands and said, his eyes glittering with some strong emotion,
"Someone is following me."

Jason wasn't sure how to react. "Are you sure?"

"No doubt," Hayes said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. A
smoldering ash fell onto the white tablecloth. "A dark guy, smooth-a
sharp dresser, a foreigner," he added with venom.

"Does that make you concerned?" Jason asked, trying to play
psychiatrist.

Apparently, on top of everything else, Hayes was acutely paranoid.

"Christ, yes!" Hayes shouted. A few heads turned and Hayes lowered his
voice. "Wouldn't you be upset if someone wanted to kill you?"

"Kill you?" Jason echoed, now sure Hayes had gone mad.

"Absolutely positive. And my son, too."

"I didn't know you had a son," Jason said. In fact, he hadn't even been
aware Hayes was married. It was rumored in the hospital that Hayes
frequented the disco scene on the rare occasions he wanted distraction.

Hayes_ mashed out his cigarette in the ashtray, cursed under his breath,
and lit another, blowing the smoke away in short, nervous puffs. Jason
realized that Hayes was at the breaking point and he'd have to tread
carefully. The man was about to decompensate.

"I'm sorry if I sound dumb," Jason said, "but I would like to help. I
presume that's why you wanted to talk to me. And frankly, Alvin, you
don't look too well."

Hayes leaned the back of his right wrist on his forehead, his elbow on
the table. His lit cigarette was dangerously close to his disheveled
hair.

Jason was tempted to move either the hair or the cigarette; he, didn't
want the man lighting himself- like a pyre. But fearful of Hayes's
distraught state, he did neither.

"Would you gentlemen like to order?" asked a waiter, silently
materializing at the table.

"For Christ's sake!" Hayes snarled, his head popping up. "Can't you see
we're talking?"

"Excuse me, sir," the waiter said, bowing and moving off.

After taking a deep breath, Hayes returned his attention to Jason. "So I
don't look well?"

"No. Your color isn't good, and you seem exhausted as well as upset."

"Ah, the clairvoyant clinician," Hayes said sarm castically. Then he
added, "I'm sorry-I don't mean to be nasty. You're right. I'm not
feeling well. In fact, I'm feeling terrible."

"What's the problem?"

"Just about everything. Arthritis, GI upset, blurred vision. Even dry
skin.

My ankles itch so much they're driving me insane. My body is literally
falling apart."

"Perhaps it would have been better to meet in my office," Jason said.

"Maybe we should check you po out.

"Maybe later-but that's not why I wanted to see you. It may be too late
for me, anyway, but if I could save my son ..." He broke off, pointing
out the window. 'There he is!"

Twisting in his seat, Jason barely caught sight of a figure disappearing
up North Street. Turning back to Hayes, Jason asked, "How could you tell
it was him?"

"He's been following me from the moment I left GHP. I think he plans on
killing me."

With no way to tell fact from delusion, Jason studied his colleague. The
man was acting weird, to put it mildly, but the old cliche "even
paranoids have enemies" echoed in his brain. Maybe someone was in fact
following Hayes. Fishing the chilled bottle of Gavi Erorn the ice
bucket, Jason poured Hayes a glass and filled his own. "Maybe you'd
better tell me what this is all about."

Tossing back the wine as if it were a shot of aquavit, Hayes wiped his
mouth with the back of his hand. "It's such a bizarte story ... How
about a little more of the wine?"

Jason refilled the glass as Hayes continued. "I don't suppose you know
too much of what my research interests are ..."I have some idea."

"Gr-owth and development," Hayes said. "How genes turn on and off. Like
puberty; what turns on the appropriate genes. Solving the problem would
be a major achievement. Not only could we potentially influence growth
and development, but we'd probably be able to 'turn off' cancers, or,
after heart attacks,'turn on'cellular division to create new cardiac
muscle.

Anyway, in simplified terms, the turning on and off of growth and
development genes has been my major interest. But like so often in
reseamh, serendipity played a role. About four months ago, in the
process of my reseamh I stumbled onto an unexpected discovery, ironic
but astounding. I'm talking about a major scientific breakthrough.
Believe me: it is Nobel material."

Jason was willing to suspend disbelief, although he wondered if Hayes
was exhibiting symptoms of a delusion of grandeur to go along with his
paranoia.

"What was your discovery?"

"Just a moment," Hayes said. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and
pressed his right hand against his chest.

"Arr. you all right?" Jason asked. Hayes appearrd to have become a shade
grayer, and a line of perspiration had formed at his hairline.

"I'm okay," Hayes assured him. He let his hand drop to the table. "I
didn't report this discovery because I realized it was the first step
toward an even bigger breakthrough. I'm talking about something akin to
antibiotics or the helical structure of DNA. I've been so excited I've
been working around the clock. But then I found out my original
discovery was no longer a secret. That it was being used. When I
suspected this, I ..." Hayes stopped in midsentence. He stared at Jason
with an expression that started out as confusion but rapidly changed to
fear.

"Alvin, what's the matter?" Jason asked. Hayes didn't reply. His right
hand again pressed against his chest. A moan escaped from his lips,
then both hands shot out and gripped the tablecloth, clawing it toward
him. The wine glasses fell over. He started to get to his feet but he
never made it. With a violent choking cough, he spewed a stream of blood
across the table, drenching the cloth and spraying Jason, who jumped
backward, knocking over his chair. The blood didn't stop. It came in
successive waves, splattering everything as nearby diners began to
scream.

As a physician, Jason knew what was happening. The blood was bright red
and was literally being pumped out of Hayes's mouth. That meant it was
coming directly from his heart. In the seconds that followed, Hayes
remained upright in his chair, confusion and pain replacing the fear
in his eyes. Jason skirted the table and grabbed him by the shoulders.
Unfortunately there was no way to staunch the flow of blood. Hayes was
either going to exsanguinate or drown. There was nothing Jason could do
but hold the man as his life flowed out of him.

When Hayes's body went flaccid, Jason let it slump to the floor.
Although the human body contains about six quarts of blood, the amount
on the table and floor appeared to be considerably more. Jason turned to
a neighboring table that had been vacated and took a napkin to wipe his
hands.

For the first time since the initial 'catastrophe, Jason became aware of
his surroundings. The other patrons of the restaurant had all leaped
from their tables and were crowded at the other end of the room.
Unfortunately, several people had gotten sick.

The mattre d' himself, with a green complexion, was swaying on his feet.

"I've called for an ambulance," he managed to say through a hand clamped
over his mouth.

Jason looked down at Hayes. Without an operating room right there, with
a heart and lung machine primed and ready to go, there was no chance of
saying him. An ambulance at this point was futile. But at least it
could take the body away. Glancing again at the still body, Jason
decided the man must have had a lung cancer. A tumor could have eroded
through his aorta, causing the bleeding. Ironically, Hayes's cigarette
was still lit in the ashtray that was now full of frothy blood. A bit of
smoke languidly rose to the ceiling.

In the distance Jason heard the undulating sound of an approaching
ambulance. But before it arrived, a police cruiser with a flashing blue
light pulled up outside, and two uniformed policemen came bounding into
the dining room. They both pulled up short when confronted by the bloody
scene.

The younger one, Peter Carbo, a blond-haired boy who looked about
nineteen, immediately turned green. His partner, Jeff Mario, quickly
sent him to interview the patrons. Jeff Mario was Jason's age, give or
take a couple of years. "What the hell happened?" he asked, astounded at
the amount of blood.

"I'm a physician," Jason offered. "The man is dead. He bled out. There
was nothing that could have been done."

After squatting over Hayes, Jeff Mario gingerly felt for a pulse.

Satisfied, he stood up and directed his attention to Jason. "You a
friend?"

"More a colleague," said Jason. "We both work for Good Health Plan."

"He a physician also?" Jeff Mario asked, motioning toward Hayes with his
thumb.

Jason nodded.

"Was he sick?"

"I'm not certain," Jason said. "If I had to guess, I'd say cancer. But I
don't know."

Jeff Mario took out a pad and a pencil. He opened the pad. "What's the
man's name?"

"Alvin Hayes."

"Does Mr. Hayes have a family?"

"I guess," Jason said. "To tell you the truth, I don't know too much
about his private life. He mentioned a son, so I presume he has a
family."

"Do you know his home address?"

"I'm afraid not."

Officer Mario regarded Jason for a moment, then reached down and
carefully searched Hayes's pockets, coming up with a billfold. He went
through Hayes's cards.

"The guy doesn't have a driver's license , Jeff Mario said. He looked at
Jason for confirmation.

"I wouldn't know." Jason could feel himself begin to tremble. The horror
of the episode was starting to affect him.

The sound of the ambulance, ~ which had gotten progressively louder,
trailed off outside the window. There was now a red flashing light in
addition to the blue. Within a minute two uniformed emergency techs came
into the room, one carrying a metal case that looked like a tackle box.

They went directly over to Hayes.

"This man's a doctor," Jeff Mario said, pointing at Jason with his
pencil.

"He says it's all over. He says the guy bled out from cancer."

"I'm not sure it was cancer," Jason said. His voice was* higher than he
intended. He was visibly trembling now, so he clasped his hands
together.

The EMTs examined Hayes briefly, then stood up.

The one who'd been carrying the case told the other to go down and get
the stretcher.

"Okay, here's his address," said Jeff Mario, who had gone back to
searching Hayes's wallet. He held up a card. "He lives over near Boston
City Hospital." He copied the address down on his note pad. The younger
policeman was taking down names and addresses, including Jason's.

When they Were ready to leave, Jason asked if he could go along with the
body. He felt bad sending Hayes to the morgue all alone. The cops said
it was fine with them. As they emerged onto the square, Jason could see
that a considerable crowd had formed. News like this traveled around the
North End like wildfire, but the crowd was silent, awed by the presence
of death.

Jason's eye caught one nattily dressed man who seemed to melt backward
into the crowd. He looked like a businessman-more Latin American or
Spanish than Italian-particularly his clothing-and for a moment Jason
wondered at himself for even noticing.

Then one of the emergency techs said, "Want to ride with your friend?"

Jason nodded and climbed into the back of the ambulance. Jason sat on a
low seat across from Hayes, down near his feet. One of the EMTs sat on
a similar seat closer to Hayes's head.,With a lurch, the ambulance
moved.

Through the back window Jason saw the restaurant and the crowd recede.
As they turned onto Hanover Street, he had to hold on. The siren had not
been turned on, but the flashing light was still functioning. Jason
could see it reflected in the glass of the store windows.

The trip was short; about five minutes. The EMT tried to make small
talk, but Jason made it apparent he was preoccupied. Staring at the
covered body of Hayes, Jason attempted to come to terms with the
experience. He couldn't help but think that death was stalking him. It
made him feel curiously responsible for Hayes, as if the man would still
be alive if he'd not had the misfortune of meeting with Jason. Jason
knew such thoughts were ridiculous on a rational level. But feelings
didn't always rely on rationality.

After a sharp turn to the left, the ambulance backed up, then stopped.
When the rear door was opened, Jason recognized where they were. They'd
arrived at the courtyard of the Massachusetts General Hospital. It was a
familiar place for Jason. He'd done his internal medicine residency
there years ago.

Jason climbed out. The two EMTs unloaded Hayes efficiently and the
wheels dropped down under the stretcher. Silently, they pushed the body
into the emergency room, where a triage nurse directed them to an empty
trauma room.

Despite his being a physician, Jason did not know the protocol for
handling a situation like Hayes's death. He was a bit surprised they'd
even come to an emergency room, since Hayes was beyond care. But
thinking about it, he realized Hayes had to be formally pronounced dead.

He'd remembered doing it when he'd been a house officer.

The trauma room was set up in the usual fashion, with all sorts of
equipment ready for instant use. In a comer was a scrub sink. Jason
washed Hayes's blood off his hands. A small mirror over the sink
revealed a significant amount of dried blood that had splattered his
face as well.

After rinsing his face, he dried himself with paper towels. There was
blood on his jacket and shirt front as well as his pants, but there was
little he could do about that. As he was finishing washing, a house
officer breezed into the room with a clipboard. He unceremoniously
yanked back the sheet covering Hayes, then pulled his stethoscope from
around his neck. Hayes's face looked eerily pale in the raw fluorescent
light.

"You related?" asked the resident casually as he listened to Hayes's
chest.

When the resident took the stethoscope from his ears, Jason spoke. "No,
I'm a colleague. We worked together at Good Health."

"You an MD?" the resident asked, sounding a degree more deferential.

Jason nodded.

"What happened to your friend?" He shined a penlight into Hayes's eyes.

"He exsanguinated at the dinner table," Jason said, being deliberately
blunt, mildly offended at the callous attitude of the resident.

"No kidding. Far out! Well, he sure is dead." He pulled the sheet back
over Hayes's head.

It took all of Jason's self-control not to tell the resident what he
thought of his insensitivity, but he knew it would be a waste of time.

Instead, he wandered out into the hallway and watched the bustle of the
emergency room, remembering his own days as a resident. It seemed a long
time ago, but nothing had really changed.

Thirty minutes later, Hayes's body was wheeled back out to the
ambulance.

Jason followed and watched as it was reloaded.

"Do you mind if I still tag along?" he asked, uncertain as to his
motives, realizing he was probably acting out of shock.

"We're just going to the morgue," the driver said, "but be my guest."

As they pulled out of the courtyard, Jason was suddenly surprised to see
what looked like the same sharply dressed businessman he'd spotted
outside the restaurant. Then he shrugged. That would be too much of a
coincidence.

Odd, though, the man's face had the same Hispanic cast.

Jason had never been to the city morgue. As they wheeled Hayes's body
through scarred and battered swinging doors and entered the storage
room, he wished he had not come on this occasion. The atmosphere was as
unpleasant as his imagination had suggested it would be. The storage
room was large and lined on both sides with square, refrigerator- like
doors that had once been white. The walls and floor were surfaced with
old, stained, and cracked tiles. There were a number of gurneys, some occupied by corpses covered with sheets, a few of which were bloody. The
room reeked with an antiseptic, fishy smell that made Jason reluctant to
breathe.

A heavyset, florid man wearing a rubber apron and gloves came over to
Hayes and helped transfer the corpse to one of the morgue's ancient and
stained gurneys. Then they all disappeared to attend to the necessary
paperwork.

For a few moments Jason stood in the body room and thought about the
sudden end to Hayes's distinguished life. Then, pursued by a vivid image
of his trip to the hospital after Danielle's death, he walked after the
emergency technicians.

At the time the Boston City Morgue had been built a half century ago, it
had been considered a state-of the-art facility. As Jason mounted the
wide steps leading up to the offices, he noticed some architectural
detail work with ancient Egyptian motifs. But the building had suffered
over the years.

Now it was dark, dirty, and inadequate. What hortors it had seen was
beyond Jason's imagination.

In a shabby office he found the two EMTs and the florid morgue worker.
They had finished the paperwork and were laughing about something,
completely oblivious to the oppressive atmosphere of death.

Jason interrupted their conversation to ask if any of the medical
examiners were there at the moment. "Yup", said the attendant.

"Dr. Danforth's finishing up an emergency case in the autopsy room."

"Is there someplace I can wait for her?" Jason asked. He was in no
condition to visit the autopsy room.

"There's a library upstairs," the attendant said. "Right next to Dr.
Danforth's office."

The library was a dark, musty place with large bound volumes of autopsy
reports that dated back to the eighteenth century. In the center of the
room was a large oak table with six captain's chairs. More important,
there was a telephone. After some thought, Jason decided to call
Shirley. He knew she was in the middle of entertaining, but he thought
she would want to know.

"Jason!" she exclaimed. "Are you coming over?"

"Unfortunately, no. There's been some trouble."

"Trouble?"

"This is going to be a shock," Jason warned. "I hope you're sitting
down."

"Stop teasing me," Shirley said. The concern in her voice rose a notch.

"Alvin Hayes is dead."

There was a pause. Inappropriate-sounding laughter could be heard in the
background.

"What happened?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Jason said, wanting to shield her from the
horrible details. "Some kind of internal medical catastrophe."

"Like a heart attack?"

"Something like that," Jason said evasively.

"My God! The poor man."

"Do you know anything about his family? They've asked me, but I don't
know anything."

"I don't know much either. He's divorced. He has childivn, but I believe
the wife has custody. She lives somewhere near Manhattan and that's
about all I know. The man was very private about his personal life."

"I'm sorry to bother you about this now."

"Don't be silly. Where are you?"

"At the morgue."

"How did you get there?"

"I rode in the ambulance with Hayes's body."

"I'll come and pick you up."

"No need," Jason said. "I'll get a cab after I talk to the medical
examiner."

"How are you feeling?" Shirley asked. "It must have been an awful
experience."

"Well," Jason admitted, "I've been better."

"That settles it. I'm coming to pick you up."

"What about your guests?" Jason protested halfheartedly. He felt guilty
ruining her party, but not guilty enough to refuse her offer. He knew he
wasn't ready to be alone with tonight's memory.

"They can take care of themselves," Shirley said. "Where are you
exactly?"

Jason gave her directions, then hung up. He let his head sink into his
hands and closed his eyes.

"Excuse me, said a deep voice softened by a slight brogue. "Areyou Dr.
Jason Howard?"

"That's cortect," Jason said, sitting up with a start.

A heavyset figure advanced into the room. The man had a broad face with
lidded eyes, wide nose, and square teeth. His hair was dark with glints
of red. "I'm Detective Michael Curran, Homicide." He stuck out a broad,
callused hand.

Jason shook it, flustered by the sudden appearance of the plainclothes
detective. He realized he was being evaluated as the detective's eyes
went from his face to his feet and back again.

"Officer Mario reported that you were with the victim," Detective Curran
said, taking a chair.

"Are you investigating Hayes's death?"

"Just routine," Curran said. "Rather a dramatic scene, according to
Officer Mario's description. I don't want my detective sergeant on my
back if there's any questions later on."

d, Oh, I see," Jason said. In truth, Detective Curran's appearance made
him remember Hayes's insistence that someone was trying to kill him.
Though the man's death seemed a natural disaster rather than murder,
Jason realized Hayes's fear in part had motivated Jason to come to the
morgue to check the cause of death.

"Anyway," Detective Curran said, "I got to ask the usual questions. In
your opinion, was Dr. Hayes's death expected? I mean, was he ill?"

"Not that I know of," Jason said, "though when I saw-him this afternoon
and then again this evening, I did have the feeling he wasn't well."

Detective Curran's heavy eyelids lifted slightly. "What do you mean?"

"He looked terrible. And when I mentioned the fact to him, he admitted
he wasn't feeling well."

"What were the symptoms?" asked the detective. He'd taken out a small
pad.

"Fatigue, stomach upset, joint discomfort. I thought he might have had a
fever, but I couldn't be of sure.

"What did you think about these symptoms?"

"They worried me," Jason admitted. "I told him that it might be better
if we met in my office so I could have run a few tests. But he insisted
we meet away from the hospital."

"And why was that?"

"I'm not sure." Then Jason went on to describe what was probably Hayes's
paranoia and his statements about having made a breakthrough.

After writing all this down, Curran looked up. He seemed more alert.
"What do you mean, 'paranoiat!

"He said that someone was following him and wanted him and his son
dead."

"Did he say who?"

"No." Jason said. "To be honest, I thought that he was delusional. He
was acting strangely. I thought he was about to decompensate."

"Decompensate?" Curran asked.

"Nervous breakdown," Jason said.

"I see," Curran said, returning to his note pad. Jason watched as he
wrote.

He had the curious habit of licking the end of his pencil at odd
intervals.

At that moment another figure appeared in the doorway. She walked around
the table to Jason's right. Both Jason and the detective got to their
feet.

The newcomer was a diminutive woman barely five feet tall. She
introduced herself as Dr. Margaret Danforth. In contrast to her size,
her voice re sounded in the small room.

"Sit down," she commanded, smiling at Curran, whom she obviously knew.

Jason guessed the woman to be in her upper thirties. She had small,
delicate features with highly arched eyebrows that gave her an innocent
appeal. Her hair was short and very curly. She wore a dark, demure dress
with a lace collar. Jason had trouble associating her appearance with
her position as one of the medical examiners of the city of Boston.

"What's the problem?" she asked, getting right to business. There were
dark circles under her eyes, and Jason guessed she'd been working since
early that morning.

Detective Curran tipped his chair back and teetered. "Sudden death of a
physician in a North End restaurant. Apparently he vomited a large
amount of blood ..."

"Coughed up would be a better term," intertupted Jason.

"How so?" Detective Cur-ran asked, coming forward with a thump. He
licked the end of his pencil to make a correction.

"Vomiting would mean it came from his digestive system," Jason said.
"This blood obviously came from his lungs. It was bright red and
frothy."

"Frothy! I like that word," Curtan said. He bent over his pad, making a
cortection.

"I presume it was arterial blood," Dr. Danforth said.

in believe so," Jason said.

"Which means ... ?" Curran questioned.

"Probably a rupture of the aorta," Danforth answered. She had her hands
folded in her lap as if she were at a tea party. "The aorta is the main
vessel that leaves the heart," she added for Curtan's benefit. "It
carries oxygenated blood out to the body."

"Thank you," Curran said.

"Sounds like either lung cancer or aneurysm," Danforth added. "An
aneurysm is an abnormal outpocketing of the blood vessel."

"Thank you again," Curran said. "It's so handy when people know I'm
ignorant."

Jason had a momentary flash of Peter Falk playing Detective Columbo. He
was quite sure that Curran was anything but ignorant.

"Would you agree, doctor?" Danforth asked, looking directly at Jason.

"I'd vote for lung cancer," Jason said. "Hayes was a prodigious smoker."

"That does raise the probability."

"Any possibility of foul play?" Curran asked, looking at the medical
examiner from under his heavy lids.

Dr. Danforth gave a short laugh. "If the diagnosis is what I think it
is, the only foul play involved would have been perpetrated by his
Maker-or the tobacco industry."

"That's what I thought," Curtan said, flipping his notebook closed and
pocketing his pencil.

"Are you going to do an autopsy now?" Jason asked.

"Heavens no," Dr. Danforth said. "If there were some pressing reason, we
could. But there isn't. We'll get to it first thing in the morning. We
should have some answers by ten-thirty or so, if you'd like to call
about then."

Curran put his hands on the table as if he were about to stand. Instead,
he said, "Dr. Howard has alleged that the victim thought someone was
trying to kill him. Am I right, doctor?"

Jason nodded.

'.'So ..." Curran said. "Could you keep that in mind when you do the
autopsy?"

"Absolutely," Dr. Danforth said. "We keep an open mind in all cases we
do.

That's our job. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get home. I
haven't even had a chance to eat dinner."

Jason felt -a mild wave of nausea. He wondered how Margaret Danforth
could feel hungry after spending her day cutting up corpses. Curran
actually said as much to Jason as they descended to the first floor. He
offered Jason a lift, but Jason told him he was expecting a hiend. No
sooner had he said it than the street door opened and Shirley walked in.

"Some friend," Curtan whispered with a wink as he left.

Once again Shirley stood out like a mirage. For entertaining she'd
dressed in a red, fitted, silk shirtdress, cinched with a wide black
leather belt.

Her appearance bespoke so strongly of life and vitality that her
presence in the dirty morgue was a collision of opposites. Jason had the
unnatural urge to get her out of there as soon as possible, lest some
evil force touch her. But she was resistant to his urging. She'd thrown
her arms around him and pressed his head against hers in a genuine show
of sympathy.

Jason melted. His response surprised him. He found himself fighting back
tears like an adolescent. It was embarrassing.

She pulled back and looked him in the eyes. He managed a crooked smile.

"What a day," he said.

"What a day!" she agreed. "Any reason you have to stay here?"

Jason shook his head.

"Come on, I'm taking you home," she said, hurtying him outside to where
her BMW was parked in a no-parking zone. They got in and the car roared
to life.

"Are you okay?" Shirley asked as they headed toward Massachusetts
Avenue.

"I'm much better now." Jason looked at Shirley's profile as the city
lights illuminated it in flashes. #Tm just overwhelmed by all the
deaths. As if I should be doing something better."

"You're too hard on yourself. You can't take responsibility for
everyone.

Besides, Hayes wasn't your patient."

d1i know. pt They drove for a while in silence. Then Shirley said, "It
is a tragedy about Hayes. He was pretty close to a genius, and he
couldn't have been more than forty-five."

"He was my age," Jason said. "He was in my class in medical school."

"I didn't know that," Shirley said. "He looked a lot older."

"Especially lately," Jason said. They passed Symphony Hall. Some affair
was just getting out, and men in black tie were emerging on the front
steps.

"What did the medical examiner have to say?" Shirley asked.

"Probably cancer. But they aren't going to do the autopsy until m '
orning."

"Autopsy? Who gave the authorization?"

"No need if the medical examiner thinks there is some question about the
death."

"But what kind of question? You said the man had a heart attack."

"I didn't say it was a heart attack. I said it was something like that.
At any rate, it's apparently protocol for them to do a postmortem on any
unexpected death. A detective actually questioned me."

"Seems like a waste of taxpayers'money," Shirley said as they turned
left on Beacon Street.

"Where are we going?" Jason asked suddenly.

"I'm taking you home with me. My guests will still be there. It will be
good for you."

"No way," Jason said. "I'm in no shape to be social."

"Are you sure? I don't want you brooding. These people will understand."

"Please," Jason said. "I'm not strongenough to argue. I just need to
sleep.

Besides, look at me, I'm a wreck."

"Okay, if you put it that way," Shirley said. She turned left on the
next block, then left again on Commonwealth Avenue, heading back to
Beacon Hill.

After a period of silence, she said, "I'm afraid Hayes's death is going
to be a big blow to GHP. We were counting on him to produce some
exciting results. The fallout is going to be especially tough for me,
since I was responsible for his being hired."

"Then take some of your own advice," Jason said. "You can't hold
yourself responsible for his medical condition."

"I know. But try telling that to the board."

"In that case I guess I should tell you. There's more bad news," Jason
said. "Apparently Hayes believed he'd made a real scientific
breakthrough.

Something extraordinary. Do you know anything about it?"

"Not a thing," Shirley said with alarm. "Did he tell you what it was?"

"Unfortunately no," Jason said. "And I wasn't sure whether to believe
him or not. He was acting rather bizarre, to say the least, claiming
someone wanted him dead."

"Do you think he was having a nervous breakdown?"

"It crossed my mind."

"The poor man. If he did make some sort of discovery, then GHP is going
to have a double loss."

"But if he had made some dramatic discovery, wouldn't you be able to
find out what it was?"

"Obviously you didn't know Dr. Hayes," Shirley said. "He was an
extraordinarily private man, personally and professionally. Half of what
he knew he carried around in his head."

They skirted the Boston Garden, then navigated the roundabout route to
get into Beacon Hill, a residential enclave of brick-fronted townhouses
in the center of Boston, whose one-way streets made driving a nightmare.

After crossing Charles Street, Shirley drove up Mt. Vernon Street and
turned into the cobblestoned Louisburg Square. When he'd decided to give
up suburban living and try the city, Jason had been lucky enough to find
a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the square. It was in a large
townhouse whose owner had a unit in the building, but was rarely there.
It was a perfect location for Jason, since the apartment came with a
true urban prize: a parking place.

Jason got out of the car and leaned in the open window. "Thanks for
picking me up. It meant a lot." He reached in and gave Shirley's
shoulder a squeeze.

Shirley suddenly reached out and grabbed Jason by the tie, pulling his
head down to her. She gave him a hard kiss, gunned the motor, and was
off.

Jason stood at the curb in a pool of light from the gas lamp and watched
her disappear down Pinckney Street. Turning to his door, he fumbled for
his keys. He was pleased she had come into his life, and for the first
time considered the possibility of a real relationship.

It had not been a good night. Every time Jason had closed his eyes, he'd
seen Hayes's quizzical expression just before the catastrophe and
re-experienced the awful feeling of helplessness as he watched Hayes's
lifeblood. pump out of his mouth.

The scene haunted him as he drove to work, and he remembered something
he'd forgotten to tell either Curran or Shirley. Hayes had said his
discovery was no longer a secret and it was being used. Whatever that
meant. Jason planned to call the detective when he reached GHP, but the
moment he entered he was paged to come directly to the coronary care
unit.

Brian Lennox was much worse. After a brief examination, Jason realized
there was little he could do. Even the cardiac consult he'd requested
the day before was not optimistic, though Harry Sarnoff had scheduled an
emergency coronary study for that morning. The only hope was if
immediate surgery might have something to offer.

Outside Brian's cubicle the nurse asked, "If he arrests, do you want to code him? Even his kidneys seem to be failing."

Jason hated such decisions, but said firmly that he wanted the man
resuscitated at least until they had the results from the coronary
study.

The remainder of Jason's rounds were equally as depressing. His diabetes
cases, all of whom had multisystem involvement, were doing very poorly.
Two of them-were in kidney failure and the third was threatening. The
depressing part was that they had not entered the hospital for that
reason.

The kidney failure had developed while Jason was treating them for other
problems.

Jason's two leukemia patients were also not responding to treatment as
he'd expected. Both had developed significant heart conditions even
though they had been admitted for respiratory symptoips. And his two
AIDS sufferers had made very distinct turns for the worse. The only
patients doing well were two young girls with hepatitis. The last
patient was a thirty-five-year-old man in for an evaluation of his heart
valves. He'd had rheumatic fever as a child. Thankfully he was
unchanged.

Arriving at his office, Jason had to be firm with Claudia. News of
Hayes's death had already permeated the entire GHP complex, and Claudia
was beside herself with curiosity. Jason told her that he wasn't going
to talk about it. She insisted. He ordered her out of his office. Later
he apologized and gave her an abridged version of the event. By ten-
thirty he got a call from Henry Sarnoff with depressing news. Brian
Lennox's coronary arteries were much worse but without focal blockage.
In other words, they were uniformly filling up with atherosclerosis at a
rapid rate, and there was no chance for surgery. Sarnoff said he'd never
seen such rapid progression and asked Jason's permission to write it up.
Jason said it was fine with him.

After Sarnoff's call, Jason kept himself I ' ocked in his office for a
few minutes. When he felt emotionally prepared, he called the coronary
care unit and asked for the nurse taking care of Brian Lennox. When she
came on the line, he discussed with her the results of the coronary
artery study.

Then he told her that Brian Lennox should be a no-code. Without hope,
the man's suffering had to be curtailed. She agreed. After he'd hung up,
he stared at the phone. It was moments like that that made him wonder
why he'd gone into medicine in the first place.

When the lunch break came, Jason decided to check out Hayes's autopsy
results in person. In the daylight, the morgue was not such an eerie
place just another aging, run-down, not-too-clean building. Even the
Egyptian architectural details were more comical than imposing. Yet
Jason avoided the body storage room and went directly to find Margaret
Danforth's nartow office next to the library. She was hunched over her
desk eating what looked like a Big Mac. She waved him in, smiling.
"Welcome."

"Sorty to bother you," Jason said, sitting down. Once again he marveled
how small and feminine Margaret seemed in light of her job.

"No bother," she said. "I did the post on Dr. Hayes this morning." She
leaned back in her chair, which squeaked softly. "I was a little
surprised.

It wasn't cancer.

"What was it?"

"Aneurysm. Aortic aneurysm that broke into the tracheobronchial tree.
The man never had syphilis, did he?"

Jason shook his head. "Not that I know of. I'd kinda doubt it."

"Well, it looked strange," Margaret said. "Do you mind that I continue
eating? I have another autopsy in a few minutes."

"Not at all," Jason said, wondering how she could. His own stomach did a
little flip-flop. The whole building had a slightly fishy odor. "What
looked strange?"

Margaret chewed, then swallowed. "The aorta looked kind of cheesy,
friable.

So did the trachea, for that matter. I'd never seen anything quite like
it, except in this one guy I'd posted who was one hundred and fourteen.
Can you believe it? It was written up in The Globe. He was forty-four
when the First World War started. Amazing."

"When will you have a microscopic report?"

Margaret made a gesture of embarrassment. "Two weeks , she said. "We're
not funded for adequate support personnel. Slides take quite a while."

"If you could give me some samples, I could have our path department
process them."

"We have to process them ourselves. I'm sure you under-stand."

"I don't mean for you not to do it," Jason said. "I just meant we could
too. It would save some time."

"I don't see why not." Standing up, Margaret took another large bite out
of her hamburger and motioned for Jason to follow her. They used the
stairwell and went up a floor to the autopsy room.

It was a long rectangular room with four stainless steel tables oriented
perpendicular to the long axis. The smell of formaldehyde and other
unspeakable fluids was overpowering. Two tables were occupied, and the
two others were in the process of being cleaned. Margaret, perfectly at
home in the environment, was still chewing her last bite of lunch as she
led Jason over to the sink. After scanning through a profusion of
plastic-capped specimen bottles, she separated a number from the rest.
Then, taking each in turn, she fished out the contents, placed them on a
cutting board, and sliced off a piece of each with a blade that looked
very much like a standard kitchen carving knife. Then she got new
specimen bottles, labeled them, poured in formaldehyde, and dropped in
the respective samples. When she was done, she packed them in a brown
paper bag and handed it to Jason.

It had all been done with remarkable efficiency.

Back at GHP, Jason headed to pathology, where he found Dr. Jackson
Madsen at his microscope. Dr. Madsen was a tall, gaunt man who at sixty
was still proudly running marathons. As soon as he saw Jason, he
commiserated with him about Jason's experience with Hayes.

"Not many secrets around here," Jason said a little sourly.

"Of course not," Jackson said. "Socially, the medical center is like a
small town. It thrives on gossip." Eyeing the brown paper bag, he added,
"You have something for me?"

"In a manner of speaking." Jason went on to explain what the specimens
were, and added that since it was going to take two weeks for the slides
to be processed at the city lab, he wondered if Jackson would mind
running them at the GHP lab.

"I'd be happy to," Jackson said, taking the bag. "By the way, are you
interested in hearing the results of the Harring case now?"

Jason swallowed. "Of course."

"Cardiac rupture. First case I've seen in years. Split open the left
ventricle. It appeared as if most of the heart had been involved in the
infarct, and when I sectioned the heart, I had the impression that all
of the coronary vessels were involved. That man had the worst coronary
heart disease I've seen in years."

So much for our wonderful predictive tests, Jason thought. He felt
defensive enough to explain to Jackson that he'd gone back and reviewed
Harring's record and still couldn't find any evidence of the impending
problem on an EKG taken less than a month before Harring's death.

"Maybe you'd better check your machines," Jackson said. "I'm telling
you, this man's heart was in bad shape. The microscopic sections should
be ready tomorrow if you're interested."

Leaving the pathology department, Jason considered Jackson's comment.
The idea of a defective EKG machine hadn't occurred to him. But by the
time he got to his office, he discarded the notion. There would be too
many ways to tell if the EKG machine wasn't functioning properly.
Besides, two different machines were used for the resting EKG and the
stress EKG. But in thinking about it, he remembered something. Like
Jason himself, on joining the GHP staff, Hayes would have been given a
complete physical. Everyone was.

After Claudia had given Jason his phone messages, he asked her to see if
Dr. Alvin Hayes had a patient chart, and if he did, to get it.
Meanwhile, he avoided Sally and headed up to radiology. With the help of
one of the department secretaries, he located Alvin Hayes's folder. As
he'd expected, it contained a routine chest X ray taken six months
previously. He looked at it briefly. Then, armed with the film, he
sought out one of the four staff radiologists. Milton Perlman, MD, was
emerging from the fluoroscopy room when Jason buttonholed him, described
Hayes's death and the results of the autopsy, and handed Milton the
chest film. Milton took the film back to his office, placed it on the
viewing box, and flipped on the light. He scanned the film for a full
minute before turning to Jason.

"There ain't no aneurysm here," he said. lie was from West Virginia and
liked to talk as if he'd left the farm the day before. "Aorta looks
normal, no calcification."

"Is that possible?" Jason asked.

"Must be." Milton checked the name and unit number on the film. "I guess
there's always a chance we could have mixed up the names, but I doubt
it.

If the man died of an aneurysm, then he developed it in the last month."

"I never heard of that happening."

"What can I say?" Milton extended his hands, palms up.

Jason returned to his office, mulling over the problem. An aneurysm
could balloon quickly, especially if the victim had a combination of
vessel disease and high blood pressure, but when he checked Hayes's
physical exam, his blood pressure and heart sounds were, as he
suspected, normal. With no signs of vascular disease, Jason realized
that there was little he could do at that point besides wait for the
microscopic sections. Maybe Hayes had contracted some strange infectious
disease that had attacked his blood vessels, including his aorta. For
the first time, Jason wondered if they were seeing the beginnings of a
new and terrible disease.

Changing his suit jacket for a white coat, Jason left his office,
practically bumping into Sally.

-"You're behind schedule!" she scolded.

"So what else is new?" Jason said, heading for exam room A.

By a combination of hard work and luck, Jason caught up to his schedule.

The luck involved not having any new patients that needed extensive
workups or old patients with new problems. By three there was even a
break. Someone had canceled.

The whole afternoon, Jason could not get the Hayes affair out of his
mind.

And with a little extr-a time on his hands, he headed up to the sixth
floor. That was where Dr. Alvin Hayes's lab was located. Jason thought
perhaps Hayes's assistant would have some idea if the big breakthrough
Hayes had mentioned had any basis in fact.

As soon as he stepped from the elevator, Jason felt as if he were in
another world. As part of Hayes's incentive to come to GHP, the GHP
board had built him a brand new lab which occupied a good portion of the
sixth floor.

The area near the elevator was furnished with comfortable leather
seating, deep pile carpets, and even a large glass-fronted bookcase
filled with current references in molecular biology. Beyond this
reception room was a clean room where visitors were expected to don long
white coats and protective coverings over their shoes. Jason tried the
door. It was open, so he entered.

Jason put on the coat and booties and tried the inner door. As he
expected, it was locked. Next to the door was a buzzer. He pushed it and
waited.

Above the lintel a small red light blinked on over a closedcircuit TV
camera. Then the door buzzed open and Jason entered.

1 83

The lab was divided into two main sections. The first section was
constructed of white Formica and white tile and included a large central
room with several offices on one side. With overhead fluorescent
lighting, the effect was dazzling. The room was filled with
sophisticated equipment, most of which Jason did not recognize. A locked
steel door separated the first section from the second. A sign next to
the door read: ANIMAL ROOM AND BACTERIAL INCUBATORS: NO ENTRY!

Sitting at one of the extensive lab benches in the first section was a
very blond woman Jason had seen on several occasions in the GHP
cafeteria. She had sharp features, a slightly aquiline nose, and her
hair was tightly pulled back into a French knot. Jason saw that her eyes
were red, as if she had been crying.

"Excuse me, I'm Dr. Jason Howard," he said, extending his hand. She took
it. Her skin was cool., "Helene Brennquivist," she said with a slight
Scandinavian accent.

"Do you have a moment?"

Helene didn't answer. Instead, she closed her notebook and pushed away a
stack of petri dishes.

"I'd like to ask a few questions," Jason continued. He saw that she had
an uncanny ability to maintain an absolutely neutral facial expression.

"This is, or was, Dr. Hayes's lab?" Jason asked, with a short wave of
his hand to the su'r-roundings.

She nodded.

"And I presume you worked with Dr. Hayes?"

Another nod, less perceptible than the- first. Jason had the feeling
he'd already evoked a defensiveness in the woman.

"I'm assuming that you've heard the bad news about Dr. Hayes," Jason
said.

This time she blinked, and Jason thought he saw the glint of tears.

"I was with Dr. Hayes when he died," Jason explained, watching Helene
carefully. Except for the watery eyes, she seemed strangely devoid of
emotion, and Jason wondered if it was a form of grief. "Just before
Hayes died, he told me that he'd made a major scientific breakthrough
..."

Jason let his comment hang in the air, hoping for some appropriate
response. There was none. Helene merely stared back at him.

"Well, was there?" Jason said, leaning forward.

"I didn't know you were finished speaking," Helene said. "It wasn't a
question, you know."

"True,00 Jason admitted. "I was merely hoping you'd respond. I do hope
you know what Dr. Hayes meant."

"I'm afraid I don't. Other people in the administration have already
been up here asking me the same question. Unfortunately, I have no idea
what Dr. Hayes could have been referting to."

Jason imagined that Shirley had been to see Helene first thing that
morning.

"Are you the only person besides Dr. Hayes who works in this lab?"

"That's right," Helene said. "We had a secretary, but Dr. Hayes
dismissed her three months ago. He thought she talked too much."

"What was he afraid she'd talk about?"

"Anything and everything. Dr. Hayes was an intensely private person.

Especially about his work."

"so I'm learning," Jason said. His initial impression that Hayes had
become paranoid seemed to be substantiated. Yet Jason persisted: "What
exactly do you do, Miss. Brennquivist?"

"I'm a molecular biologist. Like Dr. Hayes, but nowhere near his
ability.

I use recombinant DNA techniques to alter E. coli bacteria to produce
various proteins that Dr. Hayes was interested in."

Jason nodded as if he understood. He'd heard the term "recombinant DNA,"
but had only the vaguest notion what it really meant. Since he'd been in
medical school there had been a virtual explosion of knowledge in the
field. But there was one thing he did remember, and that was a fear that
recombinant DNA studies might produce bacteria capable of causing new
and unknown diseases. With Hayes's sudden death in mind, he asked, "Had
you come up with any new and potentially dangerous strains?"

"No," Helene said without hesitation.

"How can you be so sure?"

"For two reasons. First of all, I did all the recombinant bacterial
work, not Dr. Hayes. Secondly, we use a strain of E. coli bacteria that
cannot grow outside of the laboratory."

"Oh," Jason said, nodding encouragingly.

"Dr. Hayes was interested in growth and development. He spent most of
his time isolating the growth factors from the hypothalamic-pituitary
axis responsible for puberty and sexual development. Growth factors are
proteins. I'm sure you know that."

4dof course," Jason said. What a curious woman, he thought. At first,
conversation had been like pulling teeth. Now that she was on scientific
ground, she was extremely vocal.

"Dr. Hayes would give me a protein and I'd set out to produce it by
recombinant DNA techniques. That's what I'm doing here." She turned to
the stacks of petri dishes, and, lifting one, removed the cover. She
extended it toward Jason. On the surface were whitish clumps of
bacterial colonies.

Helene replaced the dish on its appropriate stack. "Dr. Hayes was
fascinated by the on/off switching of genes, the balance between
repression and expression, and the role of repressor proteins and where
they bind to the DNA. He's used the growth hormone gene as the
prototype. Would you like to see his latest map of chromosome 17?"

"Sure," Jason said, forcing a smile.

A buzzer resounded in the lab, momentarily drowning out the low hum of
the electronic equipment. A screen in front of Helene flashed to life,
showing four people and a dog in the foyer. Jason recognized two of them
immediately-Shirley Montgomery and Detective Michael Curtan. The other
two were strangers.

"Oh, dear," Helene said, as she reached for the buzzer.

Jason stood as the new arrivals filed into the room. Shirley registered
a momentary flash of surprise when she saw Jason, but calmly introduced
Detective Curran to Helene. As he began to question her, Shirley took
Jason by the arm and steered him into the nearest office, which Jason
realized must have been Hayes's. Covering the walls were progressive
close-up photos of human genitalia going through the anatomical
evolution of puberty. They were all nicely framed in stainless steel
squares.

"Interesting decor," Jason commented wryly.

Shirley acted as if she didn't even see the photos. Her usually calm
face wore an expression of concern and irritation. "This affair is
getting out of hand."

"What do you mean?" Jason asked.

"Apparently last night the police got an anonymous tip that Dr. Alvin
Hayes dealt drugs. They searched his apartment and found a significant
amount of heroin, cocaine, and cash. Now they have a warrant to search
his lab."

"My God!" Jason suddenly understood the dog's presence.

"And as if that's not enough, they found out he's been living with a
woman by the name of Carol Donner.

"That name sounds familiar," Jason said.

"Well, it shouldn't be," Shirley said sternly. "Carol Donner is an
exotic dancer at the Club Cabaret in the Combat Zone."

"Well, I'll be damned." Jason chuckled.

"Jason!" Shirley snapped. "This is not a laughing matter."

"I'm not laughing," he protested. "I'm just astounded."

"If you think you're astounded, what's the board of directors going to
say?

And to think I insisted on hiring Hayes. The man's death alone was bad
enough. This is fast becoming a public relations nightmare."

"What are you going to do?" Jason asked.

"I haven't the slightest idea," Shirley admitted. "At the moment my
intuition tells me the less we do, the better."

"What are your thoughts about Hayes's supposed breakthrough?"

"I think the man was fantasizing," Shirley said. "I mean, he was
involved with drugs and an exotic dancer, for God's sake!"

Exasperated, she returned to the main part of the lab, where Detective
Curran was still talking intently with Helene. The other two men and the
dog were methodically searching the lab. Jason watched for a few
moments, then excused himself to finish office hours. He still had a
handful of outpatients to see as well as hospital rounds to do.

On the way home, even though he was more convinced than ever that Hayes
had been on the verge of a nervous breakdown, rather than a
breakthrough, Jason stopped at the library and took out a slim volume
titled Recombinant DNA: An Introduction for the Nonscientist.

Rush hour traffic was the usual dog-eat-dog Boston rally, and when Jason
stepped on the emergency brake in his parking place in front of his
townhouse, he felt the usual relief that he'd survived unscathed. He
carried his briefcase up to his apartment, and put it on the desk in the
small study that looked out onto the square. The now leafless elms were
like skeletons against the night sky. Daylight Saving was already over,
and it was dark outside even though it was only six forty-five. Changing
into his jogging clothes, Jason ran down Mt. Vernon Street, crossed over
Storrow Drive on the Arthur Fiedler Bridge, and ran along the Charles.
He ran to the Boston University Bridge before turning. In contrast to
the summer, there were few joggers. On the way back he stopped at De
Luca's Market and picked up some fresh, local bluefish, makings for a
salad, and a cold bottle of California Chardonnay.

Jason liked to cook, and after taking his shower, he prepared the fish
by broiling it with a small amount of garlic and virgin olive oil. He
tossed the salad, then rescued the wine from the freezer where he'd put
it to give it an icy kick. He poured himself a glass. When all was ready
he carried it into the study on a tray. Thus prepared, he opened the
small book on recombinant DNA and settled in for the night.

The first part of the book served as a review. Jason was well aware that
deoxyribonucleic acid, better known as DNA, was a molecule, shaped like
a twisted, double-stranded string. It was made up of repeating subunits
called bases that had the property of pairing with each other in very
specific ways. Particular areas of the DNA were called genes, and each
gene was associated with the production of a specific protein.

Jason felt encouraged as he took a sip of his wine. The book was well
written and made the subject matter seem clear. He liked the little
tidbits like the fact that each human cell had four billion base pairs.
The next part of the book dealt with bacteria, and the fact that
bacteria reproduce easily -and rapidly. Within days, trillions of
identical cells could be made from a single initial cell. This was
important, because in genetic engineering bacteria served as the
recipient of small fragments of DNA.

This "foreign" DNA was incorporated into the bacterium's own DNA, and
then, as the cell divided, it manufactured the original fragments. The
bacterium with the newly incorporated DNA was called a recombinant
strain and the new DNA molecule was called recombinant DNA. So far so
good.

Jason ate some of his fish and salad and washed it -down with wine. The
next chapter got a little more complicated. It talked about how the
genes in the DNA molecule went about producing their respective
proteins. The first part entailed making a copy of the segment of DNA
with a molecule called messenger RNA. The messenger RNA then directed
the production of the protein in a process called transcription. Jason
drank a little more wine. The last part of the chapter got particularly
interesting, since it explained the elaborate mechanisms that turned
genes on and off.

Getting up from his desk, Jason walked'across his living room into the
kitchen. Opening the freezer, he poured himself another glass of wine.
Back in his study he stared out the window, seeing the lights across the
square in St. Margaret's Convent. It always amused him that there was a
convent on the most desirable residential square in Boston: Give up the
material world, become a nun, and move to Louisburg! Jason smiled, then
looked back down at the recombinant DNA book. Sitting down again, he
reread the section on the timing of gene expression. It was complicated
and fascinating. Apparently, a host of proteins had been discovered that
served as repressors of gene function. These proteins attached to the
DNA or caused the DNA to coil, to cover up the involved genes.

Jason closed the book. He'd had enough for one night. Besides, the
section on the control of gene function was what he'd been unconsciously
looking for. Reading that section brought back Hayes's comment that his
main interest was "how genes turned on and how they turned off." Helene
had said the same thing but in different words.

Taking his wine, Jason wandered into his living room. Absently fondling
the cut-glass sconces over the fireplace, he allowed his mind to
consider the possibilities. What could Hayes have meant when he said
he'd made a major scientific breakthrough? For the moment Jason
dismissed the idea of Hayes having delusions of grandeur. After all, he
was a world class researcher, and he was working prodigious 92

hours. So there was a chance he'd been telling the truth. If he'd made a
discovery, it would be in the area of turning genes on and off, and
probably have to do with growth and development. The image of the photos
of the genitals clouded Jason's mind for a moment.

Jason was brought out of his reverie by the phone. It was the head nurse
in the coronary care unit. "Brian Lennox just died. He had a terminal
episode of V-tack that progressed to asystole."

"I'll be right over," Jason said. He hung up and thought of the nurse's
scientific jargon, recognizing that it was an emotional defense. Once
again the shadow of death hung over him like a noxious cloud.

The radio alarm blasted Jason out of bed. He'd turned up the volume for
fear of oversleeping. He'd spent a good portion'of the night consoling
Brian Lennox's wife. Retrieving his newspaper from the front steps, he
shaved and showered while his Mr. Coffee performed its usual morning
miracle. By the time he was dressed, the apartment was filled with the
aromatic smell of the freshly brewed coffee. With mug in hand, he
retreated to the den, slipping the Boston Globe out of its protective
clear plastic sheath.

Planning to turn directly to the sports section, he stopped at a
front-page headline- DOCTOR, DRUGS AND DANCER. It was not a flattering
article about Dr. Alvin Hayes. It played up Hayes's shocking death and
unfairly associated it with the drugs found in his apartment, even
likening his affair with the dancer to the case involving the Tufts
Medical School professor who had been convicted of murdering a
prostitute. Along with the article there were two photos: the Time cover
shoot of Hayes and an- other of a woman entering the Club Cabaret,
captioned, "Carol Donner entering her place of business." Jason tried to
see what Carol Donner looked like, but it was impossible. She had one
hand up, shielding her face. In the background was a sign that said,
TOPLESS COLLEGE GIRLS. Sure, thought Jason with a smile.

He read the rest of the article, feeling sorry for Shirley. The police
reported that a significant amount of heroin and cocaine was found at
the South End apartment that Hayes had shared with Carol Donner.

Jason went to the hospital to find his inpatients generally in poor
shape.

Matthew Cowen, who had had a cardiac catheterization the day before, displayed odd symptoms alarmingly like the late Cedric Harring: arthritis,
constipation, and dry skin. None of these would normally cause Jason
much concern. But in view of recent events, they made him feel uneasy.
They again brought up the specter of some new unknown infectious disease
that he could -not control. He had the feeling Matthew's course was
about to change for the worse.

After ordering a dermatology consult for Cowen, Jason gloomily went down
to his office, where Claudia greeted him with the information that she
had pulled the executive physicals through the letter P. She had called
the patients and discovered that only two complained of health problems.

Jason reached for the charts and opened them.

The first one was Holly Jennings, the other Paul Klingler. Both had had
their physicals within a month. "Call them back," Jason said, "and ask
both to come in as soon as they can without alarming them."

"It's going to be hard not to upset them. What should I say?"

"Tell them we want to repeat some test. Use your imagination."

Later in the day he decided to see if he could charm some more
information on Hayes out of his lab technician, but the moment he saw
Helene she made it clear she was not about to be charmed.

"Did the police find anything?" he asked, already knowing the answer was
no. Shirley had called him and told him after the police had departed,
saying, "Thank God for small favors."

Helene shook her head.

"I know you're busy," Jason said, "but do you think you could sparea
minute? I'd like to ask a few more questions."

She finally stopped working and turned toward him.

"Thank you," he said, and smiled. Her expression didn't change. It
wasn't unpleasant, just neutral.

"I hate to belabor the subject," Jason said, "but I keep thinking of
what Dr. Hayes said about a significant breakthrough. Are you sure you
have no idea what it could be? It would be tragic if a real medical
discovery were lost."

"I told you what I know," Helene said. "I could show you the latest map
he did of chromosome 17. Would that help?"

"Let's give it a try."

Helene led the way into Hayes's office. She ignored the photos that
covered the walls, but Jason couldn't. He wondered what kind of man
could work in such an environment. Helene produced a large sheet of
paper covered with minute printing, giving the sequence of base pairs of
the DNA molecule comprising a portion of chromosome 17. There was a
staggering number of base pairs: hundreds and hundreds of thousands.

"Dr. Hayes's area is here." She pointed to a large section where the
pairs were done in red. "These are the genes associated with growth
hormone. It's very complex."

"You're right there, Jason said. He knew he'd have to do a lot more
reading to make any sense of it all.

"Is there any chance this mapping could have led to a major scientific
breakthrough?"

Helene thought for a moment, then shook her head. "The technique has
been known for some time."

"What about cancer?" Jason asked, giving the idea a shot. "Could Dr.
Hayes have discovered something about cancer?"

"We didn't work with cancer at all, Helene said.

"But if he was interested in cell division and maturation, it's possible he could have discovered something about cancer.

Especially with his interest in the switching on and off of genes."

"I suppose it's possible," Helene said without enthusiasm.

Jason was sure that Helene was not being as helpful as she could be. As
Hayes's assistant, she should have had a better idea of what Hayes was
doing. But there was no way he could force the issue.

"What about his lab books?"

Helene returned to her spot at the lab bench. Opening the second drawer
at the table, she pulled out a ledger. "This is all I have," she said,
and handed it to Jason.

The book was three-quarters filled. Jason could see it was only a data
book without experimental protocols, and without those, the data was
meaningless.

"Aren't there other lab books?"

"There were some," Helene admitted, "but Dr. Hayes kept them with him,
especially over the last three months. Mostly he kept everything in his
head. He had a fabulous memory, especially for figures For a brief
moment Jason saw a light in Helene's eyes and thought she might open up,
but it didn't last.

She trailed off into silence. She took the data book from Jason and
replaced it in its drawer.

"Let me ask one other question," Jason said, struggling over the
wording.

"As far as you could tell, did Dr. Hayes act normally over the last few
weeks? He seemed anxious and overtired when I saw him." Jason
deliberately understated Hayes's condition.

"He seemed normal to me," said Helene flatly.

Oh, brother, Jason thought. Now he was sure Helene wasn't being open
with him. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about it.
Thanking her and excusing himself, he retreated from Hayes's lab. He
descended in the elevator, avoided being seen by Sally, crossed to the
main building, and rode up to pathology.

He found Jackson Madsen in the chemistry lab, where there was a problem
with one of the auto mated machines. Two company reps were there, and
Jac , kson was happy to return to his office with Jason to show him the
slides of Harring's heart.

"Wait until you see this," he said as he positioned a slide under his
microscope. He peered through the eyepiece, moving the slide deftly with
his thumb and index finger. Then he stepped back and let Jason take a
look.

"See that vessel?" he asked. Jason nodded. "Notice the lumen is all but
obliterated. It's some of the worst atherosclerosis I've seen. That pink
stuff looks like amyloid. it's amazing, especially if you say his EKG
was okay. And let me show you something else." Jackson substituted
another slide. "Take a look now."

Jason peered into the microscope. "What am I supposed to see?"

"Notice how swollen the nuclei are," Jackson said. "And the pink stuff.

That's amyloid for certain."

"What does that mean?"

"It's as if the guy's heart was under siege. Notice the inflammatory
cells."

Unaccustomed to looking at microscopic sections, Jason hadn't noticed
them at first, but now they jumped out at him. "What do you make of it?"
he asked.

"I'm not sure. How old did you say this guy was?"

"Fifty-six." J ' ason straightened up. "Is there any chance, in your
estimation, that we are seeing some new infectious disease?"

Jackson thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't think
there's enough inflammation for that. It looks more metabolic, but
that's all I can say. Oh, one more thing," he added, putting in another
slide. While he focused he said: "This is part of the red nucleus in the
brain. Tell me what you see." He leaned back for Jason. Jason peered
into the scope. He saw a neuron. Within the neuron was a prominent
nucleus as well as a darkly stained granular area. He described it to
Jackson.

"That's lipofuscin," said Jackson. He removed the slide.

Jason straightened up. "What does it all mean?"

"Wish I knew," said Jackson. "All nonspecific, but certainly a
suggestion that your Mr. Harring was a sick cookie. These slides could
have belonged to my grandfather."

"That's the second time I've heard something like that," said Jason
slowly. "Can't you give me anything more specific?"

"I'm sorry," said Jackson. "I wish I could be more cooperative. I'll be
running some tests to be sure these deposits in the heart and elsewhere
are amyloid. I'll let you know."

09 Thanks," said Jason. "What about the slides on Hayes?"

"Not ready yet," said Jackson.

Jason returned to the second floor and walked over to the outpatient
area.

As a doctor he'd always had questions about the efficacy of certain
tests, procedures and drugs. But he had never had reason to question his
general competence. In fact, in most situations he'd always thought of
himself as well above average. Now, he wasn't so sure. Such misgivings
were disturbing, especially because he'd been using work as his major
sense of self since Danielle's death.

"Where have you been?" demanded Sally, catching up to Jason as he tried
to slip into his office. Within minutes Sally had Jason buried beneath a
host of minor problems that thankfully absorbed his attention. By the
time he could catch his breath, it was just after twelve. He saw his
last patient, who wanted advice and shots for a trip to India, and then
he was free.

Claudia tried to get him to join her and some other secretaries for
lunch, but Jason declined. He retreated to his office and brooded. The
worst part for Jason was the frustration. He felt something was terribly
wrong, but he didn't know what it was or what to do about it. A
loneliness descended over him.

"Damn," said Jason, slapping the top of his desk with his open palm,
hard enough to send unattached papers flying. He had to avoid slipping
into a depression. He had to do something. Changing from his white coat
to his jacket, he grabbed his beeper and descended to his car. He drove
around the Fenway, passing the Gardner Museum and then the Museum of
Fine Arts on his right. Then, heading south on Storrow Drive, he got off
at Arlington..His destination was Boston Police Headquarters.

At police headquarters a policeman directed Jason to the fifth floor. As
soon as he got off the elevator, he saw the detective coming down the
hall, balancing a full mug of coffee. Curran was jacketless, with the
top button of his shirt open and his tie loosened. Under his left arm
dangled a worn leather holster. When he saw Jason he seemed perplexed
until Jason reminded him that they'd met at the morgue and at GHP.

"Ah, yes," Curran said, with his slight brogue. "Alvin Hayes business."

He invited Jason into his office, which was starkly utilitarian with a
metal desk and metal file cabinet. On the wall was a calendar with the
Celtics' basketball schedule.

"How about some coffee?" Curran suggested, putting his mug down.

"No, thank you," Jason said.

ROBIN COOK

"You're smart," Curran said. "I know everybody complains about
institutional coffee, but this stuff is lethal." He pulled a metal chair
away from the wall and motioned to it for Jason to sit.

"So what can 1 do for you, doctor?"

"I'm not sure. This Hayes business disturbs me. Remember I told you that
Dr. Hayes said he'd made a major discovery? Well, now I think there's a
good chance he did. After all, the man was a worldfamous researcher, and
he was working in a field with a lot of potential."

"Wait a, minute. Didn't you also tell me you thought Hayes was having a
nervous breakdown?"

"At the time I thought he was displaying inappropriate behavior," Jason
said. "I thought he was paranoid and delusional. Now I'm not sure. What
if he did make a major discovery which he hadn't revealed because he was
still perfecting it? Suppose someone found out and for some reason
wanted it suppressed?"

"And had him killed)" Curran interrupted patronizingly.. Doctor, you're
forgetting one major fact: Hayes died of natural causes. There was no
foul play, no gunshot wounds to the head, no knife in the back. And on
top of that, he was dealing. We found heroin, coke, and cash in his
Southie pad. No wonder he acted paranoid. The drug scene is a serious
world."

"Wasn't that anonymous tip a bit strange?" Jason asked, suddenly
curious.

"It happens all the time. Somebody's pissed about something so they call
us to get even."

Jason stared at the detective. He thought the drug connection was out of
character, but didn't know why. Then he remembered that Hayes had been
living with an exotic dancer. Maybe it wasn't so out of character after
all.

As if reading Jason's thoughts, Curran said, "Listen, doctor, I
appreciate you taking the time to come down, but facts are facts. I
don't know if this guy made a discovery or not, but let me tell you
something. If he was dealing drugs, he was taking them too. That's the
pattern. I had the Vice department run his name through their computers.
They came up with zip, but that just means he hadn't been caught yet.
He's lucky he got to die of natur-al causes. In any case, I can't
justify spending Homicide time on the death."

"I still think there's more to it."

Cur-ran shook his head.

"Dr. Hayes was trying to tell me something," Jason persisted. "I think
he wanted help."

"Sure," Curran said. "He probably wanted to pull you into his drug ring.

Listen, doctor, take my advice. Forget this affair." He stood up,
indicating the interview was over.

Descending to the street, Jason removed the parking ticket from his
windshield wiper. Sliding in behind the wheel, he thought about his
conversation with Detective Curran. The man had been cordial, but he
obviously gave little credence to Jason's thoughts and intuition. As
Jason started his car, he remembered something else Hayes had- said
about his discovery. He'd said it was "ironic." Now that was a weird way
to characterize a major scientific breakthrough, especially if someone
were contriving the story.

Back at the GHP, Jason returned to his patients, going from room to
room listening, touching, sympathizing, and advising. That was what he
loved about medicine. People opened themselves to him, literally and
figuratively. He felt privileged and needed. Some of his confidence
ebbed back.

It was close to four when he approached exam room C and took the chart.
He remembered the name. It was Paul Klingler, the man whose physical
exam he had done. Before entering the room, Jason quickly reviewed his
workup. The man appeared to be healthy, with low normal cholesterol and
triglycerides and normal EKG. Jason entered the room.

Klingler was slender, with sandy blond hair and the quiet confidence of
an old moneyed Yankee. "What was wrong with my tests?" he asked,
concerned.

"Nothing, really."

"But your secretary told me you wanted to repeat some. That I had to
come today."

"Sorty about that. There was no need for alarm. When she heard you
weren't feeling well, she thought we should take a look."

"I'm just getting over the flu," Paul said. "Kids brought it home from
school. I'm much better. The only problem is that it has kept me from
exercise for over a week."

The flu didn't scare Jason. Healthy people didn't die of it. But he
still examined Paul Klingler carefully and repeated the various cardiac
tests.

Finally he told Klingler that he'd call if the blood work revealed any
abnormalities.

Two patients later, Jason confronted Holly Jennings, a
fifty-four-year-old executive from one of the largest Boston advertising
firms. She was not happy and certainly not shy about expressing her
feelings. And although there was a sign specifically forbidding it,
she'd been smoking in the exam room while she had been waiting.

"What the hell is going on?" she demanded as Jason entered the room. Her
physical a month ago had given her a clean bill of health, though Jason
had warned her to stop smoking and take off the twenty to thirty extra
pounds she had put on in the last five years.

"I'd heard you weren't feeling well," Jason said mildly. He noticed she
looked tired, and saw the dark circles under her eyes.

"Is that what ' this is all about?" she snapped. "The secretary told me
you wanted to repeat some tests.

What was wrong with them?"

"Nothing. We just wanted to do some follow-up. Tell me about your
health."

"Jesus Christ! You drag me down here, scaring the hell out of me, making
me miss two important presentations, just to have a conversation.
Couldn't this have been done on the phone?"

"Well, since you're here, why don't you tell me how you've been
feeling."

"Tired."

"Anything else?"

"Just generally lousy. I haven't been able to sleep. My appetite's been
poor. Nothing specific ... well, that's not true. My eyes have been
bothering me. I've had to wear sunglasses a lot, even in the office."

"Anything else?" Jason asked, feeling an uncomfortable prickle of fear.

Holly shrugged. "For some goddamn reason my hair's been thinning."

As carefully as possible, Jason examined the woman. Her pulse and blood
pressure were up, although that could have been due to stress. Her skin
was dry, particularly on her extremities. When he repeated her EKG, he
thought there might have been some very mild ST changes suggesting
reduced oxygen to her heart. When he suggested they do another stress
test, she declined.

"Can I come back for that?"

"I'd rather do it now," Jason said. "In fact, would you consider staying
in the hospital for a couple, of days?"

"Are you kidding? I don't have time. Besides, I don't feel that bad. Why
do you even suggest it?"

"Just to get everything done. I'd like you to see a cardiologist and an
ophthalmologist as well."

"Next week. Monday or Tuesday. But I've got some big deadlines."

Reluctantly, Jason let Holly go after drawing some blood. There was no
way he could force her to stay, and he had nothing specific enough to
convince her she was in trouble. it was just a feeling: a bad feeling.

Following his usual routine after returning home, Jason jogged, stopped
into De Luca's Market where he got a Perdue chicken, put his meal in the
oven, showered and retreated to his den with an ice-cold beer. Making
himself comfortable, he continued his reading on DNA. He began to
understand how Hayes could isolate specific genes. That was what Helene
Brerinquivist had probably been doing that morning. Once an appropriate
bacterial colony was found, it was cultivated to produce trillions of
bacteria. Then, using enzymes, the bacteria DNA was separated,
fragmented, and the desired gene was isolated. and purified. Later, it
could be spliced back into different bacteria into regions of the DNA
that could be "switched on" by the researcher. In that form, the
recombinant strain of bacteria acted like miniature factories to produce
the protein the gene was coded for. It had been this method that Hayes
had used to produce his human growth hormone. He had started with a
piece of human DNA, the gene that made growth hormone, cloned it by the
help of bacteria, then spliced it into bacteria DNA in an area
controlled by a gene responsible for digesting lactose. By adding
lactose to the culture, Hayes's recombinant strain of bacteria had been
"turned on" to produce human growth hormone.

Jason drained his beer and went into the kitchen and popped another. He
was overwhelmed by what he'd learned. No wonder scientists like Hayes
were strange. They knew they had the power to manipulate life. This
comprehension thrilled Jason and disturbed him at the same time. The DNA
technology had awesome potential to do good and harm. The direction, he
thought, was a toss-up. Armed with this information, Jason was even more
inclined to believe that Hayes, though under general stress, had been
telling the truth-at least about the scientific breakthrough. Jason was
not so sure about Hayes's statement that someone wanted him dead. He
wished he'd spent more time with the man over the last months. He wished
he knew more about him.

Opening the oven, Jason checked his chicken. It was browning nicely and
looked delicious. He put water on to boil for rice, then went back to
the den. Lifting his legs onto the desktop and tilting back his chair,
he started the next chapter on the laboratory techniques of genetic
-engineering. The first part dealt with the methods by which DNA
molecules were fragmented with enzymes called restriction endonucleases.
Jason had to read the section several times. It was difficult material.

The shrill whine of the smoke detector startled Jason. Leaping up from
the desk where he'd fallen fast asleep, he dashed into the kitchen. The
water for the rice had boiled away, and the Teflon lining was smoking,
filling the kitchen with acrid vapors. Jason shoved it under running
water, where it spattered and hissed. Turning on the exhaust fan and
opening one of the living room windows slowly emptied the kitchen of
smoke, and finally the smoke detector fell silent. Jason was glad the
landlord was out of town as usual.

When his dinner was finally prepared, without rice, Jason carried it to
his desk in the den, pushing papers and books aside. As he started
eating he found himself looking at the front of the Boston Globe with
the article "Doctor, Drugs and Dancer" staring him in the face. Picking
the paper up in his left hand, he looked at Carol Donner again. The idea
that Hayes would have been living with the we an confounded him. Jason
wondered if Hayes had fallen prey to the age-old male fantasy of
rescuing the prostitute who, despite her work, had a heart of gold.
Thinking of Hayes as a colleague with similar background including the
same medical school, Jason found the idea of him falling for such a
clichd farfetched. But as Curran had said, facts were facts. Obviously
Hayes had been living with the girl. Jason tossed the paper aside.

After reading what he could find about dry skin, which wasn't much,
Jason carried his soiled dishes to th& kitchen and rinsed them. The
image of Carol Donner with her hand in front of her face kept popping up
in his mind. He looked at his watch. It was ten-thirty. "Why not," he
said aloud. After all, if Hayes had been living with the woman, maybe
she knew something that could give Jason a clue about Hayes's
breakthrough. At any rate, he had nothing to lose. Donning a sweater and
a tweed jacket, Jason left the. apartment.

From Beacon Hill it was only a fifteen-minute walk to the Combat Zone.
But fifteen minutes took Jason an enormous social distance. Beacon Hill
was the epitome of comfortable wealth and propriety, with its
cobblestone streets and gas lamps. The Combat Zone was the sordid
opposite. To get there, Jason skirted the edge of the Boston Common '
reaching Washington Street with its row of bottomless bars by way of
Boylston Street. There were roaming packs of street people mixing
uneasily with groups of boisterous students and leather-jacketed
blue-collar workers from Dorchester. The Club Cabaret was in the middle
of the block, nestled between an X-rated cinema and an adult bookstore
with a variety of supposed sexual aids on display in its window.

The TOPLESS COLLEGE GIRLS sign glowed with fluorescent paint.

Jason walked up to the door and went inside. He found himself in the
bar, a long, dark room illuminated in the center to spotlight a wooden
runway.

The bar itself was U-shaped and surrounded the runway. Behind there were
small booths, and rock music thudded into the room from large speakers
flanking the stairs that led to the runway from the floor above.

The air was foul with cigarette smoke and that peculiar chemical odor
which smells like cheap room-deodorant. The place was almost filled with
men hunched over drinks at the bar. It was difficult to see into the
booths, but as Jason passed, he glimpsed numerous women in low-cut
spaghettistrap dresses. He found a stool at the bar. A waitress wearing
a white shirt and tight black shorts took his order almost instantly.

As she brought his beer and a glass, a seminude dancer came down the
stairs and pranced along the runway. Jason gazed up at her, catching her
eye for a brief instant. She looked bored. Her face was heavily made up,
and her bleached hair had the consistency of straw. Jason guessed her
age to be ovethirty, certainly no coed.

Glancing around the room, he noticed equivalent expressions of boredom
on the faces of the men as their eyes reflexively followed the progress
of the dancer up and down the runway. Jason sipped his beer from the
bottle. There was no way he'd allow his lips to touch a glass in that
place.

When the rock-and-roll piece ended, the dancer a . cted as if she'd been
momentarily stranded. Self consciously, she shifted her weight from one
four inch heel to the other, waiting for the next number.

Jason noticed a tattooed heart on her right thigh.

Heralded by the heavy beat of drums, the next number began, and the
blonde immediately recommenced her gyrations. As she did so, she slipped
off her brief top. Now all she had on was a G-string and her shoes.
Still, the men at the bar appeared carved in stone. The only movements
were those necessary to bring their drinks or cigarettes to their lips.
At least until the dancer began moving along the runway. Then a few
customers would hold out dollar bills.

Jason watched for a while, then scanned the room again. About twenty
feet away was a booth occupied by a man in a dark suit with a cigar,
studying a ledger through dark glasses. Jason had no idea how the man
could see anything at all, but decided he was management. Several
body-builder types with eighteen-inch necks, wearing white T-shirts,
stood on either side of the booth, their beefy arms crossed and their
heads constantly turning to survey the room.

As the music ended, the blond stripper picked up her things and ran up
the stairs. There was scattered applause. When the music began again, a
new dancer descended the stairs and whirled about the runway. Dressed in
a flashy, voluminous gypsy costume, she could have been the first
dancer's sisterher older sister.

Very quickly, Jason got the hang of the program. A girl would appear in
some wild costume and dance, taking off more of her clothes as the
number progressed. Forty-five minutes passed and Jason wondered if
Carol Donner was scheduled to appear that night. He asked one of the
waitresses.

"She should be next. Want another round, mister?"

Jason shook his head. He was content to nurse his first beer for the
entire visit. Looking around, he noticed that several of the strippers
had come back down to the floor. They would stop and talk to the man in
the dark glasses and then wander around the room, chatting up the
customers. Jason tried to imagine Hayes, the famous molecular biologist,
there at the bar.

Try as he might, he couldn't.

There was a pause in the music and the runway lights dimmed. A PA system
crackled to life for the first time and announced the next performer:
the famous Carol Donner. The bored patrons propped up on the bar
suddenly seemed to wake up. There were a few catcalls.

The music changed to a softer rock and a figure appeared on the runway.
As the lights came up, Jason was stunned. To his amazement, Carol Donner
was a beautiful young woman. Her skin had a healthy glow and her eyes
sparkled.

She was dressed in a body suit, headband, and leg warmers as though she
were in an aerobics class. Her feet were bare. She moved down the runway
with effortless grace, and Jason noticed that her smile held genuine
enjoyment.

As her number progressed, she removed her leg warmers, a silk sash
around her waist, and then the body suit. The sodden audience actually
cheered as she danced topless back up the stairs. As soon as she
disappeared, the customers sank back into their torpor. Jason kept
waiting for Carol to appear on the floor like the other girls, but after
twenty minutes he decided she might not. He pushed off his stool and
walked back to the man in the sunglasses. One of the body-builders
noticed his approach and unfolded his arms. "Excuse me," Jason said to
the man with the ledger. "Would it be possible to talk with Carol
Donner?"

The man removed his cigar. "Who the hell are you?" Jason was reluctant
to give his real name, and while he hesitated, the man in the dark
glasses motioned to one of the b9dy-builders. Jason felt large hands
take hold of his arm and urge him toward the door. "I only want ..." But
he didn't get to say any more. He was grabbed by his jacket and hastily
escorted the length of the bar and through the dark curtain, his feet
barely touching the floor. With a good deal of humiliation, he found
himself propelled out into the street.

After the radio alarm had awakened him, Jason had to stand under the
shower for several minutes to feel capable of facing the day. The night
before, after he'd returned from the unpleasant visit to the Club
Cabaret, he'd been called back to the hospital. One of his AIDS
patients, a man named Harvey Rachman, had arrested. When Jason had
arrived, the staff had been giving CPR for fifteen minutes. They'd kept
it up for two hours before conceding defeat. The head nurse's comment
that at least the man didn't have to suffer anymore was not much
consolation to a stricken Jason. For Jason it seemed that death was
winning the competition.

The only positive side of inpatient rounds later that morning was the
discharge of one of his hepatitis cases. Jason was sorry to see the girl
go. Now he had only a single patient who was doing well.

In the CCU, Matthew Cowen was no better. In addition to his other
complaints, he was now having trouble seeing. The symptom bothered
Jason.

Harring and Lennox had also complained of impaired vision in the weeks
before their deaths, and again the possibility of some new multisystem
illness crossed Jason's mind. He ordered an ophthalmology consult. After
finishing rounds, Jason headed to pathology to see if the slides from
Hayes's autopsy were done. Maybe they would help explain why so many
seemingly healthy people were suffering cardiovascular catastrophe.

He had to wait while Jackson called a report on a frozen section down to
the OR. It was a breast biopsy and it was positive.

"That always makes me feel terrible," Jackson said, hanging up the
phone.

Then, in a more cheerful voice, he added, "I bet you want to see the
Hayes slides." He searched around on his desk until he foundthe right
folder.

Opening it up, he took out a slide and focused it for Jason. "Wait until
you see this.

"That's Alvin Hayes's aorta," Jackson explained as Jason looked in. The
cellular death and disorganization were evident even to his unpracticed
eye. "It's no wonder it blew," Jackson continued. "I've never seen such
deterioration in anyone under seventy except with established aortic
disease. And let me show you something else." He replaced the slide with
another. "That's Hayes's heart. Look at the coronary vessel. It's like
Cedric Harring's. All the coronary vessels are almost closed. If Hayes's
aorta hadn't blown, he'd have died of a heart attack. The man was a
walking time bomb. And not only that, he had inflammation in the
thyroid, again like Harring.

In fact, there were so many parallels that I went back and looked at
Harring's aorta. And guess what? Harring's aorta was on the verge of
blowing too."

"What exactly are you saying?" Jason asked.

Jackson spread his hands. "I don't know. There are strong similarities
between these two cases. The widespread inflammation-but I don't think
it's infectious. It has more the look of autoimmunity, as if their
immune system had started attacking their own organs.

"You mean like lupus?"

"Yeah, something like that. Anyway, Alvin Hayes was in terrible shape.
Just about every organ was in a state of deterioration. He was falling
apart at the seams.

"He said he wasn't feeling too well," Jason said.

"Ha!" Jackson exclaimed. "That's the understatement of the year."

Jason left pathology, trying to make sense of Jackson's statement. Again
he considered the possibility of an unknown infectious disease despite
Jackson's opinion. After all, what kind of an autoimmune disease could
work so quickly? Jason answered his own question: none.

Before starting the office patients, Jason decided to stop by Hayes's
lab.

Not that he expected Helene to be helpful, but he thought she might be
interested in the fact that Hayes had been so ill the last few weeks of
his life. To his surprise, he saw Helene had been crying.

"What's the matter?"

Helene shook her head. "Nothing."

"Aren't you working?"

if, finished," Helene said.

All at once Jason realized that without Hayes there to give her
instructions, she was lost. Apparently she'd not been apprised of the
big picture, a fact that made Jason pessimistic that she would have
knowledge of Hayes's breakthrough, if there'd been one. The man's
penchant for secrecy was to be society's loss.

"Do you mind if I talk with you for a few minutes?" Jason asked.

"No," Helene said in her usual laconic manner. She motioned him into
Hayes's office. Jason followed, assaulted once again by the graphic
genital photos.

"I've just come from pathology," Jason began, once they were seated.
"Dr. Hayes apparently was a very sick man. Are you sure he didn't
complain of feeling ill?"

"He did," Helene admitted, reversing her previous stand. "He kept saying
he felt weak."

Jason stared across at her. She seemed softer, more open, and he
realized that in contrast to the previous times he'd seen her, her hair
was loose, falling to her shoulders instead of severely pulled back.

"Last time you said his behavior was unchanged," he said.

"It was. But he said he felt terrible."

MORTAL FEAR

Frustrated by this semantic distinction, Jason again was convinced that
she was covering up something. He wondered why, but he felt he'd get
nowhere by confronting her.

"Miss. Brennquivist," Jason said, speaking patiently, "I want to ask
once again. Are you absolutely certain you have no idea what Dr. Hayes
could have been referring to when he told me he'd made a major
scientific breakthrough?"

She shook her head. "I really don't know. The truth was that things had
not been going well in the lab. About three months ago, the rats
receiving growth hormone-releasing factors had mysteriously begun to
die."

"Where did the releasing factors come from?"

"Dr. Hayes extracted them himself from rat brains. Mostly the
hypothalamus.

Then I produced them by recombinant DNA techniques."

"So the experiments were a failure?"

"Completely," Helene said. "But, like any great researcher, Dr. Hayes
was not daunted. Instead he worked harder. He tried different proteins,
but unfortunately with the same fatal results."

"Do you think Dr. Hayes was lying when he told me he'd made a
breakthrough?"

"Dr. Hayes never lied , Helene said indignantly.

"Well, how do you explain it? p' Jason asked. "At first I thought Hayes
was having a nervous breakdown. Now I'm not so sure. What do you think?"

"Dr. Hayes was not having a nervous breakdown," Helene said, rising to
make it clear the conversation was over. Jason had hit a raw nerve. She
was not about to listen to her late boss be calumniated.

Frustrated, Jason went down to his office, where Sally already had two
patients waiting for physicals. Between them Jason escaped Sally long
enough to check the laboratory values on Holly Jennings. The only
significant change from her earlier tests was an elevated gamma
globulin, again making Jason consider a non-AIDS-related epidemic
involving the autoimmune system. Instead of turning the immune system
off, as with AIDS, this problem seemed to turn it on in a destructive
fashion.

. Midmorning Jason got a call from Margaret Danforth, who stated without
preamble, "Thought you should know that Dr. Hayes's urine showed
moderate levels of cocaine."

So Curran was right, Jason realized, hanging up. Hayes was using drugs.
But whether that was related to his claim of discovery, his fear of
being at tacked, or even his actual death, Jason couldn't tell.

He was forced to put aside his speculation as the heavy patient load
pushed him further and further behind. the pressure was heightened by a
call from Shirley, who had apparently learned of his visit to Helene.

"Jason," she said with an edge to her voice, ov please don't stir the
pot.

Just let the Hayes affair calm down."

"I think Helene knows more than she's telling us", Jason said.

"Whose side are you on?" Shirley asked.

"Okay, okay," he said, rudely cutting her off as he was confronted by
Madaline Krammer, an old patient who had been squeezed in as an
emergency.

Up until now her heart condition had been stable. Suddenly she was
presenting swollen ankles and chest rales. Despite strong medication,
her congestive heart disease had increased in severity to the point that
Jason insisted on hospitalization.

"Not this weekend," Madaline protested. "My son is coming from
California with his new baby. I've never seen my granddaughter. Please!"
Madaline was a cheerful woman in her mid-sixties with silvergray hair.
Jason had always been fond of her, since she rarely complained and was
extraordinarily grateful for his ministrations.

"Madaline, I'm sorry. I wouldn't do this unless I thought it was
necessary.

But the only way we can adjust your medications is with constant monitoring."

Grumbling but resigned, Madaline agreed. Jason told her he'd see her
later, and left her in the capable hands of Claudia. By four P. m.,
Jason had just about caught up to his appointment schedule. Emerging
from his office, Jason ran into Roger Wanamaker, whose impressive bulk
completely blocked the narrow hallway.

"My turn," Roger said. "Got a minute for a chat?"

"Sure," said Jason, who never said no to a colleague. He led the way
back to his office. Roger ceremoniously dropped a chart on his desk.

"Just so you don't feel lonely," he said. "That's the chart of a
fifty-three-year-old executive from Data General who was just brought
into the emergency room deader than a doorknob. I'd given him one of our
full-scale executive physicals less than three weeks ago."

Jason opened the chart and glanced through the physical, including the
EKG and laboratory values. The cholesterol was high but not terrible.
"Another heart attack?" he asked, flipping to the report of the chest X
ray. It was normal.

"Nope," Roger said. "Massive stroke. The guy had a seizure right in the
middle of a board meeting. His wife is madder'n hell. Made me feel
terrible. She said he'd been feeling crummy ever since he'd seen us.

"What were his symptoms?"

"Nothing specific," Roger said. "Mostly insomnia and tension, the kind
of stuff executives complain about all the time."

"What the hell is going on?" Jason asked rhetorically.

"Beats me," Roger said. "But I'm getting a bad feeling-like we're on the
edge of some kind of epidemic or something."

"I've talked with Madsen in pathology. I asked him about an unknown
infectious disease. He said no. He said it was metabolic, maybe
autoimmune."

"I think we'd better do something. What about the meeting you
suggested?"

"I haven't called it yet," Jason admitted. "r In having Claudia pull all
my physicals over the last year and checking to see how the patients are
doing. Maybe you should do the same."

"Good idea."

"What about the autopsy on this case?" Jason asked, handing the chart
back to Roger.

"The medical examiner has it."

"Let me know what they find."

When Roger left, Jason made a note to call a meeting of the other
internists early the following week. Even if he didn't want to know how
widespread the problem was, he knew he couldn't sit back and watch while
patients with seemingly healthy checkups ended up in the morgue.

Enroute to his final patient, Jason found himself again thinking of
Carol Donner. Suddenly getting an idea, he made a detour to the central
desk and found Claudia. He asked her to go down to personnel and see if
she could get Alvin Hayes's home address. Jason was confident that if
anybody could do it, Claudia could.

Once again heading for his last outpatient, Jason wondered why he'd not
thought of getting Hayes's address sooner. If Carol Donner had been
living with the man, it would be vastly easier to talk with her at her
apartment than at the Club Cabaret, where they obviously felt rather
protective.

Maybe she'd have some ideas about Hayes's breakthrough, or if nothing
else, his health. By the time Jason had finished with his last patient,
Claudia had the address. It was in the South End.

After all the outpatients had been seen, and Jason had dictated the
necessary correspondence, he headed up the main elevator to begin his
inpatient rounds. He saw Madaline Krammer first.

She was already looking better. An increased diuretic had reduced her
swollen feet and hands considerably, but when he went over her again he
was disturbed to find that her pupils seemed widely dilated and
unreactive to light. He made a note on her chart before continuing his
rounds.

Before he went in to see Matthew Cowen, Jason pulled his chart to see
what the ophthalmology consult -had said about his eyes. Shocked, Jason
read, "Mild cataract formation in both eyes. Check again in six months."
Jason couldn't believe what he was seeing. Cataracts at thirty-five? He
remembered the autopsy had noted cataracts in Connoly's eyes. He also
remembered just seeing Madaline Krammer's dilated pupils. What the hell
were they dealing with? He was further confused when he went down the
hall to see Matthew.

"Are you giving me any weird drugs?" he demanded as soon as he glimpsed
Jason.

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Because my hair is coming out." To make his point, he tugged on a few
strands, which indeed came right out. He scattered them on the pillow.

Jason picked one up, rolling it slowly between his thumb and index
finger. it looked normal save for a grayness at the root.

Then he examined Matthew's scalp. It too was normal, with no
inflammation or soreness.

"How long has this been going on?" he asked, remembering Brian Lennox
with startling vividness, as well as Mrs. Harring's comment that her
husband's hair had started to fall out.

"It's gotten much worse today," Matthew said. "I don't mean to sound
paranoid, but everything seems to be happening to me."

"It's just coincidence," Jason said, trying to buoy his own confidence
as much as Matthew's. "I'll have the dermatologist take another look.
Maybe it's associated with your dry skin. Has that improved?"

"It's worse, if anything. I shouldn't have come into the hospital."

Jason tended to agree, especially since so many of his patients were
doing poorly. By the time he finished rounds, he was exhausted. He
almost forgot that some well-meaning friends had insisted he attend a
dinner party that night so they could fix him up with a cute
thirty-four-year-old lawyer named Penny Lambert. With an hour to kill,
Jason decided it wasn't worth going home. Instead, he pulled out the
Boston map he ~kept in his car and located Springfield Street, where
Hayes's apartment was located. It was off Washington Street. Thinking it
would be a good time to catch Carol Donner, he decided to drive directly
there. But that was easier said than done. Heading south, he found
himself caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic on Massachusetts Avenue. With
persistence, he reached Washington Street and turned left, then left
again at Springfield. He located Hayes's building, then found a parking
spot.

The neighborhood was a mixture of renovated and unrenovated buildings.

Hayes's was in the latter category. Graffiti was spray-painted on the
front steps. Jason entered the foyer and noted that several of the
mailboxes were broken and that the inner door was unlocked. In fact, the
lock had been broken sometime in the distant past and never replaced.
Hayes's apartment was on the third floor. Jason started up the poorly
lit steps. The smell was musty and damp.

The building was large, with single apartments on each floor. On three
Jason tripped over several Boston Globes still in their plastic covers.

There was no bell so Jason knocked. Hearing no response, he knocked
again, harder. The door squeaked open about an inch. Looking down, Jason
saw that the lock had recently been forced and that part of the doorjamb
was missing. Using his index finger, Jason gingerly pushed the door
open. It squeaked again as if in pain. "Hello," he called. There was no
answer. He stepped into the apartment. "Hello." There was no noise
except a running toilet. He closed the door behind him and started
across a dark hall toward a partially opened door.

Jason took one look and almost fled. The place had been trashed. The
living room, once decorated with attractive antiques and reproductions,
was a wreck. All the drawers in the desk and sideboard had been pulled
out and dumped. The sofa cushions had been slashed, and the contents of
a large bookcase were strewn about the floor.

Picking his way carefully through the mess, Jason peered into a small
bedroom, which was in the same condition as the living rx)om, then went
down the hall to what he assumed was the master bedroom. It too was a
wreck. Every drawer had been dumped, and the clothes in the walk-in
closet had been ripped from hangers and thrown on the floor. Picking
some up, he noted they were all men's clothes.

Suddenly the front door squeaked, sending a shiver down Jason's spine.
He let the clothes fall to the floor. He started to call out again,
hoping that it was Carol Donner, but for a moment he was too scared to
speak. He froze, his ears straining for sound. Maybe a draft had pushed
the door ... Then he heard a thud, like the sound of a shoe knocking
against a book or an overturned drawer. Someone was definitely in the
apartment, and Jason had the feeling whoever it was knew he was there.
Perspiration appeared on his forehead and ran down the side of his nose.
Detective Curran's warning that the drug world was dangerous flashed
through his mind. He wondered if there was a way to sneak out. Then he
realized he was at the end of a long hallway.

All at once a large figure filled the door-way. Even in the darkness
Jason could tell that it was carrying a gun.

Panic filled Jason as his heart raced. But still he did not move. A
second, smaller figure joined the first and together they stepped into
the room. Then they advanced toward Jason, inexorably, step by step. It
seemed like an eternity. Jason wanted to cry out or run.

The next instant Jason thought he'd died. There was a flash. But then he
realized it was not the gun, but a light bulb over his head. He was
still alive. Two uniformed policemen stood before him. Jason could have
hugged them in his relief.

"Am I glad to see you guys," Jason said.

"Turn around," the larger cop ordered, ignoring Jason's comment.

"I can explain ..." Jason began, but he was told to shut up and put his
hands on the wall, his feet spread apart.

The second cop searched him, removing his wallet. When they were
satisfied Jason was unarmed, they pulled his arms off the wall and
handcuffed him.

Then they marched him back through the apartment, down the stairs, and
into the street. Some passersby stopped to watch as Jason was forced
into the back seat of an unmarked car.

The cops remained silent during the ride to the stationhouse, and Jason
decided there was no point trying to explain until they got there. Now
that he had calmed down, he began to think of what he should do. He
guesscd he'd be able to make a phone call, and he wondered if he should
call Shirley or the lawyer he'd used when he'd sold his house and
practice.

But when they arrived, the cops just marched Jason to a small, bare room
and left him there. The door clicked when they went out and Jason
realized he was locked in. He'd never been in jail before and it did not
feel good.

As the minutes slipped by, Jason realized the gravity of the situation.
He remembered Shirley's request that he not stir the pot. God knows the
effect his arrest would have on the clinic if it became public.

Finally the door to the room opened and Detective Michael Curtan came
in, followed by the smaller policeman. Jason was glad to see Curran, but
he was immediately aware the detective did not reciprocate the emotion.
The lines on his face seemed deeper than ever.

"Uncuff him," Curran said without smiling. Jason stood up while the
uniformed policeman released his hands. He watched Curran's face, trying
to fathom his thoughts; but he remained impenetrable.

"I want to talk with him alone," he said to the policeman, who nodded
and left.

"Here's your goddamn wallet," Curtan said, slapping it into Jason's
palm.

"You don't take advice too well, do you? What do I have to do to
convince you this drug business is serious stuff?"

"I was only trying to talk with Carol Donner "Wonderful. So you butt in
and screw things up for us."

"Like what?" Jason asked, beginning to feel his temper rise.

"Vice has been staking out Hayes's apartment since we learned it had
been searched. We hoped to pull in someone a bit more interesting than
you."

I m sorr Y.

Curtan shook his head in frustration. "Well, it could have been worse.
You could have gotten yourself hurt. Please, doctor-would you get back
to your doctoring?"

"Am I free to go?" Jason asked with disbelief.

"Yeah," Curran said, turning to the door. "I'm not going to book you. No
sense wasting our time."

Jason left the police station and took a cab back to Springfield Street,
where he retrieved his car. He glanced up at Hayes's building and
shivered.

It had been an unnerving experience.

With enough adrenaline in his system now to run a four-minute mile,
Jason was glad he had plans for the evening. His friends the Alics had
invited a lively group of people, and the food and wine were really
good. The girl they wanted him to meet, Penny Lambert, struck him as a
bit of a yuppie, conservatively dressed in a blue suit with a voluminous
silk bow tie.

Luckily, she was cheerful and talkative and willingly filled the gap
left by Jason's inability to stop thinking about Hayes's apartment and
his need to speak to Carol Donner.

When coffee and brandy were cleared away, Jason had an idea. Maybe if he
offered to take Penny home, he could persuade her to stop at Carol's
club.

Obviously, Carol was no longer living at Hayes's apartment, and Jason
figured he might have a better chance talking to her if he were
accompanied by another woman. Penny happily accepted his offer of a
lift, and when they were in the car, he asked her if she were feeling
adventurous.

"What do you mean?" she asked cautiously.

"I thought you might like to see another side of Boston."

"Like a disco?"

"Something like that," Jason said. In a mildly perverse way, Jason
thought the experience might be good for Penny. She was nice enough, but
a bit too predictable.

She relaxed, smiling and chatting until they pulled up in fi-ont of the
Club Cabaret. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked.

"Come on," Jason urged. He'd given her a little background enroute,
explaining that he wanted to see the girl Dr. Hayes had been involved
with.

Penny had remembered the story from the newspapers and it had not buoyed
her confidence, but with a bit more cajoling he persuaded her to let him
park and go in.

Friday was obviously a big night. Gripping Penny's hand, Jason worked
his way down the room, hoping to avoid the man with the dark glasses and
his two he-man bodyguards. With the help of a five-dollar bill he got
one of the waitresses to give them a booth against the side wall,
several steps up from the floor. They could see the runway while
remaining partially concealed from the dancers by the dark silhouettes
of men standing two deep at the bar.

They'd entered between numbers.'They had just ordered drinks when the
speakers roared to life. Jason's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and
he could just make out Penny's face. What he could see best were the
whites of her eyes. She wasn't doing much blinking.

A stripper appeared in a swirl of diaphanous crepe. There were a few
catcalls. Penny remained silent. As he paid the waitress for their
drinks, Jason asked if Carol Donner was dancing that night. The waitress
said her first set was at eleven. Jason was relieved-at least she hadn't
been trashed along with Hayes's apartment.

When the waitress left he saw the dancer was down to her G-string and
that Penny's lips were tightly pursed.

"This is disgusting," she spat.

"It's not the Boston Symphony," Jason agreed.

"She even has cellulite."

Jason looked more carefully -when the dancer went back up the stairs.
Sure enough, the backs of her thighs were heavily dimpled. Jason smiled.
It was curious what a woman noticed.

"Are these men really enjoying themselves?" Penny asked with distaste.

"Good question. I don't know. Most of them look bored.7 But not one was
bored when Carol came out. Like the night before, the crowd came alive
when she began her routine.

"what do you think?" Jason asked.

04 She's a good dancer, but I can't believe your friend was involved
with her."

"That's exactly what I thought," Jason said. But now he wasn't so sure.

Carol Donner prujected a very different personality than he had
expected.

After Carol finished, and again did not appear among the patrons, Jason
had had enough. Penny was eager to leave, and Jason noticed she had
little to say on the way home. He guessed the Club Cabaret hadn't made a
great impression. When he left her at her door, he didn't even bother to
say he'd call. He knew the Alics would be disappointed, but he figured
they should have known better than to fix him up with a bow tie.

Back in his own apartment, Jason undressed and picked up the DNA book
from the den. He got into bed and started reading. Remembering his
exhaustion that afternoon, he thought he'd drop off to sleep quickly.
But that wasn't the case. He read about bacteriophages, the viral
particles that infected bacteria, and how they were used in genetic
engineering. Then he read a chapter on plasmids, which he'd never even
heard of before he'd started reading about DNA. He marveled that
plasmids were small circular DNA molecules that existed in bacteria and
reproduced faithfully when the bacteria reproduced. They, too, served an
enormously important function as vehicles for introducing segments of
DNA into bacteria.

Still wide awake, Jason looked at the time. It was after two A. m., and
sleep was out of the question. Getting up, he went into his living room
and stared out at Louisburg Square. A car pulled up. It was the tenant
who occupied the garden apartment in Jason's building. He, too, was a
doctor and although they were friendly, Jason knew little about the man
other than he dated a lot of beautiful women. Jason wondered where he
found them all.

True to form, the man emerged from his car with an attractive blonde and
amid soft laughter disappeared out of sight below. Jason heard the front
door to the building close. Silence returned. He could not get Carol
Donner out of his mind, wishing he could speak with her. Looking at the
clock on the mantel, Jason had an idea. Ouickly, he returned to the
bedroom, redressed, and went out to his car.

With some misgivings about the possible consequences, Jason drove back
to the Combat Zone. In contrast to the rest of the city, it was still
very much awake. He drove past the Club Cabaret once, then circled and
backed into a side street and parked. He switched off the motor. There
were some unsavory types lingering in doorways and on the side street
who made Jason feel uncomfortable. He made sure all his doors were
locked.

Within a quarter hour of his arrival, a large group of people emerged
from the club and went their separate ways. About ten minutes later, a
group of dancers appeared. They chatted together in front of the club,
then split up. Carol was not among them. Just when Jason had begun to
worry that he'd missed her, Carol came out with one of the body builders.
He wore a leather jacket over his T-shirt, but it was not zipped up.
They turned right, heading up Washington Street toward Filene's.

Jason started his car, unsure of what to do. Luckily there was plenty of
traffic, both cars and pedestrian. To keep Carol in sight, he nudged out
into the street, staying to the side. A policeman saw him and waved him
on.

Carol and her friend turned left on Boylston Street, walked into an open
parking lot, and got into a large black Cadillac.

Well, at least he'll be easy to keep in sight, Jason thought. But, never
having followed anyone, he discovered. it wasn't as easy as he'd
imagined, especially if he didn't want to be observed. The Cadillac
-skirted the edge of the Common, went north on Charles Street, then made
a left on Beacon, passing the Hampshire House. Several blocks later, the
car pulled over to the left side of the street and doubleparked. This
was an area of town called Back Bay, composed of large,
turn-of-the-century brownstones, most of which had been converted into
rental units or condos. Jason passed the Cadillac as Carol alighted.
Slowing, he watched in the rearview mirror as she ran up the steps of a
building with a large bay window. Jason turned left on Exeter, then left
on Marlborough. After waiting about five minutes, he rounded the block.
Arriving back on Beacon Street, he looked for the black Cadillac. It was
gone.

Jason parked in front of a fire hydrant half a block from Carol's
building.

At three A. M. Back Bay was peaceful-no pedestrians and only an
occasional passing car. Turning into the walk leading to Carol's
building, Jason surveyed the six-story facade and saw no lights in anyof
the windows.

Entering the building's outer foyer, he scanned the names opposite the
buzzers. There were fourteen. To his disappointment there was no Donner
listed.

Stepping back outside, Jason debated what he should do. Remembering
there was an alley running between Beacon and Marlborough, he walked
around the block, counting the buildings until he located Carol's. There
was a light in the window on the fourth floor. He guessed that had to be
Carol's since it was unlikely anyone else would be up.

Intending to go back to the entrance and press the appropriate buzzer,
Jason turned and headed back up the alley. He saw the lone figure
immediately, but he kept walking, hoping the man would merely pass by.
As the distance between them closed, Jason's steps slowed, then stopped.
To his dismay he realized it was the body-builder. His leather
motorcycle jacket was unzipped, showing a white T-shirt stretched tight
across powerful muscles.

It was the same individual who had thrown him out of the Club Cabaret
the night before.

The man kept coming at Jason, his fingers flexing in apparent
anticipation.

Jason guessed him to be in his mid-twenties, with a full face that
suggested he took steroids. It obviously spelled trouble. And Jason's
hope that the man might not recognize him was banished as the goon
growled, "What the fuck you doing, creep?"

That was all Jason needed. He spun on his heels and started for the
other end of the alley. Unfortunately, his leather-soled loafers were no
competition for the body-builder's Nikes. "You goddamn pervert!" he
shouted, pulling Jason to a stop.

Jason ducked a roundhouse left hook and grabbed the goon's thigh, hoping
to trip him. Unfortunately, it was like grabbing a piano leg. Instead,
Jason was jerked upright. The unevenness of the match was already
apparent to Jason, who decided he'd prefer some kind of dialogue. "Why
don't you find someone your own size!" he yelled in exasperation.

iflelecause I don't like perverts," the body-builder said, practically
lifting Jason off his feet.

Twisting to one side, then the other, Jason wriggled out of his jacket
and shot off down the alley, knocking over a garbage can as he fled.

"I'll teach you not to come sniffing around Carol!"

the goon shouted, kicking aside the garbage can as he started off after
Jason. But Jason's years of jogging paid off. Although the body-builder
was quick despite his size, Jason could hear the man's breathing
becoming increasingly labored. Jason was almost at the end of the alley
when he skidded on loose pebbles, momentarily ' losing his balance. He
scrambled back to his feet just as a heavy hand grabbed his shoulder and
spun him around.

"Hold it! Police!" A voice shattered the stillness of the Boston night.

Jason froze and so did the bodybuilder. The doors of an unmarked police
car parked next to the mouth of the alley suddenly opened and three
plainclothesmen leaped out. Once again Jason was ordered, "Up against
the wall. Feet apart!" He obeyed, but the body-builder thought about it
for a moment. Finally he growled to Jason, "You're a lucky son of a
bitch." He then complied.

"Shut up!" a policeman yelled. Jason and his pursuer were quickly
searched, then turned around and told to put their hands behind their
heads. One cop took out a flashlight and checked their identification.

"Bruno Demarco?" questioned the man holding the light on the
body-builder.

Bruno nodded. The light switched to Jason.

"Dr. Jason Howard?"

"That's correct."

"What's going on here?" the policeman asked.

"This little creep was trying to bother my girlfriend," Bruno informed
him in an outraged voice. "He followed her."

The policeman looked back and forth between Jason and Bruno, then walked
over to the car, opened the door, and took something from the back seat.

When he returned, he handed Bruno his wallet and told him to go home and
get some sleep. At first Bruno acted as though he hadn't understood, but
then he took his wallet.

, "I'll remember you, asshole! " he shouted at Jason as he disappeared
toward Beacon Street.

"You," the policeman said, pointing to Jason. "In the car!"

Jason was stunned. He couldn't believe they let the bouncer go and not
him.

He was about to complain when the policeman grasped his arm and forced
him into the back seat.

"You are becoming one big pain in the ass," Detective Curran said. He
was sitting stolidly, smoking. "I should have let that hunk work you
over."

Jason was at a loss for words.

"I hope you have some idea," Curran continued, "of just how much you are
screwing up this case. First we have Hayes's apartment covered. You blew
that. Then we're watching Carol Donner and you blow that. We might as
well bag the whole operation. We're certainly not going to learn
anything from her at this point. Where the hell is your car? I presume
you came in a car?"

"Just around the comer," Jason said meekly.

"I suggest you get in it and go home," Curran said slowly. "Then I
suggest you get back to doctoring and leave this investigation to us.
You're making our job impossible."

"I'm sorry," Jason began. 'Ididn't think..

"Just leave!" Curran said with a wave of dismissal.

Jason climbed out of the police car, feeling pretty dumb. Of course
they'd be watching Carol. If she had been living with Hayes, she was
probably involved with drugs too. In fact, with her line of work, it
was almost a given. Getting into his own car, Jason thought about his
jacket, said the hell with it, and drove home.

It was three-thirty when he trudged up the stairs to his apartment and
dutifully called his service. He hadn't taken his beeper with him when
he left to follow Carol Donner, and he hoped there had been no calls. He
was too tired to handle an emergency. There was nothing from the
hospital, but Shirley had left a message asking him to call the moment
he got in, no matter what time. The page operator told him it was
urgent.

Perplexed, Jason dialed. Shirley answered on the first ring. 'Where on
earth have you been?"

"That's a story in itself" "I want you to do me a favor. Come over right
now.

"It's three-thirty," Jason pleaded.

"I wouldn't ask if it weren't important."

Jason put on another jacket, returned to his car, and drove out to
Brookline, wondering what emergency couldn't have waited a little
longer.

The only certainty was that it involved Hayes.

Shirley lived on Lee Street, a road that curved around Brookline
Reservoir and wound its way up into a residential area of fine old
homes. Her house was a field stone building of comfortable proportions
with a gambrel roof and twin gables. As Jason entered the cobblestone
driveway, he saw that the house was ablaze with light. He pulled up
across from the entrance, and by the time he was out of the car, Shirley
had the door open.

"Thank you for coming," she said, giving him a hug. She was dressed in a
white cashmere sweater and faded jeans and seemed, for the first time
since Jason had met her, totally distraught.

She led him into a large living room and introduced him to two GHP
executives who also seemed visibly upset. Jason shook hands first with
Bob Walthrow, a small, balding man, and then Fred Ingelnook, a Robert
Redford lookalike.

"How about a cocktail?" Shirley asked. "You look like you need it."

"Just soda," Jason said. "I'm dead on my feet. What's going on?"

"More trouble. I got a call from security. Hayes's lab was broken into
tonight and practically demolished."

"Vandalism?"

"We're not sure."

"Hardly," Bob Walthrow said. "It was searched."

"Was anything taken?" Jason asked.

"We don't know yet," Shirley said. "But that's not the problem. We want
to keep this out of the papers. Good Health can't take much more bad
publicity. We have two large corporate clients on the fence about
joining the Plan. They might be scared off if they hear that the police
think Hayes's lab was searched for drugs."

"It's possible," Jason said. "The medical examiner told me Hayes had
cocaine in his urine."

"Shit," Bob Walthrow said. "Let's hope the newspapers don't get ahold of
this."

"We've got to limit the damage!" Shirley said.

"How do you propose to do that?" Jason asked, wondering why he'd been
called.

"The governing board wants us to keep this latest incident quiet."

"That might be difficult," Jason said, taking a sip of his soda. "The
papers will probably get it from the police blotter."

"That's exactly the point," Shirley said. "We've decided not to tell the
police. But we wanted your opinion."

"Mine?" Jason asked, surprised.

Well," Shirley said, "we want the opinion of the medical staff. You're a
current chief. We thought you could quietly find out how the others
felt."

441 suppose," said Jason, wondering how he'd go about polling the other
internists and still keep the episode undercover.

"But if you want my personal opinion, I don't think it's a good idea at
all.

Besides, you won't be able to collect insurance unless you inform the
police."

"That's a point," Fred Ingelnook said.

"True," Shirley said, "but it's still minor in relation to the "public
relations problem. For now we will not report it. But we'll check with
insurance and hear from the department chiefs."

"Sounds good to me," Fred Ingelnook said. "Fine," Bob Walthrow said.

The conversation wound down and Shirley sent the two executives home.
She held Jason back when he tried to follow, suggesting he meet her at
eight o'clock that morning. "I've asked Helene to come in early. Maybe
we can make some sense out of what's going on."

Jason nodded, still wondering why Shirley couldn't have told him all
this on the phone. But he was too tired to care, and after giving her a
brief kiss on the cheek, he staggered back out to his car, hoping for
two or three hours' sleep.

It was just after eight that Saturday morning when Jason, bleary-eyed,
entered Shirley's office. It was paneled in dark mahogany, with dark
green carpet and brass fixtures, and looked more like it belonged to a
banker than to the chief executive of a health care plan. Shirley was on
the phone talking to an insurance adjuster, so Jason sat and waited.
After she hung up she said, "You were right about the insurance. They
have no intention of paying a claim unless the break-in is reported."

"Then report it."

"First let's see how bad the damage is and what's missing."

They crossed into the outpatient building and took the elevator up to
the sixth floor. A security guard was waiting for them and unlocked the
inner door. They dispensed with the booties and white coat.

Like Hayes's apartment, the lab was a mess. All the drawers and cabinets
had been emptied onto the floor, but the high-tech equipment appeared
untouched, so it was obvious to both of them that it had been a search
and not a destructive visit. Jason glanced into Hayes's offic6. It was
equally littered, with the contents of the desk and several file
cabinets strewn about the floor.

Helene Brennquivist appeared in the doorway to the animal room, her face
white and drawn. Her hair was again severely pulled back from her face,
but without her usual shapeless lab coat, Jason could see she had an
attractive figure.

"Can you tell if anything is missing?" Shirley asked.

"Well, I don't see my data books," Helene said. "And some of the E. coli
bacterial cultures are gone. But the worst is what's happened to the
animals."

"What about them?" Jason asked, noting that her usually emotionless face
was trembling with fear.

"Maybe you should look. They've all been killed!"

Jason stepped around Helene and through the steel door into the animal
area. He was immediately confronted with a pungent, zoolike stench. He
turned on the light. It was a larger room, some fifty feet long and
thirty feet wide. The animal cages were organized in rows and stacked
one on top of the other, sometimes as many as six high.

Jason started down the nearest row, glancing into individual cages.
Behind him the door closed with a decisive click. Helene had not been
exaggerating: all the animals that Jason saw were dead, hideously curled
in contorted positions, often with bloodied tongues as if they'd chewed
them in their final agony.

Suddenly Jason stopped short. Staring into a group of large cages, he
saw something that made his stomach turn: rats the likes of which he had
never seen. They were huge, almost the size of pigs, and their bald,
whiplike tails were as thick as Jason's wrists. Their exposed teeth were
four inches long. Moving along, Jason came to rabbits the same size, and
then white mice the size of small dogs.

This side of genetic engineering horrified Jason. Although he was afraid
of what he might see, morbid curiosity drove him on. Slowly, he looked
into other cages, seeing distortions of familiar creatures that made him
sick.

It was science gone mad: rabbits with several heads and mice with
supernumerary extremities and extra sets of eyes. For Jason, genetic
manipulation of primitive bacteria was one thing; distortion of mammals
was quite another.

He retreated back to the central part of the lab, where Shirley and
Helene had been checking the scintillation cultures.

"Have you seen the animals?" Jason asked Shirley with disgust.

"Unfortunately. When Curran was here. Don't rem mind me."

"Did the GHP authorize those experiments?" Jason demanded., "No,"
Shirley said. "We never questioned Hayes. We never thought we had to."

"The power of celebrity," Jason said cynically.

"The animals were part of Dr. Hayes's growth hormone work," Helene said
defensively.

"Whatever," Jason said. He was not interested in any ethical argument
with Helene at the moment. "At any rate, they're all dead."

"All of them?" Shirley questioned. "How bizarre. What do you think
happened?"

"Poison," Jason said grimly. "Though why anyone searching for drugs
would bother to kill lab animals beats me."

40 Do you have any explanation for all of this?" Shirley said angrily,
turning to Helene.

The younger woman shook her head, her eyes darting nervously about the
room.

Shirley continued to stare at Helene, who was now shifting uncomfortably
from foot to foot. Jason watched, intrigued, by Shirley's suddenly
aggressive behavior.

"You'd better cooperate," she was saying, "or you're going to be in a
lot of trouble. Dr. Howard is convinced you're keeping something from
us. If that's true and we find out, I hope you realize what that can do
to your career."

Helene's anxiety was finally apparent. "I just followed Dr. Hayes's
orders," she said, her voice breaking.

"What orders?" Shirley asked, lowering her voice threateningly.

"We did some free-lance work here ..

"What kind?"

"Dr. Hayes moonlighted for a company called Gene, Inc. We developed a
recombinant strain of E. coli to produce a hormone for them."

"Were you aware that moonlighting was specifically forbidden under Dr.
Hayes's contract?"

"That's what he told me," Helene admitted.

Shirley glared at Helene for another minute. Finally she said, "I don't
want you to speak of this to anyone. I want you to make a detailed list
of every animal and item missing or damaged in this lab and bring it
directly to me. Do you understand?"

Helene nodded.

Jason followed Shirley out of the lab. She had obviously succeeded where
he had failed, in breaking through Helene's facade. But she hadn't asked
the right questions.

"Why didn't you press her about Hayes's breakthrough?" he said as they
arrived at the elevator. Shirley hit the down button repeatedly,
obviously furious.

"I didn't think of it. Every time I think the Hayes problem is under
control, something new comes up. I had specifically demanded the
no-moonlighting clause in his contract."

"It doesn't much matter now," Jason said, boarding the elevator after
Shirley. "The man is dead."

She sighed. "You're right. Maybe I'm overreacting. I just wish this
whole affair was over."

"I still think Helene knows more than she's telling."

"I'll talk to her again."

"And after seeing those animals, you don't think you should call the
police?"

"With the police come the newspapers,", Shirley reminded him. "With the
newspapers comes trouble. Aside from the animals, it doesn't appear that
anything terribly valuable is damaged."

Jason held his tongue. Obviously, reporting the break-in was an
administrative decision. He was more concerned about discovering Hayes's
breakthrough, and he knew the police and newspapers wouldn't help in
finding that. He wonderled if the breakthrough could have involved the
monstrous animals. The thought gave him a shiver.

Jason started rounds with Matthew Cowen. Unfortunately, there'd been a
new development. Besides his other problems, Matthew was now acting
bizarrely.

Only a few minutes earlier the nurses had found him wandering in the
halls, mumbling nonsense to himself. When Jason entered the room he was
restrained in the bed, regarding Jason as a stranger. The man was
acutely disoriented as to time, place, and person. As far as Jason was
concerned, that could have meant only one thing. The man had thrown
emboli, probably blood clots, from his injured heart valves into his
brain. In other words he'd had a stroke or perhaps even multiple
strokes.

Without delay, Jason placed a call for a neurology consult. He also
called the cardiac surgeon who'd seen the case. Although he debated
immediate anti- coagulation, he decided to wait for the neurologist's
opinion. In the interim, he started the patient on aspirin and
Persantine to reduce platelet adhesiveness. Strokes were a disturbing
development and a very bad sign.

Jason did the rest of his rounds quickly and was about to leave for home
and for some much-needed sleep when he was paged by the emergency room
for one of his patients. Cursing under his breath, he ran downstairs,
hoping whatever the problem was, it could be easily solved.
Unfortunately, that was not to be the case.

Arriving breathless in the main treatment room, he found a group of
residents giving CPR to a comatose patient. A quick look at the monitor
screen told him there was no cardiac activity at all.

Jason stepped over to Judith Reinhart, who told him the patient had been
found unconscious by her husband when he tried to waken her in the
morning.

"Did the EMTs see any cardiac or respiratory activity?"

"None," Judith said. "In fact, she feels cold to me.#'

Jason touched the woman's leg and agreed. Her face was turned away from
him.

"What's the patient's name?" Jason asked, intuitively bracing himself
for the blow.

"Holly Jennings."

Jason felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. "My God!" he murmured.

"Are you all right?" Judith asked.

Jason nodded, but he insisted that the ER team maintain the CPR long
past any reasonable time. He'd suspected trouble when he'd seen Holly on
Thursday, but not this. He just couldn't accept the fact that, like
Cedric Harring, Holly would die less than a month after her fancy GHP
physical told her she was okay, and two days after he'd seen her again.

Shaken, Jason picked up the phone and called Margaret Danforth.

"So once again there's no cardiac history?" Margaret asked him.

"That's correct."

"What are you people doing down there?" Margaret demanded.

Jason didn't answer. He wanted Margaret to release the case so they
could do the autopsy at GHP, but Margaret hesitated.

"We'll do the case today," Jason said. "You'll have a report early next
week."

"I'm sorry," Margaret said, making a decision. "There are questions in
my mind, and I think I'm obligated by law to do the autopsy."

"I understand. But I suppose you wouldn't mind supplying us with
specimens so we can process them here as well."

"I suppose," Margaret said without enthusiasm. "To tell the truth, I
don't even know the legality. But I'll find out. I'd rather not wait two
weeks for the microscopic."

Jason went home and fell into bed. He slept for four hours, interrupted
by a call from the neurologist concerning Matthew. He wanted to
anticoagulate and CAT-scan the patient. Jason implored him to do
whatever he thought was best.

Jason tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn't. He felt shell-shocked
and anxious. He got up. It was a gloomy, late fall day with a slight
drizzle that made Boston look dreadful. Fighting a depression, he paced
his apartment, searching for something to occupy his mind. Realizing he
couldn't stay there, he put on casual clothes and went down to his car.

Knowing he was probably asking for trouble, he drove over to Beacon
Street and parked in front of Carol's apartment.

Ten minutes later, as if God had finally decided to give him a break,
Carol emerged. Dressed in jeans and a turtleneck, with her thick brown
hair gathered in a ponytail, she seemed the young college student the
Club Cabaret advertised. Feeling the light drizzle, she opened a flower
print umbrella and started up the street, passing within a few feet of
Jason, who scrunched down in his car seat, unreasonably afraid she'd
recognize him.

Giving her a good lead, Jason got out of his car to follow on foot. He
lost sight of her on Dartmouth Street, but picked her up at Commonwealth
Avenue.

As he continued to follow her, he kept a sharp eye out for the likes of
Bruno or Curran. At the comer of Dartmouth and Boylston, Jason stopped
at a magazine stand and thumbed through a periodical. Carol passed him,
waited for the light, then hurried across Boylston. Jason studied the
people and the cars, looking for anything suspicious. But there was no
indication that Carol was not alone.

She was now passing the Boston Public Library, and Jason guessed she was
heading for the Copley Plaza Shopping Mall. After buying the magazine,
which turned out to be The New Yorker, Jason continued after her. When
she folded her umbrella and went into the Copley Plaza, Jason quickened
his step. It was a large shopping and hotel complex, and he knew he
could easily lose her.

For the next three-quarters of an hour, Jason busied himself by
pretending to study window displays, reading his New Yorker, and eyeing
the crowds.

Carol happily hopped from Louis Vuitton to Ralph Lauren to Victoria's
Secret. At one point Jason thought she was being tailed, but it turned
out the man in question was simply trying to pick her up. She apparently
rebuffed his advance when he finally approached her, because he quickly
disappeared.

At a little after three-thirty, Carol took her bags and umbrella and
retreated into Au Bon Pain. Jason followed, standing next to her as they
waited to order and taking the opportunity to note her lovely oval face,
smooth olive complexion, and dark liquid eyes. She was a handsome young
woman. Jason guessed she was about twenty-four.

"Good day for coffee," he said, hoping to start a conversation.

"I prefer tea."

Jason smiled sheepishly. He wasn't good at pickups or small talk. "Tea's
good, too," he said, afraid he was making a fool of himself.

Carol ordered soup, tea, and a plain croissant, then cartied her tray to
one of the large communal tables.

Jason ordered a cappuccino and then, hesitating as though he could find
no place to sit, approached her table.

"Do you mind?" he asked, pulling back a chair.

Several of the people at the table looked up, including Carol. A man
moved several of his packages. Jason sat down, giving everyone a limp
smile.

"What a coincidence," Jason said to Carol. "We meet again."

Carol eyed him over her teacup. She didn't say anything, but she didn't
have to. Her expression reflected her irritation.

At once Jason recognized that his whole act appeared to be a come-on and
that he was about to be sent packing. "Excuse me," he said. "I don't
mean to be a bother. My name is Dr. Jason Howard. I was a colleague of
Dr. Alvin Hayes. You're Carol Donner, and I'd like very much to talk
with you."

"You're with GHP?" Carol asked suspiciously.

"I'm the current chief of the medical staff." It was the first time
Jason had ever used the title. At a regular academic hospital it had
great significance, but at GHP the job was a bothersome sinecure.

"How can I be sure?" Carol asked.

"I can show you my license."

"Okay."

Jason reached behind for his wallet, but Carol grasped his arm.

"Never mind," she said. "I believe you. Alvin used to speak of YOU. Said
you were the best clinician there."

"I'm flattered," Jason said. He was also surprised, considering the
little contact he'd had with Hayes.

"Sorry to be so suspicious," Carol said, "but I get hassled a lot,
especially the last few days. What would you like to talk about?"

"Dr. Hayes," Jason said. "First, I'd like to say that his death was a
real loss to us. You have my sympathy."

Carol shrugged.

Jason wasn't sure what to make of her response. "I still have trouble
believing Dr. Hayes was involved with drugs. Did you know about that?"
he asked.

"I did. But the newspapers had it wrong. Alvin was a minimal user,
usually marijuana but occasionally cocaine. Certainly not heroin."

"Not a dealer?"

"Absolutely not. Believe me, I would have known."

"But a lot of drugs and cash were found in his apartment."

"The only explanation I can think of is that the police put both the
drugs and the money in the apartment. Alvin was always short of both. If
he ever had extra cash, he sent it to his family."

"You mean his ex-wife?"

"Yes. She had custody of his children."

"Why would the police do such a thing?" Jason asked, thinking her
comment echoed Hayes's paranoia.

"I don't know, really. But I can't think of any other way the drugs
could have gotten there. I can assure you, he didn't have them when I
left at nine o'clock that evening."

Jason leaned forward, lowering his voice. "The night Dr. Hayes died he
told me he'd made a major discovery. Did he tell you anything about it?"

"He mentioned something. But that was three months ago."

For a moment Jason allowed himself to feel optimistic. Then Carol
explained that she didn't know what the discovery was.

"He didn't confide in you?"

"Not lately. We'd kinda drifted apart."

"But you were living together-or did the newspapers get that wrong too?"

"We were living together," Carol admitted, "but in the end just as
roommates. Our relationship had deteriorated. He really changed. It
wasn't just that he felt physically ill; his whole personality was
different. He seemed withdrawn, almost paranoid. He kept talking about
seeing you and I tried to get him to do it."

"You really have no idea what the discovery was?" Jason persisted.

"Sorry," Carol said, spreading her hands in apology. "The only thing I remember was that he said the breakthrough was
ironic. I remembered because it seemed an odd way to describe success."

"He said the same to me."

"At least he was consistent. His only other comment was that if all went
well, I would appreciate it because I was beautiful. Those were his
exact words."

"He didn't elaborate?"

"That was all he said."

Taking a sip of his cappuccino, Jason stared at Carol's face. How could
an ironic discovery help her beauty? His mind tried to reconcile that
statement with his guess that Hayes's discovery had something to do with
a cancer cure. It didn't fit.

Finishing her tea, Carol stood up. "I'm glad to have met you," she said,
thrusting out her hand.

Jason stood up, awkwardly catching his chair to keep it from falling
over.

He was nonplussed by her sudden departure.

"I don't mean to be rude," she said, "but I have an appointment. I hope
you solve the mystery. Alvin worked very hard. It would be a tragedy if
he'd discovered something important and it was lost."

"My, feelings exactly," said Jason, frantic not to see her disappear.
"Can we meet again? There's so much more I'd like to discuss."

"I suppose. But I'm quite busy. When did you have in mind?"

"How about tomortow?" Jason suggested eagerly. "Sunday brunch."

"It would have to be late. I work at night and Saturday is the busiest."

Jason could well imagine. "Please," he said. "It could be important."

"All right. Let's say two P. m. Where?"

"How about the Hampshire House?"

"Okay," Carol said, gathering up her bags and umbrella. With a final
smile she left the cafe.

Glancing at her watch, Carol quickened her step. The impromptu meeting
with Jason hadn't figured in her tight schedule, and she didn't want to
be late for the meeting with her Phd adviser. She'd spent the late
evening and early afternoon polishing the third chapter of her
dissertation and she was eager to hear her professor's response. Carol
took the escalator down to the street level, thinking about her
conversation with Dr. Howard.

It had been a surprise to meet the man after hearing about him for so
long.

Alvin had told her that Jason had lost his wife and had reacted to the
tragedy by completely changing his environment and submerging himself in
his work. Carol had found the story fascinating because her thesis
involved the psychology of grief. Dr. Jason Howard sounded like 
perfect case study.

The Weston Hotel doorman blew his whistle with  shriek that hurt
Carol's ears, making her wince. As the taxi lumbered toward her, she
admitted that her response to Dr. Jason Howard went a bit further than
pure professional interest. She'd found the man unusually attractive,
and realized that her knowledge of his vulnerabilities contributed to
his appeal. Even his social awkwardness had an endearing quality.

"Harvard Square," Carol said as she got into the cab. She found herself
looking forward to brunch the following morning.

Still seated in front of his cooling coffee, Jason admitted to being
totally bowled over by Carol's unexpected intelligence and charm. He'd
expected an unsophisticated small-town girl who'd somehow been lured
away from high school by money or drugs. Instead she was a lovely,
mature woman quite capable of holding her own in any conversation. What
a tragedy that a person with her obvious assets had become mixed up in
the sordid world she inhabited ... The insistent and jarring sound of
his beeper snapped Jason back to reality. He switched it off and looked
at the LCD display. The word "urgent" blinked twice, followed by a
telephone number Jason did not recognize. After. seeing his medical
identification, the Au Bon Pain manager allowed Jason to use the phone
behind the cash register.

"Thank you for calling, Dr. Howard. This is Mrs. Farr. My husband,
Gerald Farr, has developed terrible chest pains and he's having trouble
breathing."

"Call an ambulance," Jason said. "Bring him to the GHP emergency. Is Mr.
Farr a patient of mine?"

Jason thought the name sounded familiar but he couldn't place it.

"Yes," Mrs. Farr said. "You did a physical on him two weeks ago. He's
the senior vice president of the Boston Banking Company."

Oh, no, Jason thought as he hung up the receiver. It's happening again.

Deciding to leave his car on Beacon Street until he'd handled the
emergency, he ran. from the cafe, dashed over the pedestrian connection
to the hotel side of the Copley Plaza complex, and leaped into a cab.

Jason arrived at the GHP emergency room before the Farrs. He told Judith
what he expected and even called anesthesia, pleased to learn Philip
Barnes was on call.

When he saw Gerald Farr, Jason knew immediately that his worst fears
were realized. The man was in agonizing pain and was pale as skim milk,
with crystalline beads of perspiration on his forehead.

The initial EKG showed that a large area of the man's heart had been
damaged. It was not going to be an easy case. Morphine and oxygen helped
to calm the patient, and lidocaine was given for prophylaxis against
irregular heartbeats. But, despite everything, Farr wasn't responding.
Studying an other EKG, Jason had the feeling that the infarcted area of
the heart was expanding.

In desperation, he tried everything. But it was all for naught. At five
minutes to four, Gerald Farr's eyes rolled up inside his head and his
heart stopped. Unwilling as usual to give up, Jason commanded the
resuscitative efforts. They got the heart to start several more times,
but each time it would slip back into a deadly pattern and fail again.

Farr never regained consciousness. At six-fifteen, Jason finally
declared the patient dead.

" Shit! " said Jason with disgust at himself and life in general. He was
unaccustomed to swearing, and the effect of his doing so was not lost on
Judith Reinhart. She leaned her forehead against Jason's shoulder and
put her arm around his neck.

"Jason, you did the best you could," she said softly. "You did the best
anybody could. But our powers are limited."

"The man's only fifty-eight," said Jason, choking back tears of
frustration.

Judith cleared the room of the other nurses and residents. Coming back
to Jason, she put her hand on his shoulder, "Look at me, Jason!" she
said.

Reluctantly, Jason turned his face toward the nurse. A single tear had
run down from the comer of his eye, along the crease of his nose. Softly
but ' firmly she told Jason that'he could not take these episodes so
personally. "I know that two in one day is an awful burden," she added.
"But it's not your fault."

Jason knew intellectually that she was right, but emotionally it was
another story. Besides, Judi-th had no idea how badly his inpatients
were doing, especially Matthew Cowen, and Jason was embarrassed to tell
her. For the first time, he seriously contemplated giving up medicine.
Unfortunately, he had no idea of what else he could do. He wasn't
trained for anything else.

After promising Judith that he was okay, Jason went out to face Mrs.
Farr, steeling himself against the expected anger. But Mrs. Farr, in the
depths of her grief, had decided to take the burden of guilt on herself.
She said her husband had been complaining of feeling ill for a week, but
that she'd ignored his complaints because, frankly, he'd always been a
bit of a hypochondriac. Jason tried to comfort the woman as Judith had
tried to comfort him. He was about equally successful.

Confident that the medical examiner would take the case, Jason didn't
burden Mrs. Farr with an autopsy request. By law, the ME didn't need
authorization to do a postmortem in cases of questionable death. But to
be sure, he called Margaret Danforth. The response was as expected: she
indeed wanted the case, and while she had Jason on the phone, she spoke
to him about Holly Jennings.

"I take back that snide comment I made this morning," Margaret said.
"You people are just having bad luck. The Jennings woman was as bad off
as Cedric Harring. All her vessels looked terrible, not just the heart."

"That's not a lot of consolation," Jason said. "I had just given her a
physical showing everything was fine. I did a follow-up EKG on Thursday,
but that showed only minimal changes."

"No kidding? Wait till you see the sections.

Grossly the coronary vessels looked ninety percent occluded, and it was
disseminated, not focal. Surgery wouldn't have done a damn thing; Oh, by
the way, I checked and it's okay for us to give you small specimens from
Jennings's case. But I should have a formal request in writing."

"No problem," Jason said. "Same with Fam?"

"Sure thing."

Jason took a cab back to his car and drove home. Despite the fog and
rain, when he got home, he went for a jog. Getting mud-spattered and
soaked had a mild cathartic effect, and after a shower he felt some
relief from his burdensome emotions and depressive feelings. Just when
he was starting to think about food, Shirley called and asked him over
for dinner. Jason's first response was to say no. But then he recognized
he felt too depressed to be alone, so he accepted. After changing into
more reasonable clothes, he went down to his car and headed west toward
Brookline.

Eastern's flight #409, nonstop from Miami to Boston, banked sharply
before lining up for the final approach. It touched down at seven
thirty-seven as Juan Dfaz closed his magazine and looked out at the
fog-shrouded Boston skyline. It was his second trip to Boston and he
wasn't all that pleased.

He wondered why anyone would choose to live in such predictably bad
weather. It had rained on his previous trip just a few days ago. Looking
down on the tarmac, he saw the wind and rain in the puddles and
thought nostalgically of Miami, where late fall had finally put an end
to the searing summer heat.

Getting'his bag from under the seat in front of him, Juan wondered how
long he'd be in Boston. He remembered that on the previous trip he'd
been there only two days, and he hadn't had to do a thing. He wondered
if he'd have the same good fortune. After all, he got his five thousand
no matter what.

The plane taxied toward the terminal. Juan looked around the compartment
with a sense of pride. He wished his family back in Cuba could see him
now.

Would they be surprised! There he was, flying first class. After being
sentenced to life in prison by the Castro government, he'd been released
after only eight months and sent first to Mariel and then, to his
astonishment, to the USA. That was to be his punishment for having been
convicted of multiple murder and rape-being sent to the USA! It was so
much easier to do his type of work in the United States. Juan felt that
the one person in the world whose hand he'd most like to shake was a
peanut farmer someplace in Georgia.

The plane gave a final lurch, then was still. Juan rose to his feet and
stretched. Taking his carry-on bag, he headed for baggage. After
retrieving his suitcase, he caught a cab to the Royal Sonesta, Hotel,
where he registered as Carlos Hernfindez from Los Angeles. He even had a
credit card in that name, with a legitimate number. He knew the number
was good, since he'd taken it off a receipt he'd found at the Bal
Harbour shopping plaza in Miami.

Once he was comfortably relaxed in his room, with his second silk suit
hanging in the closet, Juan sat at the desk and called a number he'd
been given in Miami. When the phone was answered, he told the person he
needed a gun, preferably a 22 caliber. With that business taken care of,
he got out the name and address of the hit and looked up the location on
the map supplied by the hotel. It wasn't far away.

The evening with Shirley was a great success. They dined on roast
chicken, artichokes, and wild rice. Afterward they had Grand Marnier in
front of the fire in the living room and talked. Jason learned that
Shirley's father had been a doctor and that back in college she'd
entertained the idea of following in his footsteps.

"But my father talked me out of it," Shirley said. "He said that
medicine was changing."

"He was right about that."

"He told me that it would be taken over by big business and that someone
who cared about the profession should go into management. So I switched
to business courses, and I believe I made the right choice."

"I'm sure you did, too," Jason agreed, thinking about the explosion of
paperwork and the malpracfice dilemma. Medicine had indeed changed. The
fact that he now worked for a salary for a corporation stood as
testament to that change. When he'd been in medical school he'd always
imagined he'd work for himself. That had been part of the appeal.

At the end of the evening, there was a bit of awkwardness. Jason said
he'd best be going, but Shirley encouraged him to stay.

"You think that would be a good idea?" Jason asked.

She nodded.

Jason wasn't so sure, saying he'd have to get up early for rounds and
wouldn't want to disturb her. Shirley insisted she was up at
seven-thirty as a matter of course, Sundays included.

They stared at each other for a time, the firelight making Shirley's
face glow.

"There's no obligation," Shirley said softly. "I know we both have to be
slow about this. Let's just be together. We've both been under stress."

"Okay," Jason said, recognizing he did not have the strength to resist.

Besides, he was flattered that Shirley was so insistent. He was becoming
more open to the idea that not only could he care about another person
but another person could care about him.

But Jason did not get to sleep the whole night through. At three-thirty
he felt a hand on his shoulder, and he sat up, momentarily confused as
to his whereabouts. In the half light, he could just make out Shirley's
face.

"I'm sorry to have to bother you," she said gently, "but I'm afraid the
phone is for you." She handed him the receiver from the nightstand.

Jason took the phone and thanked her. He hadn't even heard the phone
ring.

Propping himself on one elbow, he put the receiver to his ear. He was
certain it would be bad news, and he was right. Matthew Cowen had been
found dead in his bed, apparently having suffered a final, massive
stroke.

"Has the family been notified?" Jason asked.

"Yes," said the nurse. "They live in Minneapolis. They said they'd come
in the morning."

"Thanks," Jason said, absently giving the phone back to Shirley.

"Trouble?" Shirley asked. She set the receiver back in the cradle.

Jason nodded. Trouble had become his middle name. "A young patient died.

Thirty-five or so. He had rheumatic heart disease. He was in for
evaluation for surgery."

"How bad was his heart disease?" asked Shirley.

$'It was bad," Jason said, seeing Matthew's face, remembering him as
he'd been when he entered the hospital. "Three of his four valves were
affected.

They would have had to replace all of them."

"So there were no guarantees," Shirley said.

."No guarantees," Jason agreed. "Three valve replacements can be tricky.

He's had congestive heart failure for a long, time, undoubtedly
affecting his heart, . lungs, kidneys and liver. There would have been
problems, but he had age on his side."

"Maybe it was for the best," Shirley suggested. "Maybe he's been spared
from a lot of suffering. Sounds like he would have been in and out of
the hospital for the rest of his life."

"Maybe so," Jason said without conviction. He knew what Shirley was
doing: she was trying to make him feel better. Jason appreciated her
effort. He patted the thigh through the thin cover of her robe. "Thanks
for your support."

The night seemed awfully cold when Jason ran out to his car. It was
still raining, in fact, harder than before. Turning up the heat, he
rubbed his thighs to get his circulation going. At least there was no
traffic. At, four A. M., Sunday morning, the city was deserted. Shirley
had tried to get him to stay, arguing that there was nothing for Jason
to do if the man had died and the family was not available. As true as
this was, Jason felt an obligation to his patient that he could not
dismiss. Besides, he knew he'd not be able to get back to sleep. Not
with yet another death on his conscience.

The GHP parking lot was mostly empty. Jason was able to park close to
the hospital entrance rather than under the outpatient building where he
usually parked. As he stepped out of his car, preoccupied with thoughts
of Matthew Cowen, he didn't notice a darkened figure hunched over at the
side of the hospital door. Rounding the front of his car, the figure
lunged at Jason. Caught completely unaware, Jason screamed. But the
figure turned out to be one of the drunken street people who frequented
the GHP emergency room, asking for spare change. With a shaking hand,
Jason gave him a dollar, hoping he'd at least buy himself a little food.

Shirley had been right. There was nothing for Jason to do but write a
final note in Matthew Cowen's chart. He went in and viewed his body. At
least Matthew's face looked calm, and as Shirley suggested, he was now
spared further suffering. Silently, Jason apologized to the dead man.

Paging the resident on * call, Jason instructed him to ask the family
for an autopsy. Jason explained he might not be immediately available.
Then, feeling as ineffectual as ever, after these deaths, he left the
hospital and returned to his apartment. He lay for some time, staring
at the ceiling, unable to sleep. He wondered what kind of job he could
get in the pharmaceutical industry.

Cedric Harring, Brian Lennox, Holly Jennings, Gerald Farr, and now
Matthew Cowen. Jason had never lost so many patients in such a short
period of time.

All night the parade of their faces had interrupted his dreams, and when
he awakened about eleven he was as exhausted as though he'd never slept
at all.

He forced himself to do his regular Sunday six miles, then showered and
dressed carefully in a pale yellow shirt with white collar and cuffs,
dark brown pants, and a muted brown plaid jacket of linen and silk. He
was glad he had the meeting with Carol to distract him.

The Hampshire House was on Beacon Street, overlooking the Boston Public
Gardens. In contrast to Saturday's rain, the sky was filled with bright
sunshine and scudding clouds. The American flag flying over the
Hampshire entrance snapped in the late autumn breeze. Jason arrived
early and asked for a table in the fi-ont room on the first floor. A
fire crackled comfortably and a piano player kept up a stream of old
favorites.

Jason regarded the people around him. They were all respectably dressed
and were engaged in lively conversation, obviously unaware of whatever
new medical horror was sweeping their city ... Then Jason warned himself
not to let his imagination run wild. Half a dozen deaths didn't mean an
epidemic.

Besides, he wasn't even sure it was infectious. Still, he couldn't get
the fatalities out of his mind.

Carol arrived at five minutes after two. Jason stood up, waving to get
her attention. She was appealingly dressed in a white silk blouse with
black wool pants. Her fresh, young innocent appearance away from the
club always amazed Jason. Noticing him, she smiled broadly and made her
way over to the table. She acted mildly out of breath.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, arranging her things, which included a suede
jacket, a canvas bag full of papers, and a shoulder handbag. As she did
so, she glanced frequently at the entrance.

"Are you expecting someone?" Jason asked.

"I certainly hope not. But I have this crazy boss who insists on being
overprotective. Especially since Alvin died. He's keeping someone with
me most of the time, supposedly for my protection. At night I don't
mind, but during the day I don't like it. Mr. Muscle showed up this
morning, but I sent him on his way. He may have followed me anyway."

Jason wondered if he should mention he'd met Bruno, but decided against
it.

It was only after they had been served without glimpsing Bruno's hulk
that they both began to relax a bit.

"I probably should be more grateful to my boss," Carol said. "He's been
so good to me. Right now I'm living in one of his apartments on Beacon
Street.

I don't even pay rent."

Jason didn't want to consider all the reasons for which Carol's boss
might want her to have a nice apartment. Embarrassed, he turned his
attention to his omelette.

"So ..." Carol said, brandishing her fork. "What else did you want to
ask me?" She took a sizable bite of her French toast.

"Have you remembered anything else about Alvin Hayes's discovery?"

"Nope," Carol said, swallowing. "Besides, even when he used to discuss
his work with me, I found it incomprehensible. He always forgot that not
every one is a nuclear physicist." Carol laughed, her eyes sparkling
attractively.

"I've been told that Alvin free-lanced for another -bioengineering
company," Jason said. "Did you know anything about that?"

"I guess you're referring to Gene, Inc." Carol paused, her smile fading.

"That was supposed to be a big secret." She cocked her head to the side.

"But now that he's gone, I guess it doesn't matter. He'd worked for them
for about a year."

"Do you know what he did for them?"

"Not really. Something with growth hormone. But lately they'd gotten
into a row. Something to do with finances. I don't know the details ..."

Jason realized that he'd been right after all.

Helene had been holding back. If Hayes had been feuding with Gene, Inc.,
she must have known.

"What do you know about Helene Brennquivist?"

"She's a nice lady." Carol put down her fork. "Well ... that's not quite
sincere. She's probably okay. But to tell you the truth, Helene is the
reason Alvin and I stopped being lovers. Because they worked together so
much, she started coming over to the apartment. Then I found out they
were having an affair., That I couldn't handle. It irked me she'd been
so secret about it, especially right under my nose in my own house."

Jason was amazed. He'd guessed that Helene was withholding information,
but it had never dawned on him that she was sleeping with Hayes. Jason
studied Carol's face. He could see that mentioning the affair had
brought back unpleasant feelings. Jason wondered if Carol had been as
angry with Hayes as she was with Helene. "What about Hayes's family?" he
asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"I don't know much about them. I spoke to his ex-wife on the phone once
or twice, but never in person. They'd been divorced for five years or
so."

"Did Hayes have a son?"

"Two. Two boys and a girl."

"Do you know where they lived?"

"A small town in New Jersey. Leonia or something like that. I remember
the street though-Park Avenue. I remembered that because it sounded so
pre tentious."

"Did he ever say anything about one of his sons being sick?"

Carol shook her head. Motioning to a waitress, Carol indicated she
wanted more coffee. They ate in silence for a while, enjoying the food
and the atmosphere.

When Jason's beeper went off, it startled them both. Luckily, it was
just his service saying Cowen's family had finally arrived from
Minneapolis and hoped to meet him at the hospital around four.

Returning from the phone, Jason suggested they take advantage of the
nice weather and walk in the garden. After they'd crossed Beacon Street,
she surprised him by taking his arm. He surprised himself by enjoying
it.

Despite her somewhat dubious profession, Jason had to admit he enjoyed
her company immensely. Aside from her wholesome good looks, her vitality
was infectious.

They skirted the swan boat pond, passed under the mounted bronze statue
of Washington, then crossed the bridge spanning the central neck of the
waterway. The swan boats had been retired for the season. Finding an
empty bench under a now naked willow tree, Jason turned the conversation
back to Hayes.

"Did he do anything out of the ordinary over the last three months?

Anything unexpected ... out of character?"

Carol picked up a pebble and tossed it into the water. "That's a hard
question," she said. "One of the things I liked about Alvin was his
impulsiveness.

We would do a lot of things on the spur of the moment, like taking
trips."

"Had he done much traveling recently?"

"Oh, yes," Carol said, searching for another stone. "Last May he went to
Australia."

"Did you go?"

"No. He didn't take me. He said it was strictly business-and that he
needed Helene to help him with various tests. At the time I believed
him, chump that I was."

"Did you ever find out what his business was?"

"Something involving Australian mice. I remember him saying they had
peculiar habits. But that's all I knew. He had lots of mice and rats in
his lab."

"I know," Jason said, vividly picturing the revolting dead animals.
Jason had asked if Hayes had been behaving oddly. A sudden trip to
Australia might be considered bizarre, but without knowing his current
studies it was hard to be sure. He'd have to take the issue up with
Helene.

"Any other trips?"

"I got to go to Seattle."

"When was that?"

"In the middle of July. Apparently old Helene wasn't feeling up to par,
and Alvin needed a driver."

"A driver?"

"That was another weird thing about Alvin," Carol said. "He couldn't
drive.

He said he'd never learned gnd never would."

Jason recalled the police commenting the night he died that Hayes had no
driver's license.

"What happened in Seattle?"

"Not a lot. We were only in the city a couple of days. We did visit the
University of Washington. Then we headed up into the Cascades. Now,
that's beautiful country, but if you think it rains a lot in Boston,
wait until you visit the Pacific Northwest. Have you?"

"No." Jason said absently. He tried to imagine a discovery that would
involve trips to Seattle and Australia.

"How long were you away?"

"Which time?"

"You went more than once?"

"Twice," Carol said. "The first trip was for five days. We visited the
University of Washington and saw the sights. On the second trip, which
was several weeks later, we only stayed two nights."

"Did you do the same things both times?"

Carol shook her head. "The second trip we bypassed Seattle and went
directly into the Cascades."

"What on earth did you do?"

"I just hung out, relaxed. We went to a lodge. It was gorgeous."

"What about Alvin? What did he do?"

"About the same. But he was interested in the ecology and all that
stuff.

You know, always the scientist."

"So it was like a vacation?" Jason asked, thoroughly perplexed.

"I suppose." She tossed another stone.

"What did Alvin do at the University of Washington?" Jason asked.

"He saw an old friend. Can't think of his name. Someone he trained with
at Columbia."

"A molecular geneticist like Alvin?"

"I believe so. But we weren't there very long. I visited the Psychology
Department while they were talking."

"That must have been interesting." Jason smiled, thinking the Psychology
Department would have enjoyed getting their academic hands on the likes
of Carol Donner.

"Damn," she said, suddenly checking her watch. "I've got to run. I have
another appointment."

Jason stood up, taking her hand. He was impressed by the delicacy with
which Carol described her work. "An appointment" sounded so
professional.

They walked to the edge of the park.

Refusing a ride, Carol said good-bye and started up Beacon Street. Jason
watched as her figure receded in the distance. She seemed so carefree
and happy. What a tragedy, he thought. Time, which seems boundless to
her youthful mind, will soon catch up with her. What kind of life was
topless dancing and dates with men? He didn't like to think about it.
Turning in the opposite direction, Jason walked to De Luca's Market and
bought the makings for a simple supper: barbecued chicken and salad
greens. All the while he went over his conversation with Carol. He had a
lot more information, but it provided more questions than conclusions.
Still, he was now sure of two things. One, Hayes had definitely made a
discovery, and two, the key was Helene Brenfiquivist.

In less than twenty-four hours, Juan had the whole scenario planned out.

Since this was not supposed to look like a traditional hit, it required
more thought. The usual ploy was to nail the victim in a crowd, putting
a low-caliber pistol to the head, and pow, it was all over. That kind of
operation needed little planning, only the right circumstances. The
whole performance relied on the peculiar mentality of crowds. After any
shocking event, everyone was so intent on the victim that the
perpetrator could melt away unnoticed, even pretending to be one of the
curious onlookers. All he had to do was drop the gun.

But the instructions on this job were different. The hit was to be
staged as a rape, Juan's specialty. He smiled to himself, amazed that he
could get paid for something he used to do as a sport. The United States
was a strange and wonderful place, where the law often gave the felon
more consideration than the victim. I This time Juan realized he'd have
to get his victim alone. That was what made it a challenge. It was also
what made ' it fun, because without witnesses he could do what he liked
with the woman, as long as when he left she was dead.

Juan decided to follow the victim and accost her in the foyer of her
building. The threat of immediate bodily injury made in a soft,
reasonable voice should be enough to persuade her to take him up to her
apartment. Once inside, it would be all fun and games.

He followed the mark on a short shopping excursion in Harvard Square.
She bought a magazine at a comer kiosk, then headed for a grocery store
called Sages. Juan lingered across the street, examining the window of a
bookstore, surprised the place was open on Sunday. The mark came out of
the grocery store with a plastic shopping bag, cut diagonally across the
street, and disappeared into a bakery cam. Juan followed-coffee sounded
good, even if it was the American kind. He preferred Cuban coffee:
thick, sweet ' and rich.

While he sipped the watery brew, he stared at his victim. He was
astounded at his good luck. The woman was beautiful. He guessed
mid-twenties. What a deal, he thought. He could already feel himself
getting hard. He wouldn't have to fake this one.

Half an hour later, the mark finished, paid, and walked out of the cam.

Juan tossed a ten-dollar bill on the table. He felt generous. After all,
he'd be five thousand richer when he got back to Miami.

To his delight, the woman continued up Brattle Street. Juan slowed his
pace, content to just keep her in view. When she turned onto Concord, he
speeded up, knowing she was almost home. When she reached Craigie Arms
Apartment Complex, Juan was right behind her. A quick glance up and down
Concord Avenue suggested the timing was perfect. Now it depended on what
was happening inside the building.

Juan paused long enough to be sure the inner door had been opened. With
split-second timing he was in the foyer and had one foot over the
threshold of the inner door. It was then that he spoke.

"Miss. Brennquivist?"

Momentarily startled, Helene looked into Juan's darkly handsome Hispanic
face.

"Ja," she said with her Scandinavian accent, thinking he must be a
fellow tenant.

"I've been dying to meet you. My name is Carlos."

Helene paused fatally, her keys still in her hand. "Do you live here?"
she asked.

~"Sure do," Juan said with practiced ease. "Second floor. How about
you?"

"Third," Helene said. She stepped through the door, Juan directly behind
her.

"Nice to meet you," she added. She debated using the stairs or the
elevator. Juan's presence made her feel uncomfortable.

"I was hoping we could talk," Juan said, coming alongside her. "How
about inviting me up for a drink?"

"I don't wink that ..." Helene saw the gun and gasped.

"Please don't make me angry, miss," Juan said in a soothing voice. "I do
things I regret when I'm angry." He hit the elevator button. The doors
opened.

He motioned for Helene to enter and stepped in behind her. Everything
was working perfectly.

As the elevator clanked and thumped upward, Juan smiled warmly. It was
best to keep everything calm.

Helene was paralyzed by panic. Not knowing what to do, she did nothing.
The man terrified her, yet he seemed reasonable, and he was very well
dressed.

He looked like a successful businessman. Maybe he was associated with
Gene, Inc., and they wanted to search her apartment. She thought briefly
about screaming or trying to run, but then she remembered the gun.

The elevator grated open on the third floor. Juan graciously motioned
for her to proceed. With her keys in her shaking hand, she walked toward
her door and opened it. Juan immediately put his foot over the
threshold, just as he'd done downstairs. After they'd both entered, he
closed the door and locked it, using all three latches. Helene stood
dumbly in the small entrance hall, unable to move.

"Please," Juan said, politely motioning for her to enter the living
room.

To his surprise, a plump blonde was sitting on the sofa. Juan had been
told Helene lived alone. Never mind, he thought. "What is that saying
you people have?" he murmured. "When it rains, it pours. This party is
going to be twice as good as I expected."

He brandished his weapon, motioning for Helene to sit opposite her
roommate. The women exchanged anxious looks. Then Juan yanked the
telephone line from the wall, leaving the three color-coded wires to
dangle nakedly in the air. He went over to Helene's stereo and turned on
the tuner. A classical station came on.

Figuring out the digital controls, he switched to a hard-rock station
and turned up the volume.

"What kind of party is it without some music?" he shouted as he took
some thin rope out of his pocket.

Jason got to the hospital early Monday morning and suffered through
rounds.

No one was doing well. After he got to his office, he began calling
Helene at every spare moment. She never answered. At midmorning he even
ran up to the sixth floor lab only to find it dark and deserted.
Returning to his office, Jason was irritated. He felt that Helene had
been obstructive from the start, and now by not making herself
available, she was compounding the problem. Jason picked up the
telephone, called personnel, and got Helene's home address and phone
number. He called immediately. After the phone rang about ten times, he
slammed the receiver down in frustration. He then called personnel and
asked to speak to the director, Jean Clarkson. When she came on the
line, Jason inquired about Helene Brennquivist: "Has she called in sick?
I've been trying to reach her all morning."

" I , m surprised," Ms. Clarkson said. "We haven't heard from her, and
she's always been dependable. I

don't think she's missed a day in a year and a half."

"But if she were ill," Jason asked, "you would expect her to call?"

"Absolutely."

Jason hung up the phone. His irritation changed to concern. He had a bad
feeling about Helene's absence.

His office door opened and Claudia stuck her head in. "Dr. Danforth's on
line two. Do you-want to talk with her?"

Jason nodded.

"Do you need someone's chart?"

"No, thanks, Jason said as he lifted the phone.

Dr. Danforth's resonant voice came over the line: "I'd say Good Health
had better start screening their patients. I've never seen corpses in
such bad shape. Gerald Farr is as bad as the rest. He didn't have an
organ that appeared less than one hundred years old!"

Jason didn't answer.

"Hello?" Margaret said.

"I'm here," Jason said. Once again he was embarrassed to tell Margaret
that a month ago he'd done a complete physical on Farr and found nothing
wrong despite the man's unhealthy lifestyle.

"I'm surprised he didn't have a stroke several years ago," Margaret
said.

"All his vessels were atheromatous. The carotids were barely open."

"What about Roger Wanamaker's patient?" Jason asked.

"What was the name?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "The man died on Friday of a stroke. Roger
said you were getting the PP 'ase.

"Oh, yes. He also presented almost total degeneration. I thought health
plans were supposed to provide largely preventive medicine. You people
aren't going to make much money if you sign up such sick patients."

Margaret laughed. "Kidding aside, it was another case of multisystem
disease."

"Do you people do routine toxicology?" Jason asked suddenly.

"Sure. Especially nowadays. We test for cocaine, that sort of stuff."

"What about doing more toxicology on Gerald Farr? Would that be
possible?"

"I think we still have blood and urine," Margaret said. "What do you
want us to look for?"

"Just about everything. I'm fishing, but I have no idea what's going on
here."

"I'll be happy to run a battery of tests;' Margaret said, "but Gerald
Farr wasn't poisoned, I can tell you that. He just ran out of time. It
was as if he were thirty years older than his actual age. I know that
doesn't sound very scientific, but it's the truth."

"I'd appreciate the toxicology tests just the same."

"Will do," Margaret said. "And we'll be sending some specimens for your
people to process. I'm sorry it takes us so long to do our
microscopics."

Jason hung up and went back to work, vacillating between self-doubt and
the discomfiting sense that somethingwas going on that was beyond his
comprehension. Every time he got a moment, he dialed Hayes's lab. There
was still no answer. He called Jean Clarkson again, who said that she'd
call if she heard from Miss. Brennquivist and to please stop bothering
her. Then she slammed down the phone. Nostalgically Jason remembered
those days when he got more respect from the hospital staff.

After seeing the last morning patient, Jason sat at his desk nervously
drumming his fingers. All at once a wave of certainty spread through
him, telling him that Helene's absence was not only significant, it was
serious.

In fact, he was convinced that it was so serious that he should inform
the police immediately.

Jason traded his white coat for his suit jacket, and went to his car. He
decided he'd better see Detective Curran in person. After their last
encounter, he didn't think Curran would take him seriously over the
phone.

Jason remembered the way to Curran's office without difficulty. Glancing
into the sparsely furnished room, he saw the detective working over a
form at his metal desk, his large fist gripping his pencil as if it were
a prisoner trying to escape.

"Curran," Jason said, hoping the man would be in a better mood than he'd
been the other night.

Curran glared up. "Oh, no!" he exclaimed, tossing his pencil onto the
uncompleted form. "My favorite doctor!" He made an exaggerated
expression of exasperation, then waved Jason into his office.

Jason pulled a metal-backed chair over to Curran's desk. The detective
eyed him with obvious misgiving.

"There's been a new development," Jason said. "I thought you should
know."

"I thought you were going back to doctoring."

Ignoring the cut, Jason went on. "Helene Brennquivist hasn't been at
work all day."

"Maybe she's sick. Maybe she's tired. Maybe she's been sick and tired of
you and all your questions."

Jason tried to hold on to his temper. "Personnel says she's extremely
reliable. She'd never take a day off without calling. And when I tried
her apartment, there was no answer."

Detective Curran gave Jason a disdainful look. "Have you considered the
possibility that the attractive young lady might have taken a long
weekend with a boyfriend?"

"I don't think so. Since I saw you I've learned she was having an affair
with Hayes."

Curran sat up and for the first time gave Jason his full attention.

"I always felt she was covering for Hayes," Jason continued. "Now I know
why. And I also believe she knows a lot more about his work than she's
saying, and why his places were searched. I think Hayes made a major
breakthroughand someone is after his notes-*

"If there was a breakthrough."

"I'm sure them was," Jason said. "And it adds to my suspicions about
Hayes's death. It was too convenient."

"You're jumping to conclusions."

"Hayes said someone was trying to kill him," Jason said. "I think he
made a major scientific discovery and was murdered because of it."

"Hold on!" Curtan shouted, banging his fist on his desk. "The medical
examiner determined that Dr. Alvin Hayes died of natural causes."

"An aneurysm, to be exact. But he was still being followed."

"He thought he was," Curran corrected, his voice rising in anger.

"I think he was too," Jason said with equal vehemence. "That would
explain why someone ransacked his apartment and his-"

"We know why his apartment was tossed," Curtan interrupted. "Only we
found the drugs and the money first!"

"Hayes may have used cocaine." Jason was shouting now. "But he wasn't a
dealer! And I think those drugs were planted, and-" He started to
mention his conversation with Carol, then stopped. He wasn't ready to
tell Curtan that he had persisted in seeing the dancer. "In any case,"
he said mom quietly, "I think the reason the lab was torn apart was that
someone was searching for his lab books."

"What was that about a lab?" Curran's heavy-

lidded eyes opened wide and his face turned a mottled red.

Jason swallowed.

"Dammit!" Curran yelled. "You mean to tell me Hayes's lab was tossed and
it wasn't reported? What do you people think you're doing?"

"The clinic was concerned about negative press," Jason said, forced to
defend the decision he did not condone.

"When did this happen?"

"Friday night."

"What was taken?"

"Several data books and some bacterial cultures. But none of the
valuable equipment. And it wasn't a robbery." Jason watched Curran's
hound-dog face for some sign his concern for Helene was vindicated.

"Any damage, vandalism?" was all he said.

"Well, they turned the place upside down 'and dumped everything on the
floor. So the lab was a mess. But the only deliberate destruction
involved those, uh, animals."

"Good," Curtan said. "Those monsters should have been destroyed. They
made me sick. How were they killed?"

"Probably poisoned. Our pathology department is checking that out."

Detective Curtan ran his thick fingers through his once-red hair. "You
know something?" he asked rhetoxically. "With the amount of cooperation
I've gotten from you eggheads, I'm god damned glad 1

turned this case over to Vice. They can have it. Maybe you'd like to go
down the hall and rant and rage at them. Maybe they'll get a charge out
of the fact that your mad scientist was humping his lab assistant as
well as the exotic dancer-* "Hayes and the dancer were no longer
lovers."

"Oh, really?" Cur-ran asked with a short, hollow laugh that ended in a
belch. "Why don't you go over to the Vice department and leave me alone,
doctor. I have a lot of genuine homicides to ponder."

Curran picked up his pencil and went back to his forms. Enraged, Jason
returned to the ground floor and surrendered his visitor's pass. Then he
went out to his car. Driving along Stortow Drive, with the Charles River
lazily spread out on the right, Jason finally began to calm down. He was
still convinced something had happened to Helene, but he decided that if
the police weren't concerned, there was little he could do.

He pulled into the GHP parking lot and went back to his office. Claudia
and Sally hadn't returned from their lunch break yet. A few patients
were already waiting. Jason changed back to his white coat and called to
check on Madaline Krammer's cardiac consult. Harry Sarnoff had agreed
with Jason's appraisal, and Madaline was having -an angiogram.

As soon as Sally returned, Jason went to work seeing his scheduled
patients. He was on his third afternoon patient when Claudia ducked into
the exam room.

"You have a visitor," she announced.

d4who? p Jason asked, tearing off a prescription.

"Our fearless leader. And she's foaming at the mouth. I thought I should
warn you."

Jason handed the prescription to the patient, tossed his stethoscope
around his neck, and walked down the corridor to his office. Shirley was
standing by the window. The moment she heard Jason she turned to face
him. She was without question furious.

"I certainly hope you have a good explanation, Dr. Howard," she said. "I
just got a call from the police. They're on their way here to get a
formal statement on why I didn't report the break-in of Hayes's lab.
They said they heard about it from you-and they're threatening
obstruction of justice."

"I'm sorry, " said Jason. "It was an accident. I was at the police
station.

I didn't mean to mention it ..."

"And just what the hell were you doing down at the station?"

"I wanted to see Curran," Jason said guiltily.

ed, fty?"

"There was some information I thought he should have."

"About the break-in?"

"No," Jason said, letting his hands fall to his sides. "Helene
Brennquivist hasn't shown up today. I found out that she and Hayes were
having an affair, and I guess I jumped to' conclusions. The break-in
just slipped out."

"I think it would be best if you stayed with doctoring," Shirley said,
her voice softening a degree.

"That's what Curran said," sighed Jason.

"Well," Shirley said, reaching out and touching Jason's arm, "at least
you didn't do it on purpose. For a while there I was wondering whose
side you were on. I tell you, this Hayes affair has a life of its own.
Every time I think the problem is contained, something else breaks."

"I'm sorry," Jason said sincerely. "I didn't mean to make things worse."

"It's okay. But remember-Hayes's death is already hurting this
institution.

Let's not compound our difficulties." She gave Jason's hand a squeeie,
then walked to the door.

Jason went back to his patients, determined to leave the investigation
to the police. It was nearly four when Claudia interrupted again.

"You have a call," she whispered.

"Who is it?" Jason asked nervously. The usual modus operandi was for
Claudia to take messages and for Jason to return the calls at the end of
the day. Unless, of course, it was an emergency. But Claudia didn't
whisper when it was an emergency.

"Carol Donner," she said, Jason hesitated, then said he'd take it in his
office. Claudia followed, still whispering.

"Is that the Carol Donner?"

"Who is the Carol Donner?"

"The dancer in the Combat Zone," Claudia said.

"I wouldn't know," Jason said, entering his office. He closed the door
on Claudia and picked up the phone. "Dr. Howard," he said.

"Jason, this is Carol Donner. I'm sorry to bother you.

"No bother." Her voice br-ought back the pleasant image of her sitting
across Erom him at the Hampshire House. He heard a click. "Just a
moment, Carol." He put the phone down, opened the door, and looked
across the room at Claudia. With an ix-ritated expression, he motioned
for her to hang up.

"Sorry," Jason said, returning to the phone.

"I wouldn't call you unless I thought it might be important," Carol
said.

"But I came across a package in my locker at work. I'm a dancer at the
Club Cabaret, by the way ..."Oh," Jason said vaguely.

"Anyway," Carol said, "I had to go in to the club today and I found it.

Alvin had asked me to put it in my locker several weeks ago and I'd
forgotten all about it."

"What's in it?"

"Bound ledgers, papers and correspondence. That type of stuff. There
were no drugs, if that's what you were wondering."

"No," Jason said, "that's not what I was wondering. But I'm glad you
called. The books might be important. I'd like to see them."

"Okay," Car-of said. "I'll be at the club tonight. I'll have to think of
some way to get them to you. My boss is giving me a lot of trouble about
protection. Something weird is going on, which they won't tell me about,
but I'm stuck with this goon following me around. I'd just as soon not
involve you in that."

"Maybe I could come and pick it up?"

"No, I don't think that would be a good idea. I'll tell you what. if you
give me your number, I'll call when I get home tonight."

Jason gave her the number.

"One other thing," Carol said. "Last night I realized there was
something else I didn't tell you. About a month ago, Alvin said he was
going to break up with Helene. He said he wanted her to concentrate on
their work."

"Do you think he told her?"

"Haven't the slightest idea."

"Helene hasn't shown up for work today."

"No kidding!" Carol said. "That's strange. From what I'd heard, she was
compulsive about work. Maybe she's the reason my boss is acting so
crazy."

"How would your boss know about Helene Brennquivist?"

"He has a great informational network. He knows what's going on in the
whole city." I Hanging up, Jason pondered the confusing inconsistencies
between Carol's job and her intellectual sophistication. "Informational
network" was a computer-age term-unexpected from an exotic dancer.

Going back to his patients, Jason studiously avoided Claudia's
questioning gaze. He knew she was overwhelmingly curious, but he wasn't
about to give her any satisfaction.

Toward the very end of the afternoon, Dr. Jerome Washington, a burly
black physician who specialized in gastrointestinal disorders,
interrupted Jason, asking for a quick consult..

"Sure," Jason said, taking him back to his office.

"Roger Wanamaker suggested I speak to you about this case." He took a
bulky chart from under his arm and put it on the desk. "A few more like
this and I'm going into the aluminum siding business."

Jason opened the chart. The patient was male, sixty years old.

"I did a physical on Mr. Lamborn twenty-three days ago," Jerome said.
"The guy was a little overweight, but aren't we all? Otherwise I thought
he was okay and told him SO. Then, a week ago, he comes in looking like
death warmed over. He'd dropped twenty pounds. I put him in the
hospital, thinking he had a malignancy I'd missed. I gave him every test
in the book.

Nothing. Then three days ago he died. I put a lot of pressure on the
family for an autopsy. And what did it show?"

"No malignancy."

"Right," Jerome said. "No malignancy-but every organ he had was totally
degenerated. I told Roger and he said to see you, that you'd
commiserate."

"Well, I've had some similar problems," Jason said. "So has Roger. To be
truthful, I'm worried we're on the brink of some unknown medical disas
pt ter.

"What are we going to do?" Jerome asked. "I can't take too much of this
kind of emotional abuse."

"I agree. With all the deaths I've had lately, I've been thinking of
changing professions too. And I don't understand why we're not picking
up symptoms on our physicals. I told Roger I'd call a meeting next week,
but now I think we can't afford to wait." An image of Hayes's blood
pumping over the dinner table flashed through Jason's mind. "Let's get
together tomorrow afternoon. I'll have Claudia set it up, and I'll tell
the secretaries to put together a list of all the physicals we've done
over the last year and see what's happened to the patients."

"sounds good to me," Jerome said. "Cases like this don't do much for a
man's confidence."

After Jerome left, Jason went out to the central desk to make plans for
the staff conference. He knew that a few people would have to put in
some over time, and he thanked providence for providing computers. There
were a few groans when he explained what was needed, including rebooking
all the afternoon patients, but Claudia took it on herself to be the
ringleader.

Jason was confident things would get done as well as the short time
would permit.

At five-thirty, after seeing his last patient, Jason tried Helene's home
number. Still no answer. Impulsively, he decided to stop by her
apartment on his way home. He looked at the address he'd gotten from
personnel and noted she lived in Cambridge on Concord Aven ' ue. Then he
recognized the address. It was the Craigie Arms apartment building.

What a coincidence, he thought. Before meeting Danielle he'd dated a
girl at the Craigie Arms.

Descending to his car, Jason headed over to Cambridge. The traffic was
terrible, but thanks to his familiarity with the area he had no trouble
lo - eating the address. He parked his car and went into the familiar
lobby. Scanning the names, he found Brennquivist and pressed the buzzer.
There was always the outside chance Helene wasn't picking up her phone,
but would respond to the door. There was no answer. Jason looked at the
tenant list, but Lucy Hagen's name was gone. After all, it had been
fifteen years.

Instead, he reached for the supers buzzer and pressed it. A small
speaker above. the door buzzers crackled to life, and the gruff voice of
Mr. Gratz grated out into the tiled foyer.

"There's no soliciting."

Jason quickly identified himself, admitting that Mr. Gratz might not
remember him since it had been a few years. He said he was concerned
about a colleague who was a tenant. Mr. Gratz didn"t say anything, but
the door buzzed open. Jason had to run a few steps to get it. Inside,
Jason confronted the unmistakable odor, which he'd remembered for
fifteen years.

It was the smell of grilled onions. A metal door opened down the tiled
hall and Mr. Gratz appeared dressed, as always, in a tank-top
undershirt and soiled jeans. He sported a two-day growth of beard. He
studied Jason's face, demanded his name again, then asked, "Didn't you
used to date the Hagen girl in 2-J?"

Jason was impressed. The man certainly wouldn't win any beauty contests,
but he apparently had a memory like a steel trap. Jason had gotten to
know him because Lucy had chronic problems with her dr-ains and Larry
Gratz was in and out of her apartment.

"What can I do for you?" Larry asked.

Jason explained that Helene Brennquivist hadn't shown up for work and
wasn't answering her phone. Jason said he was worried.

"I can't let you in her apartment."

"Oh, I understand," Jason said. "I just want to make sure everything is
okay."

Gratz regarded him for a moment, grunted, then started toward the
elevator.

He pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket that looked adequate enough
to open half the doors in Cambridge. They rode the elevator without
speaking.

Helene's apartment was at the end of a long hall. Even before they got
to the door, they could hear loud rock and roll.

I "Sounds like she's having a party," Gratz said. He rang the bell for a
full minute, but there was no response. Gratz put his ear to the door
and rang again. "Can't even hear the door chimes," he said.

"Wonder no one's complained about the music."

Lifting a hairy fist, he pounded on the door. Finally he selected a key
and turned the lock. As the door opened, the volume of the music
increased dramatically. "Shit," Gratz said. Then he yelled,
Vello!".There was no answer.

The apartment had a small foyer with an arched opening to the left, but
even from where he stood Jason recognized the unmistakable smell of
death.

He started to speak, but Gratz stopped him.

"You better wait here," Gratz said over the pounding music as he
advanced toward the living room.

"Oh, Ch? 1st!" he shouted a second later. His eyes opened wide as his
face contorted with horror. Jason looked between the arch and Larry's
body. The room was a nightmare.

The super ran for the kitchen, his hand clasped over his mouth. Even
with his medical training, Jason felt his own stomach turn over. Helene
and another woman were side by side on the couch, naked, with their
hands tied behind their back. Their bodies had been unspeakably
mutilated. A large, stained kitchen knife was jammed into the coffee
table.

Jason turned and looked into the kitchen. Larry was bent over the
kitchen sink, heaving. Jason's first response was to help him, but he
thought better of it. Instead, he went to the door to the hall and
opened it, thanv41 for the fi-esh air. In a few minutes Larry stumbled
past him.

"Why don't you go call the police," Jason said, allowing the door to
close behind him. The relative quiet was refreshing. His nausea abated.

Thankful for something to do, Larry ran down the stairs. Jason leaned
against the wall and tried not to think. He was trembling.

Two policemen arrived in short order. They were young and turned several
shades of green when they looked into the living room. But they set
about sealing off the scene and carefully questioning Jason and Gratz.
With care not to disturb anything else, they finally pulled the plug on
the stereo.

More police arrived, including plainclothes detectives. Jason suggested
Detective Curran might be interested in the case and someone called him.
A police photographer arrived and began snapping shot after shot of the
devastated apartment. Then the Cambridge medical examiner arrived.

Jason was waiting in the hall when Curran came lumbering toward Helene's
apartment.

Seeing Jason, he paused only to shout, "What the hell are you doing
here?"

Jason held his tongue, and Curran turned to the policeman standing by
the door. "Where's the detective in charge?" he snapped, flashing his
badge.

The policeman jerked his thumb in the direction of the living room.
Curran went in, leaving Jason in the hall.

The press appeared with their usual tangle of cameras and spiral
notebooks.

They tried to enter Helene's apartment, but the uniformed policeman at
the door restrained them.

That reduced them to interviewing anybody in the area, including Jason.

Jason told them he knew nothing, and they eventually left him alone.

After a while Curran reappeared. Even he looked a little green. He came
over to Jason. He took a cigarette out of a crumpled pack and made a
production out of finding a match. Finally, he looked at Jason.

"Don't tell me 'I told you so," he said.

"It wasn't just a rape murder, was it?" Jason asked quietly.

"That's not for me to say. Sure, it was a rape. What makes you think it
was more?"

"The mutilation was done after death."

"Oh? Why do you say that, doctor?"

"Lack of blood., If the women had been alive, there would have been a
lot of bleeding."

"I'm impressed," Curran said. "And while I hate to admit it, we don't
think it was your ordinary loony. There's evidence I can't discuss but
it looks like a professional job. A small-caliber weapon was involved."

"Then you agree Hele death is tied to Hayes."

"Possibly," Curran said . "IThey told me you discovered the bodies."

"With the help of the superintendent."

"What brought you over here, doctor?"

Jason didn't answer immediately. "I'm not sure," he said finally. "As I
told you, I had an uncomfort- able feeling when Helene didn't show up
for work." Curran scratched his head, letting his attention wander
around the hallway. He took a long drag on his cigarette, letting the
smoke out through his nose. There was a crowd of police, reporters, and
curious tenants. Two gurneys were lined up against the wall, waiting to
take the bodies away.

"Maybe I won't turn the case over to Vice", Curran said at last. Then he
wandered off.

Jason approached the policeman standing guard at the door to Helene's
apartment. "I was wondering if I could go now."

"Hey, Rosati!" yelled the cop. The detective in charge, a thin,
hollow-faced man with a shock of dark, unruly hair, appeared almost
immediately.

"He wants to leave," said the cop, nodding at Jason.

"We got your name and 'address?" Rosati asked.

."Name, address, phone, social security, driver's license-everything."

"I suppose it's okay," Rosati said. "We'll be in touch."

Jason nodded, then walked down the hallway on shaky legs. When he
emerged outside on Concord Avenue, he was surprised it had already
gotten dark. The cold evening air was heavy with exhaust fumes. As one
final slap in the face, Jason found a parking ticket under his
windshield wiper. Irritated, he pulled it out, realizing he'd parked in
a zone that required a Cambridge resident sticker.

it took much longer for him to return to GHP than it had taken to drive
to Helene's apartment. The traffic on Storrow Drive was backed up
exiting at Fenway, so it was about seven-thirty P. m. when he finally
parked and entered the building. Going up to his office, he found a
large computer printout on his desk listing all the GHP patients who had
received executive physicals in the last year, along with a notation of
the patient's current physical status. The secretaries did a great job,
Jason thought, putting the printout in his briefcase.

He went up to the floor for inpatient rounds. One of the nurses gave him
the results of Madaline Krammer's arteriogram. All the coronary vessels
showed significant, diffuse, nonfocal encroachment. When the results
were compared with a similar study done six months previously, it showed
significant deterioration. Harry Sarnoff, the consulting cardiologist,
did not feel she was a candidate for surgery, and with her current low
levels of both cholesterol and fatty acids, had little to suggest with
regard to her management. To be one hundred percent certain, Jason
ordered a cardiac surgery consult, then went in to see her.

As usual, Madaline was in the best of moods, minimizing her symptoms.
Jason told her that he'd asked a surgeon to take a look at her, and
promised to stop by the next day. He had the awful sense that the woman
was not going-to be around much longer. When he checked her ankles for
edema, Jason noted some excoriations.

"Have you been scratching yourself?" he asked.

"A little," Madaline admitted, grasping the sheet and pulling it up as
if she were embarrassed.

"Are your ankles itchy?"

"I think it's the heat in here. It's very dry, you know."

Jason didn't know. In fact, the air-conditioning system of the hospital
kept the humidity at a constant, normal level.

With a horrible sense of deja vul Jason went back to the nurses' staiion
and ordered a dermatology consult as well as a chemistry screen that
included some forty automated tests. There had to be something he was
missing.

The rest of rounds was equally depressing. It seemed all his patients
were in decline. When he left the hospital he decided to take a run out
to Shirley's. He felt like talking and she'd certainly made it clear she
enjoyed seeing him. He also felt he should break the news of Helene's
murder before she heard it from the press. He knew it was going to
devastate her.

It took about twenty minutes before he pulled into her cobblestone
driveway. He was pleased to see lights on.

"Jason! What a pleasant surprise," Shirley said, answering the bell. She
was dressed in a red leotard with black tights and a white headband. "I
was just on my way to aerobics."

"I should have called."

"Nonsense," Shirley said, grabbing his hand and pulling him inside.
"I'm, always looking for an excuse not to exercise." She led him into
the kitchen, where a mountain of reports and memoranda covered the
table. Jason was reminded of what an enormous amount of work went into
running an organization like GHP. As always, he was impressed by
Shirley's skills.

After she brought him a drink, Jason asked if she'd heard the news.

$1 don't know," Shirley said, pulling off her headband and shaking out
her thick hair. "News about what?"

"Helene Brennquivist," Jason said. He let his voice trail off.

"Is this news I'm going to like?" Shirley asked, picking up her drink.

"I hardly think so," Jason said. "She and her roommate were murdered."

Shirley dropped her drink on the couch and then mechanically occupied
herself cleaning up the mess. "What happened?" she asked after a long
silence.

"It was a rape murder. At least ostensibly." He felt ill as he recalled
the scene.

"How awful," Shirley said, clutching her hand to her chest.

"It was gruesome," agreed Jason.

"It's every woman's worst nightmare. When did it happen?"

"They seem to think it happened last night."

Shirley stared off into the middle distance. "I'd better phone Bob
Walthrow. This is only going to add to our PR woes."

Shirley heaved herself to her feet and walked shakily to the phone.
Jason could hear the emotion in her voice as she explained what had
happened.

"I don't envy you your job," he said when she hung up. He could see her
eyes were bright with unshed tears.

"I feel the same about yours," she said. "Every time I see you after a
patient dies, I'm glad I didn't go into medicine myself."

Although neither Shirley nor Jason was particularly hungry, they made a
quick spaghetti dinner. Shirley tried to talk Jason into staying the
night, but though he had found comfort being with her, helping him to
endure the horror of Helene's death, he knew he couldn't stay. He had to
be home for Carol's call. Pleading a load of unfinished work, he drove
back to his apartment.

After a late jog and a shower, Jason sat down with the printouts of all
patients who'd had GHP physicals in the last year. Feet on his desk, he
went over the list carefully, noting that the number of physicals had
been divided evenly among all the internists. Since the list had been
printed in alphabetical order rather than chronologically, it took some
time for Jason to realize that the poor predictive results were much
more common in the last six months than in the beginning of the year. In
fact, without graphing the material, it appeared that 212 1

there had been a marked increase in unexpected deaths over the last few
months.

Taking a pencil, Jason began writing down the unit numbers of the recent
deaths. He was shocked by the number. Then he called the main operator
at GHP and asked to be connected to Records. When he had one of the
night secretaries on the line, he gave the list of unit numbers and
asked if the outpatient charts could be pulled and put on his desk. The
secretary told him there would be no problem at all.

Putting the computer printout back into his briefcase, Jason took down
his Williams' Textbook of Endocrinology and turned to the chapters on
growth hormone. Like so many other subjects, the more he read, the less
he knew.

Growth hormone and its relation to growth and sexual maturation were
enormously complicated. So complicated, in fact, that he fell asleep,
the heavy textbook pressing against his abdomen.

The phone shocked him awake-so abruptly that he knocked the book to the
floor. He snatched up the receiver, expecting his service. It took
another moment before he realized the caller was Carol Donner. Jason
looked at the time-eleven minutes to three.

"I hope you weren't asleep," Carol said.

"No, no!" Jason lied. His legs were stiff from being propped up on the
desk. "I've been waiting for your call. Where are you?"

"I. m at home," Carol said.

"Can I come get that package?"

"It's not here," Carol said. "To avoid problems, I gave it to a friend
who works with me. Her name is Melody Andrews. She lives at 69 Revere
Street on Beacon Hill." Carol gave him Melody's phone number. "She's
expecting a call and should just be getting home. Let me know what you
think of the material, and if there's any trouble, here's my
number~-which she recited.

"Thanks," said Jason, writing everything down. He was surprised how
disappointed he felt not to be seeing her.

"Take care," Carol said, hanging up.

Jason remained at his desk, still trying to fully wake up. As he did so,
he realized he hadn't mentioned Helene's death to Carol. Well, that
might be a good excuse to call Carol back, he reflected as he dialed her
friend's number.

Melody Andrews answered her phone with a strong South Boston accent. She
told Jason that she had the package, and he was welcome to come over and
get it. She said she'd be up for another half hour or SO.

Jason put on a sweater and down vest, left the house, walked down
Pinckney Street, along West Cedar, and up Revere. Melody's building was
on the left.

He rang her bell, and she appeared at the door in pin curls. Jason
didn't think anyone still used those things. Her face was tired and
drawn.

Jason introduced himself. Melody merely nodded and handed over a parcel
wrapped in brown paper and tied with string. It weighed about ten
pounds.

When Jason thanked her she just shrugged and said, "Sure."

Returning home, Jason pulled off his vest and sweater. Eagerly eyeing
the package, he got scissors from the kitchen and cut the string. Then
he carried the package into the den and placed it on his desk. Inside he
found two ledgers filled with handwritten instructions, diagrams, and
experimental data. One of the books had Property of Gene, Inc. printed
on the cover; the other merely the word Notebook. In addition there was
a large manila envelope filled with correspondence.

The first letters Jason read were from Gene, Inc., demanding that Hayes
live up to his contractual agreements and return the Somatomedin
protocol and the recombinant E. coli strain of bacteria that he'd
illegally removed from their laboratory. As Jason continued reading, it
was apparent that Hayes had a significant difference of opinion
concerning the ownership of the procedure and the strain, and that he
was in the process of patenting the same. Jason also found a number of
letters from an attorney by the name of Samuel Schwartz. Half of them
involved the application for the patent on the Somatomedin-producing E.
coli and the rest dealt with the formation of a corporation. It seemed
that Alvin Hayes owned fifty-one percent of the stock, while his
children shared the other forty-nine percent along with Samuel Schwartz.

So much for the correspondence, Jason thought. He returned the letters
to the manila envelope. Next he took up the ledger books. The one that
had "Gene, Inc." on the cover seemed to be the protocol referred to in
the correspondence. As Jason flipped through it, he realized that it
detailed the creation of the recombinant strain of bacteria to produce
Somatomedin.

From his reading, he knew that Somatomedins were growth factors produced
by the liver cells in response to the presence of growth hormone.

Putting the first book aside, Jason picked up the second. The
experiments outlined were incomplete, but they concerned the production
of a monoclonal antibody to a specific protein. The protein was not
named, but Jason found a diagram of its amino-acid sequence. Most of the
material was beyond his comprehension, but it was clear from the
crossing out of large sections and the scribbling in the margins that
the work was not progressing well and that at the time of the last
entry, Hayes had obviously not created the antibody he'd desired.

Stretching, Jason got up from his desk. He was disappointed. He had
hoped the package from Carol would offer a clearer picture of Hayes's
break through, but except for the documentation of the controversy
between Hayes and Gene, Inc., Jason knew little more than he had before
opening the package. He did have the protocol for producing the
Somatomedin E. coli strain, but that hardly seemed a major discovery,
and all the other lab book outlined was failure.

Exhausted, Jason turned out the lights and went to bed. It had been a
long, terrible day.

Nightmares involving gross permutations of the terrible scene in
Helene's apartment drove Jason out of bed before the sun paled the
eastern sky. He put on coffee and as he waited for it to filter through
his machine, he picked up his paper and read about the double murder.
There was nothing new.

As he'd expected, the emphasis was on the rape. Putting the Gene, Inc.,
ledger in his briefcase, Jason started out for the hospital.

At least there was no traffic at that early hour as he drove to the GHP,
and he had his choice of parking places. Even the surgeons who usually
arrived at such an uncivilized hour were not there yet.

When he arrived at GHP, he went directly to his office. As he'd
requested, his desk was piled with charts. He took off his jacket and
began to go through them. Keeping in mind these were patients who had
died within a month of getting a fairly clean bill of health from
doctors who'd completed the most extensive physicals GHP had to offer,
Jason searched for commonalities. Nothing caught his eye.

He compared EKGs and the levels of cholesterol, fatty acids,
immunoglobulins, and blood counts. No common group of compounds,
elements, or enzymes varied from the normal in any predictable pattern.
The only shared trait was most of the patients' deaths occurred within a
month of having the physical. More upsetting, Jason noticed, was that in
the last three months the number of deaths increased dramatically.

Reading the twenty-sixth chart, one correlation suddenly occurred to
Jason.

Although the patients did not share physical symptoms, their charts
showed a predominance of high-risk social habits. They were overweight,
smoked heavily, used drugs, drank too much, and failed to exercise, or
combined any and all of these unhealthy practices; they were men and
women who were eventually destined to have severe medical problems. The
shocking fact was that they deteriorated so quickly. And why the sudden
upswing in deaths?

People weren't indulging in vices more than they were a year ago. Maybe
it was a kind of statistical equalizing: they'd been lucky and now the
numbers were catching up to them. But that didn't make a whole lot of
sense, for there seemed to be too many deaths. Jason was not an
experienced statistician, so he decided to ask a better mathematician
than he was to look at the numbers.

When he knew he wouldn't be waking the patients, Jason left his office
and made rounds. Nothing had changed. Back in his office and before he
saw the first scheduled patient, he called Pathology and inquired about
the dead animals from Hayes's lab, and waited sever-al minutes while the
technician looked for the report.

"Here it is," the woman said. "They all died of strychnine poisoning."

Jason hung up and called Margaret Danforth at the city morgue. A
technician answered, since Margaret was busy doing an autopsy. Jason
asked if the toxicology on Gerald Fart revealed anything interesting.

"Toxicology was negative," the tech said.

"One more question. Would strychnine have shown up?"

"Just a moment," the technician said.

In the background Jason could hear the woman shouting to the medical
examiner. She returned to the phone. "Dr. Danforth said yes, strychnine
would have shown up if it had been present."

"Thank you," Jason said.

He hung up the phone, then stood up. At the window, he examined the
developing day. He could see the traffic snarled on the Riverway from
his window. The sky was light but overcast. It was early November. Not a
pretty month for Boston. Jason felt restless and anxious and
disconsolate. He thought about the parcel from Carol and wondered if he
should turn it over to Curran. Yet for what purpose? They weren't even
investigating Hayes except as a drug pusher.

Walking back to the desk Jason took out his phone directory and looked
up the phone number of Gene, Inc. He noted the company was located on
Pioneer Street in east Cambridge next to the MIT campus.

Impulsively, he sat down and dialed the number. The line was answered by
a woman receptionist with an English accent. Jason asked for the head of
the company.

"You mean Dr. Leonard Dawen, the president?"

"Dr. Dawen will be fine," Jason said. He heard the extension ring. It
was picked up by a secretary.

"Dr. Dawen's office."

"I'd like to speak to Dr. Dawen."

"Who may I say is calling?"

"Dr. Jason Howard."

"May I tell him what this is in reference to?"

"It's about a lab book I have. Tell Dr. Dawen I'm from the Good Health
Plan and was a friend of the late Alvin Hayes."

"Just a moment, please," the secretary said in a voice that sounded like
a recording.

Jason opened the center drawer to his desk and toyed with his collection
of pencils. There was a click on the phone, then a powerful voice came
over the line, "This is Leonard Dawen!"

Jason explained who he was and then described the lab book.

"May I ask how it came into your possession, sir?"

"I don't think that's important. The fact is I have it." He was not
about to implicate Carol.

"That book is our property," Dr. Dawen said. His voice was calm but with
a commanding and threatening undercurrent.

"I'll be happy to turn the book over in exchange for some information
about Dr. Hayes. Do you think we might meet?"

"When?"

"As soon as possible," Jason said. "I could get over just before lunch."

"Will you have the book with you?"

"I will indeed."

For the rest of the morning Jason had trouble concentrating on the
steady stream of patients. He was pleased Sally hadn't scheduled him
through lunch. The minute he finished his last exam, he hurtied out to
his car.

Reaching Cambridge, Jason threaded his way past MIT and among the new
East Cambridge corporate skyscrapers, some with dramatically modem
architecture that contrasted sharply with the older and more traditional
New England brick structures. Making a final turn on Pioneer Street,
Jason found Gene, Inc., housed in a startlingly modem building of
polished black granite.

Unlike its neighbors, the structure was only six floors high. Its
windows were nartow slits alternating with circles of bronze mirrored
glass. It had a solid, powerful look, like a castle in a science fiction
movie.

Jason got out of his car with his briefcase and gazed up at the striking
facade. After reading so much about recombinant DNA and seeing Hayes's
grossly deformed zoo, Jason was afraid he was about to enter a house of
horrors. The front entrance was circular, defined by radiating spikes of
granite, giving the illusion of a giant eye, the black doors being the
pupil. The lobby was also black granite: walls, floor, even ceiling. In
the center of the reception area was a dramatically illuminated modern
sculpture of the double helix DNA molecule opening like a zipper.

Jason approached an attractive Korean woman sitting behind a glass wall
and in front of a control panel that looked like something out of the
Starship Enterprise. She wore a tiny earpiece along with a small
microphone that snaked around from behind her neck. She greeted Jason by
name and told him he was expected in the fourth-floor conference room.
Her voice had a metallic sound as she spoke into the microphone.

The minute the receptionist stopped speaking, one of the granite panels
opened, revealing an elevator. As he thanked her, Jason suddenly fancied
that she was a lifelike robot. Smiling, he boarded the elevator and
looked for the floor buttons. The door closed behind him. There was no
floor-selector panel, but the elevator started upward.

When the doors reopened, Jason found himself in a doorless black foyer.
He assumed the entire building was controlled from a central location,
perhaps by the receptionist downstairs. To his left a granite panel slid
open.

Within the doorway stood a man with coarse features, impeccably dressed
in a dark pinstripe suit, white shirt, and red paisley tie.

"Dr. Howard, I'm Leonard Dawen," the man said, motioning Jason into the
room. He didn't offer to shake hands. His voice had the same commanding
quality Jason remembered from the phone conversation. Compared to the
tomblike austerity of the rest of the building, the conference room
looked more like a wood-paneled library and seemed positively cozy until
you looked at the fourth wall, which was glass. It looked out on what
appeared to be a large ultramodern lab. There was another man in the
room, an Oriental, wearing a white zippered jumpsuit. Dawen introduced
the man as Mr. Hong, a Gene, Inc., engineer. After they were all seated
around a small conference table, Dawen said, "I assume you have the lab
book ... Jason opened his briefcase and handed the ledger to Dawen, who
handed it to Hong. The engineer began studying it page by page. A heavy
silence ensued.

Jason looked back and forth between the two men. He'd expected things to
be a bit more cordial. After all, he was doing them a favor.

He turned and peered through the glass wall. The floor of the room
beyond was a story below. Much of the area was filled with stainless
steel vats, reminding Jason of a visit he'd once made to a brewery. He
guessed they were the incubators for the culture of the recombinant
bacteria. There was a lot of other equipment and complicated piping.
People in white jumpsuits with white hoods were moving about checking
gauges, making adjustments.

Hong closed the lab book with a snap. "It seems complete," he said.

"That's a nice surprise," Dr. Dawen said. Turning to Jason he said, "I
hope you realize everything in this book is confidential."

"Don't worr-y," Jason said, forcing a smile. "I didn't understand much
of it. What I'm interested in is Dr. Hayes. Just before he died he said
he'd made a major discover-y. I'm curious to know if what is described
in those pages would be considered as such."

Dawen and Hong exchanged glances. "It's more of a commercial
breakthrough," Hong said. "There's no new technology here."

"That's what I suspected. Hayes was so distraught I couldn't tell if he
was entirely rational. But, if he made a major breakthrough, I'd hate to
have it lost to humanity."

Dawen's blunt features softened for the first time since Jason had
arrived.

Jason continued, dir-ecting his attention to the engineer. "Any idea
what Hayes could have been talking about?"

"Unfortunately, no. Hayes was always rather secr, etive." Dawen folded
his hands on the table and looked directly at Jason. "We were aft-aid
you were going to extort us with this material-make us pay to get it
back," he said, touching the cover of the lab book. "You have to
understand that Dr. Hayes had been giving us a rather difficult time."

"What was Dr. Hayes's role here?" Jason asked.

"We hired him to produce a recombinant strain of bacteria," Dawen
explained. "We wanted to produce a certain growth factor in commercial
quantities."

Jason guessed that was the Somatomedin.

"We agreed to pay him a flat fee for the project, as well as letting him
use the Gene, Inc., facilities for his own research. We have some very
unique equipment."

"Any idea what his own research involved?" Jason asked.

Hong spoke up. "He spent most of his time isolating growth-factor
proteins.

Some of them exist in such minute quantities that the most sophisticated
equipment is required to isolate them."

"Would the isolation of one of these growth factors be considered a
major scientific discovery?" Jason asked.

"I can't see how," Hong replied. "Even if they've never been isolated,
we know their effects."

Another dead end, Jason thought wearily.

"There's just one thing I remember that might be significant," Hong
said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "About three months ago Hayes got
very excited about some side effect. He said it was ironic."

Jason straightened. There was that word again. "Any idea what caused his
excitement?" he asked.

Hong shook his head. "No," he said, "but after that we didn't see him
for a time. When we did see him, he said he'd been to the Coast. Then he
set up an elaborate extraction process on some material he'd brought
back with him. I don't know if it worked, but then he abruptly switched
to monoclonal antibody technology. At that point his excitement seemed
to die."

The words "monoclonal antibody" reminded Jason of the second lab book,
and he wondered if he shouldn't have brought it after all. Maybe Mr.
Hong could have made more out of it than he had.

"Did Dr. Hayes leave any other research material here?" Jason asked.

"Nothing significant," Leonard Dawen answered. "And we checked
carefully, because he'd walked off with our lab book and the cultures.
In fact, we were suing Dr. Hayes. We never anticipated he would try and
contend he owned the strains that we'd hired him to produce."

"Did you get your cultures back?" Jason asked.

"We did."

"Where did you find them?"

"Let's say we looked in the right place," Dawen said evasively. "But
even though we have the strain, we still appreciate getting the
protocol book back. On behalf of the company, I'd like to thank you. I
hope we have helped you in some small way."

"Perhaps," Jason said vaguely. He had an idea he'd inadvertently found
out who had searched Hayes's lab and apartment. But why would the scientists from Gene, Inc., want to kill the animals? He wondered if the
huge animals had been treated with Gene, Inc.'s, Somatomedin. "I
appreciate your time," he said to Dawen. "You have an impressive setup
here."

"Thank you. Things are going well. We plan to have recombinant strains
of farm animals soon."

"You mean like pigs and cows?"

"That's right. Genetically we can produce leaner pigs, cows that produce
more milk, and chickens that have more protein, just to give you a few
examples."

"Fascinating," Jason said without enthusiasm. How far away could they be
from genetically engineering people? He shivered again, seeing Hayes's
outsized rats and mice, especially those with supernumerary eyes.

Back in the car, Jason glanced at his watch. He still had an hour before
the staff meeting being held to go over recent patient deaths, so he
decided to visit Samuel Schwartz, Hayes's attorney.

Starting the car, Jason backed out of the Gene, Inc., parking lot and
worked his way over to Memorial Drive. He crossed the Charles River,
stopping at Philip's Drug Store on Charles Circle. Double-parking with
his emergency light blinking, he ran into the store and looked up
Schwartz's address. Ten minutes later he was in the lawyer's waiting
room, flipping the pages of an outdated Newsweek.

Samuel Schwartz was an enormously obese man with a glistening bald head.
He motioned Jason into his office as if he were. directing traffic.
Settling himself into his chair and adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses,
he studied Jason, who had seated himself in front of the massive
mahogany partner's desk.

"So you are a friend of the late Alvin Hayes ..."We were more
colleagues than friends."

"Whatever," Schwartz said with another wave of his chubby hand. "So what
can I do for you?"

Jason retold Hayes's story of a purported breakthrough. He explained
that he was trying to figure out what Hayes had been working on and had
come across cortespondence from Samuel Schwartz.

"He was a client. So what?"

"No need to be defensive."

"I'm not defensive. I'm just bitter. I did a lot of work for that bum
and I'm going to have to write it all off."

"He never paid?"

"Never. He conned me into working for stock in his new company."

"Stock?"

Samuel Schwartz laughed without humor. "Unfortunately, now that Hayes is
dead, the stock is worthless. It might have been worthless even if he
had lived. I should have my head examined."

"Was Hayes's corporation going. to sell a service or a product?" Jason
asked.

"A product. Hayes told me he was on the verge of developing the most
valuable health product ever known. And I believed him. I figured a guy
who'd been on the cover of Time had to have something on the ball."

"Any idea what this product was?" Jason asked, trying to keep the
excitement out of his voice.

"Not the foggiest. Hayes wouldn't tell me."

III[)o you know if it involved monoclonal antibodies?" Jason asked,
unwilling to give up.

Schwartz laughed again. "I wouldn't know a monoclonal antibody if I
walked into it."

"Malignancies?" Jason was only fishing, but he hoped he could jog the
lawyer's memory."Could the product have involved a cancer treatment?"

The obese man shrugged- "I don't know. Possibly."

' 'Hayes told someone that his discovery would enhance their beauty.
Does that mean anything to you?"

"Listen, Dr. Howard. Hayes told me nothing about the product. I was just
setting up the corporation."

"You were also applying for a patent."

"The patent had nothing to do with the corporation. That was to be in
Hayes's name."

Jason's beeper startled both men. He watched the tiny screen. The word
"urgent" blinked twice, followed by a number at the GHP hospital. "Would
it be possible to use your phone?" Jason asked.

Schwartz pushed it across the desk. "Be my guest, doctor."

The call was from Madaline Krammer's floor. She'd arrested and they were
giving her CPR. Jason said he'd be right there. Thanking Samuel
Schwartz, Jason ran from the lawyer's office and impatiently waited for
the elevator.

When he got to Madaline's room, he saw an all too familiar scene. The
patient was unresponsive. Her heart refused to respond to anything,
including external pacing. Jason insisted they continue life support
while his mind went over various drugs and treatments, but after an hour
off~antic activity, even he was forced to give up and he reluctantly
called a halt to the proceedings.

Jason remained at Madaline's bedside after everyone else had left. She'd
been an old friend, one of the first patients he'd treated in his
private practice. One of the nurses had covered her face with a sheet.
Madaline's nose poked it up like a miniature snowcovered mountain.
Gently, Jason turned it back. Even though she had been only in her early
sixties, he couldn't get over how old she looked. Since she'd entered
the hospital, her face had lost all its cheerful plumpness and taken on
the skeletal cast of those nearing death.

Needing some time by himself, Jason retreated to his office, avoiding
both Claudia and Sally, who each had a hundred urgent questions about
the up coming conference and the problems of rescheduling so many
patients. Jason locked his door and settled himself at his desk. As such
an old patient, Madaline's passing seemed like the severing of one more
connection to Jason's former life. Jason felt poignantly alone, fearful,
yet relieved, that Danielle's memory was receding.

Jason's phone rang, but he ignored it. He looked over his desk, which
was a mass of stacked hospital charts of deceased patients, including
Hayes's.

Involuntarily, Jason's mind went back to the Hayes affair. It was
frustrating that the package Emm. Carol, which had- held such hope, had
added so little information. It did give a bit more credence to the idea
Hayes had made a discovery that at least he thought was stupendous.
Jason cursed Hayes's secrecy.

Leaning back, Jason put his hands behind his head and stared up at the
ceiling. He was running out of ideas about Hayes. But then he remembered
the Oriental engineer's comment that Hayes had brought something back
from the Coast, presumably Seattle. It must have been a sample of
something because Hayes had subjected it to a complicated extraction
process. From Hong's comments, it seemed to Jason that Hayes had
probably been isolating some kind of growth factor which would stimulate
growth, or differentiation, or maturation, or all three.

Jason came forward with a thump. Remembering that Carol had said Hayes
had visited a colleague at the University of Washington, Jason suddenly
entertained the idea that Hayes had obtained some kind of sample from
the man.

All at once, Jason decided he'd go to Seattle, provided, of course,
Carol would go along. She might.

After all, she'd be the key to finding this friend. Besides, a few days
away sounded extremely therapeutic to Jason. With a little time left
before the staff meeting, Jason decided to stop by and see Shirley.

Shirley's secretary at first insisted that her boss was too busy to see
Jason, but he convinced her to at least announce his presence. A moment
later he was ushered inside. Shirley was on the phone. Jason took a
seat, gradually catching the drift of the conversation. She was dealing
with a union leader, handling the person with impressive ease. Absently
she ran her fingers through her thick hair. It was a wonderfully
feminine gesture, reminding Jason that underneath the professional
surface was a very attractive woman, complicated but lovely.

Shirley hung tip and smiled. "This is a treat," she said. "You are
filled with surprises these days, aren't you, Jason? I suppose you're
here to apologize for not having spent more time with me last night."

Jason laughed. Her directness was disarming. "Maybe so. But there's
something else. I'm thinking of taking a few days off. I lost another
patient this morning and I think I need some time away."

Shirley clicked her tongue in sympathy. "Was it expected?"

"I guess so. At least over the last few days. But when I'd admitted her
I had no idea she was terminal."

Shirley sighed. "I don't know how you deal with this sort of thing."

"It's never easy," Jason agreed. "But what's made it particularly hard
lately is the frequency."

Shirley's phone rang, but she buzzed her secretary to take a message.

"Anyway," Jason said, "I've decided to take a few days off."

"I think it's a good idea," Shirley said. "I wouldn't mind doing the
same if these damned union negotiations conclude. Where are you planning
to go?"

" I , m not sure," Jason lied. The trip to Seattle was such a long shot
that he was ashamed to mention it.

"I have some friends who own a resort in the British Virgin Islands.
1could give them a call," Shirley offered.

"No, thanks. I'm not a sun person. What's happened about the
Brennquivist tragedy? Much Eallout?"

"Don't remind me," Shirley said. "To tell you the truth, I couldn't face
it. Bob Walthrow is handling that."

"I had nightmares all night," admitted Jason.

"Not surprising," Shirley said.

"Well, I've got a meeting," Jason said, getting to his feet.

"Would you have time for dinner tonight?" Shirley asked. "Maybe we can
cheer each other up."

"Sure. What time?"

"Let's say around eight."

"Eight it is," Jason said, heading for the door. As he left, Shirley
called after him.

"I'm really sorry about your patient."

The staff meeting was better attended than Jason had expected, given
such short notice. Fourteen of the sixteen internists were there, and
several had brought along their nurses. It seemed obvious they all
recognized they were facing a serious problem.

Jason started with the statistics that he'd extracted from the computer
printout listing all patients who'd died within a month of a complete
physical. He pointed out that the number of deaths had increased in the
last three months, and said he was trying to check up on all GHP clients
who'd had -executive physicals in the last sixty days.

"Were the physicals evenly distributed among us?" Roger Wanamaker asked.

Jason nodded.

A number of the doctors spoke out, making it clear they feared the start
of a nationwide epidemic. No one could understand the connection with
the physicals, and why the deaths were not being anticipated. The acting
chief of cardiology, Dr. Judith Rolander, tried to take much of the
blame on herself, admitting that in most of the cases she'd reviewed,
the EKG done during the physical did not predict the imminent problems,
even when she was armed with hindsight.

The conversation then switched to stress testing as the main key to
predicting catastrophic cardiac events. There were many opinions on this
issue; all were duly discussed. Upon recommendation fi-om the floor, an
ad hoc committee was formed to look into specific ways to alter their
stress testing in hopes of increasing its prognostic value.

Jerome Washington then took the floor. Getting heavily on his feet, he
said, "I think we're overlooking the significance of unhealthy
lifestyles.

That's one factor that all these patients seem to share."

There were a few joking references to Jerome's weight and his affection
for cigars. "All right, you guys," he said. "You know patients should do
what we say and not what we do." Everyone laughed. "Seriously," he
continued.

"We all know the dangers of poor diet, heavy smoking, excess alcohol and
lack of exercise. Such social factors have far more predictive value
than a mild EKG abnormality."

"Jerome is right," Jason said. "The poor riskfactor profile was the only
negative commonality I could find."

By a vote, it was decided to form a second committee to investigate
risk-factor contribution to the current problem and come up with
specific recommendations.

Harry Sarnoff, the current month's consulting cardiologist, raised his
hand, and Jason recognized him. When he got to his feet, he began to
talk about noticing an increase in morbidity and mortality for his
inpatients.

Jason interrupted him.

"Excuse me, Harry," Jason said. "I can appreciate your concern, and
frankly I've had experience apparently similar to yours. However, this
current meeting involves the problem with the outpatient executive
physicals. We can schedule a second meeting if the staff desires to
discuss any potential inpatient problem. They very well may be related."

Harty threw up his hands, and reluctantly sat back down.

Jason then encouraged the staff to be sure to autopsy any patients who
met unexpected deaths if the medical examiner didn't take them. Jason
then told the audience that the results from the medical examiner's
office on his patients suggested that the people were suffering
multisystern disease including extensive cardiovascular problems. Of
course, that fact only undermined the concern that their conditions had
not been picked up on either resting or exercise EKGs. Jason added that
Pathology thought there was an autoimmune component.

After the meeting broke up, the doctors gravitated to smaller groups to
discuss the problem. Jason collected his printout and searched for Roger
Wanamaker. He was in an animated conversation with Jerome.

"May 1-interrupt?" Jason asked. The two men separated to allow Jason to
join them. "I'm about to leave town for a few days."

Roger and Jerome , exchanged glances. Roger spoke: "Seems like a poor
time to be leaving."

"I need it," Jason said without elaborating. "But I have five patients
in house. Would either of you gendemen be willing to cover? I'll admit
right up front that they're all pretty sick."

"Wouldn't much matter," Roger said. "I've been in here night and day
trying to keep my own half dozen alive. I'll be happy to cover."

With that problem solved, Jason went into his office and called Carol
Donner, thinking late afternoon would be a good time to catch her. The
phone rang a long time and he was about to give up when she answered,
out of breath. She told him she'd been in the bath.

"I want to see you tonight," Jason said.

"Oh," Carol said noncommittally. She hesitated. "That might be
difficult."

Then she added angrily, "Why didn't you tell me about Helene
Brennquivist last night? I read in the paper that you were the one who
found the bodies."

"I'm sorry," Jason said defensively. "To be perfectly honest, you woke
me last night and all I could think about was the package."

"Did you get it?" Carol asked, her voice softening.

"I did," Jason said. "Thank you."

"And ... ?"

"The material wasn't as enlightening as I'd hoped."

" I , m surprised," said Carol. "The ledgers must have been important or
Alvin wouldn't have asked me to keep them. But that's beside the point.

What an awful thing about Helene. My boss is so distressed he won't let
me go anywhere without one of the club bouncers. He's outside the
building at this very moment."

"It's important that I see you alone," Jason said.

"I don't know if I can. This behemoth takes orders &orn my boss, not me.

And I don't want any trouble."

"Well, call me the minute you get home," Jason said. "Promise! We'll
think of something."

"It'll be late again," Carol warned.

"That doesn't matter. It's important."

"All right," Carol agreed before hanging up.

Jason made one more call, to United Airlines, and checked on service
from Boston to Seattle. He learned there was a daily flight at four P.
m.

Gathering his stethoscope, Jason left his office and headed for the
hospital to make rounds. He knew he needed to thorouoly update his
charts if Roger was going to cover. None of his patients was doing very
well, and Jason was disturbed to find that another patient had developed
advanced cataracts. Troubled, he arranged an ophthalmology consult. This
time he was certain he hadn't noticed the problem on admission. How
could the cataracts have progressed so far so fast?

At home, he changed into jogging clothes and ran a good hour, trying to
sort out his thoughts. By the time he showerefl, changed, and drove over
to Shirley's, he was in a better mood.

Shirley outdid herself with the dinner, and Jason began to think she'd
fit into the Superwoman category. She'd worked all day running a
multimillion dollar company and conducting crucial union negotiations,
yet somehow she'd gotten home, put to- MORTAL FEAR

gether a fabulous feast of roast duck with fresh pasta and artichoke.
And on top of that she'd dressed herself in a black silk chemise that
would have been appropriate for the opera. Jason felt embarrassed that
he'd put on jeans and a rugby shirt over a turtleneck after his shower.

"You wore what you wanted and so did L" Shirley said with a laugh. She
gave him a Kir Royale and told him to wash the radicchio and the arugula
for their salad. She checked the duck and said it was about done. To
Jason, it smelled heavenly.

They ate in the dining room, sitting at opposite ends of a long table
with six empty chairs on either side. Every time Jason poured more wine,
he had to get up and walk several steps. Shirley thought it was amusing.

As they ate, Jason described the staff meeting and added that all the
doctors were going to intensify the quality of their stress testing.

Shirley was pleased, reminding Jason that the executive physical was an
important part of GHP's sales pitch to corporate clients. She told Jason
that there would be a new emphasis on preventive medicine for executive
customers.

Later, over coffee, she said, "Michael Curran came by this afternoon."

"Reafly," said Jason. "I'm sure that was unpleasant. What did he want?"

"Background material on the Brennquivist woman. We gave him everything
we had. He even interviewed the woman in personnel who'd hired her."

"Did he mention if they had any suspects?"

"He didn't say," Shirley said. "I just hope it's all over.

"I wish I'd gotten to talk with Helene again. I still think she was
covering for Hayes."

"Do you still think he discovered something?"

"Absolutely." Jason went on to describe the lab ledgers and his visit to
Gene, Inc., and to Samuel Schwartz. He told Shirley that Schwartz had
set up a corporation for Hayes that was to market the new discovery,
whatever it was.

"Didn't the lawyer know what the product was?"

"Nope. Apparently Hayes trusted no one."

"But he would have needed seed capital. He would have had to trust
someone if he was planning to manufacture and distribute."

"Maybe so," Jason admitted. "But I can't find anyone he told-at least
not yet. Unfortunately, Helene was the best bet."

"Are you still looking?"

"I guess so," he admitted. "Does that sound stupid?"

"Not stupid," Shirley said, "just disturbing. it would be a tragedy if
an important discovery were lost, but I definitely think it's time to
put the Hayes afeair to rest. I hope you're taking time off to relax,
not to continue this wild-goose chase."

"Now why would you suggest that?" Jason asked, surprised at his own
transparency.

"Because you don't give up easily." She moved over and put her hand on
his shoulder.-"Why don't you go to the Caribbean? Maybe I could get away
over the weekend and join you ... Jason experienced an excitement he'd
not felt since Danielle's death. The idea of the hot sun and cool, clear
water sounded wonderful, especially if Shirley were there too. But then
he hesitated. He didn't know if he was ready for the emotional
commitment that would entail. And, more important, he'd promised himself
he'd visit Seattle.

" I want to go out to the West Coast," he said finally. "There's an old
friend out there I'd like to "That sounds innocent enough. But the
Caribbean sounds better to me."

"Maybe soon." He gave Shirley's arm a squeeze. "How about a cognac?"

As Shirley got up to get the Courvoisier, Jason studied her figure with
increasing interest.

When Carol called at two-thirty in the morning, Jason was wide awake.
He'd been so worried that she might forget, he hadn't been able to
sleep.

"I'm exhausted, Jason," Carol announced, instead of saying hello.

"I'm sorry, but I must see you," he said. "I can be over in ten
minutes."

"I don't think that would be a good idea. As I told you this. afternoon,
I'm not alone. There's someone outside watching my building. Why do you
have to see me tonight? Maybe we can work something out of tomorrow.

Jason thought about asking her on the phone to go to Seattle, but
decided he'd have a better chance convincing her in person. It was a bit
out of the ordinary asking a young woman to accompany him to Seattle
after only two meetings.

"Is this bodyguard alone?"

"Yes. But what difference does that make? The guy's built like an ox."

"There's an alley in back of your building. I could come up the fire
escape."

"The fire escape! This is crazy! What on earth is so important that you
have to see me tonight?"

"if I told you, I wouldn't have to see you."

"Well, I'm not crazy about men coming to my apartment at night.".

Oh, sure, Jason thought. "Look," he said aloud, "I'll tell you this
much.

I've been trying to figure out what Hayes could have discovered and I'm
down to my last idea. I need your help."

"That's quite a line, Dr. Jason Howard."

"It's true. You're the only one who can help me."

Carol laughed. "When you put it that way, who could refuse? All right,
come along. But you're coming at your own risk. I have to warn you, I
don't have much control over Atlas outside."

"My disability insurance is all paid up."

"I live at ..." Carol began.

"I know where you live," Jason interrupted. "In fact, I've already had a
run-in with Bruno, if that's the charming fellow guarding your door."

"You've met Bruno?" Carol asked incredulously.

"Lovely man. Such a wonderful conversationalist."

$'Let me warn you, then," Carol said. "It was Bruno who walked me home."

"Luckily he's pretty easy to spot. Watch out your back window. I don't
want to be stranded on your fire escape."

"This is really insane," Carol said.

Jason changed into a dark slacks and sweater. He'd be visible enough on
the fire escape without wearing light colors. He donned running shoes and
went down to his car. Driving along Beacon Street, he kept an eye out
for Bruno.

He went left on Gloucester Street and left again on Commonwealth. When
he crossed Marlborough, he slowed. He knew there was no chance to find a
parking place, so he pulled in at the nearest hydrant. He left the doors
unlocked; if need be the firemen could run the hoses right through the
car.

Getting out of his car, Jason peered down the alleyway between Beacon
and Marlborough streets. Intermittent lights formed pools of
illumination.

There were lots of dark areas, and trees threw spider-weblike shadows.

Jason could vividly remember his last attempted flight from Bruno down
the same alley.

Marshaling his courage, Jason started into the alley as tense as a sprinter waiting for the starting gun. A sudden
movement to his left made him gasp. It was a rat the size of a small
cat, and Jason felt the hairs on the back of his neck spring up. He kept
walking, happy to see no sign of Bruno. Itwas so quiet he could hear his
breathing.

Arriving at Carol's building, he noted the familiar light in the
fourth-floor window before taking a good look at the fire escape.

Unfortunately, it had one of those ladder mechanisms that have to be
lowered from the first floor. Jason glanced around for something to
stand on. The only thing available was a trash can, and that meant
turning it over and dumping it. Despite the fact it would make a lot of
noise, he realized he had no choice. But he shuddered as the metal
clanged against the pavement and a number of beer cans clattered down
the street.

Holding his breath, he looked up. No lights had come on. Satisfied, he
climbed up on the garbage can and got hold of the lowest rung of the
raised ladder.

"Hey!" someone yelled. Jason's head turned and he saw a familiar bulky
figure coming down the alley on the run, his thick arms pumping, his
breaths coming in puffs like a steam engine. At that moment Bruno looked
like a fullback for the Washington Redskins.

$I Shit," Jason said. With all his strength he pulled himself up on the
ladder, half expecting it to drop under his weight. Luckily it didn't.
Hand over hand, he lifted himself until he could put his foot on the
first rung and scamper up to the first floor.

"Hey, you god damned little pervert!" Bruno was yelling. "You get the
hell down here!"

Jason hesitated. He could hold the man off by stepping on his fingers if
he tried to come up, but that wouldn't get him in to see Carol. And
somebody would call the police if there were enough ruckus. Jason
decided to take the 6ance. He ran up the next two flights of the fire
escape, arriving at Carol's window. She was looking out and raised the
sash the second she spotted him. Before she could speak, Jason gasped,
"Your neo-Nazi is on his way up. Do you think he has a gun?" Jason found
himself standing in a large kitchen.

"I don't know."

"He's going to be here in a moment," Jason said, slamming down the
window and locking it. That was going to delay Bruno just about ten
seconds.

"Maybe I should talk to him," Carol suggested.

"Will he listen?"

"I'm not sure. He's kinda bullheaded ..."That's my impression," Jason
said. "And I know he's not fond of me. I think I need something like a
baseball bat."

"You can't hit him, Jason."

"I don't want to, but I don't think Bruno wants to sit down and talk
this over. I need something to threaten him with to keep him away from
me."

"I have a fire poker."

"Get it." Jason turned the light out in the kitchen. Putting his nose to
the glass, he could see Bruno struggling to pull himself onto the first
ladder. He was strong but he was also bulky. Carol returned with the
fire poker. Jason hefted it. With a little luck he might be able to
convince the guy to listen.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Carol said.

Jason glanced around the room and noticed that the floor was
old-fashioned linoleum. He looked at the door leading from the kitchen
to the rest of the apartment. It was thick and solid, with a lock and
key. At one point the room had been something other than a kitchen.

"Carol, would you mind if I made a mess? I mean, I'll be happy to pay to
have it cleaned up."

What are you talking about?"

"Do you have a big can of vegetable oil?"

"I suppose."

"Can I have it?"

Perplexed, Carol opened the pantry door and lifted out a gallon can of
imported Italian olive oil.

"Perfect," Jason said. After another quick check out the window, he
hurriedly pulled the two chairs and table out of the kitchen. Carol
watched him with growing confusion.

"Okay, out," Jason ordered. Carol stepped into the hall.

Jason uncorked the olive oil and began pouring the contents over the
floor in wide, sweeping movements. As he closed and locked the door, he
heard banging on the kitchen window, followed by the crash of glass.

He wedged the kitchen table between the door and the opposite hall.

."Come on," he said, taking Carol's hand. In his other he still held the
poker. He led her to the front door of the apartment, which was
adequately secured with double latches and a metal-pole police lock. In
the kitchen' they heard a tremendous crash. Bruno had fallen down for
the first time.

"That was ingenious," laughed Carol.

"When you're one hundred and sixty pounds, you have to compensate."
Jason's heart was still racing. "Anyway, I have no idea how long Bruno
will be entertained in there, so this has to be fast. I need you. The
last chance I have of reconstructing Alvin Hayes's discovery is to go to
Seattle and try to find out what he did there. Apparently, he ...", There
was another crash followed by a volley of swear words, some of which
were appropriately in Italian.

"He's going to be in a foul mood," Jason said as he undid the locks on
the front door.

"So you want me to go to Seattle with you. That's what this is all
about?"

"I knew you'd understand. Hayes brought back a biological sample from
there, which he processed at Gene, Inc. I have to find out what it was.
The best bet is the man he saw out at the University of Washing ton.

"The man whose name I can't remember."

"But you saw him and could recognize him?"

"Probably."

"I know it's presumptuous to ask you to come," Jason said."But I really
do believe Hayes made some sort of breakthrough. And considering his
previous track record, it has to be significant."

"And you really think going to Seattle might solve it?"

"It's a long shot. But the only one left."

The door to the kitchen rattled and they heard Bruno begin a steady
pounding.

"I think I've overstayed my welcome," Jason said. "Bruno won't hurt you,
will he?"

"Heavens, no. My boss would skin him alive. That's why he's so rabid
now.

He thinks I'm in danger. #~ "Carol, would you come with me to Seattle?"
Jason asked while removing the pole to the police lock.

"When would you want to go?" Carol asked, vacillating.

"Late today. We wouldn't stay long. Would it be possible for you to get
off on short notice?"

"I have in the past. I just say I want to go home. Besides, after
Helene's murder my boss might be relieved to have me out of town."

"Thensay you'll go?" Jason pleaded.

"All right." Carol gave him one of her heartwarming smiles. "Why not?"

"There's a flight to Seattle at four this afternoon. We'll meet at the
gate. I'll get the tickets. How does that sound?"

"Insane," Carol said, "but fun."

"See you there;" Jason ran down the stairs to his car, fearful that
Bruno might have reversed direction and gone back out the window.

Jason woke early and called Roger to brief him on his patients. He
wasn't going to the hospital today. He had another trip he wanted to
take before meeting Carol for the four o'clock flight to Seattle. He
packed quickly, being careful to take clothes for rainy, chilly weather,
and called a cab to the airport, getting there just in time to store his
bag in a locker and take the ten o'clock Eastern shuttle to La Guardia.
At La Guardia he rented a car and drove to Leonia, New Jersey. It was
probably even less of a possibility than Seattle, but Jason was going to
see Hayes's former wife. He was not about to leave even the smallest
stone unturned.

Leonia turned out to. be a surprisingly sleepy little town that belied
its proximity to New York. Within ten minutes of the George Washington
Bridge, he found himself on a wide street lined with one-story
commercial establishments fronted by angled parking. It could have been
Main Street, USA. Instead, it was called Broad Avenue. There was a
drugstore, a hardware store, a bakery, and even a luncheonette.

It looked like a movie set from the fifties. Jason went into the
luncheonette,- ordered a vanilla malted, and used the phone directory.
There was a Louise Hayes on Park Avenue. While he drank his malted,
Jason debated the wisdom of calling or just dropping by. He opted for
the latter.

Park Avenue bisected Broad and rose up the hillside that bordered Leonia
on the east. After Pauline Boulevard, it arched to the north. That was
where Jason found Louise Hayes's house. It was a modest, dark-brown,
shingled structure, much in need of repair. The grass in the front yard
had gone to seed.

Jason rang the bell. The door was opened by a smiling, middle-aged woman
in a faded red housedress. She had stringy brown hair, and a little girl
of five or six, a thumb buried to the second knuckle in her mouth, clung
to her thigh.

"Mrs. Hayes?" Jason asked. The woman was a far cry from Hayes's two
other girlfriends.

"Yes."

"I'm Dr. Jason Howard, a colleague of your late husband." He'd not
rehearsed what he was going to say.

"Yes?" Mrs. Hayes repeated, reflexly pushing the young girl behind her.

"I'd like to talk to you if you have a moment." Jason took out his
wallet and handed over his driver's license with its photo and his GHP
staff identity card. "I went to medical school with your husband," he
added for good measure.

Louise looked at the cards and handed them back. "Would you like to come
in?"

"Thank you."

The interior of the house also looked in need of work. The furniture was
worn and the carpet was threadbare. Children's toys littered the floor.

Louise hastily cleared a spot on the couch and motioned for Jason to sit
down.

"Can I offer you something? Coffee, tea?"

"Coffee would be nice," he said. The woman seemed anxious, and he
thought the activity would calm her. She went into the kitchen, where
Jason could hear the sound of running water. The little girl had hung
behind, regarding Jason with large brown eyes. When Jason smiled at her,
she fled into the kitchen.

Jason gazed around the room. It was dark and cheerless, with a few
mail-order prints on the walls. Louise returned with her daughter in
tow.

She gave Jason a mug of coffee and placed sugar and cream on the small
coffee table. Jason helped himself to both.

Louise sat down across from Jason. "I'm sorry if I didn't seem
hospitable at first," she said. "I don't have many visitors asking about
Alvin."

"I understand," Jason said. He looked at her more carefully. Underneath
the frowsy exterior, Jason could see the shadow of an attractive woman.
Hayes had good taste, that was for sure. "I'm sorry to barge in like
this, but Alvin had spoken of you. Since I was in the area I thought I'd
drop by." He thought a few untruths might help.

"Did he?" Louise said indifferently.

Jason decided to be careful. He wasn't there to dredge up painful
emotions.

"The reason I wanted to talk to you," he said, "is that your husband
told me he'd made an important scientific discovery." Jason went on to
explain the circumstances of Alvin Hayes's-death, and how he, Jason, had
made it a personal crusade to try to find out if her husband had indeed
made a scientific breakthrough. He explained that it would be a tragedy
if Alvin had come across something that could help mankind, only to have
it lost.

Louise nodded, but when Jason asked if she had any idea of what the
discovery could have been, she said she didn't.

"You and Alvin didn't speak much?"

"No. Only about the children and financial matters.

"How are your children?" Jason asked, remembering Hayes's concern about
his son.

"They are both fine, thank you."

"Two?"

"Yes," Louise said. "Lucy here7-she patted her daughter's head-"and John
is in school."

"I thought you had three children."

Jason saw the woman's eyes film over. After an uncomfortable silence she
said, "Well ... there is another. Alvin Junior. He s severely retarded.
He lives at a school in Boston."

m sorry.

"It's all right. You'd think I'd have adjusted by now, but I guess I
never will. I guess it was the reason Alvin and I got divorced-I
couldn't deal with it."

"Where exactly is Alvin Junior?" Jason asked, knowing he was probing a
painful area.

"At the Hartford School."

"How is he doing?" Jason knew of the Hartford School. It was an
institution acquired by GHP when the corporation purchased an associated
acute-care proprietary hospital. Jason also knew the school was for
sale. It was a money-loser for GHP.

"Fine, I guess," Louise said. "I'm afraid I don't visit too often. It
breaks my heart."

101 understand," Jason said, wondering if this was the son Hayes had
been referring to the night he died. "Would it be possible for us to
call and inquire how the boy is doing?"

"I suppose," Louise said, not reacting to the extraordinary nature of
the question. She got stiffly to her feet and, with her daughter still
clinging to her, went to the telephone and called the school. She asked
for the pre-teen dormitory and, when they answered, talked for a while
about her son's condition. When she hung up, she said, "They feel he's
doing as well as can be expected. The only new problem is some
arthritis, which has interfered with his physical therapy."

"Has he been there long?"

"Just since Alvin went to work for GHP. Being able to place Alvin Junior
at Hartford was one of the reasons he accepted the job."

"And your other son? You Say he's fine."

"Couldn't be better," Louise said with obvious pride. "He's in the third
grade and considered one of the brightest in the class."

"That's wonderful," Jason said, trying to think back to the night Hayes
died. Alvin had said that someone wanted him and his son dead. That it
was too late for him but maybe not for his son. What on earth had he
meant?

Jason had assumed one of his sons had been physically sick, but
apparently that was not the case.

"More coffee?" Louise asked.

"No, thank you," Jason said. "There's just one more thing I wanted to
ask.

At the time of his death, Alvin was involved in setting up a
corporation.

Your children were to be stockholders. Did you know anything at all
about that?"

"Not a thing."

"Oh, well," Jason said. "Thanks for the coffee. if there's anything I
can do for you in Boston, like look in on Alvin Junior, don't hesitate
to call." He got up and the little girl buried her head inlouise's
skirt.

"I hope Alvin didn't suffer," she said.

"No, he didn't," Jason lied. He could still remember the look of agony
on Alvin's face.

They were at the door when Louise suddenly said, "Oh, there's one thing
I didn't tell you. A few days after Alvin died, someone broke in here.
Luckily we were out."

"Was anything taken?" Jason wondered if it could have been Gene, Inc.
"No," Louise said. "They probably saw the usual mess and just moved on."

She smiled. "But they seemed to have searched through everything. Even
the children's bookcases."

As Jason drove out of Leonia, New Jersey, and made his way back to the
George Washington Bridge, he thought about his meeting with Louise
Hayes.

He should have been more discouraged than he was. After all, he'd
learned nothing of importance to have justified the trip. But he
realized there had been more to his wanting to go. He'd been genuinely
curious about Hayes's wife. Having had his own wife rudely taken away
from him, Jason couldn't understand why someone like Hayes would split
up voluntarily. But Jason had never experienced the trauma of a retarded
child.

Jason was able to catch the two o'clock afternoon shuttle back to
Boston.

He tried to read on the plane, but couldn't concentrate. He began to
worry that Carol wouldn't meet him at the Boston airport, or, worse yet,
that she'd show up with Bruno.

Unfortunately, the two o'clock shuttle that was supposed to land in
Boston at two-forty didn't even leave La Guardia until two-thirty. By
the time Jason got off the plane it was three-fifteen. He got his lug-
gage from the locker and ran Erom the Eastern terminal over to United.

There was a long line at the ticket window, and Jason couldn't imagine
what the airline agents were doing to make each transaction so lengthy.
It was now twenty to four and no sign of Carol Donner.

At last it was Jason's turn. He tossed over his American Express card,
asking for two round-trip tickets to Seattle for the flight leaving at
four, with open returns.

At least with Jason the agent was efficient. Within three minutes Jason
had the tickets and boarding cards and was running for Gate 19. It was
now five minutes to four. The flight was in the final stages of
boarding. Arriving at Gate 19, Jason breathlessly asked if anyone had
asked for him. When the girl at the desk said no, he quickly described
Carol and asked if the agent had seen her.

".She's very attractive," he added.

"I'm sure she is," smiled the agent. "Unfortunately, I haven't noticed
her.

But if you are planning to go to Seattle you'd better board."

Jason watched the second hand sweep around the face of the wall clock
behind the check-in counter. The agent was busy counting the tickets.

Another agent made the final announcement for the departure to Simttle.
It was two minutes before four.

With his carry-on bag draped over his shoulder, Jason looked up the
concourse toward the terminal proper. At the point he was about to give
up all hope, he saw her. She was running in his direction. Jason should
have been elated.

The only problem was that a few steps behind her was the impressive hulk
of Bruno. Farther down the hall was a policeman, lounging at the point
where bags were picked up from the X-ray machine. Jason made a mental
note: that would be his direction of flight if the need arose.

With her own carry-on shoulder bag, Carol was having some difficulty
running. Bruno made no attempt to assist her. Carol came directly up to
Jason. Jason saw the expression on Bruno's broad face go from vexation
to confusion to anger.

"Did I make it?" she panted.

The agent was now at the door to the jetway, kicking out the doorstop.

"What the hell are you doing here, creep?" Bruno shouted, looking up at
the destination sign. He turned accusingly on Carol. "You said you were
going home, Carol."

"Come on," Carol urged, grasping Jason's arm and pulling him toward the
jetway.

Jason stumbled backward, his eyes on Bruno's pudgy face, which had
turned an unattractive shade of red. The veins in his temple swelled to
the size of cigars.

"Just a moment!" Carol called to the agent. The agent nodded and shouted
something down the jetway. Jason watched Bruno until the very last
second.

He saw him lumber over to a bank -of telephones.

"You people like to cut it close," the agent said, ripping off a part of
each boarding card. Jason finally turned to face ahead, at last
convinced that Bruno had decided not to cause a scene. Carol was still
pulling Jason's arm as they descended the jetway. They had to wait while
the jetway operator pounded on the side of the plane to get the cabin
attendant inside to reopen the already sealed aircraft. "This is about
as close as you can make it," he said, frowning.

Once they were seated, Carol apologized for being late. "I'm fin-ious,"
she said, jamming her carry-on under the seat ahead of her. "I
appreciate Arthur's concern for my well-being, but this is ridiculous."

"Who's Arthur?"

"He's my boss," Carol said disgustedly. "He told me if I left now he
might actually fire me. I think I'll quit when we'get back."

"Would you be able to do that?" Jason asked, wondering just what Carol's
work involved besides dancing. It was his understanding that women like
Carol lost control of their lives.

"I was planning on stopping soon anyway," said Carol.

The plane lurched as it was towed backward out of the gate.

"You do know what kind of work I do?" Carol asked.

"Well, sort of," Jason said vaguely.

"You've never mentioned it," Carol said. "Most people bring it up."

"I figured it was your business, Jason said. Who was he to judge?

"You're a little strange , Carol said, "likable but strange."

"I thought I was pretty normal," Jason said.

"Ha!" Carol said playfully.

There was a good bit of air traffic and they waited for over twenty
minutes before they lifted off the ground and headed west.

"I didn't think we were going to make it," Jason said, finally beginning
to relax.

" I , m sorry," Carol said again. "I tried to lose Bruno, but he stuck
like glue. I didn't want him to know I wasn't heading back to Indiana.
But what could I do?"

"It doesn't matter," Jason said, although in the back of his mind it
disturbed him that anyone but Shirley knew where he was going. He'd
meant it to be a secret. At the same time he couldn't figure out how it
would make any difference.

, Taking notes on a yellow pad, Jason began quizzing Carol as to Hayes's
schedule on each of his two trips to Seattle. The first visit was the
more interesting. They'd stayed at the Mayfair Hotel and among other
things had visited a club called the Totem, similar to the Cabaret in
Boston. He asked her what it was like.

"It was okay," Carol said, "nothing special. But it didn't have the
excitement of the Club Cabaret. Seattle seems a bit conservative."

Jason nodded, wondering why Hayes would waste his time at a place like
that when he was traveling with Carol. "Did Alvin talk to anyone there?"
he asked.

"Yes. Arthur arranged for him to speak to the owner."

"Your boss did? Did Alvin know your boss?"

"They were friends. That was how I met Alvin."

Jason recalled the rumors about Alvin's taste for discos and the like.

Apparently they'd been true. But the idea of a world-famous molecular
biologist being chummy with a man who managed a topless bar seemed
ludicrous.

"Do you know what Alvin spoke to this man about?"

"No, I don't," Carol said. "They didn't talk very long. I was busy
watching the dancers. They were quite good."

"And you visited the University of Washington, correct?"

"That's right. We did that the first day."

"And you think you can find the man Alvin saw there?" Jason asked, just
to be sure.

"I think so. He was a tall, good-looking fellow."

"And then what?"

"We went up into the mountains."

"And that was vacation time?"

"I suppose."

"Did Alvin meet anyone up there?"

"No one in particular. But he talked to a lot of people."

Jason settled back after the cocktail service. He thought about what
Carol had told him, believing the most critical event was the visit to
the University of Washington. But the visit to the club was also curious
and deserved to be checked out.

"One other thing," Carol said. "On the second trip we had to spend some
time looking for dry ice."

"Dry ice? What on earth for?"

"I didn't know and Alvin didn't tell me. Alvin had a cooler and he
wanted it full of dry ice."

Perhaps to transport the specimen, Jason thought. This sounds promising.

When they touched down in Seattle, they dutifully changed their watches
to Pacific Coast time. Jason looked out the airplane window. True to
expectations, it was raining. He could see the drops in the darkened
pools of water on the runway. Soon, even the window was streaked with
moisture.

They rented a car and once they were clear of the airport traffic, Jason
said, "In case it helps your memory, I thought we'd stay at the same
hotel you did last time. Separate rooms, of course."

Carol turned to eye him in the half-light of the car. Jason wanted it
very clear this trip was all business.

Two cars behind Jason and Carol was a dark blue Ford Taurus. Behind the
wheel was a middle-aged man dressed in a turtleneck sweater, suede
jacket, and checked slacks. He'd gotten a call only about five hours
earlier to meet the United flight from Boston. He was supposed to spot a
forty-five-year- old doctor who'd be arriving with a beautiful young
woman. The names were Howard and Donner, and he was to keep them under
surveillance. The operation had been easier than he'd expected. He'd
confirmed their identity simply by coming up behind them at the Avis
counter.

Now all he had to do was keep them in sight. Supposedly he'd be
contacted by somebody who'd be coming from Miami. For this he was being
paid his usual fifty dollars an hour plus expenses. He wondered if it
were some kind of domestic problem.

The hotel was elegant. Judging from Hayes's usual disheveled appearance,
Jason wouldn't have expected the man to have such expensive tastes. They
got separate rooms, but Carol insisted they open the connecting door.

"Let's not be prudish," she said. Jason didn't know how to take that.

Since they'd barely touched the airplane food, Jason suggested they have
dinner before heading out to the Totem Club. Carol changed, and as they
entered the dining room, Jason was pleased at how young and lovely she
looked. The maltre d' even checked her ID when Jason ordered a bottle of
California chardonnay. The episode thrilled Carol, who complained of
looking as if she were already over the hill at age twenty-five.

By ten P. m., one o'clock East Coast time, they were ready to leave for
the Totem Club. Jason was already beginning to feel sleepy, but Carol
felt fine. To avoid difficulty, they left the rental car in the hotel
parking lot and took a taxi. Carol admitted she had trouble finding the
place with Hayes.

The Totem Club was outside of the downtown area of Seattle, on the
border of a pleasant residential neighborhood. There was none of the
sordid color of the Boston Combat Zone. The club was surrounded by a
large asphalt parking area that wasn't even littered, and there were no
street people panhandling. It looked like any restaurant or bar, except
for several ersatz totem poles flanking the entrance. When Jason got out
of the car, he could feel the beat of the rock music. They ran through
the rain to the entrance.

Inside, the club seemed much more conservative than the Cabaret. The
first thing Jason noticed was that the crowd consisted mostly of couples
rather than the heavy-drinking men who lined the runway in Boston. There
was even a small dance floor. The' only real similarity was the
configuration of the bar, which was Also U-shaped with a runway for the
dancers in the center.

"They don't dance topless here," Carol whispered.

They were shown to a booth on the first level, away from the bar. There
was another level behind them. A waitress placed a cardboard coaster in
front of each and asked for their drink order.

After they'd been served, Jason asked if Carol saw the owner. At first
she didn't, but after a quarter hour she grasped Jason's arm and leaned
across the table.

"There he is." She pointed to a young man, probably in his early thirties, dressed in a tuxedo with a red tie and
cummerbund. He had olive skin and thick blue-black hair.

"Do you remember his name?"

She shook her head.

Jason eased out from the booth and walked toward the owner, who had a
friendly, boyish face. As Jason came up to him, he laughed and patted
the back of a man sitting at the bar.

"Excuse me," Jason said. "I'm Dr. Jason Howard. From Boston." The owner
turned to him. He wore a plastic smile.

"I'm Sebastion Frahn," the owner said. "Welcome to the Totem."

"Could I speak to you for a moment?"

The man's smile waned. "What's on your mind?"

"It will take a minute or two to explain."

"I'm awfully busy. Maybe later."

Unprepared for such a quick brush-off, Jason stood for a moment watching
Frahn move among his customers. His smile had immediately returned.

"Any luck?" Carol asked when Jason returned to their booth and sat down
again.

"None. Three thousand miles and the guy won't talk to me."

"People have to be careful in this business. Let me to try.

Without waiting for Jason's reply, she slid from the booth. Jason
watched her gracefully make her way over to the owner. She touched his
arm and spoke briefly Jason saw him nod, then gaze in his direction. The
man nodded again and moved off. Carol r-turned.

"He'll be over in a minute."

"What did you say?"

"He remembered me," Carol said simply.

Jason wondered what that meant. "Did he remember Hayes?"

"Oh, yes," Carol said. "No problem."

Sure enough, within ten minutes Sebastion Frahn made a swing around the
r-oom and stopped at their table.

"Sorr-y to have been so curt. I didn't know you people were friends."

"That's all right," Jason said. He didn't know exactly what the man
meant, but it sounded cordial.

"What can I do for you?"

"Carol says you remember Dr. Hayes."

Sebastion turned to Carol. "Was that the man you were here with last
time?"

he asked.

Carol nodded,.

"Sure I remember him. He was a friend of Arthur Koehler."

"Do you think you could tell me what you talked about? It might be
important."

"Jason worked with Alvin," Carol interjected.

"I don't have any problem at all telling you what we discussed. The man
wanted to go salmon fishing."

"Fishing!" Jason exclaimed.

"Yup. He said he wanted to catch some big chums but he didn't want to
drive too far. I told him to go to Cedar Falls."

"Was that all?" Jason asked, his heart sinking.

"We talked about the Seattle Supersonics for a few m1nutes."

"Thank you," Jason said. "I appreciate your time."

"Not at all," Sebastion said with a smile. "Well, got to circulate." He
stood up, shook hands, and told them to come back again. Then he moved
off.

"I can't believe it," Jason said. "Every time I think I have a lead, it
turns out to be a joke. Fishing!"

At Carol's request they stayed for another half hour to watch the show,
and by the time they got back to the hotel, Jason was totally exhausted.
By East Coast time it was four o'clock Thursday morning. Jason got ready
for bed and climbed between the sheets with relief. He'd been
disappointed by the results of his visit to the Totem Club, but there
was still the University of Washington. He was about to drop off to
sleep when there was a soft knock on the connecting door. It was Carol.
She said she was starving and couldn't sleep. Could they order room
service? Feeling obliged to be a good sport, Jason agreed. They ordered
a split of champagne and a plate of smoked salmon.

Carol sat on the edge of Jason's bed in a terrycloth robe, eating salmon
and crackers. She described her childhood growing up outside of
Bloomington, Indi- ana. Jason had never heard her talk so much. She'd
lived on a farm and had to milk cows before going to school in the
morning. Jason could see her doing that. She had that freshness about
her that suggested such a life.

What he had trouble with was relating that former life to her current
one.

He wanted to know how things got on the wrong track, but he was afraid
to ask. Besides, exhaustion took over and try as he might, he could not
keep his eyes open. He fell asleep and Carol, after covering him with a
blanket, returned to her own room.

Awakening with a start, Jason checked his watch, which said five A. m.
That meant eight in Boston, the time he usually left for the hospital.
He opened the drapes and looked out on a crystal-clear day. In the
distance a ferry was making its way across Puget Sound toward Seattle,
leaving a sparkling wake*.

After showering, Jason knocked on the adjoining door. There was no
answer.

He knocked again. Finally he opened it a crack, allowing a swath of
bright sunlight to fall into the cool, darkened room. Carol was still
fast asleep, clutching her pillow. Jason watched her for a moment. She
looked an gelically lovely. Silently, he closed the door so as to not
waken her.

He went back to his bed, dialed room service, and ordered fresh orange
juice, coffee, and croissants for two. Then he called GHP and paged
Roger Wanamaker.

"Everything okay?"

"Not quite," Roger admitted. "Marge Todd threw a big embolus last night.
She went into a coma and died. Respiratory arrest."

"my God," Jason said.

"Sorry to be the bearer of sad tidings," Roger said. "Try to enjoy
yourself."

"I'll give you a call in a day or so," Jason said.

Another death. Except for one young woman with hepatitis, he was
beginning to think the only way his patients could leave the hospital
was feet first.

He wondered if he should fly directly back to Boston. Yet Roger was
right.

There was nothing he could do, and he might as well see the Hayes
business throu. h, even though he wasn't very optimistic.

1 9 Two hours later Carol knocked at the door and came in, her hair
still wet from the shower. "Top of the morning," she said in her
cheerful voice.

Jason ordered fresh coffee.

"Guess we're lucky," he said, pointing out at the bright sunlight.

"Don't be so sure. The weather around here can change mighty quickly."

While Carol breakfasted, Jason had another cup of coffee.

"Hope I didn't talk your ear off last night," Carol said.

"Don't be silly. I'm sorry I fell asleep."

"What about you, doctor?" Carol asked, putting jam on a croissant. "You
haven't told me much about yourself." She didn't mention that Hayes had
told her a good deal about him.

"Not much to tell."

Carol raised her eyebrows. When she saw his smile, she laughed. "For a
second I thought you were serious."

Jason told Carol about his boyhood in Los Angeles, his education at
Berkeley and Harvard Medical School, and his residency at Massachusetts
General. Without meaning to, he found himself describing Danielle and
the awful November night when she'd been killed. No one had ever drawn
him out the way Carol did, not even Patrick, the psychiatrist he'd seen
after Danielle's death. Jason even heard himself describing his current
depression over his increased patient mortality and then Roger's news
that morning about Marge Todd's death.

"I'm flattered that you've told me this," Carol said sincerely. She
hadn't expected such openness and trust. "You've had a lot of emotional
pain."

"Life can be like that," Jason said with a sigh. "I don't know why I've
bored you with all this."

"It hasn't been boring," Carol said. "I think you've made an
extraordinary adjustment. I think it was difficult yet very positive
that you changed your work and living environment."

"Do you?" Jason asked. He hadn't remembered saying that. He hadn't
expected to be so personal with Carol, but now that he'd done so, he
felt better.

Enjoying their time together, it wasn't until ten-thirty that they
emerged from their respective rooms dressed for the day. Jason asked the
bellman to bring their car to the front entrance, and they took the
elevator down to the lobby. True to Carol's prediction, when they
emerged from the hotel the sky had darkened and a steady rain was
falling.

With the help of an Avis map and Carol's memory, they drove out to the
University & Washington's Medical School. Carol pointed out the research
building Hayes had visited. They went in the front entrance and were
immediately challenged by a uniformed security man. They had no
University of Washington identity badges.

"I'm a doctor from Boston," Jason said, removing his wallet to show his
ID.

"Hey, man, I don't care where you're from. No badge, no entry. Simple as
that. If you want to come in here, you have to go to Central Administration."

Seeing it was fruitless to argue, they went to Central Administration.
Enroute, Jason asked how Hayes had handled security.

"He called his friend beforehand," Carol said. "The man met us in the
parking lot."

The woman at Central Administration was friendly and accommodating, and
even showed Carol a faculty book to see if she could pick out Hayes's
friend. But faces weren't enough, and Carol couldn't identify him.
Instead, armed with security badges, they returned to the research
building.

Carol led Jason up to the fifth floor. The corridor was crowded with
spare equipment, and the walls were in need of fresh paint.

There was a pungent chemical smell, akin to formaldehyde.

"Here's the lab," Carol said, stopping by an open doorway. The names to
the left of the door were Duncan Sechler, MD, Phd; and Rhett Shannon,
MD, Phd.

The department was, as Jason might have guessed, molecular genetics.

"Which name?" Jason asked.

"I don't know," Carol said, going up to a young technician and asking if
either of the doctors was in.

"Both. They're in the animal room." He pointed over his shoulder, then
turned as Carol walked by so he could catch the view from the rear.
Jason was surprised by his blatancy.

The door to the animal room had a large glass panel. Inside were two men
in white coats drawing blood from a monkey.

"It was the tall one with the gray hair," Carol said, pointing. Jason
moved closer to the window. The man Carol indicated was handsome and
athletic appearing, of approximately Jason's age. His hair was a
uniform silver color that gave him a particularly distinguished look.
The other man, in contrast, was almost bald. What hair he had was combed
over the top of his head in a vain attempt to cover the thinning spot.

"will he remember you?"

"Possibly. We only met for a moment before I went off to the Psychology
Department."

They waited until the doctors finished their task and emerged from the
animal room. The tall grayhaired man was carrying the vial of blood.

"Excuse me," Jason said. "Could I possibly have a moment of your time?"

The man glanced at Jason's badge. "Are you a drug rep?"

"Heavens, no." Jason smiled. "I'm Dr. Jason Howard and this is Miss.
Carol Donner."

"What can I do for you?"

"I'll see you in a minute, Duncan," interrupted the balding man.

"Okay," Duncan said. "I'll run the blood immediately." Then, turning to
Jason, he said, "Sorry."

I "Ouite all right. I wanted to talk to you about an old acquaintance."

"Oh?"

"Alvin Hayes. Do you remember him visiting you here?"

"Sure," Duncan said, turning to Carol. "And weren't you with him?"

Carol nodded. "You have a good memory."

"I was shocked to hear he'd died. What a loss."

"Carol said Hayes came to ask you something important," Jason said.
"Could you tell me what it was about?"

Duncan looked upset, glancing nervously around at the technicians.

"I'm not sure I want to talk about it."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Was'it business or a personal matter?"

"Maybe you'd better come into my office."

Jason had trouble containing his excitement. It finally sounded as if
he'd stumbled onto something significant.

After entering the office, Duncan closed the door. There were two
metal-backed chairs. Removing stacks of journals, he motioned for Jason
and Carol to sit.

"To answer your question," he said, "Hayes came to see me for personal
reasons, not business."

"We've come three thousand miles just to talk with you," Jason said. He
wasn't going to give up so easily, but it wasn't sounding encouraging.

"If you'd called, I could have saved you the trip." Some of Duncan's
friendliness had disappeared from his voice.

"Maybe I should tell you why we are so interested, Jason said. He
explained the mystery of Hayes's possible discovery and his own futile
attempts to figure out what it might have been.

"You think Hayes came to me for help in his research?" Duncan asked.

"That's what I'd hoped."

Duncan gave a short, unpleasant laugh. He looked at Jason out of the
comer of his eye. "You wouldn't be a narc, would you?"

Jason was confused.

"All right, I'll tell you what Hayes wanted. A place to buy marijuana.
He said he was terrified to fly with the stuff and couldn't bring any
with him. As a favor, I set him up with a kid on campus."

Jason was stunned. His excitement dwindled like air seeping out of a
balloon, leaving him deflated.

"I'm sorry to have taken your time ..."Not at all."

Carol and Jason walked out of the research building, surtendering their
visitor's badges to the security guard. Carol was smiling slyly.

I "It isn't so funny, you know," Jason said as they got into the car.

"But it is," Carol said. "You just can't see it right at this moment."

"We might as well go home," he said gloomily.

"Oh, no! You dragged me all the way out here, and we're not leaving
until you see the mountains. It's only a short drive."

"Let me think about it," Jason told her moodily.

Carol prevailed. They went back to the hotel, got their belongings, and
before Jason knew it, they were on a fi-eeway heading out of town. She
insisted on driving. Soon the suburbs gave way to misty green forest,
and the rolling hills became mountains. The rain stopped and Jason '
could see snowcapped peaks in the distance. The scenery was so beautiful
he forgot his disappointment.

"It gets even prettier," Carol said as they left the freeway, heading
toward Cedar Falls. She remembered the route now and happily pointed out
the sights. Taking an even smaller road, Carol drove along the Cedar
River.

It was a nature fairyland, with deep forests, craggy rocks, distant
mountains, and rushing rivers. As dusk fell, Carol turned off the road
and bumped across a crushed stone driveway, coming to a halt in front of
a picturesque mountain lodge constructed like an enormous five-story log
cabin. Smoke curled up lazily from a huge field stone chimney. A sign
over the steps leading to the porch said SALMON INN.

"Is this where you and Alvin stayed?" Jason asked, peering through the
windshield. There was a huge porch with raw pine furniture.

"This is it." Carol reached around to get her bag from the back seat.

They got out of the car. There was a chill to the air and the pungent
smell of woodsmoke. Jason heard a distant sound of rushing water.

"The river's on the other side of the lodge," Carol said, mounting the
steps. "Just a little way up there's a cute waterfall. You'll see it
tomorrow."

Jason followed her, suddenly wondering what the hell he was doing. The
trip had been a mistake; he belonged back in Boston with his critically
ill patients. Yet here he was in the Cascade Mountains with a girl he
had no business admirifig.

The interior of the inn was every bit as charming as the exterior. The
central room was a large, two story affair dominated by a gargantuan
fireplace. It was furnished with chintz, animal heads, and scattered
bearskin rugs. There were several people reading in front of the fire
and a family playing Scrabble.

A few heads turned as Jason and Carol approached the registration desk.

"Do you people have a reservation?" asked the man behind the desk.

Jason w6ndered if the man was joking. The place was immense, it was in
the middle of nowhere, it was early November, and it wasn't a weekend.
He couldn't imagine the demand would be very high.

"No reservations , Carol said. "Is that a problem?"

"Let me see," said the man, bending over his book.

"How many rooms are there in the hotel?" Jason asked, still bemused.

"Forty-two and six suites," the receptionist said without looking up.

"Is there a shoe convention in town?"

The man laughed. "It's always full this time of year. The salmon are
running."

Jason had heard of the Pacific salmon and how they'd mysteriously return
to the particular freshwater breeding grounds that had spawned them. But
he'd thought the phenomenon occurred in the spring.

"You're in luck," the receptionist said. "We have a room, but you might
have to move tomorrow night. How many nights are you planning to stay?"

Carol looked at Jason. Jason felt a rush of anxiety-only one room! He
didn't know what to say. He started to slammer.

"Three nights," Carol said.

"Fine. And how will you settle your bill?"

There was a pause.

"Credit card," Jason said, fumbling for his wallet. He couldn't believe
what was happening.

As they followed the bellboy down the second floor hallway, Jason
wondered how he'd 'gotten himself into this. He hoped there would at
least be twin beds. Much as he admired Carol's looks, he wasn't prepared
for an affair with an exotic dancer who did God knows what else on the
side.

"You people have a wonderful view," the bellboy said.

Jason went in, but his eyes shifted immediately to the sleeping
arrangements, not the windows. He was relieved to see separate beds.

When the boy left, Jason finally went over to admire the dramatic vista.

The Cedar River, which at that point widened to what appeared to be a
small lake, was bordered by tall evergreens that glowed a dark purple in
the fading light. Immediately below was a lawn that sloped down to the
water's edge. Extending out into the river was a maze of docks used to
moor twenty to thirty rowboats. On racks, out of the water, were canoes.
Four large rubber boats with outboard motors were tied to the end of a
dock. Jason could tell there was a significant current in the river
despite its placid appearance, since all four of the rubber boats had
their stems pointed down river, their bowlines taut.

"Well, what do you think?" Carol said, clapping her hands. "Isn't it
cozy?"

The room was papered with a flower print. The floor was broad-planked
pine with scattered rag rugs. The beds were covered with comforters
printed to appear like quilts.

"It's wonderful," Jason said. He glanced into the bathroom, hoping for
robes. "You seem to be the tour director. What now?"

"I vote for dinner immediately. I'm starved. And I think the dining room
only serves until seven. People turn in early here."

The restaurant had a curved, windowed wall facing the river. In the
center of the wall were double doors leading to a wide porch. Jason
guessed that in the summer the porch was used for dining. There were
steps from the porch down to the lawn, and at the docks the lights had
come on, illuminating the water.

About half of the two dozen tables in the room were filled. Most of the
people were already on their coffee. It seemed to Jason that everyone
stopped talking the moment he and Carol appeared.

"Why do I feel we're on display?" Jason whispered.

"Because you're anxious about sleeping in the same room with a young
woman whom you barely know," Carol whispered. "I think you feel
defensive and a.

little guilty and unsure of what's expected of YOU.

Jason's lower jaw slowly sank. He tried to look into Carol's warmly
liquid eyes to comprehend what was in there. He knew he was blushing.
How on earth could a girl who danced half nude be so perceptive? Jason
had always prided himself on his ability to evaluate people: after all,
it was his job.

As a physician, he had to have a sense of his patients' inner dynamics.
Yet why did he feel there was something about Carol that didn't fit?

Glancing at Jason's red face, Carol laughed. "Why don't you just relax
and enjoy yourself. Let down your hair, doctor-I'm certainly not going
to bite."

"Okay," Jason said. "I'll do just that."

They dined on salmon, which was offered in bewilderingly tempting
varieties. After great deliberation, they both had it baked in a pastry
shell. For authenticity, they sampled a Washington State chardormay
which Jason found surprisingly good. At one point he heard himself
laughing aloud. It had been a long time since he'd felt so free. It was
at that point they both realized they were alone in the dining room.

Later that night when Jason was in bed, looking up at the dark ceiling,
he again felt confuged. It had been a comedy of sorts getting to bed,
juggling towels as coverups, flipping a coin to see who used the
bathroom first, and having to get out of bed to turn out the light.
Jason had never remembered feeling quite so body conscious. Jason rolled
over. In the darkness, he could just make out the outline of Carol's
form. She was on her side. He could hear the faint sound of her
rhythmical breathing against the background sound of the distant
waterfall. She was obviously asleep. Jason envied her honest acceptance
of herself and her untroubled slumber. But what confused Jason was not
the inconsistencies of Carol's personality, but rather the fact that he
was enjoying himself. And it was Carol who was making it happen.

Weatherwise, their luck held. When they opened the drapes in the
morning, the river sparkled with the brilliance of a million gemstones.
The minute they finished breakfast, Carol announced they were going on a
hike.

With box lunches from the hotel, they walked up the Cedar River on a
well-marked trail alive with birds and small animals. About a quarter of
a mile from the lodge they came upon the waterfall Carol had mentioned.
It was a series of rocky ledges, each about five feet high. They joined
several other tourists on a wooden viewing platform and watched in awed
silence as the wild water cascaded downward. Just below them, a
magnificent rainbow-colored fish, three to four feet long, broke the
turbulent surface of the water, and in defiance of gravity leaped up the
face of the first ledge. Within seconds it had leaped again, clearing
the second ledge by a wide margin.

"My God," Jason exclaimed. He'd remembered reading that salmon were
capable of running through rapids against the current, but he had no
idea that they could navigate such high falls. Jason and Carol stayed
mesmerized as several other salmon leaped. He could only marvel at the
physical stamina the fish were displaying. The genetically determined
urge to procreate was a powerful force.

"It's unbelievable," he said as a particularly large fish began to swim
the watery gauntlet.

"Alvin was fascinated too," Carol said.

Jason could well imagine, especially with Hayes's interest in
developmental and growth hormones.

"Come on," Carol said, taking Jason's hand. "There's more."

They continued up the trail, which left the river's edge for a quarter
of a mile, taking them deep into a forest. When the trail returned to
the river, the Cedar had widened into another small lake like the one in
front of the Salmon Inn. It was about a quarter of a mile across and a
mile long, and its surface was dotted with fishermen.

A cabin much like a miniature Salmon Inn lay nestled in a stand of large
pines. in front of it at the water's edge was a short dock with half a
dozen rowboats. Carol took Jason up the flagstone walk and through the
front door.

The cabin was a fishing concession run by the Salmon Inn. There was a
long, glass-fronted counter to the right, presided over by a bearded man
in a red-checkered wool shirt, red suspenders, faded trousers, and
caulked boots. Jason guessed he was in his late sixties, and that he
would have made a perfect department store Santa Claus. Arranged along
the wall behind him was an enormous selection of fishing poles. Carol
introduced Jason to the older man, whose name was Stooky Griffiths,
saying that Alvin had enjoyed visiting with Stooky while she fished,
"Hey," Carol said suddenly. "How about trying your hand at some salmon
fishing?"

"Not for me," Jason said. Hunting and fishing had never interested him.

"I think I'll try. Come on-be a sport."

"You go ahead," Jason urged. "I can entertain myself."

"Okay." She turned to Stooky and made arrangements for a pole and some
bait, then tried once more to talk Jason into joining her, but he shook
his head.

"Is this where you and Alvin fished?" he asked, looking out the window
at the river.

"Nope," Carol said, collecting her gear. "Alvin was like you. He
wouldn't join me. But I caught a big one. Right off the dock."

"Alvin didn't fish at all?" Jason asked, surprised.

"No," said Carol. "He just watched the fish."

"I thought Alvin told Sebastion Frahn he wanted to go fishing."

"What can I say? Once we got here, Alvin was content to wander around
and observe. You know, the scientist."

Jason shook his head in confusion.

"I'll be on the dock," Carol said brightly. "If you change your mind,
come on down. It's fun!"

Jason watched her run down the flagstone walk, wondering why Alvin would
have made such elaborate inquiries about fishing and then never cast a
line. It was weird.

Two men came into the cabin and made arrangements with Stooky for gear,
bait, and a boat. Jason stepped outside onto the porch. There were
several rocking chairs. Stooky had hung a bird feeder from the eaves and
dozens of birds circled it. Jason watched for a, while, then wandered
down to join Carol. The water was crystal clear and he could see rocks
and leaves on the bottom. Suddenly, a huge salmon flashed out of the
dark emer-ald green of the deeper water and shot under the dock, heading
for a shallow, shady area fifty feet away.

- Looking after it, Jason noticed a disturbance on the surface of the
water.

Curious, he walked over along the shore. When he got close, he saw
another large salmon lying on its side in a few feet of water, its tail
flapping weakly. Jason tried pushing it with a stick into deeper water,
but it didn't help. The fish was obviously ill. A few feet away he
spotted another salmon lying immobile in just a few inches of water,
and, still closer to shore, a dead fish being eaten by a large bird.

Jason walked back up the flagstone path. Stooky had come out of the
cabin and was sitting in one of the rockers with a pipe stuck between
his teeth.

Leaning on the rail, Jason asked him about the sick fish, wondering if
there was some problem with pollution upriver.

"Nope,',' Stooky said. He took several puffs on his well-chewed pipe.
"No pollution here. Them fish just spawned and now it's time for 'em to
die."

"Oh, yeah," Jason said, suddenly remembering what he'd read about the
salmon's life cycle. The fish pushed themselves to their limits to
return to their spawning grounds, but once they laid their eggs and
fertilized them, they died. No one knew exactly why. There had been
theories about the physiologicaiproblems of going fi-om saltwater to
freshwater, but no one knew for certain. It was one of nature's
mysteries.

Jason looked down at Carol. She was busy trying to cast her line out
from the dock. Turning back to Stooky, he asked, "Do you by any chance
remember talking with a doctor by the name of Alvin Hayes?"

"Nop, e."

"He was about my height," Jason continued. "Had long hair. Pale skin."

"I see a lot of people."

"I bet you do," Jason said. "But the man I'm talking about was with that
girl." He pointed toward Carol. Jason guessed Stooky didn't see too many
girls who looked like Carol Donner.

"The one on the dock?"

"That's right. She's a looker."

Smoke came out of Stooky's mouth in short puffs.

His eyes narrowed. "Could the fella you're talking about come from
Boston?"

Jason nodded.

"I remember him," Stooky said. "But he didn't look like no doctor."

"He did research."

"Maybe that explains it. He was real strange. Paid me a hundred bucks to
get him twenty-five salmon heads."

"Just the heads?"

"Yup. Gave me his telephone number back in Boston. Told me to call
collect when I had 'em."

"Then he came back here to get them?" Jason asked, remembering Hayes and
Carol had made two trips.

"Yup. Told me to clean 'em good and pack 'em in ice."

"Why did it take so long?" Jason asked. With all the fish available, it
seemed twenty-five heads could have been collected in a single
afternoon.

"He only wanted certain salmon," Stooky said. "They had to have just
spawned-and spawning salmon don't take bait. You have to net 'em. Them
people fishing out there are catching trout."

"A particular species of salmon?"

"Nope. They'd just had to have spawned."

"Did. he say why he wanted those heads?"

"He didn't and I didn't ask," Stooky said. "He was payin' and I figured
it was his business."

"And just fishheads-nothing else."

"Just fishheads."

Jason left the porch frustrated and mystified. The idea that Hayes had
come three thousand miles for fishheads and marijuana seemed
preposterous.

Carol spotted him at the edge of the dock and waved at him to join her.

"You have to try this, Jason," she said. "I almost caught a salmon."

"The salmon don't bite here," Jason said. "It must have been a trout."

Carol looked disappointed.

Jason studied her lovely, high-cheekboned face. If his original premise
was correct, the salmon heads had to have been associated with Hayes's
attempts to create a monoclonal antibody. But how could that help
Carol's beauty as Hayes had told her? It didn't make any sense.

"I guess it doesn't matter whether it's trout or salmon," Carol said,
turning her attention back to her fishing. "I'm having fun."

A circling. hawk -plunged down into the shallow water and tried to grasp
one of the dying salmon with its talons, but the fish was too big and
the bird let go and soared back into the sky. As Jason watched, the
salmon stopped struggling in the water and died.

"I got one!" Carol cried as her pole arched over.

The excitement of the catch cleared Jason's mind. He helped Carol land a
good-sized trout-a beautiful fish with steely black eyes. Jason felt
sorry for it. After he'd gotten the hook out of its lower lip, he talked
Carol into throwing it back into the water. it was gone in a flash.

For lunch they walked along the banks of the widened river to a rocky
promontory. As they ate, they could not only see the entire expanse of
the river, but, the snow-capped peaks of the Cascade Mountains. It was
breathtaking.

It was late afternoon when they started back to the Salmon Inn. As they
passed the cabin they saw another large fish in its death throes. It was
on its side, its glistening white belly visible.

"How sad," Carol said, gripping Jason's arm. "Why do they have to die?"

Jason didn't have any answers. The old cliche, "It's nature's way,"
occurred to him, but he didn't say it. For a few moments they watched
the once magnificent salmon as several smaller fish darted over to feed
on its living flesh.

"Ugh!" Carol said, giving Jason's arm a tug. They continued walking. To
change the subject, Carol started talking about another diversion the
hotel had to offer. it was white-water rafting. But Jason didn't hear.
The horrid image of the tiny predators feeding from the dying larger
fish had started the germ of an idea in Jason's mind. Suddenly, like a
revelation, he had a sense of what Hayes had discovered. It wasn't
ironic-it was terrifying.

The color drained from Jason's face and he stopped walking.

"What's the matter?" Carol asked.

Jason swallowed. His eyes stared, unblinking.

"Jason, what is it?"

We have to get back to Boston," he said with urgency in his voice. He
set off again at a fast pace, almost dragging Carol with him.

"What are you talking about?" she protested.

He didn't respond.

"Jason! What's going on?" She jerked him to a stop.

"I'm sorry," he said, as if waking from a trance. "I suddenly have an
idea of what Alvin may have stumbled onto. We have to get back."

"What do you mean-tonight?"

"Right away."

"Now wait just a minute. There won't be any flights to Boston tonight.
It's three hours later there. We can stay over and leave early in the
morning if you insist."

Jason didn't reply.

"At least we can have dinner," Carol added irritably.

Jason allowed her to calm him down. After all, who knows? I could be
wrong, he thought. Carol wanted to discuss it, but Jason told her she
wouldn't understand.

"That's pretty patronizing."

"I'm sorry. I'll tell you all about it when I know for sure.

By the time he had showered and dressed, Jason realized Carol was right.
If they'd driven to Seattle, they'd have gotten to the airport around
midnight Boston time. There wouldn't have been. any flights until
morning.

Descending to the dining room, they were escorted to a table directly in
front of the doors leading to the veranda. Jason sit Carol facing the
doors, saying she deserved the new. After they'd been given their menu,
he apologized for acting so upset and gave her full credit for being
right about not leaving immediately.

"I'm impressed you're willing to admit it," Carol said.

For variety, they ordered tr4ut instead of salmon, and in place of the
Washington state wine, they had a Napa Valley chardonnay. Outside, the
evening slowly darkened into night and the lights went on at the docks.

Jason had trouble concentrating on the meal. He was beginning to realize
that if ' his theory was correct, Hayes had been murdered and Helene had
not been the victim of random violence. And if Hayes was right and
someone was using his accidental and terrifying discovery, the result
could be far worse than any epidemic.

While Jason's mind was churning, Carol was carrying on a conversation,
but when she realized he was off someplace, she reached across and
gripped his arm. "You are not eating," she said.

Jason looked absently at her hand on his arm, his

plate, and then Carol. "I'm preoccupied, I'm sorry."

"It doesn't matter. If you're not hungry, maybe we should go and find
out about flights to Boston in the morning."

"We can wait until you're through eating," Jason said.

Carol tossed her napkin on the table. "I've had more than enough, thank
you."

Jason looked for their waiter. His eyes roamed the room and then
stopped.

They became riveted on a man who had just entered ' the dining room and
paused by the maltre d's lectern. The man was slowly scanning the room,
his eyes moving from table to table. He was dressed in a dark blue suit
with a white shirt open at the collar. Even from the distance, Jason
could tell the man wore a heavy gold necklace. He could see the sparkle
from the over head lights.

Jason studied the man. He looked familiar, but Jason couldn't place him.
He was Hispanic, with dark hair and deeply tanned skin. He looked like a
successful businessman. Suddenly, Jason remembered. He'd seen the -face
on that awful night when Hayes had died. The man had been outside the
restaurant and then outside the Massachusetts General Hospital
emergency room.

Just then the man spotted Jason, and Jason felt a sudden chill descend
his spine. It was apparent the man recognized Jason because he
immediately started forward, his right hand casually thrust into his
jacket pocket. He walked deliberately, closing the distance quickly.

Having just thought of Helen Brennquivist's murder, Jason panicked. Hi$
intuition told him what was coming, but he couldn't move. All he could
do was look at Carol. He wanted to scream and tell her to run, but he
couldn't.

He was paralyzed. Out of the comer of his eye, he saw the man round the
nearby table.

"Jason?" questioned Carol, tilting her head to one side.

The man was only steps away. Jason saw his hand come out of his pocket
and the glint of metal as his hand covered the gun. The sight of the
weapon finally galvanized Jason into action. In a sudden explosion of
activity, he snatched the tablecloth from the table, sending the dishes,
glasses, and silverware flying to the floor. Carol leaped to her feet
with a scream.

Jason rushed the man, flinging the tablecloth over his head, pushing him
backward into a neighboring table and knocking it over in a shower of
china and glass. The people at the table screamed and tried to get away,
but several were caught in the tangle of overturned chairs.

In the commotion, Jason grabbed Carol's hand and yanked her through the
doors to the porch. Having managed to break his panic-filled paralysis,
Jason was now a torrent of directed action. He knew who the
Hispanic-looking businessman had been: the killer Hayes claimed was on
his trail. Jason. had no doubt his next targets were Carol and himself.

He pulled Carol down the front steps, intending to run around the hotel
to the parking lot. But then he realized they'd never make it. They had
a better chance running for one of the boats at the dock.

"Jason!" Carol yelled as he changed direction and dragged him down the
lawn. "What's wrong with you?"

Behind them, Jason could hear the doors to the dining room crash open,
and assumed they were being chased.

When they reached the dock, Carol tried to stop. "Come on, dammit,"
Jason shouted through gritted teeth. Looking back at the inn, he could
see a figure run to the porch railing, then start down the stairs.

Carol tried to jerk her hand free, but Jason tightened his clasp and
yanked her forward. "He wants to kill us!" he shouted. Stumbling ahead,
they raced to the end of the dock, ignoring the rowboats. Jason shouted
to Carol to help untie three of the rubber boats and push them off. They
were already drifting downstream by the time their pursuer hit the dock.
Jason helped Carol into the fourth boat and scrambled after her, pushing
them away from the dock with his foot. They too drifted downstream,
slowly at first, then gathering speed. Jason forced Carol to lie down,
then covered her body with his own.

An innocent-sounding pop was immediately followed by a dull thud
somewhere in the boat. Almost simultaneously there was the sound of
escaping air. Jason groaned. The man was shooting at them with a
silenced pistol. Another pop was followed by a ringing sound as a bullet
ricocheted off the outboard motor, and another made a slapping sound in
the water.

To Jason's relief, he realized the rubber boat was compartmentalized.

Although a bullet had deflated one section, the boat wouldn't sink. A
few more shots fell short, then Jason heard a thump of wood agains t the
dock.

Jason lifted his head cautiously and looked back. The man had pulled one
of the canoes from the rack and was pushing it into the water.

Jason was again gripped with fear-the man could paddle much faster than
they were drifting. Their only chance was to start the motor-an old
fashioned outboard with a pull cord. Jason shifted the gear lever to
"start" and tugged the cord. The engine didn't even turn over. The
killer had already boarded the canoe and was starting toward them. Jason
pulled the cord again: nothing. Carol lifted her head and said
nervously, "He's getting closer."

For the next fifteen seconds, Jason frantically jerked the starter cord
over an dover. He could see the silhouette of the oncoming canoe moving
silently through the water. He checked to make sure the lever was at
"start," then tried again without success. His eyes drifted to the gas
tank, which he prayed was full. Its black cap appeared to be loose, so
he tightened it. Just to its side was a button he guessed was to
increase pressure in the tank. He pushed it a half dozen times, noticing
that it became increasingly harder to depress. Looking up again, he saw
the canoe was almost to them.

Grasping the starter cord again, Jason pulled with all his strength. The
motor roared to life. Then he reached for the lever and pushed it to
"reverse," as they were floating downstream backward. He jammed the
throttle forward and threw himself back onto the bottom of the boat,
pinning Carol beneath him. As expected, there were several more shots,
two of which hit the rubber boat. When Jason dared to look out again,
the gap had widened. In the darkness, he could barely see the canoe.

"Stay down," he commanded to Carol, while he checked the extent of the
damage. A section of the right side of the bow was soft, as was a
portion of-the left gunwale. Otherwise the boat was intact. Moving back
to the outboard, Jason cut the throttle, put the motor into "forward,"
then angled the tiller to head downstream, steering out to the center of
the river. The last thing he wanted to do was hit rocks.

"Okay," he called to Carol. "It's safe to sit up."

Carol rose gingerly from the -bottom of the boat and ran her fingers
through her hair. "I really don't believe this," she shouted over the
noise of the outboard. "Just what the hell are we going to do?"

"We'll head down river until we see some lights. There's got to be plenty
of places along here."

As they motored along, Jason wondered if it would be safe to stop at
another dock. After all, their pursuer might get into his car and drive
along the river. Maybe there's a light on the opposite side, he thought.

From the silhouettes of the trees lining the lakelike expanse of the
river, Jason could gauge their speed. It seemed to be about a fast walk.
He also had the feeling the river was again gradually narrowing,
especially when it appeared that their speed was increasing. After a
half hour, there were still no lights. Just a dark forest bordering a
star-strewn, moonless sky.

$1, don't see a thing," yelled Carol.

"It's okay," reassured Jason.

After traveling another quarter hour, the bordering trees closed in
rather suddenly, suggesting the lakelike expanse was coming to an end.
When the trees were closer, Jason realized he had misjudged their speed;
they were moving much faster than he'd thought. Reaching back he cut the
throttle.

The small outboard whined down. As soon as the sound of the outboard
fell, Jason heard another more ominous noise. It was the deep growling
roar of white water.

"Oh, God," he said to himself, remembering the falls upriver from the
Salmon Inn. He pushed the small outboard to the side and turned the boat
around. Then he gave it full throttle. To his surprise and
consternation, it slowed, but did not stop their rush down river. Next he
tried to angle the boat to- ward shore. Slowly, it moved laterally. But
then all hell broke loose. The river narrowed to a rocky gorge, and
Jason and Carol were unwittingly sucked into it.

Around the top edge of the rubber boat was a short rope secured at
intervals by eyelets. Jason grabbed a hold on either side, spanning the
craft with his outstretched arms. He yelled for Carol to do the same.
She couldn't hear over the roar of the water, but when she saw what he
was doing, she attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, she couldn't
quite reach. She held on to one side and hooked a leg under one of the
wooden seats. At that moment, they hit the first real turbulence, and
the boat was tossed into the air like a cork. Water came into the boat
in a blinding, drenching sheet. Jason sputtered. The darkness and water
in his eyes made it all but impossible to see. He felt Carol's body hit
up against his and he tried to anchor her with his leg. Then they
thudded into a rock and the boat spun counterclockwise. Through all this
violent activity, Jason kept seeing the image of the falls, knowing that
at any second they could plummet to their death.

Jason and Carol clutched at the ropes in utter terror. They bounced from
side to side and end to end, in rapid gyrations, completely at the mercy
of the water. At every moment he thought they were going over. Water
filled the cockpit. It was stingingly cold.

After what seemed like an eternity of bell, the water smoothed out. They
were still spinning and careening down river, but without the sudden
violent upheavals. Jason glanced out. He could make out the sheer falls
of rock on either side. He knew it wasn't over.

With a tremendous upward surge, the violent dubbing recommenced. Jason
could feel his fingers begin to pain him; a combination of constant
muscular contraction and the cold was having its effect. He gripped the
rope holds with all his strength, trying to tighten his hold on Carol
with his legs. The pain in his hands was so intense that for an instant
he thought he'd have to let go.

Then, as suddenly as the nightmare began, it was over. Still spinning,
the boat shot out onto relatively placid water. - The thundering noise
of the rapids lessened. The sides of the river fell away, opening up a
clear view to the starry sky. Inside the boat there was a half foot of
icy water, but Jason realized the outboard was chugging as smoothly as
if nothing had happened.

With shaking hands, Jason straightened the boat and stopped its
nauseating rotation. His fingers touched a button just inside the
transom. He took a chance and pressed it; the water in the boat slowly
receded.

Jason kept his eye on the silhouettes of the bordering trees. Ahead, the
river bent sharply to the left, and as they rounded the point, they
finally saw lights. Jason steered to shore.

As they approached, he could see several well-lit buildings, docks, and
a number of rubber boats like their own. He was still afraid the killer
might have driven down to intercept them, but he knew they had to land.
Jason pulled alongside the second dock and cut the engine.

"You. sure know how to entertain a girl," Carol said through chattering
teeth.

"I'm glad you still have your sense of humor," Jason said.

"Don't count on it lasting much longer. I want. to know what in heaven's
name is going on."

Jason stood up stiffly, holding on to the dock. He helped Carol out of
the boat, got out himself, and tied the line to a cleat. The sound of
country music drifted from one of the buildings.

"It must be a bar," said Jason. He took her hand "We have to get warm
before we get pneumonia.' Jason led the way up the gravel path, but
instead of going inside, he walked into the parking lot and began
looking in the parked vehicles.

"Hold on," said Carol with irritation. "What are you doing now?"

"I'm looking for keys," Jason said. "We need a car.

"I don't believe this," said Carol, throwing up her hands, "I thought we
were going to get warm. I don't know about you, but I'm going in that
restaurant." Without waiting for a response, she started for the
entrance.

Jason caught up to her and grabbed her arm. "I'm afraid he'll be
back-the' man who was shooting at us.

"Then we'll call the police," Carol said. She pulled out of Jason's
grasp and entered the restaurant.

The Hispanic was not in the restaurant, so, following Carol's
suggestion, they called the police, who happened to be a local sheriff.
The proprietor of the restaurant refused to believe that Jason and Carol
had navigated Devil's Chute in the dark- "Nobody ain't done that
before," he said. He found chef's smocks and oversized black and white
checkered kitchen pants for them to change into, and a plastic garbage
bag for their wet clothes.

He also insisted they have steaming hot rum toddies, which finally
stopped their shivering.

"Jason, you've got to tell me what's going on," Carol insisted as they
waited for the sheriff. They sat at a table across from a Wurlitzer
jukebox playing fifties music.

"I don't know for sure," Jason said. "But the man shooting at us was
outside the restaurant where Alvin died. My guess is that Alvin was a
victim of his own discovery, but if he hadn't died that night, the same
man would have eventually killed him anyway. So Alvin was telling the
truth when he said someone wanted him dead."

"This doesn't sound real," Carol said, trying to smooth her hair, which
was drying in tangled ringlets.

"I know. Most conspiracies don't."

"What about Hayes's discovery?"

"I don't know for sure, but if my theory is right, it's almost too scary
to contemplate. That's why I want to get back to Boston."

Just then the door opened and the sheriff, Marvin Arnold, walked in. He
was a mountain of a man dressed in a wrinkled brown uniform that sported
more buckles and straps than Jason had ever seen. More important to
Jason was the 357 Magnum strapped to Marvin's oversized left thigh. That
was the kind of cannon Jason wished he'd had back at the Salmon Inn.

Marvin had already heard about the commotion at the Salmon Inn, and had
been there to check things out. What he hadn't heard about was any man
with a gun, and no one had heard any gunshots. When Jason described what
had happened, he could tell that Marvin regarded him with a good deal of
skepticism. Marvin was surprised and impressed, however, when he heard
that Jason and Carol had come down Devil's Chute by themselves in the
dark.

"Ain't a lot of people going to believe that," he said, shaking his
massive head in admiration.

Marvin drove Jason and Carol back to the Salmon Inn, where Jason was
surprised to find out there was a question of charges being filed
against him, holding him responsible for the damages in the dining room.
No one had seen any gun. And even more shocking, no one remembered an
olive-complex ioned man in a dark blue suit. But in the end, the
management decided to drop the issue, saying they'd let their insurance
take care of the damages. With that decided, Marvin tipped his hat,
preparing to leave.

"What about protection?" asked Jason.

"From what?" asked Marvin. "Don't you think it is a little embarrassing
that no one can corroborate your story? Listen, I think you people have
caused enough trouble tonight. I think you should go up to your room and
sleep this whole thing off."

"We need protection," said Jason. He tried to sound authoritative. "What
do we do if the killer returns?"

"Look, friend, I can't sit here all night and hold your hand. I'm the
only one on this shift and I got the whole damned county to keep my eye
on. Lock yourself in your room and get some shut-eye."

With a final nod toward the manager, Marvin lumbered out the front door.

The manager in turn smiled condescendingly at Jason and went into his
office.

"This is unreal," Jason said with a mixture of fear and irritation. "I
can't believe nobody noticed the Hispanic guy." He went to the public
phone booth and looked up private detective agencies. He found several
in Seattle, but when he dialed he just got their answering machines. He
left his name and the hotel number, but he didn't have much hope of
reaching someone that night.

Emerging from the phone booth, he told Carol that they were leaving
immediately. She followed him up the stairs.

"It's nine-thirty at night," she protested, entering the room behind
him.

"I don't care. We're leaving as fast as we can. Get your things
together."

"Don't I have any say in the matter?"

"Nope. It was your decision to stay tonight and your decision to call
the helpful local police. Now it's my turn. We're leaving." I For a
minute, Carol stood in the center of the room watching Jason pack, then
she decided he probably had a point. Ten minutes later, changed into
their own clothes, they carried their luggage downstairs and checked,
out.

"I have to charge you for tonight," the man at the desk informed them.

Jason didn't bother to argue. Instead, he asked the man if he'd bring
their car around to the front entrance. He tipped him five dollars and
the clerk was happy to oblige.

Once in the car, Jason had hoped he'd feel less anxious and -less
vulnerable. Neither was the case. As he pulled out of the hotel parking
lot and started down the dark mountain road, he quickly recognized how
isolated they were. Fifteen minutes later, in the rearview mirror, he
saw headlights appear. At first Jason tried to ignore them, but then it
became apparent that they were relentlessly gaining on them despite
Jason's gradual acceleration. The terror Jason had felt earlier crept
back. His palms began to perspire.

"There's someone behind us," Jason said.

Carol twisted in the front seat and looked out the back. They rounded a
curve and the headlights disappeared. But on the next straightaway they
reappeared. They were closer. Carol faced forward. "I told you we should
have stayed."

"That's helpful!" said Jason sarcastically.

He inched the accelerator closer to the floor. They were already going
well over sixty on the curvy road. He tightened his grip on the steering
wheel, then looked up at the rearview mirror. The car was close, its
lights like eyes of a monster. He tried to think of what he could do,
but he could think of nothing other than trying to outrun the car behind
them. They came to another curve. Jason turned the wheel. He saw Carol's
mouth open in a silent scream. He could feel the car start to jackknife.
He braked, and they skidded first to one side and then to the other.
Carol grabbed the dash to steady herself. Jason felt his seat belt
tighten.

Fighting the car, Jason managed to keep it on'the road. Behind him the
pursuing car gained considerably. Now it was directly behind, its
headlights filling Jason's car with unearthly light. In a panic, Jason
floored the accelerator, pulling his car out of its careening course.
They shot forward down a small hill. But the car behind stayed right
with them, hounding them like a hunting dog at the heels of a deer.

Then to both Jason and Carol's bewilderment, their car filled with
flashing red light. It took them a moment to realize that the light was
coming from the top of the car behind them. When Jason recognized what
it was, he slowed, watching in the rearview mirror. The car behind
slowed proportion lately. Ahead, at a turnout, Jason pulled off the road
and stopped. Sweat stood out in little droplets along his hairline. His
arms were trembling from his death grip on the steering wheel. Behind
them, the other car stopped as well, its flashing light illuminating the
surtounding trees. In the rearview mirror, Jason saw the door open, and
Marvin Arnold stepped out. He had the safety strap off his 357 Magnum.

"Well, I'll be a pig's ass," he said, shining his flashlight into
Jason's embartassed face. "It's lover boy."

Furious, Jason shouted, "Why the hell didn't you turn on your blinker at
the start?"

"Wanted to catch me a speeder." Marvin chuckled. "Didn't know I was
chasing my favorite lunatic."

After an unsolicited lecture and a ticket for reckless driving, he let
Jason and Carol continue. Jason was too angry to talk, and they drove in
silence to the freeway, where Jason announced, "I think we should drive
to Portland. God knows who may be waiting for us at the Seattle
airport."

"Fine by me," Carol said, much too tired to argue.

They stopped for a couple hours' sleep at a motel near Portland, and at
the first I ' ight of dawn, went on to the airport, where they boarded a
flight to Chicago. From Chicago, they flew to Boston, touching down a little after
five-thirty Saturday evening.

In the cab in front of Carol's apartment, Jason suddenly laughed. "I
wouldn't even know how to apologize for what I've put you through."

Carol picked up her shoulder bag. "Well, at least it wasn't boring.
Look, Jason, I don't mean to be sarcastic, or a nag, but please tell me
what's going on."

"As soon as I'm sure," Jason 'said. "I promise. Really. Just do me one
favor. Stay put tonight. Hopefully, no one knows we're back, but all
hell might break loose if and when they find out."

"I don't plan on going anywhere, doctor." Carol sighed. "I've had it."

Jason never even stopped at his apartment. As soon as Carol disappeared
into her building, he told the cabdriver to drop him at his car and
drove directly to GHP. He crossed immediately into the outpatient
building. It was seven P. m. and the large waiting room was deserted.
Jason went directly to his office, pulled off his jacket, and sat down
at his computer terminal.

-GHP had spent a fortune on their computer system and was proud of it.
Each station accessed the large mainframe where all patient data was
entered.

Although the individual charts were still the best source of patient
information, most of the material could be obtained from the computer.
Best of all, the sophisticated machinery could scan the entire patient
base of GHP and graphically display the data on the screen, analyzed in
almost any way one could wish.

Jason first called up the current survival curves. The graph that the
computer drew was shaped like the steep slope of a mountain, starting
high, then rounding and -falling off. The graph compared the survival
rate of GHP users by age. As one might ex~ect, subscribers at the oldest
end of the graph had the lowest survival rate. Over the past five years,
although the median age of the GHP population had gradually increased,
the survival curves stayed about the same.

Next, Jason asked the computer to print monthby-month graphs for the
last'half year. As he had feared, he saw the death rate rise for
patients in their late fifties and early sixties, particularly during
the last three months.

A sudden crash made him jump from his seat, but when he looked out in
the hall he saw it was just the cleaning service.

Relieved, Jason returned to the computer. He wished he could separate
the data on patients who had been given executive. physicals, but he
couldn't figure out how to do it. Instead, he had to be content with
crude death rates. These graphs compared the percentages of deaths
associated with age.

This time the curve went the other way. It started low, then as the age
increased the percentage of deaths went up. But then Jason asked the
computer to print out a series of such graphs over the previous several
months, month by month. The results were striking, particularly over the
last two months. The death curves rose sharply starting at age fifty.

Jason sat at the computer terminal for another half hour, trying to coax
the machine into separating out the executive physicals. What he
expected he would see if he'd been able, was a rapid increase in death
rates for people fifty an dover who had highrisk factors such as
smoking, alcohol abuse, poor diets, and lack of exercise. But the data
was not available. It had not been programmed to be extracted en masse.
Jason would have to take each individual name and laboriously obtain the
data himself, but he didn't have time to do that. Besides, the crude
death-rate curves were enough to corroborate his suspicions. He now knew
he was right. But there was one more way to prove it. With enormous
unease, he left his office and returned to his car.

Driving out the Riverway, Jason headed for Roslindale. The closer he
got, the more nervous he became. He had no idea what he was about to
confront, b ut he suspected it was not going to be pleasant. His
destination was the Hartford School, the institution run by GHP for
retarded children. If Alvin Hayes had been right about his own
condition, he must have been right about his retarded son's.

The Hartford School backed onto the Arnold Arboretum, an idyllic setting
of graceful wooded hills, fields, and ponds. Jason turned into the
parking lot, which was all but deserted, and stopped within fifty feet
of the front entrance. The handsome, Colonialstyle building had a
deceptively serene look that belied the personal family tragedies it
housed. Severe retardation was a hard subject even for professionals to
deal with. Jason vividly remembered examining some of the children on
previous visits to the school. Physically many were perfectly formed,
which only made their low IQs that much more disturbing.

The front door was closed and locked, so Jason rang the buzzer and
waited.

The door was opened by an overweight security guard in a. soiled blue
uniform.

"Can I help you?" he said, making it clear he had no wish to.

"I'm a doctor," Jason said. He tried to push by the security man, who
stepped back to bar his way.

"Sorry-no visitors after six, doctor."

"I'm hardly a visitor," Jason said. He pulled out his wallet and
produced his GHP identity card.

The guard didn't even look at the ID. "No visitors after six," he
repeated, adding, "and no exceptions."

"But I ..." Jason began. He stopped in midsentence. From the man's
expression, he knew discussion was futile.

"Call in the morning, sir," the guard said, slamming the door.

Jason walked back down the front steps and gazed up at the five-story
building. It was brick, with granite window casings. He wasn't about to
give up. Assuming the guard was watching, Jason went back to his car and
drove out the driveway. About a hundred yards down the road, he pulled
over to the side. He got out, and with some difficulty made -his way
through the Arboretum back to the school.

He circled the building, staying in the shadows.

There were fire escapes on all sides but the front. They went right up
to the roof. Unfortunately, as at Carol's building, none was at ground
level, and Jason couldn't find anything to stand on to reach the first
rung.

On the right side of the building, he spotted a flight of stairs that
went down to a locked door. Feeling with his hands in the dark, he
discovered the door had a central glass pane. He went back up the stairs
and felt around the ground until he found a vock the size of a
softball.

Holding his breath, Jason went back to the door and smashed the glass.
In the quiet evening, the clatter seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
Jason fled to the nearby trees and hid, watching the building. When no
one appeared after fifteen minutes, he ventured out and returned to the
door.

Gingerly, he reached in and undid the latch. No alarm sounded.

For the next half hour Jason stumbled around a large basement he guessed
was a storage~area. He found a stepladder and debated taking it outside
to use to reach a fire escape, but gave up that idea and continued
feeling about blindly for a light. His hands finally touched a switch
and he flicked it on.

He was in a maintenance room filled with lawnmowers, shovels, and other
equipment. Next to the light switch was a door. Slowly, Jason eased it
open. Beyond was a much larger furnace room that was dimly illuminated.

Moving quickly, Jason crossed the second room and mounted a steep steel
stairway. He opened the door at the top and immediately realized he had
reached the front hall. From his previous visits he knew the stairs to
the wards were to his right. On his left was an office where a
middle-aged woman in a bulging white uniform was reading at a desk.

Looking down toward the front entrance, Jason could see the guard's feet
perched on a chair. The man's face was out of sight.

As quietly as possible, Jason slipped through the basement door and let
it ease back into place. For a moment he was in full view of the woman
in the office, but she didn't look up from her book. Forcing himself to
move slowly, he silently crossed the hall and entered the stairwell. He
breathed a sigh of relief when he was completely out of sight of both
the woman and the guard. Taking the stairs on tiptoe two at a time, he
headed for the third floor, where the ward for boys aged four to twelve
was located.

The stairs were marble, and even though he tried to be quiet, his
footsteps echoed in the otherwise silent, cavernous space. Above him was
a skylight, which at that time looked like a black onyx set into the
ceiling.

On the third floor, Jason carefully opened the stairwell door. He
remembered there was a glassedin nurses' office to the right at the end
of a long hallway and noticed that although the corridor was dark, the
office still blazed with light. A male attendant was, like the woman
downstairs, busy reading.

Looking diagonally across the hall, Jason eyed the door to the ward. He
noted it had a large central window with embedded wire. After one last
check on the attendant, Jason tiptoed across the hall and let himself
into the darkened room. Immediately, he was confronted by a musty smell.
After waiting a moment to be sure the attendant hadn't been disturbed,
he began searching for the light. To confirm his suspicions, he would
have to turn it on even if it meant being caught.

The drab room was suddenly flooded with raw, white fluorescent light.
The ward was some fifty feet long, with low iron beds lined up on either
side, leaving a narrow aisle. There were windows, but they were high,
near the ceiling. At the end of the room were tiled toilet facilities
with a coiled hose for cleaning and a bolted door to the fire escape.
Jason walked down the aisle looking at the nameplates attached to the
ends of beds: Harrison, Lyons, Gessner ... The children, disturbed by
the light, began to sit up, staring with wide, vacant, and unknowing
eyes at the intruder.

Jason stopped, and a terrible sense of revulsion that expanded to terror
gripped him. It was worse than he'd imagined. Slowly, his eyes went from
one pitiful face to another of the unwanted creatures. Instead of
looking like the children they were, they all looked like miniature
senile centenarians with beady eyes, wrinkled dry skin, and thinned
white hair, showing scaly patches of scalp. Jason spotted the name
Hayes. Like the others, the child appeared prematurely aged. He'd lost
most of his eyelashes and his lower lids hung down. In place of his
pupils were the glass-white reflection of dense cataracts. Except for
light perception, the child was blind.

Some of the children began getting out of their beds, balancing
precariously on wasted lim6s. Then, to Jason's horror they began to move
toward him. One of them began to say feebly the word "please" over and
over in a high-pitched, grating voice. Soon the others joined in a
terrifying, unearthly chorus.

Jason backed up, afraid to be touched. Hayes's son got out of his bed
and began to feel his way forward, his bony, uncoordinated little arms
making helpless swirling motions in the air.

The mob of children backed Jason up against the ward door and began to
tug at his clothes. Frightened and nauseated, Jason pushed open the ward
door and retreated into the hall. After he closed the door, the children
pressed their mummylike faces against the glass, still silently voicing
the word "please."

"Hey, you!" Jason heard a rasping voice behind him.

Turning his head, he saw the attendant standing outside his office,
waving his open book in astonishment. "What's going'on?" the man yelled.

Jason ran across the hall to the stairwell, but he'd descended only a
few steps before a second voice echoed Up from below. "Kevin? What
gives?"

Looking over the railing, Jason saw the. guard down on the first-floor
landing.

"Well, I'll be damned," the guard said, and charged up the stairs, club
in hand.

Reversing direction, Jason returned to the third floor. The attendant
was still standing in the doorway of his office, apparently too
dumbfounded to move as Jason sprinted across the hall and back into the
ward. Some of the children were wandering aimlessly about the room;
others had collapsed back on their beds. Jason frantically beckoned them
over, opened the door, and as the attendant and guard appeared, they
were immediately surrounded by a swarm of boys.

They tried to shove their way through the crowd, but the children clung
to them, shouting their eerie, monotonous chorus of please.

Reaching the emergency door at the opposite end of the room, Jason
depressed its lever which, for safety's sake, was positioned six feet
off the floor. At first the door wouldn't open. Obviously, it had not
been used for years. Jason could see that paint had sealed it shut.
Putting his shoulder against it, Jason finally got it to swing fr~e.
Stepping out into the dark night, he pushed several of the boys back
into the ward before closing the heavy door.

Wasting no time, he clambered down the fire escape. There was no need to
be quiet now. He was at the second level when the door above him opened.
Once again he heard the shrieking of the children.

Then he felt the vibration of heavy boots on the fire escape.

Pulling out a pin caused the final ladder to descend with a deep thud,
as it hit the asphalt of the parking lot below. Even before it had
touched down, Jason was on it. The slight delay enabled the guard behind
Jason to close the distance between them.

Once on the lawn, though, Jason's running ability soon left the beefy
guard far behind, and by the time Jason reached his car, he had plenty
of time to start the engine, put it in gear, and pull away. In his
rearview mirror he could barely see the man just reaching the edge of
the road, shaking his fist in the light of a street lamp.

Jason could barely control his disgust and fury at what he'd seen. He
drove directly to Boston police headquarters and brazenly left his car
in a no-parking zone in front of the building.

"I want to see Detective Curran," Jason told the officer at the desk,
then identified himself.

The policeman calmly checked his watch, then called up to Homicide. He
spoke for a minute, then covered the receiver with his hand. "Would
anyone else do?"

"No. I want Curran. And now, please."

The policeman spoke into the phone a few minutes more, then hung up.

"Detective Curran isn't available, sir."

"I think he'll talk with me. Even if he's off duty."

"That's not the problem," the policeman said. "Detective Curtan is on a
double homicide in Revere. He should be calling in within an hour or so.
If you want, you can wait or leave your number. It's up to you, sir."

Jason thought for a moment. He'd been up most of the night, his nerves
were shot, and the idea of a shower, a change of clothes, and food had a
lot of appeal. Besides, once he got together with Curtan, he would be
busy for some time. He left his home number, asking that Curran call as
soon as possible.

The United flight from Seattle had been dela yed considerably, and by
the time*it landed At Logan, Juan Diaz was in a sour mood. He'd not
screwed up an assignment so badly since he hit the wrong man in New
York. That fiasco was excusable, but his current one was not. He'd been
within a few seconds of popping both the doctor and the nightclub puta
when Jason, an amateur, had outsmarted him. Juan had no excuse and had
told the contact as much. He knew he had to redeem himself or else, and
he looked forward to it eagerly.

As soon as he got off the plane, he went to the phone. It was answered
on the second ring.

Jason drove the short distance from the police station to Louisburg
Square, trying to erase the horrible image of the prematurely aged
children at the school. He didn't even want to think about Hayes and his
discovery until he was safely in Curran's presence.

When he got to his building, he drove around the block a couple of times
to make sure no one was watching it. Finally, convincing himself that
the guard at the school had not looked at his ID, and hence had no idea
who he was, Jason parked his car, carried his luggage up to his
apartment, and turned on the lights. To his relief, the place was
exactly as he'd left it.

When he glanced out at the square, it seemed as peaceful as ever.

Jason was about to get into the shower when he remembered the one other
person he should speak to besides the detective. He dialed Shirley. She
finally answered on the eighth ring. Jason could hear animated voices in
the background.

"Jason!" she exclaimed. "When did you get back from vacation?"

"I got in tonight."

"What's the matter?" she asked, picking up on the exhaustion and worry
in his voice.

"Big trouble. I think I've figured out not only Hayes's discovery, but
how it was being misused. It involves the GHP in a far worse way than
you could ever imagine."

"Tell me."

"Not over the phone."

"Then come right over. I have guests here, but I'll get rid of them."

"I'm waiting to speak to Curran in Homicide."

"I see you've already contacted him?"

"He's out on a case, but he should be calling shortly."

"Then why don't I come to your apartment? You've got me really terrified
now."

"Welcome to the club," Jason said with a short, bitter laugh. "You might
as well come over. You probably should be present when I talk to
Curran."

"I'm on my way."

"Oh, one other thing. Do you remember who's currently medical director
at the Hartford School?"

"Dr. Peter-son, I believe," Shirley said. "I can find out for certain
tomorrow."

"Wasn't Peterson closely involved in Hayes's clinical studies?" Jason
asked, suddenly remembering that Peterson was the. doctor who had done
the physical on Hayes.

"I think so. Is it important?"

"I'm not sure," Jason said. "But if you're coming, hurry. Curran should
be calling any minute."

Jason hung up and was again about to take*his shower when he realized
Carol too might be in danger. Picking up the phone again, he dialed her
number.

"I want you to be sure to stay at home," he said the moment she
answered.

"I'm not fooling. Don't answer -your door-don't go out."

"Now what is it?"

"The Hayes conspiracy is worse than anything I could imagine."

"You sound anxious, Jason."

In spite of himself, Jason smiled. Sometimes Carol could sound like a
psychiatrist.

"I'm not anxious, I'm scared to death. But I'll be talking with the
police shortly."

"Will you let me know what's going on?" Carol demanded.

"I promise." Jason hung up and finally went into the bathroom and turned
on the shower.

The buzzer sounded and Jason ran downstairs to see Shirley smiling at
him through the glass side panel of his front door. He stepped back to
let her in, admiring her usual impeccable dress. Tonight she was wearing
a black leather miniskirt and a long, red suede jacket.

"Has Curran called?" she asked as they walked upstairs-.

"Not yet," Jason said, carefully double-locking his apartment door.

"Now fill me in," Shirley said, slipping out of her jacket. Underneath
she was wearing a soft cashmere sweater. She sat on the edge of Jason's
sofa, her hands clasped in her lap, and waited.

"You're not going to like this," Jason said, sitting next to her.

"I've tried to prepare myself. Shoot."

"First let me give you a little background. If you don't understand the
current research on aging, what I'm about to say may not make Much
sense.

"In the last few years, scientists like Hayes have spent a lot of time
trying to slow the aging process. Most of their work has focused on
cells in cell cultures, although some work has been done with rats and
mice. Most of the researchers have concluded that aging is a natural
process with a genetic basis regulated by neuroendocrine, immune, and
humoral factors."

"You've lost me already," Shirley admitted, lifting her hands in mock
surrender.

"How about a drink, then?" Jason suggested, getting to his feet.

"What are you having?"

"A beer. But I have wine, hard stuff, you name it."

"A beer might be nice."

Jason went to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and took out two
cold Coors.

"You doctors are all the same," Shirley complained, taking a sip. "You
make everything sound complicated."

"It is complicated," Jason said, sitting back down. "Molecular genetics
concerns the fundamental basis of life. Research in this area is scary,
not just because scientists might accidentally create a new and deadly
bacterium or virus. It is just as scary if it goes right, because we are
playing with life itself. Hayes's tragedy was not that he failed; the
problem was that he succeeded."

"What did he discover?"

"In a moment," Jason said, taking a long drink of beer and wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand. "Let me put the story another way. We
all reach puberty at about the same time, and if disease or accident
doesn't intervene, we all age and die in about the same life-span."

Shirley nodded.

"Okay," Jason said, leaning toward her. "This happens because our bodies
are genetically programmed to follow an internal timetable. As we
develop, different genes are turned on while others are turned off. This
is what fascinated Hayes. He had been studying the ways. humoral signals
from the brain control growth and sexual maturation. By isolating one
after another of these humoral proteins, he discovered what they did to
peripheral tissues. He was hoping to find out what caused cells to
either start dividing or stop dividing."

"That much I do understand," Shirley said. "It's one of the reasons we
hired him. We hoped he'd make a breakthrough in cancer treatment."

"Now let me digress a moment," Jason said. "There was another researcher
by the name of Denckla, who was experimenting on ways to retard the
aging process. He took out the pituitary glands of rats, and after
replacing the necessary hormones, found that the rats had an increased
life-span."

Jason stopped and looked expectantly at Shirley.

"Am I supposed to say something?" she asked.

"Doesn't Denckla's experiment suggest something to you? "

"Why don't you just tell me."

"Denckla deduced that not only does the pituitary secrete the hormones
for growth and puberty, but it also secretes the hormone for aging.
Denckla called it the death hormone."

Shirley laughed nervously. "That sounds cheerf "Well, I believe that
while Hayes was researching growth factors, he stumbled onto Denckla's
postulated death hormone," Jason said. "That was what he meant by an
"nic discovery. While looking for growth stimulators, he finds a hormone
that causes rapid aging and death."

"What would happen if this hormone were given to someone?" Shirley
asked.

"If it were given in isolation, probably not much. The subject might
experience some symptoms of aging, but the hormone would probably be
metabolized and its effect limited. But Hayes wasn't studying the
hormone in isolation. He realized that in the same way the secretion of
the sex and Frowth hormone is triggered, there had to be a releasing
factor for the death hormone. He was immediately drawn to the life cycle
of salmon, which die within hours of spawning. I believe he collected
salmon heads and isolated the death hormone's releasing factor from the
brains. This was the free-lance work I think he did at Gene, Inc. Once
he had isolated the releasing factor, he had Helene reproduce it in
quantity by recombinant DNA techniques at his GHP lab."

"Why would Hayes want to produce it?"

"I believe he hoped to develop a monoclonal antibody that would prevent
the secretion of the death hormone and halt the aging process." All at
once Jason realized what Hayes meant about his discovery becoming a
beauty aid.

It would preserve youthful good looks, like Carol's.

"What would happen if the releasing factor were given to someone?"

"It would turn on the death gene, releasing the aging hormone just the
way it is in salmon-with pretty much the same results. The subject would
age and die in three or four weeks. And nobody would know why. And this
brings me to the worst thing of all. I believe someone obtained the
artificially created hormone Helene was producing at our lab and started
giving it to our patients. Whoever it is must be insane-but that's what
I think has been happening. Hayes caught on-probably when he visited his
son-and was given the aging factor himself. if he hadn't died that
night, I think he'd have been killed some other way." Jason shuddered.

"How did you find out?" Shirley whispered.

"I followed Hayes's experimental trail. When Helene was murdered I
guessed that Hayes had been telling the truth both about his discovery
and the fact that someone wanted him dead."

"But Helene was raped by an unknown intruder."

"Sure. But only to mislead the police as to the motive for her murder. I
always felt she knew more than she was telling about Hayes's work. When
I

learned that she'd been having an affair with him, I was sure.

"But who would want to kill our patients?" Shirley asked desperately.

"A sociopath. The same kind of nut who puts cyanide in Tylenol. Tonight
at the clinic I had the computer print out survival curves and death
curves.

The results were incredible. There's been a significant increase in the
death rate at GHP for patients over fifty who are chronically ill or who
have high-risk lifestyles." Suddenly Jason stopped. "Damn!"

"What's the matter?" Shirley asked, looking about nervously, as if the
danger were just around the comer.

"I forgot something. I printed the curves month by month-I didn't look
at them doctor by doctor."

"You think a physician's behind this?" Shirley asked incredulously.

"Must be. A doctor-or maybe a nurse. The releasing factor would be a
polypeptide protein. It would have to be injected. If it was
administered orally, the gastric juices would degrade it."

"Oh, my God." Shirley dropped her head into her hands. "And I thought we
had troubles before." She took a breath and looked up. "Isn't there a
chance you could be wrong, Jason? Maybe the computer made a mistake. God
knows, data processing breaks down often enough ..."

Jason put his hand on her shoulder. He knew that her hard-won empire was
about to come crashing down. "I'm not wrong," he said -gently. "I also
did something else tonight. I saw Hayes's son at Hart ford."

"And ... 11 "It's a horror. All the kids on his ward must have been
given the releasing factor. Apparently it acts more slowly on
prepubescent subjects, so the boys are still alive. There must be some
kind of hormonal competition with growth hormone. But they all look one
hundred years old."

Shirley shuddered.

"That's why I wanted to know the name of the current medical director."

"You think Peterson's responsible?"

"He'd have to be a prime suspect."

"Maybe we should go to the clinic and doublecheck the computer. We could
even rerun your survival curves by doctor."

Before Jason could answer, the door buzzer shattered the silence and
made them both jump. Jason got to his feet, his heart pounding.

Shirley dropped her drink on the table. "Who could that be?"

"I don't know." Jason had told Carol not to leave her apartment, and
Curran would have called before coming over.

-"What should we do?" Shirley asked urgently.

"I'm going downstairs and have a look."

"Is that such a good idea?"

"Got a better one?"

Shirley shook her head. "Just don't open the door."

"What do you think I am-crazy? Oh-and one thing I didn't tell you.
Someone tried to kill me."

"No! Where?"

"In a remote country inn east of Seattle."

He unlocked his apartment door.

"Maybe you'd better not go down," Shirley said hurriedly.

"I've got to find out who it is." Jason went out to the railed landing
and looked down at the front door. He could see a figure through one of
the glass panels.

"Be careful," Shirley said.

Jason silently started down the stairs. The closer he got, the bigger
the shadow of the individual in the foyer became. He was facing the
nameplates and angrily hitting the buzzer. Suddenly he whirled around
and pressed his face to the glass. For a moment, Jason's and the
stranger's faces were only inches apart. There was no mistaking the
massive face and tiny, closely set eyes. Their visitor was Bruno, the
body-builder. Jason turned and fled back upstairs as the door rattled
furiously behind him.

"Who is it?"

"A muscle-bound thug I know," Jason told her, double-locking his door,
"and the only person who knew I went to Seattle." That point had just
occurred to him with tertifying force. He ran into the den and snatched
up the phone. "Damn!" he said after a minute. He dropped the receiver
and tried the one in the bedroom. Again, there was no dial tone. "The
phones are dead," he said with disbelief to Shirley, who had followed
him, sensing his panic.

"What are we going to do?"

"We're leaving. I'm not getting trapped here." Rummaging in the hall
closet, he found the key to the gate separating his building from the
narrow alley that ran out to West Cedar Street. He opened the bedroom
window, climbed onto the fire escape, and helped Shirley out after him.

Single file, they descended to the small garden where the leafless white
birches stood out like ghosts in the dark. Once in the alley, they ran
to the gate, where Jason fi-antically fumbled to insert the key. When
they emerged onto the narrow street, it was quiet and empty, the gloom
pierced at intervals by the soft Beacon Hill gas lamps. Not a soul was
stirring.

"Let's-go!" Jason said, and started down West Cedar to Charles.

"My car is back on Louisburg Square," Shirley panted, struggling to
match Jason's pace.

"So is mine. But obviously we can't go back. I have a friend whose car I
can take."

On Charles Street there were a few pedestrians outside the 7-Eleven.
Jason thought about calling the police from the store, but now that he
was out of his apartment he felt less trapped. Besides, he wanted to
check the GHP computer again before he spoke with Curran.

They walked down Chestnut Street, lined with its old Federal buildings.

There were several people walking dogs, which made Jason feel safer.
Just before Brimmer Street, Jason turned into a parking garage where he
gave the attendant ten dollars and asked for the car that belonged to a
friend.

Luckily, the man recognized Jason and brought out a blue BMW.

"I think it would be a good idea to go to my place," Shirley said,
sliding into the front seat. "We can call Curran from there and let him
know where you are.

"First I want to go back to the clinic."

With almost no traffic, they reached the hospital in less than ten
minutes.

"I'll only be a minute," Jason said, pulling up to the entrance. "Do you
want to come in or wait here?"

"Don't be silly," Shirley said, opening her side of the car. "I want to
see these graphs myself."

They waved ID cards at the security guard and took the elevator, even
though they were going up only one floor.

The cleaning service had left the clinic in pristine condition-magazines
in racks, wastepaper baskets empty, and the floor glistening with fresh
wax.

Jason went directly into his office, sat down at his desk, and booted up
his computer terminal.

"I'll call Curran," Shirley said, going out to the secretaries' station.

Jason gave a wave to indicate he'd heard her. He was already engrossed
in data on the computer. First he called up the various clinic
physicians' identification numbers. He was particularly interested in
Peterson's. When he had all the numbers, he instructed the computer to
separate the GHP patient population by doctor and then start drawing
death curves on each group for the past two months, months that had
shown the greatest changes when all the patients had been listed. He
expected Peterson's patients to show either a higher or lower death
rate, believing that a psychopath would experiment either significantly
more or less with his own patients.

Shirley came back into the office and stood watching him enter the data.

"Your friend Curran's not back yet," she said. "He called in to the
station and said he might be tied up a couple more hours."

Jason nodded. He was more interested in the emerging curves. It took
about fifteen minutes to produce all the graphs. Jason separated the
continuous sheets and lined them up.

"They all look the same," Shirley said, leaning on his shoulder.

"just about," Jason admitted. "Even Peterson's. It doesn't rule out his
involvement, but it doesn't help us either." Jason eyed the computer,
trying to think of any other data that might be useful. He drew a blank.

"Well, that's all the bright ideas for the moment.

The police will have to take over from here."

"Let's go, then," Shirley said. "You look exhausted."

"I am," Jason admitted. Pushing himself out of the chair was an effort.

"Are these the graphs you produced earlier?" Shirley asked, pointing to
the stack of printouts by the terminal.

Jason nodded.

"How about bringing them along? I'd like you to explain them to me."

Jason stuffed the papers into a large manila envelope.

"I gave Curran's office my phone number," Shirley said. "I think that's
the best place to wait. Have you had a chance to eat anything?"

"Some dreadful airplane food, but that seems like days ago."

"I have a little leftover cold chicken."

"Sounds great."

When they got to the car, Jason asked Shirley if she'd mind driving so
he could relax and think a little.

"Not at all," she said, taking his keys.

Jason climbed into the passenger side, tossing the envelope into the
back seat. He fastened his seat belt, leaned back, and closed his eyes.
He let his mind play over the various ways the clinic patients might
have been given the releasing factor. Since it couldn't be administered
orally, he wondered how the criminal could have injected the patients
undergoing executive physicals. Blood was drawn for lab workups, but
vacuum tubes provided no way to inject a substance. For inpatients it
was a different story-they were always getting injections and
intravenous fluids.

He had reached no plausible conclusion when Shirley drew up before her
house. Jason staggered and almost fell as he got out of the car. The
short rest had exaggerated his fatigue. He reached into the back seat
for the envelope.

"Make yourself at home," Shirley said, leading him into the living room.

"First let's make sure Curran hasn't called."

"I'll check my service in a moment. Why don't you make yourself a drink
while I rustle up that chicken."

Too tired to argue, Jason went over to the bar and poured some Dewar's
over ice, then retreated to the couch. While he waited for Shirley, he
again pondered the ways the releasing factor might have been
administered. There weren't many possibilities. If it wasn't injected,
it had to be through rectal suppositories; or some other direct contact
with a mucous membrane.

Most of the patients having a complete executive physical got a barium
enema, and Jason wondered if that was the answer.

He began sipping his Scotch as Shirley came in with a cold chicken and
salad.

"Can I make you a drink?" Jason asked. Shirley put the tray down on the
coffee table. "Why not?" Then she added, "Don't move. I'll get it."

Jason watched her add a drop of vermouth to her vodka, and that was when
he thought of eyedrops. All patients having executive physicals had
complete eye exams, including eyedrops to dilate their pupils. If
someone wished to introduce the death gene's releasing factor, the
mucous membrane in the eye would absorb it perfectly. Even better, since
the releasing factor could be secretly introduced to the regular eye
medication, the fatal drops could be administered unwittingly by any
innocent doctor or technician.

Jason felt his head begin to pound. Finding a plausible explanation of
what might what have been the key to it all made the possibility of a
psychopathic mass murderer suddenly real. Shirley returned from the bar,
swirling her drink. For the moment, Jason decided to spare her this
newest revelation.

"Any message from Curran?" he asked instead.

"Not yet," Shirley said, looking at him oddly. For a moment he wondered
if she could read his mind.

"I have a question," she said hesitantly. "Isn't this supposed releasing
factor for the death hormone part of a natural process?"

"Yes," Jason said. "That's why pathology hasn't been much help. All the
victims, including Hayes, died of what are called natural causes. The
releasing factor merely takes the gene activated at puberty and turns it
on full force."

"You mean we start aging at puberty?" Shirley asked with dismay.

"That's the current theory," said Jason. "But obviously it is gradual,
picking up speed only in later life, as the levels of growth hormone and
sex hormones fall. The releasing factor apparently switches on the death
hormone gene all at once, and in an adult without high titers of growth
hormone to counter itj it causes rapid aging just like the salmon. My
guess is about three weeks. The limiting factor seems to be the
cardiovascular system. That's what apparently gives out first and causes
death. But it could be other organ systems, as well."

"But aging is a natural process," she repeated.

"Aging is a part of life," agreed Jason. "Evolutionarily it is as
important as growth. Yes, it is a natural process." Jason laughed
hollowly. "Hayes certainly was right when he described his discovery as
ironic. With all the work being done to slow aging down, his work on
growth resulted in a way to speed it UP."

"If aging and death have an evolutionary value," Shirley persisted,
"perhaps they have a social one as well."

Jason looked at her with a growing sense of alarm. He wished he weren't
so tired. His brain was sending danger signals he felt too exhausted to
decode. Taking his silence as assent, Shirley continued. "Let me put it
another way. Medicine in general is faced with the challenge of
providing quality care at low cost. But because of increasing
life-spans, hospitals are swamped with an elderly population that they
keep alive at an enormous price, draining not just their economic
resources, but the energy of the medical personnel as well. GHP, for
example, did very well when it first started, because the bulk of the
subscribers were young and healthy. Now, twenty years later, they are
all older and require a great deal more health care. If aging were
speeded up in certain circumstances, it might be best for both the
patients and the hospitals.

"The important point," emphasized Shirley, "is that the old and infirm
should age and die rapidly to avoid suffering as well as to avoid the
over utilization of expensive medical care."

As Jason's numb brain began to understand Shirley's reasoning, he felt
himself becoming paralyzed with horror, Although he wanted to shout that
what she was implying was legalized murder, he found himself sitting
dumbly on the edge of the couch like a bird confronted by a poisonous
snake and frozen with fear.

"Jason, do you have any idea how much it costs to keep people alive
during their last months of life in a hospital?" Shirley said, again
mistaking his silence for acquiescence. "Do you? If medicine didn't
spend so much on the dying, it could do so much more to help the living.
If GHP wasn't swamped with middle-aged patients destined to be ill
because of their unhealthy lifestyles, think what we could do for the
young. And aren't patients who fail to take care of themselves, like
heavy smokers and drinkers, or people who use drugs, voluntarily
speeding up their own demise? Is it so wrong to hasten their deaths so
they don't burden the rest of society?"

Jason's mouth finally opened in protest, but he couldn't find the words
to refute her. All he could do was shake his head in disbelief.

"I can't believe you won't accept the fact that medicine can no longer
survive under the crushing burden of the chronic health problems
presented by physically unfit people-those very patients who have spent
thirty or forty years abusing the bodies God gave them."

"That's not for me or you to decide," Jason shouted at last.

it Even if the aging process is simply speeded up by a natural
substance?"

"That's murder!" Jason stumbled to his feet. Shirley rose too, moving
swiftly to the double doors leading to the dining room. "Come in, Mr.
Diaz," she said, flinging them open. "I've done what I could."

Jason's mouth went dry as he turned to face the man he'd last seen at
the Salmon Inn. Juan's darkly handsome face was alive with anticipation.
He was carrying a small, German-made automatic muzzled with a
cigar-sized silencer.

Jason backed up clumsily until his back struck the far wall. His eyes
went from the gun to the killer's strikingly handsome face, to Shirley,
who eyed him as calmly as if she were in a board meeting.

"No tablecloth this time," Diaz said, grinning to show
movie-star-petfect white teeth. He advanced on Jason, putting the muzzle
of the gun six inches from Jason's head. "Good-bye," he said with a
firiendly flick of his head.

"Mr. Diaz," Shirley said.

"Yes," Juan answerrd without taking his eyes off Jason.

"Don't shoot him unless he forces you to. It, will be better to deal
with him the way we did with Mr. Hayes. I'll bring you the material from
the clinic tomorrow.

Jason breathed out. He hadn't realized he was holding his breath.

The smile vanished from Juan's face. His nostrils' flared; he was
disappointed and angry. "I think it would be much safer if I killed him
right now, Miss. Montgomery."

"I don't care what you think-and I'm paying you. Now let's get him into
the cellar. And no rough stuff-I know what I'm doing."

Juan moved the pistol so the cold metal touched Jason's temple. Jason
knew the man was hoping for the slightest excuse to shoot; he remained
perfectly still, petrified by fear.

"Come on!" called Shirley from the front hall.

"Go!" said Juan, pulling the gun back from Jason's head.

Jason walked stiffly, his arms pressed against his sides. Juan fell in
behind, occasionally touching Jason's back with the gun.

Shirley opened a door under the staircase across from the front
entrance.

Jason could see a flight of steps leading to the basement.

As Jason approached, he tried to catch Shirley's eye, but she turned
away.

He stepped through the door and started down, Juan directly behind him.

"Doctors amaze me," said Shirley, turning on the cellar light and
closing the door behind her.. "They thinkmedicine is just a question of
helping the sick. The truth is unless something is done about the
chronically unhealthy, there won't be money or manpower to help those
who can actually recover."

Looking at her calm, pretty face, the perfect clothes, Jason couldn't
believe it was the same woman he'd always admired.

She interrupted herself to direct Juan down a long narrow hallway to a
heavy oak door. Squeezing by Juan and Jason, she unlocked it and flicked
on the light, illuminating a large square room. Jason was pushed inside,
where he saw an open doorway to the left, a workbench, and another heavy
closed door to the right. Then the light went out, the door slammed, and
total darkness surrounded him.

For a few minutes, Jason stood still, immobilized by shock and lack of
vision. He could hear small sounds; water coursing through pipes, the
heating system kicking on, and footsteps above his head. The darkness
remained absolute: he could not- even tell if his eyes were open or
closed.

When Jason was finally able to move, he stepped back to the door through
which he'd entered. He grabbed the door knob ' and tried to turn it. He
pulled on the door. There was no doubt it was secure. Running his hands
around the jamb, he felt for hinges. He gave that up when he remembered
the door opened into the hall.

Leaving the door, Jason worked his way laterally, taking baby steps and
gingerly sliding his hands along the wall. He came to the comer and
turned ninety degrees. He continued moving step by miniature step until
he felt the doorway of the open door. Carefully reaching inside, he felt
for a wall switch. On the left side, about chest height, he found one.
He threw the switch. Nothing happened.

Advancing into the side room, he began to feel the walls, trying to
ascertain the dimensions. His fingers hit on a metal object on the wall
whose front was glass. Feeling down at waist height he touched a sink.
Over to the right was a toilet. The room was only about five by seven.

Returning to the main room, Jason continued his slow circuit. He
encountered a second small room with a closed door just beyond the
bathroom. When he opened the door, his nose told him it was a cedar
closet.

Inside he felt several garment bags filled with clothes.

Back in the main room, Jason came to another comer, and he turned again.
Within a dozen small steps, he gently hit against the workbench, which
stuck out about three feet into the room.

Skirting the end of the bench, he felt beneath it, finding cabinets. The
workbench, he estimated, was about ten to fifteen feet long. Beyond the
workbench, he returned to the wall, encountering shelving with what felt
like paint cans. Beyond the shelving was another comer.

In the middle of the fourth wall, Jason came to another heavy door that
was tightly closed and secured. He could feel a lock, but it needed a
key.

There were no hinges. Continuing his circuit, Jason came to the fourth
comer. After a few minutes, he was back at the entrance.

Getting down on his hands and knees, Jason felt the floor. It was poured
concrete. Standing up again, he tried to think of what else he could
do.-He had no good ideas. Suddenly, he felt an overwhelming sense of
mortal fear like he - was being smothered. He'd never suffered from
claustrophobia, but it descended on him with crushing severity. "HELP!"
he shouted, only to have his voice echo back to his ears. Losing
control, he groped madly for the entrance door and pounded on it with
closed fists. "PLEASE!" he shouted. He pounded until he became aware of
pain in his hands. He stopped abruptly with a wince and clutched his
bruised hands to his chest. Leaning forward, Jason touched the door with
his forehead. Then the tears came.

Jason could not remember crying since he'd been a child. Even after
Danielle's death. And all those years of denying that emotion came out
as he crouched in the blackness of Shirley's basement. He lost complete
control and slowly sank to the floor, where he curled up in front of the
door like an imprisoned dog, choking on his own tears.

The ferocity of Jason's emotional reaction surprised him. And after ten
minutes of sobbing, he began to regain his composure. He was embarrassed
at himself, having always believed he had more selfcontrol. Finally, he
sat up with his back against the door. In the darkness, he wiped his
tears from his damp cheeks.

Instead of surrendering to utter despair, he thought about the room he
was in. He tried to guess the dimensions and picture the location of
things he'd encountered on his exploratory circuit. He began to wonder
if there were any other light witches. Getting to his feet, he slowly
returned to the second locked door that was to his right. When he got
there, he felt along the walls on both sides, but there was no light
switch.

Striking out across the room, he returned to the bathroom. He tried the
switch in there several more times. Then he felt for the fixture,
thinking he could exchange the bulb provided he could locate the lights
in the ceiling of the main room. But there was no fixture, either as
part of the medicine cabinet or as part of the ceiling. Discouraged,
Jason returned to the large room.

"Ahhh!" cried Jason, as he walked directly into a lolly column, hitting
his nose against the six-inch diameter metal surface.

Momentarily off balance, he felt his nose already beginning to swell.
There was a bony ridge along the right side: he'd broken it. Once
more,.tears involuntarily filled his eyes, but this time it was from
reflex, not emotion. When he recovered enough to proceed, Jason had
become disoriented.

Reverting to baby steps, he moved until he encountered a wall. Only then
was he able to find the workbench.

Bending down, Jason began opening the cabinets, then carefully exploring
each with his hands. Each cabinet was about four feet wide and contained
a single removable shelf. He found more cans of what he thought was
paint, but no tools whatsoever. Standing up, Jason leaned over the
workbench and felt the wall above it. There was some narrow shelving to
the right with small jars and boxes. Moving to the central part, Jason
felt the wall again, hoping to encounter a pegboard or the like with
screwdrivers, hammers and chisels. Instead, his hand encountered a glass
bowl facing away from him. Curious as to what it was, Jason felt around
it, ascertaining that the glass bowl was secured to a metal box. Pipes
entered the metal box. Jason realized it was the electric meter.

Moving down to the left end of the workbench, Jason again felt the wall.

There was more shelving containing plastic and ceramic flower pots, but
there were no tools.

Discouraged, Jason wondered what else he could do. He thought about
finding something to stand on so that he could explore the walls close
to the ceiling in case there was a blacked-out window. Then his mind
went back to the electric meter. Climbing up on the workbench, he
located the meter and traced the wires to a second rectangular metal
box.

Feeling the surface, Jason immediately encountered a hinged metal ring.

Giving it a slight tug, Jason opened the box.

Inside was the service panel for the house. Slowly he reached inside,
hoping he was not about to touch a live wire. Instead, his fingers
touched the low row of circuit breaker switches.

For the next five minutes Jason thought about how to make use of his
discovery. Getting off the bench, he opened the door to the cabinet
underneath and removed its contents, storing the cans in the two side
cabinets. Then he removed the single shelf, which luckily was not nailed
down, and climbed in. He had plenty of room.

He got out, climbed back on the workbench and, one by one, threw all the
circuit breakers. Then he closed the service panel, scrambled into the
empty cabinet, pulled the door shut behind him, and prayed. If they'd
already gone to bed, the lack of power wouldn't bother them.

After what Jason guessed was another five minutes, he heard a door
opening.

Then he heard voices, and through a crack in the cabinet door saw a line
of flickering light. Then there was the sound of a key in the entrance
door and it swung open. His eye to the crack, he could plainly see two
figures. One was holding a flashlight which slowly swung around the
room.

"He's hiding," said Juan.

"I don't need you to tell me that," said Shirley with imitation.

"Where is your fuse box?" asked Juan.

The flashlight swung around above the workbench.

"You stay here," said Juan. He started into the room, coming between
Jason and the light which Shirley must have been holding. Jason
suspected Juan's hands were busy with his gun.

Jason leaned against the back wall of the cabinet and lifted his feet.
As soon as he heard the circuit breakers being turned back on, Jason
kicked the cabinet doors with all the force and power his runner's legs
could muster. The doors caught Juan Diaz entirely by surprise, hitting
him in the groin. He gasped with pain and staggered back against the
cedar closet.

Jason lost no time. He crawled out and raced across the room, catching
the door before Shirley had a chance to close it. He hit it with full
force, running directly into Shirley and knocking the two of them onto
the floor.

Shirley cried as her head hit the concrete. The flashlight rolled out of
her hand.

Scrambling to his feet, Jason raced down the hallway toward the stairs,
thankful that this area of the house again had lights. He grabbed the
banister and used it to catapult himself up, the first steps. That was
when he heard the dull pop. Simultaneously he felt a pain in his thigh
and his right leg crumbled beneath him. Pulling himself upright, he
hopped up the rest of the stairs. He was almost at the foyer; he could
not give up.

His right leg dragging, Jason struggled over to the front door. Below,
he heard someone start up the stairs.

The dead bolt opened and Jason stumbled out into the raw November night.
He knew he'd been shot. He could feel the blood from his bullet wound
running down his leg into his shoe.

Jason only got as far as the center of the driveway when Juan caught up
to him and knocked him to the cobblestones with the butt of his pistol.
Jason fell to his hands and knees. Before he could rise, Juan kicked him
over onto his back. Once again, the pistol was pointed directly at
Jason's head.

Suddenly, both men were bathed in brilliant light. Keeping the gun on
Jason, Juan tried to shield his eyes from the glare of two high-beam
headlights. A second later, there was the sound of car doors opening,
followed by the ominous sound of shotguns being cocked. Juan backed up
several steps like a cornered animal.

"Hold it, Diaz," called a voice unfamiliar to Jason. It was thick with a
South Boston accent. "Don't do anything stupid. We don't want trouble
with you or Miami. All we want you to do is walk to your car nice and
easy and leave. Can you do that?"

Juan nodded. His left hand was still vainly trying to shield his eyes
from the light.

"Then do it!" commanded the voice.

After t~king two or three uncertain steps backward, Juan turned and fled
to his car. He started the engine, gunned it, then roared out of the
driveway., lawn rolledonto his stomach. As soon as Juan left, Carol
Donner ran out of the circle of light and dropped to her knees in front
of him.

"My God, you're hurt!" A large bloodstain had formed on Jason's thigh.

"I suppose," said Jason vaguely. Too much had happened too quickly. "But
it doesn't hurt too much," he added.

Another figure emerged from the glare; Bruno came up hefting a
pump-action Winchester shotgun.

"Oh, no!" said Jason, trying to sit up.

"Don't worry," said Carol. "He knows you're a friend' now."

At that moment, Shirley appeared on her front porch. Her clothing was
disheveled and her hair spiked up like a punk rocker. For a second, she
took in the scene. Then she stepped back and slammed the door. Locks
were heard being engaged.

"We have to get him to a hospital," said Carol, pointing to Jason.

A second body-builder appeared. Gingerly they picked Jason up.

"I don't believe this," said Jason.

Jason found himself carried behind the glare of the lights. The vehicle
turned out to be- a white stretch Lincoln with a "V"-shaped TV antenna
on the rear deck. The two muscle men eased Jason into the back seat
where a man with dark glasses, slicked-back hair, and an unlit cigar was
waiting. It was Arthur Koehler, Carol's boss. Carol jumped in after
Jason and introduced him to Arthur. The muscle men got in the front seat
and started the limo.

"Am I glad to see you two," said Jason. "But what in God's name brought
you here?" Jason winced as the car bumped out of the driveway.

"Your voice," explained Carol. "That last time you called, I knew you
were in trouble again."

"But how did you know I was here in Brookline?"

"Bruno followed you, " said Carol. "After you called, I called my
lovable boss here." Carol slapped Arthur's leg.

Arthur said, "Cut it out!" It had been his voice that had terrified Juan
Diaz.

"I asked Arthur if he would protect you and he said he would under one
condition. I have to dance for at least another two months or until he
finds a ieplac ent. 11 "Yea , but she got me down to one month,"
complained A I ur.

"I'm very *ateful said Jason. "Are you really going to stop dancing,
Carol?"

"She's a god4cialun brat," said Arthur.

"I'm amazed," said Jason. "I didn't think girls like you could stop
whenever you wanted."

"What are you talking about?" asked Carol indignantly.

"I'll tell you what he means," laughed Arthur, reaching forward and
returning Carol's slap on the thigh. "He thinks you're a goddamn
hooker."

Arthur collapsed into paroxysms of laughter that changed to coughing.
Carol had to pound him on the back several times before he got control
of himself. "I used to have more fits like that when I lit these
things," said Arthur, holding up his cigar. Then he looked at Jason in
the half-light of the car. "You think I would have let her go to Seattle
if she were a prostitute? Be reasonable, man."

"I'm sorry.," Jason said. "I just thought ..

"You thought because I was dancing at the club I was a hooker," said
Carol with somewhat less indignation. "Well, I suppose that's not
entirely unfair. A couple of them are. But most aren't. For me, it was a
great opportunity. My family name isn't Donner. It's Kikonen. We're
Finnish and we've always had a healthier attitude to nudity than you
Americans."

"And she's my wife's sister's kid," said Arthur. "So I gave her a job."

"You two are related?" asked Jason, amazed.

"We don't like to admit it," said Arthur, starting to laugh again.

"Come on," Carol said.

But Arthur continued, saying, "We hate the idea of any of our people
going to Harvard. It hurts our image."

"You're going to Harvard?" asked Jason, turning to Carol.

"For my doctorate. The dancing covers my tuition."

"I guess I should have known Alvin would never have lived with your
average, exotic dancer," said Jason. "In any case, I'm grateful to you
both. God knows what would have happened if you hadn't come along. I
know the police will take care of Shirley Montgomery, but I wish you
hadn't let Juan go.

" Don't worr. y said Arthur with a wave of his cigar. "Carol told me
what happened in Seattle. He won't be around for long. But I don't want
trouble with my people in Miami. We'll deal with Juan through channels
or I can give you enough information for the Miami police to pick him
up. They'll have enough stuff on him down there to put him away. Believe
me."

Jason looked at Carol. "I don't know how I can make it up to you."

"I have a few ideas," she said brightly.

Arthur had another laughing fit. When he was finally under control,
Bruno lowered the glass to the front compartment.

"Hey, pervert," he called with a chuckle. "Where do you want us to take
you? GHP emergency?"

"Hell,-no," said Jason. "For the moment, I'm a little down on prepaid
health care. Take me to Mass General."

EPILOGUE

Jason had never enjoyed ill health, as the saying goes, but currently he
was loving it. He'd been hospitalized for three days following surgery
on the wound in his leg. The pain had lessened significantly and the
nursing staff at General was superbly competent and attentive. Several
of them even remembered Jason as a resident.

But the best part of his hospitalization was that Carol spent most of
each day with him, reading out loud, regaling him with funny stories, or
just sitting in companionable silence.

"When you're all better," she said on the second day as she rearranged
flowers that had come from Claudia and Sally, "I think we should go back
to the Salmon Inn."

rth for?" Jason said. After their experience, he couldn't
imagine wanting to revisit the place.

"I'd like to try Devil's Chute again," Carol said cheerfully. "But this
time in daylight."

"You're kidding!"

"Really. I bet it's a gas when the sun's shining." A soft cough made
them turn to the doorway. Detective Curran's disheveled bulk looked
distinctly out of place in the hospital. His large hands were clutching
a khaki rain hat that looked as if it had been run over by a truck.

"I hope I'm not bothering you, Dr. Howard," he said with
uncharacteristic politeness.

Jason guessed that Curran was as intimidated by the hospital as Jason
had been by the police station.

"Not at all," Jason said, 'pushing himself up to a sitting position.
"Come in. Sit down."

Carol pulled a chair away from the wall and positioned it next to the
bed.

Curtan lowered himself into it, still clutching the hat.

"How's the leg coming?" he asked.

"Fine," Jason said. "Mostly muscle injury. Not going to be a problem at
all."

"I'm glad."

"Candy?" Carol asked, extending a box of chocolates that the GHP
secretaries had sent.

Curran examined them carefully, chose a chocolate-covered cherry, and
plopped it whole into his mouth. Swallowing, he said, "I thought you'd
like to know how the. case is developing."

"Absolutely," Jason said. Carol went around to the other side of the bed
and sat on the edge.

"First of all, they picked Juan up in Miami. He has a sheet a mile long.

You name it. He's one of Castro's gifts to America. We're going to try
to get him extra- dited to Massachusetts for Brennquivist's and Lund's
murders, but it'll be tough. Seems four or five other states want the
creep for similar capers, including Florida."

"Can't say I feel very sorry for him," Jason said.

"The guy's a psychopath," Curran agreed.

"What about GHP?" Jason asked. "Have you been able to prove that the
releasing factor for the death gene was introduced into the eyedrops
used by the ophthalmological office?"

"We're working closely with the DA's office on it," Curran said. "It's
turning out to be quite a story."

"How much do you feel will be made public?"

"At this point we aren't certain. Some will have to come out. The
Hartford School's closed and the parents of those kids aren't blind.
Furthermore, as the DA points Out,. there's a slew of local families
with million-dollar lawsuits to file against the GHP. Shirley and her
crew are finished."

"Shirley ..." Jason said wistfully. "You know, there was a time, if I
hadn't met Carol, I might have gotten involved with the lady."

Carol shook a playful fist at him.

"I guess I owe you an apology, doctor," Curran said. "At first I thought
you were just a pain in the ass. But it turns out you're responsible for
busting the deadliest conspiracy I've ever heard of."

"It was mostly luck," Jason said. "If I hadn't been with Hayes the night
he died, we doctors would have thought we were battling some new
epidemic."

"This guy Hayes must have been a smart cookie," Curran said.

"A genius," Carol said.

"You know what bugs me the most)" Curran said. "Until the end Hayes
thought he was working on a discovery to help mankind. Probably thought
he'd be a hero, like Salk. Nobel prizes and all that. Save the world.
I'm not a scientist, but it seems to me Hayes's whole field of research
is pretty damned scary. You know what I mean?"

"I know exactly what you mean," Jason said. "Medical science has always
assumed its research would save lives and reduce suffering. But now science, has awesome potential. Things can go either way."

"As I understand it," Curran said, "Hayes found a drug that makes people
age and die in a couple of weeks-and he wasn't even looking for it.
Makes me think you eggheads are out of control. Am I wrong?"

"I agree," Jason said. "Maybe we're getting too smart for our own good.

It's like eating the forbidden fruit all over again."

"Yeah, and we're going to get kicked right out of paradise," Curran
added. "Incidentally, doesn't Uncle Sam have watchdogs overseeing guys
like Hayes?"

"They don't have a very good record on this sort of thing," Jason
explained. "Too many conflicts of interest. Besides, both doctors and
laymen tend to believe all medical research is inherently good."

Wonderful," snorted Curran. "It's like a car barreling down the freeway
at a hundred miles an hour with no driver."

" That's probably the best analogy I've ever heard," Jason said.

"Oh, well." The detective shrugged his huge shoulders. "At least we can
deal with GHP. Formal indictments are coming down soon. Of course, the
whole pack is out on bail. But the case has broken wide open, with all
the principals stabbing each other in the back and trying to plea
bargain.

Seems that friend Hayes originally approached some guy by the name of
Ingelbrook."

"Ingelnook. He's one of the GHP vice presidents," Jason said. "I think
he's in finance."

"Must be," Cur-ran said. "Apparently Hayes approached him for seed
capital to front a company."

011 know", Jason said.

The detective looked hard at him. "Did you, now? And just how did you
know about that, Dr. Howard?"

:, It's unimportant. Go on."

"Anyway," Curran said, "Hayes must have told Ingelnook that he was about
to develop some kind of elixir of youth."

"That would have been an antibody to the deathhormone releasing factor,"
Jason said.

1. Hold it a minute," Curran said. "Maybe you should be telling me this
stuff rather than vice versa.

"I'm sorry," Jason said. "It's all finally making sense to me. Please-go
on."

"Ingelnook must have liked the death hormone better than the elixir of
youth," Curran continued. "For some time he'd been racking his brains
about lowering costs at GHP to keep them competitive. So far the
conspiracy only involves six people, but there may be more. They've been
responsible for eliminating a lot of patients they thought were going to
use more than their fair share of medical services. Nice, huh?"

"So they killed them," Carol said with horror.

"Well, they kept telling themselves that the process was natural,"
Curran said.

"Some excuse for murder-we're gill going to die anyway," Jason commented
bitterly. The faces of some of his recently deceased patients rose to
haunt him.

"In any case, it's the end of GHP," Curran said. "The criminal charges
notwithstanding, malpractice claims are through the roof. GHP is already
filing for Chapter Eleven. So I think you'll be looking for a job."

"Looks like it." Then, looking up at Carol, Jason added, "Carol's
finishing her studies in clinical psychology. We thought we'd open an
office together. I think I want to get back to private practice. No more
corporations for a while."

"That sounds cozy," Curran said. "Then I can get my head and my ticker
fixed at the same place."

"You can be our first patient."