TERMINAL By Robin Cook

PROLOGUE

     January 4   Monday, 7:05.4.M.

Helen Cabot gradually awoke as dawn emerged from the
winter darkness blanketing Boston, Massachusetts. Fingers of
pale, anemic light pierced the darkness of the third-floor bed-
room in her parents' Louisburg Square home. At first she
didn't open her eyes, luxuriating under the down comforter of
her canopied bed. Totally content, she was mercifully unaware
of the terrible molecular events occurring deep inside her
brain.
    The holiday season had not been one of Helen's most en-
joyable. In order to avoid missing any classes at Princeton
where she was enrolled as a junior, she'd scheduled an elective
D&C between Christmas and New Year's. The doctors had
promised that removing the abnormally heavy endometrial tis-
sue lining the uterus would eliminate the violently painful
cramps that left her incapacitated each time she got her period.
They'd also promised it would be routine. But it hadn't been.
    Turning her head, Helen gazed at the soft morning light
diffusing through the lace curtains. She had no sensation of
impending doom. In fact, she felt better than she had in days.
Although the operation had gone smoothly with only mild
post-operative discomfort, the third day after surgery she had
developed an unbearable headache, followed by fever, dizzi-
ness, and most disturbing of all, slurred speech. Thankfully,
the symptoms had cleared as quickly as they had appeared,
but her parents still insisted she keep her scheduled appoint-

2

ment with the neurologist at the Massachusetts General Hos-
pital.
    Drifting back to sleep Helen heard the barely perceptible
click of her father's computer keyboard. His study was next
to Helen's bedroom. Opening her eyes just long enough to see
the clock, she realized it was just past seven. It was amazing
how hard her father worked. As the founder and chairman of
the board of one of the most powerful software companies in
the world, he could afford to rest on his laurels. But he didn't.
He was driven, and the family had become astoundingly
wealthy and influential as a result.
    Unfortunately the security that Helen enjoyed from her fam-
ily circumstances did not take into account that nature does
not respect temporal wealth and power. Nature works accord-
ing to its own agenda. The events occurring in Helen's brain,
unknown to her, were being dictated by the DNA molecules
that comprised her genes. And on that day in early January,
four genes in several of her brain's neurons were gearing up
to produce certain encoded proteins. These neurons had not
divided since Helen was an infant, which was normal. Yet now
because of these four genes and their resultant proteins, the
neurons would be forced to divide again, and to keep on di-
viding. A particularly malignant cancer was about to shatter
Helen's life. At age twenty-one, Helen Cabot was potentially
"terminal," and she had no idea.

January 4, 10:45 A.M.

Accompanied by a slight whirring noise, Howard Pace was
slid out of the maw of the new MRI machine at the University
Hospital in St. Louis. He'd never been more terrified in his
life. He'd always been vaguely anxious about hospitals and
doctors, but now that he was ill, his fears were full-fledged
and overwhelming.
    At age forty-seven Howard had been in perfect health until
that fateful day in mid-October when he'd charged the net in

3

the semifinals of the Belvedere Country Club's annual tennis
tournament. There'd been a slight popping noise, and he'd
sprawled ignominiously as the unreturned ball sailed over his
head. Howard's anterior cruciate ligament had snapped inside
his right knee.
    That had been the beginning of it. Fixing the knee had been
easy. Despite some mild problems his doctors ascribed to the
aftereffects of general anesthesia, Howard had returned to
work in just a few days. It had been important for him to get
back quickly; running one of the nation's largest airplane man-
ufacturing firms was not easy in an era of sharply curtailed
defense budgets.
    With his head still stabilized in the vise-like apparatus for
the MRI, Howard was unaware of the technician's presence
until the man spoke.
    "You okay?" he asked as he began to release Howard's
head.
    "Okay," Howard managed to reply. He was lying. His
heart was thumping in terror. He was afraid of what the test
would reveal. Behind a glass divider he could discern a group
of white-coated individuals studying a CRT screen. One of
them was his doctor, Tom Folger. They were all pointing,
gesturing, and, most disturbing of all, shaking their heads.
    The trouble had begun the day before. Howard had awak-
ened with a headache, a rare occurrence unless he'd "tied one
on," which he hadn't. In fact, he'd not had anything to drink
since New Year's Eve. After taking a dose of aspirin and eat-
ing a bit of breakfast, the pain had abated. But later that morn-
ing in the middle of a board meeting, with no warning
whatsoever, he'd vomited. It had been so violent and so un-
expected, with no preceding nausea, that he'd not even been
able to lean aside. To his utter mortification, his undigested
breakfast had spewed over the boardroom table.
    With his head now freed, Howard tried to sit up, but the
movement caused his headache to return in full force. He sank
back to the MRI table and closed his eyes until his doctor
gently touched his shoulder. Tom had been the family internist
for over twenty years. He and Tom had become good friends

4

over the years, and they knew each other well. Howard did
not like what he saw in Tom's face.
  "It's bad, isn't it?" Howard asked.
  "I've always been straight with you, Howard..."
    "So don't change now," Howard whispered. He didn't
want to hear the rest, but he had to.
    "It doesn't look good," Tom admitted. He kept his hand
on Howard's shoulder. "There are multiple tumors. Three to
be exact. At least that's how many we can see."
  "Oh, God!" Howard moaned. "It's terminal, isn't it'?"
    "That's not the way we should talk at this point," Tom
said.
    "Christ it isn't," Howard snapped. "You just told me
you've always been straight with me. I asked a simple ques-
tion. I have a right to know."
    "If you force me to answer, I'd have to say yes; it could
be terminal. But we don't know for sure. For the present we've
got a lot of work to do. First thing we have to do is find out
where it's come from. Being multifocal suggests it's spread
from someplace else."
    "Then let's get on with it," Howard said. "If there's a
chance, I want to beat this thing."

January 4, 1:25 P.M.

When Louis Martin first awoke in the recovery room, he felt
as if his throat had been scorched with an acetylene torch.
He'd had sore throats before, but nothing had even come close
to the pain he'd felt as he tried to swallow after his surgery.
To make matters worse, his mouth had been as dry as the
central Sahara.
    The nurse who had materialized at his bedside seemingly
out of nowhere had explained that his discomfort was due to
the endotracheal tube the anesthesiologist had inserted prior to
his operation. She gave him a damp washcloth to suck on and
the pain had abated.

 5

    By the time he was wheeled back to his room, a different
pain had started, located somewhere between his legs and ra-
diating into the small of his back. Louis knew the cause of
that discomfort. It was the site of his surgery to reduce an
enlarged prostate gland. The damn thing had been forcing him
to get up to urinate four or five times each night. He'd sched-
uled the surgery for the day after New Year's. Traditionally
that was a slow time for the computer giant he ran north of
Boston.
    Just as the pain was getting the best of him, another nurse
gave him a bolus of Demerol through the IV which was still
attached to his left hand. A bottle of fluid hung on a T-shaped
pole protruding from the head of his bed.
    The Demerol put him back into a drugged sleep. He wasn't
sure how much time had passed when he became aware of a
presence next to his head. It took all his strength to open his
eyes; his eyelids felt like lead. At the head of his bed was a
nurse fumbling with plastic tubing coming from the IV bottle.
In her right hand was a syringe.
 "What's that?" Louis mumbled. He sounded inebriated.
 The nurse smiled at him.
  "Sounds as if you'd had one too many," she said.
    Louis blinked as he tried to focus on the woman's swarthy
face. In his drugged state, the nurse was a blur. Yet she was
correct about how he sounded.
    "I don't need any more pain medicine," Louis managed to
say. He struggled to a half-sitting position, leaning on an el-
bow.
  "It's not pain medicine," the nurse said.
    "Oh," Louis said. While the nurse completed the injection,
Louis slowly realized he still didn't know what he was being
given. "What kind of medicine is it?" Louis asked.
    "A wonder drug," the nurse said, quickly capping the sy-
ringe.
    Louis laughed in spite of himself. He was about to ask an-
other question, but the nurse satisfied his curiosity.
    "It's an antibiotic," she said. She gave Louis's shoulder a
reassuring squeeze. "Now you close your eyes and rest."

6

    Louis flopped back onto his bed. He chuckled. He liked
people with a sense of humor. In his mind he repeated what
the nurse had said: a wonder drug. Well, antibiotics were won-
der drugs, there was no doubt. He recalled that Dr. Handlin
had told him he might be put on antibiotics as a precaution
after his operation. Louis vaguely wondered what it had been
like to be in a hospital before antibiotics had been discovered.
He felt thankful that he was living when he was.
    Closing his eyes, Louis followed the nurse's suggestion and
let his body relax. The pain was still present, but because of
the narcotic, it didn't bother him. Narcotics were wonder drugs
as well, and so were the anesthetic agents. Louis was the first
to admit he was a coward when it came to pain. He could
never have tolerated surgery back when none of the "wonder
drugs" were available.
    As Louis drifted off to sleep, he wondered what kind of
drugs the future would bring. He decided he'd have to ask Dr.
Handlin's opinion.

January 4, 2:53 P.M.

Norma Kaylor watched the drops fall into the millipore cham-
ber hanging below her IV bottle. The IV ran through a large-
bore catheter into her left arm. She had such mixed feelings
about the medicine she was getting. She hoped the powerful
chemotherapeutic agents would cure her breast cancer which,
she'd been told, had spread into her liver and lungs. At the
same time she knew the medicines were cellular poisons, ca-
pable of wreaking havoc on her body as well as on her tumor.
Dr. Clarence had warned her about so many dreadful side ef-
fects that she'd made a conscious effort to screen out his voice.
She'd heard enough. She'd signed the consent form with a
feeling of numbed detachment.
    Turning, Norma looked out the window at the intensely blue
Miami sky, filled with massive bubbles of white cumulus
clouds. Since her cancer had been diagnosed, she tried hard

7

not to ask why me? When she'd first felt the lump she had
hoped it would go away of its own accord, like so many lumps
had done in the past. It wasn't until several months had passed,
and the skin over the lump had suddenly dimpled, that she'd
forced herself to see a doctor, only to learn that her fears had
been justified: the lump was malignant. So just before her
thirty-third birthday she'd undergone a radical mastectomy.
She hadn't fully recovered from the surgery before the doctors
began the chemotherapy.
    Determined to end her self-pity, she was reaching for a
novel when the door to her private room opened. She didn't
even look up. Staff at the Forbes Cancer Center was constantly
in and out adjusting her IV, injecting her medicine. She had
gotten so used to the constant comings and goings, they barely
interrupted her reading anymore.
    It was only after the door had closed again that she became
aware she had been given some new drug. The effect was
unique, causing the strength suddenly to drain from her body.
Even the book she was holding fell from her hands. But what
was more frightening was the effect on her breathing; it was
as if she were being smothered. In agony she tried to get air,
but she had progressive difficulty, and soon she was totally
paralyzed except for her eyes. The image of her door being
quietly opened was the last thing she knew.

1

February 26
Friday, 9:15 4.M.

"Oh, God, here she comes!" Sean Murphy said. Frantically
he grabbed the charts stacked in front of him and ducked into
the room behind the nurses' station on the seventh floor of the
Weber Building of the Boston Memorial Hospital.
    Confused at this sudden interruption, Peter Colbert, a fellow
third-year Harvard medical student, surveyed the scene. Noth-
ing was out of the ordinary. It appeared like any busy internal
medicine hospital ward. The nurses' station was a beehive of
activity with the floor clerk and four RN's busy at work. There
were also several orderlies pushing patients on gurneys. Organ
music from the soundtrack of a daytime soap could be heard
drifting out of the floor lounge. The only person approaching
the nurses' station who didn't belong was an attractive female
nurse who Peter felt was an eight or nine out of a possible
ten. Her name was Janet Reardon. Peter knew about her. She
was the daughter of one of the old Boston Brahmin families,
aloof and untouchable.
    Peter pushed back from the counter where he had been sit-
ting next to the chart rack and shoved open the door to the
back room. It was an all-purpose office with desk-high coun-
tertops, a computer terminal, and a small refrigerator. The
nurses held their reports in there at the end of each shift, and
those who brown-bagged it used it as a lunchroom. In the back
was a lavatory.
  "What the hell's going on?" Peter demanded. He was cu-

9

rious to say the least. Sean was against the wall with his charts
pressed to his chest.
  "Shut the door!" Sean commanded.
    Peter stepped into the room. "You've been making it with
Reardon?" It was part question, part stunned realization. It
had been almost two months ago at the outset of Peter's and
Sean's rotation on third-year medicine that Sean had spotted
Janet and had asked Peter about her.
    "Who the hell is that?" Sean had demanded. His mouth
had gone slack. In front of him was one of the most beautiful
women he'd ever seen. She was climbing down from the
counter after retrieving something from the inaccessible top
shelf of a wall cabinet. He could tell she had a figure that
could have graced any magazine.
    "She's not your type," Peter had said. "So close your
mouth. Compared to you she's royalty. I know some guys who
have tried to date her. It's impossible."
    "Nothing is impossible," Sean had said, watching Janet
with stunned appreciation.
    "A townie like you could never get to first base," Peter
had said. "Much less hit a home run."
    "Want to bet?" Sean had challenged. "Five bucks says you
are wrong. I'll have her thirsting for my body by the time we
finish medicine."
    At the time, Peter had just laughed. Now he appraised his
partner with renewed respect. He thought he'd gotten to know
Sean over the last two months of grueling work, and yet here
he was on the last day of medicine surprising him.
"Open the door a crack and see if she's gone," Sean said.
"This is ridiculous," Peter said, but he opened the door
several inches nonetheless. Janet was at the counter talking to
Carla Valentine, the head nurse. Peter let the door shut.
  "She's right outside," he said.
    "Damn!" Sean exclaimed. "I don't want to talk to her right
now. I've got too much to do, and I don't want a scene. She
doesn't know I'm leaving for Miami for that elective at the
Forbes Cancer Center. I don't want to tell her until Saturday
night. I know she's going to be pissed."

10                                                                                                       11

  "So you have been dating her?"
    "Yeah, we've gotten pretty hot and heavy," Scan said.
"Which reminds me: you owe me five bucks. And let me tell
you, it wasn't easy. At first she'd barely talk to me. But even-
tually, utter charm and persistence paid off. My guess is that
it was mostly the persistence."
  "Did you bag her?" Peter asked.
  "Don't be crude," Scan said.
    Peter laughed. "Me crude? That's the best example of the
pot calling the kettle black that I've ever heard."
    "The problem is she's getting serious," Sean said. "She
thinks because we slept together a couple of times, it's leading
to something permanent."
  "Am I hearing marriage here?" Peter asked.
    "Not from me," Scan said. "But I think that's what she
has in mind. It's insane, especially since her parents hate my
guts. And hell, I'm only twenty-six."
    Peter opened the door again. "She's still there talking with
one of the other nurses. She must be on break or something."
    "Great!" Scan said sarcastically. "I guess I can work in
here. I've got to get these off-service notes written before I
get another admission."
    "I'll keep you company," Peter said. He went out and re-
turned with several of his own charts.
    They worked in silence, using the three-by-five index cards
they carried in their pockets bearing the latest laboratory work
on each of their assigned patients. The idea was to summarize
each case for the medical students rotating on service come
March 1.
    "This one has been my most interesting case," Scan said
after about half an hour. He held the massive chart aloft. "If
it hadn't been for her I wouldn't even have heard about the
Forbes Cancer Center."
  "You talking about Helen Cabot?" Peter asked.
  "None other," Sean said.
    "You got all the interesting cases, you dog. And Helen's a
looker, too. Hell, on her case consults were pleading to be
called."

11

    "Yeah, but this looker turned out to have multiple brain
tumors," Scan said. He opened the chart and glanced through
some of its two hundred pages. "It's sad. She's only twenty-
one and she's obviously terminal. Her only hope is that she
gets accepted by the Forbes. They have been having phenom-
enal luck with the kind of tumor she has."
"Did her final pathology report come back'?"
"Yesterday," Sean said. "She's got medulloblastoma. It's
fairly rare; only about two percent of all brain tumors are this
type. I did some reading on it so 1 could shine on rounds this
afternoon. It's usually seen in young children."
"So she's an unfortunate exception," Peter commented.
"Not really an exception," Scan said. "Twenty percent of
medulloblastomas are seen in patients over the age of twenty.
What surprised everyone and why no one even came close to
guessing the cell type was because she had multiple growths.
Originally her attending thought she had metastatic cancer,
probably from an ovary. But he was wrong. Now he's plan-
ning an article for the New England Journal of Medicine."
    "Someone said she was not only beautiful but wealthy,"
Peter said, lamenting anew he'd not gotten her as a patient.
    "Her father is CEO of Software, Inc.," Scan said. "Obvi-
ously the Cabots aren't hurting. With all their money, they can
certainly afford a place like the Forbes. I hope the people in
Miami can do something for her. Besides being pretty, she's
a nice kid. I've spent quite a bit of time with her."
    "Remember, doctors are not supposed to fall in love with
their patients," Peter said.
  "Helen Cabot could tempt a saint."

JANET REARDON took the stairs back to pediatrics on the fifth
floor. She'd used her fifteen-minute coffee break trying to find
Sean. The nurses on seven said they'd just seen him, working
on his off-service notes, but had no idea where he'd gone.
    Janet was troubled. She hadn't been sleeping well for sev-
eral weeks, waking at four or five in the morning, way before
her alarm. The problem was Sean and their relationship. When

12

she'd first met him, she'd been turned off by his coarse, cocky
attitude, even though she had been attracted by his appealing
Mediterranean features, black hair, and strikingly blue eyes.
Before she'd met Sean she hadn't known what the term
"Black Irish" meant.
    When Sean had initially pursued her, Janet had resisted. She
felt they had nothing in common, but he refused to take no
for an answer. And his keen intelligence pricked her curiosity.
    She finally went out with him thinking that one date would
end the attraction. But it hadn't. She soon discovered that his
rebel's attitude was a powerful aphrodisiac. In a surprising
about-face, Janet decided that all her previous boyfriends had
been too predictable, too much the Myopia Hunt Club crowd.
All at once she realized that her sense of self had been tied to
an expectation of a marriage similar to her parents' with some-
one conventionally acceptable. It was then that Sean's Charles-
town rough appeal had taken a firm hold on her heart, and
Janet had fallen in love.
    Reaching the nurses' station on the pediatric floor, Janet
noticed she still had a few minutes left on her break. Pushing
through the door to the back room, she headed for the com-
munal coffee machine. She needed a jolt to get her through
the rest of the day.
"You look like you just lost a patient," a voice called.
Janet turned to see Dorothy MacPherson, a floor nurse with
whom she'd become close, sitting with her stockinged feet
propped upon the countertop.
    "Maybe just as bad," Janet said as she got her coffee. She
only allowed herself half a cup. She went over and joined
Dorothy. She sat heavily in one of the metal desk chairs.
 "Men!" she added with a sigh of frustration.  "A familiar lament," Dorothy said.
    "My relationship with Sean Murphy is not going any-
where," Janet said at length. "It's really bothering me, and 1
have to do something about it. Besides," she added with a
laugh, "the last thing I want to do is to be forced to admit to
my mother that she'd been right about him all along."
  Dorothy smiled. "I can relate to that."

13

    "It's gotten to the point that I think he's avoiding me,"
Janet said.
  "Have you two talked?" Dorothy asked.
    "l've been trying," Janet said. "But talking about feelings
is not one of his strong points."
    "Regardless," Dorothy said. "Maybe you should take him
out tonight and say what you've just said to me."
    "Ha!" Janet laughed scornfully. "It's Friday night. We
can't.' '
  "Is he on call?" Dorothy asked.
    "No," Janet said. "Every Friday night he and his Charles-
town buddies get together at a local bar. Girlfriends and wives
are not invited. It's the proverbial boys' night out. And in his
case, it's some kind of lrish tradition, complete with brawls."
  "Sounds disgusting," Dorothy said.
    "After four years at Harvard, a year of molecular biology
at MIT, and now three years of medical school, you'd think
he'd have outgrown it. Instead, these Friday nights seem to be
more important to him than ever."
    "I wouldn't stand for it," Dorothy said. "1 used to think
my husband's golf fetish was bad, but it's nothing compared
to what you're talking about. Are there women involved in
these Friday night escapades?"
    "Sometimes they go up to Revere. There's a strip joint
there. But mostly it's just Sean and the boys, drinking beer,
telling jokes, and watching sports on a big-screen TV. At least
that's how he's described it. Obviously I've never been there."
    "Maybe you should ask yourself why you're involved with
this man," Dorothy said.
    "I have," Janet said. "Particularly lately, and especially
since we've had so little communication. It's hard even to find
time to talk with him. Not only does he have all the work
associated with med school, but he has his research too. He's
in an M.D.-Ph.D. program at Harvard."
  "He must be intelligent," Dorothy offered.
    "It's his only saving grace," Janet said. "That and his
body."
  Dorothy laughed. "At least there's a couple of things to

14

justify' your anguish. But I wouldn't let my husband get away
with that juvenile Friday night stuff. Hell, I'd march right in
and embarrass the heck out of him. Men will be boys, but
there have to be some limits."
    "I don't know if I could do that," Janet said. But as she
took a sip from her coffee, she gave the idea some thought.
The problem was that she'd always been so passive in her life,
letting things happen, then reacting after the fact. Maybe that's
how she got herself into this kind of trouble. Maybe she
needed to encourage herself to be more assertive.

"DAMN IT, MARCIE!" Louis Martin shouted. "Where the hell
are those projections? I told you 1 wanted them on my desk."
To emphasize his displeasure, Louis slapped his hand on his
leather-bound blotter, sending a flurry of papers wafting off
into the air. He had been feeling irritable ever since he'd awak-
ened at four-thirty that morning with a dull headache. While
in the bathroom searching for aspirin, he'd vomited into the
sink. The episode had shocked him. His retching had come
with no warning and no accompanying nausea.
    Marcie Delgado scurried into her boss's office. He'd been
yelling at her and criticizing her all morning. Meekly she
reached across the desk and pushed a stack of papers bound
with a metal clip directly in front of the man. In block letters
on the front cover was: PROJECTIONS FOR BOARD MEETING FEB
RUARY 26.
    Without even an acknowledgment, much less an apology,
Louis snatched up the documents and stormed out of the of-
rice. But he didn't get far. After half a dozen steps, he couldn't
recall where he was going. When he finally remembered he
was headed for the boardroom, he wasn't sure which door it
was.
    "Good afternoon, Louis," one of the directors said, coming
up behind him and opening the door on the right.
    Louis stepped into the room feeling disoriented. He haz-
arded a furtive glance at the people sitting around the long
conference table. To his consternation, he was unable to rec-

15

ognize a single face. Lowering his eyes to stare at the packet
of papers he'd carried in with him, he let them slip from his
grasp. His hands were shaking.
    Louis Martin stood for another moment while the babble of
voices in the room quieted. All eyes were drawn to his face,
which had turned ghostly pale. Then Louis's eyes rolled up
inside his head, and his back arched. He fell backward, his
head striking the carpeted floor with a dull thump. Simulta-
neous with the impact on the floor, Louis's body began to
tremble before being overwhelmed by wild tonic and clonic
muscular contractions.
    None of Louis's board of directors had ever seen a grand
mal seizure, and for a moment they were all stunned. Finally,
one man overcame his shock and rushed to the side of his
stricken chairman. Only then did others respond by racing off
to nearby telephones to call for help.
    By the time the ambulance crew arrived, the seizure had
passed. Except for a residual headache and lethargy, Louis felt
relatively normal. He was no longer disoriented. In fact, he
was dismayed to be told he'd had a seizure. As far as he was
concerned, he'd only fainted.
    The first person to see Louis in the emergency room at the
Boston Memorial Hospital was a medical resident who intro-
duced himself as George Carver. George seemed harried but
thorough. After conducting a preliminary examination he told
Louis that he would have to be admitted even though Louis's
private internist, Clarence Handlin, had not yet been consulted.
    "Is a seizure serious?" Louis asked. After his prostate op-
eration two months earlier, Louis was not happy about the
prospect of being hospitalized.
  "We'll get a neurology consult," George said.
  "But what's your opinion?" Louis asked.
    "Seizures with sudden onset in an adult suggests structural
brain disease," George said.
    "How about talking English," Louis said. He hated medical
jargon.
  The resident fidgeted. "Structural means exactly that," he

16

said evasively. "Something abnormal with the brain itself, not
just its function."
  "You mean like a brain tumor?" Louis asked.
  "It could be a tumor," George said reluctantly.
    "Good Lord!" Louis said. He felt himself break out in a
cold sweat.
    After calming the patient the best he could, George went
into the "pit," as the center of the emergency room was called
by those that worked there. First he checked to see if Louis's
private physician had called in yet. He hadn't. Then he paged
a neurology resident stat. He also told the ER clerk to call the
medical student who was up for the next admission.
    "By the way," George said to the clerk as he was returning
to the cubicle where Louis Martin was waiting. "What's the
name of the medical student'?"
  "Sean Murphy," the clerk said.

"CRAP!" SEAN said as his beeper went off. He was certain
that Janet had long since disappeared, but just to be sure, he
opened the door carefully and scanned the area. He didn't see
her, so he pushed through. He had to use the phone out in the
nurses' station since Peter was hogging the one in the back
room, trying to get last-minute lab reports.
    Before Sean called anybody, he approached Carla Valen-
tine, the head nurse. "You guys looking for me?" he asked
expectantly. He was hoping they were because then the page
would involve some easily performed scut work. What Sean
feared was that the page was coming from either admitting or
the ER.
  "You're all clear for the moment," Carla said.
    Sean then dialed the operator and got the bad news. It was
the ER with an admission.
    Knowing the sooner he got the history and physical done,
the better off he'd be, Sean bid farewell to Peter, who was
still on the phone, and went downstairs.
    Under normal circumstances Sean liked the ER and its con-
stant sense of excitement and urgency. But on the afternoon

17

of his last day on his medicine rotation, he didn't want another
case. The typical Harvard medical student's workup took
hours and filled between four and ten pages of tightly written
notes.
      "It's an interesting case," George said when Sean arrived.
George was on hold on the phone with radiology.  "That's what you always say," Sean said.
  "Truly," George said. "Have you ever seen papilledema?"
  Sean shook his head.
    "Grab an ophthalmoscope and look at the guy's nerve
heads in both eyes. They'll look like miniature mountains. It
means the intracranial pressure is elevated." George slid the
ER clipboard along the countertop toward Sean.  "What's he got?" Sean asked.
    "My guess is a brain tumor," George said. "He had a sei-
zure at work."
    At that moment someone came on the phone line from ra-
diology, and George's attention was directed at scheduling an
emergency CAT scan.
    Sean took the ophthalmoscope and went in to see Mr. Mar-
tin. Sean was far from adept at using the instrument, but after
persistence on his part and patience on Louis's part, he was
able to catch fleeting glimpses of the mounded nerve heads.
    Doing a medical student history and physical was a labo-
rious task under the best of circumstances, and doing it in the
emergency room and then up in X-ray while waiting for a
CAT scan made it ten times more difficult. Sean persisted,
asking as many questions as he could think of, especially about
the current illness. What Sean learned that no one else had
was that Louis Martin had had some transient headache, fever,
and nausea and vomiting about a week after his prostate sur-
gery in early January. Sean had stumbled onto this information
just before Louis began his enhanced CAT scan. The techni-
cian had to order Sean out of the CAT scanner room and into
the control room moments before the study commenced.
    Besides the technician running the CAT scanner, there were
a number of other people in the control room including Dr.
Clarence Handlin, Louis Martin's internist, George Carver, the

18                                                                                                      19

medical resident, and Harry O'Brian, the on-call neurology
resident. They were all grouped around the CRT screen, wait-
ing for the first "cuts" to appear.
    Sean pulled George aside and told him about the earlier
headache, fever, and nausea.
    "A good pickup," George said while he pulled pensively
at the skin at the edge of his jaw. He was obviously trying to
relate these earlier symptoms to the current problem. "The
fever is the curious part," he said. "Did he say it was a high
fever?"
    "Moderate," Scan said. "102 to 103. He said it was like
having a cold or mild flu. Whatever it was, it went away com-
pletely."
    "It might be related," George said. "At any rate this guy
is a 'sickie.' The preliminary CAT scan showed two tumors.
Remember Helen Cabot upstairs?"
"How can I forget?" Sean said. "She's still my patient."
"This guy's tumors look very similar to hers," George said.
The group of doctors around the CRT screen began talking
excitedly. The first cuts were coming out. Sean and George
stepped behind them and peered over their shoulders.
    "Here they are again," Harry said, pointing with the tip of
his percussion hammer. "They're definitely tumors. No doubt
at all. And here's another small one."  Scan strained to see.
    "Most likely metastases," Harry said. "Multiple tumors
like this have to come from someplace else. Was his prostate
benign?"
    "Completely," Dr. Handlin said. "He's been in good health
all his life."
  "Smoke?" Harry asked.
    "No," Scan said. The people in front moved to give Scan
a better view of the CRT screen.
"We'll have to do a full metastatic workup," Harry said.
Scan bent over close to the CRT screen. The areas of re-
duced uptake were apparent even to his inexperienced eye. But
what really caught his attention was how much they resembled
Helen Cabot's tumors, as George had said. And like hers, they

19

were all in the cerebrum. That had been a point of particular
interest with Helen Cabot, since medulloblastomas generally
occurred in the cerebellum, not the cerebrum.
    "I know statistically you have to think of a metastasis from
lung, colon, or prostate," George said. "But what are the
chances we're seeing a tumor similar to Helen Cabot's? In
other words, multifocal primary brain cancer like medullo-
blastoma."
    Harry shook his head. "Remember, when you hear hoof-
beats you should think of horses, not zebras. Helen Cabot's
case is unique even though there have been a couple of similar
cases recently reported around the country. Nonetheless, FI1
be willing to wager anyone that we're looking at metastatic
tumors here."
    "What service do you think he should be on?" George
asked.
    "Six of one, half dozen of another," Harry said. "If he's
on neurology, we'll need an internal medicine consult for the
metastatic workup. If he's on internal medicine, he'll need the
neuro consult."
    "Since we took Cabot," George suggested, "why don't you
guys take him. You interact better with neurosurgery any-
way."
  "Fine by me," Harry said.
    Sean groaned inwardly. All his work doing the history and
physical was for naught. Since the patient would be admitted
to neurology, the medical student on neurology would get
credit for it. But at least that meant Sean was free.
    Sean motioned to George that he'd see him later on rounds,
then slipped out of the CAT scan room. Although he was
behind on his off-service notes, Sean took the time for a visit.
Having been thinking and talking about Helen Cabot, he
wanted to see her. Getting off the elevator on the seventh floor,
he walked directly down to room 708 and knocked on the half-
open door.
    Despite her shaved head and a series of blue marker stains
on her scalp, Helen Cabot still managed to look attractive. Her
features were delicate, emphasizing her large, bright green

20                                                                                                      21

eyes. Her skin had the translucent perfection of a model. Yet
she was pale, and there was little doubt she was ill. Still, her
face lit up when she saw Sean.
  "My favorite doctor," she said.
    "Doctor-to-be," Sean corrected her. He didn't enjoy the
charade of playing doctor like many medical students. Ever
since he graduated from high school he'd felt like an imposter,
play-acting first at the role of a Harvard undergraduate, then
an MIT fellow, and now a Harvard medical student.
    "Have you heard the good news?" Helen asked. She sat
up despite her weakness from the many seizures she'd been
having.
  "Tell me," Sean said.
    "I've been accepted into the Forbes Cancer Center proto-
col," Helen said.
    "Fantastic!" Sean said. "Now I can tell you I'm heading
there myself. I've been afraid to mention it until 1 heard you
were going too."
    "What a marvelous coincidence!" Helen said. "Now I'll
have a friend there. I suppose you know that with my partic-
ular type of tumor they've had a one hundred percent remis-
sion."
    'q know," Sean said. "Their results are unbelievable. But
it's no coincidence we'll be down there together. It was your
case that made me aware of the Forbes. As l've mentioned to
you, my research involves the molecular basis of cancer. So
discovering a clinic where they are having hundred-percent
success treating a specific cancer is extraordinarily exciting for
me. I'm amazed I hadn't read about it in the medical literature.
Anyway, I want to go down there and find out exactly what
they're doing."
    "Their treatment is still experimental," Helen said. "My
father emphasized that to me. We think the reason they've
avoided publishing their results is that they first want to be
absolutely sure of their claims. But whether they've published
or not, I can't wait to get there and start treatment. It's the
first ray of hope since this nightmare started."
  "When are you going.'?" Sean asked.

  "Sometime next week," Helen said. "And you?"
    "I'll be on the road the crack of dawn on Sunday. I should
be there early Tuesday morning. I'll be waiting for you." Sean
reached out and gripped Helen's shoulder.
 Helen smiled, placing her hand over Sean's.

21

AFTER COMPLETING report, Janet returned to the seventh floor
to look for Sean. Once again the nurses said he'd been there
only moments earlier but apparently had disappeared. They
suggested paging him, but Janet wanted to catch him off
guard. Since it was now after four she thought the best place
to find him would be Dr. Clifford Walsh's lab. Dr. Walsh was
Sean's Ph.D. advisor.
    To get there, Janet had to leave the hospital, brace herself
against the winter wind, walk partway down Longfellow Av-
enue, cross the medical school quadrangle, and climb to the
third floor. Even before she opened the door to the lab, she
knew she'd guessed correctly. She recognized Sean's figure
through the frosted glass. It was mostly the way he moved
that was so familiar. He had surprising grace for such a stocky,
muscular frame. There was no wasted motion. He went about
his tasks quickly and efficiently.
    Entering the room, Janet closed the door behind her and
hesitated. For a moment she enjoyed watching Sean. Besides
Sean there were three other people busily working. A radio
played classical music. There was no conversation.
    It was a rather dated and cluttered lab with soapstone-topped
benches. The newest equipment were the computers and a se-
ries of desk-sized analyzers. Sean had described the subject of
his Ph.D. thesis on several occasions, but Janet still wasn't a
hundred percent certain she understood it all. He was search-
ing for specialized genes called oncogenes that had the capa-
bility of encouraging a cell to become cancerous. Sean had
explained that the origins of oncogenes seemed to be from
normal "cellular control" genes that certain types of viruses
called retroviruses had a tendency to capture in order to stim-
ulate viral production in future host cells.

22                                                                                                      23

    Janet had nodded at appropriate times during these expla-
nations but had always found herself more interested by Sean's
enthusiasm than the subject matter. She also realized that she
needed to do some more basic reading in the area of molecular
genetics if she was to understand Sean's particular area of
research. Sean had a tendency to assume that she had more
knowledge than she had, in a field where advances came at a
dizzying pace.
    As Janet watched Sean from just inside the door, appreci-
ating the V that his broad shoulders and narrow waist formed,
she became curious about what he was currently doing. In
sharp contrast to many other visits she'd made over the last
two months, he wasn't prepming one of the analyzers to run.
Instead he seemed to be putting objects away and cleaning up.
    After watching for several minutes, expecting him to notice
her, Janet stepped forward and stood right next to him. At
five-six Janet was relatively tall, and since Sean was only five-
nine, they could just about look each other in the eye,
especially when Janet wore heels.
  "What may I ask are you doing?" Janet said suddenly.
    Sean jumped. His level of concentration had been so great
he'd not sensed her presence.
  "Just cleaning up," he said guiltily.
    Janet leaned forward and looked into his startlingly blue
eyes. He returned her stare for a moment, then looked away.
    "Cleaning up?" Janet asked. Her eyes swept around the
now pristine lab bench. "That's a surprise." Janet redirected
her eyes at his face. "What's going on here? This is the most
immaculate your work area has ever been. Is there something
you haven't told me?"
      "No," Sean said. Then he paused before adding, "Well,
yes, there is. I'm taking a two-month research elective."
  "Where?"
  "Miami, Florida."
  "You weren't going to tell me?"
    "Of course I was. I planned on telling you tomorrow
night."
  "When are you leaving?"

  "Sunday."
    Janet's eyes angrily roamed the room. Absently, her fingers
drummed on the countertop. She questioned to herself what
she'd done to deserve this kind of treatment. Looking back at
Sean, she said: "You were going to wait until the night before
to tell me this?"
    "It just came up this week. It wasn't certain until two days
ago. I wanted to wait until the right moment."
    "Considering our relationship, the right moment would
have been when it came up. Miami? Why now?"
    "Remember that patient I told you about? The woman with
medulloblastoma."
  "Helen Cabot? The attractive coed?"
    "That's the one," Sean said. "When I read about her Tu.-
mor, I discovered..." He paused.
  "Discovered what?" Janet demanded.
    "It wasn't from my reading," Sean corrected himself. "One
of her attendings said that her father had heard about a treat-
ment that is apparently achieving one hundred percent remis-
sion. The protocol is only administered at the Forbes Cancer
Center in Miami."
  "So you decided to go. Just like that."
    "Not exactly," Sean said. "I spoke to Dr. Walsh, who hap-
pens to know the director, a man named Randolph Mason. A
number of years ago they worked together at the NIH. Dr.
Walsh told him about me, and got me invited."
    "This is the wrong time for this," Janet said. "You know
i've been disturbed about us."
    Sean shrugged. "I'm sorry. But I have the time now, and
this is potentially consequential. My research involves the mo-
lecular basis of cancer. If they are experiencing a hundred-
percent remission rate for a specific tumor, it has to have
implications for all cancers."
    Janet felt weak. Her emotions were raw. Sean's leaving for
two months at this time seemed the worst possible situation
as far as her psyche was concerned. Yet his reasons were no-
ble. He wasn't going to the Club Med or something. How

24                                                                                                      25

could she get angry or try to deny him. She felt totally con-
fused.
    "There is the telephone," Sean said. "I'm not going to the
moon. It's only a couple of months. And you understand that
this could be very important."
    "More important than our relationship?" Janet blurted out.
"More important than the rest of our lives." Almost imme-
diately Janet felt foolish. Such comments sounded so juvenile.
    "Now let's not get into an argument comparing apples and
oranges," Sean said.
    Janet sighed deeply, fighting back tears. "Let's talk about
it later," she managed. "This is hardly the place for an emo-
tional confrontation."
  "I can't tonight," Sean said. "It's Friday and..."
    "And you have to go to that stupid bar," Janet snapped.
She saw some of the other people in the room turn to stare at
them.
    "Janet, keep your voice down!" Sean said. "We'll get to-
gether Saturday night as planned. We can talk then."
    "Knowing how upset this leaving would make me, I cannot
understand why you can't give up drinking with your trashy
buddies for one night."
    "Careful, Janet," Sean warned. "My friends are important
to me. They're my roots."
    For a moment their eyes met with palpable hostility. Then
Janet turned and strode from the lab.
    Self-consciously, Sean glanced at his colleagues. Most
avoided his gaze. Dr. Clifford Walsh did not. He was a big
man with a full beard. He wore a long white coat with the
sleeves rolled up to the elbows.
    "Turmoil does not help creativity," he said. 'q hope your
leaving on this sour note does not influence your behavior
down in Miami."
  "Not a chance," Sean said.
    "Remember, I've gone out on a limb for you," Dr. Walsh
said. "I assured Dr. Mason you'd be an asset to his organi-
zation. He liked the idea that you've had a lot of experience
with monoclonal antibodies."

  "That's what you told him?" Sean questioned with dismay.
    "I could tell from our conversation that he'd be interested
in that," Dr. Walsh explained. "Don't get your dander up."
    "But that was what I did three years ago at MIT," Sean
said. "Protein chemistry and I have parted ways."
    "I know you're interested in oncogenes now," Dr. Walsh
said, "but you wanted the job and I did what I thought was
best to get you invited. When you are there, you can explain
you'd rather work in molecular genetics. Knowing you as !
do, l'm not worried about you making your feelings known.
Just try to be tactful."
    "I've read some of the work of the chief investigator,"
Sean said. "It's perfect for me. Her background is in retro-
viruses and oncogenes."
    "That's Dr. Deborah Levy," Dr. Walsh said. "Maybe you
can get to work with her. But whether you do or not, just be
grateful you've been invited at this late date."
    "I just don't want to get all the way down there and get
stuck with busywork."
  "Promise me you won't cause trouble," Dr. Walsh said.
    "Me?" Sean asked with eyebrows arched. "You know me
better than that."
    "I know you too well," Dr. Walsh said. "That's the prob-
lem. Your brashness can be disturbing, to put it mildly, but at
least thank the Lord for your intelligence."


2

February 26
Friday, 4:45 P.M.

"Just a second, Corissa," Kathleen Sharenburg said as she
stopped and leaned against one of the cosmetic counters of
Neiman Marcus. They'd come to the mall just west of Houston
to shop for dresses for a school dance. Now that they had
made their purchases, Corissa was eager to get home.
    Kathleen had had a sudden sensation of dizziness giving her
the sickening sensation that the room was spinning. Luckily,
as soon as she touched the countertop, the spinning stopped.
She then shuddered through a wave of nausea. But it too
passed.
    "You all right?" Corissa asked. They were both juniors in
high school.
    "I don't know," Kathleen said. The headache she'd had off
and on for the last few days was back. It had been awakening
her from sleep, but she hadn't said anything to her parents,
afraid that it might be related to the pot she'd smoked the
weekend before.
    "You look white as a ghost," Corissa said. "Maybe we
shouldn't have eaten that fudge."
    "Oh my God!" Kathleen whispered. "That man over there
is listening to us. He's planning on kidnapping us in the park-
ing garage."
    Corissa spun about, half expecting some fearful man to be
towering over them. But all she saw was a handful of peaceful,
women shoppers, mostly at the cosmetic counters. She didn't
see any man.

26

  "What man are you talking about?" she asked.
    Kathleen's eyes stared ahead, unblinking. "That man over
there near the coats." She pointed with her left hand.
    Corissa followed the direction of Kathleen's finger and fi-
nally saw a man almost fifty yards away. He was standing
behind a woman who was shuffling through a rack of mer-
chandise. He wasn't even facing toward them.
  Confused, Corissa turned back to her best friend.
  "He's saying we cannot leave the store," Kathleen said.
    "What are you talking about?" Corissa questioned. "1
mean, you're starting to scare me."
    "We have to get out of here," Kathleen warned. Abruptly
she turned and headed in the opposite direction. Corissa had
to run to catch up with her. She grabbed Kathleen's arm and
yanked her around.
"What is wrong with you?" Corissa demanded.
Kathleen's face was a mask of terror. "There are more men
now," she said urgently. "They are coming down the esca-
lator. They're talking about getting us as well."
    Corissa turned. Several men were indeed coming down the
escalator. But at such a distance Corissa couldn't even see
their faces much less heal' what they said.
    Kathleen's scream jolted Corissa like an electric charge.
Corissa spun around and saw Kathleen begin to collapse.
Reaching out, Corissa tried to keep Kathleen from falling. But
they were off balance, and they both fell to the floor in a tangle
of arms and legs.
    Before Corissa could extract herself, Kathleen began to con-
vulse. Her body heaved wildly against the marble floor.
    Helping hands got Corissa to her feet. Two women who'd
been at a neighboring cosmetic counter attended to Kathleen.
They restrained her from hitting her head on the floor and
managed to get something between her teeth. A trickle of
blood oozed from Kathleen's lips. She had bitten her tongue.
  "Oh my God, oh my God!" Corissa kept repeating.
    "What's her name?" one of the women attending Kathleen
asked.
  "Kathleen Sharenburg," Corissa said. "Her father is Ted

28

Sharenburg, head of Shell Oil," she added, as if that fact
would somehow help her friend now.
    "Somebody better call an ambulance," the woman said.
"This girl's seizure has to be stopped."

IT WAS already dark as Janet tried to see out the window of
the Ritz Cafd. People were scurrying past in both directions
on Newbury Street, their hands clasped to either coat lapels
or hat.
    "I don't know what you see in him anyway," Evelyn Rear-
don was saying. "I told you the day you brought him home
he was inappropriate."
    "He's earning both his Ph.D. and an M.D. from Harvard,"
Janet reminded her mother.
    "That doesn't excuse his manners, or lack thereof," Evelyn
said.
    Janet eyed her mother. She was a tall, slender woman with
straight, even features. Few people had trouble recognizing
that Evelyn and Janet were mother and daughter.
    "Sean is proud of his heritage," Janet said. "He likes the
fact that he's from working stock."
    "There's nothing wrong in that," Evelyn said. "The prob-
lem is being mired in it. The boy has no manners. And that
long hair of his..."
    "He feels convention is stifling," Janet said. As usual she
found herself in the unenviable position of defending Sean. It
was particularly galling at the moment since she was cross
with him. What she'd hoped for from her mother was advice,
not the same old criticism.
    "How trite," Evelyn said. "If he was planning on practic-
ing like a regular doctor, there might be hope. But this mo-
lecular biology, or whatever it is, I don't understand. What is
he studying again?"
    "Oncogenes," Janet said. She should have known better
than to turn to her mother.
  "Explain what they are once more," Evelyn said.
  Janet poured herself more tea. Her mother could be trying,

29

and attempting to describe Sean's research to her was like the
blind leading the blind. But she tried nonetheless.
    "Oncogenes are genes that are capable of changing normal
cells into cancer cells," Janet said. "They come from normal
cellular genes present in every living cell called proto-
oncogenes. Sean feels that a true understanding of cancer will
come only when all the proto-oncogenes and oncogenes are
discovered and defined. And that's what he's doing: searching
for oncogenes in specialized viruses."
    "It may be very worthwhile," Evelyn said. "But it's all very
arcane and hardly the type of career to support a family on."
    "Don't be so sure," Janet said. "Sean and a couple of his
fellow students at MIT started a company to make monoclonal
antibodies while he was getting his master's degree. They
called it Immunotherapy, Inc. Over a year ago it was bought
out by Genentech."
    "That's encouraging," Evelyn said. "Did Sean make a
good profit?"
    "They all did," Janet said. "But they agreed to reinvest it
in a new company. That's all I can say at the moment. He's
sworn me to secrecy."
    "A secret from your mother?" Evelyn questioned. "Sounds
a bit melodramatic. But you know your father wouldn't ap-
prove. He's always said that people should avoid using their
own capital in starting new enterprises."
    Janet sighed in frustration. "All this is beside the point,"
she said. "What I wanted to hear is what you think about my
going to Florida. Sean's going to be there for two months. All
he'll be doing is research. Here in Boston he's doing research
plus schoolwork. I thought maybe we'd have a better chance
to talk and work things out."
  "What about your job at Memorial?" Evelyn asked.
    "I can take a leave," Janet said. "And I can certainly work
down there. One of the benefits of being a nurse is that I can
find employment just about anywhere."
  "Well, I don't think it is a good idea," Evelyn said.
  "Why?"
  "It's not right to go running after this boy," Evelyn said.

30

"Particularly since you know how your father and 1 feel about
him. He's never going to fit into our family. And after what
he said to Uncle Albert I wouldn't even know where to seat
him at a dinner party."
    'uncle Albert was teasing him about his hair," Janet said.
"He wouldn't stop."
  "That's no excuse for saying what he did to one's elder."
    "We all know that Uncle Albert wears a toupee," Janet
said.
    "We may know but we don't mention it," Evelyn said.
"And calling it a rug in front of everyone was inexcusable."
    Janet took a sip of her tea and stared out the window. It
was true the whole family knew Uncle Albert wore a toupee.
It was also true that no one ever commented on it. Janet had
grown up in a family where there were many unspoken rules.
Individual expression, especially in children, was not encour-
aged. Manners were considered of paramount importance.
    "Why don't you date that lovely young man who brought
you to the Myopia Hunt Club polo match last year," Evelyn
suggested.
  "He was a jerk," Janet said.
  "Janet!" her mother warned.
    They drank their tea in silence for a few moments. 'if you
want to talk to him so much," Evelyn finally said, "why not
do it before he leaves'? Go see him tonight?"
    "l can't," Janet said. "Friday night is his night with the
boys. They all hang out at some bar near where he went to
high school."
    "As your father would say, I rest my case," Evelyn said
with uncamouflaged satisfaction.

A HOODED sweatshirt under a wool jacket insulated Sean from
the freezing mist. The cinch for the hood had been drawn tight
and tied beneath his chin. As he jogged along High Street
toward Monument Square in Chariestown, he passed a bas-
ketball from one hand to the other. He'd just finished playing
a pickup game at the Chariestown Boys Club with a group

31

called "The Alumni." This was a motley assortment of friends
and acquaintances from age eighteen to sixty. It had been a
good workout, and he was still sweating.
    Skirting Monument Square with its enormous phallic mon-
ument commemorating the Battle of Bunker Hill, Sean ap-
proached his boyhood home. As a plumber his father, Brian
Murphy, Sr., had had a decent income, and back before it
became fashionable to live in the city, he had purchased a
large Victorian town house. At first the Murphys had lived in
the ground-floor duplex, but after his father had died at age
forty-six from liver cancer the rental from the duplex had been
sorely needed. When Sean's older brother, Brian, Jr., had gone
away to school, Sean, his younger brother Charles, and his
mother Anne had moved into one of the single-floor apart-
ments. Now she lived there alone.
    As he reached the door, Sean noticed a familiar Mercedes
parked just behind his Isuzu 4X4, indicating older brother
Brian had made one of his surprise visits. Intuitively, Sean
knew he was in for grief about his planned trip to Miami.
    Taking the stairs two at a time, Sean unlocked his mother's
door and stepped inside. Brian's black leather briefcase rested
on a ladder-back chair. A rich smell of pot roast filled the air.
    "Is that you, Sean?" Anne called from the kitchen. She
appeared in the doorway just as Sean was hanging up his coat.
Dressed in a simple housedress covered by a worn apron,
Anne looked considerably older than her fifty-four years. After
her long, repressing marriage to the hard-drinking Brian Mur-
phy, her face had become permanently drawn, her eyes gen-
erally tired and forlorn. Her hair, which she wore in an
old-fashioned bun, was naturally curly and although it had
been an attractive dark brown, it was now streaked with gray.
  "Brian's here," Anne said.
  "I guessed as much."
    Sean went into the kitchen to say hello to his brother. Brian
was at the kitchen table, nursing a drink. He'd removed his
jacket and draped it over a chair; paisley suspenders looped
over his shoulders. Like Sean, he had darkly handsome fea-
tures, black hair, and brilliant blue eyes. But the similarities

32                                                                                                           33

ended there. Where Sean was brash and casual, Brian was
circumspect and precise. Unlike Sean's shaggy locks, Brian's
hair was neatly trimmed and precisely parted. He sported a
carefully trimmed mustache. His clothing was decidedly law-
yer-like and leaned toward dark blue pinstripes.
      "Am I responsible for this honor'?" Sean asked. Brian did
not visit often even though he lived nearby in Back Bay.
  "Mother called me," Brian admitted.
    It didn't take Sean long to shower, shave, and dress in jeans
and a rugby shirt. He was back in the kitchen before Brian
finished carving the pot roast. Sean helped set the table. While
he did so, he eyed his older brother. There had been a time
when Sean resented him. For years his mother had introduced
her boys as my wonderful Brian, my good Charles, and Sean.
Charles was currently off in a seminary in New Jersey study-
ing to become a priest.
    Like Sean, Brian had always been an athlete, although not
as successful. He'd been a studious child and usually at home.
He'd gone to the University of Massachusetts, then on to law
school at B.U. Everybody had always liked Brian. Everyone
had always known that he would be successful and that he
would surely escape the Irish curse of alcohol, guilt, depres-
sion, and tragedy. Sean, on the other hand, had always been
the wild one, preferring the company of the neighborhood
ne'er-do-wells and frequently in trouble with the authorities
involving brawls, minor burglary, and stolen-car joy rides. If
it hadn't been for Sean's extraordinary intelligence and his
facility with a hockey stick, he might have ended up in Bridge-
water Prison instead of Harvard. Within the ghettos of the city
the dividing line between success and failure was a narrow
band of chance that the kids teetered on all through their tur-
bulent adolescent years.
    There was little conversation during the final dinner prep-
arations. But once they sat down, Brian cleared his throat after
taking a sip of his milk. They'd always drunk milk with dinner
throughout their boyhoods.
  "Mother is upset about this Miami idea," Brian said.
  Anne looked down at her plate. She'd always been self-

effacing, especially when Brian Sr. was alive. He'd had a ter-
rible temper made worse by alcohol, and alcohol had been a
daily indulgence. Every afternoon after unplugging drains, fix-
ing aged boilers, and installing toilets, Brian Sr. would stop at
the Blue Tower bar beneath the Tobin Bridge. Nearly every
night he'd come home drunk, sour, and vicious. Anne was the
usual target, although Sean had come in for his share of blows
when he tried to protect her. By morning Brian Sr. would be
sober, and consumed by guilt; he'd swear he would change.
But he never did. Even when he'd lost seventy-five pounds
and was dying from liver cancer, his behavior was the same.
    "I'm going down there to do research," Sean said. "It's
no big deal."
"There's drugs in Miami," Anne said. She didn't look up.
Sean rolled his eyes. He reached over and grasped his moth-
er's arm. "Mom, my problem with drugs was in high school.
I'm in medical school now."
    "What about that incident your first year of college?" Brian
added.
    "That was only a little coke at a party," Sean said. "It was
just unlucky the police decided to raid the place."
    "The lucky thing was my getting your juvenile record
sealed. Otherwise you would have been in a hell of a fix."
    "Miami is a violent city," Anne said. "I read about it in
the newspapers all the time."
  "Jesus Christ!" Sean exclaimed.
  "Don't use the Lord's name in vain," Anne said.
    "Mom, you've been watching too much television. Miami
is like any city, with both good and bad elements. But it
doesn't matter. I'll be doing research. I won't have time to get
into trouble even if I wanted to."
  "You'll meet the wrong kind of people," Anne said.
  "Morn, I'm an adult," Sean said in frustration.
    "You are still hanging out with the wrong people here in
Chariestown," Brian said. "Mom's fears are not unreasonable.
The whole neighborhood knows Jimmy O'Connor and Brady
Flanagan are still breaking and entering."
  "And sending the money to the IRA," Sean said.

32

ended there. Where Sean was brash and casual, Brian was
circumspect and precise. Unlike Sean's shaggy locks, Brian's
hair was neatly trimmed and precisely parted. He sported a
carefully trimmed mustache. His clothing was decidedly law-
yer-like and leaned toward dark blue pinstripes.
      "Am I responsible for this honor'?" Sean asked. Brian did
not visit often even though he lived nearby in Back Bay.
  "Mother called me," Brian admitted.
    It didn't take Sean long to shower, shave, and dress in jeans
and a rugby shirt. He was back in the kitchen before Brian
finished carving the pot roast. Sean helped set the table. While
he did so, he eyed his older brother. There had been a time
when Sean resented him. For years his mother had introduced
her boys as my wonderful Brian, my good Charles, and Sean.
Charles was currently off in a seminary in New Jersey study-
ing to become a priest.
    Like Sean, Brian had always been an athlete, although not
as successful. He'd been a studious child and usually at home.
He'd gone to the University of Massachusetts, then on to law
school at B.U. Everybody had always liked Brian. Everyone
had always known that he would be successful and that he
would surely escape the Irish curse of alcohol, guilt, depres-
sion, and tragedy. Sean, on the other hand, had always been
the wild one, preferring the company of the neighborhood
ne'er-do-wells and frequently in trouble with the authorities
involving brawls, minor burglary, and stolen-car joy rides. If
it hadn't been for Sean's extraordinary intelligence and his
facility with a hockey stick, he might have ended up in Bridge-
water Prison instead of Harvard. Within the ghettos of the city
the dividing line between success and failure was a narrow
band of chance that the kids teetered on all through their tur-
bulent adolescent years.
    There was little conversation during the final dinner prep-
arations. But once they sat down, Brian cleared his throat after
taking a sip of his milk. They'd always drunk milk with dinner
throughout their boyhoods.
  "Mother is upset about this Miami idea," Brian said.
  Anne looked down at her plate. She'd always been self-

33

effacing, especially when Brian Sr. was alive. He'd had a ter-
rible temper made worse by alcohol, and alcohol had been a
daily indulgence. Every afternoon after unplugging drains, fix-
ing aged boilers, and installing toilets, Brian Sr. would stop at
the Blue Tower bar beneath the Tobin Bridge. Nearly every
night he'd come home drunk, sour, and vicious. Anne was the
usual target, although Sean had come in for his share of blows
when he tried to protect her. By morning Brian Sr. would be
sober, and consumed by guilt; he'd swear he would change.
But he never did. Even when he'd lost seventy-five pounds
and was dying from liver cancer, his behavior was the same.
    "I'm going down there to do research," Sean said. "It's
no big deal."
"There's drugs in Miami," Anne said. She didn't look up.
Sean rolled his eyes. He reached over and grasped his moth-
er's arm. "Morn, my problem with drugs was in high school.
I'm in medical school now."
    "What about that incident your first year of college?" Brian
added.
    "That was only a little coke at a party," Sean said. "It was
just unlucky the police decided to raid the place."
    "The lucky thing was my getting your juvenile record
sealed. Otherwise you would have been in a hell of a fix."
    "Miami is a violent city," Anne said. "I read about it in
the newspapers all the time."
  "Jesus Christ!" Sean exclaimed.
  "Don't use the Lord's name in vain," Anne said.
    "Mom, you've been watching too much television. Miami
is like any city, with both good and bad elements. But it
doesn't matter. I'll be doing research. I won't have time to get
into trouble even if I wanted to."
  "You'll meet the wrong kind of people," Anne said.
  "Mom, I'm an adult," Sean said in frustration.
    "You are still hanging out with the wrong people here in
Chariestown," Brian said. "Mom's fears are not unreasonable.
The whole neighborhood knows Jimmy O'Connor and Brady
Flanagan are still breaking and entering."
  "And sending the money to the IRA," Sean said.

34

"They are not political activists," Brian said. "They are
hoodlums. And you choose to remain friends."
    "I have a few beers with them on Friday nights," Sean
said.
    "Precisely," Brian said. "Like our father, the pub is your
home away from home. And apart from Mom's concerns, this
isn't a good time for you to be away. The Franklin Bank will
be coming up with the rest of the financing for Oncogen. I've
got the papers almost ready. Things could move quickly."
    "In case you've forgotten, there are fax machines and over-
night delivery," Sean said, scraping his chair back from the
table. He stood up and carried his plate over to the sink. "I'm
going to Miami no matter what anybody says. I believe the
Forbes Cancer Center has hit on something extraordinarily im-
portant. And now if you two co-conspirators will allow me,
I'm going out to drink with my delinquent friends."
    Feeling irritable, Sean struggled into the old pea coat that
his father had gotten back when the Chariestown Navy Yard
was still functioning. Pulling a wool watch cap over his ears,
he ran downstairs to the street and set out into the freezing
rain. The wind had shifted to the east and he could smell the
salt sea air. As he neared Old Scully's Bar on Bunker Hill
Street, the warm incandescent glow from the misted windows
emanated a familiar sense of comfort and security.
    Pushing open the door he allowed himself to be enveloped
by the dimly lit, noisy environment. It was not a classy place.
The pine wood paneling was almost black with cigarette
smoke. The furniture was scraped and scarred. The only bright
spot was the brass footrail kept polished by innumerable shoes
rubbing across its surface. In the far comer a TV was bolted
to the ceiling and to: cd to a Bruins hockey game.
    The only worning ill the crowded room was Molly, who
shared bartending d ~'i.~s with Pete. Before Sean could even
say anything a brimming mug of ale slid along the bar toward
him. A hand grasped his shoulder as a cheer spread through
the crowd. The Bruins had scored a goal.
    Sean sighed contentedly. It was as if he were at home. He
had the same comfortable feeling he'd get whenever he was

35

particularly exhausted and settled into a soft bed.
    As usual, Jimmy and Brady drifted over and began to brag
about a little job they'd done in Marblehead the previous
weekend. That led to humorous recollections of when Sean
had been "one of the guys."
    "We always knew you were smart the way you could figure
out alarms," Brady said. "But we never guessed you'd go to
Harvard. How could you stand all those jerks."
    It was a statement, not a question, and Sean let it pass, but
the comment made him realize how much he'd changed. He
still enjoyed Old Scully's Bar, but more as an observer. It was
an uncomfortable acknowledgment because he didn't truly feel
part of the Harvard medical world either. He felt rather like a
social orphan.
    A few hours later when Sean had had a few drafts, and he
was feeling more mellow and less an outcast, he joined in the
raucous decisionmaking involving a trip up to Revere to one
of the strip joints near the waterfront. Just at the moment the
debate was reaching a frenzied climax, the entire bar went
dead silent. One by one heads turned toward the front door.
Something extraordinary had happened, and everyone was
shocked. A woman had breached their all-male bastion. And
it wasn't an ordinary woman, like some overweight, gum-
chewing girl in the laundromat. It was a slim, gorgeous woman
who obviously wasn't from Chariestown.
    Her long blond hair glistened with diamonds of moisture,
and it contrasted dramatically with the rich deep mahogany of
her mink jacket. Her eyes were almond shaped and pert as
they audaciously scanned the room, leaping from one stunned
face to another. Her mouth was set in determination. Her high
cheekbones glowed with color. She appeared like a collective
hallucination of some fantasy female.
    A few of the guys shifted nervously, guessing that she was
someone's girlfriend. She was too beautiful to be anyone's
wife.
    Sean was one of the last faces to turn. And when he did,
his mouth dropped open. It was Janet!
 Janet spotted him about the same time he saw her. She

34

"They are not political activists," Brian said. "They are
hoodlums. And you choose to remain friends."
    'q have a few beers with them on Friday nights," Sean
said.
    "Precisely," Brian said. "Like our father, the pub is your
home away from home. And apart from Mom's concerns, this
isn't a good time for you to be away. The Franklin Bank will
be coming up with the rest of the financing for Oncogen. I've
got the papers almost ready. Things could move quickly."
    "In case you've forgotten, there are fax machines and over-
night delivery," Sean said, scraping his chair back from the
table. He stood up and carried his plate over to the sink. "I'm
going to Miami no matter what anybody says. I believe the
Forbes Cancer Center has hit on something extraordinarily im-
portant. And now if you two co-conspirators will allow me,
I'm going out to drink with my delinquent friends."
    Feeling irritable, Sean struggled into the old pea coat that
his father had gotten back when the Chariestown Navy Yard
was still functioning. Pulling a wool watch cap over his ears,
he ran downstairs to the street and set out into the freezing
rain. The wind had shifted to the east and he could smell the
salt sea air. As he neared Old Scully's Bar on Bunker Hill
Street, the warm incandescent glow from the misted windows
emanated a familiar sense of comfort and security.
    Pushing open the door he allowed himself to be enveloped
by the dimly lit, noisy environment. It was not a classy place.
The pine wood paneling was almost black with cigarette
smoke. The furniture was scraped and scarred. The only bright
spot was the brass footrail kept polished by innumerable shoes
rubbing across its surface. In the far corner a TV was bolted
to the ceiling and to; cd to a Bruins hockey game.
    The only woman ill the crowded room was Molly, who
shared bartending ,! .'{,~'s with Pete. Before Sean could even
say anything a brimming mug of ale slid along the bar toward
him. A hand grasped his shoulder as a cheer spread through
the crowd. The Bruins had scored a goal.
    Sean sighed contentedly. It was as if he were at home. He
had the same comfortable feeling he'd get whenever he was

35

particularly exhausted and settled into a soft bed.
    As usual, Jimmy and Brady drifted over and began to brag
about a little job they'd done in Marblehead the previous
weekend. That led to humorous recollections of when Sean
had been "one of the guys."
    "We always knew you were smart the way you could figure
out alarms," Brady said. "But we never guessed you'd go to
Harvard. How could you stand all those jerks."
    It was a statement, not a question, and Sean let it pass, but
the comment made him realize how much he'd changed. He
still enjoyed Old Scully's Bar, but more as an observer. It was
an uncomfortable acknowledgment because he didn't truly feel
part of the Harvard medical world either. He felt rather like a
social orphan.
    A few hours later when Sean had had a few drafts, and he
was feeling more mellow and less an outcast, he joined in the
raucous decisionmaking involving a trip up to Revere to one
of the strip joints near the waterfront. Just at the moment the
debate was reaching a frenzied climax, the entire bar went
dead silent. One by one heads turned toward the front door.
Something extraordinary had happened, and everyone was
shocked. A woman had breached their all-male bastion. And
it wasn't an ordinary woman, like some everweight, gum-
chewing girl in the laundromat. It was a slim, gorgeous woman
who obviously wasn't from Chariestown.
    Her long blond hair glistened with diamonds of moisture,
and it contrasted dramatically with the rich deep mahogany of
her mink jacket. Her eyes were almond shaped and pert as
they audaciously scanned the room, leaping from one stunned
face to another. Her mouth was set in determination. Her high
cheekbones glowed with color. She appeared like a collective
hallucination of some fantasy female.
    A few of the guys shifted nervously, guessing that she was
someone's girlfriend. She was too beautiful to be anyone's
wife.
    Sean was one of the last faces to turn. And when he did,
his mouth dropped open. It was Janet!
 Janet spotted him about the same time he saw her. She

36

walked directly up to him and pushed in beside him at the
bar. Brady moved away, making an exaggerated gesture of
terror as if Janet were a fearful creature.  "I'd like a beer, please," she said.
    Without answering, Molly filled a chilled mug and placed
it in front of Janet.
 The room remained silent except for the television.
    Janet took a sip and turned to look at Sean. Since she was
wearing pumps she was just about eye level. "I want to talk
with you," she said.
    Sean hadn't felt this embarrassed since he'd been caught
with his pants off at age sixteen with Kelly Parnell in the back
of her family's car.
    Putting his beer down, Sean grasped Janet by her upper arm,
just above the elbow, and marched her out the door. When
they got out on the sidewalk Sean had recovered enough to
be angry. He was also a little tipsy.
  "What are you doing here?" he demanded.
    Sean allowed his eyes to sweep around the neighborhood.
"I don't believe this. You know you weren't supposed to
come here."
    "I knew nothing of the kind," Janet said. "I knew I wasn't
invited, if that's what you mean. But I didn't think my coming
constituted a capital offense. It's important I talk with you,
and with you leaving on Sunday, I think it's more important
than drinking with these so-called friends of yours."
    "And who is making that value judgment?" Sean de-
manded. "I'm the one who decides what is important to me,
not you, and I resent this intrusion."
    'q need to talk to you about Miami," Janet said. "It's your
fault you've waited until the last minute to tell me."
    "There's nothing to talk about," Sean said. "I'm going and
that's final. Not you, not my mother, and not my brother are
going to stop me. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go back
in and see what I can salvage of my self-respect."
     "But this can impact the rest of our lives," Janet said. Tears
 began to mix with the rain running down her cheeks. She'd

 37

taken an emotional risk coming to Chariestown, and the idea
of rejection was devastating.
    "I'll talk with you tomorrow," Sean said. "Good night,
Janet."

TED SHARENBURG was nervous, waiting for the doctors to tell
him what was wrong with his daughter. His wife had gotten
in touch with him in New Orleans where he'd been on busi-
ness, and he had gotten the company Gulfstream jet to fly him
directly back to Houston. As the CEO of an oil company that
had made major contributions to the Houston hospitals, Ted
Sharenburg was afforded special treatment. At that moment
his daughter was inside the huge, multimillion-dollar MRI ma-
chine having an emergency brain scan.
    "We don't know much yet," Dr. Judy Buckley said.
"These initial images are very superficial cuts." Judy Buckley
was the chief of neuroradiology and had been happy to come
into the hospital at the director's request. Also in attendance
were Dr. Vance Martinez, the Sharenburgs' internist, and Dr.
Stanton Rainey, chief of neurology. It was a prominent group
of experts to be assembled at any hour, much less at one
o'clock in the morning.
    Ted paced the tiny control room. He couldn't sit still. The
story he'd been told about his daughter had been devastating.
    "She experienced an acute paranoid psychosis," Dr. Mar-
tinez had explained. "Symptoms like that can occur, espe-
cially with some sort of involvement of the temporal lobe."
    Ted reached the end of the room for the fiftieth time and
turned. He looked through the glass at the giant MRI machine.
He could just barely see his daughter. It was as if she were
being swallowed by a technological whale. He hated being so
helpless. All he could do was watch, and hope. He'd felt al-
most as vulnerable when she'd had her tonsils out a few
months earlier.
  "We've got something," Dr. Buckley said.
 Ted hurried over to the CRT screen.

38

    "There's a hyperintense circumscribed area in the right tem-
poral lobe," she said.
  "What does it mean?" Ted demanded.
     The doctors exchanged glances. It was not customary for
the relative of a patient to be in the room during such a study.
  "It's probably a mass lesion," Dr. Buckley said.
    "Can you put that in lay terms?" Ted asked, trying to keep
his voice even.
    "She means a brain tumor," Dr. Martinez said. "But we
know very little at this point, and we should not jump to con-
clusions. The lesion might have been there for years."
    Ted swayed. His worst fears were materializing. Why
couldn't he be in that machine and not his daughter?
    "Uh oh!" Dr. Buckley said, forgetting the effect such an
exclamation would have on Ted. "Here's another lesion."
    The doctors clustered around the screen, transfixed by the
vertically unfolding images. For a few moments they forgot
about Ted.
    "You know it reminds me of the case I told you about in
Boston," said Dr. Rainey. "A young woman in her twenties
with multiple intracranial tumors and negative metastatic
workup. She was proved to have medulloblastoma."
    "I thought medulloblastoma occurs in the posterior fossa,"
Dr. Martinez said.
    "It usually does," Dr. Rainey said. "It also usually occurs
in younger kids. But twenty percent or so of the incidents are
in patients over twenty, and it's occasionally found in regions
of the brain besides the cerebellum. Actually, it would be won-
derful if it turns out to be medulloblastoma in this case."
    "Why?" Dr. Buckley asked. She was aware of the high
mortality of the cancer.
    "Because a group down in Miami has had remarkable suc-
cess in getting remissions with that particular tumor."
    "What's their name?" Ted demanded, clutching onto the
first hopeful news he'd heard.
    "The Forbes Cancer Center," Dr. Rainey said. "They
haven't published yet but word of that kind of a result gets
around."

3

   March 2
Tuesday, 6:15 A.M.

When Tom Widdicomb awoke at 6:15 to begin his workday,
Sean Murphy had already been on the road for several hours,
planning on reaching the Forbes Cancer Center by mid-
morning. Tom did not know Sean, and had no idea he was
expected. Had he known that their lives would soon intersect,
his anxiety would have been even greater. Tom was always
anxious when he decided to help a patient, and the night before
he'd decided to help not one but two women. Sandra Blan-
kenship on the second floor would be the first. She was in
great pain and already receiving her chemotherapy by IV. The
other patient, Gloria D'Amataglio, was on the fourth floor.
That was a bit more worrisome since the last patient he'd
helped, Norma Taylor, had also been on the fourth floor. Tom
didn't want any pattern to emerge.
    His biggest problem was that he constantly worried about
someone suspecting what he was doing, and on a day that he
was going to act, his anxiety could be overwhelming. Still,
sensitive to gossip on the wards, he'd heard nothing that sug-
gested that anyone was suspicious. After all, he was dealing
with women who were terminally ill. They were expected to
die. Tom was merely saving everyone from additional suffer-
ing, especially the patient.
    Tom showered, shaved, and dressed in his green uniform,
then went into his mother's kitchen. She always got up before
he did, insistent every morning as far back as he could re-

40

member that he should eat a good breakfast since he wasn't
as strong as other boys. Tom and his mother, Alice, had lived
together in their close, secret world from the time Tom's dad
died when Tom was four. That was when he and his mother
had started sleeping together, and his mother had started call-
ing him "her little man."
    "I'm going to help another woman today, Mom," Tom said
as he sat down to eat his eggs and bacon. He knew how proud
his mother was of him. She had always praised him even when
he'd been a lonely child with eye problems. His schoolmates
had teased him mercilessly about his crossed eyes, chasing him
home nearly every day.
    "Don't worry, my little man," Alice would say when he'd
arrive at the house in tears. "We'll always have each other.
We don't need other people."
    And that was how things worked out. Tom had never felt
any desire to leave home. For a while, he worked at a local
veterinarian's. Then at his mother's suggestion, since she'd
always been interested in medicine, he'd taken a course to be
an EMT. After his training, he got a job with an ambulance
company but had trouble getting along with the other workers.
He decided he would be better off as an orderly. That way he
wouldn't have to relate to so many people. First he'd worked
at Miami General Hospital but got into a fight with his shift
supervisor. Then he worked at a funeral home before joining
the Forbes housekeeping staff.
    "The woman's name is Sandra," Tom told his mother as
he ran his dish under the faucet at the sink. "She's older than
you. She's in a lot of pain. The 'problem' has spread to her
spine."
    When Tom spoke to his mother, he never used the word
"cancer." Early in her illness, they'd decided not to say the
word. They preferred less emotionally charged words like
"problem" or "difficulty."
    Tom had read about succinylcholine in a newspaper story
about some doctor in New Jersey. His rudimentary medical
training afforded an understanding of the physiologic princi-
ples. His freedom as a housekeeper allowed him contact with

41

anesthesia carts. He'd never had any problem getting the drug.
The problem had been where to hide it until it was needed.
Then one day he found a convenient space above the wall
cabinets in the housekeeping closet on the fourth floor. When
he climbed up and looked into the area and saw the amount
of accumulated dust, he knew his drug would never be dis-
turbed.
    "Don't worry about anything, Mom," Tom said as he pre-
pared to leave. "I'11 be home just as soon as I can. I'll miss
you and I love you." Tom had been saying that ever since he
had gone to school, and just because he'd had to put his
mother to sleep three years ago, he didn't feel any need to
change.

IT WAS almost ten-thirty in the morning when Sean pulled his
4X4 into the parking area of the Forbes Cancer Center. It was
a bright, clear, summerdike day. The temperature was some-
where around seventy, and after the freezing Boston rain Sean
felt he was in heaven. He'd enjoyed the two-clay drive, too.
He could have made it faster, but the clinic wasn't expecting
him until late that day so there'd been no need. He spent his
first night in a motel just off 195 in Rocky Mount, North Car-
olina.
    The next day had taken him deep into Florida where the
depth of spring seemed to increase with every passing mile.
The second night had been spent in perfumed delight near
Vero Beach, Florida. When he asked the motel clerk about the
wonderful aroma in the air he was told it came from the nearby
citrus groves.
    The last lap of the journey turned out to be the most diffi-
cult. From West Palm Beach south, particularly near Fort Lau-
derdale and into Miami, he fought rush-hour traffic. To his
surprise even eight-laned 195 coagulated into a stop-and-go
mess.
    Sean locked his car, stretched, and gazed up at the imposing
twin bronzed, mirrored towers of the Forbes Cancer Center.
A covered pedestrian bridge constructed of the same material

42

connected the buildings. He noted from the signs that the re-
search and administration center was on the left while the hos-
pital was on the right.
    As Scan started for the entrance, he thought about his first
impressions of Miami. They were mixed. As he'd come south
on I95 and neared his turnoff, he'd been able to see the gleam-
ing new downtown skyscrapers. But the areas adjacent to the
highway had been a melange of strip malls and low-income
housing. The area around the Forbes Center, which was situ-
ated along the Miami River, was also rather seedy although a
few modern buildings were interspersed among the flat-roofed
cinder block structures.
    As Scan pushed through the mirrored door, he thought
wryly about the difficulty everyone had given him about this
two-month elective. He wondered if his mother would ever
get over the traumas he'd caused her as an adolescent.
"You're too much like your father," she'd say, and it was
meant as a reproach. Except for enjoying the pub, Sean felt
little similarity with his father. But then he had been presented
with far different choices and opportunities than his father ever
had.
    A black felt sign stood on an easel just inside the door.
Spelled out in white plastic letters was his name and a mes-
sage: Welcome. Scan thought it was a nice touch.
    There was a small lounge directly behind the front door.
Entrance into the building itself was blocked by a turnstile.
Next to the turnstile was a Corian-covered desk. Behind the
desk sat a swarthy, handsome Hispanic man dressed in a
brown uniform complete with epaulets and peaked military-
style hat. The outfit reminded Scan of a cross between those
seen in Marine recruitment posters and those seen in Holly-
wood Gestapo movies. An elaborate emblem on the guard's
left arm said "Security" and the name tag above his left
pocket proclaimed that his name was Martinez.
     "Can I help you?" Martinez asked in heavily accented En-
 glish.
     "I'm Sean Murphy," Sean said, pointing to the welcome
 sign.

43

    The guard's expression did not change. He studied Scan for
a beat then picked up one of several telephones. He spoke in
rapid, staccato Spanish. After he hung up he pointed to a
nearby leather couch. "A few moments, please."
    Sean sat down. He picked up a copy of Science from a low
coffee table and idly flipped the pages. But his attention was
on Forbes' elaborate security system. Thick glass partitions
separated the waiting area from the rest of the building. Ap-
parently the guarded turnstile provided the only entrance.
    Since security was all too frequently neglected in health care
institutions, Sean was favorably impressed and said as much
to the guard.
    "There are some bad areas nearby," the guard replied but
didn't elaborate.
    Presently a second security officer appeared, dressed iden-
tically to the first. The turnstile opened to allow him into the
lounge.
    "My name is Ramirez," the second guard said. "Would
you follow me, please."
    Scan got to his feet. As he passed through the turnstile he
didn't see Martinez press any button. He guessed the turnstile
was controlled by a foot pedal.
    Scan followed Ramirez for a short distance, turning into the
first office on the left. "Security" was printed in block letters
on the open door. Inside was a control room with banks of
TV monitors covering one wall. In front of the monitors was
a third guard with a clipboard. Even a cursory glance at the
monitors told Scan that he was looking at a multitude of lo-
cations around the complex.
    Sean continued to follow Ramirez into a small windowless
office. Behind the desk sat a fourth guard who had two gold
stars attached to his uniform and gold trim on the peak of his
hat. His name tag said: Harris.
    "That will be all, Ramirez," Harris said, giving Sean the
feeling he was being inducted into the army.
    Harris studied Sean who stared back. There was an almost
immediate feeling of antipathy between the men.
With his tanned, meaty face, Harris looked like a lot of

44

people Sean had known in Chariestown when he was young.
They usually had jobs of minor authority that they practiced
with great officiousness. They were also nasty drunks. Two
beers and they'd want to fight about a call a referee had made
on a televised sporting event if you suggested you disagreed
with their perception. It was crazy. Sean had learned long ago
to avoid such people. Now he was standing across the desk
from one.
    "We don't want any trouble here," Harris was saying. He
had a faint southern accent.
    Sean thought that was a strange way to begin a conversa-
tion. He wondered what this man thought he was getting from
Harvard, a parolee'? Harris was in obvious good physical
shape, his bulging biceps straining the sleeves of his short-
sleeved shirt, yet he didn't look all that healthy. Sean toyed
with the idea of giving the man a short lecture on the benefits
of proper nutrition, but thought better of the idea. He could
still hear Dr. Walsh's admonitions.
    "You're supposed to be a doctor," Harris said. "Why the
hell are you wearing your hair so long? And I'd hazard to say
that you didn't shave this morning."
    "But I did put on a shirt and tie for the occasion," Sean
said. "I thought I was looking quite natty."
    "Don't mess with me, boy," Harris said. There was no sign
of humor in his voice.
    Sean shifted his weight wearily. He was already tired of the
conversation and of Harris.
"Is there some particular reason you need me here?"
"You'll need a photo ID card," Harris said. He stood up
and came around from behind the desk to open a door to a
neighboring room. He was several inches taller than Sean and
at least twenty pounds heavier. In hockey Sean used to like to
block such guys low, coming up fast under their shins.
    'Td suggest you get a haircut," Harris said, as he motioned
for Sean to pass into the next room. "And get your pants
ironed. Maybe then you'll fit in better. This isn't college."
    Stepping through the door Sean saw Ramirez look up from
adjusting a Polaroid camera mounted on a tripod. Ramirez

45

pointed toward a stool in front of a blue curtain. and Sean sat
down.

HARRIS CLOSED the door to the camera room, went back to
his desk, and sat down. Sean had been worse than he'd feared.
The idea of some wiseass kid coming down from Harvard had
not appealed to him in the first place, but he hadn't expected
anyone looking like a hippie from the sixties.
    Lighting a cigarette, Harris cursed the likes of Sean. He
hated such liberal Ivy League types who thought they knew
everything. Harris had gone through the Citadel, then into the
army where he'd trained hard for the commandos. He'd done
well, making captain after Desert Storm. But with the breakup
of the Soviet Union, the peacetime army had begun cutting
back. Harris had been one of its victims.
    Harris stubbed out his cigarette. Intuition told him Sean
would be trouble. He decided he'd have to keep his eye on
him.

WITH A new photo ID clipped to his shirt pocket, Sean left
security. The experience didn't mesh with the welcome sign,
but one fact did impress him. When he'd asked the reticent
Ramirez why security was so tight, Ramirez had told him that
several researchers had disappeared the previous year.
    "Disappeared?" Sean asked with amazement. He'd heard
of equipment disappearing, but people!
  "Were they found?" Sean had asked.
    "I don't know," Ramirez had said. "I only came this
year.' '
  "Where are you from?"
  "Medellin, Colombia," Ramirez had said.
    Sean had not asked any more questions, but Ramirez's reply
added to Sean's unease. It seemed overkill to head security
with a man who acted like a frustrated Green Beret and staff
it with a group of guys who could have been from some Col-
ombian drug 1ord's private army. As Sean followed Ramirez

46                                                               T E R M I N A L                             47

into the elevator to the seventh floor his initial positive im-
pression of Forbes security faded.
    "Come in, come in!" Dr. Randolph Mason repeated, hold-
mg open his office door. Almost immediately Sean's unease
was replaced by a feeling of genuine welcome. "We're
pleased to have you with us," Dr. Mason said. 'q was so
happy when Clifford called and suggested it. Would you like
some coffee'?"
    Sean acquiesced and was soon balancing a cup while sitting
on a couch across from the Forbes director. Dr. Mason looked
like everyone's romantic image of a physician. He was tall
with an aristocratic face, classically graying hair, and an ex-
pressive mouth. His eyes were sympathetic and his nose
slightly aquiline. He seemed the type of man you could tell a
problem to and know he'd not only care but he'd solve it.
    "The first thing we must do," Dr. Mason said, "is have
you meet our head of research, Dr. Levy." He picked up the
phone and asked his secretary to have Deborah come up. "I'm
certain you will be impressed by her. I wouldn't be surprised
if she were soon in contention for the big Scandinavian prize."
    "I've already been impressed with her earlier work on re-
troviruses," Sean said.
"Like everyone else," Dr. Mason said. "More coffee?"
Sean shook his head. "I have to be careful with this stuff,"
he said. "It makes me hyper. Too much and I don't come
down for days."
    "I'm the same way," Dr. Mason said. "Now about your
accommodations. Has anyone discussed them with you?"
    "Dr. Walsh just said that you would be able to provide
housing."
    "Indeed," Dr. Mason said. 'I'm pleased to say that we had
the foresight to purchase a sizable apartment complex several
years ago. It's not in Coconut Grove, but it's not far either.
We use it for visiting personnel and patients' families. We're
delighted to offer you one of the apartments for your stay. Fm
certain you will find it suitable, and you should enjoy the
neighborhood as it's so close to the Grove."
  "I'm pleased I didn't have to make my own arrangements,"

Sean said. "And as far as entertainment is concerned, I'm
more interested in working than playing tourist."
    "Everyone should have a balance in life," Dr. Mason said.
"But rest assured, we have plenty of work for you to do. We
want your experience here to be a good one. When you go
into practice we hope you will be referring us patients."
  "My plan is to remain in research," Sean said.
"I see," Dr. Mason said, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.
"In fact, the reason I wanted to come here..." Sean began,
but before he could complete the statement, Dr. Deborah Levy
walked into the room.
    Deborah Levy was a strikingly attractive woman with dark
olive skin, large almond-shaped eyes, and hair even blacker
than Sean's. She was stylishly thin and wore a dark blue silk
dress beneath her lab coat. She walked with the confidence
and grace of the truly successful.
 Sean struggled to get to his feet.
    "Don't bother to get up," Dr. Levy said in a husky yet
feminine voice. She thrust a hand at Sean.
    Sean shook Dr. Levy's hand while balancing his coffee in
the other. She gripped his fingers with unexpected strength and
gave Sean's arm a shake that rattled his cup in its saucer. Her
gaze bore into him with intensity.
    "l've been instructed to say welcome," she said, sitting
across from him. "But 1 think we should be honest about this.
I'm not entirely convinced your visit is a good idea. I run a
tight ship here in the lab. You'll either pitch in and work or
you'll be out of here and on the next plane back to Boston. I
don't want you to think..."
    "I drove down," Sean interrupted. He knew he was already
being provocative, but he couldn't help himself. He didn't ex-
pect such a brusque greeting from the head of research.
    Dr. Levy stared at him for a moment before continuing.
"The Forbes Cancer Center is no place for a holiday in the
sun," she added. "Do I make myself clear?"
    Sean cast a quick glance at Dr. Mason who was still smiling
warmly didn't come here for a holiday. If Forbes had been in

48                                                                                                          49

Bismarck, North Dakota, I would have wanted to come. You
see, I've heard about the results you've been getting with me-
dulloblastoma."
    Dr. Mason coughed and moved forward in his seat, placing
his coffee on the table. "I hope you didn't expect to work on
the medulloblastoma protocol," he said.
    Sean's gaze shifted between the two doctors. "Actually, I
did," he said with some alarm.
    "When I spoke with Dr. Walsh," Mason said, "he empha-
sized that you have had extensive and successful experience
with the development of murine monoclonal antibodies."
    "That was during my year at MIT," Sean explained. "But
that's not my interest now. In fact, I feel it is already yester-
day's technology."
    "That's not our belief," Dr. Mason said. "We think it's
still commercially viable and will be for some time. In fact,
we've had a bit of luck isolating and producing a glycoprotein
from patients with colonic cancer. What we need now is a
monoclonal antibody in hopes it might be an aid to early di-
agnosis. But, as you know, glycoproteins can be tricky. We've
been unable to get mice to respond antigenically, and we've
failed to crystallize the substance. Dr. Walsh assured me you
were an artist when it comes to this kind of protein chemis-
try."
    'q was," Sean said. "I haven't been doing it for some time.
My interest has changed to molecular biology, specifically on-
cogenes and oncoproteins."
    "This is just what I feared," Dr. Levy said, turning to Dr.
Mason. "I told you this was not a good idea. We are not set
up for students. I'm much too busy to babysit a medical stu-
dent extern. Now if you'll excuse me, I must get back to my
work."
    Dr. Levy got to her feet and looked down at Sean. "My
rudeness is not meant to be personal. I'm very busy, and I'm
under a lot of stress."
    "I'm sorry," Sean said. "But it is difficult not to take it
personally since your medulloblastoma results are the reason
I took this elective and drove all the way the hell down here."

"Frankly, that's not my concern," she said, striding toward
the door.
    "Dr. Levy," Sean called out. "Why haven't you published
any articles on the medulloblastoma results? With no pub-
lications, if you'd stayed in academia, you'd probably be out
looking for a job."
    Dr. Levy paused and cast a disapproving look at Sean. "Im-
pertinence is not a wise policy for a student," she said, closing
the door behind her.
    Sean looked over at Dr. Mason and shrugged his shoulders.
"She was the one who said we should be honest about all this.
She hasn't published for years."
    "Clifford warned me that you might not be the most dip-
lomatic extern," Dr. Mason said.
    "Did he now?" Sean questioned superciliously. He was al-
ready beginning to question his decision to come to Florida.
Maybe everybody else had been right after all.
    "But he also said you were extremely bright. And I think
Dr. Levy came on a bit stronger than she meant. At any rate
she has been under great strain. In fact we all have."
    "But the results you've been getting with the medulloblas-
toma patients are fantastic," Sean said, hoping to plead his
case. "There has to be something to be learned about cancer
in general here. I want desperately to be involved in your
protocol. Maybe by looking at it with fresh, objective eyes I'll
see something that you people have missed."
    "You certainly don't lack self-confidence," said Dr. Ma-
son. "And perhaps someday we could use a fresh eye. But
not now. Let me be honest and open with you and give you
some confidential information. There are several reasons you
won't be able to participate in our medulloblastoma study.
First, it is already a clinical protocol and you are here for basic
science research. That was made clear to your mentor. And
second of all we cannot permit outsiders access to our current
work because we have yet to apply for the appropriate patents
on some of our unique biological processes. This policy is
dictated by our source of funding. Like a lot of research in-
stitutions, we've had to seek alternate sources for operating

5O

capital since the government started squeezing research grants
to everything but AIDS. We have turned to the Japanese."
  "Like the Mass General in Boston?" Sean questioned.
  "Something like that," Dr. Mason said. "We struck a forty-
  million-dollar deal with Sushita Industries, which has been ex-
  panding into biotechnology. The agreement was that Sushita
  would advance us the money over a period of years in return
  for which they would control any patents that result. That's
  one of the reasons we need the monoclonal antibody to the
  colonic antigen. We have to produce some commercially vi-
  able products if we hope to continue to receive Sushita's
  yearly payments. So far we haven't been doing too well in
  that regard. And if we don't maintain our funding we'll have
  to shut our doors which, of course, would hurt the public
  which looks to us for care."
  "A sorry state of affairs," Sean said.
    "Indeed," Dr. Mason agreed. "But it's the reality of the
new research environment."
    "But your short-term fix will lead to future Japanese dom-
inance."
    "The same can be said about most industries," Dr. Mason
said. "It's not limited to health-related biotechnology."
    "Why not use the return from patents to fund additional
research?"
    "There's no place to get the initial capital," Dr. Mason
said. "Well, that's not entirely true in our case. Over the last
two years we've had considerable success with old-fashioned
philanthropy. A number of businessmen have given us hefty
donations. In fact, we are hosting a black-tie charity dinner
tonight. I would very much like to extend an invitation to you.
It's at my home on Star Island."
    "I don't have the proper clothes," Sean said, surprised at
being invited after the scene with Dr. Levy.
    "We thought of that," Dr. Mason said. "We've made ar-
rangements with a tux rental service. All you have to do is
call in your sizes, and they will deliver to your apartment."
    "That's very thoughtful," Sean said. He was finding it dif-
ficult to deal with this on-again, off-again hospitality.

51

    Suddenly the door to Dr. Mason's office burst open and a
formidable woman in a white nurse's uniform rushed in, plant-
ing herself in front of Dr. Mason. She was visibly distressed.
    "There's been another one, Randolph," she blurted out.
"This is the fifth breast cancer patient to die of respiratory
failure. I told you that..."
Dr. Mason leapt to his feet. "Margaret, we have company."
Recoiling as if slapped, the nurse turned to Sean, seeing
him for the first time. She was a woman of forty, with a round
face, gray hair worn in a tight bun, and solid legs. "Excuse
me!" she said, the color draining from her cheeks. "I'm ter-
ribly sorry." Turning back to Dr. Mason, she added, 'q knew
Dr. Levy had just come in here, but when I saw her return to
her office, I thought you were alone."
    "No matter," said Dr. Mason. He introduced Sean to Mar-
garet Richmond, director of nursing, adding, "Mr. Murphy
will be with us for two months."
    Ms. Richmond shook hands perfunctorily with Sean, mum-
bling it was a pleasure to meet him. Then she took Dr. Mason
by the elbow and steered him outside. The door closed, but
the latch didn't catch, and it drifted open again.
    Sean could not help but overhear, especially with Ms. Rich-
mond's sharply penetrating voice. Apparently, another patient
on standard chemotherapy for breast cancer had unexpectedly
died. She'd been found in her bed totally cyanotic, just as blue
as the others.
    "This cannot go on!" Margaret snapped. "Someone must
be doing this deliberately. There's no other explanation. It's
always the same shift, and it's ruining our stats. We have to
do something before the medical examiner gets suspicious.
And if the media gets ahold of this, it will be a disaster."
    "We'll meet with Harris," Dr. Mason said soothingly.
"We'll tell him he has to let everything else slide. We'll tell
him he has to stop it."
    "It can't go on," Ms. Richmond repeated. "Harris has to
do more than run background checks on the professional
staff."
  "I agree," Dr. Mason said. "We'll talk to Harris straight

52

away. Just give me a moment to arrange for Mr. Murphy to
tour the facility."
    The voices drifted away. Sean moved forward on the couch
hoping to hear more, but the outer office remained silent until
once again the door burst open. Guiltily he sat back as some-
one else dashed into the room. This time it was an attractive
woman in her twenties dressed in a checkered skirt and white
blouse. She was tanned, bubbly, and had a great smile. Hos-
pitality had refreshingly returned.
  "Hi, my name's Claire Barington."
    Sean quickly learned that Claire helped run the center's pub-
lic relations department. She dangled keys in front of his face,
saying: "These are to your palatial apartment at the Cow's
Palace." She explained that the center's residence had gotten
its nickname in commemoration of the size of some of its
earlier residents.
    "I'll take you over there," Claire said. "Just to make cer-
tain it's all in order and you're comfortable. But first Dr. Ma-
son told me to give you a tour of our facility. What do you
say'?"
    "Seems like a good idea to me," Sean said, pulling himself
up from the couch. He'd only been at the Forbes Center for
about an hour, and if that hour were any indication of what
the two months would be like, it promised to be a curiously
interesting sojourn. Provided, of course, he stayed. As he fol-
lowed the shapely Claire Barington out of Dr. Mason's office,
he began seriously considering calling Dr. Walsh and heading
back to Boston. He'd certainly be able to accomplish more
there than here if he was to be relegated to busywork involving
monoclonal antibodies.
    "This, of course, is our administrative area," Claire said as
she launched into a practiced tour. "Henry Falworth's office
is next to Dr. Mason's. Mr. Falworth is the personnel manager
for all non-professional staff. Beyond his office is Dr. Levy's.
Of course, she has another research office downstairs in the
maximum containment lab."
    Sean's ears perked up. "You have a maximum containment
lab?" he asked with surprise.

earth areils.''
    "Hey, you get tile iwemydive-dollar tour ~,i- !~ol;c at all,"
she said sternly, The;} she k~ughcd. "Humor me! [ need the
practice."
 Sean smiled. Claire was tire most gct~uine per~,~n he'd IlqCt
so far at the Center. "Fait' enough. Lead on!"
    Claire took him f)ver !o an a(tjacent room wi. th eight (iesks
manned by busy people. A huge collating copy machine stood
off to tile side busily functioning. A large compuler with mul-
tiple modems was behind a glass enclosure like sonic kind of
trophy. A small glass-fronted elevator that was n~ore like a
dumbwaiter occupied another wall. It was fillet! whh what ap-
53
"Where is everybody?" he asked.
    "You've met pretty much the whole research staff," Claire
said. "We have a tech named Mark Halpern, but I don't see
him at the moment. We don't have many personnel presently,
although word has it that we are about to start expanding. Like
all businesses, we've been through some lean times."
    Sean nodded, but the explanation did little to allay his dis-
appointment. With the impressive results of the medulloblas-
roma work, he'd envisioned a large group of researchers
working at a dynamic pace. Instead, the place seemed rela-
tively deserted, which reminded Sean of Ramirez's unsettling
remark.
    "Down in security they told me some of the researchers
had disappeared. Do you know anything about that?"
    "Not a lot," Claire admitted. "It was last year and it caused
a flap."
  "What happened?"
      "They disappeared all right," Claire said. "They left every-
thing: their apartments, their cars, even their girlfriends."
  "And they were never found?" Sean asked.
  "They turned up," Claire said. "The administration doesn't
    "Absolutely," Claire said. "Dr. Levy demanded it when
she came on board. Besides, the Forbes Cancer Center has all
the most up-to-date equipment."
    Sean slugged. A maximum containment lab designed to
safely handle infectious microorganisms seemed a bit exces-
sive.
    Poiuting in the opposite direction. Claire Jnclicated the clin-
ical office shared b3 Dr. Stiill WiJsOll, chid of tile hospital's
clinical staff, Margaret Richmond, director el: nursing, and
Dan Selenburg, hospital administrator. "Of course these peo-
ple all have private offices on the top 11,'~or o! ~iie hospital
building,,"
    'this doesn't interest me." Scan said. "[~cl's si,~e the rc-
,;peared to be hospital charts.
    "This is the important room!" Claire said with a smile.
"It's where all the bills are sent for hospital and outpatient
services. These are the people who deal with the insurance
companies. It's also where my paycheck come from."
    After seeing more of administration than Sean would have
liked. Claire finally took him downstairs to see the laboratory
facilities which occupied the middle five stories of the struc-
ture.
    "The first floor of file building has auditorirons. library, and
security," Claire droned as they entered the sixth floor. Sean
followed Claire down a long central corridor with labs off

54                                                                                               .                                   55

either side. "This is the main research floor. Most of the major
equipment is housed here."
    Sean poked his head into various labs. He was soon dis-
appointed. He'd been expecting a futuristic lab, superbly de-
signed and filled with state-of-the-art technology. Instead he
saw basic rooms with the usual equipment. Claire introduced
him to the four people they came upon in one of the labs:
David Lowenstein, Arnold Harper, Nancy Sprague, and Hi-
roshi Gyuhama. Of these people only Hiroshi expressed any
more than a passing interest in Sean. Hiroshi bowed deeply
when introduced. He seemed genuinely impressed when Claire
mentioned that Sean was from Harvard.
    "Harvard is a very good school," Hiroshi said in heavily
accented English.
    As they continued down the corridor, Sean began to notice
that most of the rooms were empty.


like to talk about it, but apparently tile5, are v~.orking tk)r some
company in Japan."
  "Sushita lndustrics?" Scan aske(t.
  "That I dt)n't know," Claire said.
    Sean had heard abt)ut companies lurin[? a,xay pc~'~,~.)nnel. bu!
never so secretly. A)~d never to Japall. }te realizeci it was prob-
ably just another i~dication that times were cha~gif~g in the
arena of bioteclm,)k;gy.
    Claire brought lhe:n ~o a thick t)paque g):lss d~>.,>r barring
furfiler progress d,),~tn the corridor. 1,1 block let*er< were the
~,~:ords: N(~ Elllry, Scan !~ianced at Clair'e (br ,~,n exp;anation.
"The lliZlXill'!tlrll c›~,,~.'.dnment facililv is in lhcre," she said.
"Can we sec it'?" Serln asked. Itc ciq~[>e(! hi>, ill[ads and
peered thru)ugh the do(>~'. All he c,.~uld ~ee x,~c~',:' (k>~'s l~ading
off the main corridor
    Claire sht)ok l,,er head. ~'OiT limits." sh,› 5,,~;t'; "l~r I.evy
does most of her w(>~'k ii~ there. ,M least ~vhc~,~ sr~ :,~ ' S } ~ Mia~,_i.
She splits her time belwccn here and (',ur Basic t)i~:enr~stic lab
in Key West."
  "What' s that'"' Sc"~n ,isketi.
    Claire winked and c<>vered her mouth a,, if she were telling
;r secret. "It's a mil}(~!- en!repreneurial sl3}:~-c)('~ for r:~)~'bes,"
stle said. "It does basic diagnostic w(~rk l~)r ~;~:~r ht;spital as
wel! as fi)r several hosl~.itals in tl]e Keys. tt's a way of ge.n-
erating some additior~al income. The trouble is thc Fi-,rida leg-
islature is givin~ .,is s~;~ne trouble abolit seif-r~?ferra'~.-
    "fIt)w come ~,~'c can'i g{~ in ihere?" Soan a:;k~sd, pointing
"hrotrgh the glas' do<)r.
    "Dr. Levy says there i:, some kind o!' i'll, k, but I <l,)t~'t know
hat it is. Frar~kly, ['m happy to stay out. Btrt ;t:,k }it?i', She'li
probably take you in."
    Sean wasn't sure Dr. Levy would dr) hip,', any f~tvor,; lifter'
their initial meeting. He reached out and pulled the d,,;or open
a crack. There was a s!igh~ )~iss as lhe seal was br,}ken.
    Claire grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?" She was
aghast.
    "Jtrst curious to see if it was locked," Scan said. He let the
door swing shut.

56

 "You are a trip," she said.
    They retraced their route and descended another floor. The
fifth floor was dominated by a large lab on one side of the
corridor and small offices on the other. Claire took Sean into
the large lab.
    "I was told that you would have this lab for your use,"
Claire said. She switched on the overhead lights. It was an
enormous room by the standards of the labs Sean was accus-
tomed to work in at both Harvard and MIT where fights for
space among researchers were legendary for their acrimony.
In the center was a glass-enclosed office with a desk, a tele-
phone, and a computer terminal.
    Sean walked around, fingering the equipment. It was basic
but serviceable. The most impressive items were a lumines-
cence-spectrophotometer and a binocular microscope to detect
fluorescence. Sean thought he could have some fun with those
instruments under the right circumstances, but he didn't know
if the Forbes provided the right environment. For one thing,
Sean realized that he'd probably be working in this large room
alone.
  "Where are all the reagents and things?" he asked.
    Claire motioned for Sean to follow, and they descended
another floor where Claire showed him the supply room. As
far as Sean was concerned, this was the most impressive area
he'd seen so far. The supply room was filled with everything
a molecular biological lab would need. There was even a gen-
erous selection of various cell lines from the NIH.
     After cursorily touring through the rest of the lab space,
 Claire led Scan down to the basement. Scrunching up her nose,
 she took him into the animal room. Dogs barked, monkeys
 glared, and mice and rats skittered about their cages. The air
 was moist and pungent. Claire introduced Sean to Roger Cab
 vet, the animal keeper. He was a small man with a severe
 hunchback.
     They only stayed a minute and as the doors closed behind
 them, Claire made a gesture of relief. "My least favorite part
 of the whole tour," she confided. "I'm not sure where 1 stand
 on the animal-rights issue."

57

    "It's tough," Sean admitted. "But we definitely need them.
For some reason mice and rats don't bother me as much as
dogs or monkeys."
     "I'm supposed to show you tile hospital to{)," Claire said.
 ~'Are yott game?"
  "Why n()t?" Scan said. He was enjoying Claire.
    They t(lok the eievator back to tile second floor and crossed
to the clinic by way of the pedestrian bridge. Tile towers were
some lifty feet apart.
    The second floor of the ht;si)ital hotised the diagnostic and
t~'eatment areas as well as the iCU and the surgical suites. The
chen)istry tab and Fadioiogy were al.so there ai,~ng with ined-
ical records. CtaiFe took Scan i~ t{} meet her mother, x~:t~,o x~ ~.~
~me ol' the medical li[)ral'ians~
    "tf i can be or' ,my assistance," Mrs. Bariilgl{~n s;~id, "~lls{
give tile a call."
    Sean thanked her and moved to leave. hut Nl,'s. t›~rin~_,t,.~
insisted she SllOW him aroused the del)artment. Scan lrictJ ;~ be
interested as he was sht~wn the (~enter's computer capabi!:~t. ies.
the laser printers, the h(~i,;t tl)cy u~ed to bring chat't, ~ip fFo:n
tile base~nent slorage ,~t:~,. ~,nd the x'iew they h;Ici ove~ :he
sleet)y Nlian)i Rivel'.
    When Claire and Seat: g~t b~;ck tt) the corridor, sht: ?p<~it',-
gizetl.
  "She's here,' d{l~le thai." ',he ~ddecl. "She n~.us/ tta~. e liked
VOtl
      "TBLlt.'$ .ii..l>.t m~, ittck," ~4c:~!t se~td. "Tlae (~lctcr '~ct :'J~d the
prepubescent are tat<en b)' me. it's the women i~ bctx~ce:,, 1
have trottble wittl."
    "l'~n sure you expect me t{) believe that," Claire said ~z~r-
castically.
    Scan was next treated to a rnpid walk through the modern
eighty-bed hospital. It x~:~, c!e,~, well designed, alld appar-
ently well staffed. With its tropical colors and fresh ilo;tel's.
it was eveit cheerful despite the ?.FaYit-, Of many of the p:!-
tiehis' illnesses. On this leg of the tour, Sean learncd that the
Forbes Cancer Center had teamed up with tile NIH to treat


58

advanced melanoma. With the powerful sunshine, there was a
lot of melanoma in Florida.
    With the tour completed, Claire told Sean it was time for
her to lead him over to the Cow Palace and see that he got
settled. He tried to suggest he'd be fine, but she wouldn't hear
of it. With strict orders to stay close, he followed her car out
of the Forbes Cancer Center and headed south on Twelfth
Avenue. He drove carefully, having heard that most people in
Miami carry pistols in their glove compartments. Miami has
one of the world's highest mortality rates from fender-bender
accidents.
    At Calle Ocho they turned left, and Sean glimpsed the rich
Cuban culture that has placed such an indelible mark on mod-
ern Miami. At Brickell they turned right and the city changed
again. Now he drove past gleaming bank buildings, each an
open testament to the financial power of the illicit drug trade.
    The Cow Palace was not imposing to say the least. Like so
many buildings in the area, it was two stories of concrete block
with aluminum sliding doors and windows. It stretched for
almost a block with asphalt parking in both the front and the
back. The only attractive thing about the place was the tropical
plantings, many of which were in bloom.
  Sean pulled up next to Claire's Honda.
    After checking the apartment number on the keys, Claire
led the way upstairs. Sean's unit was halfway down the hall
at the back. As Claire struggled to get the key into the lock,
the door directly opposite opened.
    "Just moving in?" a blond man of about thirty asked. He
was stripped to the waist.
  "Seems that way," Sean said.
    "Name's Gary," the man said. "Gary Engels from Phila-
delphia. I'm an X-ray tech. Working nights, looking for an
apartment by day. How about you?"
"Med student," Sean said as Claire finally opened the door.
The apartment was a furnished one-bedroom with a full
kitchen. Sliding glass doors led from both the living room and
the bedroom to a balcony that ran the length of the building.

59

    "What do you think'?" Claire asked as she opened the liv-
ing-room slider.
  ~'Much more than I expected,'* Sean said.
    "It's hard for the hospital to recruit certain personnel,"
Claire said. "Especially high-caliber ntn-ses. They have to
have a good temporary residence to compete with other local
hospitals."
  "Thank you for everything," Seall said.
    "One last thing." Claire said. She handed him a piece of
paper. "This is the number of the tux rentall place that Dr.
Mas(m mentioned. I assume you'll be coming tonight."
  ~'l'd forgotten about thai," Sean said.
      "You really should coine," Claire said. "These affairs are
t)ne of the perks lor working at the (?enter."  "Are they fi'equent?" Sean asked.
  "Relatively," Claire said. "They really are fun."
  "So you*11 be there?" Scan asked.
  '~Most definitely."
    "Well then, maybe I'll come," he said. "1 haven*t ~orn a
ttlX too many times. It should be entertaining."
    "Wonderful," Claire said. "And since you might have
trouble finding Dr. Mason's home, I don't mind picking you
up. I live in Coconut Grove just down the wzty. How about
seven-thirtyT'
  "I'11 be ready," Scan said.

[t!ROS}tl GYt;IlAMA had been born in Yokosuka. s~)uth of To-
kyo. His mother had worked in lhe U.S. Naval base. and fi'om
an early age Hiroshi had been interested in America and West-
ern ways. tfis mother felt differently, refusing to let him take
English in school. An obedient child, Hiroshi acquiesced to
his mothefts wishes without question. It wasn't until after her
death when he was at the university studying biology that he
was able to take English, but once he began he displayed an
unusual proficiency.
    After graduation Hiroshi was hired by Sushita Industries, a
huge electronics corporation that had just begun expanding

 60                                                                  T E R M I N A L                             61

into biotechnology. When Hiroshi's supervisors discovered
how fluent he was in English, they sent him to Florida to
supervise their investment in Forbes.
    Except for an initial difficulty involving two Forbes re-
searchers who refused to cooperate, a dilemma which had been
handled expeditiously by bringing them to Tokyo and then
offering them enormous salaries, Hiroshi had faced no serious
problems during his tenure at Forbes.
    Sean Murphy's unexpected arrival was a different story. For
Hiroshi and the Japanese in general any surprise was disturb-
ing. Also, for them, Harvard was more of a metaphor than a
specific institution. It stood for American excellence and
American ingenuity. Accordingly Hiroshi worried that Sean
could take some of Forbes's developments back to Harvard
where the American university might beat them to possible
patents. Since Hiroshi's future advancement at Sushita rested
on his ability to protect the Forbes investment, he saw Sean
as a potential threat.
    His first response had been to send a fax via his private
telephone line to his Japanese supervisor. From the outset the
Japanese had insisted they be able to communicate with Hi-
roshi without going through the Center switchboard. That had
been only one of their conditions.
    Hiroshi had then called Dr. Mason's secretary to ask if it
would be possible for him to see the director. He'd been given
a two o'clock appointment. Now, as he ascended the stairs to
the seventh floor, it was three minutes before the hour. Hiroshi
was a punctilious man who left little to chance.
    As he entered Mason's office, the doctor leapt to his feet.
Hiroshi bowed deeply in apparent respect though in reality he
did not think highly of the American physician, believing Dr.
Mason lacked the iron will necessary in a good manager. In
Hiroshi's estimation, Dr. Mason would be unpredictable under
pressure.
    "Dr. Gyuhama, nice of you to come up," Dr. Mason said,
motioning toward the couch. "Can we get you anything? Cof-
fee, tea, or juice?"
  "Juice, please," Hiroshi replied with a polite smile. He did

not want any refreshment but did not care to refuse and appear
ungrateful.
    Dr. Mason sat down across from Hiroshi. But he didn't sit
normally. Hiroshi noticed that he sat on the very edge of his
seat and rubbed his hands together. Hiroshi could tell he was
nervous, which only served to lower further Hiroshi's esti-
mation of the man as a manager. One should not communicate
one's feelings so openly.
  "What can I do for you?" Dr. Mason asked.
    Hiroshi smiled again, noting that no Japanese would be so
direct.
    "I was introduced to a young university student today,"
Hiroshi said.
    "Sean Murphy," Dr. Mason said. "He's a medical student
at Harvard."
  "Harvard is a very good school," Hiroshi said.
    "One of the best," Dr. Mason said. "Particularly in medical
research." Dr. Mason eyed Hiroshi cautiously. He knew Hi-
roshi avoided direct questions. Mason always had to try to
figure out what the Japanese man was getting at. It was frus-
trating, but Mason knew that Hiroshi was Sushita's front man,
so it was important to treat him with respect. Right now it was
apparent that he had found Sean's presence disturbing.
    Just then, the juice arrived and Hiroshi bowed and said
thank you several times. He took a sip, then placed the glass
on the coffee table.
    "Perhaps it might be helpful if I explain why Mr. Murphy
is here," Dr. Mason said.
  "That would be very interesting," Hiroshi said.
    "Mr. Murphy is a third-year medical student," Dr. Mason
said. "During the course of the year third-year students have
blocks of time which they can use to choose an elective and
study something that particularly interests them. Mr. Murphy
is interested in research. He'll be here for two months."
    "That's very good for Mr. Murphy," Hiroshi said. "He
comes to Florida during the winter."
  "It is a good system," Dr. Mason agreed. "He'll get the

62

experience of seeing a wt)rking lab in operation, and we'll get
a worker."
    "Perhaps he'll be interested in our medulloblastoma proj-
ect," Hiroshi said.
    "He is interested," Dr. Mason said. "But he will not be
allowed to participate. Instead he will be workillg with our
colonic cancer glycoprotein, trying to crystallize the pl'otein. l
don't have to tell you how good it would be for both Forbes
and Sushita if he were able to accomplish what we've so far
failed to do."
    '~I was not informed of Mr. Murphy's arrival by my su-
periors." Hiroshi said. "It is strallge for them to have forgot-
tell,"'
    All at OllCe, Dr. Mason realized what this circuitous con-
versation was about. One of Sushita's conditions was that they
review all prospective enlployees before they were hired. Usu-
ally it was a formality, and where a student was concerned,
Dr. Mason had not givell it a thought, particularly since Mur-
phy's stay was so temporary.
    "The decision to invite Mr. Murphy for his elective hap-
pened rather quickly. Perhaps I should have informed Sushita,
but he is not an employee. He does not get paid. Besides, he's
a student with limited experience."
    "Yet he will be entrusted with samples of glycoprotein,"
Hiroshi said. "He will have access to the recombinant yeast
that produces the protein."
    "Obviously he will be given the protein," Dr. Mason said.
"But there is no reason fi)r him to be shown our recombinant
technology for producing it."
"How much do you know about this man?" Hiroshi asked.
"He comes with a recommendation fronl a trusted col--
league," Dr. Mason said.
    "Perhaps my colnpany would be interested in his resumd,"
Hiroshi said.
    "We have no resumd," Dr. Mason said. "He's only a stu-
dent. If there had been anything important to know about hiln,
I'm confident my friend Dr. Walsh would have informed me.
He did say that Mr. Murphy was an artist when it came to

63

protein crystallization and making murine monoclonal anti-
bodies. We need an artist if we are going to come up with a
patentable product. Besides, the Harvard cachet is valuable to
the clinic. The idea we have been training a Harvard graduate
student will not do us any harm."
    Hiroshi got to his feet and, with his continued smile, bowed,
but not as deeply nor for as long a period as when he'd first
come into the office. "Thank you for your time," he said.
Then he left the room.

AFTER THE door clicked behind Hiroshi, Dr. Mason closed his
eyes and rubbed them with his fingertips. His hands were shak-
ing. He was much too anxious, and if he wasn't careful, he'd
aggravate his peptic ulcer. With the possibility of some psy-
chopath killing metastatic breast cancer patients, the last thing
he needed was trouble with Sushita. He now regretted doing
Clifford Walsh the favor of inviting his graduate student. It
was a complication he didn't need.
    On the other hand, Dr. Mason knew he needed something
to offer the Japanese or they might not renew their grant, ir-
respective of other concerns. If Sean could help solve the prob-
lem associated with developing an antibody to their gly-
coprotein, then his arrival could turn into a godsend.
    Dr. Mason ran a nervous hand through his hair. The prob-
lem was, as Hiroshi made him realize, he knew very little
about Sean Murphy. Yet Sean would have access to their labs.
He could talk to other workers; he could access the computers.
And Sean struck Dr. Mason as definitely the curious type.
    Snatching up the phone, Dr. Mason asked his secretary to
get Clifford Walsh from Boston on the line. While he waited,
he ambled over to his desk. He wondered why he hadn't
thought of calling Clifford earlier.
    Within a few minutes, Dr. Walsh was available on the
phone. Dr. Mason sat while he talked. Since they'd spoken
just the previous week, their small talk was minimal.
  "Did Sean get down there okay?" Dr. Walsh asked.
  "He arrived this morning."

64

"I hope he hasn't gotten into trouble already," Dr. Walsh
said.
    Dr. Mason felt his ulcer begin to burn. "That's a strange
statement," he said. "Especially after your excellent recom-
mendations."
    "Everything 1 said about him is true." Dr. Walsh said.
"The kid is .just short of a genius when it comes to molecular
biology. But he's a city kid and his social skills are nowhere
near his intellectual abilities. He can be headstrong. And he's
physically strt)nger than an ox. He could have played profes-
sional hockey. He's the type of guy you want on your side if
there's going to be a brawl."
    "We don't brawl down here much." Dr. Masoi~ said ,vith
a short laugh. "So we won't be taking ~idvantage of his skills
in that regard. But tell me something else. }las Scan ever been
associated with the biotechnology' industry' in any way, like
worked summers at a company? Anything like that'?"
    "He sure has," Dr. Walsh said. "itc n~t t)nly worked at
one. he owned one. He and a group of frie~lcls starled a c(~m-
pany' called lmmunothcrapy tt) de;clop n~ttrinc mon~clonal an-
tibodies. The company did well as l'ar as i know. But then 1
don't keep up with the industrial side of our field."
    The pain in M~,,son's gut intensified. ~ihis w;is nt,l whai he
wanted to hear.
    iM~'~son thanked l)r. Walsh. hung up the phone. and imnte-
diately swallowed two antacid tablets. Now he had to worry
about Sushita learning of Sean's associalion with lhis lni,nu~
n~therapy company. If they did, it might. be enough to cause
them to break the agreement.
    Dr. Mason paced Iris office. Intuition told him he had to act.
Perhaps he should sentl Sean back to Boston as Dr. I,evy had
suggested. But that wotdd mean losing Sean's potential con-
tribution to the glycoprotein prt~ect.
    Suddenly Dr. Mason had an idea. He could at least find out
all there was to know about Sean's et)mpany. He picked up
the [)hone again. This number he didn't have his secretary' dial~
He dialed it himself. fie called Sterling Rombauer.

65

TRUE TO her word, Claire showed up at Sean's apartment at
seven-thirty on the dot. She was wearing a black dress with
spaghetti straps and long dangly earrings. Her brunette hair
was pulled back at the sides with rhinestone-studded barrettes.
Sean thought she looked terrific.
    He wasn't at all sure of his own outfit. The rented tux def-
initely needed the suspenders; the pants showed up two sizes
too large and there hadn't been time to change them. The
shoes were also a half size too large. But the shirt and the
jacket fit reasonably well, and he tamed his hair back on the
sides with some hair gel he borrowed from his friendly neigh-
bor, Gary Engels. He even shaved.
    They took Sean's 4x4 since it was roomier than Claire's
tiny Honda. With Claire giving directions, they skirted the
downtown high rises and drove up Biscayne Boulevard. Peo-
ple of all races and nationalities crowded the street. They
passed a Rolls Royce dealership, and Claire said that she'd
heard most of the sales were for cash; people walked in with
briefcases full of twenty-dollar bills.
    "If the drug traffic stopped tomorrow, it would probably
affect this city," Sean suggested.
  "The city would collapse," Claire said.
    They turned right on the MacArthur Causeway and headed
toward the southern tip of Miami Beach. On their right they
passed several large cruise ships moored at the Dodge Island
seaport. Just before they got to Miami Beach, they turned left
and crossed a small bridge where they were stopped by an
armed guard at a gatehouse.
    "This must be a ritzy place," Scan commented as they were
waved through.
  "Very," Claire answered.
    "Mason does okay for himself," Sean said. The palatial
homes they were passing seemed inappropriate for a director
of a research center.
    "I think she's the one with the money," Claire said. "Her
maiden name was Forbes, Sarah Forbes."

66

"No kidding." Sean cast a glance at Claire to be sure she
wasn't teasing him.
"It was her father who started the Forbes Cancer Center."
~'ttow convenient," Sean said. "Nice of the old man to
give his son-in-law a job."
    ~'It's not what you think," Claire said. "it's quite a soap
opera. The old man started the clinic, but when he passed away
he made Sarah's older brother, Harold. executor of the estate.
Then Harold we,it and lost inost of the l\)undation's m,~ney' in
some central Florida land development scheme. l)r. Mason
was a !atecomer to the Center illId only arrived xx hen it was
about t'~ go under. Itc and Dr. Levy have tun~ed the place
'.H'{)ulld. ' '
    Tl~ey pulled into a swecpi,,~g drive i~ frolit of a huge white
house with a p{)rtico supported by fluted Corinthian co!urnns.
A parking attendant quickl). t,2ok ci;arge of the car
    The inside of the house was cqu:lliy impres~;ive. k',e~'ything
x*a:4 white: ,~,hite marbJ:: Dt)o~'s. white ftirniture. x,,.hitc carpet,
and white walls.
    "1 ltope they didn't pay a dcc(}rator a lot of mone5 for
t)icking the colors," Scan sai(i.
    They v, ere nlotioned thi:ough the h~',tise to a tel'race over-
!ookipt: Bisc:~yne B:iy. The bay was (letted with lib, yhts from
,*,ther island'., as well as b, undreds of boats. Beyond the bay
was the city of Miami shimmering in the moonlight.
    Nestled in the center of the terrace was a large kidney-
shaped pool iiltnninated from beneath the wattel-. To its left
was a pink and whitc striped tent where long tables were laden
with fi>od and drink. A calypso steel ba,ld played next to the
hotlse and ~illed the velvety night air with mclodh)us percus-
sion. At the water's edge beyond the ternice was a gigantic
,,~hite cruiser moored to a pier. Hanging from davits off the
yacht's stern was yet a~other boat.
    "Here come the host and hostess," Claire warned Sean,
who'd been momentarily mesmerized by the scene.
    Sean turned in time to see Dr. Mason guide a buxom
bleached blonde toward them. He was elegant in a tuxedo that
obviously was not rented and patent leather slippers complete

67

with black bows. She was squeezed into a strapless peach
gown so tight that Sean feared the slightest movement might
bare her impressive breasts. Her hair was slightly disheveled
and her makeup more suitable to a girl half her age. She was
also clearly drunk.
      "Welcome, Sean," Dr. Mason said. "I hope Claire has
been taking good care of you."  "The best," Sean said.
    Dr. Mason introduced Sean to his wife, who fluttered heav-
ily mascaraed lashes. Sean dutifully squeezed her hand, draw-
ing the line at her expected kiss on the cheek.
    Dr. Mason turned and motioned for another couple to join
them. He introduced Sean as a Harvard medical student who
would be studying at the Center. Sean had the uncomfortable
feeling he was on display.
    The man's name was Howard Pace, and from Dr. Mason's
introduction, Sean learned that he was the CEO of an aircraft
manufacturing company in St. Louis, and it was he who was
about to make the donation to the Center.
    "You know, son," Mr. Pace said, putting his arm around
Sean's shoulder. "My girl is to help train young men and
women like yourself. They are doing wonderful things at
Forbes. You will learn a lot. Study hard!" He gave Sean a
final man-to-man thump on the shoulder.
    Mason began introducing Pace to some other couples and
Sean suddenly found himself standing alone. He was about to
snag a drink when a wavering voice stopped him. "Hello,
handsome."
 Sean turned to face the bleary eyes of Sarah Mason.
    want to show you something," she said, grabbing Sean's
sleeve.
    Sean cast a desperate glance around for Claire, but she was
nowhere in sight. With resignation rare for him, he allowed
himself to be led down the patio steps and out onto the dock.
Every few steps he had to steady Sarah as her heels slipped
through the cracks between the planking. At the base of the
gangplank leading to the yacht, Sean was confronted by a
sizable Doberman with a studded collar and white teeth.


68                       1/ O B i N         1] O O K                                                                          T E I/ M I N /1 I,                                69

    "This is nly boat," Saratl said. "It's called Lady Luck.
Would you like a tour?"
    "1 don't think that beast on deck wants company," Seall
said.
    "Batman?" Sarah qaestioned~ "Don't worry about him. As
long as yoti're with me he'll be a lamb."
    '~Nlaybe we could come back !a,'.er." Sean said. "To tell
the truth, I'm starved."
  "There's Iood in the fridge," Sarah persisted.
    "Yeah. but I had my heart set on those oysters t sa~,~ under
the tent."
    "Oysters, huh?" Salah said. "Sounds good to me. We can
see 'he boat later."
    A!i soon as lie g~}[ Sari~[1 b:.,~ck on !and, Scan dticked awtly.
Je~t~ing her with ail unsuspecting couple who'd vel!tured to-
ward the yacht. Searching thru,ugh the crowt] fol (71aire. ~
~tr~,ng hand grippeel his :tn,,~. Scan turned and N)tt~:ct J',imself
gazing into the pttl'i}' face of Robert [tarris. head {'.f security.
Even :, tux did~l't ~iramaticatly change his appearam:e. v,:ith !~is
Marine-style crew cut. l Ils c,.~llar nlttst have been I{~o tight
si:ice i~is eyes were bulgi!ig.
    "! want to give you some advice. Murphy.~' }larris said
with obvious disdain.
    "Really'?" Scan questioned. "This should be interesting.
,;illce we have s~ 111uch ill COlTlllqon,"
  '~You're a wiseass." Ha,.'ris hissed.
  "Is that the advice?" Sean asked.
    "Stay away from Sarah Forbes." Harris satid. "I'm only
telli~g you once."
    "[)anm," Sean said. "l'11 have to cancel our picnic tomor-
row.' '
    "Don't push me!" Harris warned. With a final ,glare, he
stalked off.
    Sean finally found Claire at the table fearnring oysters,
shrimp, and stone crab. Filling his plate, he scolded her for
allowing him to fall into the clutches of Sarah Mason.
    'q suppose I should have warned you," Claire said. "When
she drinks she's notorious for chasing anything in pants."

  "And here I thought I was irresistible."
    They were still busy with the seafood when Dr. Mason
~;tepped to the podlure and tapped the microphone. As soon
as the crowd was silent, he introduced Hr)ward Pace, thanking
him profusely fi)r I~is generous gift. After a resoundling round
of applause. I)r. Mason turned the microphone over to the
guest of honor.
  "This is a bit syrupy tot my taste." Scan ,~.,hispercd.
  "Be nice," Claire chided him.
    Howard Pace began his talk with the ust~al platitudes. but
then his voice cracked ',~'ith e,:lotion. "Etca this ctieck Ior ten
million dollars cannot adequately express nl> fce!ings. The
Forbes Cancer C?er, ter has gi;en me a sec~)nd ci~a!Icc at life.
Before I came here all my docto,'s believed my brzt~r~ tun,or
~xas ten'ninal. t almost gave up. Thank God ! did~.~*t And th;~nk
Gt)d f›)r the dedicated doctors at the Fo:bes (?ancet Centel."
    Unabie to speak further. Pace ,xaved his check i;~ the air as
!cars streamed down his face. Dr. Mason im~ie(liate!y a?
peared at his side and rescued the check !cst it v,,al~. t>tJt into
file ,aine-dark Biscayne Bay.
    After another round o.*' applause, the i'(n'mal c,'ents of the
evening were over. The guests surged Jbrward. a}i oxcrcome
with the emotion Ftowa,'d Pace tlad expressed. They had not
expected such intimacy tYom such a powerful persian.
     Sean turned to Claire. "1 hate to be a drag." hc said. "But
!'re been up since fixc. t'm fading last." Claire put down her drink.
    "I've had enough as well. Besides, I've got to be at work
early."
    They found Dr. Mason and thanked him, but he was dis-
tracted and barely realized they were leaving. Scan was thank-
ful Mrs. Mason had conveniently disappeared.
      As they drove back over the causeway Sean was the first to
speak. ~'That speech was actually quite touching," he said.
  "lt's what makes it all worthwhile." Claire agreed.
    Sean pulled up and parked next to Claire's ttonda. There
was a moment of awkwardness. "1 did get some beer this

70                                                                    T E 1/ M I N A 1,                           71

afternoon," he said after a pause. "Would you like to come
up for a few minutes?"
  "Fine," Claire said enthusiastically.
    As Scan climbed the stairs behind her he wondered if he'd
overestimated his endurance. He was almost asleep on his feet.
    At the door to his apartment, he awkwardly fumbled with
the keys, trying to get the right one in the lock. When he
finally turned the bolt, he opened the door and groped for the
light. Just as his fingers touched the switch, there was a violent
cry. When he saw who was waiting for him, his blood ran
cold.

"EASY NOW!" Dr. Mason said to the two ambulance atten-
dants. They were using a special stretcher to lift Helen Cabot
from the Lear jet that had brought her to Miami. "Watch the
steps!"
    Dr. Mason was still dressed in his tuxedo. Margaret Rich-
mond had called just as the party was ending to say that Helen
Cabot was about to land. Without a second's hesitation, Dr.
Mason had jumped into his Jaguar.
    As gently as possible the paramedics eased Helen into the
ambulance. Dr. Mason climbed in after the gravely ill woman.
"Are you comfortable?" he asked.
    Helen nodded. The trip had been a strain. The heavy med-
ication had not completely controlled her seizures. On top of
that they'd hit bad turbulence over Washington, D.C.
    "I'm glad to be here," she said, smiling weakly. Dr. Mason
gripped her arm reassuringly, then got out of the ambulance
and faced her parents, who had followed the stretcher from
the jet. Together they decided that Mrs. Cabot would ride in
the ambulance while John Cabot would ride with Dr. Mason.
Dr. Mason followed the ambulance from the airport.
    "I'm touched that you came to meet us," Cabot said.
"From the look of your clothes I'm afraid we have interrupted
your evening."
    "It was actually very good timing," Mason said. "Do you
know Howard Pace?"

  "The aircraft lnagnate?" John Cat)or asked.
    "None other," Dr. Mason said. "Mr. Pace has made a gem
crous donatto,1 to the k'orbe~; Center'. and we were having a
small celebration. But the affair was win(ting down when you
called."
    "Still, your concern is rcasst, ring." John Cabot said. "So
many doctor's are distracted by their own agendas. They are
more interested in theme, elves tlnan the patients. My daughter's
illness has been an eye-,;peni~:g experience."
    "[!nforttmately yt~u~' c-~mplaints are all too co~mo',',." Dr.
Mason said. "But al [:oI'be'~ it's the palient who c~,.~nt,. We
would do even more it' we wet'en't st) strapped for !rinds. Since
g~vernmetn bc'~ilrl it:hiring g,.'ailts~ we've had i,, struggle."
    "If yott can help .;ny daughte,' I'll be llapp.� t,.~ col~.tnbute
to your capital needs.'
  ';We ,,,,'ill do everytiling it: ~)ul' pov, er to help he','."
    i'ell me." Cabot $:!id_ "What (1o yc)tt think ht:~- cha:ices
tire'? l'd like t(', know tt~e truth."
    I he possibility {~f a ltd! root)very is excellent." Dr. Mason
sziid. "We've had rema, rkable tuck with He!e:~'s t? pe ,.~t' tumor.
but we must start treattncp. i immediate(,;. I tried I<) expedite
hot- transfer, but your' do,ctors in Boslt)II scorned i,.-ltlctant to
rcleat, e her."
    ~'Yt)tt kll~3w the &;ctt;rs in tloston. if thel-e's a~oth[~i- test
;trailable. they want 1o do it. Then. of course. the3 v, anI to
repeat it."
    "We tried to talk them out t)f biopsying the ItJmor." Dr.
Mason said. "We can t~ow make the diagnosis oi' ntedulk)-
b!astoma with an enhanced MRI. But they wouidn't listen.
You see we have to l)iops3 tt regardless of whctilc~' riley dicl
t)r not. We have t~ gt'ow some of her t~mor ccii~, in tissue
culttire. It's an integral i}art of the treatment."
  "When can it be &.~ne?" John Cabot asked
  "The sooner the better," Dr. Mason said.

"Brat YOU didn't have to scream," Scan said. He was still
shaking from the fright he'd experienced when he'd flipped
on the light switch.

72

FFI didn't scream," Janet said. "I yelled 'surprise.' Needless
to say, I'm not sure who was more surprised, me, you, or that
woman."
    "That woman works for the Forbes Cancer Center," Sean
said. 'q've told you a dozen times. She's in their public re-
lations department. She was assigned to deal with me."
    "And dealing with you means coming back to your apart-
ment after ten at night?" Janet asked with scorn. "Don't pa-
tronize me. I can't believe this. You haven't even been here
twenty-four hours and you have a woman coming to your
apartment."
    "I didn't want to invite her in," Sean said. "But it was
awkward. She'd brought me here this afternoon, then took me
to a Forbes function tonight. When we pulled up outside for
her to get her car, I thought I'd try to be hospitable. I offered
her a beer. I'd already told her I was exhausted. Hell, you're
usually complaining about my lack of social graces."
    "It seems strangely convenient for you to gain some man-
ners just in time to bestow them on a young, attractive fe-
male," Janet fumed. "I don't think my being skeptical is
unreasonable."
    "Well, you're making more of this than it deserves," Sean
said. "How did you get in here, anyway?"
    "They gave me the apartment two doors down," Janet said.
"And you left your sliding door open."
  "Why are they letting you stay here?"
    "Because I've been hired by the Forbes Cancer Center,"
Janet said. "That's part of the surprise. I'm going to work
here.' '
    For the second time that evening, Janet had Sean stunned.
"Work here?" he repeated as if he hadn't heard correctly.
"What are you talking about'?"
    "I called the Forbes hospital," Janet said. "They have an
active nurses' recruitment program. They hired me on the spot.
They, in turn, called the Florida Board of Nursing and ar-
ranged for a temporary 120-day endorsement so I can practice
while the paperwork is being completed for my Florida nurs-
ing license."

T E l/ M I N A 1,             7.~

"What about your job at Boston Memorial?" Sean asked.
"No problem," Janet said. "They gave me an immediate
leave of absence. One of the benefits of being in nursing these
days is that we are in demand. We get to call the shots about
our terms of employInent more than mr)st employees."
    "Well, this is all very interesting," Scan said. For the mo-
ment that was all he could think of to say.
  "St) we'll still be working at the same instituticm."
    "Did you ever think that maybe you should have discussed
this idea with meT' Scan asked.
  "1 couldn't." Janet said. "You were on the road."
    "What about before I left?" Sean asked. "Or you cotlid
have waited until l'd arrived. I think we should have talked
about this."
  '~Wel], that's ihe whole p{~int," ,tane~ satid,
  '~What do )t~u mean?"
    "1 came here so we can talk." .ianc~ said. "I think this is
a t)erfcct opportunity fi)r us Io talk about us. in Boston you're
st) involved with scht)ol and your ~esearch. Here your schedule
will undoubtedly be lighter. Wc'il h;~vc the time we never had
in Boston."
    Scan pushed of[' the couch and ,aaJked ()vet' to the ,.)pe~7
slider. He was at a loss fi~r ~,vo~-cts. This whole episocle (>i
comin~ ,to Florida was workinc ()tit terribly. "How'd voL~ c,-t
here?" he asked.
  "1 tlew down and rented a cal.' J;~net said.
  "So nothing's irreversiblcT' Scan said
    "If yc)u think yt)u can just setid n*.c ht~.~c, think ;.lgain." .lanct
said, an edge returning to her xtfice. "l'his is probably thc first
time in my life I' ve gone out on a limb for something I think is in:-
portant." She still sounded angry, but Sean sense(l she could also
be t)n the verge of tears. "Maybe we're not important in your
scheme of things..."
    Scan interrupted her. "It isn't that at all. The problem is, l
don't know whether l'nl staying."
    Janet's mouth dropped open. "What arc yc)u talking
aboutT' she asked,
 Scan came back to the couch and sat down. He looked into


74                    

Janet's hazel eyes as he told her about his disturbing reception
at the Center with half the people being hospitable, the other
half rude. Most importantly, he told her that Dr. Mason and
Dr. Levy were balking at allowing him to work on the me-
dulloblastoma protocol.
  "What do they want you to do?" she asked.
    "Busywork as far as I'm concerned," Scan said. "They
want me to try to make a monoclonal antibody to a specific
protein. Failing that, I'm to crystallize it so that its three-
dimensional molecular shape can be determined. It will be a
waste of my time. I'm not going to be learning anything. I'd
be better off going back to Boston and working on my on-
cogene project for my dissertation."
    "Maybe you could do both," Janet suggested. "Help them
with their protein and in return get to work on the medullo-
blastoma project."
    Scan shook his head. "They were very emphatic. They are
not about to change their minds. They said the medulloblas-
toma study had moved into clinical trials, and I'm here for
basic research. Between you and me, I think their reluctance
has something to do with the Japanese."  "The Japanese?" Janet questioned.
    Scan told Janet about the huge grant Forbes had accepted
in return for any patentable biotechnology products. "Some-
how I think the medulloblastoma protocol is tied up in their
deal. It's the only way I can explain why the Japanese would
offer Forbes so much money. Obviously they expect and in-
tend to get a return on their investment someday--and prob-
ably sooner rather than later."
    "This is awful," Janet said, but her response was personal.
It had nothing to do with Sean's research career. She'd been
so consumed by the effort of coming to Florida that she'd not
prepared herself for this kind of reversal.
    "And there's another problem," Scan said. "The person
who gave me the chilliest reception happens to be the director
of research. She's the person I directly report to."
    Janet sighed. She was already trying to figure how to undo
everything she had done to get her down to the Forbes Center

T Ir, R M ! N A 1~                          75

in the first place. She'd probably have to go back on nights at
Boston Memorial, at least for a while. Janet pushed herseld'
out of the deep armchair where she'd been sitting and wan-
dered over to the sliding door. Coming to Florida had seemed
like such a good idea to her when sl~e'd been in Boston. Nov:
it seemed like the dumbest thing she'd ever thought of.
    Suddenly Janet sptm arotmd. "Wait a minute!" she said.
"Maybe 1 have an idea."
  "Well?" Scan questioned when Janet remained silent.
    "l'ln thinking," she said. mottoning for him to be quiet for
a moment.
    Scan studied her face. A l'ew moments ago she'd looked
depressed. Now her eyes sparkled.
    '~Okay, here's what I think." she said. "Let's stay' here and
It)ok into this medulh~blastoma business to,aether. V~.'e'll work
as a team."
  "What do you mean?" Scan soundcot skeptical.
    "It's simple," Janet said. "You mentioneel that the project
had moved into clinical trials. Well. m) problem. 1'11 be on the
wards. l'll be able to determine the treatment regimens: the
timing, the dosages, the works. You'll be in the lab and you
can do yotu' thing there. That monock)nal stuff shouldn't take
all your time."
    Scan bit his k)wer lip as he ga~e Janet's suggestion some
thought. He had actually considered looking into the medui-
1oblastoma issue on the sly. }tie biggest obstacle had been
exactly what Janet would be in a position to provide, namely
clinical information.
    "You'd have to get me charts," Scan said. He couldn't help
but be dubious. Janet had always been a stickler for hospital
procedures and rules, in fact for any rules.
    "As long as I can f~nd a copy machine, that should be no
problem," she said.
  "I'd need samples of any' medication," Scan said.
    "1'11 probably be dispensing the medicine myself," she
said.
 He sighed. "I don't knt)w. It all sounds pretty tenuous."
 "Oh, come on," Janet said. "What is this, role reversal?


76                    R O B I N C O O K                                                                       T E R M I N A L                             77

You're the one who's always telling me I've lived too shel-
tered a life, that I never take chances. Suddenly I'm the one
taking the chances and you turn cautious. Where's that rebel
spirit you've always been so proud of?"
    Sean found himself smiling. "Who is this woman l'm talk-
ing to?" he said rhetorically. He laughed. "Okay, you're right.
I'm acting defeated before trying. Let's give it a go."
    Janet threw her arms around Sean. He hugged her back.
After a long moment, they looked into each other's eyes, then
kissed.
    "Now that our conspiracy has been forged, let's go to bed,"
Sean said.
    "Hold on," Janet said. "We're not sleeping together if
that's what you mean. That's not going to happen until we
have some serious talk about our relationship."  "Oh, come on, Janet," Sean whined.
      "You have your apartment and I have mine," Janet said as
she tweaked his nose. "I'm serious about this talk business."
  "I'm too tired to argue," Sean said.
    "Good," Janet said. "Arguing is not what it's going to
take."

AT ELEVEN-THIRTY that night, Hiroshi Gyuhama was the only
person in the Forbes research building except for the security
man whom Hiroshi suspected was sleeping at his post at the
front entrance. Hiroshi had been alone in the building since
nine when David Lowenstein had departed. Hiroshi wasn't
staying late because of his research; he was waiting for a mes-
sage. At that moment he knew it was one-thirty in the after-
noon the following day in Tokyo. It was usually after lunch
that his supervisor would get the word from the directors re-
garding anything Hiroshi had passed on.
    As if on cue, the receiving light on the fax machine blinked
on, and the LCD flashed the message: receiving. Eagerly Hi-
roshi's fingers grasped the sheet as soon as it slid through.
With some trepidation he sat back and read the directive.
 The first part was as he'd expected. The management at

Sushita was disturbed by the unexpected arrival of the student
from Harvard. They felt that it violated the spirit of the agree-
ment with the Forbes. The directive went on to emphasize the
company's belief tkat the diagnosis and treatment of cancer
would be the biggest biotechnology/pharmaceutical prize of
the twenty-first century. They felt that it would surpass in ec-
onomic importance the antibiotic bonanza of the twentieth
century.
    It was the second part of the message that dismayed Hiroshi.
It mentioned that the management did not want to take any
risks, and that Hiroshi was to call Tanaka Yamaguchi. Fie was
to tell Tanaka to investigate Sean Murphy and act accordingly.
If Murphy was considered a threat, he was to be brought to
Tokyo immediately.
    Folding the fax paper several times lengthwise. Hiroshi held
it over the sink and burned it. He washed the ashes down the
drain. As he did, he noticed his hands were trembling.
    Hiroshi had hoped the directire from Tokyo would have
given him peace of mind. But it only left him even more
agitated. The fact that Hiroshi's superiors felt that Hiroshi
could not handle the situation was not a good sign. They
hadn't said it directly, but the instruction to call Tanaka said
as much. What that suggested to Hiroshi was he was not
trusted in matters of crucial importance, and if he wasn't
trusted, then his upward mobility in the Sushita hierarchy au-
tomatically was in question. From Hiroshi's perspective he'd
lost face.
    Unswervingly obedient despite his growing anxiety, Hiroshi
got out the list of emergency numbers he'd been given before
coming to Forbes over a year ago. He found the number for
Tanaka and dialed. As the phone rang, Hiroshi felt his anger
and resentment for the Harvard medical student rise. If the
young doctor-to-be had never come to Forbes, Hiroshi's stat-
ure vis-h-vis his superiors would never have been tested this
way.
    A mechanical beep followed a message in rapid Japanese
urging the caller to leave his name and number. Hiroshi did
as he was told, but added he would wait for the call back.


7g                    !/ 0 B I N       C t) t) K

Hanging up the phone, }tiroshi thought about Tanaka. He
didn't know much about the man, but what he did know was
disquieting. Tanaka was a man frequently used by various Jap-
anese companies for industrial espionage of any sort. What
bothered Hiroshi was the rumor that Tanaka was connected to
the Yakusa, the ruthless Japanese mafia.
    When the phone rang a few minutes later, its raucous jangle
sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the deserted lab.
Startled by it, Hiroshi had the receiver off the hook before the
first ring had completed.
    "Moshirnoshi," Hiroshi said much to'~ quickly. betraying
his ilervouslleSS.
    The voice that answered was sharp and piercing like a sti-
letto. It was Tanaka.

4

    March 3
Wednesday, 8:30 A.M.

When Sean's eyes blinked open at eight4hirty, he was in-
stantly awake. He snatched up his watch to check the time,
and immediately became annoyed with himself. He'd intended
to get to the lab early that day. If he was going to give this
plan of Janet's a shot, he'd have to put in more of an effort.
    After making himself reasonably decent by pulling on his
boxer shorts, he padded down the balcony and gently knocked
on Janet's slider. Her curtains were still closed. After he
knocked again harder, her sleepy face appeared behind the
glass.
  "Miss me?" Sean teased when Janet slid the door open.
    "What time is it?" Janet asked. She blinked in the bright
light.
    "Going on nine," Sean said. "I'll be leaving in fifteen or
twenty minutes. Want to go together or what?"
    "I'd better drive myself," Janet said. "l've got to find an
apartment. I only get to stay here a few nights."
 "See you this afternoon," Sean said. He started to leave.
 "Sean!" Janet called.
 Sean turned.
  "Good luck!" Janet said.
  "You too," Sean said.
    As soon as he was dressed, Sean drove over to the Forbes
Center and parked in front of the research building. It was just
after nine-thirty when he walked in the door. As he did, Robert

79


80                    R O I{ I N       C O O K

Harris straightened up froin the desk. He'd been explaining
something to the guard on desk duty. His expression was
somewhere between angry and morose. Apparently the man
was never in a good mood.
  "Banker's hoursT' Harris asked prov()catively.
    "My favorite Marine," Sean said. 'bWere you able to keep
Mrs. Mas~,n out of trouble, or was she desperate enough to
take yt)u on a tour of l.~tdv Lttck?"
    Robert Harris glarett a~ Senn as Sean !caned against the bar
of the tunls~ile to show his ID to the guard at the desk. But
Harris coulc!n't think of an appropriate retort ihst enough. The
guard al the tlcsk release(1 the bar and Senn pu'~hed through.
    [;[~,-t',re how to a,l)proach the tiny, Senn first tt)ok the eievator
t(~ Ihe seventh iioor and went to Claire's office. [fe was not
lookii~j 'i'~rw:~rd to meeting her since they'(t parte(1 t~n such
u,;c~.,~!~.t,.~r~zd~!e terms. Bu! he wanted ~o cica,' the :air.
     Claire ~tnd her $~,perior shared an ,~J'iice with their desks
f:~.ciaL2 e4,~'h ~ther. Bt~t when Scan fi)tli~(l her. Claire was alone.
  "M~),~'i'~ing!" 5cz~n sai,.l cheerf**l!y.
    Claire '     ~ t~p itom her v, ork. "I trust 3ou slept well,"
sloe said ~,~i~':,!,ticalty.
  "l'n~ s,.,rrv **Dom last *figrht." Scan (~iTcred. "I know it was

evcnit~ h~d I,~ end that w,ty. L:,u! [ asst,re you Janet's arrival
was totally ttnexi)ected."
  "1'1i take yt)t~r word for it," Claire ,,~titl coolly.
    "Ptease." Sean asked. "Don't yt~u tt~n unfiiendly. '~ t)u'rc
one o!' lhe i'c~,~ people here who ha~, been nice to me. l'm
       V~
apologizing. �aat litore can i cloT'
    "YolJ'i'o right," Claire said, tinaily ~,oftening. "Consicier it
history. What can I do for you today?"
    "I suppose t ha',e to talk with Dr. l_evy," Senn said. "Ht)w
do you suggest I find her'?"
    "Page her," Claire said. "All of the professional staff car,'y
beeperk. You shotfid get one yr)urself." She picked up the
phone. checked with the operator that Dr. Levy was in, then
had her paged.
 Claire only had time to tell Scan where to go to get a beeper

                                    81

when her phone rang. It was one of the administrative secre-
taries calling to say that Dr. Levy was in her office only a few
doors down from Claire's.
    Two minutes later Sean was knocking on Dr. Levy's door,
wondering what kind of reception he'd get. When he heard
Dr. Levy call out to come in, he tried to talk himself into
being civil even if Dr. Levy wasn't.
    Dr. Levy's office was the first place that appeared like the
academic scientific environment Sean was accustomed to.
There was the usual clutter of journals and books, a binocular
microscope, and odd assortments of microscopic slides, pho-
tomicrographs, scattered color slides, erlenmeyer flasks, cul-
ture dishes, tissue culture tubes, and lab notebooks.
    "Beautiful morning," Sean said, hoping to start off on a
better note than the day before.
    "I asked Mark Halpern to come up when I heard you were
on the floor," Dr. Levy said, ignoring Sean's pleasantry. "He
is our chief, and currently our only, lab tech. He will get you
starled. He can also order any supplies and reagents you might
need and we don't have, although we have a good stock. But
I have to approve any orders." She pushed a small vial across
her desk toward Sean. "Here is the glycoprotein. I'm sure
you'll understand when I tell you that it does not leave this
building. I meant what I said yesterday: stick to your assign-
ment at hand. You should have more than enough to keep you
busy. Good luck, and I hope you are as good as Dr. Mason
seems to believe you are."
    "Wouldn't it be more comfortable if we were a bit more
friendly about all this?" Sean asked. He reached over and
picked up the vial.
    Dr. Levy pushed a few wayward strands of her glistening
black hair away from her forehead. "I appreciate your forth-
rightness," she said after a brief pause. "Our relationship will
depend on your performance. If you work hard, we'll get along
just fine."
    Just then, Mark Halpern entered Dr. Levy's office. As they
were introduced, Sean studied the man and guessed he was
around thirty. He was a few inches taller than Sean and was


82                    1{ O B I N      (~ O () K

meticulously dressed. Sporting a spotless white apron over his
suit, he !()oked more like ,men Sean had seen arotmd cosmetic
counters in departnlent stores lhall a tech in a scientific lab.
    Over the next half hour, Mark set Sean up for work in the
large empty fifth floor that Claire had shown him the day be-
fore. By the time Mark left, Sean was satisfied with the phys-
ical aspects of Iris work situation; he (Inly wished he was
working on something tie was truly interested in.
    Picking up the viaJ Dr. Levy hild given him, Seall till-
screwed the cap and }o~;ked in ;tt the fine white powder. He
salt'led it; it had n~) snlell. Pulling his stool closer to the
counter, he set t(~ work. [:irst he dissolved the powder in a
                      ú I '3{~
xaricty of solvents to ,,c' an idea of its ,soJuDli,~,,. Itc atso set
tip a g .'. electrophoresis to .gel so)me appn)ximatk;n of it~; nlo-
lct:ula, weight.
    After about an hotti' Of t:i~l/centration. Sean �~as :4udtJeliJy
distracted by ntt,vement that he thought hc'd seen out ,~f ~he
corner of his eye. When ~le looked in th:tl tlirecti~,)11, all he say,
wits empty lab space ex!cnding over to the door to tile stair-
well. Scan patlsetJ from wl~at he was doi~ig. The only detect-
able sound came frtnn lhe hun~ of a refrigerator compressor
and the whirring of a shaking platlbrm Sean was using to help
super-saturate a solution. tie wondered if the tinaccustomed
solitutle was insking !-i]lil hallucinate.
    Scan was seated near the middle of the room. Put~ing down
the utensils in his hands, he walked the length ~)f the lab,
giancing down each aisle. The more he looked the more un-
certain he became lhat he'd seen something. Reaching the dr)or
to the stairwell, he yanked it open and took a .,;tep forward,
intending !o look up ancl down the stairs. He hadn't really
expected to find anything, and he involuntarily caught his
breath when his sudden move put him face to face with some-
one who'd been lurking just beyond the door.
    Recognition dawned swiRly as Sean realized that it was
Hiroshi Gyuhama who stood before him, equally as startled.
Sean remembered meeting the man the day before when Claire
had introduced them.

                                    83

    "Very sorry," Hiroshi said with a nervous smile. He bowed
deeply.
    "Quite all right," Sean said, feeling an irresistible urge to
bow back. "It was my fault. I should have looked through the
window before opening the door."
  "No, no, my fault," Hiroshi insisted.
    "It truly was my fault," Sean said. "But I suppose it is a
silly argument."
  "My fault," Hiroshi persisted.
    "Were you coming in here?" Sean asked, pointing back
into his lab.
    "No, no," Hiroshi said. His smile broadened. "I'm going
back to work." But he didn't move.
    "What are you working on?" Sean asked, just to make
conversation.
  "Lung cancer," Hiroshi said. "Thank you very much."
    "And thank you," Sean said by reflex. Then he wondered
why he was thanking the man.
    Hiroshi bowed several times before turning and climbing
the stairs.
    Sean shrugged and walked back to his lab bench. He won-
dered if the movement he'd seen originally had been Hiroshi,
perhaps through the small window in the stairwell door. But
that would mean Hiroshi had been there all along, which didn't
make sense to Sean.
    As long as his concentration had been broken, Sean took
the time to descend to the basement to seek out Roger Calvet.
Once he found him, Sean felt uncomfortable talking to the
man whose back deformity prevented him from looking at
Sean when he spoke. Nonetheless, Mr. Calvet managed to iso-
late a group of appropriate mice so that Sean could begin
injecting them with the glycoprotein in hopes of eliciting an
antibody response. Sean didn't expect success from this effort
since others at the Forbes Center had undoubtedly tried it al-
ready, yet he knew he had to start from the beginning before
he resorted to any of his "tricks."
    Back in the elevator Sean was about to press the button for
the fifth floor when he changed his mind and pressed six. He


84                       R O B I N          C ~.) O K                                                                    T E l/ M I N ,\ I,                                85

wouldn't have guessed it of himself. but he felt isolated and
even a bit lonely. Working at Forbes was a distinctly uncom-
fortable experience, and not simply because of the bevy of
tinfriendly people. There weren't enough people. The place
was too empty, too clean, too ordered. Sean had always taken
the academic collegiality of his previous work envh'onments
for granted. Now he fotllld himself needing some htmlan in-
teraction. So he headed i'm' the sixth floor.
    The first person Scan encountered was David Lowenstein.
He was an intense, thila fellow bent over his iab bench ex-
amining tissue culture tubes. Scan came up to his left side and
said hello.
    "t beg your p;u'don?" David said, glancing up from his
work.
    "}tow's il going?" Scan asked, He reintrodnced himself in
ease David had forgoti:en him from the day before~
  ~'Thing:, are going as wc!t as can be expected," David saict.
  "What are y~u working orl?" Scan asked.
  "Melanoma." David answered.
  "Oh." Scan said.
    The conversation went downhil! from that point. so Scan
drifted on. fie caught Hiroshi looking at him, btll after the
~tairwell incident Sean avoided him. lnstead he moved on to
Arnold Harper who was busily working under a hood. Sean
could tell he was doing some kind of' recombinant work with
yeast.
    Attempts at conversation with Arnold were about an suc-
cessful as those with l)avid Lowenstein had been. The only
thing Sean learned frcml Arnold was that he was working on
colon cancer. Although he'd been the source of the glycopro-
tein Sean was working with, he didn't seem the least interested
in discussing it.
    Sean wandered on and came to the glass door to the may
imum containment lab with its No Entry sign. Cupping his
hands as he'd done tile day before, he again tried to peer
through. Just like the previous day, all he could see was a
corridor with doors leading off it. Ariel' glancing over his
shoulder to make sure no one was in sight, Sean pulled open

the door and stepped inside. The door shut behind him and
sealed. Thin portion of the lab had a negative pressure s~, that
no air would move out when the door was opened.
    Ft)r :t moment Searl stood jtist inside the door and felt his
pulse quicken '~x. ith exchemenl. It was the same feeii~g fie used
to get :rs a teel;ager ',~],.et; lie, Jimmy, and Bracly would ~?~,
north itc ',}t~e of tile rich bc<Jr.~om c~,m~;t,,nities like Sx~ :,,~npscot~
or Marblehead alld hit a Ibx~ h~)u,,es. They never sitde .!;ythiJ-g
of real value, just 'FVx :ind stuff !ike !hat. They next,_'- had
trouble fencing the goot]~; in BostoJ~. The money ',,,.on! t<~ :~ g'~5
who was supp~,.ed to scm} ir t>,.'cr h> lhe IRA. bul Sc:n nc~er
klqt'w ]lOW mtlch Of it e',er e,,,l u, ]roland.
 When no ,,'me appcarc(! t:> }',m/est Scal;'s p,l'tPsencc i lq {}~,C ~'~{;
}-~ntrv a.~ea, Sc:an puxhed .;p. '[he p~ace (]i,Jn'~ haxe ~hc !,~,~, (>r
~'CJ (~~ ~i ,qtaXilllttfi~: C~tl[i~i!l!i!C!l{ [zlb in t~c[. the *ir=.t ~c.~.i, hc
h:>,,ked ,nto was eli'Or)' ›x-~e},i ~;~r h~,-c !xb benches. i'[]:~i'c x a,,
ti-:} L%!uip~)C~it :-17 ',iil, [5i~ 2~!~;_~ ~}~C F<~f~}~,i. Seen cYai','i}r~c'rX }',~,7
',:,i~,~'~ac:2 O} [J;C C{~[t[l[cr5. 3~[ ›;{~,~ {lille [}}C\ }}ii(! b:.}{?ii }I-,~:~}. }'(li
JlO( eKICBq}:'t,.'[V. }JtC C;s[l!;i! -,:re} t,<}i~lC 1I!;il'J-.s \khCFC :ilu {'ii'~;h:~
i~2Ct <~i d COdi'ii3rtop !iid. C}].:'i~2 !~,id >,a~, '~>til ~hJ~[ ,,~:!s t[i;,' {)71~',
te!!la!c sign o,~ use.
    i',e~di 'g down. Scan pui}ed .}Fun a cai>:~nc! al:d g.t/cd ii~,kie.
The~c v~erc it few *aail en~js{> rotgent N~ttics as w,~'!', ;i, a-
s~)rted g)itssware. St)ltiC ~',1' v, hicJl ',~,,'a-, broken.
    "}told il right ~here~' a v~fice shoutc(!. cau~,ing Scorn t,>
whir[ ar~ullil a'!t] risc t.,> ,t q;~t~din,_'_ D'~xi~ion.
    }t v, as Rilbor[ }lairix pole, c-t! !i~ ihe doiq',,,,ay }~.~i]~~i,, -);:l !li,
hips, feet spread apart. Hi,; mcat~ t;~ce wa,~ red. l),)is of per-
spiration lined his ti>reheaci "t:al~'~ )tin read. Mr, ~u!-,ard
Boy?" Harris snarled.
    "l &)n't tltink it's worth gelting tipsel <)re!' ,In cl~,~i3t}' lab."
Seait said.
 "This area is olt lirails." Hares s:tid.
 "We're nt)t in the army," Scan said.
    [tarris advanced menacmgly. Bern ten his height and ~cighl
advantage. he expecteel ~o ints~.-~idate Scan. But Sea~ didn't
move. kte merely tensed. With all !~is street experience as a
teenager. he inslinctively knc,x 'a'hat he'd hit and h ~ h.trci if


                                          f
86                               R O B I N     C O O K                                                                '~                     T E tl M I N ,\ i~                                   87

Harris threatened to touch him. But Sean was reasonably con-
fident Harris wouldn't try.
    "You are certainly one wiseass," Harris said. "I knew
you'd be trouble the moment I laid eyes on you."
  "Funny! I felt the same way about you," Sean said.
    "1 warned you not to mess with me, boy," Harris said. He
moved within inches of Sean's face.
    "You have a couple of blackheads on your nose," Sean
said. "In case you didn't know."
    Harris glared down at Sean and for a moment he didn't
speak. His face got redder.
  'q think you are getting entirely too worked up," Sean said.
  "What the hell are you doing in here?" Harris demanded.
    "Pure curiosity," Sean said. "I was told it was a maximum
containment lab. I wanted to see it."
    "I want you out of here in two seconds," Harris said. He
stepped back and pointed toward the door.
    Sean walked out into the hall. "There are a few more rooms
I'd like to see," he said. "How about we take a tour to-
gether?"
  "Out!" Harris shouted, pointing toward the glass door.

JANET HAD a late morning meeting with the director of nurs-
ing, Margaret Richmond. She used the time from Sean's wake-
up call until the moment she had to leave to take a long
shower, shave her legs, blow-dry her hair, and press her dress.
Although she knew her job at the Forbes hospital was assured,
meetings such as the one she was anticipating still made her
nervous. And on top of that, she was still anxious about Sean's
potential for heading back to Boston. All in all she had plenty
of reason to be upset; she had no idea what the next few days
would bring.
    Margaret Richmond was not what Janet anticipated. Her
voice on the telephone had conjured up an image of a delicate,
slight woman. Instead, she was powerful and rather severe.
Yet she was still cordial and businesslike, and conveyed to
Janet a sincere appreciation for Janet's coming to the Forbes

hospital. Sht: even gaxe Ja:lct her choice of shifts. Janet '~.as
pleased to opt fi)r clays. She ha(t assumed >Jle'd have to xtan
on nights. a shift she disliked.
    '~You indicated a preference For l]oor duty." Ms. Richmond
said as she consuhed her no. les.
    "Correct," Janet s;li(t. "):bor c!utv ~2ixe,.4 inc the typ,y of
patient conl;.ict that I find the tnost rewarding."
    "We have an c)pening for ,lays on the fou,'th floor." Ms.
Richm~ncl ~aid.
   "~›t)Ufi(IS pood." Janel s;lid c[;~:te~fi~)is,
   "When would v~t~ like i<, s;ar~'.~ ' x,,Is. Rich{~ot~d :~kc,.i
   "~T~,morrov.,,'~ .!anct s~,id. She v,,'otd(i have preficrr.'d :~ re'.,,'
diI'yS' ,,tOJilV {('~ oix/C hcIs~.?{!' L{ Jh[111~:'C IO [iIld ill! ap[iltli!Oll' ._[llki
ge! ,eit!cd, hul :,tle reit ;ill 11~2!7i1C5' it[5(311! clel-ing in~:~ linc il;c-
d,~llobla~omn pn~i{)co!.
    "I'd like ~o use rod;ix ~<, ',.i~,,; ~r, iir~d a nearby ap;~i'5~e~:."
,!i~nct :'~(id,:d.
    '~'[ cl<~n't ~' '                ''
              [,qll!,~ V<)t~ ",ti(!iii,J .41:~'., ~iR~Lt!)œ] liere." ~']*, ~;(!'
il~ not s.'.ti~!. "If~, were v,)a,~ J'(! *,o ~:)~1 l(~ !tle bc:ti'h 'FiTe','~t'
      "                             ~ ....
Litlilt' ;t linde )t;~;                                       ''
Gr ~,: '
    ''['!~ *.~ig:~:~' 5()Ui' ikt. ix,'i('C,* J[ ,?[ {;~{tJ :~ssunl{ii'.~' [}'' li',..' 'i}}i'2
\",::!$ ()'~ C!'. ',)!:~ ";,t:O()(l.
  "1{{,"9, ›[bi)U( i.t (Itiii.'k !()1i1' (' [ilC !t*1%i~il.1I >" 5i:: ~: t i~, ,.

   ")'d )iL~ tha!.." .!,:,~r~e: -ad.

Selcnbui'~a. ~.tc hospitai ad,i~!~ii,4~"~lt,r. B-~t tie ;~asi"i a'.:ti;~'.i!,'...'.
' P~:' it'll; i . ~ t IC ~r V~0111 ~() tt]~' ii::~',t P~)i}t' ,'~; ";CC [hC (~!!t.r'~:i;.i.)iii l;!
          it[!L!![(~.rit!tli , , i ,'~ C:.iiCiOF!:.I.
    ()il ~~;.' :;t:'itt,!_t(I. llt:t~l' J;t~i,){ l~t:~' 'eli iri!~ ihi' j(7i. 5 lb<.~ :.~.l~'ci:'~il
arc;i, lb<' t:h~.:)l:i~;lr> i:~)',. th,: ":~d;,)k~3;? dcpar',mc.nt. a~n() it,., iic,~!
 u. ~ti:~. ~.i'ilc'il lll(':v \~,':n? ,.i) t. I{IC ,~,ti,lh J~i~',r.
    J~tl!t.'~ '&'(iF inqxe-:';',i v, ith ti,: ~<~:spita!. li ,:,;as; thee!fill. ~5 ~=l-
cr]~, a~d :~pp,xtred to bc ~d<'q~.it~tei5 sl;i!Ted. v, hid~ x, as },:~,,i,.-
ulari} impc, rtant from a !*ur:.:ing point ot view. She'el had l-or
misgi,~.ings abou! ~mc.,qogl> ;!nd the fact that all /lie palira,is
would be canere' patienls, but given ~h.e otherx~ise pk:'asanl on.


88                    R O B 1 N        C O O K                                                              T E I-I M I N ~ i,                          89

vironment and the variety in the patients she saw--some old,
some gravely ill, others seemingly normal--she decided the
Forbes hospital was definitely a place in which she could
work. In many ways, it wasn't dissimilar to the Boston Me-
morial, just newer and more pleasantly decorated.
    The fourth floor was arranged in the same configuration as
other patient floors. It was a simple rectangle with private
rooms on either side of a central corridor. The nurses' station
was situated in the middle of the floor near the elevators and
formed a large U-shaped counter. Behind it was a utility room
and a small closet-like pharmacy with a dutch door. Across
from the nurses' station was a patients' lounge. A housekeep-
ing closet with a slop sink was across from the elevators. At
either end of the long central hall were stairways.
    Once their tour was completed, Ms. Richmond turned Janet
over to Marjorie Singleton, the head nurse on days. Janet liked
Marjorie immediately. She was a petite redhead with a smat-
tering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. She seemed
in a constant flurry of activity and never without a smile. Janet
met other staffers as well, but the profusion of names over-
whelmed her. Aside from Ms. Richmond and Marjorie, she
didn't think she'd remember a single person to whom she'd
been introduced except for Tim Katzenburg, the ward secre-
tary. He was a blond-haired Adonis who looked more like a
beach boy than a hospital ward secretary. He told Janet he was
taking pre-med courses at night school since discovering the
limited utility of a philosophy degree.
    "We're really glad to have you," Marjorie said when she
rejoined Janet after taking care of a minor emergency. "Bes-
tows loss is our gain."
  "I'm happy to be here," Janet said.
      "We've been short-handed since the tragedy with Sheila
Arnold," Marjorie said.  "What happened?"
    "The poor woman was raped and shot in her apartment,"
Marjorie said. "And not too far from the hospital. Welcome
to big city life."
  "How terrible," Janet said. She wondered if that was the

reason Ms. Rictmlond hat] warned her agains',. the inlmediate
neighborhood.
    "(7urrently we happen to have a smail con~ir.,2ent of patients
from Boston," M;tljorie stdd. "W(3uid you !ikc Io racet
thettl'.)"
  ~'Sure." Janet said:
    Marjorie b,>u~)ded o~f. Janet p~'acticali3; ,'~.~d t~, ~un Io keep
up xsith her. To~e~!~cr they e.ntcr,~d a n)t~r~ on :he x~,esl side
~f the hosp tal,
  "Helen," Marj~.~rie called ~,,>fi,,~ once ~,hc , ,,, d httside the
bed. "Yolt have a viy;ho~ i'I'0.~11 Bost()II."
                                                       ,      . q
Brit, ht o113(y11 C5'~!'S ~.)?CFlC(]. ThciF !lq[,2*i;-,;~' ~.q"}t~F ,': I likl, tk:u
dramzttical!y a'i!ia die patient's l)ale xki;s.
"~,,ze tiiivc a ':,rt', ii Ir'4c }(}illilir2 ()u! '-1[.'~'" "~];i!i,~FlC ?;Lii(J.
3il,P tllell i~lti,.:)cJt~c-c i ihc !w(} W(*1!)CI'~.
'l'he nz~lic . {c.e i ( ab;}{ ii',liiledili!eJx {t:t!;'qk},:':.{ ii~ .ia~!~,:t'-

[~.(iSi()II, ~- '     :, ~.' ',~,a~; [~Jc:~.:,,2,'-~ ',~) ~i:~d ~"    'i~ ':~
encc v~ouJ(l unti(~ti:o!cd~,. i,~c. ip lxccl) Scttn i~ Y:'i~:; i{!;~.

ic~'l the room.
      "Sad c:~sc," M,,t'l;~'],,~. -,,kiel "St'oh ~ xx~z-~.~ ~[i;~. Sl~c'$ sc!ied-
 ilL'El t',t)l' it bif)j'3S}' [:}{J~i~, [ il('[)e ",~lt iC:~l)i}11Lfs '~,; lie ~tC',tlllls;ll[."
  "13t~t I've Le,'.tld li,.;t{ ,.~.~ p.'opt,_' ii;~c )'td :: :it;~,(i~c~', pen.'t~nt
re~i;ission x~ith i~er i!)ili{]CilJ;li' t. ylie (~1' [[ii:itti'. ' ,];;itqCi said.
"tk"h) w~'~ttldn-I ~d~c rt;;,i,~lld?-
    Nl~!li,,iie $. ,pp~_'d ;tn~l ',!~rctt ,~t J;!;ici. "}'F* ;~;;i,,;:-s:~-l." she
:,t~Jti. "Not ol'ti}' ;.iit} ',~.)kl ,.I,,V:H':.7' t}t' {).',.ii' !!~(llt~!i ~t ~:t>.~,~!~.},i rc,,tiits,
}<)tl 111adl.) aii iliMtlllt;!i!c'titl:., and coi-rect di:ign(>,,i,. Ace }ou
endorsed with po,~xers ~x(' should knm', aho~,?-
    "llardly," Janet said ?,'ith a laugh. "ilclc:l Cabot wa>. a
pilticltl ,tit my he', ',i~,~i! iT: Bestcm. i'd hcal'Ct ub~,~ul her case."
    "That m;~kcs n~e R'et more comfi)rtable." 5kuljorie said.
"For a second there ! thought I was x~il~.cs~;:.,aj dx~ st!pcrnat-
real." She begai'... ',v:tlki! g again. "l'n~ concerned abelit }telen
Cabt)t because lie,_- lun~t;~s arc fa" a&anccd. V-"~',"
                         ,. ,.,tt~ ,,,.'ou peo-
ple keep her fi)r so !on,,> She should have t,cc,1 -:taned tin
[l'v2;,l[lBeFl[ weeks ag(x"


90

"That's something I know nothing about," Janet admitted.
The next patient was Louis Martin. In contrast to Helen,
Louis did not appear ill. In fact, he was sitting in a chair fully
dressed. He'd only arrived that morning and was still in the
process of being admitted. Although he didn't look sick, he
did appear anxious.
    Marjorie went through introductions again, adding that
Louis had the same problem as Helen, but that thankfully he'd
been sent to them much more swiftly.
    Janet shook hands with the man, noting his palm was damp.
She looked into the man's terrified eyes, wishing there was
something she could say that would comfort him. She also felt
a little guilty realizing that she was somewhat pleased to learn
of Louis's plight. Having two patients on her floor under the
medulloblastoma protocol would give her that much more op-
portunity to investigate the treatment. Sean would undoubtedly
be pleased.
    As Marjorie and Janet returned to the nurses' station, Janet
asked if the medultoblastoma cases were all on the fourth
floor.
    "Heavens no," Marjorie said. "We don't group patients
according to tumor type. Their assignment is purely random.
It just so happens we'll currently have three. As we speak
we're admitting another case: a yonng woman from Houston
named Kathleen Sharenburg." Janet hid her elation.
    "There's one last patient from Boston," Marjorie said as
she stopped outside of room 409. "And she's a doll with an
incredibly upbeat attitude that's been a source of strength and
support for all the other patients. I believe she said she's from
a section of town called the North End."
    Marjorie knocked on the closed door. A muffled "Come
in" could be heard. Marjorie pushed open the door and
stepped inside. Janet followed.
  "Gloria," Marjorie called. "How's the chemo going?"
    "Lovely," Gloria joked. "I've just started the IV portion
today."

91

    "I brought yt)n somebody to meet." Nlarjorie said. "A new
nurse. She's fronl Boston."
    Janet looked at the woman in the bed. 5, he appeared to be
aboul Janet's own age. A few years e:trlier, J;~.net woulcl have
been shocked. Prior to working in a h,,)s4, it;d she'd been under
the delusion that cancer wa,, an afllicti,:~n {~t' tile elderIv. Pain-
fully. Janet had learned tllttl .just abotit Ltll'~t~l;e xkax fair game
for the disease.
    Gloria was ›~live--complected with dark ~'ye,: and what had
been dark hair. Prescntfy her scalp was ceverc(l with a dark
fuzz. Altllough slle'd been a buxom w~m;~l (~ne side of her
chest was ntw~' 11at beneath her lingerie.
    "Mr. WJddicomb!*' Maljt)rie saitt wi~h stlrprisc~ irritation.
"What are you doing in hereT'
  Her attention I'(~cused on the patient, .lanct halt n()t realized
there was an~)the~.' l)erson in tile rootll. She [t. tl'11t.~d [O see a nlan
in a green uniform wilh a mil(11~ dist(~rtect nose,
    "Don't ? giving Tom a bad time," Gloria said. "He's only
trying to help."
    "l told you I wanted rt)t)nl 417 cleaned," Marjorie said,
ignoring Gloria. "Why are you in bereT'
    "l was about to (to the bathrt)om." Tt~m said meekly. He
avoided eyc contact while lidgcting with the mop handle stick-
ing out of his bucket.
    Janet watched. Slle was fascinated. Tiny Mariorie bad been
transformed from an a!llia?)le pixie to a cotn~nandin~ pt)wer-
house,
    "What are we tt) clo x; itl~ the new patient it ~he rc}t~n~ is nt)t
ready?" Marjoric denlancled. "Get clown there at ~>nce and get
it done." She pointed ou! tile door.
    After the man had left, Maijorie stlt)ok her head. "Tom
Widdiconlb is the bane of nly existence here at Forbes.*'
    "He means well." Gloria said. "He's been an angel to me.
He checks on me every day."
    "He's not enlph)yed as part of thc professi,.mal ~;tafl," Mar-
jorie said. "}te's got to flo Iris own .job first."
    Janet smiled. She Ilkeel wt)rking on warels that were well
rim by someone capable of taking charge. Judging by what


92

she'd just seen, Janet was confident she'd get along fine with
Marjorie Singleton.

SOME OF the soapy water sloshed out of his bucket as Tom
raced down the corridor and into room 417. He released the
doorstop and let the door close. He leaned against it. His
breaths came in hissing gasps, a legacy of the terror that had
flashed through him when the knock had first sounded on Glo-
ria's door. He'd been seconds away from giving her the suc-
cinylcholine. If Maljorie and that new nurse had happened by
a few minutes later, he would have been caught.
    "Everything is fine, Alice," Tom reassured his mother.
"There's no problem whatsoever. You needn't be worried."
    Having reined in his fear, Tom was now angry. He'd never
liked Marjorie, not from the first day that he'd inet her. That
bubbly good nature was .just a sham. She was a meddlesome
bitch. Alice had warned him about her, but he hadn't listened.
He should have done something about her like he'd done to
that other busybody nurse, Sheila Arnold, who'd started asking
questions about why he was hanging around an anesthesia cart.
All he'd have to do was get Marjorie's address solnetime when
he was cleaning up in administration. Then he'd show her who
was in charge, once and for all.
    Having calmed himself with thoughts of taking care of Mar-
jorie, Tom pushed off from the door and eyed the room. He
didn't care for the actual cleaning part of his job, just the
freedom it provided. He'd preferred the job with the ambu-
lance except for having to deal with fellow EMTs. With house-
keeping, he didn't have to deal with anyone except for rare
run-ins with the likes of Marjorie. Also, with housekeeping he
could go anyplace in the hospital almost anytime he wanted.
The only catch was he occasionally had to clean. But most of
the time he was able to get by just pushing things around,
since nobody was watching him.
    If Tom was honest with himself, he had to admit that the
job he'd liked the best had been one he'd held way back when
he'd first left high school. He'd gotten a job with a vet. Tom

93

liked the animals. After he'd worked there for a while the vet
had designated Tom as the person in charge of putting the
animals to sleep. They were usually old, sick animals that were
suffering, and the work gave Tom a lot of satisfaction. He
could remember being disappointed when Alice didn't share
his enthusiasm.
    Openling the door, Torn peered up the corridor. He had to
return to the housekeeping closet to retrieve his housekeeping
cart, but he didn't want to run into Marjorie for fear she'd
start in on him again. Tom was afraid he might not be able to
control himself. On many occasions he'd felt like striking her
because that's what she needed. Yet he knew he couldn't af-
ford to do that, no way.
    Tom knew he would have trouble helping Gloria now that
he'd been seen in her room. He would have to be more careful
than usual. He'd also have to wait a day or so. He'd just have
to hope she'd still be on IVs by then. He didn't want to inject
the succinylcholine intramuscularly because that might make
it detectable if it occurred to the medical examiner to look for
it.
    Slipping out of the room, Tom headed up the hall. As he
passed 409, he glanced inside. He didn't see Marjorie, which
was good, but he did see that other nurse, the new one.
    Tom slowed his steps as a new fear gripped him. What if
the new nurse who'd been hired to replace Sheila was actually
hired to find him? Maybe she was a spy. That would explain
why she had suddenly appeared in Gloria's room with Mar-
jorie!
    The more Tom thought about it, the more sure he became,
especially since the new nurse was still in Gloria's room. She
was out to trap him and stop his crusade against breast cancer.
    "Don't worry, Alice," he assured his mother. "I'11 listen
this time."

ANNE MURPHY felt better than she had in weeks. She'd been
depressed for several days after she'd learned of Sean's plans
to go to Miami. To her, the city was synonymous with drugs



and sin. Somehow, the news hadn't surprised her. Sean had
been a bad child from an early age and, like men in general,
he certainly wasn't likely to change, despite his surprising ac-
ademic performances late in high school and then in college.
At first when he talked about going to medical school, she'd
felt a ray of hope. But the hope had been shattered when he
told her he did not plan to practice medicine. Like so many
other junctures in her life, Anne recognized she just had to
endure and stop praying for miracles.
    Still the question of why Sean couldn't be more like Brian
or Charles plagued her. What had she done wrong? It had to
have been her fault. Maybe it was because she hadn't been
able to breast-feed Sean as a baby. Or maybe it was because
she'd been unable to stop her husband from beating the child
during some of his drunken rages.
    Leave it to her youngest son, Charles, to provide a bright
spot in the days subsequent to Sean's departure. Charles had
called from his seminary in New Jersey with the glorious news
that he would be home for a visit the following evening. Won-
derful Charles! His prayers would save them all.
    In anticipation of Charles's arrival, Anne had gone out
shopping that morning. She planned to spend the day baking
and preparing dinner. Brian said he'd try to make it although
he had an important meeting that night that might run late.
    Opening the refrigerator; Anne began putting away the cold
items while her mind reveled in anticipation of the pleasures
she'd enjoy that evening. But then she caught herself. She
knew such thoughts were dangerous. Life was such a weak
thread. Happiness and pleasure were invitations for tragedy.
For a moment she tortured herself about how she'd feel if
Charles were killed on the way to Boston.
    The doorbell interrupted Anne's worries. She pressed the
intercom and asked who was calling.
  "Tanaka Yamaguchi," a voice said.
    "What do you want?" Anne asked. The doorbell did not
ring often.
 "I want to talk to you about your son Sean," Tanaka said.
 The color drained from Anne's face. Instantly she scolded

                                    95

herself for having entertained pleasurable thoughts. Sean was
in trouble again. Had she expected anything less?
    Pressing the door-release button, Anne went to the door to,
her apartment and pulled it open in anticipation of her unex-
pected guest. Anne Murphy was surprised enough that some-
one was paying a house call; when she saw that he was an
Oriental, she was shocked. The fact that the man's name was
Oriental hadn't registered.
    The stranger was about Anne's height but stocky and mus-
cular with coal-black short hair and tanned skin. He was
dressed in a dark, slightly shiny business suit with a white
shirt and dark tie. Over his arm he carried a belted Burberry
coat.
    "I beg your pardon," Tanaka said. He had only a slight
accent. He bowed and extended his business card. The card
simply read: Tanaka Yamaguchi, Industrial Consultant.
    With one hand pressed against her throat and the other
clutching the business card, Anne was at a loss for words.
  "I must speak to you about your son Sean," Tanaka said.
    As if recovering from a blow, Anne found her voice:
"What's happened? Is he in trouble again?"
  "No," Tanaka said. "Has he been' in trouble before?"
    "As a teenager," Anne said. "He was a very headstrong
boy. Very active."
    "American children can be troublesome," Tanaka said. "In
Japan the children are taught to respect their elders."
    "But Sean's father could be difficult," Anne said, surprised
at her admission. She felt flustered and wasn't sure if she
should invite the man in or not.
    "I'm interested in your son's business dealings," Tanaka
said. "I know he is a fine student at Harvard, but is he in-
volved with any companies that produce biological products?"
    "He and a group of his friends started a company called
Immunotherapy," Anne said, relieved that the conversation
was turning to the more positive momentsof her son's check-
ered past.
    "Is he still involved with this Immunotherapy?" Tanaka
asked.


96

  "He doesn't talk to me about it too much," Anne said.
     "Thank you very much," Tanaka said with another bow.
 "Have a nice day."
    Anne watched as the man turned and disappeared down the
stairs. She was almost as surprised at the sudden end to the
conversation as she'd been at the man's visit. She stepped out
into the hall just in time to hear the front door close two floors
down. Returning to her apartment, she closed the door and
bolted it behind her.
    It took her a moment to pull herself together. It had been a
strange episode. After glancing at Tanaka's card, she slipped
it into her apron pocket. Then she went back to putting food
into the refrigerator. She thought about calling Brian but de-
cided she could tell him about the Japanese man's visit that
evening. Provided, of course, that Brian came. She decided
that if he didn't come, then she'd call.
    An hour later Anne was absorbed in making a cake when
the door buzzer startled her again. At first she worded that the
Japanese man had returned with more questions. Maybe she
should have called Brian. With some trepidation she pressed
the intercom button and asked who wa~ there.
      "Sterling Rombauer," a deep masculine voice replied. "Is
this Anne Murphy?"  "Yes..."
    "I would very much like to speak to you about your son
Scan Murphy," Sterling said.
      Anne caught her breath. She couldn't believe yet another
stranger was there to ask questions about her second born.
  "What about him?" she asked.
  "I'd rather talk to you in person," Sterling said.
  "I'11 come down," Anne said.
    Rinsing her hands of flour, Anne started down the stairs.
The man was standing in the foyer, a camel-hair coat thrown
over his arm. Like the Japanese man, he was wearing a busi-
ness suit and white shir~. His tie was a bright red foulard.
  "I'm sorry to bother you," Sterling said through the glass.
  "Why are you asking about my son?" Anne demanded,

97

    "I've been sent by the Forbes Cancer Center in Miami,"
Sterling explained. ~
    Recognizing the name of the institution where Scan was
working, Anne opened the door and gazed up at the stranger.
He was an attractive man with a broad face and straight nose.
His hair was light brown and mildly curly. Anne thought he
could have been Irish except for his name. He was over six
feet tall with eyes as blue as those of her own sons.
    "Has Scan done something I should know about?" she
asked.
    "Not that I'm aware of," Sterling said. "The management
of the clinic routinely looks into the background of the people
who work there. Security is an important issue with them. I
merely wanted to ask you a few questions."  "Like what?" Anne asked.
    "Has your son been involved with any biotechnology com-
panies to your knowledge?"
    "You are the second person to ask that question in the last
hour," Anne said.
    "Oh?" Sterling said. "Who may I ask made similar in-
quiries?"
    Anne reached into her apron pocket and drew out Tanaka's
business card. She handed it to Sterling. Anne could see the
man's eyes narrow. He handed her the card back.
"And what did you tell Mr. Yamaguchi?" Sterling asked.
"I told him my son and a few friends had started their own
biotechnology company," Anne said. "They called it Immu-
riotherapy."
    "Thank you, Mrs. Murphy," Sterling said. "I appreciate
your talking with me."
    Anne watched the elegant stranger descend the steps in front
of her house and climb into the back seat of a dark sedan. His
driver was in uniform.
    More baffled than ever, Anne went back upstairs. After
some indecision she picked up the phone and called Brian.
After apologizing for interrupting his busy day, she told him
about her two, curious visitors.
  "That's odd," Brian said when she was finished,

98                                                                                                                            99

    "Should we be worried about Sean?" Anne asked. "You
know your brother,"
    "I'll call him," Brian said. "Meanwhile, if anyone else
comes asking questions, don't tell them anything. Just refer
them to me.' '
 "I hope I didn't say anything wrong," Anne said.
 "I'm sure you didn't," Brian assured her.
 "Will we be seeing you later?"
    "I'm still working on it," Brian said. "But if I'm not there
by eight eat without me."

WITH THE Miami street map open on the seat next to her, Janet
managed to find her way back to the Forbes residence. She
was pleased when she saw Sean's Isuzu in the parking lot.
She was hoping to find him home since she had what she
thought was good news. She'd found an airy, pleasant fur-
nished apartment on the southern tip of Miami Beach that even
had a limited view of the ocean from the bathroom. When
she'd first started looking for apartments she'd been discour-
aged since it was "in season." The place she found had been
reserved a year in advance, but the people had unexpectedly
canceled. Their cancellation had come in five minutes before
Janet stepped into the real estate office.
    Grabbing her purse and her copy of the rental agreement,
Janet went up to her apartment. She took a few minutes to
wash her face and change into shorts and a tank top. Then
with lease in hand she walked down the balcony to Sean's
slider. She found him glumly slouched on the couch.
    "Good news!" Janet said cheerfully. She plopped down in
the armchair across from him.
  "I could use some of that," Sean said.
    "I found an apartment,'"she announced. She brandished the
lease. "It's not fabulous, but it's a block from the beach, and
best of all it's a straight shot out the expressway to the
Forbes."
    "Janet, I don't know whether I can stay here," Sean said.
He sounded depressed.

"What happened?" Janet asked, feeling a shiver of anxiety.
"The Forbes is nuts," Scan said. "The atmosphere sucks.
For one thing, there's a Japanese weirdo who I swear is watch-
ing me. Every time I turn around, there he is."
    "What else?" Janet asked. She wanted to hear all Sean's
objections so she could figure a way to deal with'them. Having
just signed a lease for two months made her commitment to
remaining in Miami that much more binding.
    "There's something basically wrong with the place," Scan
said. "People are either friendly or unfriendly. It's so black
and white. It's not natural. Besides, I'm working by myself in
this huge empty room. It's crazy."
    "You've always complained about the lack of space," Janet
said.
    "Remind me never to complain again," Sean said. "I never
realized it, but I need people around me. And another thing:
they have this secret maximum containment lab which is sup-
posed to be off limits. I ignored the sign and went in anyway.
You know what I found? Nothing. The place was empty. Well,
I didn't get to go in every room. In fact, I hadn't gotten far
when this frustrated Marine who heads up the security de-
partment stormed in and threatened me."
  "With what?" Janet asked with alarm.
    "With his gut," Sean said. "He came up real close and
gave me this nasty look. I was this far from giving him a shot
in the nuts." Scan held up his thumb and index finger about
a half inch apart.
  "So what happened?" Janet asked.
    "Nothing," Scan said. "He backed off and just told 'me to
get out. But he was all worked up, ordering me out of an
empty room as if I'd done something really wrong. It was
insane."
    "But you didn't see the other rooms," Janet said. "Maybe
they're redoing the room you were in."
    "It's possible," Scan admitted. "There's a lot of potential
explanations. But it's still weird, and when you add all the
weird stuff together, it makes the whole joint seem plain
crazy.' '

100                                                                                                           101

  "What about the work they want you to do?"
    "That's okay," Sean said. "In fact, I don't know why
they've had so much trouble. Dr. Mason, the director, came
in during the afternoon, and I showed him what I was doing.
I'd already gotten some minuscule crystals. I told him that I
could probably get some decent crystals in a week or so. He
seemed pleased, but after he left, I thought about it, and I'm
not wild about helping to make money for some Japanese
holding company, which is essentially what I'd be doing if I
get crystals that they can defract."
  "But that's n9t all you'll be doing," Janet said,
  "How's that?"
    "You'll also be investigating the medulloblastoma proto-
col," Janet said. "Tomorrow I'm starting on the fourth floor
and guess who's there?"
    "Helen Cabot?" Sean guessed. He pulled in his feet and
sat up.
    "You got it," Janet said. "Plus another patient from Bos-
ton. A Louis Martin."
  "Does he have the same diagnosis?" Sean asked.
  "Yup," Janet said~ "Medulloblastoma."
    "That's amazing!" Sean remarked. "And they certainly got
him down here quickly!"
    Janet nodded. "Forbes is a bit perturbed that Helen had
been kept in Boston so long," Janet said. "The head nurse is
worried about her."
    "There'd been a lot of argument about whether or not to
biopsy her and which of her tumors to go after," Sean ex-
plained.
    "And there was another young woman being admitted
while I was there," Janet said.
  "Medulloblastoma too?" Sean asked.
    "Yup," Janet said. "So there are three patients on my floor
who are just beginning their treatments. I'd say that was pretty
convenient."
    "I'll need copies of their charts," Sean said. "I'll need drug
samples as soon as they start actual treatment, unless of course
the drugs are named. But that's not going to be the case. They

won't be using chemo on these people; at least not chemo
exclusively. The' drugs will probably be coded. And I'll need
each patient's regimen."
    "I'll do what I can," Janet said. "It shouldn't be difficult
with the patients on my floor. Maybe I'll even be able to
arrange to care for at least one of them personally. I've also
located a convenient copy machine. It's in medical records."
    "Be careful there," Sean warned. "The mother of the
woman in public relations is one of the medical librarians."
    "I'll be careful," Janet said. She eyed Sean warily before
going on. She was learning what a mistake it was to push him
to any conclusions before he was ready to make them. But
she just had to know. "So this means you're still game?" she
asked. "You'll stay? Even if it means doing that bit of work
with the protein, even if it is for the Japanese?"
    Sean leaned forward with his head down, elbows on his
knees, and rubbed the back of his head. "I don't know," he
said. "This whole situation is absurd. What a way to do sci-
ence!" He looked up at Janet. "I wonder if anybody in Wash-
ington had any idea what limiting research funding would do
to our research establishments. It's all happening just when
the country needs research more than ever."
    "All the more reason for us to try to do something," Janet
said.
  "You're serious about this?" Sean asked.
  "Absolutely," Janet said.
  "You know we'll have to be resourceful," Sean said.
  "I know."
      "We'll have to break a few rules," he added. "Are you
sure you can handle that?"  "I think so," Janet said.
  "And once we start, there's no turning back," Sean said.
    Janet started to answer but the ringing of the phone on the
desk startled them both.                           -
    "Who the hell could that be?" Sean wondered. He let it
ring.
  "Aren't you going to answer it?" Janet asked.
  "I'm thinking," Sean said. What he didn't say was that he

102                                                                                                       103

was afraid it might be Sarah Mason. She'd called him that
afternoon, and despite a temptation to aggravate Harris, Sean
did not want any association with the woman whatsoever.
  "I think you should answer it," Janet said.
  "You answer it," Sean suggested.
     Janet jumped to her feet and snatched up the receiver. Sean
 watched her expression as she asked who was calling. She
 showed no strong reaction as she extended the phone to him.
  "It's your brother," she said.
    "What the hell?" Sean mumbled as he pulled himseft out
of the couch. It wasn't like his brother to call. They didn't
'have that type of relationship, and they had just seen each
 other Friday night.
  Sean took the phone. "What's wrong?" he asked.
  "I was about to ask you the same question," Brian said.
  "You want an honest answer or platitudes?" Sean asked.
  "I think you'd better tell me straight," Brian said.
     "This place is b'~a~xe," Sean said. "I'm not so sure I want
 to stay. It might be a complete waste of time." Sean glanced
 over at Janet, who rolled her eyes in exasperation.
     "Something weird's going on up here too," Brian said. He
 told Sean about the two men who'd visited their mother, ask-
 ing about Immunotherapy.
     "Immunotherapy is history," Sean said. "What did More
 say?"
     "Not much," Brian said. "At least according to her. But
 she got a bit flustered. All she said was that you and some
 friends started it."
  "She didn't say we sold out?"
  "Evidently not."
  "What about Oncogen?"
     "She said she didn't mention it because we'd told her not
 to discuss it with anyone."
  "Good for her," Sean said.
     "Why would these people be up here talking to Mom?"
 Brian asked. "The Rombauer guy told her he represented the
 Forbes Cancer Center. He said that they routinely look into
 their employees for security reasons. Have you done anything

to suggest you're a security risk?"
    "Hell, I've only been here for a little over twenty-four
hours," Sean said.
    "You and I know of your pench_ant to provoke discord.
Your blarney would try the patience of Job."
    "My blarney is nothing compared to your blather, brother,"
Sean teased. "Hell, you've made an institution of it by be-
coming a lawyer."
    "Since I'm in a good mood, I'll let that'slam slide," Brian
said. "But seriously, what do you think is going on?"
    "I haven't the slightest idea," Sean said. "Maybe it's like
the man said: routine."
    "But neither guy seemed to know about the other," Brian
said. "That doesn't sound routine to me. And the first man
left his card. I have it right here. It says: Tanaka Yamaguchi,
Industrial Consultant."
    "Industrial consultant could mean anything," Sean said. "I
wonder if his involvement is somehow related to the fact that
a Japanese electronics giant called Sushita Industries has in-
vested heavily in Forbes. They're obviously looking for some
lucrative patents."
    "Why can't they stick to cameras, electronics, and cars?"
Brian said. "They're already screwing up the world's econ-
omy."
    "They're too smart for that," Sean said. "They are looking
toward the long term. But why they would be interested in my
association with piss-ant Immunotherapy, I haven't the fog-
giest."
    "Well, I thought you should know," Brian said. "It's Still
a little hard for me to believe you're not stirring things up
down there, knowing you."
"You'll hurt my feelings talking like that," Sean said.
"I'll be in touch as soon as the Franklin Bank comes
through for Oncogen," Brian said. "Try to stay out of trou-
ble."
  "Who, me?" Sean asked innocently.
    Sean dropped the receiver into the cradle as soon as Brian
said goodbye.


104

    "Have you changed your mind again?" Janet asked with
obvious frustration.
  "What are you talking about?" Sean questioned.
    "You told your brother that' you weren't sure you wanted
to stay," Janet said. "I thought we'd decided to go for it."
    "We had," Sean said. "But I didn't want to tell Brian about
the plan. He'd worry himself sick. Besides, he'd probably tell
my mother and who knows what would happen then."

"THAT WAS very nice indeed," Sterling told the masseuse.
She was a handsome, healthy Scandinavian from Finland,
dressed in what could have passed for a tennis outfit. He gave
her an extra five-dollar tip; when he'd made the arrangements
for the massage through the Ritz's concierge, he'd already
included an adequate tip in the charge added to his account,
but he'd noticed she'd gone over the allotted time.
    While the masseuse folded her table and gathered her oils,
Sterling pulled on a thick white terrycloth robe and slipped
off the towel cinched around his waist. Dropping into the club
chair near the window he lifted his feet onto the ottoman and
poured a glass of the complimentary champagne. Sterling was
a regular visitor at Boston's Ritz Carlton.
    The masseuse called a goodbye from the door, and Sterling
thanked her again. He decided he'd ask for her by name the
next time. A regular massage was one of the expenses Ster-
ling's clients had learned to expect. They'd complain on oc-
casion, but Sterling would merely say that they could accept
his terms or hire someone else. Invariably they'd agree he-
cause Sterling was extremely effective at the service he per-
formed: industrial espionage.
    There were other, more sanitized, descriptions for Sterling's
work such as trade counsel or business consultant, but Sterling
preferred the honesty of industrial espionage, although for pro-
priety's sake, he left it off his business card. His card merely
read: consultant. It didn't read "industrial consultant" as did
the card he'd seen earlier that day. He felt the word "indus-

105

trial" suggested a limitation to manufacturing. Sterling was
interested in all business.
    Sterling sipped his drink and gazed out the window at the
superb view. As usual, his room was on a high ttoor over-
looking the magical Boston Garden. As the sunlight waned,
the park's lamps lining the serpentine walkways had blinked
on, illuminating the swan boat pond with its miniature sus-
pension bridge. Although it was early March, the recent cold
snap had frozen the pond solid. Skaters dotted its mirrored
surface, weaving in effortless, intersecting arcs.
    Raising his eyes, Sterling could see the fading dazzle of the
gold-domed Massachusetts State House. Ruefully he be-
moaned the sad fact that the legislature had systematically de-
stroyed its own tax base by enacting short-sighted, anti-
business legislation. Unfortunately Sterling had lost a number
of good clients who'd either been forced to flee to a more
business-oriented state or forced to leave business altogether.
Nevertheless, Sterling enjoyed his trips to Boston. It was such
a civilized city.
    Pulling the phone over to the edge of the table, Sterling
wanted to finish work for the day before he indulged in dinner.
Not that he found work a burden. Quite the contrary. Sterling
loved his current employ, especially considering that he didn't
have to work at all. He'd trained at Stanford in computer en-
gineering, worked for Big Blue for several years, then founded
his own successful computer chip company, all before he was
thirty. By his middle thirties he was tired of an unfulfilling
life, a bad marriage, and the stultifying routine of running a
business. First he divorced, then he took his company public
and made a fortune. Then he engineered a buyout and made
another fortune. By age forty he could have bought a sizable
portion of the State of California if he'd so desired.
    For almost one year he indulged himself in the adolescence
he felt he'd somehow missed. Eventually, he got extremely
bored with such places as Aspen. That was when a business
friend asked him if he would look into a private matter for
him. From that moment on, Sterling had been launched on a
new career which was stimulating, never routine, rarely dull,


106

and which utilized his engineering background, his business
acumen, his imagination, and his intuitive sense for human
behavior.
    Sterling called Randolph Mason at home. Dr. Mason took
the call from his private line in his study.
    "I'm not sure you will be happy about what I've learned,"
Sterling said.
    "It's better I learn it sooner rather than later," Dr. Mason
responded.
    "This young Sean Murphy is an impressive young fellow,"
Sterling said. "He founded his own biotechnology company
called Immunotherapy while a graduate student at MIT. The
company turned a profit almost from day one marketing di-
agnostic kits."
  "How's it doing now?"
    "Wonderfully," Sterling said. "It's a winner. It's done so
well that Genentech bought them out over a year ago."
    "Indeed!" Dr. Mason said. A ray of sunshine entered the
picture. "Where does that leave Sean Murphy?"
    "He and his young friends realized a considerable profit,"
Sterling said. "Considering their initial investment, it was ex-
tremely lucrative indeed."
"So Sean's no longer involved?" Dr. Mason asked.
"He's completely out," Sterling said. "Is that helpful?"
"I'd say so," Dr. Mason said. "I could use the kid's ex-
perience with monoclonals, but not if he's got a production
facility behind him. It would be too risky."
      "He could still sell the information to someone else,"
Sterling said. "Or he could be in someone else's employ."
  "Can you find that out?"
    "Most likely," Sterling said. "Do you want me to continue
on this?"
    "Absolutely," Dr. Mason said. "I want to use the kid but
not if he's some kind of industrial spy."
    "I've learned something else," Sterling said as he poured
himself more champagne. "Someone besides myself has been
investigating Sean Murphy. His name is Tanaka Yamaguchi."

107

    Dr. Mason felt the tortellini in his stomach turn upside
down.
  "Have you ever heard of this man?" Sterling asked.
    "No," Dr. Mason said. He'd not heard of him, but with a
name like that, the implications were obvious.
    "My assumption would be he's working for Sushita,"
Sterling said. "And I know that he is aware of Sean Murphy's
involvement with Immunotherapy. I know because Sean's
mother told him."
  "He'd been to see Sean's mother?" Dr. Mason asked with

  "As have I," Sterling said.
    "But then Sean will know he's being investigated," Dr.
Mason sputtered.
    "Nothing wrong in that," Sterling said. "If Sean is an in-
dustrial spy, it will give him pause. If he's not, it will only be
a matter of curiosity or at worst a minor irritation. Sean's
reaction should not be your concern. You should be worried
about Tanaka Yamaguchi."  "What do you mean?"
    "I've never met Tanaka," Sterling said. "But I have heard
a lot about him since we're competitors of sorts. He came to
the United States many years ago for college. He's the eldest
son of a wealthy industrial family, heavy machinery I believe.
The problem was he adapted to 'degenerate' American ways
a bit too easily for the family's honor. He was swiftly Amer-~
icanized and became too individualistic for Japanese tastes.
The family decided they didn't want him home so they funded
a lavish lifestyle. It's been a kind of exile, but he's been clever
to augment his allowance by doing what I do, only for Japa-
nese companies operating in the U.S. But he's like a double
agent of sorts, frequently representing the Yakusa at the same
time he's representing a legitimate firm. He's clever, he's ruth-
less, and he's effective. The fact that he's involved means your
Sushita friends are serious."
    "You think he was involved with our two researchers who
disappeared and whom you found happily working for Sushita
in Japan?"


108

  "I wouldn't be surprised," Sterling said.
    "I can't afford to have this Harvard student disappear," Dr.
Mason said. "That would be the kind of media event that
could destroy the Forbes."
    "I don't think there is a worry for the moment," Sterling
said. "My sources tell me Tanaka is still here in Boston. Since
he has access to a lot of the same information as I, he must
think Sean Murphy is involved in something else."  "L'fice what?" Dr. Mason asked.
    "I'm not sure," Sterling said. "I haven't been able to locate
all that money those kids made when they sold Immunother-
apy. Neither Sean nor his friends have any personal money to
speak of, and none of them indulged themselves with expen-
sive cars or other high-ticket items. I think they are up to
something, and I believe Tanaka thinks so too."
    "Good God!" Dr. Mason said. "I don't know what to do.
Maybe I should send the kid home."
    "If you think Sean can help you with that protein work you
told me about," Sterling said, "then hold tight. I believe I
have everything under control. I have made inquiries with nu-
merous contacts, and because of the computer industry here,
I'm well connected. All you have to do is tell me to remain
on the case and continue paying the bills."
  "Keep on it," Dr. Mason said. "And keep me informed."

5

   March 4
Thursday, 6:30 A.M.

Janet was up, dressed in her white uniform, and out of the
apartment early since her shift ran from seven to three. At that
time of the morning there was very little traffic on I95~ es-
pecially northbound. She and Sean had discussed driving to-
gether but in the end decided it would be better if each had
their own wheels.
    Janet felt a little queasy entering the Forbes Hospital that
morning. Her anxiety went beyond the usual nervousness as-
sociated with starting a new job. The prospect of breaking
rules was what had her on edge and tense. She already felt
guilty to a degree; it was guilt by intent.
    Janet made it to the fourth floor with time to spare. She
poured herself a cup of coffee and proceeded to familiarize
herself with the locations of the charts, the pharmacy locker,
and the supply closet: areas she would need to be familiar with
to carry out her job as a floor nurse. By the time she sat down
for report with the night shift going off duty and the day shift
coming on, she was significantly calmer than she had been
when she first arrived. Marjorie's cheerful presence no doubt
helped put her at ease.
    Report was routine except for Helen Cabot's deteriorating
condition. The poor woman had had several seizures during
the night, and the doctors said that. her intracranial pressure
was rising.
  "Do they think the problem is related to the CAT scan-

109


I10

 driven biopsy yesterday?" Marjorie asked.
     "No," Juanita Montgomery, the night shift supervisor, said.
 "Dr. Mason was in at three A.M. when She seized again, and
 he said the problem was probably related to the treatment."
   "She's started treatment already?" Janet asked.
     "Absolutely," Juanita said. "Her treatment started Tues-
 day, the night she got here."
 "But she just had her biopsy yesterday," Janet said.
 "That's for the cellular aspect of her treatment," Marjorie
 chimed in. "She'll be pheresed today to harvest T lympho-
 cytes which will be grown and sensitized to her tumor. But
 the humoral aspect of her treatment was started immediately."
     "They used mannitol to bring down her intracranial pres-
 sure," Juanita added. "It seemed to work. She hasn't seized
 again, They want to avoid steroids and a shunt if possible. At
 any rate, she's got to be monitored carefully, especially with
 the pheresis."
     As soon as report was over and the bleary-eyed night shift
 had departed, the day's work began in earnest. Janet found
 herself extremely busy. There were a lot of sick patients on
     the floor, representing a wide range of cancers, and each was
ú on an individual treatment protocol. The most heartrending for
 Janet was an angelic boy of nine who was on reverse precau-
 tions while they waited for a bone marrow transplant to re-
 populate his marrow with blood-forming cells. He'd been
 given a strong dose of chemotherapy and radiation to wipe out
 completely his own leukemic marrow. At the moment he was
 completely vulnerable to any microorganisms, even those nor-
 mally not pathogenic for humans.
     By mid-morning, Janet finally had a chance to catch her
 breath. Most of the nurses took their coffee breaks in the utility
 room off the nurses' station where they could put up their tired
 feet. Janet decided to take advantage of the time to have Tim
 Katzenburg show her how to access the Forbes computer.
 Every patient had a traditional chart and a computer file. Janet
 wasn't intimidated by computers, having minored in computer
 science in college. But it still helped to have someone familiar
 with the Forbes system get her started.

                                   111

    When Tim was distracted for a moment by a phone call
from the lab, Janet called up Helen Cabot's file. Since Helen
had been there less than forty-eight hours, the file was not
extensive. There was a computer graphic showing which of
her three tumors they had biopsied and the location of the
trephination, of the skull just above the right ear. The biopsy
specimen was grossly described as firm, white, and of an ad-
equate amount. It said that the specimen had been immediately
packed in ice and sent to Basic Diagnostics. In the treatment
section it said that she'd begun on MB-300C and MB-303C
at a dosage of 100mg/Kg/day of body weight administered at
0.05 ml/Kg/minute.
    Janet glanced over at Tim who was still busy on the phone.
On a scrap of paper, she wrote down the treatment informa-
tion. She also wrote down the alpha numeric designator, T-
9872, that was listed as the diagnosis along with the
descriptive term: medulloblastoma, multiple.
    Using the diagnostic designator, Janet next called up the
names of the patients with medulloblastoma who were cur-
rently in the hospital. There were a total of five including the
three on the fourth floor. The other two were Margaret Demars
on the third floor, and Luke Kinsman, an eight-year-old, in
the pediatric wings of the fifth floor. Janet wrote down the
names.
"Having trouble?" Tim asked over Janet's shoulder.
"Not at all," Janet said. She quickly cleared the screen so
that Tim wouldn't see what she'd been up to. She couldn't
afford to arouse suspicion on her very first day.
    "I've got to enter these lab values," Tim told her. "It will
only take a sec."
    While Tim was absorbed with the computer terminal, Janet
scanned the chart rack for Cabot, Martin, or Sharenburg. To
her chagrin, none of those charts was there.
    Marjorie breezed into the station to get some narcotics from
the pharmacy locker. "You're supposed to be on your coffee
break," she called to Janet.
  "I am," Janet said, holding up her plastic foam cup. She


112

mentally made a note to bring a mug into work. Everyone else
had his or her own.
    "I'm already impressed with you," Marjorie teased from
inside the pharmacy.."You needn't work through your break.
Kick back, girl, and take a load off your feet."
    Janet smiled and said that she'd be taking that kind of break
after she was fully acclimated to the ward's routine. When
Tim was finished with the computer terminal, Janet asked him
about the missing charts.
    "They're all down on the second floor," Tim said. "Ca-
bot's getting pheresed while Martin and Scharenburg are being
biopsied. Naturally the charts are with them,"
    "Naturally," Janet repeated. It seemed tough luck that not
one of those charts could have been there when she had the
chance to look at them. She began to suspect that the clinical
espionage she'd committed herself to might not be quite as
easy as she'd thought when she suggested her plan to Sean.
    Giving up on the charts for the moment, Janet waited for
one of the other shift nurses, Dolores Hodges, to finish up in
the pharmacy closet. Once Dolores had headed down the hall,
Janet made sure no one was watching before slipping into the
tiny room. Each patient had an assigned cubbyhole containing
his or her prescribed medications. The drugs had come up
from the central pharmacy on the first floor.
    Finding Helen's cubbyhole, Janet quickly scanned the pleth-
ora of vials, bottles, and tubes that contained anti-seizure med-
ication, general tranquilizers, anti-nausea pills, and non-
narcotic pain pills. There were no containers designated
MB300C or MB303C. On the chance that these medications
were secured with the narcotics, Janet checked the narcotics
locker, but she found only narcotics there.
    Next Janet located Louis Martin's cubbyhole. His was a low
one, close to the floor. Janet had to squat down to search
through it, but first she had to close the lower half of the Dutch
door to make room. As with Helen's cubby, Janet could find
no drug containers with special MB code designations on the
label.
  "My goodness, you startled me," Dolores exclaimed. She

                                   113

had returned in haste and had practically tripped headlong over
Janet crouched before Louis Martin's cubbyhole. ,'I'm so
sorry," Dolores said. "I didn't think anyone was in here."
    "My fault," Janet said, feeling herself blush. She was in-
stantly afraid she was giving herself away and that Dolores
would wonder what she'd been up to. Yet Dolores showed no
signs of being suspicious. Instead, once Janet stepped back
and out of the way, she came in to get what she needed. In a
moment she was gone.
    Janet left the pharmacy closet visibly trembling. This was
only her first day and though nothing terrible had happened,
she wasn't sure she had the nerves for the furtive behavior
espionage demanded.
    When Janet reached Helen Cabot's room, she paused. The
door was propped open by a rubber stopper. Stepping inside,
Janet gazed around. She didn't expect to find any drugs there,
but she wanted to check just the same. As she'd expected,
there weren't any.
    Having recovered her composure, Janet headed back toward
the nurses' station, passing Gloria D'Amataglio's room on the
way. Taking a moment, Janet stuck her head through the open
door. Gloria was sitting up in her armchair with a stainless
steel kidney dish clutched in her hand. Her IV was still run-
ning.
    When they'd chatted the day before Janet had learned that
Gloria had gone to Wellesley College just as she herself had.
Janet had been in the class a year ahead. After thinking about
it overnight, Janet had decided to ask Gloria if she'd known
a friend of hers who'd been in Gloria's class. Getting Gloria's
attention, she posed her question.
    "You knew Laura Lowell!" Gloria said with forced enthu-
siasm. "Amazing! I was great friends with her. I loved her
parents." It wa~ painfully obvious to Janet that Gloria was
making an effort to be sociable. Her chemotherapy was no
doubt-leaving her nauseous.
  "I thought you might," Janet said. "Everybody knew

 Janet was about to excuse herself and allow Gloria to rest

114                                                                                                           115

when she heard a rattle behind her, She turned in time to see
the housekeeping man appear at the door, then immediately
disappear. Fearing her presence had interrupted his schedule,
Janet told Gloria she'd stop by later and went out into the hall
to tell the housekeeper the room was all his. But the man had
disappeared. She looked up and down the corridor. She even
checked a couple of the neighboring rooms. It was as if he'd
simply vanished into thin air.
    Janet headed back to the nurses' station. Noticing she still
had a bit of break time left, she took the elevator down to the
second floor in hopes of getting a glimpse at one or more of
the missing charts. Helen Cabot was still undergoing pheresis
and would be for some time. Her chart was unavailable, Kath-
leen Sharenburg was undergoing a biopsy at that moment, and
her chart was in the radiology office. With Louis Martin, Janet
lucked out. His biopsy was scheduled to follow Kathleen Shar-
enburg's, Janet discovered him on a gumey in the hallway.
He was heavily tranquilized and soundly sleeping. His chart
was tucked under the gumey pad.
    After checking with a technician and learning that Louis
would not he biopsied for at least an hour, Janet took a chance
and pulled out his chart. Walking quickly as if leaving the
scene of a crime with the evidence in hand, she carried the
chart into medical records. It was all she could do not to break
into a full sprint. Janet admitted to herself that she was prob-
ably the worst person in the world to he involved in this kind
of thing. The anxiety she'd felt in the pharmacy locker came
back in a flash.
    "Of course you can use the copy machine," one of the
medical record librarians told her when she asked. "That's
what it's here for. Just indicate nursing on the log."
    Janet wondered if this librarian was the mother of the
woman in public relations who'd been in Scan' s apartment on
the night of her arrival. She'd have to be careful. As she
walked over to the copy machine, she glanced over her shoul-
der. The woman had gone back to the task she'd been doing
when Janet had entered, paying no attention to Janet whatso-
ever.

    Janet quickly copied Louis's entire chart. There were more
pages than she would have expected, particularly since he had'
only been hospitalized for one day. Glancing at some of them,
Janet could tell that most 'of the chart consisted of referral
material that had come from Boston Memorial.
    Finished at last, Janet hurried the chart back to the gurney.
She was relieved to see that Louis had not been moved. Janet
slipped the chart under the pad, positioning it exactly as she'd
found it. Louis didn't stir.
    Returning to the fourth floor, Janet panicked. She hadn't
given any thought to what she would do with the copy of the
chart. It was too big to fit into her purse, and she couldn't
leave it lying about. She had to find a temporary hiding place,
somewhere the other nurses and nursing assistants would not
he likely to go.
    With no break time left, Janet had to think fast. The last
thing she wanted to do on her first day of work was take more
time off than she was due. Frantically, Janet tried to think. She
considered the patient lounge, but it was currently occupied.
She thought of one of the lower cabinets in the pharmacy
closet, but dismissed that idea as too risky. Finally she thought
of the housekeeping closet.
    Janet looked up and down the corridor. There were plenty
of people around, but they all seemed absorbed by what they
were doing. She saw the housekeeper's cart parked outside a
nearby patient room, suggesting the man was busy cleaning
within. Taking a breath, Janet slipped into the closet. The door
with its automatic closer shut behind her instantly, plunging
her into darkness. She groped for the light switch and turned
it on.
    The tiny room was dominated by a generous slop sink. On
the wall opposite was a countertop with undercounter cabinets,
a bank of shallow overcounter wall cabinets, and a broom
closet. She opened the broom closet. There were a few shelves
above the compartment that held the brooms and mops, but
they were too exposed. Then she looked at the overcounter
cabinets and her eyes kept rising.
 Placing a foot on the edge of the slop sink, she climbed up


116

atop the counter. Reaching up, she groped the area above the
wail cabinets. As she'd guessed, there was a narrow depressed
space between the top of the cabinets and the ceiling. Confi-
dent she'd found what she'd been looking for, she slipped the
chart copy over the front lip and let it drop down. A bit of
dust rose up in a cloud.
    Satisfied, Janet climbed down, r'lnsed her hands in the sink,
then emerged into the hall. If anybody had wondered what
she'd been up to, they didn't give any indication. One of the
other nurses passed her and smiled cheerfully.
    Returning to the nurses' station, Janet threw herself into her
work. After five minutes she began to calm down. After ten
minutes even her pulse had returned to normai. When Marjorie
appeared a few minutes later, Janet was calm enough to in-
quire about Helen Cabot's coded medication.
    "I've been going over each of the patients' treatments,"
Janet said. "I want to familiarize myself with their medica-
tions so I'll be prepared for whomever I'm assigned to for the
day. I saw reference to MB300C and MB303C. What are they,
and where would I find them?"
    Marjorie straightened up from bending over the desk. She
grasped a key strung around her neck on a silver-colored chain
and pulled it out in front of her. "MB medicine you get from
me," she said. "We keep it in a refrigerated lockup right here
in the nursing station." She pulled open a cabinet to expose
a small refrigerator. "It's up to the head nurse on each shift
to dispense it. We control the MBs somewhat like narcotics
only a bit stricter."
    "Well that expla'lns why I couldn't find it in the pharmacy,"
Janet said, forcing a smile. All at once she realized that getting
samples of the medicine was going to be a hundred times more
difficult than she'd envisioned. In fact, she wondered if it was
possible at all.

TOM WIDDICOMB was trying to caim down. He'd never felt
so wired in his life. Usuaily his mother was able to caim him
down, but now she wouldn't even talk to him.

                                    117

    He'd made it a point to arrive extra early that morning. He'd
kept an eye on that new nurse, Janet Reardon, from the mo-
ment she'd arrived. He'd trailed her carefully, watching her
every move. After tracking her for an hour, he'd decided his
concerns had been unjustified. She'd acted like any other nurse
so Tom had felt relieved.
    But then she'd ended up in Gloria's room again! Tom could
not believe it. Just when he'd let his guard down, she'd reap-
peared. That the same woman would thwart his attempt to
relieve Gloria's suffering not once but twice went past coin-
cidence. "Two days in a row!" Tom had hissed in the solitude
of his housekeeping closet. "She's gotta be a spy!"
    His only consolation was that this time he'd walked in on
her rather than vice versa. Actuaily, it was even better than
that. He'd aimost walked in on her. He didn't know whether
she'd seen him or not, although she probably had.
    From then on he'd followed her again. With her every step
he became more and more convinced she was there to get him.
She was not acting like a regular nurse, no way. Not with the
sneaking around she was doing. The worst was when she'd
sneaked into his housekeeping closet and started opening cab-
inets. He could hear her from the hail. He knew what she had
been looking for, and he'd been sick with worry that sbe'd
find his stuff. As soon as she'd left, he'd stepped inside.
Climbing up on the counter, he'd blindly reached up on top
of the wail cabinet at the very far end in the comer to feel for
his succinylcholine and syringes. Thankfully they were there
and hadn't been disturbed.                         :
    After climbing down from the cabinet, Tom struggled to
calm himself. He kept telling himself he was safe since the
succinylcholine was still there. At least he was safe for the
moment. But there was no doubt that he would have to deal
with Janet Reardon, just as he'd had to deal with Sheila Ar-
nold. He couldn't let her stop his crusade. If he did, he might
risk losing Alice.
    "Don't worry, Mother," Tom said aioud. "Everything will
be ail right."
 But Alice wouldn't listen. She was scared.


118

    After fifteen minutes, Tom felt calm enough to face the
world. Taking a focdfying breath, he pulled open the door and
stepped into the hall. His housekeeping cart was to his right
pushed against the wall. He grabbed it and started pushing.
    He kept his eyes directed at the floor as he headed toward
the elevators. As he passed the nurses' station he heard Mar-
jorie yell to him about cleaning a room.
    "I've been called to administration," Tom said without
looking up. Every so often if there'd been an accident, like
spilled coffee, he'd he called up there to clean it up. Regular
cleaning of the administration floor was handled by the night
CI~W;
  "Well, get back here on the double," Marjorie yelled.
  Tom swore under his breath.
    When he got to the administration floor, Tom pushed his
cleaning cart directly into the main secretarial area. It was
always busy there, no one ever looking at him twice. He
parked his cart directly in front of the wall chart of the floor
plan of the Forbes residence in southeast Miami.
    There were ten apartments on each floor, and each had a
little slot for a name. Tom quickly found Janet Reardon's
name in the slot marked 207. Even more handy was a key box
attached to the wall just below the chart. Inside were multiple
sets of keys, all carefully labeled. The box was supposed to
be locked, but the key to open it was always in the lock. Since
the box was obscured by his cart, Tom calmly helped himself
to a set for apartment 207.
    To justify his presence Tom emptied a few wastebaskets
before pushing his cart back to the elevators.
    As he waited for an eievator to arrive he felt a wave of
relief. Even Alice was willing to talk to him now. She told
him how proud of him she was now that he would .he able to
take care of things. She told him that she'd been worried about
this new nurse, Janet Reardon.
    "I told you that you didn't have to worry," Tom said. "No-
body will ever bother us."

                                    119

STERLING ROMBAUER had always liked the adage that his
schoolteacher mother had espoused: Chance favors the pre-
pared m/nd. Figuring there were only a limited number of
hotels in Boston that Tanaka Yamaguchi wonId find accepta-
ble, Sterling had decided to try calling some of the hotel em-
ployee contacts he'd cultivated over the years. His efforts had
been rewnrded with immediate success. Sterling smiled when
he learned that not only did he and Tanaka share the same
profession, they shared the same taste in hotels.
    This was a felicitous turn of events. Thanks to his frequent
stays at Boston's Ritz Carlton, Sterling's contacts in the hotel
were simply sterling. A few discreet inquiries revealed some
helpful information. First, Tanaka had hired the same livery
company Sterling himself used, which wasn't surprising since
it was by far the best. Second, he was scheduled to remain in
the hotel at least another night. Finally, he'd made a lunch
reservation in the Ritz Caf6 for two people.
    Sterling went right to work. A call to the mm'lre d' in the
caf6, a rather crowded, intimate enviromnent, produced a
promise that Mr. Yamaguchi's party would be seated at the
far banquette. The neighboring corner table, literally inches
away, would be reserved for Mr. Sterling Rombauer. A call
to the owner of the livery company resulted in a promise of
the name of Mr. Yamaguchi's driver as well as a transcript of
his stops.
    "This Jap is well connected," the owner of the livery com-
pany said when Sterling phoned him. "We picked him up
from general aviation. He came in on a private jet, and it
wasn't one of those dinky ones either."
    A call to the airport confirmed the presence of the Sushita
Gulfstream III and gave Sterling its call number. Phoning his
contact at the FAA in Washington and providing the call num-
be, rs, Sterling obtained a promise to keep him informed of the
jet's movements.
    With so much accomplished without even leaving his hotel
room and a bit of time to spare before the luncheon rendez-
vous, Sterling walked across Newbury Street to Burberry's to
treat himself to several new shirts.


120

WITH HIS legs crossed and stretched out in front of him, Sean
sat in one of the molded plastic chairs in the hospital cafeteria.
His left elbow was resting on the table, cradling his chin; his
right arm dangled over the back of the chair. Mood-wise, he
was in approximately the same state of mind as he'd been the
night before when Janet had come through his living-room
slider. The morning had been an aggravating rerun of the pre-
vious day, confirming his befief that the Forbes was a bizarre
and largely unfriendly place to work. Hiroshi was still trailing
him like a bad detective. Practically every time Sean turned
around when he was up on the sixth floor using some equip-
ment not available on the fifth, he'd see the Japanese fellow.
And the moment Sean looked at him, Hiroshi would quickly
look away as if Sean were a moron and wouldn't know that
Hiroshi had been watching him.
    Sean checked his watch. The agreement had been that he'd
meet Janet at twelve-thirty. It was already twelve-thirty-five,
and although a steady stream of hospital personnel continued
to pour by, Janet had yet to appear. Sean began to fantasize
about going down to the parking lot, getting into his Isuzu,
and hitting the road. But then Janet came through the door,
and just seeing her lightened his mood.
    Although Janet was still pale by Florida standards, her few
days in Miami had already given a distinctively rosy cast to
her skin. Sean thought she'd never looked better. As he ad-
miringly watched her sensuous movements as she weaved
through the tables, he hoped that he'd be able to talk her out
of whatever it was that was keeping her in her own apartment
and out of his.
    She took the seat across from him, barely saying hello. Un-
der her. arm she clutched an unfolded Miami newspaper. He
could tell she was ne~vous, the way she continually scanned
the room like some wary, vulnerable bird.
    "Janet, we're not in some spy movie," Sean said. "Calm
down!"
"But I feel like I am," Janet said. "I've been sneaking

                                    121

    around, going behind people's backs, trying not to arouse sus-
picion. But I feel like everyone knows what I'm doing."
     Sean rolled his eyes. "What an amateur I have for an ac-
 compliee," he joked. Then, more seriously, he added, "I don't
 know whether this is going to work if you're stressed out now,
 Janet. This is only the beginning. You haven't even done any-
 thing yet compared to what's coming. But, to tell you the truth,
 I'm jealous. At least you're doing something, I, on the other
 hand, have spent a good part of the morning in the bowels of
 the earth injecting mice with the Forbes protein plus Freund's
 adjuvant. There's been no intrigue and certainly no excite-
 ment. This place is still driving me nuts."
  "What about your crystals'?." Janet asked.
    "I'm deliberately slowing down on that," Sean said. "I was
doing too well. I won't let them know how far I've gotten.
That way, when I need some time for some investigative work,
I'll take it and still be able to have results to show as a cover.
So how'd you do?"
    "Not great," Janet admitted. "But I made a start. I copied
one chart."
     "Just one?" Sean questioned with obvious disappointment.
 "You're this nervous about one chart?"
    "Don't give me a hard time," Janet warned. "This isn't
easy for me."
    "And I'd never say I told you so," Sean quipped. "Never.
Not me. That's not my style."
    "Oh, shut up," Janet said as she handed the newspaper to
Sean under the table. "I'm doing the best I can."
    Sean lifted the newspaper and placed it on top of the table.
He spread it out and opened it, exposing the copied pages
which he immediately removed. He pushed the newspaper
aside.
    "Sean!" Janet gasped, as she furtively scanned the crowded
room. "Can't you be a little more subtle?"
    "I'm tired of being subtle," he said. He stared going
through the chart.
  "Even for my benefit?" Janet asked. "There might be some


122

people from my floor here. They might have seen me give
these copies to you."
    "You give people too much credit," Scan said distractedly.
"People aren't as observant as you might think." Then, re-
ferring to the copies Janet had brought, he said, "Louis Mar-
tin's chart is nothing but referral material from the Memorial.
This history and physical is mine. That lazy ass on neurology
just copied my workup."
  "How can you tell?" Janet asked.
    "The wording," Scan said. "Listen to this: the patient 'suf-
fered through' a prostatectomy three months ago. I use ex-
pressions like 'suffered through' just to see who reads my
workups and who doesn't. It's a little game I play with myself.
No one else uses that kind of phraseology in a medical
workup. You're supposed to just give facts, not judgments."
    "Imitation is the highest form of flattery, so I guess you
should he flattered," Janet said.
    "The only thing of interest here is in the orders," Scan said.
"He's being given two coded drugs: MB300M and
MB305M."
    "That code is comparable to the one I saw in Helen Cabot's
computer file," Janet said. She handed him the paper on which
she'd written the treatment information she'd gotten from the
computer.
  Sean glanced at the dosage and the administration rate.
  "What do you think it is?" Janet asked.
  "No idea," Sean said. "Did you get any of it?"
    "Not yet," Janet admitted. "But I finally located the sup-
ply. It's kept in a special locker, and the shift supervisor has
the only key."
    "This is interesting," Sean said, still studying the chart.
"From the date and time of the order they started treatment
as soon as he got here."
    "Same with Helen Cabot," Janet said. She told him what
Marjorie had explained to her, namely that they started the
humoral aspect of the treatment immediately whereas the cel-
lular aspect didn't begin until after the biopsy and T-cell har-
vesting.

                                    123

    "Starting treatment so soon seems odd," Scan said. "Un-
less these drugs are merely lymphokines or some other general
immunologic stimulant. It can't he some new drug, like a new
type of chemo agent."
  "Why not?" Janet asked.
    "Because the FDA would have had to approve it," Scan
said. "It has to he a drag that's already been approved. How
come you only got Louis Martin's chart? What about Helen
Cabot's?"
    "I was lucky to get Martin's," Janet said. "Cabot is getting
pheresed as we speak, and the other young woman, Kathleen
Sharenburg, is being biopsied. Martin was a 'to follow' for
his biopsy so his chart was available."
    "So these people are on the second floor right now?" Scan
asked. "Right above us?"
  "I believe so," Janet said.
    "Mayhe I'll skip lunch and take a walk up there," Scan
said. "With all the usual commotion in most diagnostic and
treatment areas, the charts are usually just kicking around. I
could probably get a look at them."
    "Better you than me," Janet said. "I'm sure you're better
at this than I."
    "I'm not taking over your job," Scan said. "I'll still want
copies of the other two charts as well as daily updates. Plus I
want a list of all the patients they've treated to date who have
had medulloblastoma, I'm particularly interested in their out-
comes. Plus I want samples of the coded medicine. That
should be your priority. I have to have that medicine; the
sooner the hetter."
    "I'll do my best," Janet said. Knowing how much trouble
it had been merely to copy Martin's chart, she had misgivings
about getting everything Scan wanted with the kind of speed
he was implying. Not that she was about to voice those con-
cerns to Scan. She was afraid he'd give up and leave for Bos-
ton.
    Scan stood up. He gripped Janet's shoulder. "I know this
isn't easy for you," he said. "But remember, it was your
idea."


124

 Janet put a hand on Sean's. "We can do it," she said.
      "I'11 see you at the Cow Palace," he said. "I suppose you'll
be there around four. I'll try to get back about the same time."
  "See you then," Janet said.
    Sean left the cafeteria and used the stairs to get to the second
floor. He emerged at the south end of the building. The second
floor was a center of activity and as bustling as he'd expected.
All the radiation therapy as well as diagnostic radiology was
done there; so was all the surgery and any treatment that could
not be done at the bedside.
    With all the confusion Sean had to squeeze between gurneys
carrying people to and from their procedures. A number of the
gurneys with their human passengers were parked along the
walls. Other patients sat on benches dressed in hospital robes.
    Sean excused himself and pushed through the tumult, bump-
ing into hospital personnel as well as ambulatory patients.
With a modicum of difficulty he proceeded down the central
corridor, checking each door as he went. Radiology and chem-
istry were on the left, treatment rooms, ICU, and the surgical
suites were on the right. Knowing that the pheresis was a long
procedure and not labor-intensive, Sean decided to try to find
Helen Cabot. Besides looking at her chart, he wanted to say
hello.
    Spotting a hematology technician sporting rubber tourni-
quets attached to her belt loops, Sean asked her where pheresis
was done. The woman guided Sean through a side corridor
and pointed toward two rooms. Sean thanked her and checked
the first. A male patient was on the gurney. Sean closed the
door and opened the other. Even from the threshold he rec-
ognized the patient: it was Helen Cabot.
    She was the only one there. Outflow and inflow lines were
attached to her left arm as her blood was being passed through
a machine that separated the elements, isolating the lympho-
cytes and returning the rest of the blood to her body.
    Helen turned her bandaged head in Sean's direction. She
recognized him immediately and tried to smile. Instead, tears
formed in her large green eyes.
  From her color and general appearance Sean could see that

125

her condition had dramatically worsened. The seizures she'd
been suffering had been taking a heavy toll.
    "It's good to see you," Sean said as he bent down to bring
his face close to hers. He resisted an urge to hold and comfort
her. "How are you doing?"
    "It's been difficult," Helen managed to say. "I had another
biopsy yesterday. It wasn't fun. They also warned me I might
get worse when they started the treatment, and I have. They
told me I was not to lose faith. But it's been hard. My head-
aches have been unbearable. It even hurts to talk."
    "You have to hold on," Sean said. "Keep remembering
that they have put every medulloblastoma patient into remis-
sion."
  "That's what I keep reminding myself," Helen said.
    "I'll try to come to see you every day," Sean said. "Mean-
while, where's your chart?"
    "I think it's out in the waiting room," Helen said, pointing
with her free hand toward a second door.
    Sean gave her a warm smile. He squeezed her shoulder, then
stepped into the small waiting room that connected to the cor-
ridor. On a counter was what he was searching for: Helen's
chart.
    Sean picked it up and flipped to the order sheets. Drugs
similar to those he'd seen in Martin's chart were duly noted:
MB300C and MB303C. He then turned to the beginning of
the chart and saw a copy of his own workup which had been
sent as part of the referral package.
    Flipping the pages quickly, Sean came to the progress note
section, and he read the entry for the biopsy that had been
taken the day before; indicating they had gone in over the right
ear. The note went on to say that the patient had tolerated the
procedure well.
    Sean had just begun to scan for the laboratory section to
see if a frozen section had been done when he was interrupted.
The door to the hallway crashed open and slammed against
the wall with such force that the doorknob dented the plaster.
    The sudden crash startled Sean. He dropped the chart onto
the plastic laminate countertop. In front of him and filling the


126

entire doorway was the formidable figure of Margaret Rich-
mond. Sean recognized her immediately as the nursing director
who'd burst into Dr. Mason's office. Apparently the woman
made a habit of such dramatic entries.
    "What are you doing in here?" she demanded. "And what
are you doing with that chart?" Her broad, round face was
distorted with outrage.
    Sean toyed with the idea of giving her a flip answer, but he
thought better of it.
    "I'm looking in on a friend," Scan said. "Miss Cabot was
a patient of mine in Boston."
    "You have no right to her chart," Ms. Richmond blustered.
"Patients' charts are confidential documents, available only to
the patient and his doctors. We view our responsibility in this
regard very seriously."
    "I'm confident the patient would be willing to give me
cess," Sean said. "Perhaps we should step into the next room
and ask her."
    "You are not here as a clinical fellow," Ms. Richmond
shouted, ignoring Sean's suggestion. "You are here in a re-
seach capacity only. Your arrogance in thinking that you have
a right to invade this hospital is inexcusable."
    Sean saw a familiar face appear over Ms. Richmond's in-
timidating shoulder. It was the puffy, smug countenance of the
frustrated Marine, Robert Harris. Sean suddenly guessed what
had happened. Undoubtedly he'd been picked up by one of
the surveillance cameras, probably one in the second-floor cor-
ridor. Harris had called Richmond and then had come over to.
watch the slaughter.
    Knowing that Robert Harris was involved, Scan could no
longer resist the urge to lash back, particularly since Ms. Rich-
mond wasn't responding to his attempts to be reasonable.
    "Since you people aren't in the mood to discuss this Y~ke
adults," Scan said, "I think I'll wander back to the research
building."
    "Your impertinence only makes matters worse," Ms. Rich-
mond sputtered. "You're trespassing, invading privacy, and
showing no remorse. I'm surprised the governors of Harvard

                                   127

University would let someone like you into their institution."
    "I'll let you in on a secret," Scan said. "They weren't all
that impressed with my manners. They liked my facility with
a puck. Now, I'd really like to stay and chat with you people,
but I've got to get back to my murine friends who, by the
way, have more pleasant personalities than most of the staff
here at Forbes."
    Sean watched as Ms. Richmond's face empurpled. This was
just one more of a series of ridiculous episodes that had him
fed up. Consequently he derived perverse pleasure out of
goading and angering this woman who could easily have
played linebacker for the Miami Dolphins.
    "Get out of here before I call the police," Ms. Richmond
yelled.
    Sean thought that calling the police would he interesting.
He could just imagine some poor uniformed rookie trying to
figure out how to categorize Sean's offense. Sean could see it
in the paper: Harvard extern actually looks into his patient's
chart!
    Scan stepped forward, literally eye to eye with Ms. Rich-
mond. He smiled, pouring on his old charm. "I know you'll
miss me," he said, "but I really must go."
    Both Ms. Richmond and Harris followed him all the way
to the pedestrian bridge that spanned the guff between the
hospital and the research building. The whole time they main-
tained a loud dialogue about the degeneracy of current-day
youth. Sean had the feeling he was being run out of town.
    As Sean walked across the bridge he recognized how much
he would have to depend on Janet for clinical material per-
taining to the medulloblastoma study, provided, of course, he
stayed.         ~
    Returning to his fifth-floor lab, Sean tried to lose himself in
his work to repress the anger and frustration he felt toward the
ridiculous situation he found himself in. Like the empty room
upstairs, Helen's chart didn't have anything in it to get upset
about. But as he cooled down, Sean was able to acknowledge
that Ms. Richmond did have a point. As much as he hated to
admit it, the Forbes was a private hospital. It wasn't a teaching


128

hospital like the Boston Memorial, where teaching and patient
care went hand in hand, Here, Helen's chart was confidential.
Yet even if it was, Ms. Richmond's fury was hardly appro-
priate for his infraction.
    In-spite of himself, within an hour Sean became engrossed
in his crystal-growing attempts. Then, as be held a flask up
against the overhead light, he caught a bit of movement out
of the corner of his eye. It was a rerun of the incident on his
first day. Once again the movement had come from the direc-
tion of the stairwell.
    Without so much as looking in the direction of the stairwell,
Sean calmly got off his stool and walked into the storeroom
as if he needed some supplies. Since the storeroom was con-
nected to the central corridor, Sean was able to dash the length
of the building to the stairwell opposite the one where he'd
seen the movement.
    Racing down a flight, he ran the length of the fourth floor
toenter the opposite stairwell. Moving as silently as possible,
he climbed the stairs until the fifth-floor landing came into
view.' As he'd suspected, Hiroshi was there furtively looking
through the glass of the door, obviously baffled as to why Sean
had not returned from the storeroom.
    Sean tiptoed up the remaining stairs until he was standing
direcfiy behind Hiroshi. Then he screamed as loud as he was
able. Within the confines of the stairwell, Sean was impressed
with the amount of noise he was capable of generating.
    Having seen a few Chuck Norris martial arts movies, Sean
had been a little concerned that Himshi might turn into a ka-
rate demon by reflex. But instead Himshi practically collapsed.
Conveniently he'd had one hand on the door handle. It was
that support which kept him standing.
    When Hiroshi recovered enough to comprehend what had
happened, be stepped away from the door and started to mum-
ble an explanation. But he was backing up at the same time,
and when his foot hit the riser of the first stair, be turned and
fled up, disappearing from view.
    Disgusted, Sean followed, not to pursue Himshi, but rather
to seek out Deborah Levy. Seam had had enough of Hiroshi's

                                    129

spying. He thought Dr. Levy would be the best person to dis-
cuss the matter with since she ran the lab.
    Going directly to the seventh floor, Sean walked down to
Dr. Levy's office. The door was ajar. He looked in. The office
was empty.
    The pool secretaries did not have any idea of her where-
abouts but suggested Sean have her paged. Instead, Sean went
down to the sixth floor and sought out Mark Halpern, who
was dressed as nattily as ever in his spotless white apron. Sean
guessed he washed and ironed the apron every day.  "I'm looking for-Dr. Levy," Sean said irritably.
    "She's not here today," Mark said. "Is there something I
can help you with?"
  "Will she be here later?" Sean asked.
    "Not today," Mark said. "She had to go to Atlanta. She
travels a lot for work."
  "When will she be back?"
    "I'm not sure," Mark said. "Probably tomorrow late. She
said something about going to our Key West facility on her
way back."
  "Does she spend much time there?" Sean asked.
    "Fair amount," Mark said. "Several Ph.D.s who,d origi-
nally been here at Forbes were supposed to go to Key West,
but they left instead. Their absence left Dr. Levy with a bur-
den. She's had to pick up the slack. I think Forbes is having
trouble replacing them."
    "Tell her I'd like to talk to her when she comes back,"
Sean said. He wasn't interested in the Forbes's recruiting prob-
lems.
  "Are you sure there's nothing I can do?" Mark said.
    For a second Sean toyed with the idea of talking with Mark
about Hiroshi's behavior, but decided against it. He had to
speak to someone in authority. There wasn't anything Mark
would be able to do.
    Frustrated that he coul~d get no satisfaction for his anger,
Sean started back toward his lab. He' was almost to the stair-
well door when he thought of another question for Mark.
 Returning to his tiny office, Sean asked the tech if the pa-




thologists over in the hospital cooperated with the research
staff.
    "On occasion," Mark said. "Dr. Barton Friedburg has
coauthored a number of research papers that require a patho-
logic interpretation."
    "What kind of guy is he?" Sean asked. "Friendly or un-
friendly? Seems to me that people fall into one camp or the
other aroond here."
    "Definitely friendly," Mark said. "Besides, I think you
might be confusing unfriendly with being serious and preoc-
cupied."
      "You think I could call him up and ask him a few ques-
tions?" Sean asked. "Is be that friendly?"  "Absolutely," Mark said.
    Sean went down to his lab, and using the phone in the lass-
enclosed office so he could sit at a desk, he phoned Dr. Fried-
bur8. He took it as an auspicious sign when the patholoist
came on the hne d'u-ectly.
    ~n explained who im was and that he was interested in
the findings of a biopsy done the day before on Helen Cabot.
    "Hold the line," Dr. Friedburg said. Sean could hear him
talking with someone else in the lab. "We didn't et any bi-
opsy from a Helen CaixX," he said, coming back.
  "But I know she had it done yesterday," Sean said.
    "It went. south to Basic Diagnostics," Dr. Friedbur~ said.
"You'll have to call there if you want any information on it.
That son of thing doesn't come through this lab at all."
  "Who should I ask for?" Sean asked.
    "Dr. Levy," Dr. Friedburg said. "Ever since Paul and
Roger left, she's been running the show down there. I don't
know who she has reading the specimens now, but it's not

    Sean hung up the phone. Nothing about Forbes seemed to
be easy. He certainly wasn't about to ask Dr. Levy about He-
len Cabot. She'd know what he was up to in a flash, especially
after she heard from Ms. Richmond about his looking at
len's chalt.
  $ean sihed as he looked down at the work he was doing

                                                             131

trying to grow crystals with the Forbes protein. He felt like
throwing it all into the sink.

FOR JANET, the afternoon seemed to pass quickly. With pa-
tients coming and going for therapy and diagnostic tests, there
was the constant tactical problem of organizing it all. In ad-
dition, there were complicated treatment protocols that re-
quired precise timing and dosage. But during this feverish
activity Janet was able to observe the way patients were di,
vided among the staff. Without much finagling she was able
to arrange to be the nurse assigned to take care of Helen Cabot,
Louis Martin, and Kathleen Sharenburg the following day.
    Although she didn't handle them herself, she did get to see
the containers the coded drugs came in when the nurses in
charge of the medulloblastoma patients for the day got the
vials from Marjorie. Once they'd received them, the nurses
took them into the pharmacy closet to load the respective sy-
ringes. The MB300 drug was in a 10cc injectable hottie while
the MB303 was in a smaller 5cc hottie. There was nothing
special about these containers. They were the same containers
many other injectable drugs were packaged in.
    It was customary for everyone to have a mid-afternoon as
well as a mid-morning break. Janet used hers to go back down
to medical records. Once there she used the same ploy she'd
used with Tim. She told one of the librarians, a young woman
by the name of Melanie Brock, that she was new on the staff
and that she was interested in learning the Forbes system. She
said she was familiar with computers, but she could use some
help. The librarian was impressed with Janet's interest and was
more than happy to show her their filing format, using the
medical records' access code.
    Left on her own after Melanie's introduction, Janet called
up all patients with the T-9872 designator which she'd used
to pull up current medulloblastoma cases on the ward's work
station. This time, Janet got a different list. Here there were
thirty-eight cases on record over the last ten years. This list
did not include the five cases currently in the hospital.


132

    Sensing a recent increase, Janet asked the computer to graph
the number of cases against the years. In a graph form, the
results were rather striking.

I_.00KING AT the graph, Janet noted that over the first eight
years there had been five medulloblastoma cases, whereas dur-
ing the last two years there had been thirty-three. She found
the increase curious until she remembered that it had been in
the last two years that the Forbes had had such success with
its treatment. Success sparked referrals. Surely that accounted
for the influx.
    Curious about the demographics, Janet called up a break-
down by age and sex. Sex showed a preponderance of males
in the last thirty-three cases: twenty-six males and seven fe-
males. In the earlier five cases there had been three females
and two males.
    When 'she looked at ages, Janet noted that in the first five
cases there was one twenty-year-old. The other four were be-
low the age of ten. Among the recent thirty-three cases Janet
saw that seven cases were below the age of ten, two between
the ages of ten and twenty, and the remaining twenty-four
were over twenty years of age.
    Concerning outcome, Janet noted that all of the original five
had died within two years of diagnosis. Three had died within
months. Inthe most recent thirty-three, the impact of the new
therapy was dramatically apparent. All thirty-three patients
were currently alive, although only three of them were nearing
two years after diagnosis.
  Hastily, Janet wrote all this information down to give to

    Next Janet randomly picked out a name from the list. The
name was Donald Maxwell. She called up his file. As she went
through the information, she saw that it was rather abbreviated.
She even found a notation that said: Consult physical chart if
further information is needed.
    Janet had become so absorbed in her investigative work,
she was shocked when she glanced at her watch. She'd used

20L-

10
18
17
16

i16
14

~13
  12
  11

~ 10
    9
    8

19~2

1g~3 1904

lm


134

up her coffee break and then some, just as she had that morn-
ing.
    Quickly she had the computer print out a list of the thirty-
eight cases with their ages, sexes, and hospital numbers. Ner-
vously, she went over to the laser printer as the sheet emerged.
Turning from the printer, she half expected to find someone
standing behind her, demanding an explanation. But no one
seemed to have taken notice of her activities.
    Before heading back to her floor, Janet sought out Melanie
for one quick and final question, She found her at the copy
machine.
    "How do I go about getting the hospital chart of a dis-
charged patient?" Janet asked.
    "You ask one of us," Melanie said. "All you have to do
is provide us with a copy of your authorization, which in your
case would come from the nursing department. Then it takes
about ten minutes. We keep the charts in the basement in a
storage vault that runs beneath both buildings. It's an efficient
system. We need access to them for patient care purposes, like
when the patients come for outpatient care. Over in adminis-
tration they need access to them for billing and actuarial pur-
poses. The charts come up on dumbwaiters." Melanie pointed
to the small glass-fronted elevator set into the wall.
    Janet thanked Melanie, then hurried out to the elevator. She
was disappointed about the authorization issue. She couldn't
imagine how she would arrange that without completely giv-
ing herself away. She hoped Sean would have an idea.
    As she pressed the elevator button impatiently, Janet won-
dered if she would have to apologize for again extending her
break. She knew she couldn't keep doing it. It wasn't fair, and
Marjorie was bound to complain,

S~;_~G WAS extremely pleased with the way the day was
proceeding. He had to smile to himself as he rose up in the
paneled elevator of the Franklin Bank's home office on Fed-
eral Street in Boston. It had been a sublime day with minimal
effort and maximum gain. And the fact that he was being


handsomely compensated for enjoying himself made it all that
much more rewarding.
    The luncheon at the Ritz had been heavenly, especially
since the mm~-e d' had been accommodating enough to bring
a white Meursault down from the main dining room wine cel-
lar. Sitting as close as he had to Tanaka and his guest, Sterling
had been able to hear most of their conversation from behind
his Wall Street Journal.
    Tanaka's guest was a personnel executive from immuno-
therapy. Since the buyout, Genentech had left the company
largely intact. Sterling did not know how much money was in
the plain white envelope that Tanaka had placed on the table,
but he did notice that the personnel executive had slipped it
into his jacket in the blink of an eye.
    The information Sterling overheard was interesting. Sean
and the other founding .partners had sold Immunotherapy in
order to raise capital for a totally new venture. Tanaka's in-
former wasn't one hundred percent certain, but it was his un-
derstanding that the new company would also be a
biotechnology firm. He couldn't tell Tanaka its name or its
proposed product line.
    The gentleman knew there had been a holdup in forming
the new company when Sean and his parmers realized they
would be undercapitalized. The reason he knew this was be-
cause he'd been approached to move to the new company and
he'd agreed, only to be informed that there would be a delay
until sufficient funds could be raised. From the sound of the
gentleman's voice at this juncture, Sterling understood that the
delay had engendered significant ill will between him and the
new management.
    The final bit of information that the gentleman had delivered
was the name of the bank executive at the Franklin who was
in charge of the negotiation of the loan for additional start-up
capital. Sterling was acquainted with a number of people at
the Franklin, but Herbert Devonshire. was not one of them.
But that was soon to change since it was Herbert whom
Sterling was presently on his way to see.
  The luncheon had also afforded Sterling an opportunity to


136

observe Tanaka up close. Knowing a considerable amount
about the Japanese character and culture, particularly in rela-
tion to business, Sterling was fascinated by Tanaka's perform-
ance. Flawlessly deferential and respectful, it would have been
impossible for an uninitiated American to pick up the clues
that suggested Tanaka clearly despised his lunch companion.
But Sterling immediately discerned the subtle signs.
    There'd been no way for Sterling to eavesdrop on Tanaka's
meeting with Herbert Devonshire. Sterling had not even con-
sidered it. But he wanted to know its location so that he would
be able to suggest he did know the content when he spoke to
Mr. Devonshire. Accordingly, Sterling had the limousine com-
pany's president order Tanaka's driver to call it in to him. The
president had then relayed the information to Sterling's driver.
    After being tipped off, Sterling had entered City Side, a
popular bar in the south building of Faneuil Hall Market.
There'd been a chance Tanaka might recognize him from
lunch, but Sterling had decided to risk it. He wouldn't be get-
ting too close. He'd observed Tanaka and Devonshire from
afar, noting their location in the bar and what they ordered.
He also noted the time Tanaka had excused himself to make
a call.
    Armed with this information, Sterling had felt confident
confronting Devonshire. He'd been able to get an appointment
for that afternoon.
    After a brief wait that he judged was designed to impress
him with Mr. Devonshire's busy schedule, Sterling was shown
into the banker's imposing office. The view was to the north
and east, commanding a spectacular vista over the Boston
Harbor as well as Logan International Airport in East Boston
and the Mystic River Bridge arching over to Chelsea.
    Mr. Devonshire was a small man with a shiny bald pate,
wire-rimmed glasses, and conservative dress. He stood up be-
hind his. antique partner's desk to shake hands with Sterling.
He couldn't have been over five feet five by Sterling's esti-
mation.
    Sterling handed the man one of his business cards. They
both sat down. Mr. Devonshire positioned the card in the cen-
ter of his blotter and aligned it perfectly parallel with the blot-

                                    137

ter's borders. Then be folded his hands. '
    "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Rombauer," Herbert said,
leveling his beady eyes at Sterling. "What can the Franklin
do for you today?"
    "It's not the Franklin I'm interested in," Sterling said. "It's
you, Mr. Devonshire. I'd like to establish a business relation-
ship with you."
    "Our motto has always been personal service," Herbert
said.
    "I shall come directly to the point," Sterling said. "I'm
willing to form a confidential parmership with you for our
mutual benefit. There is information I need and information
your superiors should not know."
Herbert Devonshire swallowed. Otherwise, he didn't move.
Sterling leaned forward to bring his eyes to bear on Herbert.
"The facts are simple. You met with a Mr. Tanaka Yamagnchi
this afternoon at the City Side Bar, not the usual business
location, I'd venture to say. You ordered a vodka gimlet and
then gave Mr. Yamaguchi some information, a service that
while not illegal, is of questionable ethics. A short time later
a sizable portion of the monies Sushita Industries keeps on
deposit at the Bank of Boston was wire-transferred to the
Franklin with you designated as the private banker involved."
  Herbert's face blanched at Sterling's words.
    "I have an extensive network of contacts throughout the
business world," Sterling said. He settled back in his chair.
"I'd very much like to add you to this intimate, very anony-
mous, but stellar network. I'm certain we can provide each
other with useful information as time goes by. So the question
is, would you care to join? The only obligation is that you
never, ever, disclose the source of any information I pass on
to you."
    "And if I choose not to join?" Herbert asked, his voice
raspy.
    "I will pass on the information about you and Mr. Yama-
gnchi to people here at the Franklin who have some minor say
in your future."
  "This is blackmail," Herbert said.




    "I call it free trade," Sterling said. "And as for your ini-
tiation fee, I would like to hear exactly what you told Mr.
Yamaguchi about a mutual acquaintance, Scan Murphy."
  "This is outrageous," Herbert said.
    "Please," Sterling warned. "Let's not allow this conver-
sation to dissolve into mere posturing. The fact is, your be-
havior was outrageous, Mr. Devonshire. What I am asking is
a small price to pay for the benefits you .will accrue from
landing such a customer as Sushita Industries. And I can guar-
antee I will be useful to you in the future."
    "I gave very little information," Herbert said. "Entirely
inconsequential."
    "If it makes you more comfortable to believe that, that's
fine," Sterling said.
    There was a pause. The two men stared at each other across
the expanse of antique mahogany. Sterling was happy to wait.
    "All I said was that Mr. Murphy and a few associates were
borrowing money to start a new company," Herbert said. "I
gave no figures whatsoever."
  "The name of the new company?" Sterling asked.
  "Oncogen," Herbert said.
  "And the proposed product line?" Sterling asked.
      "Cancer-related health products," Herbert said. "Both di-
agnostic and therapeutic."  "Time frame?"
  "Imminent," Herbert said. "Within the next few months."
    "Anything else?" Sterling asked. "I should add that I have
ways of checking this information."
  "No," Herbert said. His voice had developed an edge.
      "If I learn you've deliberately prevaricated," Sterling
warned, "the result will be as if you refused to cooperate."
  "I have more appointments," Herbert said tersely.
  Sterling stood up. "I know it is irritating to have your hand
  forced," he said. "But remember, I feel indebted and I always
  repay. Call me."
    Sterling took the elevator down to the ground floor and
hurried over to his sedan. The driver had locked the doors and
had fallen asleep. Sterling had to thump on the window to get

139

him to release the rear locks. Once inside, Sterling called his
contact at the FAA. "I'm on a portable phone," he warned
his friend.
    "The bird's scheduled to leave in the morning," the man
said.
  "What destination?"
    "Miami," the man said. Then he added: "I sure wish I was
going."

"WELL, WHAT do you think?" Janet asked as Sean poked his
head into the bedroom. Janet had brought Sean out to Miami
Beach to see the apartment she'd rented.
    "I think it's perfect," he said, looking back into the living
room. "I'm not sure I could take these colors for long, but it
does look like Florida." The walls were bright yellow, the mg
was kelly green. The furniture was white wicker with tropical
floral print cushions.
    "It's only for a couple of months," Janet said. "Come in
the bathroom and look at the ocean."
    "There it is!" Scan said as he peered through the slats of
the jalousie window. "At least I can say I've seen it." A
narrow wedge of ocean was visible between two buildings.
Since it was after seven and the sun had already set, the water
looked more gray than blue in the gathering darkness.
  "The kitchen's not bad either," Janet said.
    Scan followed her, then watched as she opened cabinets and
showed him the dishes and glassware. She'd changed out of
her nurse's uniform and had on her tank top and shorts. Scan
found Janet incredibly sexy, particularly when she was so
scantily clad. Scan felt himself at a distinct disadvantage with
the way she was dressed, especially as she bent over showing
him the pots and pans. It was difficult to think.
  "I'll be able to cooL" she said, straightening up.
    "Wonderful," Scan said, but his mind was concerned with
other basic appetites.
 They moved back into the living room.


140

    "Hey, I'm ready to move in tonight," Sean said. "I love
it."
    "Hold on," Janet said. "I hope I haven't given you the
impression we're moving in together just like that. We've got
some serious talking to do. That's the whole reason I came
down here."
    "Well, first we have to get going on this medulloblastoma
thing," Sean said.
    "I didn't think the two issues would be mutually exclu-
sive," Janet said.
    "I didn't mean to imply that they were," Sean said. "It's
just that it's hard for me at the moment to think about much
beyond my role here at Forbes and whether I should stay. The
situation is kind of dominating my mind. I think it's pretty
understandable."
 Janet rolled her eyes.
    "Besides, I'm starved," Sean said. He smiled. "You know
I can never talk when I'm hungry."
    "I'll be patient to a point," Janet conceded. "But I don't
want you to forget I need some serious communicating. Now,
as far as dinner is concerned, the real estate person told me
there's a popular Cuban restaurant just up Collins Avenue."
  "Cuban?" Sean questioned.
    "I know you rarely venture from your meat and potatoes,"
Janet said. "But while we're in Miami we can be a bit more
adventuresome."
  "Groan," Sean murmured.
    The restaurant was close enough to walk so they left Sean's
4X4 where they'd found a parking spot across from the apart-
ment. Walking hand in hand, they wandered north ap Collins
Avenue beneath huge silver- and gold-tipped clouds that re-
flected the reddened sky over the distant Everglades. They
couldn?.t see the ocean, but they could hear the waves hit
against the beach on the other side of a block of recently
renovated and refurbished Miami art deco buildings.
    The entire beach neighborhood was alive with people stroll-
ing up and down the streets, sitting on steps or porches, roller
blading, or cruising in their cars. Some of the car stereos had

                                   141

the bass pumped up to a point that Sean and Janet could feel
the vibration in their chests as the cars thumped past.
    "Those guys aren't going to have functional middle ears by
the time they're thirty," Sean commented.
    The restaurant gave the impression of frenzied disorgani-
zation with tables and people crammed everywhere. The wait-
ers and waitresses were dressed in black pants or skirts and
white shirts or blouses. Each had on a soiled apron. They
ranged in age from twenty to sixty. Shouting back and forth,
they communicated among themselves and to the steam table
in expressive bursts of Spanish while they ran and weaved
among the tables. Over the entire tumult hung a succulent
aroma of roast pork, garlic, and dark roasted coffee.
    Carried along by a current of people, Seam and Janet found
themselves squeezed among other diners at a large table.
Frosted bottles of Corona with lime wedges stuck in their
mouths appeared as if by magic.
    "There's nothing on here for me to eat," Sean complained
after studying the menu for a few minutes. Janet was right; he
rarely varied his diet.
  "Nonsense," Janet said. She did the ordering.
    Sean was pleasantly surprised when their food came. The
marinated and heavily garlic-flavored roast pork was delicious,
as was the yellow rice and the black beans covered with
chopped onions. The only thing he didn't care for was the
yucca.
    "This stuff tastes like potato covered with mucoid exu-
date," Sean yelled.
    "Gross!" Janet exclaimed. "Stop sounding so much like a
medical student."
    Conversation was almos.t impossible in the mucous restau-
rant, so after dinner they wandered over to Ocean Drive and
ventured into Lummus Park where they could talk. They Sat
under a broad banyan tree and gazed out at the dark ocean
dotted with the lights of merchant ships and pleasure boats.
  "Hard to believe it's still winter in Boston," Sean said.
    "It makes me wonder why we put up with slush and freez-
ing rain," Janet said. "Bin enough small talk. If, as you said,

142

you can't talk about us for the moment, then let's talk about
the Forbes situation. Was your afternoon any better than your
morning?"
    Scan gave a short, mirthless laugh. "It was worse," he said.
"I wasn't on the second floor for five minutes before the di~
rector of nursing burst into the room like a raging bull, yelling
and screaming because I was looking at Helen's chart."
  "Margaret Richmond was mad?" Janet asked.
    Scan nodded. "All two hundred and fifty snarling pounds
of her. She was out of control."
  "She's always been civil with me," Janet said.
    "I've only seen her twice," Scan said. "Neither time would
I describe her as civil."
  "How did she know you were there?" Janet asked.
    "The Marine commando was with her," Sean said. "They
must have picked me up on a surveillance camera."
    "Oh, great!" Janet said. "Something else I have to worry
about. I never thought of surveillance cameras."
    "You don't have to worry," Sean said. "I'm the one who
the head of security can't abide. Besides, the cameras are most
likely only in the common areas, not patient floors."
  "Did you get to talk with Helen Cabot?" Janet asked.
    '~For a moment," Scan said. "She doesn't look good at
all."
    "Her condition's been deteriorating," Janet said. "There's
talk of doing a shunt. Did you learn anything from her chart?"
    "No," Scan said. "I didn't have time. They literally chased
me back over the bridge to the research building. Then, as if
to cap off the afternoon, that Japanese guy appeared again,
sneaking around, watching me in the lab from the stairwell. I
don't know what his story is, but this time I got him. I scared
the living willies out of him by sneaking up behind him and
letting out this bloodcurdiing yell. He nearly dropped his

  "The poor fellow," Janet said.
    "Poor fellow nothing!" Sean said. "This guy's been watch-
ing me since I arrived."
  "Well, I've had some luck," Janet said.

                                    143

    Scan brightened. "Really! Great! Did you get some of the
miracle medicine?"
    "No, no medicine," Janet said. She reached into her pocket
and pulled out the computer printout and the sheet with her
hastily scribbled notes. "But here's the list of all the medul-
1oblastoma patients for the last ten years: thirtywight in all;
thirty-three in the past two years. i've summarized the data on
the sheet."
    Scan eagerly took the papers. But to read them he had to
hold it over his head to catch the light coming from the street-
lights along Ocean Drive. As he looked it over, Janet ex-
plained what she'd learned about the sex and age distribution.
She also told him that the computer files were abridged and
that there had been a notation to consult the charts themselves
for more information. Finally, she told him what Melanie had
said about obtaining those charts in as little as ten minutes
providing, of course, you had the proper authorization.
    "I'll need the charts," Scan said. "Are they right there in
medicai records?"
    "No." Janet explained what Melanie had said about the
chart storage vaults extending beneath both buildings.
  "No kidding," Sean said. "That might be rather handy."
  "What do you mean?" Janet asked.
    "It means that I might be able to get to them from the
research building," Sean said. "After the episode today, it's
pretty clear I'm persona non grata in the hospital. This way I
can attempt to get at those charts without running afoul of Ms.
Richmond and company."
    "You're thinking of breaking into the storage vault?" Janet
asked with alarm.
    "I kinda doubt they'd leave the door open for me," Sean
said.
      "But that's going too far," Janet said. "If you did that,
you'd be breaking the law, not just a hospital rule."  "I warned you about this," Scan said.
    "You said we'd have to break rules, not the law," Janet
reminded him.
  "Let's not get into semantics," Scan said with exasperation.

144

  "But there's a big difference," Janet said.
    "Laws are codified rules," Sean said. "I knew we'd get
around to breaking the law in some form or fashion, and !
thought you did too. But, be that as it may, don't you think
we're justified? These Forbes people have obviously devel-
oped a very effective treatment for medulloblastoma. Unfor-
tunately, they have chosen to be secretive about it, obviously
so they can patent their treatment before anyone else catches
on. You know, this is what bugs me about the private funding
of medical research. The goal becomes a returnon investment
instead of the public interest. The public weal is in second
place if it is considered at all. This treatment for medulloblas-
toma undoubtedly has implications for all cancers, but the pub-
lic is being denied that information. Never mind that most of
the basic science these private labs base their work on was
obtained through public funds at academic institutions. These
private places just take. They don't give. The public gets
cheated in the process."
  "Ends never justify means," Janet said.
    "Go ahead and be self-righteous," Sean said. "Meanwhile,
you're forgetting this whole thing was your idea. Well, maybe
we should give up, and maybe I should go back to Boston and
get something done on my dissertation."
    "All right!" Janet said with frustration. "All right, we'll
do what we have to do."
    "We need the charts and we need the miracle medicine,"
Sean said. He stood up and stretched. "So let's go."
    "Now?" Janet questioned with alarm. "It's nearly nine at
night."
    "First role of breaking and entering," Sean said. "You do
it when no one is at home. This is a perfect time. Besides, I
have a.legitimate cover: I should inject more of my mice with
the primary dose of the glycoprotein."
    "Heaven help me," Janet said as she allowed Sean to pull
her up from the bench.

                                    145

TOM WIDDICOMB guided his car into the slot at the extreme
end of the parking area for the Forbes residence. He inched
forward until the wheels touched the curb restraint. He had
pulled up under the protective branches of a large gumbo-
limbo tree. Alice had told him to park there just in case some-
one noticed the car. It was Alice's car, a lime green 1969
Cadillac convertible.
    Tom opened the car door and stepped out after making cer-
tain no one was in sight. He pulled on a pair of latex surgical
gloves. Then he reached under the front seat and grasped the
chef's knife he'd brought from home. Light glinted off its
polished surface. At .first he'd planned on bringing the gun.
But then thinking about noise and the thinness of the residence
walls, he'd settled on the knife instead. Its only drawback was
that it could be messy.
    Being careful of the knife's cutting edge, Tom slipped the
blade up inside the right sleeve of his shirt, cupping the handle
in the palm of his hand. In his other hand he carried the keys
to 207.
    He made his way along the rear of the building, counting
the sliders until he was below 207. There were no lights on
in the apartment. Either that nurse was already in bed or she
was out. Tom didn't care. Either way had its benefits and
disadvantages.
    Walking around to the front of the building, Tom had to
pause whale one of the tenants came out and headed for his
car. After the man had driven away, Tom used one of the keys
to enter the building. Once inside, he moved quickly. He pre-
ferred not to be seen. Arriving outside of 207, he inserted the
key, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door be-
hind him in one swift, fluid motion.
    For several minutes he stood by the door without mov'lng,
listening for the slightest sound~ He could hear several distant
TVs, but they were from other apartments. Pocketing the keys,
he allowed the long-bladed chef's knife to slide out from his
sleeve. He clutched its handle as if it were a dagger.
    Slowly he inched forward. By the light coming from the
parking area he could see the outline of the furniture and the


doorway into the bedroom. The bedroom door was open.
    Looking into the gloom of the bedroom, which was darker
than the living room due to the clor, ed drapes, Tom could not
tell if the bed was occupied or empty. Again he listened. Aside
from the muffled sound of the distant TVs plus the hum of
the refrigerator which had just kicked on, he heard nothing.
There was no steady breathing of someone asleep.
    Advancing into the room a half step at a time, Tom bumped
gently against the edge of the bed. Reaching out with his free
hand, he groped for a body. Only then did he know for sure:
the bed was empty.
    Not realizing he'd been holding his breath, Tom straight-
ened up and breathed out. He felt relief of tension on the one
hand, yet profound disap~intment on the other. The antici-
pation of violence had aroused him and satisfaction would be
delayed.
    Moving more by feel than by sight, he managed to find his
way to the bathroom. Reaching in, he ran his. free hand up and
down the wall until he found the light switch. Turning it on,
he had to squint in the brightness, but he liked what he saw.
Hm~ging over the tub were a pair of lacy pastel panties and a
bra.
    Tom placed the chef's knife down on the edge of the sink
and picked up the panties. They were nothing like the ones
Alice wore. He had no idea why such objects fascinated him,
but they did. Sitting on the edge of ~the tub, he fingered the
silky material. For the moment he was content, knowing that
he'd be entertained while he waited, keeping the light switch
and the knife close at hand.

"WHAT 1F we get caught?" Janet asked nervonsly as they
headed toward the Forbes Center. They'd just come from the
Home Depot hardware store where Sean had bought tools that
he said should work almost as well as a locksmith's teusion
bar and double ball pick.
    "We're not going to get caught," Sean said. "That's why
we're going there now when no one will be there. Well, we

                                    147

don't know that for sure, but we'll check."
    "There will be plenty of people on the hospital side," Janet
warned.
    "And that's the reason why we stay away from the hospi-
tal," Sean said.
    ',What about s~curity?" Janet asked. "Have you thought
about that?"
    "Piece of cake," Sean said. "Except for the frusWat~ Ma-
fine, I haven't been impressed. They're certainly lax at the
front door."
  "I'm not good at this," Janet admitted.
 ú "Tell me something I didn't know!" Sean said.
    "And how are you so acquainted with locks and picks and
alarms?" Janet asked.
    "When I grew up in Chariestown, it was a pure-blooded
working-class neighborhood," Sean said. "The gentrificalion
hadn't started. Each of our fathers was in a different trade.
My father was a plumber. Timothy O'Brien's father was a
locksmith. Old man O'Brien taught his son some of the tricks
of the trade, and Timmy showed us. At first it was a game;
kind of a competition. We liked to believe there weren't any
locks in the neighborhood we couldn't open. And Charlie Sul-
livan's father was a master electrician. He put in fancy alarm
systems in Boston, mostly on Beacon Hill. He often made
Charlie come along. So Charlie started telling us about

    "That's dangerous information for kids to have," Janet
said. Her own childhood couldn't have been further from
Sean's, among the private schools, music lessons, and sum-
mers on the Cape.
    "You bet," Sean agreed. "But we never stole anything
from our own neighborhood. We'd just open up locks and then
leave them open as a practical joke. But then it changed. We
started going out to the 'burbs like Swampscott or Marblehead
with one of the older kids who could drive. We'd watch a
house for a while, then break in and help ourselves to the
liquor and some of the electronics. You know, stereos, TVs."
  "You stole?" Janet questioned with shock.


148

    Sean glanced at her for a second before looking back at the
road. "Of course we Stole," he said. "It was thrilling at- the
time and we used to think all the people who lived on the
North 'Shore were millionaires." Sean went on to tell bow he
and his buddies would sell the goods in Boston, pay off the
driver, buy beer, and give the rest to a fellow raising money
for the Irish Republican Army. "We even deluded ourselves
into thinking we were youthful political activists even though
we didn't have the faintest idea of what was going on in
Northern Ireland."
    "My God! I had no idea," Janet said. She'd known about
Sean's adolescent fights and even about the joy rides, but this
burglary was something else entirely.
    "Let's not get carried away with value judgments," Sean
said. "My youth and yours were completely different."
    "I'm just a little concerned you learned to justify any type
of behavior," Janet said, "I would imagine it could become
a habit."
    "The last time I did any of that stuff was when I was fif-
teen," Sean said, "There's been a lot of water over the dam
since then."
    They pulled into the Forbes parking lot and drove to the
research building. Sean cut the engine and turned out the
lights. For a moment neither moved.
    ."You want to go ahead with this or not?" Sean asked,
finally breaking the silence. "I don't mean to pressure you,
but I can't waste two months down here screwing around with
busywork. Either I get to look into the medulloblastoma pro-
tocol or I go back to Boston. Unfortunately, I can't do it by
myself; that was made apparent by the run-in with hefty
Margaret Richmond. Either you help, or we cancel. But let me
say this: we're going in here to get information, not to steal
TV sets. And it's for a damn good cause."
    Janet stared ahead for a moment~ She didn't have the luxury
of indecision, yet her mind was a jumble of confusing
thoughts. She looked at Sean. She thought she loved him.
  "Okay!" Janet said finally. "Let's do it."
  They got out of the car and walked to the entrance. Sean

                                    149

carried the tools he'd gotten at the Home Depot in a paper
bag.
    "Evening," Sean said to the security guard wbo blinked
repeatedly as he stared at Sean's ID card. He was a swarthy
Hispanic with a pencil-line mustache. He seemed to appreciate
Janet's shorts.
  "Got to inject my rats," Sean said.
    The security guard motioned for them to enter. He didn't
speak, nor did he take his eyes off Janet's lower half. As Senin
and Janet passed' through the turnstile they could see he had
a miniature portable TV wedged on top of the bank of security
monitors. It was tuned to a soccer match.
    "See what I mean about the guards?" Sean said as they
used the stairs to descend to the basement. "He was more
interested in your legs than my ID card. I could have had
Charlie Manson's photo on it and he wouldn't have noticed."
  "How come you said rats instead of mice?" Janet asked.
    "People hate rats," Sean said. "I didn't want him deciding
to come down and watch."
  "You do think of everything," Janet said.
    The basement was a warren of corridors and locked doors,
but at least it was adequately lighted. Sean had made many
trips to the animal room and was generally familiar with that
area, but he hadn't gone beyond it. As they walked, the sound
of their heels echoed off the bare concrete.
  "Do you have any idea where we're going?" Janet asked.
  "Vaguely," Sean said.
    They walked down the central corridor taking several twists
and tums before coming to a T intersection.
  "This must be the way to the hospital," Sean said.
  "How can you tell?"
    Sean pointed to the tangle of pipes lining the ceiling. "The
power plant is in the hospital," he said. "These lines are com-
ing over to feed the research building. Now we have to figure
out which side has the chart vault."
    They proceeded down the corridor toward the hospital. Fifty
feet down there was a door on either side of the narrow hall.
Sean tried each. Both were locked.


150

    "Let's give these a try," he said. He set down his bag and
removed some tools, including a slender jeweler-like allen
wrench and several short pieces of heavy wire. Holding the
allen wrench in one hand and one of the pieces of heavy wire
in the other, he inserted both into the lock.
    "This is the tricky part," he said. "It's called raking the
pins."
  Sean closed his eyes and proceeded by feel.
    "What do you think?" Janet asked as sh~ looked up and
down the corridor, expecting someone to appear at any mo-
ment.
    ~'Piece of cake," Sean said. There was a click and the door
opened. Finding a light, Sean turned it on. They had broken
into an eleclxical room with huge wall-sized electrical buses
facing each other.
    Sean turned out the light and closed the door. Next he went
to work on the door across the corridor. He had it open in less
time than the first.
    "These tools make a decent tension bar and pick," he said.
"Nothing like the real thing, but not bad."
    ' Switching on a light, he and Janet found themselves in a
long, narrow room filled with metal shelving. Arranged on the
shelves were hospital charts. There was a lot of empty space.
  "This is it," Sean said,
  "A lot of room to expand," Janet commented.
    "Don't move for a couple of minutes," Sean said. "Let me
make sure there are no alarms."
    "Good grief!" Janet said. "Why don't you tell me these
things in advance."
    Sean took a quick turn around the room looking for infrared
sensors or motion detectors. He found nothing. Rejoining Janet
and taking out the computer printout sheet he said: "Let's
divide these charts up between us. I only want the ones from
the last two years. They'll reflect the successful treatment."
    Janet took the top half of the list and Sean took the lower.
In ten minutes they had a stack of thirty-three charts.
  "It's easy to tell this isn't a teaching hospital," Sean said.

                                    151

"In a teaching hospital you'd be lucky to find one chart, much
less all thirty-three."
"What do you want to do with them?" $anet asked.
"Copy them," Sean said. "There's a copy machine in the
library. The question is, is the library open? I don't want the
guard seeing me pick that lock. There's probably a camera

"Let's check," Janet said. She wanted to get this over with.
"Wait," Sean said. "I think I have a better idea." He
started toward the research building end of the cha~t vault.
Janet sla'uggled to keep up. Rounding the last bank of metal
shelves, they came to the end wall. In the center of the wall
was a glass door. To the right of the door was a panel with
two buttons. When Sean pushed the lower of the two, a deep
whirring noise broke the silence.
  "Mayhe we're in luck," he said.
      Within .several minutes the dumbwaiter appeared. Sean
opened the door and began removing the shelves.  "What are you doing?" she asked.
    "A little experiment," Semi said. When he had enough of
the racks removed, he climbed inside. He had to double up
with his knees near his chin.
  "Close the door and push the button," he said.
  "Are you sure?" Janet asked.
    "Come on!" Sean said. "But after the motor stops, wait
for a couple of beats, then be sure to push the 'down' button
to get me back."
    Janet did as she was told. Sean ascended with a wave and
disappeared from view.
    With Sean gone, Janet's anxiety grew. The gravity of their
actions hadn't sunk in when Sean had been with her. But in
the eerie silence the reality of where she was and what she
was' doing hit her:. she was burglarizing the Forbes Cancer
Center.
    When the 'whirring stopped, Janet counted to ten, then
pressed the down button. Thankfully, Sean quickly reappeared.
She opened the door.
  "Works like a charm," Sean said. "It goes right up to fi-


152

nance in administration. Best of all, they've got one of the
world's best copy machines."
    It took them only a few minutes to carry the charts over to
the electric dumbwaiter.
  "You first," Scan said.
"I don't know whether I want to do this," Janet said.
"Fine," Scan said. "Then you wait here while I copy the
charts. It'll probably take about a half hour." He started to
climb back in the dumbwaiter.
    Janet grabbed his arm. "I changed my mind. I don't want
to wait here by myself, either."
    Scan rolled his eyes and got out of the dumbwaiter. Janet
climbed into the hoist. Scan handed her most of the charts,
closed the door, and pushed the button. When the motor
stopped, he pressed again and the dumbwaiter reappeared.
With the remaining charts in hand, he piled into the dumb-
waiter a second time and waited a few uncomfortable minutes
until Janet pushed the button upstairs in 'administration.
    When Janet opened the door for him, he could tell she was
becoming frantic.
    "What's the matter now?" he asked as he straggled out of
the dumbwaiter.
    "All the lights are on up here," she said nervously. "Did
you turn them on?"
    "Nope," Scan said, gathering up an armload of the charts.
"They were on when I came up. Probably the cleaning ser-
vice."
    "I never thought of that," Janet said. "How can you be so
calm through all this?" She sounded almost angry.
    Scan shrugged. "Must have been all that p~actice I had as
a kid."
    They quickly fell into a system at the copy machine. By
taking .each chart apart, they could-load it into the automatic
feed. Using a stapler they found on a nearby desk, they kept
the copies organized and reassembled the originals as soon as
they'd been copied.
    "Did you notice that computer in the glass enclosure?"
Janet asked.

                                    153

  "I saw it on my tour on day one," Scan said.
     "It's running some kind of program," Janet said. "When I
 was waiting for you to come up, I glanced in. It's connected
 to several modems and automatic dialers. It must be doing
 some kind of survey."
    Scan looked at Janet with surprise. "I didn't know you
knew so much about computers. That's rather odd for an En-
glish lit major."
    "At Wellesley I majored in English literature but computers
fast'mated me," she explained. "I took a lot of computer
courses. At one point I almost changed majors."
ú After loading more sets of charts into the copy machine,
Scan and Janet walked over to the glass enclosure and looked
in. The monitor screen was flashing digits. Sean tried the door.
It was open. They went inside.
  "Wonder why this is in a glass room?" he asked.
    "To protect it," Janet said. "Big machines like this can be
affected by cigarette smoke. There's probably a handful of
smokers in the office."
    They looked at the figures flashing on the screen. They were
nine-digit numbers.
  "what do you think it's doing?" Scan asked.
    "No idea," Janet said. ' 'They're not phone numbers. If they
were, there'd be seven or ten digits, not nine. Besides, there's
no way it can be calling phone numbers that rapidly."
    The screen suddenly went blank, then a ten-digit number
appeared; Instantly an automatic dialer went into motion, its
tones audible above the hum of the air-conditioning fans.
    "Now that's a phone number," Janet said. "I even recog-
nize the area code. It's Connecticut."
    The screen went blank again, then resumed flashing more
nine-digit numbers. After a minute the list of numbers froze
at a specific number and the computer printout device acti-
vated. Both Scan and Janet glanced over to the printer in time
to see the nine-digit number print out followed by: Peter Zie-
gler, age 55, Valley Hospital, Charlotte, North Carolina,
Achilles tendon repair, March 11.
 Suddenly, an alarm sounded. As the computer reverted to


154

flashing its nine-digit numbers, Scan and Janet looked at each
other, Scan with confusion, Janet with panic.
    "What's happening?" she demanded. The alarm kept ring-'
ing,
    "I don't know," Scan admitted. "But it isn't a burglar
alarm." He turned to look out into the office just in time to
see the door to the hallway opening.
    "Down!" he said to Janet, forcing her to her hands and
knees. Scan figured that whoever was coming into the room
was coming to check the computer. He frantically motioned
to Janet to crawl behind the console. In utter terror, Janet did
as she was told, fumbling over coiled computer cables. Scan
was right behind her. Hardly had they gotten out of sight when
the door to the glass enclosure was opened.
    From where they were huddled, they could see a pair of
legs enter the room. Whoever it was, it was a woman. The
alarm that initiated the episode was turned off. The woman
picked up a phone and dialed.
    "We have another potential donor," she said. "North Car-
olina.' '
    At that moment, the laser printer began printing yet again,
and again the alarm sounded for a brief moment.
    "Did you hear that?" the woman asked. "What a coinci-
dence. We're getting another, as we speak." She paused, wait-
ing for the printer. "Patricia Southerland, age forty-seven, San
Jose General, San Jose, California, breast biopsy, March 14.
Also sounds good. What do you think?"
    There was a pause before she spoke again: "I know the
team's out. But there's time. Trust me. This is my depart-
ment."
      The woman hung up. Scan and Janet heard her tear off the
sheet that had just printed. Then the woman turned and left.
  For a few minutes neither Scan nor Janet spoke.
    "What the hell did she mean, a potential donor?" Scan
whispered at last.
    "I don't know and I don't care," Janet whispered back. "I
want out of here."
  "Donor?" Scan murmured. "That sounds creepy to me.

                                   155

What do we have here? A clearinghouse for body parts? Re-
minds me of a movie I saw once. I tell you, this place is nuts."
  "Is she gone?" Janet asked.
    "I'll check," Scan said. Slowly he backed out from their
hiding place, then peeked over the countertop. The room was
empty. "She seems to be gone," Scan said. "I wonder why
she ignored the copy machine."
    Janet backed out and gingerly raised her head. She scanned
the room as well.
      "Coming in, the computer alarm must have shielded the
sound," Scan said. "But going out, she had to have heard it."
  "Maybe she was too preoccupied," Janet offered.
  Scan nodded. "I think you're probably right."
    The computer screen that had been flashing the innumerable
nine-digit numbers suddenly went blank:
  "The program seems to be over," Scan said.
    "Let's get away from here," Janet said, her voice quaver-
ing.
    They ventured out into the room. The copy machine had
finished the latest stack of charts and was silent.
    "Now we know why she didn't hear it," Scan said, going
up to the machine and checking it. He loaded the last of the
charts.
  "I want out of here!" Janet said.
    "Not until I have my charts," Scan said. He pushed the
copy button and the copier roared to life. Then he began re-
moving the originals and the copies already done, stapling the
copies and reassembling the charts.
    At first, Janet watched, terrified that any moment the 'same
woman would reappear. But after she recognized the faster
they were finished, the sooner they would leave, she pitched
in. With no further interruptions they had all the charts copied
and stapled in short order.
    Returning to the small elevator, Scan discovered that it was
possible to push the button with the door ajar. Then, when the
door was closed, the dumbwaiter operated. "Now I don't have
to worry about you forgetting to bring me down," he said
teasingly.

156

    "I'm in no mood for humor," Janet remarked as she
climbed into the hoist. She held out her arms to take as many
charts and copies as possible.
    Repeating the procedure that had brought them up to the
seventh floor, they returned the charts to the vault. To Janet's
chagrin, Sean insisted they take the time to return the charts
to their original locations. With that accomplished, they carried
the chart copies to the animal room where Sean hid them be-
neath the cages of his mice.
  "I should inject these guys," Sean said, "but to tell you
the truth, I don't much feel like it."
    Janet was pleased to leave but didn't start to relax until they
were driving out of the parking lot.
    "That has to have been one of the worst experiences of my
life,'~ she said as they traversed Little Havana. "I can't believe
that you stayed so calm."
    "My heart rate was up," Sean admitted. "But it went
smoothly except for that little episode in the computer room.
And now that it's over, wasn, t it exciting? Just a little?"  "No!" Janet said emphatically.
    They drove in silence until Sean spoke again: "I Still can't
figure out what that computer was doing. And I can,t figure
out what it has to do with organ donation. They certainly don't
use organs from deceased cancer patients. It's too risky in
relation to transplanting the cancer as well as the organ. Any
ideas?"
  "I can't think about anything at this point," Janet said.
 They pulled into the Forbes residence.
    "Geez, look at that old Caddy convertible," Sean said.
"What a boat. Barry Dunbegan had one just like it when I
was a kid, except his was pink. He was a bookmaker and all
us kids thought he was cool."
    Janet cast a cursory glance at the finned monster parked
within the shadow of an exotic tree. She marveled how Sean
could go through such a wrenching experience, then think
about cars.
    Sean pulled to a stop and yanked on the emergency brake.
They got out of the car and entered the building in silence.

157

Sean was thinking about how nice it would be to spend the
night with Janet. He couldn't blame the security guard for
ogling her. As Sean climbed the stairs behind Janet, he was
reminded how fabulous her legs were.
    As they came abreast of his door he reached out and drew
her to him, enveloping her in his arms. For a moment they
merely hugged.
    "What about staying .together tonight?" Sean forced him-
self to ask. His voice was hesitant; he feared rejection. Janet
didn't answer immediately, and the longer she delayed, the
more optimistic he became. Finally he used his left hand to
take out his keys.
  "I don't think it's a good idea," she said.
    "Come on," Sean urged. He could smell her fragrance from
having held her close.
    "No!" Janet said with finality after another pause. Although
she'd been wavering, she'd made a decision. "I know it would
be nice, and I could use the sense of security after this evening,
but we have to talk first."
    Sean rolled his eyes in frustration. She could be so impos-
sibly stubborn. "Okay," he said petulantly, trying another
tack. "Have it your way." He let go of her, opened his door,
and stepped inside. Before shutting the door, he glanced at her
face. What he wanted to see was sudden concern that he was
miffed. Instead he saw irritation. Janet turned and walked
away.
    After closing his door, Sean felt guilty. He went to his
slider, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. A few doors
down he saw Janet's light in her living room go on. 'Sean
hesitated, not sure what to do.

"MEN," JANET said aloud with ire and exasperation. She hes-
itated inside her door, going over the conversation outside
Sean's door. There was no reason for him to get angry with
her. Hadn't she gone along with his risky plan? Didn't she
generally defer to his wishes? Why couldn't he ever even try
to understand hers?


158

    Knowing that nothing would be solved that evening, Janet
walked into the bedroom and turned on the light. Although
she would later remember it, it didn't completely register that
her bathroom door was closed. When Janet was by herself she
never closed doors. It had been a habit developed as a child.
    Pulling off her tank top and unhooking her bra, Janet tossed
them on the armchair by the bed. She undid the clip on the
top of her head and shook her hair free, She. felt exhausted,
irritable, and as one of her roommates at college used to say,
fried. Picking up the hair dryer she'd tossed on her bed in
haste that morning, Janet opened the bathroom and entered.
The moment she turned on the light, she became aware of a
hulking presence to her left~ Reacting instinctively, Janet's
hand shot out as if to fend off the intruder.
    A scream started in Janet's throat but was stalled before it
could get out by the hideousness of the image that confronted
her. A man was in her bathroom dressed in baggy dark clothes.
A knotted segment of nylon stocking had been drawn over his
head so that his features were grotesquely compressed. At
shoulder height he clutched a butchef's knife menacingly.
    For an instant, neither of them moved. Janet quiveringly
aimed the ineffectual hair dryer at the ghoulish face as if it
were a magnum revolver. The intruder stared down the barrel
in shocked surprise until he realized he was looking at heating
coils, not the innards of a handgun.
    He was the first to react, reaching out and snatching the hair
dryer from Janet's hand. In a burst of rage he threw the ap-
paratus aside; it smashed the mirror ofthe medicine cabinet.
The shattering of the glass jolted Janet from her paralysis, and
she bolted from the bathroom.
    Tom reacted swiftly and managed to grab Janet's arm, but
Janet's momentum pulled them stumbling' into the bedroom.
His original intent had been to stab her in the bathroom. The
hair dryer had thrown him off guard. He hadn't planned on
her getting out of the bathroom. And he didn't want her to
scream, but she did.
    Janet's first scream had been stifled by shock, but she more
than made up for it with a second scream that reverbera~,xl in

                                    159

the confines of her small apartment and penetrated the cheaply
built walls. It was probably heard in every apartment in the
building, and it sent a shiver of fear down Tom's spine. As
angry as he was, he knew that he was in trouble.
    Still holding onto Janet's arm, Tom whipped her around so
that she careened off the wall before falling crossways on the
bed. Tom could have killed her there and then, but he didn't
dare take' the time. Instead he rushed to the slider. Fumbling
with the curtains and then the lock, he yanked the door open
and disappeared into the night.

SEAN HAD been loitering on the balcony outside Janet's open
living room slider, trying to build up the courage to go in and
apologize for trying to make Janet feel guilty. He was embar-
rassed at his behavior, but since apologies weren't his strong
suit, he was having difficulty motivating himself.
    Sean's hesitation dissolved in an instant at the sound of the
shattering mirror. For a moment he struggled with the screen,
trying to slide it open. When he heard Janet's bloodcurdling
scream followed by a loud thud, he gave up opening the screen
properly and'threw himself through it. He ended up on the
shag carpet, his legs still bound in the' mesh. Struggling to his
feet he launched himself through the doorway into the bed-
room. He found Janet on the bed, wide-eyed with terror.
  "What's the matter?" Sean demanded.
    Janet sat up. Choking back tears, she said, "There was a
man with a knife in my bathroom?' Then she pointed to the
open bedroom slider. "He went that way."
    Sean flew to the sliding glass door and whipped back the
curtain. Instead of one man, there were two. They came
through the door in tandem, roughly shoving Sean back into
the room prior to everyone recognizing each other. The new-
comers were Gary Engels and another resident who'd re-
sponded to Janet's scream just as Sean had.
    Frantically explaining that an intruder had just left, Sean led
the two men back out onto the balcony. As they reached the
handrail they heard the screech of tires coming from the park-


160

ing lot behind the building. While Gary and his companion
ran for the stairs, Sean returned to Janet.
    Janet had recovered to a degree. She'd slipped on a sweat-
shirt. When Sean entered she was sitting on the edge of the
bed finishing an emergency call to the police. Replacing the
receiver, she looked up at Scan who was standing above her.
  "You okay?', he asked gently.
    "I think so," she said. She was visibly shaking. "God, what
a day{"
    "I told you you should have stayed with me." Sean sat
next to her and put his arms around her.
    In spite of herself, Janet gave a short laugh. Leave it to
Sean to try to smooth over any situation with humor. It did
feel wonderful to be in his arms.
    "I'd heard Miami was a lively city," she said, taking his
lead, "but this is too much."
  "Any idea how the guy got in here?" Scan asked.
  "I left the slider in the living room open," Janet admitted.
  "This is learning the hard way," Sean said.
    "In Boston the worst thing that ever happened to me was
an obscene phone call," Janet said.
  "Yeah, and I apologized," Sean said.
 Janet smiled and threw her pillow at him.
    It took the police twenty minutes to arrive. They pulled up
in a squad car with lights flashing but no siren. Two uniformed
officers from the Miami police department came up to the
apartment. One was a huge bearded black man, the other was
a slim Hispanic with a mustache. Their names were Peter Jef-
ferson and Juan Torres. They were solicitous, respectful, and
professional as they spent an unhurried half hour going over
Janet's story. When she mentioned that the man was wearing
latex robber gloves, they canceled a crime scene technician
who was scheduled to come over after finishing a homicide
case.
    "The fact that nobody got hurt puts this incident into a
different category," Juan said. "Obviously homicides get
more attention."
  "But this could have been a homicide," Scan protested.

                                   161

    "Hey, we do the best we can with.the manpower we got,"
Peter said. -
    While the policemen were still there gathering facts, some-
one else showed up: Robert Harris.

ROBERT HARRIS had carefully cultivated and nurtured a rela-
tionship with the Miami police department. Although he de-
cried their lack of discipline and their poor physical shape,
characteristics that set in approximately a year subsequent to
their graduation from the police academy, Harris was enough
of a pragmatist to understand that he needed to be on their
good side. And this attack on a nurse at the Forbes residence
was a case in point. Had he not developed the connections he
had, he probably wouldn't have heard about the incident until
the following morning. As far as Robert was concerned, such
a situation wonId be unacceptable for the head of security.
    The call had come from the duty commander while Harris
was using his Soloflex machine in front of his TV at home.
Unfortunately, there'd been a delay of nearly half an hour
following the dispatch of the patrol car, but Harris was not in
a position to complain. Arriving late was better than not ar-
riving at all. Harris just didn't want the case to be cold by the
time he got involved.
    As Harris had driven to the residence, he thought back to
the rape and murder of Sheila Arnold. He couldn't shake the
suspicion--improbable though it might seem--that Arnold's
death was somehow related to the deaths of the breast cancer
patients. Harris wasn't a doctor so he had to go on what Dr.
Mason had told him a few months ago, namely that it was his
belief that the breast cancer patients were being murdered. The
tip-off was the fact that these patients' faces were blue, a sign
they were being somehow smothered. ~
    Dr. Mason had made it clear that getting to the bottom of
this situation should be Harris's primary task. If word leaked
to the press, the damage to the Forbes might be irreparable.
In fact, Dr. Mason had made it sound like Harris's tenure
depended on a quick and unobtrusive resolution of this poten-


162

tially embarrassing problem. The quicker that resolution came
about, the better for everyone.
    But Harris had not made any progress over the last few
months. Dr. Mason's suggestion that the perpetrator was prob-
ably a doctor or a nurse had not panned out. Extensive back-
ground checks on the professional staff had failed to uncover
any suspicious discrepancies or irregularities. Harris's attempts
at keeping an unobtrusive eye on the Forbes breast cancer
patients hadn't turned anything up. Not that he'd been able to
keep watch over all of them.
    Harris's suspicion that Miss Arnold's death was related to
the breast cancer patient deaths had hit him the day after her
murder while he'd been driving to work. It was then he'd
remembered that the day before she was killed a breast cancer
patient on her floor had died and turned blue.
    What if Sheila Arnold had seen something, Harris won-
dere<L What if she'd witnessed or overheard something whose
significance she hadn't appreciated--something that made the
perpetrator feel threatened nonetheless. The idea had seemed
reasonable to Harris, although he did wonder if it were the
product of a desperate mind,
    In any case, Harris's suspicion hadn't left him with much
to go on. He had learned from the police that a witness had
seen a man leaving Miss Arnold's apartment the night of the
murder, but the description had been hopelessly vague: a male
of medium height and medium build with brown hair. The
witness had not seen the man's face. In an institution the size
of the Forbes Cancer Center, such a description had been of
limited use.
    So when Harris was told of yet another attack on a Forbes
nurse, he again considered a possible connection to the breast
cancer deaths. There had been another suspicious blue death
on Tuesday.
    Harris entered Janet's apartment eager to talk with her. He
was extremely chagfi'ned to find her in the company of the
wiseass medical student, Scan Murphy.
    Since the police were still questioning the nurse, Harris took
a quick look around. He saw the shattered mirror in the bath-

                                   163

room along with the broken hair dryer. He also noticed the
panties amid the debris on the floor. Wandering into the living
room, he noted the large hole in the screen. It was obvious
the screen had been a po'mt of entry, not escape.
    "Your witness," Peter Jefferson joked, conting into the liv-
ing room. His partner followed in his shadow. Harris had met
Peter on several occasions in the past.
  "Anything you can tell me?" Harris asked.
    "Not a whole lot," Peter said. "Perp was wearing a nylon
stocking over his face. Medium build, medium height. Appar-
ently didn't say a word. Girl's lucky. The guy had a knife."
  "What are you going to do?" Harris asked.
    Peter shrugged. "The usual," he said. "We'll file a report.
We'll see what the sarge says. One way or another it'll get
turned over to an investigative unit. Who knows what they'll
do." Peter lowered his voice. "No injury, no robbery. It's not
likely this will become a number-one priority. If she'd gotten
whacked it'd be a different story."
    Harris nodded. He thanked the officers and they left. Hah'is
stepped into the bedroom. Janet was packing a bag; Scan was
in the bathroom collecting her toiletries.
    "On behalf of Forbes, I want to tell you I'm terribly sorry
about this," he said.
  "Thank you," Janet said.
    "We've never felt the need for security here," Harris
added.
    "I understand," Janet said. "It could have happened any-
place, I did leave the door open."
    "The police told me you had difficulty describing the' guy,"
Harris said.
    "He hada stocking over his bead," Janet said. "And it all
happened so fast."
    "Is it possible that you might have seen him before?" Har-
ris asked.
    "I don't think. so," Janet said. "But it really is impossible
to say for sure."
    "I want to ask you a question," Harris said. "But I want
you to think for a minute before answering. Has anything un-


164

usual happened to you recently at Forbes?"  Janet's mouth went instantly dry.
    Overhearing this exchange, Scan immediately guessed what
was going through Janet's mind: she was thinking about their
break-in into the chart room.
    "Janet has had a rather difficult experience," Scan said,
stepping into the room.
  Harris turned. "I'm not talking to you, boy," he said men-
acingly.
    "Listen, jughead," Scan said. "We didn't call the Marines.
Janet has spoken to the police. You can get your information
from them, She doesn't have to talk to you, and I think she's
been through enough tonight. She doesn't need you pestering
her."
  'The two men faced off, glaring at each other.
    "Please!" Janet shouted. Fresh tears welled in her eyes. "I
can't stand any tension just now," she told them.
    Seam sat down on the bed, put his ann around her, and
le. aned his forehead against hers.
    "I'm sorry, Miss Reardon," Harris said. "I understand. But
it is important for me to ask you if you've seen anything un-
usual while you worked today. I know it was your first day."
    Janet shook her head. Scan glanced up at Harris and with
his eyes motioned for him to leave.
    Harris fought hard to keep himself from slapping the kid
around. He even fantasized about sitting on him and shaving
his head. But instead he turned and left.

As THE night advanced toward dawn Tom Widdicomb's anx-
iety gradually increased. He was in the storeroom off the ga-
rage huddled in the corner beside the freezer. He had his arms
around himself and his knees drawn UP as if he were cold. He
even intermittently shivered as his mind constantly tortured
him by replaying over and over the disastrous events at the
Forbes residence.
    Now he was a total failure. Not only had he failed to put
Gloria D'Amataglio to sleep, he'd failed to get rid.of the nurse

                                   165

who'd prevented him from doing so. And despite the nylon
stocking he'd worn, she' d seen him up close. Maybe she could
recognize him. More than anything, Tom was mortified to
have mistaken that stupid hair dryer for a gun.
    Because of his idiocy, Alice wasn't speaking to him. He'd
tried to talk with her, but she wouldn't even listen. He'd dis-
appointed her. He wasn't "her litfie man" anymore. He de-
served to be laughed at by the other children. Tom had tried
to reason with her, promising that he would help Gloria that
morning, and that as soon as be could he'd rid them of the
meddlesome nurse. He promised and cried, but to no avail.
Alice could be stubborn.
    Getting stiffly to his feet, Tom stretched his cramped mus-
cles. He'd been crouched in the corner without moving for
hours, thinking his mother would eventually feel sorry for him.
But it hadn't worked. She'd ignored him. So he thought he'd
try talking to her directly.
    Moving in from of the chest freezer he snapped open the
lock and raised the lid. The frozen mist inside the freezer
swirled as it mixed with a draft of moist, warm Miami air.
Gradually the mist dissipated, and out of the fog emerged the
desiccated face of Alice Widdieomb. Her dyed red hair was
frozen into icy tangles. The skin of her face was sunken,
blotchy, and blue. Crystals had formed along the edges of her
open eyelids. Her eyeballs had contracted slightly, dimpling
the surface of her corneas which were opaque with winter-like
frost. Her yellow teeth were exposed by the retraction of her
lips, forming a horrid grimace.
    Since Tom and his mother had lived such isolated 'lives,
Tom had little difficulty after he'd put her to sleep. His only
mistake had been that he'd not thought of the freezer soon
enough, and after a couple of days she'd started to smell One
of the few neighbors with whom they occasionally spoke had
even mentioned it, throwing Tom into a panic. That was when
he'd thought of the freezer.
    Since then nothing had changed. Even Alice's social secu-
rity checks continued to arrive on schedule. The only close
call had been when the freezer compressor conked out one hot


166

Friday night. Tom hadn't been able to get someone to come
to fix it until Monday. He had been terrified the guy would
need to open the freezer, but he didn't. The man did tell Tom
that he thought he might have some bad meat in there.
    Supporting the lid, Tom gazed at his mother. But she still
refused to say a word. She was understandably scared.
    "I'11 do it today," Tom said pleadingly. "Gloria will still
be on IVs. If not, I'll think of something. Prod the nurse. I'll
get rid of her. There's not going to be any problem. No one
is going to come to take you away. You're safe with me.
Please!"
 Alice Widdicomb said nothing.
    Slowly Tom lowered the lid. He waited for a moment in
case she changed her mind, but she didn't. Reluctanfiy he left
her and went through to the kitchen into the bedroom they'd
shared. for so many years. Opening the bedside table he took
out Alice's gun. It had been his father's originally, but after
he'd died, Alice had taken it over, frequenfiy showing it to
Tom, saying that if anyone ever tried to come between them,
sbe'd use it. Tom had learned to love the sight of the mother-
of-pearl hahdie.
    "Nobody's ever coming between us, Alice," Tom said~ So
far he'd only used the gun once, and that was when the Arnold
girl tried to interfere by taking him aside to say she'd seen
him take some medicine off the anesthesia cart. Now he'd
have to use it again for this Janet Reardon before she caused
more trouble than she already had.
    "I'11 prove to you that I'm your little. man," Tom said. He
slipped the cold gun into his pocket and went into the bath-
room to shave.

6

   March 5
Friday, 6:30 A.M.

As she drove along the General Douglas MacArthur Cause-
way heading for work, Janet tried to distract herse~ by ad-
miring the impressive view over Biscayne Bay. She even tried
to fantasize about taking a cruise with Scan on one of the
dazzling white cruise ships lined up at the Dodge Island sea-
port. But nothing worked. Her mind kept returning to the pre-
vious night's events.
    After confronting that man in her bathroom, Janet wasn't
about to spend the night in 207. Not even Sean's apartment
seemed a safe haven to her. Instead, she insisted on moving
to the Miami Beach unit she'd rented. Not wanting to be alone,
she'd invited Scan to come with her and was relieved when
he accepted and even offered to sleep on the couch. But once
they got there, even Janet's best resolutions fell to the wayside.
They slept together in what Scan described as the "Platonic
fashion." They didn't make love, but Janet had to admit, it
felt good to be close to him.
    Almost as much as the intruder's break-in, Janet was trou-
bled by her escapade with Scan. The episode in the adminis-
tration office the previous night troubled her deeply. She
couldn't stop thinking about what would have happened had
they been caught. On top of that, she'd begun to wonder what
kind of man Scan was. He was smart and witty, of that there
was no doubt. But given this new revelation of his past ex-
perience of thievery, she questioned what his true morals were.

167




    All in all Janet felt profoundly distraught, and to make mat-
ters worse she was facing a day in-which she was expected to
obtain deceitfully a sample of medicine that was highly con-
trolled. If she failed, she faced the possibility of Sean packing
his things and leaving Miami. As she neared the hospital Janet
found herself thinking longingly about Sunday, the first day
she was scheduled to have off. The fact that she was already
thinking about vacation time at the start of her second day on
the job gave an indication of her level of stress.
    The bustling atmosphere of the floor turned out to be a
godsend for Janet's troubled mind. Within minutes of her ar-
rival, she was swept up in the tumult of the hospital. Nursing
report gave the oncoming day shift a hint of the work ahead
of them. Between diagnostic tests, treatments, and complicated
medication protocols, all the nurses knew they would have
little free time. The most disturbing news was that Helen Ca-
bot had not improved overnight as the doctors had hoped. In
fact, the night nurse taking care of her felt she'd actually lost
ground, having had a small seizure around four A.M. Janet
listened carefully to this part of the briefing since she'd ar-
ranged to be assigned to Helen Cabot for the day.
    Regarding the controlled medicines, Janet had concocted a
plan. Having seen the type of vials they came in, she'd made
it a point to obtain similar vials that were empty. Now all she
needed was some time alone with the medicine.
    After report had concluded, Janet launched into work. The
first order of business was to start an IV line-for Gloria
D'Amataglio. It was Gloria's last day of IV medication on her
current chemotherapy cycle. Having shown an early facility
with venipuncture, Janet was in demand for the procedure.
During report she'd offered to start Gloria's IV since there had
been some problems doing so in the past. The nurse scheduled
to care .for Gloria for the day had readily agreed.
    Armed with all the necessary paraphernalia, Janet went into
Gloria's room. Gloria was sitting on the bed, leaning against
a bank of pillows, obviously feeling better than she had the
day before. While they chatted nostalgically about the beauty
of the pond on the Wellesley campus and how romantic it had

                                    169

been on party weekends, Janet got the IV go'mg.
  "I hardly felt that," Gloria said in admiration.
  "Glad to help," Janet said.
    Leaving Gloria's room, Janet felt her stomach tighten as she
prepared herself for her next task: getting to the controlled
medication. She had to dodge several gurneys, then did a kind
of sidestep dance to get around the housekeeper and his
bucket.
    Reaching the nurses' station, Janet got out Helen Cabot's
cha~ and turned to the order sheet. It indicated that Helen was
to get her MB300C and MB303C starting at eight A.M. First
Janet got the IV bottle and syringes; she then got the empty
containers which she'd put aside. Finally she went to Marjorie
and asked for Helen's medication.
    "Just a sec," Marjorie said. She ran down the corridor to
the elevators to give a completed X-ray form to an orderly
taking a patient down to X-ray.
    "That guy never remembers the requisition," Tim com-
mented with a shake of his head.
    Marjorie returned to the nurses' station at a jog. As she
rounded the counter, she was already removing the key from
around her neck for the special medication locker.
    "What a day!" she said to Janet. "And to think it's just
starting!" She was obviously preoccupied with the welter of
activity hospital wards faced at the beginning of each work-
day. Opening the small but stoutly built refrigerator, she
reached in and brought out the two vials of Helen Cabot's
medicine. Consulting a ledger that was also stored in the re-
frigerator, she told Janet she should take 2 ccs of the larger
vial and a half cc of the smaller. She showed Janet where to
initial after she administered the medication and where Mar-
jorie would initial when Janet was finished.
    "Marjorie, I have Dr. Larsen on the line," Tim said, inter-
rupting them.
    With the vials of clear fluid safely in hand, Janet retreated
to the pharmacy closet. First she turned on the hot water in
the small sink. After making sure no one was watching, she
held the two MB vials under the hot water. When the gummed


170

labels came loose, Janet pulled them off and placed them on
the empty vials. She tucked the now unlabeled vials into the
utility drawer back behind an assortment of plastic dosage
cups, pencils, pads, and rubber bands.
    After another precautionary glance into the busy nurses' sta-
tion, Janet held the two empty vials over her head and let them
fall to the tile floor. Both smashed into tiny shards. After pour-
ing a small amount of water onto the glass pieces, Janet turned
and left the pharmacy closet.
    Marjorie was still on the phone, and Janet had to walt for
her to disconnect. As soon as she did, Janet put a hand on her
arm.
      "There's been an accident," Janet said. She tried to sound
upset, which wasn't difficult considering her nervousness.
  "What happened?" Marjorie asked. Her eyes widened.
    "I dropped the two vials," Janet said. "They slipped out
of my hand and broke on the floor."
    "Okay, okay!" Marjorie said, reassuring herself as well as
Janet. "Let's not get too excited. Accidents happen, especially
when we're busy and rushing about. Just show me."
    Janet led her back to the pharmacy clo. set and pointed at the
remains of the two vials. Marjorie squatted down and, using
her thumb and forefinger, gingerly pulled out the shards at-
tached to the labels.
  "I'm terribly sorry," Janet said.
    "It's okay," Marjorie said. She stood up and shrugged. "As
I said, accidents happen. Let's call Ms. Richmond."
    Janet followed Marjorie back to the nurses' station where
Marjorie placed a call to the director of nursing. After she
explained what had happened, she had to get out the ledger
from the medicine refrigerator. Janet could see the vials for
the other two patients as she did so.
    "There was 6cc in the larger and 4o: in the smaller," Mar-
jorie said into the phone. She listened, agreed several times,
then hung'up.
    "No problem," Marjorie said. She made an entry into the
ledger, then handed the pen to Janet. "Just initial where I
indicated what was lost," she said.

                                   171

 Janet wrote her initials.
    "Now head over to Ms. Richmond's office in the research
building, seventh floor," Marjorie said. "Bring these labels
with you." She put the broken glass fragments with their at-
tached labels in an envelope and handed them to Janet. "She'll
give you several new vials, okay?"
 Janet nodded and apologized again.
    "It's all right," Marjorie assured her. "It could have hap-
pened to anyone." Then she asked Tim to page Tom Widdi-
comb to get him to mop up the pharmacy closet.
    With her heart pounding and knowing her face was flushed,
Janet walked toward the elevators as calmly as she could. Her
ruse had worked, ' but she didn't feel good about it. She felt
like she was taking advantage of Marjorie's trust and good
nature. She was also concerned that someone might stumble
across the unlabeled vials in the utility drawer. Janet would
have liked to have removed them, but she felt she couldn't
risk it until later when she could give them directly to Scan.
    Despite her preoccupation with Helen's drugs, as Janet
came abreast of Gloria's door she noticed it was closed. Hav-
ing just started her IV, this disturbed her. Except for the one
incident when Marjorie had introduced Janet to Gloria, Glo-
ria's door was always ajar. Gloria had even commented that
she liked to have it open so she could stay in touch with life
on the ward.
    Perplexed, Janet stopped and stared at the door, debating
with herself what she should do. She was already behind with
her work so she should get over to Ms. Richmond's office.
Yet Gloria's door bothered her. Fearing Gloria might be feel-
ing poorly, Janet stepped over to the door and knocked. When
there was no response, she knocked again louder. When there
was still no answer, Janet pushed the door open and peered
inside. Gloria was fiat on the bed. One of her legs was dan-
gling over the side of the mattress. It seemed an unnatural
position for a nap.
  "Gloria?" Janet called.
 Gloria didn't respond.
 Propping the door open with its rubber foot, Janet ap-


172

proached the bed. Off to the side was a slop bucket with a
mop, but Janet didn't see 'it because as she got closer she noted
with alarm that Gloria's face was a deep cyanotic blue!
    "Code, room 409!" Janet shouted at the operator after
snatching the phone from its cradle. She tossed the envelope
with the glass shards on the bedside table.
    Pulling Gloria's head back and after making certain her
mouth was clear, Janet started mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.
With her right hand pinching Gloria's nostrils, Janet forcibly
inflated Gloria's lungs several times. Noting the ease with
which she was able to do this, she became confident there was
no blockage. With her left hand she felt for a pulse. She found
one, but it was weak.
    Janet blew several more times as people began to arrive.
Marjorie was there first, but soon others followed. By the time
Janet was relieved from her resuscitative efforts by one of the
other nurses, there were at least ten people in the room trying
to help. Janet was impressed by the quick response: even the
housekeeper was there.
    Gloria's color responded quickly, to everyone's relief.
Within three minutes several doctors including an anesthesi-
ologist arrived from the second floor. By then a monitor had
been set up showing a slow but otherwise normal heartbeat.
The anesthesiologist deftly inserted an endotracheal tube and
used an Ambu bag to inflate Gloria's lungs. This was more
efficient than mouth-to-mouth, and Gloria's color improved
even more.
    But there were bad signs as well. When the anesthesiologist
shone a ~penlight into Gloria's eyes her widely dilated pupils
did not react. When another doctor tried to elicit reflexes, she
was unable to do so.
    After twenty minutes Gloria started to make efforts to
breathe. Minutes later, she was breathing on her own. Reflexes
also returned but in a fashion that did not bode well. Her arms
and legs extended while her hands and feet flexed.
    "Uh oh," the anesthesiologist said. "Looks like some signs
of decerebrate rigidity. That's bad."
 Janet did not want to hear this.

                                   173

    The anesthesiologist shook his head. "Too long without ox-
ygen to the brain."
    "I'm surprised," one of the other doctors said. She tilted
the IV bottle to see what was running in. "I didn't think res-
piratory failure was a complication of this regimen."
    "Chemo can do unexpected things," the anesthesiologist
said. "It could have started with a cerebral vascular incident.
I think Randolph better hear about this."
    After rescuing her envelope, Janet stumbled out of the room.
She knew scenes like this came with the territory, but knowing
that hard fact didn't make them any easier to bear.
    Marjorie came out of Gloria's room, saw Janet, and came
over. She shook her head. "We're not having much luck with
these advanced breast cancer patients," she said. "I think the
powers that be better start questioning the treatment protocol."
  Janet nodded but didn't speak.
    "Being the first one on the scene is always tough," she
said. "You did all you could."
 Janet nodded again. "Thanks," she said.
    "Now get that medicine for Helen Cabot before we have
more trouble," Marjorie said. She gave Janet a sisterly pat on
the shoulder.
    Janet nodded. She took the stairs to get to the second floor,
then crossed to the research building. She took an elevator to
the seventh floor and, after asking for Ms. Richmond, was
directed to her office.
    The nursing director was expecting her and reached for the
envelope. Opening it she poured the contents onto her desk
blotter. With her index finger she pushed the shards around
until she could read the labels.
    Janet remained standing. Ms. Richmond's silence made her
fear that somehow the woman knew exactly what Janet had
done. Janet began to perspire.
    "Did this cause a problem?" Ms. Richmond asked finally
in her surprisingly soft voice.
  "What do you mean?" Janet asked.
    "When you broke these vials," Ms. Richmond said. "Did
the glass cut you?"

174                                                                                                     175

"No," Janet said with relief. "I dropped them on the floor.
I wasn't injured."
    "Well, it's not the first time or the last;" Ms. Richmond
said. "I'm glad you didn't hurt yourself."
    With surprising agility for her size, Ms. Richmond sprang
up from behind her desk and went to a floor-to-ceiling cabinet
that concealed a large, locked refrigerator. Unlocking and
opening the refrigerator door, she took out two vials similar
to the ones Janet had broken. The refrigerator was almost filled
with such vials.
    Ms. Richmond returned to her desk. Searching in a box in
a side drawer, she took out printed labels identical to those on
the shards on her desk. Licking the backs, she began applying
the appropriate label to each vial. Before she was finished her
phone rang.
    Ms. Richmond answered and continued to work, holding
the phone against her ear with a raised shoulder. But almost
immediately the call took her full attention.
    "What?" she cried. Her soft voice turned querulous. Her
face reddened.
    "Where?" Ms. Richmond demanded. "Fourth floor!" she
said after a pause. "That's almost worse! Damnation!"
    Ms. Richmond slammed the phone down and for a moment
stared ahead without blinking. Then, noting Janet's presence
with a start, she got up and handed over the vials. "I've got
to go," she said urgently. "Be careful with that medicine."
    Janet nodded and started to respond, but Ms. Richmond was
already on her way out the door.
    Janet paused at the threshold of Ms. Richmond's office and
watched her walk rapidly away. Looking over her shoulder,
she gazed at the cabinet which concealed the locked refriger-
ator. Something wasn't right about all this, but she wasn't sure
what it was. Too much was happening.

RANDOLPH MASON marveled at Sterling Rombauer. He had
some idea of Sterling's personal wealth as well as of his leg-
endary business acumen, but he had no idea what motivated

the man. Chasing around the country at other people's bidding
would not be the life Mason would lead if he had command
of the assets Sterling did. Nonetheless, Mason was grateful for
Sterling's chosen occupation. Every time he hired the man, he
got results.
    "I don't think you have anything to worry about until the
Sushita plane shows up here in Miami," Sterling was saying.
"It had been waiti/~g for Tanaka in Boston and was scheduled
to go to Miami, but then it went to New York and on'to
Washington without him. Tanaka had to fly down here on a
commercial flight."
    "And you will know if and when the plane comes?" Dr.
Mason asked.
 Sterling nodded.
    Dr. Mason's intercom crackled on. "Sorry to disturb you,
Dr. Mason," Patty, his secretary, said. "But you told me to
warn you about Ms. Richmond. She's on her way in and she
seems upset.' '
    Dr. Mason swallowed hard. There was only one thing that
could set Margaret off. He excused himself from Sterling and
left his office to intercept his director of nursing. He caught
her near Patty's desk and drew her aside.
    "It's happened again," Ms. Richmond snapped. "Another
breast cancer patient with a cyanotic respiratory arrest. Ran-
dolph, you have to do something!"
  "Another death?" Dr. Mason asked.
    "Not a death yet,' ? Ms. Richmond said. "But almost worse,
especially if the media gets involved. The patient is in a veg-
etative state with obvious brain damage."
    "Good Lord," Dr. Mason exclaimed. "You're fight; it
could be worse if the family starts asking questions.'~
    "Of course they will ask questions," Ms. Richmond said.
"Once again, I must remind you that this could ruin every-
thing we've worked for."
  "You don't have to tell me," Dr. Mason said.
  "Well, what are you going to do?"
    "I don't know what else to do," Dr. Mason admitted.
"Let's get Harris up here."




176                                                                         T E R M I NAL                              177

    Dr. Mason had Patty call Robert Harris and told her to buzz
him the moment Harris arrived. "I have Sterling Rombauer in
my office," he told Ms. Richmond. "Maybe you should hear
what he has to say about our medical student extem."
    "That brat!" Ms. Richmond said. "When I caught him over
in the hospital sneaking a look at Helen Cabot's chart I felt
like throttling him."
"Calm down and come in and listen," Dr. Mason said.
Ms. Richmond reluctantly allowed Dr. Mason to lead her
into his office. Sterling got to his feet. Ms. Richmond told him
he didn't have to stand on her account.
    Dr. Mason had everybody sit, then asked Sterling to bring
Ms. Richmond up to date.
    "Sean Murphy is an interesting and complicated individ-
ual," Sterling said as he casually crossed his legs~ "He's lived
a rather double life, changing drastically when he got into
Harvard undergraduate school, yet still clinging to his blue-
collar Irish roots. And he's been successful. Currently he and
a group of friends are about to start a company they intend to
call Oncogen. Its goal will be to market diagnostic and ther-
apeutic agents based on oncogene technology."
      "Then it's clear what we should do," Ms. Richmond said.
"Especially considering his being insufferably brash."
  "Let Sterling finish," Dr. Mason said.
    "He's extremely bright when it comes to biotechnology,"
Sterling said. "In fact I'd have to say he's gifted. His only
real liability, as you've already guessed, is in the social realm.
He has little respect for authority and manages to irritate a lot
of people. That said, he's already been involved with the
founding of a successful company that was bought out by Ge-
nentech. And he's had no significant difficulty finding funding
for his second venture."
    "He's sounding more and more like trouble," Ms. Rich-
mond said.
    "Not in the way you think," Sterling said. "The problem
is that Sushita knows approximately as much as I do. It's my
professional opinion that they will deem Scan Murphy a threat
to their investment here at Forbes. Once they do, they'll be

inspired to act. I'm not convinced a move to Tokyo and, es-
sentially, a buyout, will work with Mr. Murphy. Yet if he stays
here, I think they'll consider reneging on renewing your
grant."
    "I still don't understand why we don't send him back to
Boston," Ms. Richmond said. "Then it's over. Why take the
risk of jeopardizing our relationship with Sushita?"
  Sterling looked at Dr. Mason.
    Dr. Mason cleared his throat. "From my perspective," he
said, "I don't want to be rash. The kid is good at what he
does. This morning I went down to where he's working. He's
got a whole generation of mice accepting the glycoprotein. On
top of that, he showed me some promising crystals that he's
been able to grow. He insists he'll have better in a week. No
one else has been able to get this far. My problem is I'm
caught between a rock and a hard place. A more dire threat
to our Sushita funding is the fact that we have yet to provide
them with a single patentable product. They expected some-
thing by now."
    "In other words, you think we need this brat even with the
risks," Ms. Richmond said.
  "That's not the way I would phrase it," Dr. Mason said.
    "Then why don't you call Sushita and explain it to them,"
Ms. Richmond said.
    "That would not be advisable," Sterling said. "The Japa-
nese prefer indirect communication so that confrontation can
be avoided. They would not understand such a direct ap-
proach. Such a ploy would cause more anxiety than it would
alleviate."
    "Besides, I already alluded to all this with Hiroshi," Dr.
Mason said. "And they still went ahead to investigate Mr.
Murphy on their own."
    "The Japanese businessman has a great problem with un-
certainty," Sterling added.
    "So what is your take on this kid?" Ms. Richmond asked.
"Is he a spy? Is that why he's here?"
    "No," Sterling said. "Not in any traditional sense. He's
obviously interested in your success with medulloblastoma,


178                                                                                                  TERMINAL                                    179

but it's from an academic point of view, not a commercial
one."
    "He was very open about his interests in the medulloblas-
toma work," Dr. Mason said. "The first time I met him he
was clearly disappointed when I informed him he would not
be permitted to work on the project. If he'd been some kind
of spy, I think he'd keep a lower profile. Rocking the boat
only draws further scrutiny."
    "I agree," Sterling said. "As a young man he's still mo-
tivated by idealism and altruism. He has not yet been poisoned
by the new commercialism of science in general and medical
research in particular."
    "Yet he's already started his own company," Ms. Rich-
mond pointed out. "That sounds pretty commercial to me."
    "But he and his partners were essentially selling their prod-
ucts at cost," Sterling said. "The profit motive did not play a
role until the company was bought ont."
"So what's the solution?" Ms. Richmond asked.
"Sterling will monitor the situation," Dr. Mason said.
"He'll keep us informed on a daily basis. He'll protect Mr.
Murphy from the Japanese as long as he is a help to us. If
Sterling decides he is acting as a spy, he'll let us know. Then
we'll send him back to Boston."
  "An expensive babysitter," Ms. Richmond said.
    Sterling smiled and nodded in agreement. "Miami in March
is very agreeable," he said. "Particularly at the Grand Bay
Hotel."
    A short burst of static from Dr. Mason's intercom preceded
Patty's voice: "Mr. Harris is here."
    Dr. Mason thanked Sterling, indicating the meeting was
over. As he accompanied Sterling out of the office, Dr. Mason
couldn't help but agree with Ms. Richmond's assessment:
Sterling was an expensive babysitter. But Dr. Mason was con-
vinced the money was well spent and, thanks to Howard Pace,
readily available.
    Harris was standing next to Patty's desk, and for the sake
of propriety, Dr. Mason introduced him to Sterling. As he did,
he couldn't help but feel each man was the other's antithesis.

    After sending Harris into his office, Dr. Mason thanked
Sterling for all he'd done and implored him to keep them
informed. Sterling assured him he would, and left. Dr. Mason
then went back into his office to deal with the current crisis.
    Dr. Mason closed the door behind him. He noticed Harris
was standing stiffly in the center of the room; his patent leather
visored hat with its gold trim was wedged under his left arm.
    "Relax," Dr. Mason said as he went around behind his desk
and sat down.
  "Yes, sir," Harris said smartly. He didn't move.
    "For crissake, sit down!" Dr. Mason said when he noticed
Harris was still standing.
 Harris took a seat, his hat remaining beneath his arm.
      "I suppose you've heard another breast cancer patient has
died," Dr. Mason said. "At least for all practical purposes."
  "Yes, sir," Harris said crisply.
    Dr. Mason eyed his head of security with mild irritation.
On the one hand he appreciated the professionalism of Robert
Harris; on the other hand the militaristic playacting bothered
him. It wasn't appropriate for a medical institution. But he'd
never complained because until these breast cancer deaths, se-
curity had never been a problem.
    "As we told you in the past," Dr. Mason said, "we believe
some misguided demented individual is doing this. It's becom-
ing intolerable. It has to be stopped.
    "I've asked you to make this your number-one priority.
Have you been able to turn anything up?"
    "I assure you, this problem has my undivided attention,"
Harris said. "Following your advice I've done extensive back-
ground checks on most all of the professional staff. I've
checked references by calling hundreds of institutions. No dis-
crepancies have turned up so far. I'll now be expanding the
checks to other personnel who have access to patients. We
tried to monitor some of the breast cancer patients, but there
are too many to keep tabs on all the time. Perhaps we should
consider putting security cameras in all the rooms." Harris did
not mention his suspicion of the possible connection between
these cases and the death of a nurse and the attempted assault

180

of another. After all, it was only a hunch.
    "Maybe cameras in every breast cancer patient's room is
what we have to do," Ms. Richmond said.
    "It would be expensive," Harris warned. "Not only the
cost of the cameras and the installation, but also the additional
personnel to watch the monitors."
    "Expense might be an academic concern," Ms. Richmond
said. "If this problem continues and the press gets hold of it,
we might not have an institution."
  "I'll look into it," Harris promised.
    "If you need additional manpower, let us know," Dr. Ma-
son said. "This has to be stopped."
    'q understand, sir," Harris said. But he didn't want help.
He wanted to do this on his own. At this point it had become
a matter of honor. No screwball psychotic was going to get
the best of him.
    "And what about this attack last night at the residence?"
Ms. Richmond asked. "I have a hard enough time recruiting
nursing personnel. We can't have them attacked in the tem-
porary housing we offer them."
    "It is the first time security has been a problem at the res-
idence," Harris said.
    "Maybe we need security people there during the evening
hours," Ms. Richmond suggested.
  "I'd be happy to put together a cost analysis," Harris said.
      'q think the patient issue is more important," Dr. Mason
said. "Don't dilute your efforts at the present time."  "Yes, sir," Harris said.
 Dr. Mason looked at Ms. Richmond. "Anything else?"
 Ms. Richmond shook her head.
    Dr. Mason glanced back at Harris. "We're counting on
you," he said.
    "Yes, sir," Harris said as he got to his feet. By reflex he
started to salute, but he caught himself in time.

"VERY IMPRESSIVE!" Sean said aloud. He was sitting by him-
self in the glass-enclosed office in the middle of his expansive

                                    181

lab. He was at an empty metal desk, and he had the copies of
the thirty-three charts spread out in front of him. He'd chosen
the office in case someone suddenly appeared. If they did he'd
have enough time to sweep the charts into one of the empty
file drawers. Then he'd pull over the ledger featuring the pro-
tocol he'd developed to immunize the mice with the Forbes
glycoprotein.
    What Sean found so impressive were the statistics concern-
ing the medulloblastoma cases. The Forbes Cancer Center had
indeed achieved a one hundred percent remission rate over the
last two years, which contrasted sharply with the one hundred
percent fatality rate over the eight years prior to that. Through
follow-up MRI studies, even large tumors were shown to have
completely disappeared after successful treatment. As far as
Sean was concerned, such consistent results were unheard of
in the treatment of cancer except for the situation of cancer in
situ, meaning extremely small, localized neoplasia that could
be completely excised or otherwise eliminated.
    For the first time since he'd arrived, Sean had had a rea-
sonable morning. No one had bothered him; he hadn't seen
Hiroshi or any of the other researchers. He'd started the day
by injecting more of the mice which had given him a chance
to get the copies of the charts up to his office. Then he'd toyed
with the crystallization problem, growing a few crystals that
be thought would keep Dr. Mason content for a week or so.
He'd even had the director come down to see some of the
crystals. Sean knew he'd been impressed. At that point, rea-
sonably confident he wouldn't be disturbed, Sean had retired
into the glass office to review the charts.
    First he'd read through all the charts to gain an overall im-
pression. Then he'd gone back, checking on epidemiological
aspects. He'd noted that the patients represented a wide range
of ages and races. They were also of varying sex. But the
predominant group consisted of middle-aged white males, not
the typical group seen with medulloblastoma. Sean guessed
that the statistics were skewed due to economic considerations.
The Forbes was not a cheap hospital. People needed adequate
medical insurance or sizable savings accounts to be patients

182                                                                         T E R M I N AL                              183

there. He also noted that the cases came from various major
cities around the country in a truly national distribution.
    But then, as if to show how dangerous generalizations were,
he discovered a case from a small southwestern Florida town:
Naples, Florida. Sean had seen the town on a map. It was the
southernmost town on the west coast of Florida, just north of
the Everglades. The patient's name was Malcolm Betencourt,
and he was nearing two years since the commencement of his
treatment. Sean noted the man's address and phone number.
He thought he might want to talk with him.
    As for the tumors themselves, Sean noted that most were
multifocal rather than being a single lesion, which was more
common. Since they were multifocal, the attending physicians
in most cases had initially believed they were dealing with a
metastatic tumor, one that had spread to the brain from some
other organ like lung, kidney, or colon. In all these cases, the
referring physicians had expressed surprise when the lesions
turned out to be primary brain tumors arising from primitive
neural elements. Sean also noted that the tumors were partic-
ularly aggressive and fast-growing. They would have undoubt-
edly led to rapid death had not therapy been instituted.
    Concerning therapy, Sean noted that it did not vary. The
dosage and rate of administration of the coded medication was
the same for all patients although it was adjusted for weight.
All patients had experienced about a week of hospitalization
and after discharge were followed in the outpatient clinic at
intervals of two weeks, four weeks, two months, six months,
then annually. Thirteen of the thirty-three patients had reached
the annual-visit stage. Sequelae from the illness were minimal
and were associated with mild neurological deficits secondary
to the expanding tumor masses prior to treatment rather than
to the treatment itself.
    Sean was also impressed with the charts themselves. He
knew he was looking at a wealth of material that would prob-
ably take him a week to digest.
    Concentrating as deeply as he was, Sean was startled when
the phone on his desk began to ring. It was the first time it

had ever rung. He picked it up, expecting a wrong number.
To his surprise, it was Janet.
  "I have the medicine," she said tersely.
  "Great!" Sean said.
  "Can you meet me in the cafeteria?" she asked.
    "Absolutely," Sean said. He could tell something was
wrong. Her voice sounded strained. "What's the matter?"
    "Everything," Janet said. "I'11 tell you when I see you.
Can you leave now?"
  "I'11 be there in five minutes," Sean said.
    After hiding all the charts, Sean descended in the elevator
and crossed over the pedestrian bridge to the hospital. He
guessed he was being observed by camera and felt like waving
to indicate as much, but resisted the temptation.
    When he arrived in the cafeteria Janet was already there,
sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in front of her. She didn't
look happy.
 Sean slid into a chair across from her.
  "What's wrong?" he asked.
    "One of my patients is in a coma," Janet said. "I'd just
started an IV on her. One minute she was fine, the next minute
not breathing."
    "I'm sorry to hear that," Sean said. He'd had some expo-
sure to the emotional traumas of hospital life, so he could
empathize to an extent.
  "At least I got the medicine," she said.
  "Was it difficult?" Sean asked.
  "Emotionally more than anything else," Janet said.
  "So where is it?"
    "In my purse," she said. She glanced around to make sure
no one was watching them. "I'll give the vials to you under
the table."
    "You don't have to make this so melodramatic," Sean said.
"Sneaking around draws more attention than just acting nor-
mal and handing them over."
  "Humor me," Janet said. She fumbled with her purse.
    Sean felt her hand hit his knee. He reached under the table
and two vials dropped into his hand. Respecting Janet's sen-

184                                                                          T E R M I NA L                             185

sitivity he slipped them into his pockets, one on each side.
Then he scraped back his chair and stood up.
  "Sean!" Janet complained.
  "What?" he asked.
    "Do you have to be so obvious? Can't you wait five
minutes like we're having a conversation?"
    He sat down. "People aren't watching us," he said. "When
are you going to learn?"
  "How can you be so sure?" she asked.
  Sean started to say something, then thought better of it.
    "Can we talk about something fun for a change?" Janet
asked. "I'm completely stressed out."
  "What do you want to talk about?"
    "What we can do come Sunday," Janet said. "I need to
get away from the hospital and all this tension. I want to do
something relaxing and fun."
    "Okay, it's a date," Sean promised. "Meanwhile, I'm eager
to get back to the lab with this medicine. Would it be so
obvious if ! were to leave now?"
  "Go!" Janet commanded. "You're impossible."
    "See you back at the beach apartment," Sean said. He
moved away quickly lest Janet say something about his not
being invited. He looked back and waved as he left the cafe-
teria.
    Hurrying over the bridge between the two buildings, he
thrust his hands into his pockets and palmed the two vials. He
couldn't wait to get started. Thanks to Janet, he felt some of
the investigative excitement he'd expected when he'd made
the decision to come to the Forbes Cancer Center.

ROBERT HARRIS carded the cardboard box of employee files
into his small windowless office and set them on the floor next
to his desk. Sitting down, he opened the top of the box and
pulled out the first file.
    After the conversation with Dr. Mason and Ms. Richmond,
Harris had gone directly to personnel. With the help of Henry
Falworth, the personnel manager, he'd compiled a list of non-

professionals who had access to patients. The list included
food service personnel who distributed menus and took orders
and those who delivered meals and picked up the trays. The
list also included the janitorial and maintenance staffs who
were occasionally called to patient rooms for odd jobs. Finally,
the list ran to housekeeping: those who cleaned the rooms, the
halls, and the lounges of the hospital.
    All in all, the number of people on the list was formidable.
Unfortunately he had no other ideas to pursue save for the
camera surveillance, and he knew such an operation would
prove too costly. He would investigate prices and put together
a proposal, but he knew Dr. Mason would find the price un-
acceptable.
    Harris's plan was to go through the fifty or so files rather
quickly to see if anything caught his attention, anything that
might seem unlikely or strange. If he found something that
was questionable, he'd put the file in a group to investigate
first. Harris wasn't a psychologist any more than he was a
doctor, but he thought that whoever was crazy enough to be
killing patients would have to have something weird on his
record.
    The first file belonged to Ramon Concepcion, a food service
employee. Concepcion was a thirty-five-year-old man of Cu-
ban extraction who'd worked a number of food service jobs
in hotels and restaurants since he was sixteen. Hams read
through his employment application and looked at the refer-
ences. He even glanced at his health care utilization. Nothing
jumped out at him. He tossed the file on the floor.
    One by one, Harris worked through the box of files. Nothing
caught his eye until he came to Gary Wanamaker, another food
service employee. Under the heading experience Gary had
listed five years' work in the kitchen at Rikers Island Prison
in New York. In the employment photo the man had brown
hair. Harris put that file on the corner of his desk.
    It was only five files later that Harris came across another
file that caught his eye. Tom Widdicomb worked in house-
keeping. What got Harris's attention was the fact that the man
had trained as an emergency medical technician. Even though

186
                                                                         TE R M I NAL                                187

he'd had a series of housekeeping jobs subsequent to his EMT
training, including a stint at Miami General Hospital, the
thought of a guy with emergency medical training working
housekeeping seemed odd. Harris looked at the employment
photo. The man had brown hair. Harris put Widdicomb's file
on top of Wanamaker's.
    A few files later, Harris came across another file that
tweaked his curiosity. Ralph Seaver worked for the mainte-
nance department. This man had served time for rape in In-
diana. There it was right in the file! Included was even a phone
number of the man's former probation officer in Indiana. Har-
ris shook his head. He'd not expected to find such fertile ma-
terial. The professional staff files had been boring in
comparison. Except for a few substance abuse problems and
one child molestation allegation, he'd not found anything. But
with this group, he'd only gone through a quarter of the files
and had already yanked three that he thought deserved a closer
look.

INSTEAD OF sitting down and having coffee on her afternoon
coffee break, Janet took the elevator to the second floor and
visited the intensive care unit. She had a lot of respect for the
nurses who worked there. She never understood how they
could take the constant strain. Janet had tried the ICU after
graduation. She found the work intellectually stimulating, but
after a few weeks decided it wasn't for her. There was too
much tension, and too little patient interaction. Most of the
patients were in no position to relate on any level; many of
them were unconscious.
    Janet went over to Gloria's bed and looked down at her.
She was still in a coma and had not improved although she
was still breathing without mechanical assistance. Her widely
dilated pupils had not constricted, nor did they react to light.
Most disturbing of all, an EEG showed very little brain activ-
ity.
    A visitor was gently stroking Gloria's forehead. She was
about thirty years old with coloring and features similar to

Gloria's. As Janet raised her head, their eyes met.
  "Are you one of Gloria's nurses?" the visitor asked.
  Janet nodded. She could tell the woman had been crying.
  "I'm Made," she said. "Gloria's older sister."
  "I'm very sony this happened," Janet said.
    "Well," Marie said with a sigh, "maybe it's for the best.
This way she won't have to suffer."
    Janet agreed for Marie's benefit, although in her own heart
she felt differently. Gloria had still had a shot at beating breast
cancer, especially with her positive, upbeat attitude. Janet had
seen people with even more advanced disease go into remis-
sion.
    Fighting tears of her own, Janet returned to the fourth floor.
Again, she threw herself into her work. It was the easiest way
to avoid thoughts that would only leave her cursing the un-
fairness of it all. Unfortunately the ruse was only partly suc-
cessful, and she kept seeing the image of Gloria's face as she
thanked Janet for starting her IV. But then suddenly the ruse
was no longer needed. A new tragedy intervened that matched
Gloria's and overwhelmed Janet.
    A little after two, Janet gave an intramuscular injection to
a patient whose room was at the far end of the corridor. On
her way back to the nurses' station, she decided to check in
on Helen Cabot.
    Earlier that morning and about an hour after Janet had added
the coded medication to Helen's IV and adjusted the rate, He-
len complained of a headache. Concerned about her condition,
Janet had called Dr. Mason and informed him of this devel-
opment. He'd recommended treating the headache minimally
and asked to be called back if it got worse.
    Although the headache had not gone away after the admin-
istration of an oral analgesic, it had not grown worse. Nev-
ertheless, Janet had checked on Helen frequently at first, then
every hour or so throughout the day. With the headache un-
changed and her vital signs and level of consciousness re-
maining normal, Janet's concern had lessened.
    Now, almost 2:15, as Janet came through the door, she was
alarmed to discover that Helen's head had lolled to the side


188                                                                         T E R M I NAL                               189

and off the pillow. Approaching the bed, she noticed some-
thing even more disturbing: the woman's breathing was irreg-
ular. It was waxing and waning in a pattern that suggested a
serious neurological dysfunction. Janet phoned the nurses' sta-
tion and told Tim she had to speak with Marjorie immediately.
    "Helen Cabot is Cheyne-Stoking," Janet said when Mar-
jorie came on the line, referring to Helen's breathing.
    "Oh no!" Marjorie exclaimed. "I'll call the neurologist and
Dr. Mason."
    Janet took the pillow away and straightened Helen's head.
Then she took a small flashlight she always carried and shined
it in each of Helen's pupils. They weren't equal. One was
dilated and unresponsive to the light. Janet shuddered. This
was something she'd read about. She guessed that the pressure
had built up inside Helen's head to the point that part of her
brain was herniating from the upper compartment into the
lower, a life-threatening development.
    Reaching up, Janet slowed Helen's IV to a "keep open"
rate. For the moment that was all she could do.
    Soon other people started to arrive. First it was Marjorie
and other nurses. Then the neurologist, Dr. Burt Atherton, and
an anesthesiologist, Dr. Carl Seibert, rushed in. The doctors
began barking orders in an attempt to lower the pressure inside
Helen's head. Then Dr. Mason arrived, winded by his run
from the research building.
    Janet had never met Dr. Mason, although she'd spoken with
him on the phone. He was titularly in charge of Helen's case,
but in this neurological crisis he deferred to Dr. Atherton.
    Unfortunately, none of the emergency measures worked,
and Helen's condition deteriorated further. It was decided that
emergency brain surgery was needed. To Janet's dismay, ar-
rangements were made to transfer Helen to Miami General
Hospital.
     "Why is she being transferred?" Janet asked Marjorie when
 she had a moment.
     "We're a specialty hospital," Marjorie explained. "We
 don't have a neurosurgical service."
 Janet was shocked. The kind of emergency surgery Helen

needed required speed. It did not require an entire neurosur-
gical service, just an operating room and someone who knew
how to make a hole in the skull. Obviously with the biopsies
they'd been doing, that expertise was available at the Forbes.
    With frantic preparations, Helen was readied to leave. She
was moved from her bed onto a gurney. Janet aided in the
transfer, moving Helen's feet, then running alongside holding
the IV bottle aloft as the gurney was rushed to the elevator.
    In the elevator Helen took a turn for the worse. Her
breathing, which had been irregular when Janet had entered
her room, now stopped altogether. Helen's pale face quickly
began to turn blue.
    For the second time that day, Janet started mouth-to-mouth
resuscitation while the anesthesiologist yelled for someone to
get an endotracheal tube and an Ambu bag as soon as they
got to the first floor.
    When the elevator stopped and the doors opened, one of
the fourth-floor nurses rushed out. Another kept the doors from
closing. Janet continued her efforts until Dr. Seibert nudged
her aside and deftly slipped in an endotracheal tube. After
connecting the Ambu bag, he began to inflate Helen's lungs
to near capacity. The blue cast to Helen's face transformed
into a translucent alabaster.
  "Okay, let's go," Dr. Seibert yelled.
    The tightly packed group rushed Helen out to the ambulance
receiving dock, collapsed the gurney, and pushed it inside the
waiting vehicle. Dr. Seibert boarded with Helen, maintaining
her respiration. The doors were slammed shut and secured.
    With flashing light and piercing siren, the ambulance roared
out of the parking bay and disappeared around the building.
    Janet turned to look at Marjorie, who was standing next to
Dr. Mason. She was consoling him with her hand on his shoul-
der.
    "I can't believe it," Dr. Mason was saying with a halting
voice. "I suppose I should have prepared myself. It was bound
to happen. But we've been so lucky with our medulloblastoma
treatments. With every success, I thought just maybe we could
avoid this kind of tragedy."


190                                                                                                                                     191

    "It's the people in Boston's fault," Ms. Richmond said.
She'd appeared on the scene just before the ambulance had
left. "They wouldn't listen to us. They kept her too long."
    "We should have put her in the ICU," Dr. Mason said.
"But she'd been so stable."
    "Maybe they'll save her at Miami General," Marjorie said,
trying to be optimistic.
    "It would be a miracle," Dr. Atherton said. "It was pretty
clear her uncus had herniated below the calyx and was com-
pressing her medulla oblongata."
    Janet repressed an urge to tell the man to keep his thoughts
to himselL She hated the way some doctors hid behind their
jargon.
    All at once, as if on some unseen cue, the entire group
turned and disappeared through the swinging doors of the
Forbes ambulance dock. Janet was left outside. She was just
as glad to be alone. It was suddenly so peaceful by the lawn.
A huge banyan tree graced the grounds. Behind the banyan
was a flowering tree Janet had never seen before. A warm,
moist tropical breeze caressed her face. But the pleasant scene
was still marred by the undulating siren of the receding am-
bulance. To Janet, it sounded like a death knell for Helen
Cabot.

TOM WIDDICOMB wandered from room to room in his moth-
er's ranch house, alternately crying and cursing. He was so
anxious he couldn't sit still. One minute he was hot, the next
freezing. He felt sick.
    In fact, he'd felt so sick he'd gone to his supervisor and
told him as much. The supervisor had sent him home, com-
menting that he was pale. He'd even noticed that Tom was
shaking.
    "You've got the whole weekend," the supervisor had said.
"Go to bed, sleep it off. It's probably a touch of the 'snowbird
flu.'"
    So Tom had gone home, but he'd been unable to rest. The
problem was Janet Reardon. He'd almost had a heart attack

when she'd come knocking on Gloria's door minutes after
he'd put Gloria to sleep. In an absolute panic he'd fled into
the bathroom, sure that he'd been cornered. He'd gotten des-
perate enough to take his gun out.
    But then the pandemonium in the room gave him the di-
version he needed to get away. When he'd emerged from the
bathroom, no one had even noticed. He'd been able to slip
into the hall with his bucket.
    The problem was that Gloria was still alive. Janet Reardon
had saved her, and Gloria was still suffering, although now
she was out of reach. She was in the ICU where Tom was not
allowed to go.
    Consequently, Alice still wouldn't talk to him. Tom had
continued to plead, but without success. Alice knew Tom
couldn't get to Gloria until she was transferred out of the ICU
and put back into a private room.
    That left Janet Reardon. To Tom, she seemed like a devil
sent to destroy the life that he and his mother had created. He
knew he had to get rid of her. Only now he didn't know where
she lived. Her name had been removed from the residence
chart in administration. She'd moved out.
    Tom checked his watch. He knew her shift ended when his
would have ended: three P.M. But he also knew nurses stayed
longer because of their report. He'd have to be in the parking
lot when she came out. Then he could follow her home and
shoot her. If he was able to do that he was reasonably confi-
dent Alice would break this petulant silence and talk with him.

"HELEN CABOT died!" Janet repeated through sudden tears.
As a professional it wasn't like her to cry over the death of a
patient, but she was extra sensitive since there'd been two
tragedies in the same day. Besides, Sean's response frustrated
her. He was more interested in where Helen's body was than
the fact that the woman was dead.
    "I understand she died," Sean said soothingly. "I don't
mean to sound callous. Part of the way I respond is to cover
the pain I feel. She was a wonderful person. It's such a shame.


192

And to think that her father runs one of the largest computer
software companies in the world."
    "What difference does that make?" Janet snapped. She
wiped under her eyes with the knuckle of her index finger.
    "Not much," Sean admitted. "It's just that death is such a
leveler. Having all the money in the world makes no differ-
ence."
  "So now you're a philosopher," Janet said wryly.
    "All of us Irish are philosophers," Sean said. "It's how we
deal with the tragedy of our lives."
    They were sitting in the cafeteria where Sean had agreed to
come when Janet called him. She'd called him after report,
before she left for the apartment. She'd said she needed to
talk.
    "I don't mean to upset you," Sean continued. "But I'm
truly interested in the location of Helen's body. Is it here?"
    Janet rolled her eyes. "No, it's not here," she said. "I don't
know where it is truthfully. But I suppose it's over at the
Miami General."
    "Why would it be there?" Sean asked. He leaned across
the table.
    Janet explained the whole episode, indicating her indigna-
tion that they couldn't do an emergency craniotomy at the
Forbes.
    "She was in extremities," Janet said. "They never should
have transferred her. She never even made it to the OR. We
heard she died in the Miami General emergency room."
    "How about you and me driving over there?" Sean sug-
gested. "I'd like to find her."
    For a moment, Janet thought Sean was kidding. She rolled
her eyes again, thinking Sean was about to make some sick
joke.
     "I'm serious," Sean said. "There's a chance they'll do an
 autopsy. I'd love to have a tumor sample. For that matter, I'd
 like to have some blood and even some cerebrospinal fluid."
   Janet shuddered in revulsion.
     "Come on," Sean said. "Remember, we're in this thing
 together. I'm really sorry she died--you know I am. But now

                                    193

that she's dead, we should concentrate on the science. With
you in a nursing uniform and me in a white coat, we'll have
the run of the place. In fact, let's bring some of our own
syringes just in case."
  "In case of what?" Janet asked.
    "In case we need them," Sean said. He winked conspira-
torially. "It's best to be prepared," he added.
    Either Sean was the world's best salesman or she was so
stressed out, she was incapable of resisting. Fifteen minutes
later she found herself climbing into the passenger side of
Sean's 4X4 to head over to a hospital she'd never visited, in
hopes of obtaining the brain tissue of one of her patients who'd
just expired.

"THAT'S HIM." Sterling pointed at Sean Murphy through the
car's windshield for Wayne Edwards's benefit. Wayne was a
formidable Afro-American whose services Sterling enlisted
when he did business in south Florida. Wayne was an ex-
Army sergeant, ex-policeman, and ex-small businessman
who'd gone into the security business. He was an ex from as
many things as Sterling was, and like Sterling, he now used
his varied experience for a similar career. Wayne was a private
investigator, and although he specialized in domestic squab-
bles, he was talented and effective in other areas as well.
Sterling had met him a few years previously when both were
representing a powerful Miami businessman.
    "He looks like a tough kid," Wayne said. He prided him-
self on instantaneous assessments.
    "I believe he is," Sterling said. "He was an all-star hockey
player from Harvard who could have played professionally if
he'd been inclined."
  "Who's the chick?" Wayne asked.
    "Obviously one of the nurses," Sterling said. "I don't
know anything about his female liaisons."
    "She's a looker," Wayne said. "What about Tanaka Ya-
maguchi? Have you seen him lately?"
 "No, I haven't," Sterling said. "But I think I will. My


194

contact at the FAA told me the Sushita jet has just reftled a
flight plan to Miami."
  "Sounds like action," Wayne said.
    "In a way, I hope so," Sterling said. "It will give us a
chance to resolve this problem."
    Wayne started his dark green Mercedes 420SEL. The win-
dows were heavily tinted. From the outside it was difficult to
see within, especially in bright sunlight. He eased the car away
from the curb and headed for the exit. Since a hospital shift
had changed half an hour earlier, there was still considerable
traffic leaving the parking area. Wayne allowed several cars
to come between his car and Sean's. Once on Twelfth, they
headed north over the Miami River.
    "I got sandwiches and drinks in the cooler in the back
seat," Wayne said while motioning over his shoulder.
    "Good thinking," Sterling said. That was one of the things
he liked about Wayne. He thought ahead.
    "Well, well," Wayne said. "Short trip. They're turning al-
ready."
    "Isn't this another hospital?" Sterling asked. He leaned for-
ward to survey the building Sean was approaching.
    "This area is hospital city, man," Wayne said. "You can't
drive a mile without running into one. But they're heading to
the mama hospital. That's Miami General."
    "That's curious," Sterling said. "Maybe the nurse works
there."
  "Uh oh," Wayne said. "I do believe we have company."
  "What do you mean?" Sterling asked.
  "See that lime green Caddy behind us?" Wayne asked.
  "It would be hard to miss it," Sterling said.
    "I've been watching it since we crossed the Miami River,"
Wayne said. "I have the distinct impression it's following our
Mr. Murphy. I wouldn't have noticed it except I used to have
wheels just like it in my younger days. Mine was burgundy.
Good car, but a devil to parallel park."
     Sterling and Wayne watched as Sean and his companion
 entered the hospital through the emergency entrance. Not far
 behind was the man who'd arrived in the lime green Cadillac.

                                195

    "I think my initial impression was correct," Wayne said.
"Looks to me like that dude is tighter on their tail than we
are.' '
    "I don't like this," Sterling said. He opened the passenger
door, got out, and glanced back at the dumpy Cadillac. Then
he bent down to talk to Wayne. "This is not Tanaka's style,
but I can't risk it. I'm going in. If Murphy comes out, follow
him. If the man in the Cadillac comes out first, follow him.
I'll be in touch over the cellular phone."
    Grabbing his portable phone, Sterling hurried after Tom
Widdicomb, who was climbing the steps on the side of the
ambulance dock outside the Miami General emergency room.

WITH THE assistance of a harried resident in the emergency
room who'd given them directions, it did not take Sean and
Janet long to find the pathology department. Once there, Sean
sought out another resident. He told Janet that between the
residents and the nurses you could find out anything you
wanted to know about a hospital.
    "I'm not doing autopsies this month," the resident said,
trying to rush away.
    Sean blocked his path. "How can I find out if a patient will
be posted?" he asked.
"You have the chart number?" the resident asked.
"Just the name," Sean said. "She died in the ER."
"Then we probably won't be autopsying the case," the res-
ident said. "ER deaths are usually assigned to the medical
examiner."
  "How can I be sure?" Sean persisted.
  "What's the name?"
  "Helen Cabot," Sean said.
    The resident graciously went over to a nearby wall phone
and made a call. It took him less than two minutes to ascertain
that Helen Cabot was not scheduled.
  "Where do bodies go?" Sean asked.
 "To the morgue," the resident said. "It's in the basement.


196

Take the main elevators to B 1 and follow the red signs with
the big letter M on them."
    After the resident hurried on, Sean looked at Janet. "You
galne?" he asked. "If we find her then we'll know her dis-
position for sure. We might even be able to get a little body
fluid."
  "I've come this far," Janet said with resignation.

TOM WIDDICOMB felt calmer than he had all day. At first he'd
been dismayed when Janet had appeared with a young guy in
a white coat, but then things took a turn for the better when
the two went directly to the Miami General. Having worked
there, Tom knew the place from top to bottom. He also knew
that Miami General would be crowded with people at that time
of day since formal visiting hours had just started. And crowds
meant chaos. Maybe he would get his chance at Janet and
wouldn't even have to follow her home. If he had to shoot the
fellow in the white coat, too bad!
    Following the couple within the hospital had not been easy,
especially once they went to pathology. Tom had thought he'd
lost them and was about to return to the parking lot to keep
an eye on the 4)<4 when they suddenly reappeared. Janet came
so close, he was sure she'd recognize him. He'd panicked, but
luckily hadn't moved. Fearing Janet would scream as she had
in the Forbes residence, he'd gripped the pistol in his pocket.
If she had screamed he would have had to shoot her on the
spot.
    But Janet glanced away without reacting. Obviously she'd
failed to identify him. Feeling more secure, Tom followed the
pair more closely. He even rode down in the same eievator
with them, something he'd not been willing to do when they'd
gone up to pathology.
    Janet's friend pushed the button for B1, and Tom was ec-
static. Of all the locations in Miami General, Tom liked the
basement the best. When he'd worked at this hospital, he
snuck down there many times to visit the morgue or to read

                               197

the newspaper. He knew the labyrinthine tunnels like the back
of his hand.
    Tom's anxiety about Janet recognizing him returned when
everyone else but a doctor and a uniformed maintenance man
got off on the first floor. But even with so slim a crowd to
lose himself in, Janet failed to remember him.
    As soon as the eievator reached the basement, the doctor
and the maintenance man turned right and walked quickly
away. Janet and Sean paused briefly, looking in both direc-
tions. Then they turned left.
    Tom waited behind in the eievator until the doors began to
shut. Bumping them open, he stepped out and followed the
couple, keeping at a distance of about fifty feet. He slipped
his hand in his pocket and gripped the gun. He even put his
finger between the trigger and its guard.
    The farther from the elevators the couple walked, the better
Tom liked it. This was a perfect location for what he had to
do. He couldn't believe his luck. They were entering an area
of the basement few people visited. The only sounds were their
footfalls and the slight hissing of steam pipes.

"THIS PLACE feels appropriately like Hades," Sean said. "I
wonder if we're lost."
    "There haven't been any turnoffs since the last M sign,"
Janet said. "I think we're okay."
    "Why do they always put morgues in such isolated
places?" Sean said. "Even the lighting is getting lousy,"
    "It's probably near a loading dock," Janet said. Then she
pointed ahead. "There's another sign. We're on the right
track."
    "I think they want their mistakes as far away as possible,"
Sean quipped. "It wouldn't be good advertising to have the
morgue near the front entrance."
    "I forgot to ask how you made out with the medicine I got
for you."
    "I haven't gotten very far," Sean admitted. "What I did
was start a gel electrophoresis."


198                                                                      T E R M I N AL                             199

  "That tells me a lot," Janet said sarcastically.
    "It's actually simple," Sean said. "I suspect the medicine
is made up of proteins because they have to be using some
sort of immunotherapy. Since proteins all have electric
charges, they move in an electrical field. When you put them
in a specific gel, which coats them with a uniform charge, they
move only in relation to their size. I want to find out how
many proteins I'm dealing with and what their approximate
molecular weight is. It's a first step."
    "Just make sure you learn enough to justify the effort for
getting it," Janet said.
    "I hope you don't think you're off the hook with this one
sample," Sean said. "Next time I want you to get some of
Louis Martin's."
    'q don't think I can do it again," Janet said. "I can't break
any more vials. If I do, they'll be suspicious for sure."
    "Try a different method," Sean suggested. "Besides, I
don't need so much."
    'q thought by bringing the whole vial you'd have plenty,"
Janet said.
    'q want to compare the medicines from different patients,"
Sean said. 'q want to find out how they differ."
    "I'm not sure they differ," Janet said. "When I went up to
Ms. Richmond's office to get another vial, she took it from a
large stock. I got the feeling they are all being treated by the
same two drags."
    'q can't buy that," Sean said. "Every tumor is distinct an-
tigenically, even the same kind of tumor. Oat cell cancer from
one person will be different antigenically from the same type
of cancer from another. In fact, if it arises as a new tumor
even in the same person it will be antigenically distinct. And
antigenically distinct tumors require different antibodies."
    "Maybe they use the same drug until they biopsy the tu-
mor," Janet suggested.
    Sean looked at her with renewed respect. "That's an idea,"
he said.
    Finally they rounded a comer and found themselves in front
of a large insulated door. A metal sign at chest level read:

Morgue. Unauthorized Entry Forbidden. Next to the door
were several light switches.
    "Uh oh," Sean said. "I guess they were expecting us.
That's a rather formidable bolt action lock. And I didn't bring
my tools."
  Janet reached out and yanked on the door. It opened.
    "I take that back," Sean said. "Guess they didn't expect
us. At least not today."
    A cool breeze issued from the room and swirled about their
legs. Sean flipped on the lights. For a split second there was
no response. Then raw fluorescent light blinked on.  "After you," Sean said gallantly.
  "This was your idea," Janet said. "You first."
    Sean stepped in with Janet immediately following. Several
wide, concrete supporting piers blocked a view of the entire
space, but it was obviously a large room. Old gumeys littered
the room haphazardly. Each bore a shrouded body. The tem-
perature, according to a gauge on the door, was forty-eight
degrees.
  Janet shivered. "I don't like this."
    "This place is huge," Sean said. "Either the architects had
a low opinion of the competence of the medical staff, or they
planned for a national disaster."
    "Let's get this over with," Janet said, hugging herself. The
cold air was damp and penetrating. The smell was like a musty
wet basement that had been closed for years.
    Sean yanked back a sheet. "Oh, hello," he said. The blood-
ied face of a partially crashed construction worker stared up
at him. He was still in his work clothes. Sean covered the man
and went to the next.
    Despite her revulsion, Janet did the same, going in the op-
posite direction.
    "Too bad they're not in alphabetical order," Sean said.
"There must be fifty bodies in here. This is one scene the
Miami Chamber of Commerce wouldn't want to get up
north."
    "Sean!" Janet called, since they'd moved apart. "I think
your humor is tasteless."


200                                                                                                           201

    They worked around opposite ends of one of the concrete
piers.
    "Come on, Helen," Sean called in a childlike singsong.
"Come out, come out wherever you are."
  "That's especially crude," Janet said.

TOM WIDDICOMB was filled with excited anticipation. Even
his mother had decided to break her long silence to tell him
how clever he'd been to follow Janet and her friend into Mi-
ami General. Tom was well acquainted with the morgue. For
what he intended to do, he couldn't have found a better place.
    Approaching the insulated door, Tom pulled his gun from
his pocket. Holding the pistol in his right hand, he pulled the
thick door open and looked inside. Not seeing Janet or her
friend, he stepped into the morgue and let the door ease closed.
He couldn't see the couple but he could hear them. He dis-
tinctly heard Janet tell the man in the white coat to shut up.
    Tom grasped the brass knob of the heavy lock on the door
and slowly turned it. Silently the bolt slid into the striker plate.
When Tom had worked at Miami General, the lock had never
been used. He doubted if a key existed. Locking it ensured
that he would not be disturbed.
  "You're a smart man," Alice whispered.
  "Thank you, Mom," Tom whispered back.
    Holding the gun in both hands as he'd seen them do on TV,
Tom moved forward, heading toward the nearest of the con-
crete piers. He could tell from Janet and her friend's voices
that they were just on the opposite side of it.

"SOME OF these people have been in here for a while," Sean
said. "It's like they've been forgotten."
    "I was thinking the same thing," Janet said. "I don't think
Helen Cabot's body is here. It would have been near the door.
After all, she just died a few hours ago."
    Sean was about to agree when the lights went out. With no
windows and the door heavily girdled with insulating weather

stripping, it wasn't just dark, it was absolutely black, like the
vortex of a black hole.
    The instant the lights went out there was an ear-piercing
scream following by hysterical sobbing. At first Sean thought
it was Janet, but having known where she was before the dark-
ness enveloped him, he could tell that the crying was coming
from behind the wall near the door to the hall.
  So if it wasn't Janet, Sean thought, who was it?
    The agony was infectious. Even the sudden darkness
wouldn't have disturbed Sean ordinarily, but combined with
the terrorized wailing, he found himself on the border of panic.
What kept him from losing control was concem about Janet.
    "I hate the dark," the voice cried out suddenly amid weep-
ing. "Someone help me!"
    Sean didn't know what to do. From the direction of the
wailing came the sounds of frenzied commotion. Gurneys
were bumping into each other, spilling their bodies onto the
concrete floor.
  "Help me!" the voice screamed.
    Sean thought about calling out to try to calm the anguished
individual, but he couldn't decide if that was a good idea or
not. Unable to decide, he stayed quiet.
    After the sound of more gurneys clanking against each
other, there was a low-pitched thump as if someone had hit
up against the insulated door. That was followed by a me-
chanical click.
    For a moment a small amount of light fingered its way
around the concrete pier. Sean caught sight of Janet with her
hands pressed against her mouth. She was only about twenty
feet from him. Then the darkness descended again like a heavy
blanket. This time it was accompanied by silence.  "Janet?" Sean called softly. "You okay?"
  "Yes," she answered. "What in God's name was that?"
  "Move toward me," Sean said. "I'm coming toward you."
  "All right," Janet said.
    "This place is nuts," Sean said, wanting to keep talking as
they groped toward each other. "I thought Forbes was weird,

2O2

but this place takes the prize hands down. Remind me not to
match here for my internship."
    At last their groping hands met. Holding onto each other,
they weaved their way through the gumeys in the direction of
the door. Sean's foot nudged a body on the floor. He warned
Janet she'd have to step over it.
    "I'11 have nightmares about this the rest of my life," Janet
said.
  "This is worse than Stephen King," Sean said.
    Sean collided with the wall. Then, moving laterally, he felt
the door. He pushed it open, and they both stumbled into the
deserted corridor, blinking in the light.
 Sean cupped Janet's face in his hands. "I'm sorry," he said.
    "Life is never boring with you," Janet said. "But it wasn't
your fault. Besides, we made it. Let's get out of here."
Sean kissed the end of her nose. "My feelings exactly."
Mild concern they would have trouble finding their way to
the elevators proved unwarranted. In minutes the two were
climbing into Sean's 4x4 and heading out of the parking lot.
    "What a relief," Janet said. "Do you have any idea what
happened in there?"
    "I don't," Sean said. "It was so weird. It was like it was
staged to scare us to death. Maybe there's some troll living in
the basement who does that to everyone."
    As they were about to exit the parking area, Sean put on
the brake suddenly, enough to make Janet reach out to support
herself against the dash.
  "What now?" she asked.
    Sean pointed. "Look what we have here. How convenient,"
he said. "That brick building is the medical examiner's office.
I had no idea it was so close. It must be fate telling us that
Helen's body is over there. What do you say?"
    "I'm not wild about the idea," Janet admitted. "But as long
as we're here..."
  "That's the ticket," Sean said.
    Sean parked in visitor parking, and they entered the modem
building. Inside they approached an information desk. A cor-
dial black woman asked if she could be of assistance.

203

      Sean told her that he was a medical student and Janet was
a nurse. He asked to speak with one of the medical examiners.
  "Which one?" the receptionist asked.
  "How about the director?" Sean suggested.
      "The chief is out of town," the receptionist said. "How
about the deputy chief?."  "Perfect," Sean said.
    After a short wait they were buzzed through an inner glass
door and directed to a comer office. The deputy chief was Dr.
John Stasin. He was about Sean's height but of slight build.
He seemed genuinely pleased that Sean and Janet had stopped
by.
    "Teaching is one of our major functions," he said proudly.
"We encourage the professional community to take an active
interest in our work."
    "We're interested in a specific patient," Sean said. "Her
name is Helen Cabot. She died this afternoon in the Miami
General emergency room."
    "Name doesn't ring a bell," Dr. Stasin said. "Just a minute.
Let me call downstairs." He picked up the phone, mentioned
Helen's name, nodded, and said "yeah" a few times, then
hung up. It all happened extremely rapidly. It was apparent
that grass did not grow under Dr. Stasin's feet.
    "She arrived a few hours ago," Dr. Stasin said. "But we
won't be posting her."
  "Why not?" Sean asked.
    "Two reasons," Dr. Stasin said. "First, she had docu-
mented brain cancer which her attending physician is willing
to aver as the cause of death. Second, her family has expressed
strong feelings against our posting her. In this kind of circum-
stance we feel it is better not to do it. Contrary to popular
opinion, we're receptive to the family's wishes unless, of
course, there is evidence of foul play or a strong suggestion
that the public weal would be served by an autopsy."
    "Is there a chance of getting any tissue samples?" Sean
asked.
    "Not if we don't do the autopsy," Dr. Stasin said. "If we
did, the tissues removed would be available at our discretion.

204

But since we're not posting the patient, property rights rest
with the family. Besides, the body has already been picked up
by the Emerson Funeral Home. It's on its way to Boston some-
time tomorrow."
 Sean thanked Dr. Stasin for his time.
    "Not at all," he said. "We're here every day. Give a call
if we can help."
    Sean and Janet retraced the route to the car. The sun was
setting; rush hour was in full swing.
  "Surprisingly helpful individual," Janet said.
    Sean only shrugged. He leaned his forehead against the
steering wheel.
    "This is depressing," he said. "Nothing seems to be going
our way."
    "If anyone should be melancholy it should be me," Janet
reminded him, noting how glum he'd suddenly become.
    "It's an Irish trait to be melancholy," Sean said. "So don't
deny me. Maybe these difficulties we're having are trying to
tell me something, like I should be heading back to Boston to
do some real work. I never should have come down here."
    "Let's go get something to eat," Janet said. She wanted to
change the subject. "We could go back to that Cuban restau-
rant on the beach."
  "I don't think I'm hungry," Sean said.
    "A little arroz con pollo will make all the difference in the
world," Janet said. "Trust me."

TOM WIDDICOMB had every light on in the house despite the
fact that it wasn't even dark outside. But he knew it would be
dark soon, and the idea terrified him. He did not like the dark.
Even though it was hours after the terrible episode in the Mi-
ami General morgue he was still shaking. His mother had done
something similar to him once when he was about six. He'd
gotten irritated at her when she said he couldn't have any more
ice cream, and he'd threatened to tell the teacher at school that
they slept together unless she gave him more. Her response
had been to shut him in a closet overnight. It had been Tom's

205

worst experience. He'd been afraid of both the dark and closets
ever since.
    Tom had no idea how the lights had gone off in the morgue
except that when he had finally found the door and pushed it
open, he'd practically collided with a man dressed in a suit
and tie. Since Tom had still had the gun in his hand, the man
had backed away, giving Tom the opportunity to bolt down
the corridor. The man had given chase, but Tom bad lost him
easily in the network of tunnels, corridors, and connecting
rooms he knew so well. By the time Tom exited from an
isolated basement door with outside steps leading to the park-
ing area, the man was nowhere in sight.
    Still panicked, Tom had run to his car, started it, and had
headed toward the parking area exit. Fearing that whoever had
chased him in the basement might have somehow gotten out
faster than he, Tom had been watchful as he drove, and since
the parking lot was not busy at that time, he'd seen the green
Mercedes almost immediately.
    Passing his intended exit, Tom had gone to another one that
was seldom used. When the green Mercedes had followed suit,
Tom was convinced he was being followed. Consequently, he
concentrated on losing the car in the afternoon rush hour.
Thanks to a traffic light and a few cars that had come between
them, Tom had been able to speed away. He had driven aim-
lessly for half an hour just to make sure he was no longer being
followed. Only then did he return home.
    "You never should have gone into Miami General," Tom
said, lambasting himself for his mother's benefit. "You should
have stayed outside, waited, and followed her home." Tom still had no idea where Janet lived.
    "Alice, talk to me!" he shouted. But Alice wasn't saying
a word.
    All Tom could think to do was wait until Janet got off work
on Saturday. Then he'd follow her. He'd be more careful.
Then he'd shoot her.
  "You'll see, Mom," Tom said to the freezer. "You'll see."

206                                                                                                      207

JANET HAD been right, although Sean wasn't about to admit
it. What had especially perked him up were the tiny cups of
Cuban coffee. He'd even tried what the people at the neigh-
boring table had done. He'd drunk them like shots of alcohol,
letting the mouthful of strong, thick, sweet fluid fall into his
stomach in a bolus. The taste had been intense and the mild
euphoria almost immediate.
    The other thing that had helped Sean out of his dejected
mood was Janet's positive attitude. Despite her difficult day
and the episode at Miami General, she'd found the stamina to
remain upbeat. She reminded Sean that they were doing rather
well for only two days' effort. They had the thirty-three charts
of the previous medulloblastoma patients and she'd managed
to get two vials of the secret medicine. 'q think that's pretty
good progress," Janet said. "At this rate we're sure to get to
the bottom of the Forbes success in treating these people.
Come on, cheer up! We can do it!"
    Janet's enthusiasm and the caffeine finally combined to win
Sean over.
    "Let's find out where this Emerson Funeral Home is lo-
cated," he said.
  "Why?" Janet asked, leery of such a suggestion.
    "We can do a drive-by," Sean said. "Maybe they're work-
ing late. Maybe they give out samples."
    The funeral home was on North Miami Avenue near the
city cemetery and Biscayne Park. It was a well-cared-for two-
story Victorian clapboard structure with dormers. It was
painted white with a gray slate roof and was surrounded on
three sides by a wide porch. It gave the impression that it had
been a private home.
    The rest of the neighborhood was not inviting. The imme-
diately adjacent buildings were constructed of concrete block.
There was a liquor store on one side and a plumbing supply
store on the other. Sean parked directly in front in a loading
zone.
    "I don't think they're open," Janet said, gazing up at the
building.
  "Lots of lights," Sean said. All the ground-floor lights were

on except for the porch lights. The second floor was com-
pletely dark. "I think I'll give it a try."
    Sean got out of the car, climbed the steps, and rang the bell.
When no one answered, he looked into the windows. He even
looked into some of the side windows before he came back
to the car and got in. He started the engine.  "Where are we going now?" she asked.
    "Back to the Home Depot," Sean said. 'q need some more
tools."
  'q don't like the sound of this," Janet said.
"I can drop you off at the apartment," Sean suggested.
Janet was silent. Sean drove first to the apartment out on
Miami Beach. He pulled over to the curb and stopped. They
hadn't spoken en route.
  "What exactly are you planning to do?" she asked at last.
    "Continue my quest for Helen Cabot," Sean said. 'q won't
be long."
    "Are you planning on breaking into that funeral home?"
Janet asked.
    "I'm going to 'ease in,'" Sean said. "That sounds better.
I just want a few samples. If worse comes to worst, how bad
is it? She's already dead."
    Janet hesitated. At that point she had the door open and one
foot out. As crazy as Sean's plan was, she felt responsible to
a degree. As Sean had already pointed out several times, this
whole venture had been her idea. Besides, she thought she'd
go crazy sitting in the apartment waiting for him to return.
Pulling her foot back into the car, Janet told Sean that she'd
changed her mind and that she'd go along.
  "I'm coming as a voice of rationality," she said.
  "Okay by me," Sean said equably.
    At Home Depot Sean bought a glass cutter, a suction device
for lifting large pieces of glass, a sheet rock knife, a small
hand-held jigsaw, and a cooler. After that he stopped at a 7-
Eleven where he bought ice for the cooler and a few cold
drinks. Then he drove back to the Emerson Funeral Home and
parked again in the loading zone.


208                                                                                                                                  209

    "I think I'll wait here," Janet said. "By the way, I think
you're crazy."
    "You're entitled to your opinion," Sean said. "I'd rather
think of myself as determined."
    "A cooler and cold drinks," Janet commented. "It's as if
you think you're going on a picnic."
  "I just like to be prepared," Sean said.
    Sean hefted his pack of tools and the cooler and went up
onto the funeral home porch.
    Janet watched him check the windows. Several cars drove
by in both directions. She was amazed at his sangfroid. It was
as if he believed himself to be invisible. She watched as he
went to a side window toward the back and put down his sack.
Bending over, he took out some of the tools.
    "Damn it all!" Janet said. With irritation she opened the
door, climbed the funeral home's front steps, and walked
around to where Sean was busily working. He'd attached the
suction device to the window.
    "A change of heart?" Sean asked without looking at Janet.
He ran the glass cutter deftly around the perimeter of the win-
dow.
    "Your lunacy floors me," Janet said. "I can't believe
you're doing this."
    "Brings back fond memories," Sean said. With a decisive
tug, he pulled a large segment of the window glass out and
!aid it on the porch planking. After leaning inside, he told Janet
that the alarm was a simple sash alarm which was what he'd
guessed.
    Sean reached in with his tools and the cooler and set them
on the floor. After stepping through the window himself, he
leaned back out.
    "If you're not coming in, it would be better if you waited
in the car," he said. "A beautiful woman hanging around on
a funeral home porch at this hour might attract some attention.
This might take me a few minutes if I find Helen's body."
    "Give me a hand!" Janet said impulsively as she tried to
follow Sean's easy step through the window.
  "Watch the edges!" Sean warned. "They're like razors."

    Once Janet was inside, Sean hefted the tools and handed
the cooler to Janet.
"Nice of them to leave the lights on for us," he said.
The two big rooms in the front were viewing rooms. The
room they'd entered was a casket display room with eight
caskets exhibited. Their lids were propped open. Across a nar-
row hall was an office. In the rear of the house, extending
from one side to the other was the embalming room. The win-
dows were covered with heavy drapes.
    There were four stainless steel embalming tables. Two were
occupied by shrouded corpses. The first was a heavyset
woman who looked lifelike enough to be asleep except for the
large Y-shaped, crudely sutured incision on the front of her
torso. She'd been autopsied.
 Moving to the second body, Sean lifted the sheet.
 "Finally," Sean said. "Here she is."
    Janet came over and mentally prepared herself before look-
ing. The sight was less disturbing than she'd imagined. Like
the other woman, Helen Cabot appeared in sleep-like repose.
Her color was better than it had been in life. Over the last few
days she'd become so pale.
      "Too bad," Sean commented. "She's already been em-
balmed. I'll have to forgo the blood sample."  "She appears so natural," Janet said.
    "These embalmers must be good," Sean said. Then he
pointed to a large glass-fronted metal cabinet. "See if you can
find me some needles and a scalpel."  "What size?"
    "I'm not choosy," Sean said. "The longer the needle the
better."
    Sean plugged in the jigsaw. When he tried it, it made a
fearful noise.
    Janet found a collection of syringes, needles, even suture
material, and latex rubber gloves. But no scalpels. She brought
what she'd found over to the table.
    "Let's get the cerebrospinal fluid first," Sean said. He
pulled on a pair of the gloves.
 He had Janet help roll Helen onto her side so that he could


210                                                                                                                                211

insert a needle in the lumbar area between two vertebrae.
    "This will only hurt for a second," Sean said as he patted
Helen's upturned hip.
    "Please," Janet said. "Don't joke around. You'll only upset
me more than I already am."
    To Sean's surprise he got cerebrospinal fluid on the first try.
He'd only performed the maneuver on living patients a couple
of times. He filled the syringe, capped it, and put it on the ice
in the cooler. Janet let Helen roll back supine.
    "Now for the hard part," he said, coming back to the em-
balming table. "I'm assuming you've seen an autopsy."
     Janet nodded. She'd seen one but it had not been a pleasant
experience. She braced herself as Sean prepared.
  "No scalpels?" he asked.
  She shook her head.
    "Good thing I got this Sheetrock knife," Sean said. He
picked up the knife and extended the blade. Then he ran it
around the back of Helen's head from one ear to the other.
Grasping the top edge of the incision, Sean yanked. With the
kind of ripping sound of a weed being uprooted, Helen' s scalp
pulled away from her skull. Sean pulled it all the way down
over Helen's face.
    He palpated the craniotomy hole on the left side of Helen's
skull that had been done at the Boston Memorial, then looked
for the one on the right, the one done at Forbes two days
previously.
    "That's weird," he said. "Where the hell is the second
craniotomy hole?"
    "Let's not waste time," Janet said. Although she'd been
nervous when they had entered, her anxiety was steadily in-
creasing with each passing minute.
    Sean continued to look for the second craniotomy hole, but
finally gave up.
      Picking up the jigsaw, he looked at Janet. "Stand back.
Maybe you don't want to watch. This isn't going to be pretty."
  "Just do it," Janet said.
    Sean pushed the jigsaw blade into the craniotomy hole he'd
found and turned the saw on. It bit into the bone and almost

yanked itself out of his hands. The job would not be as easy
as Sean had envisioned.
"You have to steady the head," Sean told Janet.
Grasping either side of Helen's face, Janet vainly tried to
keep the head from jerking from side to side as Sean struggled
to hold the bucking jigsaw. With great difficulty he managed
to saw off a skull cap of bone. He had intended to keep the
blade depth equal to the thickness of the skull, but it had been
impossible. The saw blade had dug into the brain in several
places, shredding the surface.
    "This is disgusting," Janet said. She straightened up and
brushed herself off.
    "It's not a bone saw," Sean admitted. "We had to impro-
vise."
    The next part was almost as difficult. The Sheetrock knife
was much larger than a scalpel, and Sean had difficulty in-
serting it below the brain to cut through the spinal cord and
cranial nerves. He did the best he could. Then, inserting his
hands on either side within the skull, he grasped the mutilated
brain and yanked it out.
    After taking the cold drinks out of the cooler, Sean dropped
the brain onto the ice. Then he popped the top on one of the
drinks and offered it to Janet. Sweat was beading his forehead.
    Janet declined. She watched as he took a long drink, shaking
her head in amazement. "Sometimes I don't believe you,"
she said.
    Suddenly they both heard a siren. Janet panicked and started
back for the display room, but Sean restrained her.
  "We have to get out of here," Janet whispered urgently.
    "No," Sean said. "They wouldn't come with a siren. It has
to be something else."
    The sound of the siren built. Janet felt her heart racing faster
and faster. Just when the siren sounded as if it were coming
into the house, its pitch abruptly changed.
 "Doppler effect," Sean said. "A perfect demonstration."
    "Please!" Janet pleaded. "Let's go. We got what you
wanted."
 "We have to clean up," Sean said, putting his drink down.


212

"This is supposed to be a clandestine operation. See if you
can find a broom or a mop. I'll put Helen back together so no
one will know the difference."
    Despite her agitation, Janet did as Sean asked. She worked
feverishly. When she was done, Sean was still suturing the
scalp back in place using subcutaneous stitches. When he was
finished, he pulled her hair over the incision. Janet was im-
pressed. Helen Cabot's body appeared undisturbed.
    They carried the tools and the cooler back to the casket
display room.
      "I'll go out first and you hand me the stuff," Sean said. He
ducked and stepped through the window. Janet handed out the things.
  "You need help?" Sean asked. His arms were full.
    "I don't think so," Janet said. Coming in had not been that
difficult.
 Sean started toward the car with his bundles.
    Janet mistakenly grasped the edge of the glass before step-
ping through. In her haste she'd forgotten Sean's earlier warn-
ing. Feeling the razor-sharp edge cut into four of her fingers,
she recoiled in pain. Glancing at her hand she saw an oozing
line of blood. She clutched her hand and silently cursed.
    Since she was on the inside now, she decided it would be
far easier and less dangerous to get out by opening the win-
dow. There was no need to risk getting cut by the glass again.
Without thinking, she undid the lock and pushed up the sash.
Immediately the alarm sounded.
    Struggling out the window, Janet ran after Sean. She got to
the car just after he'd stashed the cooler on the floor of the
back seat. In unison, they jumped into the front and Sean
started the car.
    "What happened?" he demanded as he pulled the car into
the street.
    "I forgot about the alarm," Janet admitted. "I opened the
window. I'm sorry. I told you I wasn't good at this."
    "Well, no problem," Sean said as he turned right at the
first intersection and headed east. "We'll be long gone before
anybody responds."

                                   213

    What Sean didn't see was the man who'd come out of the
liquor store. He'd responded to the alarm immediately, and
he'd seen Janet and Sean getting into the 4X4. He also got a
good look at the license plate. Returning inside his store he
wrote down the numbers before he forgot them. Then he called
the Miami police.
    Sean drove back to Forbes so that Janet could get her car.
By the time they pulled into the parking area, Janet had calmed
down to some degree. Sean stopped next to her rental car. She
opened the door and started to get out.
"Are you coming right back to the apartment?" she asked.
"I'm going to head up to my lab," Sean said. "You want
to come?"
    "I have to work tomorrow," Janet reminded him. "And
it's been a tough day. I'm exhausted. But I'm afraid to let you
out of my sight."
    "I'm not going to be long," Sean said. "Come on! There
are only a couple of things I want to do. Besides, tomorrow
is Saturday and we'll go on that little vacation I promised you.
We'll leave after you get off work."
    "Sounds like you've already decided where we'll go," Ja-
net said.
    "I have," Sean said. "We'll drive across the Everglades to
Naples. I hear it is quite a place."
    "All right, it's a deal," Janet said, closing her door. "But
tonight you have to get me home before midnight at the lat-
est."
    "No problem," Sean said as he drove around to the re-
search building side of the parking lot.

"AT LEAST the Sushita jet hasn't left Washington," Sterling
said. He was sitting in Dr. Mason's office. Wayne Edwards
was there too, as were Dr. Mason and Margaret Richmond.
"I don't believe Tanaka will make a move until the jet is here
and available," he added.
    "But you said Sean had been followed," Dr. Mason said.
"Who was following him?"

214                                                                                                      215

    "I was hoping you could enlighten us," Sterling said. "Do
you have any idea why someone would be following Mr. Mur-
phy? Wayne noticed him when we crossed the Miami River."
    Dr. Mason glanced at Ms. Richmond, who shrugged. Dr.
Mason looked back at Sterling. "Could this mystery individual
be in the employ of Tanaka?"
    'q doubt it," Sterling said. "It's not Tanaka's style. If Ta-
naka makes a move, Sean will just disappear. There won't be
any warning. It will be smooth and professional. The individ-
ual who was following Sean was disheveled. He was wearing
a soiled open-necked brown shirt and trousers. And he cer-
tainly wasn't acting like the sort of professional Tanaka would
enlist."
  "Tell me exactly what happened," Dr. Mason demanded.
    "We followed Sean and a young nurse out of the Forbes
parking area around four," Sterling said.
    "The nurse would be Janet Reardon," Ms. Richmond in-
terjected. "The two are friends from Boston."
    Sterling nodded. He motioned for Wayne to write the name
down. "We'll need to investigate her as well. It's important
to eliminate the possibility of them working as a team."
    Sterling described following Sean to Miami General and his
instructions to Wayne to follow the unknown man in brown
if he came out first.
    Dr. Mason was surprised to learn that Sean and his nurse
friend had headed to the morgue. "What on earth were they
doing there?"
    "That was something else I was hoping you could tell us,"
Sterling said.
    "I can't imagine," Dr. Mason said, shaking his head. He
again looked at Ms. Richmond. She shook her head as well.
    "When the mysterious man entered the morgue behind Sean
Murphy and Miss Reardon," Sterling continued, "I only got
a quick glimpse. But it was my impression he was holding a
gun. That later proved to be correct. At any rate I was con-
cerned for Mr. Murphy's safety, so I rushed to the morgue
door only to find it locked."
  "How dreadful," Ms. Richmond said.

    "There was only one thing I could do," Sterling said. "I
turned off the lights."
"That's a nice touch," Dr. Mason said. "Good thinking."
"I'd hoped the people within wouldn't hurt each other until
I could conceive of a way to get the door open," Sterling said.
"But there was no need. The man in brown apparently has a
strong phobia of the dark. Within a short time he burst from
the room significantly distraught. It was then that I saw the
gun clearly. I gave chase, but unfortunately I was attired in
leather-soled shoes, which put me at a distinct disadvantage
to his running shoes. Besides, he seemed entirely familiar with
the terrain. When it was clear that I'd lost him, I returned to
the morgue. By then Sean and Miss Reardon had already de-
parted as well."
    "And Wayne followed the man in brown?" Dr. Mason
asked.
  "He tried," Sterling said.
    'q lost him," Wayne admitted. "It was rush hour, and I
was unlucky."
    "So now we have no idea where Mr. Murphy is," Dr. Ma-
son moaned. "And we have a new worry about an unknown
assailant."
    "We have a colleague of Mr. Edwards watching the Forbes
residence for Sean's return," Sterling said. "It is important
we find him."
 The phone on Dr. Mason's desk rang. Dr. Mason answered
it.
    "Dr. Mason, this is Juan Suarez in security," the voice at
the other end told him. "You asked me to call if Mr. Sean
Murphy appeared. Well, he and a nurse just came in and went
up to the fifth floor."
    "Thank you, Juan," Dr. Mason said with relief. He hung
up the phone. '~Sean Murphy is safe," he reported. "He just
came into the building, probably to inject more mice. What
dedication! I tell you, I think the kid is a winner and worth
all this trouble."


216

IT WAS after ten o'clock at night when Robert Harris left Ralph
Seaver's apartment. The man had not been particularly coop-
erative. He'd resented Harris's bringing up his rape conviction
in Indiana which he'd dubbed "ancient history." Harris didn't
think much of Seaver's self-serving assessment, but he men-
tally took the man off his list of suspects the minute he laid
eyes on him. The attacker had been described as being of
medium height and medium build. Seaver was at least six-
eight and probably weighed two hundred and fifty pounds.
    Climbing into his dark blue Ford sedan, Harris picked up
the last file in his priority category. Tom Widdicomb lived in
Hialeah, not too far from where Harris was. Despite the hour,
Harris decided to drive by the man's home. If the lights were
on, he'd ring the bell. Otherwise he'd let it go until morning.
    Harris had already made several background calls regarding
Tom Widdicomb. He'd found out that the man had taken an
EMT course and had passed the exam for his license. A call
to an ambulance firm where Tom had worked didn't yield
much information. The owner of the company refused to com-
ment, explaining that the last time he talked about a former
employee the tires of two of his ambulances were slashed.
    A call to Miami General had been a bit more helpful but
not by much. A personnel officer said that Mr. Widdicomb
and the hospital had parted ways by mutual agreement. The
officer admitted he'd not met Mr. Widdicomb; he was merely
reading from the employment file.
    Harris had also checked with Glen, the housekeeping su-
pervisor at the Forbes Hospital. Glen said that Tom was de-
pendable from his point of view, but that he frequently clashed
with his colleagues. He said that Tom worked better on his
 own.
     The last call Harris had made was to a veterinarian by the
 name of Maurice Springborn. That number, however, was no
 longer in service and information did not have another num-
 ber. So all in all, Harris hadn't turned up anything incrimi-
 nating concerning Tom Widdicomb. As he drove into Hialeah
 and searched for 18 Palmetto Lane, he was not optimistic.
  "Well, at least the lights are on," Harris said as he pulled

217

over to the curb in front of an ill-kept ranch-style house. In
sharp contrast to the other modest homes in the neighborhood,
Tom Widdicomb's was lit up like Times Square on New
Year's Eve. Every light inside and outside the house was blaz-
ing brightly.
    Getting out of the car, Harris stared at the house. It was
amazing how much light emanated from it. Shrubbery three
houses away cast sharp shadows. As he walked up the drive-
way, he noticed the name on the mailbox was Alice Widdi-
comb. He wondered how she and Tom were related.
    Mounting the front steps, Harris rang the bell. As he waited he
eyed the house. It was decorated in a plain style with faded pastel
colors. The trim was badly in need of paint.
    When no one responded to the bell, Harris rang again and
put his ear to the door to make sure the bell was functioning.
He heard it clearly. It was hard to believe no one was home
with all the lights on.
    After a third ring, Harris gave up and returned to his car.
Rather than leave immediately, he sat staring at the house,
wondering what could motivate people to illuminate their
house so brightly. He was just about to start his engine when
he thought he saw some movement by the living room win-
dow. Then he saw it again. Someone in the house had defi-
nitely moved a drape. Whoever it was seemed to be trying to
catch a peek at Harris.
    Without a moment's hesitation, Harris climbed out of his
car and went back to the stoop. He leaned on the doorbell,
giving it one long blast. But still no one came.
    Disgustedly, Harris returned to his car. He used his car
phone to call Glen to see if Tom Widdicomb was scheduled
to work the next day.
    "No, sir," Glen said with his southern accent. "He's not
scheduled to work until Monday. Good thing, too. He was
under the weather today. He looked terrible. I sent him home
early."
    Harris thanked Glen before hanging up. If Widdicomb
wasn't feeling well and was home in bed, why all the lights?
Was he feeling so bad he couldn't even come to the door?


218

And where was Alice, whoever she was?
    As Harris drove away from Hialeah he pondered what he
should do. There was something weird going on at the Wid-
dicombs'. He could always go back and stake out the house,
but that seemed extreme. He could wait until Monday when
Tom showed up for work, but what about in the meantime?
Instead, he decided he'd go back the following morning to see
if he could catch a glimpse of Tom Widdicomb. Glen had said
he was of medium height and medium build with brown hair.
    Harris sighed. Sitting in front of Tom Widdicomb's house
was not his idea of a great Saturday, but he was desperate. He
felt he'd better make some headway on the breast cancer
deaths if he was interested in remaining employed at Forbes.

SEAN WAS whistling softly while he worked, the picture of
contented concentration. Janet watched from a high stool sim-
ilar to Sean's that she'd dragged over to the lab bench. In
front of him was an array of glassware.
    It was at quiet times like this that Janet found Sean so ap-
pealingly attractive. His dark hair had fallen forward to frame
his downturned face with soft ringlets, which had an almost
feminine look in stark contrast to his hard, masculine features.
His nose was narrow at the top where it joined the confluence
of his heavy eyebrows. It was a straight nose except for the
very tip where it slanted inward before joining the curve of
his lips. His dark blue eyes were fixated unblinkingly on a
clear plastic tray in his strong but nimble fingers.
    He glanced up to look directly at Janet. His eyes were bright
and shining. She could tell he was excited. At that moment
she felt inordinately in love, and even the recent episode at
the funeral home receded into her mind for the moment. She
wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her that he loved
her and wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.
    "These initial silver stain electrophoresis gels are fascinat-
ing," Sean said, shattering Janet's fantasy. "Come and look!"
    Janet pushed off her stool. At the moment she wasn't inter-
ested in electrophoresis gels, but she felt she had little choice.

                                   219

She didn't dare risk lessening his enthusiasm. Still, she was dis-
appointed he didn't sense her affectionate feelings.
    "This is the sample from the larger vial," Sean explained.
"It's a non-reducing gel so you can tell by the control that it
has only one component, and its molecular weight is about
 150,000 daltons."  Janet nodded.
    Sean picked up the other gel and showed it to her. "Now, the
medicine in the small vial is different. Here there are three sep-
arate bands, meaning there are three separate components. All
three have much smaller molecular weights. My guess is that
the large vial contains an immunoglobulin antibody while the
small vial most likely contains cytokines."  "What's a cytokine?" Janet asked.
    "It's a generic term," Sean said. He got off his own stool.
"Follow me," he said. "I've got to get some reagents."
    They used the stairs. As they walked, Sean continued to
explain. "Cytokines are protein molecules produced by cells
of the immune system. They're involved in cell-to-cell com-
munication, signaling cues like when to grow, when to start
doing their thing, when to get ready for an invasion of virus,
bacteria, or even tumor cells. The NIH has been busy growing
the lymphocytes of cancer patients in vitro with a cytokine
called interleukin-2, then injecting the cells back into the pa-
tient. In some cases they've had some good results."
    "But not as good as the Forbes with their medulloblastoma
cases," Janet said.
  "Definitely not as good," Sean said.
    Sean loaded himself and Janet with reagents from the store-
room; then they started back to his lab.
    "This is an exciting time in biological science," Sean said.
"The nineteenth century was the century for chemistry; the
twentieth century was the century for physics. But the twenty-
first century will belong to molecular biology; it's when all
three--chemistry, physics, and biology--are going to merge.
The results will be astounding, like science fiction come true.
In fact, we're already seeing it happen."
 By the time they got back in the lab Janet found herself


220

becoming genuinely interested despite the day's emotional
traumas and her fatigue. Sean's enthusiasm was infectious.
"What's the next step with these medicines?" she asked.
"I'm not sure," Sean admitted. "I suppose we should see
what kind of reaction we get between the unknown antibody
in the large vial and Helen Cabot's tumor."
    Sean asked Janet to get out some scissors and a scalpel from
a drawer near where she was standing. Sean took the cooler
over to the sink, and after putting on a pair of latex rubber
gloves, he lifted out the brain and rinsed it off. From beneath
the sink he pulled out a cutting board. He put the brain on the
board.
    "I hope I don't have trouble finding the tumor," he said.
"I've never tried to do anything like this before. Judging by
the MRI we did in Boston, her largest tumor is in the left
temporal lobe. That was the one they biopsied up there. I sup-
pose that's the one I should go after." Sean oriented the brain
so that he could determine the front from the back. Then he
made several slices into the temporal lobe.
    "I have an almost irresistible urge to joke about what I'm
doing here," he said.
    "Please don't," Janet said. It was hard for her to deal with
the fact that this was the brain of a person with whom she'd
so recently related.
    "Now this looks promising," Sean said. He spread the
edges of his most recent incision. At the base was a compar-
atively dense and more yellow-appearing tissue beating tiny
but visible cavities. "I think those spots might be areas where
the tumor outgrew its own blood supply."
     Sean asked Janet to give him a hand, so she pulled on a pair
 of the rubber gloves and held the cut edges of the brain apart
 while Sean took a sample of the tumor with the scissors.
     "Now we have to separate the cells," he said, putting the
 sample in tissue culture medium, then adding enzymes. He put
 the flask in the incubator to give the enzymes a chance to
 work.
     "Next we have to characterize this immunoglobulin," he
 said, holding up the larger of the two vials of unknowns. "And

221

to do this we have a test called ELISA where we use com-
mercially made antibodies to identify specific types of im-
munoglobulins." He placed the large vial on the countertop
and picked up a plastic plate that had ninety-six tiny circular
wells. In each of the wells he put a different capture antibody
and allowed it to bind. Then he blocked any remaining binding
sites in the wells with bovine serum albumin. Next he put a
small aliquot of the unknown in each of the wells.
    "Now I have to figure out which antibody has reacted to
the unknown," he said, washing each of the wells to rid them
of any of the unknown immunoglobulin that hadn't reacted.
"We do this by adding to each well the same antibody that
was originally in the well, only this time tagged with a com-
pound that's enzymatically capable of yielding a colored re-
action." This last substance had the characteristic of turning
a pale lavender.
    The whole time Sean was doing this test, he kept up a run-
ning explanation for Janet. She'd heard of the test but had
never seen it performed.
    "Bingo!" Sean said when one of the many wells turned the
appropriate color to match controls he'd set up in sixteen of
the end wells. "The unknown is no longer an unknown. It's
a human immunoglobulin called IgGl."
  "How did Forbes make it?" Janet asked.
    "That's a good question," Sean said. "I'd guess by mono-
clonal antibody technique. Although it is not out of the ques-
tion to make it by recombinant DNA technology. The problem
there is that it's a big molecule."
    Janet had a vague idea of what Sean was talking about and
had definitely become interested in the process of figuring out
what these unknown medicines were, but suddenly her phys-
ical exhaustion could no longer be ignored. Glancing at her
watch she could understand why. It was almost midnight.
    Feeling ambivalent about interrupting Sean's enthusiasm
which she'd been trying hard to bolster, she reached out and
grasped his arm. He was holding a Pasteur pipette. He'd
started ELISA plates for the second unknown.
  "Do you have any idea of the time?" she asked.


222

Sean glanced at his watch. "My word, time does fly when
you're having a good time."
    "I've got to work tomorrow," she said. "I've got to get
some sleep. I suppose I could go back to the apartment by
myself."
    "Not at this hour," Sean said. "Just let me finish what I'm
doing here, then I want to run a quick immuno-fluorescence
test to see the level of reaction between the IgGl and Helen's
tumor cells. I'll use an automatic diluter. It will only take a
few minutes."
    Janet reluctantly agreed. But she couldn't sit on a stool any
longer. Instead she dragged out an armchair from the glass-
enclosed office. Less than half an hour later, Sean's enthusi-
asm went up another notch. The ELISA test on the second
unknown had identified three cytokines: interleukin-2, which
as he explained to Janet was a T lymphocyte growth factor;
tissue necrosis factor alpha, which was a stimulant for certain
cells to kill foreign cells like cancer cells; and interferon
gamma, which was a substance that seemed to help activate
the entire immune system.
    "Aren't the T cells the ones that disappear in AIDS?" Janet
asked. She was having progressive difficulty staying awake.
    "Right on," Sean said. He was now holding a number of
slides on which he'd run fluorescence antibody tests at differ-
ent dilutions of the unknown immunoglobulin. Slipping one
of the very high dilution slides under the objective of the flu-
orescein scope, Sean put his eyes to the eyepiece.
    "Wow!" he exclaimed. "The intensity of this reaction is
unbelievable. Even at a one to ten thousand dilution this IgGl
antibody reacts with the tumor four plus. Janet, come and take
a look at this!"
    When Janet didn't respond, Sean looked up from the eye-
pieces Of the binocular scope. Janet was slouched in the chair.
She'd fallen fast asleep.
     Seeing Janet sleeping, Sean immediately felt guilty. He
 hadn't considered how exhausted she must be. Standing up
 and stretching his tired arms, he stepped over to Janet and
 looked down at her. She seemed particularly angelic in her

223

repose. Her face was framed by her fine blond hair. Sean felt
an urge to kiss her. Instead, he gently shook her shoulder.
  "Come on," he whispered. "Let's get you to bed."
    Janet was already buckled in Sean's car when her sleepy
mind reminded her she'd brought her own car that morning.
She mentioned it to Sean.
  "Are you in any condition to drive?" Sean asked.
    She nodded. "I want my car," she said, leaving no room
for discussion.
    Sean pulled around to the hospital and let her out. Once she
had her car started, he let her lead the way. And as they pulled
out into the street, Sean was too intent on Janet to notice the
dark green Mercedes which slowly began to follow them both
without the benefit of its headlights.


7

   March 6
Saturday, 4:45 A.M.

As soon as Sean's eyes fluttered open, he was instantly
awake. He couldn't wait to get to the lab to unravel more of
the medulloblastoma mystery cure. The little work that he'd
been able to do the night before had merely whetted his ap-
petite. Despite the early hour, he slipped out of bed, showered,
and dressed.
    When Sean was ready to leave for the lab he tiptoed back
into the dark bedroom and gently nudged Janet. He knew
she'd want to sleep until the last possible moment but there
was something he wanted to tell her.
    Janet rolled over and groaned: "Is it time to get up al-
ready?"
    "No," Sean whispered. "I'm off to the lab. You can go
back to sleep for a few minutes. But I wanted to remind you
to pack some things for our overnight trip to Naples. I want
to leave this afternoon when you get off work."
    "Why do I have the feeling you have some ulterior motive
in this?" Janet asked, rubbing her eyes. "What's with Na-
ples?"
    "I'll tell you on our way there," Sean said. "If we leave
from the Forbes we'll beat the traffic out of Miami. Don't pack
a lot of stuff. All you'll need is something for dinner tonight,
a bathing suit, and jeans. One other thing," Sean added, lean-
ing over her.
  Janet looked into his eyes.

224

"I want you to get some of Louis Martin's medicine this
morning," he said.
    Janet sat up. "Great!" she exclaimed sarcastically. "How
do you expect me to do that? I told you how hard it was to
get Helen's samples."
    "Calm down," Sean said. "Just give it a try. It could be
important. You said that you thought the medicine all came
from a single batch. I want to prove it's impossible. I don't
need a lot, and just some from the larger vial. Even a few cc's
will do."
    "They control the medicine more carefully than a nar-
cotic," Janet complained.
    "What about diluting it with saline?" Sean suggested.
"You know, the old trick of putting water in your parents'
liquor bottles. They're not going to know the concentration
changed."
    Janet thought about the suggestion. "You think it could hurt
the patient?"
    "I can't see how," Sean said. "More than likely it's de-
signed with a wide safety margin."
    "All right, I'll try," Janet said with reluctance. She hated
being deceptive and devious with Marjorie.
    "That's all I can ask," Sean said. He kissed her on the
forehead.
    "Now I can't get back to sleep," she complained as Sean
headed for the door.
    "We'll be sure to get lots of sleep over the weekend," he
promised.
    As Sean made his way out to his 4X4 there was only a
slight hint of dawn in the eastern sky. To the west the stars
twinkled as if it were still the middle of the night.
    Pulling away from the curb, he was already preoccupied
with the work ahead in the lab and oblivious to his surround-
ings. Once again he failed to notice the dark green Mercedes
as it too pulled out into the light traffic several cars behind.
    Inside the Mercedes Wayne Edwards was dialing his car
phone, calling Sterling Rombauer at the Grand Bay Hotel in
Coconut Grove.

226                                                                                                           227

 A sleepy Sterling picked up on the third ring.
    "He's left the lair and is heading west," Wayne said. "Pre-
sumably to Forbes."
    "Okay," Sterling said. "Stay with him. I'll join you. I was
just informed a half an hour ago that the Sushita jet is winging
south at this very moment."
  "Sounds like game time," Wayne said.
  "That's my assumption," Sterling said.

ANNE MURPHY was depressed again. Charles had come home,
but he'd only stayed one night. And now that he was gone,
the apartment seemed so lonely. He was such a pleasure to be
with, so calm and so close to God. She was still in bed, won-
dering if she should get up, when the front door buzzer
sounded.
    Anne reached for her plaid robe and headed for the kitchen.
She wasn't expecting anyone, but then she hadn't been ex-
pecting the two callers inquiring about Scan, either. She re-
membered her promise not to talk to any strangers about Scan
or Oncogen.
    "Who is it?" Anne asked, pressing the talk button of her
intercom.
  "Boston police," a voice replied.
    A shiver went down Anne's spine as she buzzed the door
open. She was sure this visit meant Scan had reverted to his
old ways. After quickly brushing out her hair, she went to the
door. A man and a woman were standing there, dressed in
Boston police uniforms. Anne had never seen either of them
before.
    "Sorry to bother you, ma'am," the female officer said. She
held up her identification. "I'm Officer Hallihan and this is
Officer Mercer."
    Anne was clutching the lapels of her robe, holding it closed.
The police had come to the door a number of times when Scan
had been a teenager. This visit brought back bad memories.
  "What's the problem?" Anne asked.

     "Are you Anne Murphy, mother of Sean Murphy?" Officer
 Hallihan asked.
  Anne nodded.
    "We're here at the request of the Miami police," Officer
Mercer said. "Do you know where your son Sean Murphy is
currently?"
     "He's at the Forbes Cancer Center in Miami," Anne said.
 "What's happened?"
  "We don't know that," Officer Hallihan said.
  "Is he in trouble?" Anne asked, afraid to hear the answer.
    "We really have no information," Officer Hallihan said.
"Do you have an address for him there?"
    Anne went to the telephone table in the hall, copied down
the address of the Forbes residence, and gave it to the police.
    "Thank you, ma'am," Hallihan said. "We appreciate your
cooperation."
    Anne closed the door and leaned against it. In her heart, she
knew that what she'd feared had happened: Miami had been
the bad influence she'd suspected; Sean was in trouble again.
    As soon as she thought she was composed enough, Anne
called Brian at home.
      "Sean's in trouble again," she blurted when Brian an-
swered. Tears came as soon as she got the words out.
  "Mom, try to control yourself," Brian said.
  "You have to do something," Anne said between sobs.
    Brian got his mother to calm down enough to tell him what
had happened and what the police had said.
    "It's probably some traffic violation," Brian said. "He
probably drove over someone's lawn, something like that."
    'q think it's worse," Anne sniffled. "I know it is. I can
feel it. That boy will be the death of me."
    "How about if I come over?" Brian said. "I'll make some
calls in the meantime and check it out. I bet it's something
minor."
  "I hope so," Anne said as she blew her nose.
    While Anne waited for Brian to drive over from Marlbor-
ough Street, she dressed and began putting her hair up. Brian
lived across the Charles River in Back Bay, and since it was

228

Saturday with no traffic, he was there in half an hour. When
he buzzed to let her know he was on his way up, Anne was
putting in the last of her hairpins.
    "Before I left my apartment I put in a call to a lawyer
colleague in Miami by the name of Kevin Porter," Brian told
his mother. "He works for a firm we do business with in the
Miami area. I told him what had happened, and he said he had
an in with the police and could find out what's going on."
  "I know it's bad," Anne said.
    "You don't know it's bad!" Brian said. "Now don't get
yourself all worked up. Remember last time you ended up in
the hospital."
    The call from Kevin Porter came within minutes of Brian's
arrival.
    "I'm afraid I don't have great news for you," Kevin said.
"A liquor store owner got your brother's tag leaving the scene
of a burglary."
    Brian sighed and looked at his mother. She was sitting on
the very edge of a straight-backed chair with her hands clasped
together in her lap. Brian was furious with Sean. Didn't he
ever consider the effects of his escapades on their poor
mother?
      "It's a weird story," Kevin continued. "It seems that a dead
body was mutilated and, you ready for this...?"  "Let me have the whole story," Brian said.
    "Somebody stole the brain out of the body," Kevin said.
"And this body wasn't some derelict. The deceased was a
young woman whose father is some business bigwig up there
in Beantown."
  "Here in Boston?"
    "Yup, and there's a big ruckus down here because of his
connections," Kevin said. "Pressure is being put on the police
to do something. The state's attorney has drawn up a list of
charges a mile long. The medical examiner who looked at the
body guessed the skull had been opened with a jigsaw."
     "And Sean's 4x4 was seen leaving the scene?" Brian
 asked. He was already trying to think of a defense.
  "Afraid so," Kevin said. "Plus one of the medical exam-

229

iners says your brother and a nurse were at the medical ex-
anliner's office only a few hours before asking about the same
body. Seems they wanted samples. Looks like they got them.
Obviously the police are looking for your brother and the
nurse for questioning and probably arrest."
    "Thanks, Kevin," Brian said. "Let me know where you'll
be today. I might need you, especially if Sean is arrested."
    "You can reach me all weekend," Kevin said. "I'11 leave
word at the station to call me if your brother is picked up."
    Brian slowly replaced the receiver and looked at his mother.
He knew she wasn't ready for this, especially since she
thought Sean was alone in Sodom and Gomorrah.
      "Do you have Sean's phone numbers handy?" he asked.
He tried to keep the concern out of his voice. Anne got them for him without speaking.
    Brian called the residence first. He let it ring a dozen times
before giving up. Then he tried calling the Forbes Cancer Cen-
ter research building. Unfortunately all he got was a recording
saying that the switchboard was open Monday through Friday,
eight until five.
    Picking the phone back up decisively, he called Delta Air-
lines and made a reservation on the noon flight to Miami.
Something strange was going on, and he thought he'd better
be there in the thick of things.
  "I was right, wasn't I?" Anne said. "It's bad."
    "I'm sure it's all some misunderstanding," Brian said.
"That's why I think I should go down there and clear things
up."
  "I don't know what I did wrong," Anne said.
  "Mother," Brian said. "It's not your fault."

HIROSHI GYUHAMA'S stomach was bothering him. His nerves
were on edge. Ever since Sean had frightened him in the stair-
well, he'd been reluctant to spy on the man. But this morning
he'd had no choice. He checked on Sean as soon as he saw
the 4x4 in the parking lot so early in the day. When he saw

230

that Sean was feverishly working in his lab, Hiroshi returned
to his office.
    Hiroshi was doubly upset now that Tanaka Yamaguchi was
in town. Hiroshi had met him at the airport two days earlier
and had driven him to the Doral Country Club where he
planned to stay and play golf until the final word came from
Sushita.
    The final word had come late Friday night. After reviewing
Tanaka's memorandum, the Sushita board had decided that
Sean Murphy was a risk to the Forbes investment. Sushita
wanted him in Tokyo forthwith where they would "reason"
with him.
    Hiroshi was not at all comfortable around Tanaka. Knowing
of the man's associations with the Yakusa made Hiroshi ex-
tremely wary. And Tanaka gave subtle hints that he did not
respect Hiroshi. He'd bowed when they met, but he hadn't
bowed very low, and not for very long. Their conversation on
the way to the hotel had been inconsequential. Tanaka did not
mention Sean Murphy. And once they arrived at the hotel,
Tanaka had ignored Hiroshi. Worst of all he did not invite
Hiroshi to play golf.
    All these slights were painfully obvious to Hiroshi; the im-
plications were clear.
    Hiroshi dialed the Doral Country Club Hotel and asked to
speak with Mr. Yamaguchi. He was transferred to the club-
house since Mr. Yamaguchi had scheduled a tee time in twenty
minutes.
    Tanaka came on the line. He was particularly curt when he
heard Hiroshi's voice. Speaking in rapid Japanese, Hiroshi got
directly to the point.
    "Mr. Sean Murphy is here at the research center," Hiroshi
said.
    "Thank you," Tanaka said. "The plane is on its way. All
is in order. We will be at Forbes this afternoon."

SEAN HAD started the morning off in high spirits. After the
initial ease of identifying the immunoglobulin and the three

                                   231

cytokines, Sean had expected just as rapid progress in deter-
mining exactly what kind of antigen the immunoglobulin re-
acted to. Since it reacted so strongly with the tumor cell
suspension, he reasoned that the antigen had to be membrane-
based. In other words, the antigen had to be on the surface of
the cancer cells.
    To assure himself of this assumption as well as confirm that
the antigen was at least partially a peptide, Sean had treated
intact cells from Helen's tumor with trypsin. When he tried to
see if these digested cells reacted with the immunoglobulin,
he quickly learned they did not.
    But from that moment on, Sean had run into trouble. He
could not characterize this membrane-based antigen. His idea
was to try innumerable known antigens and see if they reacted
with the antigen binding portion of the unknown immuno-
globulin. None reacted. Using literally hundreds of cell lines
grown in tissue culture, he spent hours filling the little wells,
but he got no reaction. He was particularly interested in cell
lines whose origins were from neural tissues. He tried normal
cells and transformed or neoplastic cells. He tried digesting all
the cells with detergents in increasing concentration, first to
open the cell membranes and expose cytoplasmic antigens,
then to open nuclear membranes to expose nuclear antigens.
Still nothing reacted. There wasn't a single episode of im-
munofluorescence in any of hundreds of tiny wells.
    Sean couldn't believe how difficult it was turning out to be
to find an antigen to react with the mysterious immunoglob-
ulin. So far he hadn't even gotten a partial reaction. Just when
he was losing patience, the phone rang. He walked to a wall
extension to answer it. It was Janet.
  "How's it going, Einstein?" she asked brightly.
  "Terrible," Sean said. "I'm not getting anywhere."
    "I'm sorry to hear that," Janet said. "But I've got some-
thing that might brighten your day."
    "What?" Sean asked. At the moment he couldn't imagine
anything except the antigen he was seeking. But Janet cer-
tainly wouldn't be able to supply that.

232

    "I got a sample of Louis Martin's large vial medicine,"
Janet said. "I used your idea."
  "Great," Sean said without much enthusiasm.
    "What's the matter?" Janet questioned. "I thought you'd
be pleased."
    "I am pleased," he said. "But I'm also frustrated with the
stuff I have; I'm at a loss."
    "Let's meet so I can give you this syringe," Janet said.
"Maybe you need a break."
    They met as usual in the cafeteria. Sean took advantage of
the time to get something to eat. As before, Janet passed Sean
the syringe under the table. He slipped it into his pocket.
    "I brought my overnight bag, as requested," she said, hop-
ing to lighten Sean's mood.
  Sean merely nodded as he ate his sandwich.
    "You seem a lot less excited about our trip than you did
this morning," Janet commented.
    "I'm just preoccupied," Sean said. "I never would have
guessed I'd not find some antigen that would react with the
mysterious immunoglobulin."
    "My day hasn't been so great either," Janet said. "Gloria
is no better. If anything, she's a little worse. Seeing her makes
me depressed. I don't know about you, but I'm really looking
forward to getting away. I think it will do us both some good.
Maybe a little time away from the lab will give you some
ideas."
  "That would be nice," Sean said dully.
    "I'll be off sometime around three-thirty," Janet said.
"Where shall we meet?"
    "Come over to the research building," Sean said. "I'11 meet
you downstairs in the foyer. If we leave from that side, we'll
miss the shift-change crowd in the hospital."
  "I'11 be there with bells on," Janet said brightly.

STERLING REACHED over the seat and nudged Wayne. Wayne,
who'd been sleeping in the back, sat up quickly.
  "This looks promising," Sterling said. He pointed through

233

the windshield at a black stretch Lincoln Town Car that was
parking at the curb midway between the hospital building and
the research building. Once the car stopped, a Japanese man
got out of the rear and gazed up at the two buildings.
    "That's Tanaka Yamaguchi," Sterling said. "Can you tell
how many people are in the limousine with your glasses?"
    "It's difficult to see through the tinted windows," Wayne
said, using a small pair of binoculars. "There's a second man
sitting in the back seat. Wait a sec. The front door is opening
as well. I can see two more. That's four people total."
    "That's what I'd expect," Sterling said. 'q trust that they're
all Japanese."
  "You got it, man," Wayne said.
    "I'm surprised they're here at Forbes," Sterling said. "Tan-
aka's preferred technique is to abduct people in an isolated
location so there will be no witnesses."
    "They'll probably follow him," Wayne suggested. "Then
just wait for the right spot."
    "I imagine you are right," Sterling said. He saw a second
man get out of the limousine. He was tall compared to Tanaka.
"Let me have a look with those binoculars," Sterling said.
Wayne passed them over the seat. Sterling adjusted the focus
of the glasses and studied the two Orientals. He didn't rec-
ognize the second one.
    "Why don't we go over there and introduce ourselves?"
Wayne suggested. "Let them know this is a risky operation.
Maybe they'd give up the whole plan."
    "That would only serve to alert them," Sterling said. "It's
better this way. If we announce ourselves too soon they'll
merely operate more clandestinely. We have to catch them in
the act so we have something we can use to bargain with
them."
  "It seems like such a cat-and-mouse game," Wayne said.
  "You are absolutely correct," Sterling said.

ROBERT HARRIS had been sitting in his car a few doors down
from Tom Widdicomb's home on Palmetto Lane in Hialeah

234

since early that morning. Although he'd been there for over
four hours, Harris had seen no sign of life except that the lights
had all gone out. Once he thought he saw the curtains move
the way they had the night before, but he couldn't be certain.
He thought maybe in his boredom his eyes were playing tricks
on him.
    Several times Harris had been on the verge of giving up.
He was wasting too much valuable time on one individual who
was suspicious only because of a career switch, the fact that
he kept all his lights on, and because he wouldn't answer his
doorbell. Yet the idea that the attack on the two nurses could
be related to the cancer patient episodes gnawed at Harris.
With no other current ideas or leads, he stayed where he was.
    It was just after two P.M., and just when Harris was about
to leave to deal with hunger and other bodily needs, that he
first saw Tom Widdicomb. The garage door went up, and there
he was, blinking in the bright sunlight.
    Physically, Tom fit the bill. He was of medium height and
medium build with brown hair. His clothes were mildly di-
sheveled. His shirt and pants were unpressed. One sleeve of
his shirt was rolled up to mid-forearm, the other was down
but unbuttoned. On his feet were old, lightweight running
shoes.
    There were two cars in the garage: a huge, vintage lime
green Cadillac convertible and a gray Ford Escort. Tom started
the Ford with some difficulty. Once the engine caught, black
smoke billowed out of the exhaust as if the car had not been
started for some time. Tom backed it out of the garage, closed
the garage door manually, then got back into the Escort. When
he pulled out of the driveway, Harris let him build up a lead
before following.
    Harris did not have any preconceived plan. When he first
saw Tom the moment the garage door opened, he considered
getting out of the car and having a conversation with the man.
But he'd held back, and now he was following him for no
specific reason. But soon it became apparent where Tom was
headed, and Harris got progressively interested. Tom was
heading for the Forbes Cancer Center.

235

    When Tom entered the parking lot, Harris followed but pur-
posefully turned in the opposite direction to avoid Tom's no-
ticing him. Harris stopped quickly, opened the door, and stood
on the running board as he watched Tom cruise around the
parking lot and finally stop near the entrance to the hospital.
    Harris got back into his car and worked his way closer,
finding a vacant spot about fifty feet from the Escort. What
was going through his mind was the possibility that Tom Wid-
dicomb might be stalking the second nurse to be attacked,
Janet Reardon. If that were true, perhaps he'd been the one
who had attacked her, and if he had, maybe he was the breast
cancer patients' killer.
    Harris shook his head. It was all so conjectural, with so
many "ifs" and so contrary to the way he liked to think and
act. He liked facts, not vague suppositions. Yet this was all
he had for the moment, and Tom Widdicomb was acting
strange: staying in a house with every light on; hiding out most
of the day; now loitering in the hospital parking area on his
day off, especially when he was supposed to be home sick.
As ridiculous as it all might have sounded from a rational point
of view it was enough to keep Harris sitting in his car wishing
he'd had the foresight to bring sandwiches and Gatorade.

WHEN SEAN returned from his meeting with Janet, he changed
the direction of his investigations. Instead of attempting to
characterize the antigenic specificity of Helen Cabot's medi-
cine, he decided to determine exactly how Louis Martin's
medicine differed from hers. A rapid electrophoresis of the
two showed them to be of approximately the same molecular
weight, which he'd expected. An equally rapid ELISA test
with the anti-human immunoglobulin IgG1 confirmed it was
the same class of immunoglobulins as Helen's. He'd also ex-
pected that.
    But then he discovered the unexpected. He ran a fluores-
cence antibody test with Louis Martin's medicine with Helen's
tumor and got just as strong a positive reaction as he'd gotten
with Helen's medicine! Even though Janet believed that the

236

medicines came from the same source, Sean did not believe
they could be the same. From what he knew about the anti-
genic specificity of cancers and their antibodies, it was ex-
tremely improbable. Yet now he was faced with the fact that
Louis's medicine reacted with Helen's tumor. He almost
wished he could get his hands on Louis's biopsy just so he
could run it against Helen's medicine to confirm this baffling
finding.
    Sitting at the lab bench, Sean tried to think what to do next.
He could subject Louis Martin's medicine to the same battery
of antigens he'd tried with Helen's medicine, but that would
probably be futile. Instead, he decided to characterize the an-
tigenic binding areas of the two immunoglobulins. Then he
could compare their amino acid sequences directly.
    The first step of this procedure was to digest each of the
immunoglobulins with an enzyme called papain to split off the
fragments that were associated with antigen binding. After the
splitting, Sean separated these segments, then "unfolded" the
molecules. Finally, he introduced these compounds into an au-
tomated peptide analyzer that would do the complicated work
of sequencing the amino acids. The machine was on the sixth
floor.
    Sean went to the sixth floor and primed the automated in-
struments. There were a few other researchers working that
Saturday morning, but Sean was too engrossed in his work to
start any conversations.
    Once the analyzer was prepared and set to run, Sean re-
turned to his lab. Since he had more of Helen's medicine than
he did of Louis' s, he used hers to continue trying to find some-
thing that would react with its antigen binding area. He tried
to think what kind of surface antigen could be on her tumor
cells and reasoned that it was probably some kind of glyco-
protein that formed a cellular binding site.
    That was when he thought of the Forbes glycoprotein that
he had been trying to crystallize.
    As he had been doing with numerous other antigen candi-
dates, he tested the reactivity of the Forbes glycoprotein with
Helen's medicine using an immunofluorescence test. Just as

                                   237

he was scanning the plate for signs of reactivity, which he
didn't see, he was startled by a husky female voice.
  "Exactly what are you doing?"
    Sean turned to see Dr. Deborah Levy standing directly be-
hind him. Her eyes sparkled with a fierce intensity.
    Sean was taken completely by surprise. He'd not even taken
the precaution of coming up with a convincing cover story for
all his immunological testing. He hadn't expected anyone to
interrupt him on Saturday morning, particularly not Dr. Levy;
he didn't even think she was in town.
    "I asked a simple question," Dr. Levy said. "I expect an
answer."
    Sean looked away from Dr. Levy, his eyes sweeping over
the mess of reagents on the lab bench, the profusion of cell
culture tubes, and the general disarray. He stammered, trying
to think up some reasonable explanation. Nothing came to
mind except the crystal work he was supposed to be doing.
Unfortunately that had nothing to do with immunology.
  "I'm trying to grow crystals," Sean said.
      "Where are they?" Dr. Levy asked evenly. Her tone indi-
cated she would take some convincing.  Sean didn't answer right away.
  "I'm waiting for an answer," Dr. Levy said.
  "I don't know exactly," Sean said. He felt like a fool.
    "I told you I run a tight ship here," Dr. Levy said. "I have
a feeling you didn't take my word."
  "I did," Sean hastened to say. "I mean, I do."
    "Roger Calvet said you haven't been by to inject any more
of your mice," Dr. Levy said.
  "Yes, well..." Sean began.
    "And Mr. Harris said he caught you in our maximum con-
tainment area," Dr. Levy interrupted. "Claire Barington said
she told you specifically that area was closed."  "I just thought..." Sean started to say.
    "I let you know from the start that I did not approve of
your coming here," Dr. Levy said. "Your behavior thus far
has only confirmed my reservations. I want to know what you
are doing with all this equipment and expensive reagents. One


238

doesn't use immunologic materials to grow protein crystals."
    "I'm just fooling around," Sean said lamely. The last thing
he wanted to admit was that he was working on medulloblas-
toma, particularly after he'd been forbidden access.
    "Fooling around!" Dr. Levy repeated contemptuously.
"What do you think this place is, your personal playground?"
Despite her dark complexion, color rose in her cheeks. "No
one does any work around here without submitting a formal
proposal to me. I'm in charge of research. You are to work
on the colonic glycoprotein project and on that alone. Do I
make myself clear? ! want to see defractable crystals by next
week."
"Okay," Sean said. He avoided looking at the woman.
Dr. Levy stayed for another minute, as if to make sure her
words had sunk in. Sean felt like a child caught red-handed
in a naughty act. He didn't have a thing to say for himself.
His usual talent for witty retort had momentarily abandoned
him.
    At long last, Dr. Levy stalked out of the lab. Silence re-
turned.
    For a few minutes Sean merely stared at the mess in front
of him without moving. He still had no idea where the crystal
work was. It had to be there someplace, but he didn't make
any move to find it. He simply shook his head. What a ridic-
ulous situation. His sense of frustration came back in a rush.
He'd really had it with this place. He never should have
come--and never would have had he known the Forbes Cen-
ter's terms. He should have left in protest as soon as he'd been
informed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from using
his hand to sweep the countertop of all the glassware, pipettes,
and immunologic reagents and allow them to smash to the
floor.
    Sean looked at his watch. It was just after two in the after-
noon. "The hell with it all," he thought. Gathering up the
immunoglobulin unknowns, he stashed them in the back of
the refrigerator along with Helen Cabot's brain and the sample
of her cerebrospinal fluid.
 Sean grabbed his jean jacket and headed for the elevators,

                                   239

leaving behind the mess he'd created.
    Emerging into the bright, warm Miami sunshine, Sean felt
a bit of relief. Tossing his jacket into the back seat of his 4X4,
he climbed in behind the wheel. The engine roared to life. He
made it a point to burn a little rubber as he exited the parking
area and sped south toward the Forbes residence. He was so
wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn't notice the stretch limo
pull out after him, bumping its undercarriage on the dip as it
struggled to keep Sean in sight, nor did he spot the dark green
Mercedes tailing the limo.
    Sean sped back to his apartment, slammed the car door with
extra force, and kicked the front door of the residence shut.
He was in a foul mood.
    Going into his apartment, he heard the door across the hall
open. It was Gary Engels dressed in his usual jeans without a
shirt.
    "Hey, man," Gary said casually, leaning against the door
jamb. "You had some company earlier."
  "What kind of company?" Sean asked.
    "The Miami police," Gary said. "Two big burly cops came
in here nosing around, asking all sorts of questions about you
and your car."
  "When?" Sean asked.
    "Just minutes ago," Gary said. "You could have passed
them in the parking lot."
    "Thanks," Sean said. He went into his apartment and
closed the door, irritated anew with another problem. There
was only one explanation for the police's visit: someone had
noted his license plate after the funeral home alarm went off.
    The last thing Sean wanted now was a hassle with the po-
lice. He grabbed a small suitcase and filled it with a dop kit,
underwear, a bathing suit, and shoes. In his garment bag he
packed a shirt, tie, slacks, and a jacket. In less than three
minutes he was headed back down the stairs.
    Before stepping out of the building he looked to see if there
were any police cars, marked or otherwise. The only vehicle
that looked out of place was a limousine. Confident the cops
wouldn't be coming after him in a limo, Sean made a dash


240

for his 4x4, then headed back to the Forbes Cancer Center.
En route he stopped to use a pay phone.
    The idea the police were looking for him bothered Sean
immensely. It brought back bad memories of his unruly youth.
Parts of his brief life of petty crime had been exhilarating, but
his brushes with the judicial system had only been tedious and
disheartening. He never wanted to get bogged down in that
bureaucratic quagmire again.
    The first person Sean thought to call after hearing about the
police was his brother Brian. Before Sean spoke to any police,
he wanted to speak to the best lawyer he knew. He hoped his
brother would be home. He usually was on Saturday after-
noon. But instead of Brian he got Brian's answering machine
with its inane message complete with background elevator mu-
sic. Sometimes Sean wondered how they could have grown
up in the same house.
    Sean left a message saying that it was important that they
talk, but that he couldn't leave a number. He said he'd call
later. Sean would try again once he got to Naples.
    Returning to his car, Sean sped back toward the Forbes. He
wanted to be sure to be at their appointed meeting place when
Janet got off work.

8

    March 6
Saturday, 3:20 P.M.

By three-twenty when the last details of report were being
given, Janet fell asleep. She'd been exhausted when Sean had
awakened her that morning, but after a shower and coffee,
she'd felt reasonably good. She'd needed more coffee midway
through the morning and then again early in the afternoon.
She'd done well until she'd sat down for report. As soon as
she was stationary, her fatigue became overpowering, and she
embarrassed herself by nodding off. Marjorie had to give her
a nudge in the ribs.
    "You look like you're burning the candle at both ends,"
Marjorie said.
    Janet merely smiled. Even if she could tell Marjorie all
she'd been up to the previous afternoon and evening, she
doubted Marjorie would have believed her. In fact, she wasn't
sure she believed it herself.
    As soon as report was over, Janet got her things together
and crossed over to the Forbes research building. Sean was
sitting in the foyer reading a magazine. He smiled as soon as
he saw her. She was glad to see his mood had improved since
they'd met in the cafeteria.
    "You ready for our little trip?" Sean asked, getting to his
feet.
    "Couldn't be more ready," Janet said. "Although I would
like to get this uniform off and take a shower."
"The uniform we can handle," Sean said. "There's a la-

241

dies' room right here in the foyer where you can change. The
shower will have to wait, but beating the traffic is worth the
sacrifice. Our route will take us right by the airport, and I'm
sure there's traffic there every afternoon."
    "I was only kidding about the shower," Janet said. "But I
will change."
    "Be my guest," Sean said. He pointed to the ladies' room
door.

TOM WIDDICOMB had his hand in his pants pocket clutching
his pearl-handled "Saturday night special" revolver. He'd
been standing off to the side of the hospital entrance watching
for Janet Reardon to emerge. He thought that there might be
a chance he could shoot her as she got into her car. In his
mind's eye he saw himself walk up just as she got in behind
the wheel. He'd shoot her in the back of the head and keep
walking. With all the clutter and confusion of people and cars
and the noise of car engines starting, the sound of the gun
would be lost.
    But there was one problem. Janet had not appeared. Tom
had seen other familiar faces, including nurses from the fourth
floor, so it was not as if report had held her up.
    Tom looked at his watch. It was three-thirty-seven, and the
mass exodus of the day shift had slowed to a trickle. Most
people had now left, and Tom was confused and frantic; he
had to find her. He'd made the effort to be sure she was work-
ing, but where was she?
    Pushing off from where he'd been leaning against the build-
ing, Tom walked around the edge of the hospital and headed
in the direction of the research building. He could see the
walkway spanning the two structures. He wondered if she
could have crossed and exited on the research side.
    He was midway between the two buildings when the sight
of a long black limousine gave him pause. Tom figured that
some celebrity was being treated in the outpatient department.
It had happened before.
  Scanning the parking lot in a wide arc, Tom nervously tried

to think what he should do. He wished he knew what kind of
car Janet drove because then he'd know if she'd slipped away
or not. If she had, there was a big problem. He knew she was
scheduled to be off the next day, and unless he found out
where she lived, she'd be inaccessible for the rest of the week-
end. And that was trouble. Without some kind of definitive
information, Tom hated the thought of going home to a silent
house. Alice hadn't spoken to him all night.
    Tom was still trying to figure out what to do when he saw
the black 4x4 he'd followed the day before. He started mov-
ing toward it for a closer look when suddenly, there she was!
She'd just exited the research building.
    Tom was relieved to see her at last but chagrined that she
was not alone. Accompanying her was the same man she'd
been with the previous afternoon. Tom watched as they
walked toward the 4~4. She was carrying an overnight bag.
Tom was about to sprint back to his car when he saw that
they weren't climbing into the Isuzu. Instead they merely got
out an additional suitcase and a garment bag.
    Tom knew that shooting Janet in the parking lot was out of
the question now that the day shift had left. Besides, being
with someone meant he'd have to shoot both if he didn't want
to leave a witness.
    Tom started back for his car, keeping an eye on the couple
as he did. By the time he got to his Escort, Janet and Sean
had arrived at a red Pontiac rent-a-car. Tom got into his car
and started it while he watched Janet and Sean put their bags
in the Pontiac's trunk.

ROBERT HARRIS had been watching every move Tom Wid-
dicomb made. He'd seen Sean and Janet before Tom had, and
when Tom initially didn't react, Harris had been disappointed,
thinking that his whole "house of cards" theory was in error.
But then Tom had spotted them and had scurried back to his
Escort. In response Hams started his own car and drove out
of the parking lot, thinking and hoping that Tom intended to
follow Janet. At the comer of Twelfth Street he pulled over


244

to the side of the road. If he were correct, Tom would soon
be exiting, and Harris's suspicion would be significantly re-
inforced.
    Presently Sean and Janet drove by and turned north to cross
the Miami River. Then, just as Harris expected, Tom came
and turned in the same direction. Only a black limo separated
Tom from his apparent quarry.
    "This is looking more and more interesting," Harris said
to himself as he started to pull out. Behind him a horn blasted
and Harris jammed on his brakes. A big green Mercedes
missed him by inches.
    "Damn!" Harris growled. He didn't want to lose Tom Wid-
dicomb and had to tromp on the gas pedal to catch up. He
was determined to follow the man to see if he made any overt
threatening gestures toward Janet Reardon. If he did, then Har-
ris would nail him.
    Harris was content until Tom turned west instead of east on
the 836 East-West Expressway. As he passed Miami Interna-
tional Airport, then merged with Florida's Turnpike heading
south, Harris realized this was going to be a far longer trip
than he'd anticipated.

"I DON'T like this," Sterling said as they exited Florida's
Turnpike at Route 41. "Where are these people going? I
wanted them to go home or stay in crowds."
    "If they turn west up here at the next intersection, they're
on their way into the Everglades," Wayne said. He was doing
the driving. "Either that or they're heading across Florida.
Route 41 cuts through the Everglades from Miami to the Gulf
Coast."
  "What's on the Gulf Coast?" Sterling asked.
    "Not much, in my book," Wayne said. "Nice beaches and
good weather, but it's subdued. Naples is the first real town.
There are also a couple of islands like Marco and Sanibel.
Mostly it's condo heaven with a lot of retirees. Pretty low-
key, but high end. You can spend millions for a condo in
Naples."

 245

    "Looks like they're turning west," Sterling said, his eyes
on the limousine ahead of them. They were following Tanaka,
not Sean, assuming Tanaka would keep Sean in sight.
  "What's between here and Naples?" Sterling asked.
    "Not a lot," Wayne said. "Just alligators, saw grass, and
Cypress swamp."
    "This is making me very nervous," Sterling said. "They're
playing directly into Tanaka's hands. Let's hope they don't
stop in some isolated pull-out."
    Sterling glanced to the right and did a double-take. In the
blue sedan alongside them was a familiar face. It was Robert
Harris, head of security at Forbes. Sterling had just been in-
troduced to the man the previous day.
    Sterling pointed Harris out to Wayne and explained who he
was. "This is a disturbing complication," he said. "Why
would Mr. Harris be following Sean Murphy? Chances are
he'll only serve to make this situation significantly more dif-
ficult than it need be."
  "Would he know about Tanaka?" Wayne asked.
    'q cannot imagine he would," Sterling said. "Dr. Mason
would not be so foolish."
    "Maybe he's got a crush on the chick," Wayne offered.
"Maybe he's following Reardon, not Murphy."
    Sterling sighed. "It's disconcerting how quickly an opera-
tion can go awry. A minute ago I was confident we would be
able to control the course of events since we had the infor-
mational edge. Unfortunately, I no longer believe that. I'm
beginning to have that uncomfortable feeling that chance will
become a major factor. Suddenly there are too many varia-
bles."

BRIAN HADN'T checked any luggage. He'd simply brought a
carry-on and his briefcase. After getting off the plane he went
directly to the Hertz counter. After a short ride on the Hertz
shuttle bus he found his rental car in the lot: a cream-colored
Lincoln Town Car.
 Armed with a detailed street map of Miami, Brian first


246                   ROBIN            COOK                                                                                                          247

drove south to the Forbes residence. He'd tried calling Sean's
number several times from the airport in Boston, but there
hadn't been any answer. Concerned, he'd called Kevin from
the plane, but Kevin had assured him that the police had not
yet picked Sean up.
    At the Forbes residence, Brian knocked on Sean's door, but
there was no response. Hoping Sean would soon return, Brian
left him a note saying that he was in town and would be
staying at the Colonnade Hotel. Brian jotted down the hotel's
phone number. Just as he was slipping the note under Sean's
door, the door opposite opened.
    "You looking for Sean Murphy?" a shirtless young man in
jeans asked.
    "Yes," Brian said. He then introduced himself as Sean's
brother.
    Gary Engels introduced himself. "Sean was here this after-
noon around two-thirty," he said. "I told him the police had
been here looking for him so he didn't stay long."
  "Did he say where he was going?" Brian asked.
    "Nope," Gary said. "But he took a suitcase and a garment
bag with him when he left."
    Brian thanked Gary, then returned to his rental car. The idea
of Sean leaving with luggage did not sound promising. Brian
only hoped his brother wasn't dumb enough to be trying to
make a run for it. Unfortunately, with Sean, anything was
possible.
    Brian headed for the Forbes Cancer Center. Although the
switchboard was closed, Brian thought that the building itself
would be open, and it was. He went into the foyer.
    "I'm looking for Sean Murphy," he told the guard. "My
name is Brian Murphy. I'm Sean's brother from Boston."
    "He's not here," the guard said with a heavy Spanish ac-
cent. He consulted a log in front of him. "He left at two-
twenty. He came back at three-oh-five, but left again at
three-fifty."
    "Do you have any way to get in touch with him?" Brian
asked.
  The guard consulted another book. "He's staying at the

Forbes residence. Would you like that address?"
    Brian told the guard he already had that information and
thanked him. He walked outside and got back into his car,
wondering what he should do. He questioned the wisdom of
his coming to Miami without having spoken to Sean first and
wondered where his brother could be.
    Deciding to check into his hotel, Brian started his car and
made a U-turn to head out of the parking lot. In the process
he spotted a black Isuzu that looked suspiciously like Sean's.
Steering closer to it, he noticed that the plates were from Mas-
sachusetts. Putting his Lincoln in park, Brian hopped out to
peer into the 4x4. It was Sean's, all right. The interior was
filled with his fast-food wrappers and empty foam cups.
    It seemed odd that Sean would leave it parked in the hos-
pital lot. Going back into the building, Brian mentioned the
car's presence to the guard and asked if he could account for
it. The guard simply shrugged his shoulders.
      "Is there any way to get in touch with the director of the
Center before Monday?" Brian asked.  The guard shook his head.
    "If I were to leave my name and hotel number," Brian said,
"would you call your supervisor and ask if he could pass it
on to the director of the Center?"
    The guard nodded agreeably and even got out a pen and
paper for Brian to write on. Brian wrote the note quickly, then
handed it to the guard along with a five-dollar bill. The guard's
face lit up with a big smile.
    Brian returned to his car, drove to his hotel, and checked
in. Once in his room, the first thing he did was call Kevin to
give him the number. Kevin again assured him there'd been
no arrest.
    Brian then called Anne to reassure her that he'd gotten to
Miami safely. He admitted he'd not yet spoken with Sean but
expected to do so soon. He gave her his number at the hotel
before hanging up.
    After speaking with his mother, Brian kicked off his shoes
and opened his briefcase. If he was stuck in a hotel room, at
least he could get some work done.


248

"THIS IS more like the scenery I expected to see in South
Florida," Sean said. They had finally left civilization behind.
The four-lane highway lined with strip malls and condomini-
ums had given way to a two-lane road slicing straight across
the Everglades.
    "It's breathtakingly beautiful," Janet said. "It looks almost
prehistoric. I half expect to see a brontosaurus rise up from
one of these ponds," she added with a laugh.
    They were cruising past oceans of saw grass interspersed
with hummocks of pine, palm, and cypress. Exotic birds were
everywhere. Some were ghostly white, others iridescent blue.
Huge cumulus clouds billowed in the distance, looking whiter
than usual against the intense blue sky.
    The drive had done much to help calm Janet. She was glad
to be leaving Miami and her patients behind. With Sean driv-
ing, she had her shoes off and her bare feet planted on the
dash. She was dressed in her most comfortable pair of jeans
with a simple white cotton shirt. For work she'd had her hair
tied back, but she'd taken it down as soon as they'd pulled
out of the Forbes lot. With all the car windows rolled down,
it was blowing free.
    The only problem was the sun. Since they were heading due
west, bright sunlight was streaming through the windshield
with a vengeance. Both Sean and Janet were wearing their
sunglasses, and they had tilted the sun visors in an attempt to
keep their faces shaded from the harsh rays.
    "I think I'm beginning to understand Florida's attraction,"
Janet said, the sun notwithstanding.
  "It makes winter in Boston seem extra cruel," Sean said.
    "How come you didn't want to take your Isuzu?" Janet
asked.
  "There's a little problem with my car," Sean said.
  "What kind of problem?" Janet asked.
  "The police are interested in talking to its owner."
    Janet took her feet down from the dash. "I don't think I
like what I'm heating," she said. "What's with the police?"

249

     "The police came to the Forbes residence," Sean said.
 "Gary Engels talked with them. I think someone got the tag
 number from my license plate after the alarm went off at the
 funeral home."
     "Oh, no!" Janet exclaimed. "Then the police are looking
 for us."
"Correction," Sean said. "They're looking for me."
"Oh, God!" Janet said. "If someone saw the license plate
then they saw both of us." She closed her eyes. This was the
kind of nightmare she'd feared.
    "All they have is a tag number," Sean said. "That's hardly
evidence."
  "But they can get our fingerprints," Janet said.
    Sean shot her a look of mild disdain. "Be serious," he said.
"They're not about to send a team of crime scene investigators
out to dust the site over a broken window and a cadaver's
missing brain."
    "How do you know?" Janet shot back. "You're no law
enforcement expert. I think we should turn ourselves in to the
police and explain everything."
    Sean gave a scornful laugh. "Please! We're not giving our-
selves up. Don't be ridiculous. Remember, they're looking for
me. They want to talk with me. If worse comes to worst, I'll
take the rap. But it's not going to come to that. I put in a call
to Brian. He knows people in Miami. He'll fix it."  "Did you speak to Brian?" Janet asked.
    "No, not yet," Sean admitted. "But I left a message on his
answering machine. When we get to the hotel, I'll try again
and leave the hotel number if he's still not in. By the way,
did you bring your credit card?"
  "Of course I brought my credit card," Janet said.
    "Thank heaven for your trust fund," Sean said. He reached
over and gave Janet's knee a playful slap. "I made a reser-
vation at the Ritz Carlton. The Quality Inn was full."
    Janet stared out the passenger-side window, wondering what
she was doing with her life. It had nothing to do with the
credit card issue. She didn't mind picking up the tab every
now and again. Sean was generous with his money when he

25O

had it, and she had more than enough. What bothered her was
the fact that they were wanted by the police. It was gallant of
Sean to offer to take the rap alone, but Janet knew she couldn't
let him do it even if it did fly, which it probably wouldn't.
Whoever had seen that license plate had seen her too. Falling
in love with Sean seemed to be bringing her nothing but grief,
first emotionally and now potentially professionally. She
wasn't sure how the Forbes Center would react to having a
nurse on staff who was charged with God knows what in con-
nection with a funeral home break-in. She couldn't think of
too many employers who would view that kind of record as a
plus.
    Janet was on the verge of panic, yet there was Sean, as calm
and cocky as ever. He really seemed to be enjoying himself.
How he could be so cool and collected knowing the Miami
police were searching for him was beyond her. She wondered
if she would ever truly understand him.
    "What's the story with Naples, Florida?" Janet asked, de-
ciding to change the subject. "You said you'd explain once
we were on our way."
    "Very simple," Sean said. "One of the patients from that
group of thirty-three lives in Naples. His name is Malcolm
Betencourt."
    "One of the medulloblastoma patients in remission?" Janet
asked.
      "Yup," Sean said. "One of the first to be treated. He's
been in remission for almost two years."
  "What do you plan to do?"
  "Call him up."
  "And say what?"
    "I don't know exactly," Sean said. "I'11 have to improvise.
I think it would be interesting to hear about the Forbes treat-
ment from the patient's point of view. I'm especially curious
as to what they told him. They had to have told him something
just to get the informed consent forms signed."
  "What makes you think he'll talk to you?" Janet asked.
  "How could he resist my Irish charm?" Sean said.

251

     "Seriously," Janet said. "People don't like to talk about
 their infirmities."
     "Infirmities, perhaps," Sean admitted. "But recovery from
 an otherwise terminal illness is something else. You'd be sur-
 prised. People love to talk about that kind of thing and the
 world-famous doctor who made it happen. Have you ever
 noticed how people like to think their doctor is world famous,
 even if he practices someplace like Malden or Revere?"
    "I think you have a lot of chutzpah," Janet said. She wasn't
convinced that Malcolm Betencourt would be receptive to
Sean's call, but she also knew she wouldn't be able to do
anything to prevent Sean from trying. Besides, except for this
new worry about the Miami police, the idea of a weekend
away was still delicious, even if Sean had an ulterior aim in
mind. She even thought that she and Sean might finally have
a moment to talk about their future. After all, aside from Mal-
colm Betencourt, she'd have Sean to herself without interrup-
tion.
    "How did you make out with the sample of Louis Martin's
medicine?" Janet asked. She thought she'd keep the conver-
sation light until they got to dinner. She could imagine a can-
dlelight dinner on a terrace overlooking the sea. Then she'd
talk about commitment and love.
    Sean flashed Janet a look of frustration. "I was interrupted
by the charming head of research," he said. "She read me the
riot act and told me I had to go back to the Forbes glycoprotein
baloney. She really caught me off guard; for once words failed
me. I couldn't think of anything clever to say."  "I'm sorry," Janet said.
    "Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later," Sean said.
"But even before the harpy showed up I wasn't doing that
great. I haven't been able to get Helen's medicine to react
with any antigen, cellular, vital, or bacterial. But you must be
right about the medicine all coming from a single batch. I ran
a sample of Louis's medicine against Helen's tumor and it
reacted just as strongly at the same dilutions as Helen's."
    "So they use the same medicine," Janet said. "What's the
big deal? When people are treated with an antibiotic, they all


252                                                                           T E R M I NAL                              253

get the same drug. Labeling the drug for each patient is prob-
ably more a matter of control than anything else."
    "But cancer immunotherapy is not comparable to antibiot-
ics," Sean said. "Like I said before, cancers are antigenically
distinct, even the same type of cancer."
    "I thought one of the tenets of scientific reasoning involved
the issue of an exception," Janet said. "If an exception is
found to a hypothesis then one is forced to reconsider the
original hypothesis."
    "Yeah, but..." Sean said, but he hesitated. Janet was mak-
ing good sense. The fact was that Forbes was getting one
hundred percent remission, apparently with medication that
was not individualized. Sean had seen that success docu-
mented in the thirty-three cases. Therefore, there had to be an
error in his insistence on the immunological specificity of can-
cer cells.
  "You have to admit I have a point," Janet persisted.
    "Okay," Sean said, "but I still think there's something
strange with all this. Something I'm missing."
    "Obviously," Janet said. "You don't know what antigen
the immunoglobulin reacts with. That's what's missing. Once
you figure that out maybe everything else will fall into place.
Let's see what a relaxing weekend will do for your creativity.
Maybe by Monday you'll have an idea that will get you
around this apparent roadblock."
    After passing through the heart of the Everglades, Sean and
Janet began to see signs of civilization. First there was an
isolated resort or two, then the road expanded to four lanes.
Quickly the saw grass gave way to strip malls, convenience
gas station/food stores, and miniature golf courses equally as
ugly as on the Miami side.
    "I'd heard Naples was upscale," Janet said. "This hardly
looks upscale."
"Let's hold our verdict until we get to the Gulf," Sean said.
The road suddenly turned north, and the unattractive pro-
fusion of unrestricted signs and commercial development con-
tinued.
  "How can so many strip malls survive?" Janet asked.

 "It's one of the mysteries of American culture," Sean said.
 With map in hand, Janet did the navigating. She gave Sean
plenty of warning before they had to turn left toward the water.
  "It's starting to look a bit more promising," Sean said.
  After a mile or so of more scenic vistas, the Mediterranean-
  style Ritz Carlton loomed out of the mangroves to the left of
  the road. The profusion of lush tropical plants and exotic flow-
  ers was staggering.
    "Ah, home!" Sean said as they pulled beneath the porte
cochere.
    A man in a blue morning coat and a black top hat opened
their car doors. "Welcome to the Ritz Carlton," the liveried
gentleman said.
    They entered through oversized glass doors into a haze of
polished pink marble, expansive Oriental carpets, and crystal
chandeliers. High tea was being served on the dais beneath
the huge arched windows. Off to the side was a grand piano
complete with tuxedoed pianist.
    Sean put his arm around Janet as they meandered over to
the registration desk. "I think I'm going to like this place,"
he told her.

TOM WIDDICOMB had gone through a range of emotions dur-
ing his two-hour pursuit. Initially when Janet and Sean had
headed out of town toward the Everglades, he'd been dis-
turbed. Then he'd decided it was a good thing. If they were
on some mini-vacation, they'd be lax and unsuspecting. In the
city, people were naturally more suspicious and careful. But
as one hour turned into two, and Tom began to eye his gas
gauge, he'd become angry. This woman had caused him so
much trouble, he began to wish they'd just pull over to the
side of the road. Then he could stop and shoot them both and
put an end to it all.
    As he pulled into the Ritz Carlton, he wondered if he had
any gas at all. The gauge had registered empty for the last five
miles.
 Avoiding the front entrance, Tom drove around and parked

254

in a large lot next to the tennis courts. Getting out of his car
he ran up the drive, slowing when he saw the red rental car
parked directly in front of the entrance. Clutching the handle
of the pistol in his pocket, Tom walked around the car and
fell in with a group of guests and entered the hotel. He was
afraid someone might try to stop him, but no one did. Ner-
vously, he scanned the lavish foyer. He spotted Janet and Sean
standing at the registration desk.
    With his anger giving him courage, Tom boldly walked to
the registration desk and stood next to Sean. Janet was just on
the other side of him. Being so close sent a shiver down Tom's
spine.
    "We're out of nonsmoking rooms with an ocean view," the
desk person said to Sean. She was a petite woman with large
eyes, golden hair, and the type of tan that made dermatologists
cringe.
    Sean looked at Janet and raised his eyebrows. "What do
you think?" he asked.
  "We can see how bad the smoking room is," she suggested.
    Sean turned back to the receptionist. "What floor is your
room with the ocean view?" he asked.
    "Fifth floor," the receptionist said. "Room 501. It's a beau-
tiful room."
  "Okay," Sean said. "Let's give it a try."
    Tom moved away from the registration desk, silently
mouthing "Room 501" as he headed for the elevators. He
saw a heavyset man in a business suit with a small earphone
in his ear. Tom avoided him. The whole time he kept his hand
in his pocket, clutching his pistol.

ROBERT HARMS stood by the piano racked by indecision. Like
Tom, he'd been exhilarated early in the chase. Tom's obvious
pursuit of Janet seemed to confirm his fledgling theory. But
as the procession left Miami, he'd become irritated, especially
when he too thought he might mn out of gas. On top of that,
he was starved; his last meal had been early that morning.
Now that they had made it all the way through the Everglades

255

to the Ritz Carlton in Naples, he was having doubts as to what
exactly the journey proved. It certainly was no crime to drive
to Naples, and Tom could contend he hadn't been following
anybody. Sadly, Harris had to admit that as of yet, he hadn't
come up with anything conclusive. The link between Tom and
the attack on Janet or the breast cancer patient deaths was
tenuous at best, still made up only of hypothesis and conjec-
ture.
    Harris knew he'd have to wait for Tom to make an overtly
aggressive move toward Janet, and he hoped he would. After
all, Tom's apparent interest in the nurse could be chalked up
to some crazy obsession. The woman wasn't bad. In fact she
was reasonably attractive and sexy; Harris himself had appre-
ciated that.
    Feeling distinctly out of place dressed as he was in shorts
and T-shirt, Harris skirted the piano as Tom Widdicomb dis-
appeared from view down the hallway past reception. Walking
quickly, Harris passed Janet and Sean, who were still busy
checking in.
    Up ahead, Harris could see Tom round a comer and dis-
appear from sight. Harris was about to pick up his pace when
he felt a hand grab his arm. Turning, he looked into the face
of a heavyset man with an earphone stuck in his right ear. He
was dressed in a dark suit, presumably to blend in with the
guests. He wasn't a guest. He was hotel security.
"Excuse me," the security man said. "May I help you?"
Harris cast a quick glance in the direction Tom had gone,
then looked back at the security man who still had hold of his
arm. He knew he had to think of something quickly...

"WHAT ARE we going to do?" Wayne asked. He was hunched
over the steering wheel. The green Mercedes was parked at
the curb near the main entrance to the Ritz Carlton. Ahead of
them was the limousine parked on one side of the porte co-
chere. No one had gotten out of the limousine although the
liveried doorman had spoken with the driver, and the driver
had handed him a bill, presumably a large denomination.


256                                                                 T E R M I NA L                             257

    "I truly don't know what to do," Sterling said. "My in-
tuition tells me to stay with Tanaka, but I'm concerned about
Mr. Harris's entering the hotel. I have no idea what he plans
to do."
    "Uh oh!" Wayne uttered. "More complications." Ahead
they saw the front passenger-side door of the limousine open.
An immaculately dressed, youthful Japanese man climbed out.
He placed a portable phone on top of the car, adjusted his dark
tie, and buttoned his jacket. Then he picked up the phone and
went into the hotel.
    "Do you think they might be considering killing Sean Mur-
phy?" Wayne asked. "That dude looks like a professional to
me."
    "I would be terribly surprised," Sterling said. "It's not the
Japanese way. On the other hand, Tanaka is not your typical
Japanese, especially with his connections to the Yakusa. And
biotechnology has become an extremely big prize. I'm afraid
I'm losing confidence in my ability to predict his intentions.
Perhaps you'd better follow the Japanese man inside. What-
ever you do, make sure he does not harm Mr. Murphy."
    Relieved to get out of the car, Wayne lost no time going
into the hotel.
    After Wayne slipped inside the hotel, Sterling's eyes drifted
back to the limousine. He tried to imagine what Tanaka was
thinking, what he was planning next. Absorbed by these
thoughts, he suddenly remembered the Sushita jet.
    Reaching for the car phone, Sterling called his contact at
the FAA. The contact asked him to hold while he punched the
query into his computer. After a brief pause, he came back on
the line.
  "Your bird has flown the coop," he said.
    "When?" Sterling asked. This he didn't want to hear. If
the plane was gone, Wayne might be correct. Tanaka certainly
wasn't planning on bringing Sean to Japan if he no longer had
the Sushita jet at his command.
  "It left just a short time ago," the contact said.
  "Is it going back up the east coast?" Sterling asked.
  "Nope," the contact said. "It's going to Naples, Florida.

Does that mean anything to you?"
  "Indeed it does," Sterling said with relief.
    "From there it's going to Mexico," the contact said. "That
will take it out of our jurisdiction."
  "You've been most helpful," Sterling said.
    Sterling hung up the phone. He was glad he'd called. Now
he was certain Sean Murphy was not about to be killed. In-
stead he was about to be offered a free trip across the Pacific.

"I CAN'T smell any cigarette smoke in here," Janet said as
she sniffed around the spacious room. Then she opened the
French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. "Sean, come
out here!" she called. "This is gorgeous."
    Sean was sitting on the edge of the bed reading the direc-
tions for making a long-distance call. He got up and joined
Janet on the terrace.
    The view was spectacular. A beach shaped like a scimitar
swept to the north in a gigantic arc, ending in the distance at
Sanibel Island. Directly below their terrace was the lush green-
ery of a mangrove swamp. To the south the beach ran a
straight line, eventually disappearing behind a line of high-rise
condominiums. To the west, the sun was slanting through a
sheath of red clouds. The Gulf was calm and deep green. A
few windsurfers dotted the surface, their sails offering bright
splashes of color.
    "Let's go to the beach for a swim," Janet suggested. Her
eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.
    "You're on," Sean said. "But first I want to call Brian and
Mr. Betencourt."
    "Good luck," Janet said over her shoulder. She was already
on her way inside to change.
    With Janet in the bathroom putting on her suit, Sean dialed
Brian's number. It was after six, and Sean fully expected him
to be home. It was disappointing to hear the damn answering
machine kick on and have to sit through Brian's message yet
again. After the beep Sean left the number of the Ritz and his
room number and asked his brother to please call. As an af-

258                                                                  T E R M I NAL                              259

terthought he added that it was important.
    Next, Sean dialed Malcolm Betencourt's number. Mr. Be-
tencourt himself answered on the second ring.
    Sean winged it. He explained that he was a medical student
at Harvard who was taking an elective at the Forbes Cancer
Center. He said he'd been reviewing charts of patients who'd
been on the medulloblastoma protocol and who had been do-
ing well. Having had an opportunity to review Mr. Beten-
court's chart, he'd appreciate the chance to talk to Mr.
Betencourt in person about his treatment, if that would be at
all possible.
    "Please call me Malcolm," Mr. Betencourt said. "Where
are you calling from, Miami?"
    "I'm in Naples," Sean said. "My girlfriend and I just drove
over."
    "Splendid. So you're already in the neighborhood. And
you're a Harvard man. Just the med school or undergrad too?"
    Sean explained that he was on leave from the M.D./Ph.D.
program but that he'd been an undergrad at Harvard too.
    "I went to Harvard myself," Malcolm said. "Class of '50.
I'll bet that sounds like a century ago. You play a~y sports
while you were there?"
    Sean was somewhat surprised by the direction the conver-
sation was taking, but he decided to go with it. He told Mal-
colm that he'd been on the ice hockey team.
    "I was on the crew team, myself," Malcolm said. "But it's
my time at the Forbes you're interested in, not my glory days
of youth. How long will you be in Naples?"  "Just the weekend."
    "Hang on a second, young fella," Malcolm said. In a min-
ute, he came back on the line. "How about coming over for
dinner?" he asked.
    "That's awfully kind," Sean said. "Are you sure it's not
an imposition?"
    "Hell, I already checked with the boss," Malcolm said
cheerfully. "And Harriet will be tickled to have some youthful
company. How's eight-thirty sound? Dress is casual."
  "Perfect," Sean said. "How about some directions?"

    Malcolm told Sean that he lived on a street called Galleon
Drive in Port Royal, an area just south of Naples's old town.
He then gave specific directions which Sean wrote down.
    No sooner had Sean hung up the phone than there was a
knock on the door. Sean read over the directions as he walked
to the door. Absentmindedly, he opened the door without ask-
ing who it was or looking through the security peephole. What
he didn't realize was that Janet had hooked the security chain.
When he pulled the door open, it abruptly stopped, leaving
only a two-inch crack.
    Through the crack Sean saw a momentary glint of metal in
the hand of whoever was at the door. The significance of that
glint failed to register. Sean was too embarrassed to have bun-
gled opening the door to focus on it. As soon as he reopened
the door properly, he apologized to the man standing there.
    The man, dressed in a hotel uniform, smiled and said there
was no need for an apology. He said he should apologize for
disturbing them, but the management was sending up fruit and
a complimentary bottle of champagne because of the incon-
venience of not having a nonsmoking ocean-view room.
    Sean thanked the man and tipped him before seeing him
out, then he called to Janet. He poured two glasses.
    Janet appeared at the bathroom doorway in a black one-
piece bathing suit cut high on her thighs and low in the back.
Sean had to swallow hard.
  "You look stunning," he said.
    "You like it?" Janet asked as she pirouetted into the room.
"I got it just before I left Boston."
    "I love it," Sean said. Once again he appreciated Janet's
figure, remembering it had been her figure that had first at-
tracted him to her when he'd seen her climbing down from
that countertop.
    Sean handed her a glass of champagne, explaining the man-
agement's gift.
    "To our weekend escape," Janet said, extending her glass
toward Sean.
  "Hear, hear!" Sean said, touching her glass with his.

260                                                                                                          261

    "And to our discussions this weekend," Janet added, thrust-
ing her glass at him again.
    Sean touched her glass for a second time, but his face as-
sumed a quizzical expression. "What discussions?" he asked.
      "Sometime in the next twenty-four hours I want to talk
about our relationship," Janet said.  "You do?" Sean winced.
    "Don't look so mournful," Janet said. "Drink up and get
yo~r suit on. The sun's going to set before we get out there."
    Sean's nylon gym shorts had to double as a bathing suit.
He'd not been able to find his real bathing suit when he'd
packed in Boston. But it hadn't worded him. He hadn't
planned on going to the beach much, and if he did, it would
have been just to walk and look at the girls. He hadn't planned
on going into the water.
    After they'd each had a glass of champagne, they donned
terrycloth robes provided by the hotel. As they rode down in
the elevator, Sean told Janet about Malcolm Betencourt's in-
vitation. Janet was surprised by this development, and a little
disappointed. She'd been envisioning a romantic dinner for
just the two of them.
    On the way to the beach they walked by the hotel's pool,
which was a free-form variation of a clover leaf. There were
half a dozen people in the water, mostly children. After
crossing a boardwalk spanning a narrow tongue of mangrove
swamp, they arrived at the Gulf of Mexico.
    Even at this hour, the beach was dazzling. The sand was
white and mixed with the crushed, sun-bleached remains of
billions of shellfish. Redwood beach furniture and blue canvas
umbrellas dotted the beach directly in front of the hotel.
Groups of dawdling sunbathers were scattered to the north,
but to the south, the sand was empty.
    Opting for privacy, they turned to the south, angling across
the sand to reach the apogee of the small waves as they
washed up on the beach. Expecting the water to feel like Cape
Cod in the summer, Sean was pleasantly surprised. It was still
cool, but certainly not cold.
  Holding hands, they walked on the damp, firm sand at the

water's edge. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting
a glistening path of golden light along the surface of the water.
A flock of pelicans silently glided by overhead. From the
depths of a vast mangrove swamp came the cry of a tropical
bird.
    As they walked past the beachfront condominiums just
south of the Ritz Carlton, real estate development gave way
to a line of Australian pine trees mixed with sea grapes and a
few palms. The Gulf changed from green to silver as the sun
sank below the horizon.
    "Do you honestly care for me?" Janet asked suddenly.
Since she wouldn't get a chance to talk seriously with Sean
at dinner, she decided there was no time better than the present
to at least get a discussion started. After all, what could be
more romantic than a sunset walk on the beach?
  "Of course I care for you," Sean said.
  "Why don't you ever tell me?"
  "I don't?" Sean asked, surprised.
  "No, you don't."
  "Well, I think it all the time," Sean said.
  "Would you say you care for me a lot?"
  "Yeah, I would," Sean said.
  "Do you love me, Sean?" Janet asked.
    They walked for a way in silence watching their feet press
into the sand.
  "Yeah, I do," Sean said.
  "Do what?" Janet asked.
    "What you said," Sean replied. He glanced off at the spot
on the horizon where the sun had set. It was still marked by
a fiery glow.
  "Look at me, Sean," Janet said.
 Reluctantly, Sean looked into her eyes.
  "Why can't you tell me you love me?" she asked.
  "I'm telling you," Sean said.
  "You can't say the words," Janet said. "Why not?"
    "I'm Irish," Sean said, trying to lighten the mood. "The
Irish aren't good at talking about their feelings."
  "Well, at least you admit it," Janet said. "But whether you

262

truly care for me or not is an important issue. It's futile to
have the kind of talk I want if the basic feelings aren't there."
  "The feelings are there," Sean insisted.
    "Okay, I'll let you off the hook for the moment," Janet
said, pulling Sean to a halt. "But I have to say it's a mystery
to me how you can be so expressive about everything else in
life and so uncommunicative when it comes to us. But we can
talk about that later. How about a swim?"
    "You really want to go in the water?" he asked reluctantly.
The water was so dark.
"What do you think going for a swim means?" Janet asked.
'q get the point," Sean said. "But this really isn't a bathing
suit." He was afraid that once his shorts got wet it would be
akin to wearing nothing.
    Janet couldn't believe that after they'd come this far he was
balking at going into the water because of his shorts.
    "If there's a problem," she said, "why don't you just take
them off?."
    "Listen to this!" Sean said mockingly. "Miss Proper is
suggesting I skinny-dip. Well, I'd be happy to as long as you'll
do the same."
    Sean glared at Janet in the half-light. Part of him relished
making her feel uncomfortable. After all, hadn't she just made
him squirm on this issue of expressing feelings? He wasn't
quite sure she'd rise to his challenge, but then Janet had been
surprising him a lot lately, starting with her following him to
Florida.
  "Who first?" she asked.
  "We'll do it together," he said.
    After a moment's hesitation they both peeled off their ter-
rycloth robes, then their suits, and pranced naked into the light
surf. As evening deepened toward night, they frolicked in the
shallow water, letting the miniature waves cascade over their
nude bodies. After the controlling grip of Boston winter it
seemed like the epitome of abandon, especially for Janet. To
her surprise, she was enjoying the sensation immensely.
    Fifteen minutes later they drew themselves out of the water
and rushed up the beach to gather their clothes, giggling like

263

giddy adolescents. Janet immediately began to step into her
suit, but Sean had different ideas. Grabbing her hand, he pulled
her up into the shadows of the Australian pines. After spread-
ing their robes on the sandy bed of pine needles at the edge
of the beach, they lay down in tight, joyous embrace. But it didn't last long.
    Janet was the first to sense something was wrong. Lifting
her head, she looked out at the luminous line of white sand
beach.
  "Did you hear that?" she asked.
"I don't think so," Sean replied without even listening.
"Seriously," Janet said. She sat up. "I heard something."
Before either could move, a figure stepped out of the shad-
ows enveloping the copse of pine trees. The stranger's face
was lost in shadow. All they could see clearly was the pearl-
handled gun pointed at Janet.
    "If this is your property we'll just go," Sean said. He sat
up.
    "Shut up!" Tom hissed. He couldn't take his eyes off Ja-
net's nakedness. He'd planned on stepping out of the darkness
and immediately shooting them both, but now he found him-
self hesitating. Although he couldn't see much in the half-
light, what he could see was mesmerizing. He was finding it
difficult to think.
    Sensing Tom's penetrating eyes, Janet snatched up her bath-
ing suit and pressed it against her chest. But Tom was not to
be denied. With his free hand he wrenched the suit away and
let it drop to the sand.
  "You never should have interfered," Tom snapped.
    "What are you talking about?" Janet asked, unable to take
her eyes off the gun.
    "Alice told me girls like you would try to tempt me," Tom
said.
    "Who's Alice?" Sean asked. He got to his feet. He hoped
to keep Tom talking.
    "Shut up!" Tom barked, swinging the gun in Sean's direc-
tion. He decided it was time to get rid of this guy. He extended
his arm, tightening his grip on the trigger until the gun fired.

264

    But the bullet went wide. At the exact moment Tom pulled
the trigger a second shadowy figure hurled out of the darkness,
tackling Tom, knocking him sideways a number of yards.
    The gun sprang from Tom's grip with the stranger's impact.
It fell to the ground inches from Sean's foot. With the sound
of the shot still ringing in his ears, Sean looked down at the
weapon with shock. He couldn't believe it; someone had fired
a gun at him!
    "Get the gun!" Harris managed to grunt as he wrestled with
Tom. They rolled against the trunk of one of the pine trees.
Tom momentarily broke free. He started out onto the beach,
but he only got fifty feet away before Harris tackled him again.
    Both Sean and Janet got over their initial shock and began
to react at the same moment. Janet snatched up their robes and
suits. Sean picked up the gun. They could see Harris and Tom
rolling around in the sand close to the water.
  "Let's get out of here!" Sean said urgently.
    "But who saved us?" Janet asked. "Shouldn't we help
him?"
    "No," Sean said. 'q recognize him. He doesn't need any
help. We're out of here."
    Sean grabbed Janet's reluctant hand, and together they ran
out from beneath the canopy of pine onto the beach and then
north toward the hotel. Several times Janet tried to look over
her shoulder, but each time Sean urged her on. As they neared
the hotel they stopped long enough to slip into their robes.
    "Who was that man who saved us?" Janet demanded be-
tween gasping breaths.
    "Head of security at Forbes," Sean said, equally as winded.
"His name is Robert Harris. He'll be okay. We should worry
about that other fruitcake."
  "Who was he?" Janet asked.
  "I haven't the slightest idea," Sean said.
  "What are we going to tell the police?" Janet asked.
      "Nothing," Sean said. "We're not going to the police. I
can't. They're looking for me. I can't go until I talk to Brian."
  They ran past the pool and into the hotel.
  "The man with the gun had to be associated with Forbes

265

too," Janet said. "Otherwise, the head of security wouldn't
have been here."
    "You're probably right," Sean said. "Unless Robert Harris
is after me just like the police are. He could be playing bounty
hunter. I'm sure he'd like nothing better than to get rid of
me."
    "I don't like any of this," Janet admitted as they rode up
in the elevator.
    "Me neither," Sean said. "Something weird's happening,
and we don't have a clue."
    "What are we going to do?" Janet asked. "I still think we
should go to the police."
    "First thing we're going to do is change hotels," Sean said.
'q don't like Harris knowing where we're staying. It's bad
enough he knows we're in Naples."
    Once in the room they quickly got their things together.
Janet again tried to talk Sean into going to the police, but he
adamantly refused.
    "Now here's the plan," Sean said. "I'll take the bags and
go down to the pool, then slip out by the tennis courts. You
go down to the front door, get the car, then come and pick
me up."
    "What are you talking about?" Janet demanded. "Why all
this sneaking around?"
    "We were followed here at least by Harris," Sean said. "I
want everybody to think we're still staying here."
    Janet decided it was easier just to go along with Sean. She
could tell he was in no mood to argue. Besides, he might be
right to be this paranoid.
 Sean left first with the bags.

WAYNE EDWARDS walked back to the Mercedes at a fast clip
and climbed into the passenger seat. Sterling had moved be-
hind the wheel.
    Up ahead Sterling could see the youthful Japanese man
climbing back into the limousine.
  "What's happening?" Sterling asked.

266

    "I'm not sure," Wayne said. "The Jap just sat in the foyer
and read magazines. Then the girl appeared alone. She's under
the porte cochere waiting for the car. No sign of Sean Murphy.
I bet those guys in the limo are as confused as we are."
    A parking valet drove by in the red Pontiac. He parked
under the porte cochere.
    The limousine started up, spewing a puff of black smoke
from its tailpipe.
    Sterling started the Mercedes. He told Wayne that the Su-
shita jet was on its way to Naples.
    "Not much doubt something's going to happen," Wayne
said.
    "I'm sure it will be tonight," Sterling said. "We've got to
be prepared."
    Presently the red Pontiac went by with Janet Reardon at the
wheel. Behind her came the limo. Sterling made a U-turn.
    At the base of the drive the Pontiac turned right. The limo
followed.
    "I smell a fish," Wayne said. "Something's not right with
this picture. To get to the road you have to turn left. This right
is a dead end."
    Sterling turned right to follow the others. Wayne was cor-
rect; the road dead-ended. But just before the dead end they
came to an entrance to a large parking lot that was partially
obscured by foliage. Sterling pulled in.
"There's the limo," Wayne said, pointing off to the right.
"And there's the Pontiac," Sterling said, motioning toward
the tennis courts. "And there is Mr. Murphy loading luggage
in the trunk. This is a rather unorthodox departure."
    "I suppose they think they're being clever," Wayne said,
shaking his head.
    "Maybe this move has something to do with Mr. Robert
Harris," Sterling suggested.
     They watched the red Pontiac drive by and out the exit. The
limo followed. After waiting a bit, Sterling did the same.
  "Watch for Harris's blue sedan," Sterling advised.
  Wayne nodded. "I've been watching," he assured him.
  They drove south for four or five miles, then cut west to-

267

ward the Gull Eventually they ended up on Gulf Shore Boule-
vard.
    "This area is a lot more built up," Wayne said. Either side
of the road had condominium buildings with manicured lawns
and pampered flower beds.
    They drove for a short time before they saw the red Pontiac
pull up a ramp to the first-floor entrance of the Edgewater
Beach Hotel. The limo pulled off the road but remained on
the ground level, turning in under the building. Sterling pulled
off the road and parked in a diagonal spot to the fight of the
ramp. He turned off the ignition. At the top of the ramp they
could see Sean directing the removal of their luggage from
the Pontiac's trunk.
"A nice little hotel," Wayne said. "Less ostentatious."
"I believe you'll find the facade misleading," Sterling said.
"Through some of my banking connections I've heard this
place had been purchased by a charming Swiss fellow who
added significant European elegance."
    "You think Tanaka will try to make his move from here?"
Wayne asked.
    "I believe he's hoping Sean and his companion will go out
so that he can corner them in some isolated location."
    "If I were with that chick I think I'd bolt the door and order
room service."
    Sterling picked up the car phone. "Speaking of Mr. Mur-
phy's companion, let's see what my contacts in Boston have
learned about her."


9

    March 6
Saturday, 7:50P. M.

"This is a fabulous room," Janet said as she opened the large
wooden tropical shutters.
    Sean joined her. "It looks almost as if we're cantilevered
out over the beach," he said. They were on the third floor.
The beach was illuminated all the way down to the water's
edge. A line of Hobie Cats were directly below them.
    They were both making an attempt to put the disturbing
beach experience behind them. At first Janet wanted to go back
to Miami, but Sean talked her into staying. He'd said whatever
the explanation for the episode was, at least it was now behind
them. He'd said that since they'd driven all the way over to
Naples, they should at least enjoy themselves.
    "Let's get a move on," Sean said. "Malcolm Betencourt
is expecting us in forty minutes."
    While Janet showered, Sean sat down and tried Brian one
more time. He was frustrated when he got the answering ma-
chine yet again. He left a third message instructing his brother
to disregard the previous phone number. He gave the Edge-
water Beach number and the room number, adding that he'd
be out for dinner, but to call later, no matter the time. He said
it was vitally important for them to talk.
    Sean then called the Betencourt residence to say they might
be a few minutes late. Mr. Betencourt assured him it wasn't
a problem and thanked him for calling.
  Sitting on the edge of the bed with Janet still in the shower,

268

Sean took out the pistol he'd picked up on the beach. Snapping
open the cylinder, he shook out some sand. It was an ancient
.38 Smith and Wesson detective special. There were four re-
maining cartridges. Sean shook his head when he thought how
close he'd come to being shot. He also thought about the irony
of being saved by someone he'd disliked from the moment
he'd first met him.
    Snapping the cylinder of the revolver closed, Sean put the
gun under his shirt. There had been a few too many inexpli-
cable brushes with disaster in the last twenty-four hours for
him to pass up this chance to arm himself. Sean sensed that
something bizarre was happening, and like any good medical
diagnostician, he was trying to relate all the symptoms to a
single illness. Intuitively, he felt he should keep the gun just
in case. Inwardly he was still shaking from the feeling of help-
lessness he'd had just before the gun had gone off.
    After Janet got out of the shower, Sean got in. Janet was
still complaining about not having reported the man with the
gun, and said as much as she was applying her makeup. But
Sean remained unwavering, adding that he believed Robert
Harris was fully capable of handling the situation.
    "Won't it look suspicious if we have to explain after the
fact why we didn't go to the police?" Janet persisted.
    "Probably," Sean agreed, "but it is just something else
Brian will have to handle. Let's stop talking about it for a
while and try to enjoy ourselves a little."
    "One more question," Janet said. "The man said some-
thing about my interfering. What do you think he meant?"
    Sean threw up his hands in exasperation. "The guy was
obviously crazy. He was probably in the middle of some acute
paranoid psychotic episode. How am I supposed to know what
he was talking about?"
    "All right," Janet said. "Take it easy. Did you try Brian
again?"
    Sean nodded. "The bum is still not home," he said. "But
I left this number. He'll probably call while we're at dinner."
    When they were ready to leave, Sean phoned the parking
valet to have the car brought up to the entrance. As they exited

270

the room, Sean pocketed the Smith and Wesson, unbeknownst
to Janet.
    As they drove south on Gulf Shore Boulevard, Janet finally
began to calm down. She even began to notice the surround-
ings again and to appreciate all the flowering trees. She noticed
there was no debris or graffiti or any signs of homeless people.
The problems of urban America seemed a long way from Na-
ples, Florida.
    While she was trying to get Sean to look at a particularly
beautiful flowering tree, she noticed that he was spending an
inordinate amount of time looking in the rearview mirror.
  "What are you looking for?" she questioned.
  "Robert Harris," Sean said.
 Janet glanced behind them, then at Sean.
  "Have you seen him?" she asked with alarm.
    Sean shook his head. "No," he said. "I haven't seen Harris,
but I think a car is following us."
    "Oh great!" Janet said. The weekend was not turning out
as she'd envisioned at all.
    All of a sudden, Sean made a U-turn in the middle of the
road. Janet had to grab the dash to steady herself. In the blink
of an eye they were traveling north, returning in the direction
from which they'd come.
    "It's the second car," Sean said. "See if you can tell what
kind of car it is and if you can see the driver."
    There were two cars beating down on them from the op-
posite direction, their headlights cutting a swath in the dark-
ness. The first car went by. Sean slowed, and then the second
car passed them.
  "It's a limousine," Janet said with surprise.
    "Well, that shows how paranoid I'm getting," Sean said
with a touch of chagrin. "That's certainly not the kind of car
Robert Harris would be driving."
    Sean made another sudden U-turn, and they were again
heading south.
    "Would you give me a little warning when you are about
to do one of your maneuvers?" Janet complained. She reset-
tied herself in her seat.

271

  "Sorry," Sean said.
    As they traveled south beyond the old section of town they
noticed the homes got progressively larger and more impres-
sive. Within Port Royal they were even more lavish, and when
they pulled into Malcolm Betencourt's driveway lined with
blazing torches, they were awed. They parked in an area des-
ignated "visitor parking" at least a hundred feet from the
door.
    "This looks more like a transplanted French chateau," Janet
said. "It's huge. What does this man do?"
    "He runs some enormous for-profit hospital corporation,"
Sean said. He got out of the car and came around to open the
door for Janet.
    "I didn't know there was so much money in for-profit med-
icine," Janet said.
    The Betencourts were gracious hosts. They welcomed Sean
and Janet as if they were old friends. They even teased them
for parking in an area reserved for the "trades."
    Armed with glasses of the finest champagne flavored with
a mere drop of cassis, Sean and Janet were treated to a grand
tour of the twenty-thousand-square-foot home. They also had
a walk around the grounds which included two pools, one
cascading into the other, and a hundred-and-twenty-foot teak
sailboat moored to a sizable pier.
    "Some people might say that this house is a bit too big,"
Malcolm said when they were seated in the dining room. "But
Harriet and I are accustomed to a lot of room. Our home up
in Connecticut is actually a little larger."
    "Plus we entertain regularly," Harriet said. She rang a little
bell and a servant appeared with the first course. Another
poured crisp white wine.
    "So you are studying at Forbes?" Malcolm said to Sean.
"You're a lucky man, Sean. It's a great place. You've met
Dr. Mason, I presume?"
  "Dr. Mason and Dr. Levy," Sean said.
    "They're doing great things," Malcolm said. "Of course,
I don't have to tell you that. As you know, I'm living proof."
  "I'm certain you are grateful," Sean said. "But..."

272                                                                                                    273

    "That's an understatement," Malcolm interrupted.
"They've given me a second chance at life, so we're more
than grateful."
    "We've donated five million from our foundation," Harriet
said. "We in the United States have to put our resources in
those institutions that are successful instead of following those
pork barrel policies of Congress."
    "Harriet's sensitive about the research issue," Malcolm ex-
plained.
    "She's got a good point," Sean admitted. "But Mr. Beten-
court, as a medical student I'm interested in your experience
as a patient, and I'd like to hear it in your own words. How
did you understand the treatment you were given? Especially
considering the business you are in, I'm sure you were inter-
ested."
    "You mean the quality of the treatment or the treatment per
se?"
  "The treatment per se," Sean said.
    "I'm a businessman, not a doctor," Malcolm said. "But I
consider myself an informed layperson. When I got to Forbes
they immediately started me on immunotherapy with an anti-
body. On the first day they took a biopsy of the tumor, and
they took white blood cells from my body. They incubated
the white blood cells with the tumor to sensitize them to be-
come 'killer cells.' Finally, they injected my own sensitized
cells back into my bloodstream. As I understand it, the anti-
body coated the cancer cells and then the killer cells came
along and ate 'em up."
    Malcolm shrugged and looked at Harriet to see if she
wanted to add anything.
    "That's what happened," she agreed. "Those little cells
went in there and gave those tumors hell!"
    "At first my symptoms got a little worse," Malcolm said.
"But then they got progressively better. We followed the pro-
gression on MRI. The tumors just melted away. And today I
feel great." To emphasize his point he gave his chest a thump
with his fist.
  "And now you are treated in the outpatient?" Sean asked.

    "That's fight," Malcolm said. "I'm scheduled at present to
go back every six months. But Dr. Mason is convinced I'm
cured, so I expect to extend it out to once a year. Each time
I go I get a dose of antibody just to be sure."
  "And no more symptoms?" Sean asked.
  "Nothing," Malcolm said. "I'm fit as a fiddle."
    The first-course dishes were removed. The main course ar-
rived along with a mellow red wine. Sean felt relaxed despite
the episode on the beach. He glanced at Janet, who was having
a separate conversation with Harriet; it turned out they had
family friends in common. Janet smiled back at Sean when he
caught her eye. Clearly she, too, was enjoying herself.
    Malcolm took an appreciative taste of his wine. "Not bad
for an '86 Napa," he said. He put his glass down on the table
and looked over at Sean. "Not only have I no symptoms from
the brain tumor, but I feel great. Better than I have in years.
Of course, I'm probably comparing it to the year before I got
the immunotherapy which was pure hell. Not much else could
have gone wrong. First I had knee surgery, which wasn't fun,
then encephalitis, and then the brain tumor. This year I've
been great. Haven't even had a cold."
    "You had encephalitis?" Sean asked, his fork poised half-
way to his mouth.
    "Yes," Malcolm said. "I was a medical oddity. Somebody
could have gone through medical school just studying me. I
had a bout of headache, fever, and was generally feeling
crappy, and..." Malcolm leaned over and spoke behind his
hand. "There was some burning in my pecker when I peed."
He glanced over to be sure the women hadn't overheard.
    "How did you know it was encephalitis?" Sean asked. He
put his full fork down on his plate.
    "Well, the headache was the worst part," Malcolm said. "I
went to my local internist who sent me down to Columbia
Presbyterian. They're used to seeing strange stuff down there,
all kinds of exotic, tropical diseases. They had these high-
powered infectious-disease people see me. They were the ones
who first suspected encephalitis and then proved it with some
new method called polymerase something or other."

274

"Polymerase Chain Reaction," Sean said as if he were in
a trance. "What kind of encephalitis was it?"
    "They called it SLE," Malcolm said. "It stands for St.
Louis encephalitis. They were all surprised, saying it was
kinda out of season. But I had been on a couple of trips.
Anyway, the encephalitis was mild, and after some bed rest I
felt fine. Then of course, two months later, bam! I got a brain
tumor. I thought I was done for. So did my doctors up north.
First they thought it had spread from someplace else like my
colon or my prostate. But when they all proved clean, they
decided to biopsy. The rest, of course, is history."
    Malcolm took another bite of his food, chewed and swal-
lowed it. He took a taste of his wine, then glanced back at
Sean. Sean hadn't moved. He appeared stunned. Malcolm
leaned across the table to look him in the eye. "You okay,
young fella?"
    Sean blinked as if he were emerging from hypnosis. "I'm
fine," he stammered. He quickly apologized for seeming dis-
tracted, saying that he was just astounded by Malcolm's story.
He thanked Malcolm profusely for being willing to share it
with him.
    "My pleasure," Malcolm said. "If I can help train a few
of you medical students, I'll feel like I'm repaying a little of
the interest I owe on my debt to the medical profession. If it
weren't for your mentor Dr. Mason and his colleague Dr.
Levy, I wouldn't be here today."
    Malcolm then turned his attention to the women, and while
everyone but Sean ate his dinner, the conversation switched
to Naples and why the Betencourts had decided to build their
house there.
    "How about we take our dessert out on the terrace above
the pool," Harriet suggested after the dishes had been cleared.
    "I'm sorry but we'll have to skip dessert," Sean said,
speaking up after a long silence. "Janet and I have been work-
ing tremendously hard. I'm afraid we'll have to get back to
our hotel before we fall asleep on our feet. Right, Janet?"
 Janet nodded and smiled self-consciously, but it was not a

275

smile motivated by cheerful assent. It was an attempt to hide
her mortification.
    Five minutes later they were saying goodbye in the Beten-
courts' grand foyer with Malcolm insisting that if Sean had
any more questions he should call him directly. He gave Sean
his private direct-dial number.
    When the door closed behind them, and they started out the
massive driveway, Janet was incensed. "That was a rude way
to end the evening," she said. "After they'd been so gracious
with us, you practically walk out in the middle of the meal."
    "That was the end of the meal," Sean reminded her. "Har-
riet was talking about dessert. Besides, I couldn't sit there
another minute. Malcolm made me realize several extraordi-
nary things. I don't know if you were listening when he de-
scribed his illnesses."
  "I was talking with Harriet," Janet said irritably.
      "He told me he had an operation, encephalitis, and then his
brain tumor all within a period of a few months."  "What did that tell you?" Janet asked.
    "It made me realize that both Helen Cabot and Louis Mar-
tin had the same history," Sean said. "I know because I did
their history and physicals."
    "You think these illnesses are related somehow?" she
asked. Some of the anger was gone from her voice.
    "It seems to me I saw a similar sequence and timing in a
number of the charts we copied," Sean said. "I'm not positive
because I wasn't looking for it, but even with three, the pos-
sibility of it happening by chance is pretty small."  "What are you saying?" Janet asked.
    "I don't know for sure," Sean said. "But it convinced me
I want to go to Key West. Forbes has a spin-off diagnostic
lab down there where they sent the biopsies. It's a favorite
trick of hospitals to have quasi-independent labs to maximize
the profits they can make out of diagnostic lab work, self-
referral limitations be damned."
    "I have next weekend off," Janet said. "Both Saturday and
Sunday. I wouldn't mind visiting Key West."
  "I don't want to wait," Sean said. "I want to go right away.

276

I think we're on to something here." He was also thinking
that between the police looking for him and not being able to
reach Brian, he might not have the luxury of waiting a week.
    Janet stopped dead in her tracks and glanced at her watch.
It was after ten. "Are you talking about going there tonight?"
she asked with disbelief.
    "Let's find out how far it is," Sean said. "Then we can
decide."
    Janet started walking again, passing Sean who'd paused
when she had. "Sean, you are getting more incomprehensible
and crazier all the time," she said. "You call people up at the
last minute, get them to graciously invite you to dinner, then
you walk out in the middle because you suddenly have the
idea of going to Key West. I give up. But I'll tell you some-
thing: this lady is not going to Key West tonight. This lady
is..."
    Janet didn't finish her angry monologue. Rounding the Pon-
tiac, which was partially hidden by a large banyan tree, she'd
practically collided with a figure in a dark suit, white shirt,
and dark tie. His face and hair were obscured by shadows.
    Janet gasped. She was still on edge from the episode on the
beach, and confronting yet another man coming out of the dark
frightened her terribly. Sean started toward her but was
stopped by a similarly shadowy figure on his side of the car.
    Despite the darkness, Sean could tell the man before him
was Asian. Before Sean knew it, a third man had stepped
behind him. For a moment no one spoke. Sean glanced back
at the house and estimated how long it would take him to
cover the distance to the front door. He also thought about
what he'd do once he got there. Unfortunately, a lot depended
on how quickly Malcolm Betencourt responded.
    "If you please," the man in front of Sean said in flawless
English. "Mr. Yamaguchi would be most grateful if you and
your companion would come and have a word with him."
    Sean looked at each man in turn. All of them exuded an
aura of total confidence and tranquility that Sean found un-
nerving. Sean could feel the weight of Tom's pistol in his
jacket pocket, but he dared not pull it out. He had no expe-

277

hence with guns, and there was no way he could shoot these
people. And he hesitated to think how these men might retal-
iate.
    "It would be regretful if there was trouble," the same man
said. "Please, Mr. Yamaguchi is waiting in a car parked on
the street."
    "Sean," Janet called over the top of the car in a wavering
voice, "who are these people?"
    "I don't know," Sean answered her. Then, to the man in
front of him, he said: "Can you give me an idea who Mr.
Yamaguchi is, and why he particularly wants to talk with us?"
    "Please," the man repeated. "Mr. Yamaguchi will tell you
himself. Please, the car is just a few steps away."
    "Well, since you are being so nice about it," Sean said.
"Sure, let's say hello to Mr. Yamaguchi."
    Sean turned and started around the car. The man who was
standing behind him stepped aside. Sean put an arm around
Janet's shoulder and together they started toward the street.
The taller Japanese man, the one who had been in front of
Sean, led the way. The other two silently followed.
    The limousine was parked beneath a line of trees and was
so dark it was difficult to see it until they were only a few
feet away. The taller man opened the rear door and motioned
for Sean and Janet to climb inside.
    "Can't Mr. Yamaguchi come out?" Sean asked. He won-
dered if this was the same limo that he thought had been fol-
lowing them on their way to the Betencourts'. He guessed it
was.
    "Please," the taller Japanese man said. "It will be far more
comfortable inside."
    Sean motioned for Janet to get in, and he climbed in after
her. Almost immediately the other rear door opened, and one
of the silent Japanese men crowded in next to Janet. Another
man followed immediately behind Sean. The taller man got in
the front behind the wheel and started the car.
    "What's going on here, Sean?" Janet asked. Her initial
shock was changing to alarm.
 "Mr. Yamaguchi?" Sean asked. In front of him he could

278

just make out the figure of a man sitting in one of the seats
to the side of a console with a small built-in TV set.
    "Thank you very much for joining me," Tanaka said with
a slight bow. His accent was barely perceptible. "I apologize
for the inconvenient seating, but we shall have only a short
ride."
The car lurched forward. Janet grabbed Sean's hand.
"You people are very polite," Sean said. "And we appre-
ciate that. But we would also appreciate some idea what this
is all about and where we're going."
    "You have been invited on a vacation," Tanaka said. His
white teeth flashed in the dark. When they passed a street
lamp, Sean got his first glimpse of the man's face. It was calm
but determined. There was no sign of emotion.
    "Your trip is compliments of Sushita Industries," Tanaka
continued. "I can assure you that you will be treated extremely
well. Sushita would not go through this effort unless they had
great respect for you. I am sorry it has to be done in this
furtive, barbaric fashion, but I have my orders. I'm also sorry
that your companion has been caught up in this affair, but your
hosts will treat her with equal respect. Her presence at this
point is helpful since I'm certain you would not want to see
any harm befall her. So please, Mr. Murphy, do not attempt
any heroics. My colleagues are professionals."
    Janet began to complain, but Sean squeezed her hand to
silence her.
  "And where are we going?" Sean asked.
"To Tokyo," Tanaka said as if there had been no question.
They drove in strained silence as they worked their way in
a northeasterly direction. Sean considered his options. There
weren't many. The threat of violence toward Janet was sober-
ing, and the pistol in his pocket was not reassuring.
    Tanaka had been correct about the fide. In less than twenty
minutes they pulled into the general aviation area of the Na-
ples airport. As late as it was on a Saturday night, there were
minimal signs of life, only a few lights in the main building.
Sean tried to think of ways of alerting whomever he could,
but the specter of harm to Janet kept him in check. Although

279

he certainly did not want to be taken forcibly to Japan, he
couldn't think of a plausible way to forestall it.
    The limo drove through a gate in a chain link fence and out
onto the tarmac. Skirting the rear of the general aviation build-
ing, they headed for a large private jet that was clearly pre-
pared to take off at any moment. Its engines were running, its
anti-collision and navigational lights were flashing, its door
was open, and its retractable steps were extended.
    The limousine stopped about fifty feet from the plane. Sean
and Janet were politely asked to climb out of the car and walk
the short distance to the steps. Cupping their hands over their
ears to shield them from the whine of the jet engine, Sean and
Janet reluctantly headed for the plane as commanded. Once
again, Sean considered his options. Nothing seemed promis-
ing. He caught Janet's eye. She looked distraught. They
paused at the base of the plane's steps.
    "Please," Tanaka yelled over the sound of the engines as
he motioned for Sean and Janet to move up the stairs.
    Sean and Janet again exchanged glances. Sean nodded for
her to board, then followed her up. They had to duck to enter,
but once inside they could stand up. To their left was the
cockpit with its door closed.
    The interior of the plane was simple yet elegant, featuring
darkly stained mahogany and tan leather. The carpeting was
dark green. The seating included a banquette and a series of
reclinable club chairs that could rotate to face any direction.
Toward the rear of the plane was a galley and a door to a
lavatory. On a counter in the galley was an open bottle of
vodka and a sliced lime.
    Sean and Janet paused near the door, unsure of where they
were to go. One of the near club chairs was occupied by a
Caucasian man dressed in a business suit. Like the Japanese,
he exuded an aura of calm confidence. His features were an-
gular and handsome; his hair was mildly curly. In his fight
hand he held a drink. Sean and Janet could hear the ice tinkle
against the glass as he brought it to his lips.
 Tanaka, who had boarded directly behind Sean and Janet,

280                                                                            T E R M I NAL                              281

saw the Caucasian man seconds after Sean and Janet had. He
seemed startled.
    The taller of the Japanese men bumped into Tanaka since
Tanaka had stopped so abruptly. The collision prompted a
rapid outpouring of angry-sounding Japanese from Tanaka.
    The taller Japanese began to respond, but he was interrupted
by the Caucasian.
    'q should warn you," he said in English. "I speak fluent
Japanese. My name is Sterling Rombauer." He put his drink
down in a depression in the arm of his chair made for that
purpose, stood up, pulled out a business card, and handed it
to Tanaka with a deferential bow.
    Tanaka bowed in unison with Sterling as he accepted the
card, and despite the surprise he obviously felt concerning
Sterling's presence, he examined the card with care and bowed
again. Then he spoke in rapid Japanese to his companion be-
hind him.
    'q believe I can best answer that," Sterling said casually
as he reclaimed his seat and lifted his drink. "The pilot, co-
pilot, and cabin crew are not in the cockpit. They are resting
in the lavatory." Sterling gestured over his shoulder.
  Tanaka spoke more angry Japanese to his cohort.
    "Please excuse me for interrupting again," Sterling said.
"But what you are asking your associate to do is unreasonable.
I'm certain that if you carefully consider the situation, you'll
agree that it would not serve my purposes to be here alone.
And indeed, if you look out the starboard side you will see a
vehicle occupied by an accomplice who is currently holding a
portable phone programmed to speed dial the police. In this
country, abduction is a crime, a felony to be more specific."
    Tanaka looked again at Sterling's business card as if there
was something he could have missed on his first examination.
"What is it you want?" he asked in English.
    "I believe we need to talk, Mr. Tanaka Yamaguchi,"
Sterling said. He rattled the ice cubes in his drink and took a
last sip. 'q am currently representing the interests of the
Forbes Cancer Center," he continued. "Its director does not
want to jeopardize the Center's relationship with Sushita In-

dustties, but there are limits. He does not want to see Mr.
Murphy spirited away to Japan."  Tanaka was silent.
    "Mr. Murphy," Sterling called, ignoring Tanaka for the
moment. "Would you mind allowing Mr. Yamaguchi and my-
self a few moments alone? I suggest you and your companion
deplane and join my associate in the car. You can wait for me
there; I will not be long."
    Tanaka made no effort to countermand Sterling's sugges-
tion. Not needing a second invitation, Sean grabbed Janet's
hand, and together they pushed past Tanaka and his cohort,
descended the short flight of stairs, and ran toward the dark-
ened car parked perpendicular to the plane.
    Reaching the Mercedes, Sean went to the passenger-side
rear door and opened it. He allowed Janet to climb in. He
followed. Before he closed the door Wayne Edwards greeted
them with a warm, "Hi, folks." Although he'd briefly glanced
at them as they got in, he quickly turned his attention back to
the plane which could be seen clearly through his windshield.
"I don't mean to sound inhospitable," he continued, "but
maybe it would be better for you to wait in the terminal build-
ing."
  "Mr. Rombauer told us to join you," Sean said.
    "Hey, I know," Wayne said. "'Cause that was the plan.
But I've been thinking ahead. If something goes awry, and
that plane starts to move, I'm driving straight into its nose
gear. There aren't any air bags in the back seat."
    "I get the picture," Sean said. He got out and gave Janet
a hand. Together they headed toward the general aviation
building.
    "This keeps getting more and more confusing," Janet com-
plained. "Spending time with you is living on the edge, Sean
Murphy. What is going on?"
    "I wish I knew," Sean said. "Maybe they think I know
more than I do."
  "And what is that supposed to mean?"
    Sean shrugged his shoulders. "One thing I do know is that
we've just missed an unwanted trip to Japan," Sean said.

282

 "But why Japan?" Janet asked.
    "I don't know for sure," Sean said. "But that Hiroshi char-
acter at Forbes has been watching me ever since I showed up,
and some Japanese man recently visited my mother asking
about me. The only explanation I can think of is that they
somehow see me as a risk to their investment in Forbes."
    "This whole situation is insane," Janet said. "Who was that
man in the plane who got us out of there?"
    "I've never seen him before," Scan said. "It's just another
part to the mystery. He did say he was working for Forbes."
    They arrived at the general aviation building only to find
the door locked.
  "Now what?" Janet asked.
    "Come on!" Scan said. "We're not staying here." He
grabbed her hand, and together they skirted the two-story ce-
ment structure, exiting the airfield through the same gate the
limo had entered through. In front of the building was a sizable
parking lot. Scan began going from car to car, trying doors.
    "Don't tell me, let me guess," Janet said. "Now you're
going to steal a car just to round out the evening!"
    "Borrow is a better term," Sean said. He found a Chevrolet
Celebrity with its doors unlocked. After leaning in so he could
feel under the dash, he got in behind the wheel. "Get in," he
called to her. "This will be easy."
    Janet hesitated, feeling more and more that she was being
drawn into something she didn't want any part of. The idea
of riding in a stolen car was not appealing, particularly given
the trouble they were already in.  "Get in!" Scan called again.
  Janet opened the door and did as she was told.
      Sean got the car started instantly, much to Janet's dismay.
"Still a pro," she commented scornfully.  "Practice makes perfect," Sean said.
    Where the airport entrance met the county road, Scan took
a right. They drove for a time in silence.
  "Am I allowed to ask where we're going?" Janet asked.
    "I'm not sure where," Scan said. "I'd like to find some-
place where I can ask directions to Key West. Trouble is that

283

this town is pretty quiet even though it's only eleven on a
Saturday night."
    "Why don't you take me back to the Betencourts'," Janet
said. "I'll get my rental car and go back to the hotel. Then
you can go to Key West if you're so inclined."
    "I don't think that's a good idea," Sean said. "Those Jap-
anese guys didn't show up at the Betencourts' by accident.
They were in that limo that I thought was following us earlier.
Obviously they followed us from the Edgewater Beach Hotel,
which means they must have been following us from the Ritz
Carlton. More likely, they've been following us all the way
from Forbes."
  "But the others had followed us, too," Janet said.
    "We must have been a regular caravan con~ing across the
Everglades," Sean agreed. "But the point is we can't go back
to the car or the hotel. Not unless we want to risk further
pursuit."
  "And I suppose we can't go to the police," Janet said.
  "Of course not," Sean snapped.
  "What about our belongings?" Janet asked.
    "We'll call from Miami and have them sent," Sean said.
"We'll call the Betencourts about the car. Hertz will have to
get it. It's not that important. It's more important that we're
no longer followed."
    Janet sighed. She felt indecisive. She wanted to go to bed,
yet Sean was making some sense in a situation that didn't
make any sense whatsoever. The episode with the Japanese
had frightened her, in some ways just as badly as the episode
on the beach.
    "Here are some people," Sean said. "I can ask them."
Ahead, they could see a line of cars pulled up near a big sign
heralding the Oasis, some sort of nightclub/disco. Sean pulled
over to the side of the road. The line for valet parking snaked
through a parking lot that was half-filled with trailered boats.
The Oasis shared a parking lot with a land-locked marina.
    Sean got out of the Celebrity and weaved his way among
the parked cars toward the disco's entrance. Spine-jangling
bass emanated from the open door. After waiting at the park-

284

ing valet's podium, Sean cornered one of the men and asked
directions to the city dock. The harried man quickly described
the route to Sean with flamboyant hand gestures. A few
minutes later Sean was back in the car. He repeated the direc-
tions to Janet so she could help.
    "Why are we going to the city dock?" Janet asked. "Or is
that a stupid question?"
  "Hey, don't be mad at me," Sean complained.
    "Who else can I be mad at?" Janet said. "This weekend
so far is hardly what I had anticipated."
    "Reserve your anger for that kook on the beach or those
paranoid Japanese," Sean said.
  "What about the city dock?" Janet asked again.
    "Key West is due south of Naples," Sean said. "That much
I remember from seeing it on a map. The Keys curve to the
west. Going by boat could be easier and probably faster. We
could even get some sleep. Plus, we wouldn't be using a 'bor-
rowed' car."
    Janet didn't even comment. The idea of a night-long boat
ride would be a fitting end to such an insane day.
    They found the city dock with ease at the base of a short
cul de sac with a large flagpole at its entrance. But the docks
were a disappointment as far as Sean was concerned. He'd
expected it to be much buslet, having heard that sports fishing
was popular on the west coast of Florida. The only marina
was shut tight. There were a few offers for fishing boat char-
ters on a bulletin board, but not much else. After parking the
car, they walked out on the pier. The larger, commercial boats
were all dark.
    Returning to the car, Janet leaned on the hood. "Any more
bright ideas, Einstein?"
    Sean was thinking. The idea of getting to Key West by boat
still appealed to him. It was certainly too late to rent another
car. Besides, they'd be exhausted when they arrived. Next to
the city dock was a restaurant/bar appropriately called The
Dock. Sean pointed.
    "Let's go in there," he said. "I could use a beer, and we
can see if the bartender knows any charter boat people."

285

    The Dock was a rustic, casual affair constructed of planked,
pressure-treated wood and furnished with epoxy-filled hatch-
cover tables. There were no windows, just screened openings
that could be closed with shutters. In lieu of drapes were a
collection of fishnets, buoys and other nautical gear. Ceiling
fans turned slowly overhead. A darkly burnished wood bar in
the shape of a J stretched around one wall.
    A small crowd was grouped around the bar watching a bas-
ketball game on a TV positioned high on the wall in a comer
by the entrance. It wasn't like Old Scully's back in Charles-
town, but Sean thought the place had a comfortable feel. In
fact, it made him a little homesick.
    Sean and Janet found room at the bar, their backs to the
TV. There were two bartenders, one tall, serious, and mus-
tached, the other stocky with a constant smirk on his face.
Both were casually dressed in printed short-sleeved shirts and
dark shorts. Short aprons were tied around their waists.
    The taller bartender came over immediately and tossed cir-
cular cardboard coasters in front of Sean and Janet with a
practiced flick of his wrist.
  "What'll it be?" he asked.
    "I see you have conch fritters," Sean said, eyeing a large
menu attached to the wall.
  "Sure do," the bartender said.
    "We'll have an order," Sean said. "And I'll have a light
draft." Sean looked at Janet.
  "I'll have the same," she said.
    Frosted mugs of beer were soon before them, and Sean and
Janet had only a moment to comment on the relaxed character
of the place before the conch fritters arrived.
  "Wow!" Sean commented. "That was fast."
  "Good food takes time," the bartender said.
    In spite of all that had happened that evening, both Sean
and Janet found themselves laughing. The bartender, like any
good comedian, never cracked a smile.
 Sean used the opportunity to ask about boats.
 "What kind of boat you interested in?" the bartender asked.
 Sean shrugged. "I don't know enough about boats to say,"

286

he admitted. "We want to go to Key West tonight. How long
would it take?"
    "Depends," the bartender said. "It's ninety miles as the
crow flies. With a good-sized boat you can be down there in
three or four hours."
    "Any idea how we could find someone to take us?" Sean
said.
  "It'll cost you," the bartender said.
  "How much?"
  "Five, six hundred," the barlender said with a shrug.
  "They take credit cards?" Sean asked.
    Janet started to complain, but Sean gripped her leg under
the edge of the bar. "I'11 pay you back," he whispered.
    The bartender stepped around the comer where he used a
telephone.

STERLING DIALED Randolph Mason's home number with ma-
licious pleasure. Well paid though he was, Sterling wasn't
pleased to be working at two o'clock in the morning. He
thought that Dr. Mason should be equally as inconvenienced.
    Even though Dr. Mason's voice was groggy and full of
sleep, he sounded pleased to hear from Sterling.
    "I have resolved the Tanaka-Sushita conundrum," Sterling
announced. "We even received fax confirmation from Tokyo.
They will not abduct Mr. Murphy. He can stay at the Forbes
Cancer Center provided you personally guarantee that he will
not be exposed to patentable secrets."
    "I cannot make that guarantee," Dr. Mason said. "It's too
late."
  Sterling was too surprised to speak.
    "There's been a new development," Dr. Mason explained.
"Sean Murphy's brother, Brian Murphy, has shown up here
in Miami concerned about Sean. Unable to locate him, he got
in touch with me. He has informed me that the Miami police
are looking for Sean in connection with a break-in at a funeral
home and the unauthorized theft of a cadaver's brain."

287

    "Does this cadaver's brain involve the Forbes Cancer Cen-
ter?" Sterling asked.
    "Most definitely," Dr. Mason said. "The deceased was a
patient at Forbes. She'd been one of our medulloblastoma pa-
tients, the only one to die in the last several years, I might
add. The problem is, our treatment protocol has no patent pro-
tection yet."
    "You mean to say that Sean Murphy could be in possession
of patentable secrets by having this brain at his disposal?"
    "Exactly," Dr. Mason said. "As usual, you are right on
target. I've already instructed security at Forbes to deny Mr.
Murphy access to our labs. What I want you to do is see that
he is turned over to the police."
    "That might be difficult," Sterling said. "Mr. Murphy and
Miss Reardon have vanished. I'm calling from their hotel.
They have left their belongings, but I do not think they are
planning on returning. It's now after two in the morning. I'm
afraid I underestimated their fortitude. I thought that after be-
ing rescued from the prospect of abduction, their relief would
have rendered them passive. Quite the contrary. My guess is
that they commandeered an automobile and drove away."
  "I want you to find them," Dr. Mason said.
    "I appreciate your confidence in my abilities," Sterling
said. "But the character of this assignment is changing. I think
you would do better to hire a regular private investigator
whose fees are considerably less than mine."
    "I want you to stay on the job," Dr. Mason said. There
was a hint of desperation in his voice. "I want Sean Murphy
turned over to the police as soon as possible. In fact, knowing
what I now know, I wish you'd let the Japanese take him. I'll
pay you time and a half. Just do it."
    "That is very generous," Sterling said, "but, Ran-
dolph..."
    "Double time," Dr. Mason said. "There'd be too much lag
time attempting to get someone else involved at this point. I
want Sean Murphy in police custody now!"
    "All right," Sterling said reluctantly. "I will stay with the
assignment. But I have to warn you that unless Miss Reardon


288                                                                                                                                     289

uses her Visa card, I'll have no way of tracking him until he
tums up in Miami again."
  "Why her card?" Dr. Mason asked.
  "That's how they paid for their hotel bills," Sterling said.
  "You've never let me down," Dr. Mason said.
  "I will do my best," Sterling promised.
    After Sterling had disconnected, he indicated to Wayne that
he had to make another call. They were in the lobby of the
Edgewater Beach Hotel. Wayne was comfortably ensconced
on a couch with a magazine in his lap.
    Sterling dialed one of his many bank contacts in Boston.
Once he was sure the man was awake enough to be coherent,
Sterling gave him the details he'd learned about Janet Rear-
don, including the fact that she had used her Visa card at two
hotels that evening. Sterling asked for him to call back on
Sterling's portable line if the card was used again.
    Rejoining Wayne, Sterling informed him that they were to
remain on the assignment, but the goal had changed. He told
him what Dr. Mason had said and that they were to see that
Mr. Murphy was turned over to the police. Sterling also asked
if Wayne had any suggestions.
    "Just one," Wayne said. "Let's get a couple of rooms and
get some shut-eye."

JANET FELT her stomach lurch. It was as if the steak with green
peppercorn sauce she'd had for dinner at the Betencourts' had
reversed its progress in her digestive tract. She was lying on
a bunk in the bow of the forty-two-foot boat that was taking
them to Key West. In the bunk across the narrow room, Sean
was fast asleep. In the half-light he looked so peaceful. The
fact that he could be so relaxed under the circumstances left
Janet exasperated. It made her discomfort that much more
trenchant.
    Despite the Gulf's apparent calm during their sunset walk,
it now felt as violent as a rough ocean. They were traveling
due south and hitting oncoming swells at forty-five degrees.
The boat alternately bounced dizzily up to the right only to

 crash down with a shudder to the left. Through it all was the
 constant, deep-throated roar of the diesel engines.
    They had not been able to get under way until two-forty-
five in the morning. At first they'd motored on calm waters
with hundreds of dark mangrove-covered islands visible in the
moonlight. As exhausted as she was, Janet had gone down to
sleep only to be awakened by the sudden pounding of the boat
against the waves and the sound of suddenly strong wind. She
hadn't heard Sean come down, yet when she awoke, there he
was, sleeping peacefully.
    Throwing her feet over the side of the bunk, Janet braced
herself as the boat thumped into the trough of another wave.
Holding on with both hands, she made her way aft and up
into the main salon. She knew she would be sick if she didn't
get air. Below deck the slight smell of diesel only compounded
her nascent nausea.
    Holding on for dear life, Janet managed to get to the stem
of the careening boat where there were two swivel deep-sea
fishing chairs mounted to the deck. Fearing these chairs were
too exposed, Janet collapsed onto a series of cushions covering
a seat along a port side. The starboard side was getting
drenched with spray.
    The wind and fresh air did wonders for Janet's stomach, but
there was no opportunity for rest. She literally had to hold on.
With the roar of the engines and the pounding magnified
where she was in the stem, Janet could not fathom what people
saw in power boating. Up ahead under a canopy sat Doug
Gardner, the man who'd been willing to forgo a night's sleep
to ferry them to Key West--for a price. He was silhouetted
against an illuminated cluster of dials and gauges. He didn't
have much to do since he'd put the boat on automatic pilot.
    Janet looked up at the canopy of stars and recalled how she
used to do the same thing on summer evenings when she was
a teen. She'd lie there dreaming about her future. Now she
was living it and one thing was for sure: it wasn't quite what
she used to imagine.
    Maybe her mother had been right, Janet thought reluctantly.
Maybe it had been foolish for her to come to Florida to try to


29O

talk to Sean. She smiled a wry smile. The only talk they'd
managed thus far was the little they'd done on the beach that
evening, when Sean had merely echoed her own expression
of love. It had been less than satisfying.
    Janet had come to Florida in hopes of taking command of
her life, but the longer she was with Sean, the less in command
she felt.

STERLING GOT even more satisfaction out of calling Dr. Mason
at three-thirty A.M. than he had at two. It took four rings for
the doctor to answer. Sterling himself had just been awakened
by a call from his banking contact in Boston.
    "I now know the destination of the infamous couple,"
Sterling said. "Fortunately, the young lady used her credit
card again for a rather sizable sum. She paid five hundred and
fifty dollars to be ferried from Naples to Key West."
  "That's not good news," Dr. Mason said.
    'q thought you'd be pleased to know we've learned where
they're going," Sterling said. 'q consider it a bit of good
luck."
    "The Forbes has a facility in Key West," Dr. Mason said.
"It's called Basic Diagnostics. I imagine that's where Mr.
Murphy is headed."
    "Why do you believe he would go to Basic Diagnostics?"
Sterling asked.
    "We send a lot of our lab work there," Dr. Mason said.
"With current third-party payment schemes, it's cost effec-
tive."
"Why do you care if Mr. Murphy visits the facility?"
"The medulloblastoma biopsies are sent there," Dr. Mason
said. "I don't want Mr. Murphy exposed to our techniques of
sensitizing patient T lymphocytes."
    "And Mr. Murphy might be able to deduce these techniques
by a mere visit?" Sterling asked.
    "He's very savvy as far as biotechnology is concerned,"
Dr. Mason said. "I can't take the risk. Get yourself down there

T E R M I NAL                              291

immediately and keep him out of that lab. See that he is turned
over to the police."
    "Dr. Mason, it is three-thirty in the morning," Sterling re-
minded him.
    "Charter a plane," Dr. Mason said. "We're paying the ex-
penses. The manager's name is Kurt Wanamaker. I'll give him
a call right after I hang up and tell him to expect you."
    After Sterling got Mr. Wanamaker's phone number, he hung
up. Despite the money that he was being paid, he was not
happy with the idea of rushing off to Key West in the middle
of the night. He felt that Dr. Mason was overreacting. After
all, it was Sunday and the lab very likely wasn't even open.
 Yet Sterling got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.


10

   March 7
Sunday, 5:30 A.M.

Sean's first glimpse of Key West in the pre-dawn light was
of a line of low-rise clapboard buildings nestled in tropical
greenery. A few taller brick structures poked out of the skyline
here and there, but even they were no taller than five stories.
The water's edge from the northwest was dotted with marinas
and hotels all cheek to jowl.
"Where's the best place to drop us off?." Sean asked Doug.
"Probably the Pier House pier," Doug said as he cut back
the engines. "It's right at the base of Duval Street which is
Key West's main drag."
  "You familiar with the area?" Sean asked.
  "I've been here a dozen or so times," Doug said.
  "Ever hear of an organization called Basic Diagnostics?"
  "Can't say that I have," Doug said.
  "What about hospitals?" Sean asked.
    "There are two," Doug replied. "There's one right here in
Key West, but it's small. There's a larger one on the next key
called Stock Island. That's the main facility."
    Sean went below and woke Janet up. She wasn't pleased
about having to get up. She told Sean she'd only come down
below fifteen or twenty minutes earlier.
    "When I came down here hours ago you were sleeping like
a baby," Sean said.
    "Yeah, but as soon as we hit rough seas, I had to go back
out on deck. I didn't get to sleep the whole trip like you did.

293

Some restful weekend this has turned out to be."
    The docking was uneventful since there was no other boat-
ing activity so early on a Sunday morning. Doug waved good-
bye and morored away as soon as Sean and Janet jumped to
the pier.
    While Sean and Janet strolled off the pier and began to look
around, they had the strange feeling they were the only living
beings on the island. There was plenty of evidence of the
previous night's partying; empty beer bottles and other debris
were haphazardly strewn about in the gutters. But there were
no people. There weren't even any animals. It was like the
calm after the storm.
    They walked up Duval Street with its complement of T-
shirt stores, jewelers, and souvenir shops all shuttered as if
they expected a riot. The famous Conch Tour Train appeared
abandoned by its bright yellow ticket kiosk. The place was as
much of a honky-tonk as Sean expected, yet the net effect was
surprisingly charming.
    As they passed Sloppy Joe's Bar the sun peeked tentatively
over the Atlantic Ocean and filled the deserted street with
misty morning light. Half a block farther on they were envel-
oped by a delicious aroma.
  "That smells suspiciously like..." Sean began.
  "Croissants," Janet finished.
    Following their noses they turned into a French bakery cum
caf~. The delectable smell was coming from open windows
off a terrace dotted with tables and umbrellas. The front door
was locked so Sean had to yell through the open window. A
woman with red frizzy hair came out wiping her hands on an
apron.
    "We're not open yet," she said with the hint of a French
accent.
"How about a couple of those croissants?" Sean suggested.
The woman cocked her head while she gave the idea some
thought. "I suppose," she said. "I could offer you some caf~
au lalt that I've made for myself. The espresso machine hasn't
been turned on yet."
 Sitting under one of the umbrellas on the deserted terrace,


294

Sean and Janet savored the oven-fresh pastries. The coffee
revived them.
"Now that we're here," Janet said, "what's the plan?"
Sean stroked his heavily whiskered chin. "I'll see if they
have a phone book," he said. "That will give me the address
of the lab."
    "While you do that, I think I'll use the ladies' room," Janet
said. "I feel like something the cat dragged in."
    "A cat would be afraid to go near you," Sean said. He
ducked when Janet threw her crumpled napkin at him.
    By the time Janet returned, looking much fresher, Sean had
not only gotten the address, he'd gotten directions from the
red-haired woman.
  "It's kinda far," he said. "We'll need a ride."
    "And of course that will be easy," Janet said. "We can
either hitchhike or just take one of the many cabs streaming
by." They hadn't seen a single car since they'd arrived.
    "I was thinking about something else," Sean said as he left
a generous tip for their hostess. He stood up.
    Janet looked at him questioningly for a moment before re-
alizing what he had in mind. "Oh, no!" she said. "We're not
stealing another car."
    "Borrow," Sean corrected her. "I'd forgotten how easy it
is."
    Janet refused to have anything to do with "borrowing" a
car, but Sean proceeded undeterred.
    "I don't want to break anything," he said, going from car
to car on a side street, trying all the doors. Every one was
locked. "Must be a lot of suspicious people around here."
Then he stopped, staring across the street. 'q just changed my
mind. I don't want a car."
    Crossing over to a large motorcycle teetering on its kick-
stand, Sean got the engine going almost as quickly as he would
have if he'd had the ignition key. Straddling the bike and
kicking back the kickstand, he motioned for Janet to join him.
    Janet studied Sean with his unshaven face and rumpled
clothes as he revved the motorcycle's engine. How could she
have fallen in love with a guy like this? she asked herself.

                                   295

Reluctantly, she threw a leg over the machine and threw her
arms around Sean's waist. Sean hit the gas and they sped off,
shattering the early morning silence.
    They traveled back down Duval Street in the direction from
which they'd come, then turned north at the Conch Train kiosk
and followed the shoreline. Eventually they came to an old
wharf. Basic Diagnostics occupied a two-story brick ware-
house that had been nicely refurbished. Sean drove around to
the back of the building and parked the bike behind a shed.
Once the motorcycle engine was off the only sound they could
hear was the cry of distant sea gulls. Not a soul was around.
    'q think we're out of luck," Janet said. "It doesn't look
open."
  "Let's check it out," Sean said.
    They mounted some back stairs and peered in the rear door.
There were no lights on inside. A platform ran along the north
side of the building. They tried the doors along the platform,
including a large overhead door, but everything was locked
tight. In the front of the building there was a sign on the
double-door entry that announced that the lab was open from
twelve noon to five P.M. on Sundays and holidays. There was
a small metal drop door for leaving samples during off hours.
  "Guess we'll have to come back," Janet said.
    Sean didn't respond. He cupped his hands and peered
through the front windows. Rounding the comer, he did the
same at another window. Janet followed him as he went from
window to window working his way back the way they'd
come.
    "I hope you're not getting any ideas," Janet said. "Let's
find someplace where we can sleep for a few hours. Then we
can return after noon."
    Sean didn't answer. Instead he stepped away from the last
window he'd been peering through. Without warning he gave
the glass a sudden karate-like chop with the side of his hand.
The window imploded, shattering on the floor within. Janet
leapt back, then quickly looked over her shoulder to see if
there were any witnesses. Then, looking back at Sean, she


300

what Sean was doing back in Boston. The difference, however,
was that in this lab the equipment was all brand new. Sean
longingly looked at shelf upon shelf of appropriate reagents
for the isolation of oncogenes and their products, the onco-
proteins.
    "This place is state of the art in every regard," he said. In
the oncogene section there were additional tissue culture in-
cubators the size of thousand-bottle wine coolers. He opened
the door of one and glanced at the cell lines. "This is a place
I could work," he said, closing the incubator.
    "Is this what you expected?" Janet asked. She'd followed
behind like a puppy except when he went into the maximum
containment area.
    "More than I expected," Sean said. "This must be where
Levy works. I'd guess that most of this equipment has come
from the off-limits area of the sixth floor of the Forbes re-
search building."
  "What is all this telling you?" Janet asked.
    "It's telling me I need a few hours in the lab back at
Forbes," Sean said. "I believe..."
    Sean didn't get to finish. The sounds of voices and footsteps
were heard coming up the stairway. Janet put a hand over her
mouth in panic. Sean grabbed her, his eyes desperately sweep-
ing that area of the lab for a place to hide. There was no
escape.

11

   March 7
Sunday, 8:05 A.M.

"Here they are!" Wayne Edwards announced. He'd just
pulled open a stout metal door to a small storage closet near
the glass-enclosed maximum containment lab.
 Sean and Janet blinked with the sudden intrusion of light.
    Sterling stepped toward Wayne's discovery. Kurt was at his
side.
      "They may not look like fugitives or agents provocateurs,"
Sterling said. "Though of course we know the truth."
  "Out of the closet!" Wayne commanded.
    A subdued and remorseful Janet and a defiant Sean stepped
out into the bright light.
    "You people should not have left the airport last night,"
Sterling scolded. "And to think of the effort we'd expended
on your behalf to thwart your abduction. Some gratitude. I'm
curious to know if you're aware of how much trouble you've
caused."
  "How much trouble I am causing," Sean corrected.
    "Ah, Dr. Mason mentioned you were brash," Sterling said.
"Well, we'll allow you to vent your impertinence on the Key
West police. They can do battle with their Miami counterparts
as to jurisdiction of your case now that you've committed a
felony here as well."
 Sterling picked up a phone in preparation to dial.
    Sean pulled the long-dormant gun from his jacket pocket
and pointed it at him. "Put the phone down," he commanded.

301


302                                                                                                                                  303

    Janet sucked in her breath at the sight of the gun in Sean's
hand.
  "Sean!" she cried. "No!"
    "Shut up," Sean snapped. The threesome surrounding him
in a wide arc made him nervous. The last thing he wanted to
do was let Janet give them an opportunity to overpower him.
    As Sterling replaced the receiver, Sean motioned for the
three men to group together.
    "This is extremely foolish behavior," Sterling commented.
"Breaking and entering in the possession of a deadly weapon
is a far more serious crime than mere breaking and entering."
    "Into the closet!" Sean commanded, motioning toward the
space he and Janet had just vacated.
    "Sean, this is going too far!" Janet said. She stepped up to
Sean.
    "Get out of my way!" Sean snarled. He shoved her roughly
to the side.
    Already dismayed at the appearance of the gun, Janet was
doubly shocked at the sudden change in Sean's personality.
The cruel and vicious sound of his voice and the expression
on his face cowed her.
    Sean succeeded in herding the three men into the narrow
closet. He quickly closed and locked the door behind them.
Pocketing the gun, he moved some sizable furniture against
the door, including a heavy five-drawer file cabinet.
    Satisfied, he grabbed Janet's hand and started toward the
exit. Janet tried to hold back. They got halfway to the stairway
when she managed to pull free.
  "I'm not going with you," she said.
  "What are you talking about?" Sean whispered forcibly.
    "The way you talked to me back there," she said. "I don't
know you."
    "Please!" Sean voiced through clenched teeth. "That was
theatrics for the benefit of the others. If things don't go the
way I imagine they will, you'll be able to contend that you
were coerced into this whole affair. With the work I have to
do back at the lab in Miami, there's a chance things might get
worse before they get better."

"Be straight with me," Janet said. "Stop talking in riddles.
What's going through your mind?"
    "It's a bit much to explain at the moment," Sean said.
"Right now we have to get out of here. I can't tell how long
that storage closet will hold those three. Once they're out, the
cat's out of the bag."
    More confused than ever, Janet followed Sean down the
stairs, through the first-floor lab, and out the front of the build-
ing. Kurt Wanamaker's Cherokee was angled in from the
street. Sean motioned for Janet to get in.
    "Convenient and thoughtful of them to have left the keys,"
Sean said.
    "As if that would have made any difference to you," Janet
said.
Sean started the car, but then immediately killed the engine.
"What now?" Janet asked.
    "In the excitement I forgot that I need some of those re-
agents from upstairs," Sean said. He got out of the car and
leaned in the window. "This won't take but a minute. I'll be
right back."
    Janet tried to protest, but Sean was gone. Not that he'd cared
much about her feelings about any of this mess so far. She
got out of the car and began to pace the length of it nervously.
    Thankfully, Sean returned in a few minutes carrying a large
cardboard box which he shoved into the back seat. He got in
behind the wheel and started the car. Janet got in next to him.
They pulled out into the road and headed north.
"See if there's a map in the glove compartment," he said.
Janet searched and found one. She opened it up to the Flor-
ida Keys. Sean took the map and studied it while driving. "We
can't count on getting all the way to Miami with this car," he
said. "As soon as those three get out of the closet, they'll
realize it's missing. The police will start looking for it and
since there's only one road north, it won't be hard to find."
    "I'm a fugitive," Janet marveled. "Just like the man said
when they found us in the closet. I don't believe it. I don't
know whether to laugh or cry."
  "There's an airport at Marathon," Sean said, ignoring Ja-


3O4

net's comment. "We'll leave the car there and either rent a
car or fly depending on the flight schedule."
  "I presume we're going back to Miami," Janet said.
  "Absolutely," Sean said. "We'll go directly to Forbes."
  "What's in the cardboard box?" Janet asked.
  "A lot of reagents they don't have in Miami," Sean said.
  "Like what?" Janet asked.
    "Mostly DNA primer pairs and DNA probes for onco-
genes," Sean said. "I also found some primers and probes for
virus nucleic acid, particularly those used for St. Louis en-
cephalitis."
    "And you're not about to tell me what all this is all about?"
Janet said.
    "It will sound too preposterous," Sean admitted. "I want
some proof first. I've got to prove it to myself before I tell
anyone, even you."
    "At least give me a general idea of what you use these
primers and probes for," Janet said.
    "DNA primers are used to find particular strands of DNA,"
Sean said. "They seek out a single strand from millions of
others, then react with it. Then, by a process called the Poly-
merase Chain Reaction, the original DNA strand can be am-
plified billions of times. That way it can be easily detected by
a labeled DNA probe."
    "So using these primers and probes is like looking for the
proverbial needle in the haystack with a powerful magnet,"
Janet said.
    "Exactly," Sean said, impressed with how quickly she
grasped the science. "A very, very powerful magnet. I mean,
it can find one particular DNA strand out of a solution of
millions of others. In that sense it's almost a magical magnet.
I think the guy who developed the process should get the No-
bel Prize."
    "Molecular biology is making big strides," Janet said
sleepily.
    "It's unbelievable," Sean agreed. "Even those in the field
have trouble keeping up."
 Janet struggled against ponderously heavy eyelids made

305

worse by the muffled drone of the engine and the gentle jos-
tling. She wanted to press Sean for more of an explanation of
what was going through his mind, and she thought the best
way to do that was to get him to talk about molecular biology
and what he was planning to do when he got back to the lab
at Forbes. But she was too exhausted to go on.
    Janet had always found driving calming. Between the little
amount of sleep she'd gotten aboard the boat and all the run-
ning around they'd been doing, it wasn't long before she nod-
ded off. She fell into a deep, much needed sleep and rested
undisturbed until Sean pulled off Route 1 onto the grounds of
the Marathon Airport.
    "So far so good," Sean said when he noticed Janet was
stirring. "No roadblocks and no police."
    Janet sat up. For a moment she had no idea where she was,
but then reality came back in a numbing flash. Now she felt
worse than she had when she'd fallen asleep. Running her
fingers through her hair made her think of a bird's nest. It was
hard for her to imagine what she looked like. She decided not
to try.
    Sean parked the car in the most crowded part of the parking
lot. He thought its presence would be less likely to be noticed
that way and thereby give them more time. Hefting the card-
board box from the back seat, he carried it into the terminal.
He sent Janet to check on commuter flights to Miami while
he went to inquire about the availability of rental cars. He was
still searching for a rental agent when Janet returned to tell
him that a flight to Miami left in twenty minutes.
    The airline agent helpfully taped Sean's box closed after
plastering the outside with "fragile" stickers. The agent guar-
anteed the parcel would be treated with the utmost care. Later,
as Sean was boarding the small turbo prop commuter plane,
he saw someone casually tossing his box onto a luggage cart.
But Sean wasn't worded. He'd found bubble wrap back at
Basic Diagnostics when he packed the reagents. He was rea-
sonably confident his primers and probes would survive the
trip.
 Once at the Miami airport, he and Janet rented a car. They


306

used Avis, avoiding Hertz in case the Hertz computer indi-
cated that Janet Reardon was already in possession of a red
Pontiac.
    With the primers and probes in the back seat, they drove
directly to Forbes. Sean parked next to his 4x4 near the en-
trance to the research building. He got out his Forbes ID card.
    "You want to come in or what'?" Sean asked. Exhaustion
was catching up with him at this point too. "You can take
this car back to the apartment if you want."
      "I've come this far," Janet said. "I want you to explain
what you're doing as you do it."  "Fair enough," Sean said.
    They got out of the car and walked into the building. Sean
did not expect any trouble, so he was surprised when the guard
stood up. None of the guards had ever done that. This one's
name was Alvarez. Sean had seen him before on several oc-
casions.
    "Mr. Murphy?" Alvarez questioned with a definite Spanish
accent.
    "That's me," Sean said. He'd bumped into the turnstile arm
which Alvarez had failed to release. Sean had his ID in his
hand visible for Alvarez to see. The cardboard box was under
his other arm. Janet was behind him.
 "You are not permitted in the building," Alvarez said.
 Sean put down his cardboard box.
    "I work here," Sean said. He leaned over to hold his ID
closer to Alvarez's face in case the guard had missed it.
    "Orders from Dr. Mason," Alvarez said. He leaned back
from Sean's ID as if it were somehow repulsive. He picked
up one of his telephones with one hand and flipped through a
Rolodex with the other.
    "Put the phone down," Sean said, struggling to control his
voice. Between everything he'd been through and his general
fatigue, he was at the end of his patience.
    The guard ignored Sean. He found Dr. Mason's phone num-
ber and started punching in the numbers.
    "I asked you nicely," Sean said. "Put the phone down!"
He spoke now with considerably more force.

307

    The guard finished dialing, then calmly eyed Sean as he
waited for the connection to go through.
    With lightning speed, Sean reached across the Corian desk
and grabbed the phone line where it disappeared into the
woodwork. A sharp yank tore the cable free. Sean held the
end of the cable up to the surprised guard's face. It was a
tangled mass of tiny red, green, and yellow wires.  "Your phone is out of order," Sean said.
    Alvarez's face turned red. Dropping the receiver, he
snatched up a truncheon and started around the desk.
    Instead of retreating, which the guard expected, Sean lunged
ahead to meet Alvarez as if throwing a body check in a hockey
game. Sean came up from below. The base of his forearm
connected with the guard's lower jaw. Alvarez was lifted off
his feet and smashed back against the wall before he could try
anything with the truncheon. On impact Sean could hear a
definite crack like a piece of dried kindling being snapped.
Sean also heard the man grunt when he hit the wall as the
breath was forced from his lungs. When Sean pulled away,
Alvarez fell to the floor, his body limp.
  "Oh, God!" Janet cried. "You've hurt him."
    "Geez, what a jaw," Sean said as he rubbed the base of
his forearm.
    Janet stepped around Sean to get to Alvarez, who was bleed-
ing from his mouth. Janet half feared that he was dead, but
she quickly determined he was merely unconscious.
    "When is this going to end?" she moaned. "Sean, I think
you've broken this man's jaw, and he's bitten his tongue. You
knocked him out."
  "Let's walk him over to the hospital side," Sean suggested.
    "They don't have trauma capability here," Janet said.
"We'll have to take him over to Miami General."
    Sean rolled his eyes and sighed. He eyed his cardboard box
of primers and probes. He needed a few hours, maybe even
as much as four, up in the lab. He looked at his watch. It was
just after one in the afternoon.
  "Sean!" Janet commanded. "Now! It's only three minutes


3O8

away. We can come back once we've dropped him off. We
can't just leave him this way."
    Reluctantly, Sean pushed his cardboard box behind the
guard's desk, then helped Janet carry Alvarez outside. Be-
tween the two of them, they got him out to the rental car and
into the back seat.
    Sean could see the wisdom in taking Alvarez to the emer-
gency room at Miami General. It wasn't smart to leave a
bleeding, unconscious man unattended. If Alvarez took a turn
for the worse, Sean would be in serious trouble, the kind even
his clever brother would have a hard time getting him out of.
But Sean wasn't about to get caught now just because he'd
agreed to this mission of mercy.
    Even though it was midday Sunday, Sean counted on a busy
ER. He wasn't disappointed. "This is a quick dropoff," he
warned Janet. "A speedy in and out. Once we get him in the
ER, we're out of there. The staff there will know what to do."
    Janet wasn't in complete agreement, but she knew better
than to disagree.
    Sean left the engine idling, the gear in park, while he and
Janet struggled with Alvarez's still-limp body. "At least he's
breathing," Sean said.
    Just inside the door to the ER, Sean spotted an empty gur-
ney. "Put him on this," he ordered Janet.
    With Alvarez safely laid atop it, Sean gave the gurney a
gentle shove. "Possible code," Sean shouted as the gurney
rolled down the hall. Then he grabbed Janet by the arm.
"Come on, let's go," he said.
    As they raced back to the car, Janet said, "He wasn't a
code."
    "I know," Sean admitted. "But it was all I could think of
to get some action. You know how emergency rooms are.
Alvarez could have lain around for hours before anyone did
something for him."
    Janet only shrugged. Sean did have a point. And before
they'd left she'd been relieved to see a male nurse already
intercepting the gurney.
  On the way back to Forbes, neither Sean nor Janet said

 309

another word. Both were exhausted. On top of that, Janet was
unnerved by Sean's explosive violence; it was yet more be-
havior she had not anticipated from him.
    Meanwhile, Sean was trying to figure out how he could
ensure himself four hours of uninterrupted lab time. Between
the unfortunate episode with Alvafez and the fact the Miami
police were already looking for him, Sean knew he would
have to come up with something creative to hold off the
hordes. Suddenly he had an idea. It was radical, but it would
definitely work. His plan brought a smile to his face despite
his exhaustion. There was a kind of poetic justice involved
that appealed to him.
    Sean felt justified in using extreme measures at this point.
The more he thought about his current theory of what was
going on at the Forbes Cancer Center, the more convinced he
was that he was correct. But he needed proof, and to get proof,
he needed lab time. And to get the lab time, he needed some-
thing drastic. In fact the more drastic it was, the better it would
work.
    When they made the final turn into the parking lot at Forbes,
Sean broke the silence: "The night you an'ired in Florida I'd
gone to an affair at Dr. Mason's," he said. "A meduiloblas-
toma patient donated money to Forbes, big money. He headed
up an airplane manufacturing firm in St. Louis." Janet was silent.
    "Louis Martin is the CEO of a computer hardware manu-
facturing firm north of Boston," Sean said. He glanced at Ja-
net as he parked. She looked puzzled.
    "Malcolm Betencourt runs a huge for-profit chain of hos-
pitals," Sean continued.
    "And Helen Cabot was a college student," Janet said at
last.
    Sean opened his door, but he didn't get out. "True, Helen
was a college student. But it's also true that her father is found-
er and CEO of one of the world's top software companies."
  "What are you trying to say?" Janet asked.
    "I just want you to think about all this," Sean said as he
finally got out of the car. "And when we get upstairs, I want


310

you to look at the thirty-three charts we copied and think about
the economic demographics. Just let me know what they say
to you."
    Sean was pleased that no new guard had come on duty. He
retrieved his cardboard box from behind the front desk. Then
both he and Janet ducked under the turnstile and took the
elevator to the fifth floor.
    Sean first checked the refrigerator to make certain that He-
len's brain and sample of cerebrospinal fluid had not been
disturbed. Next he got the charts out from their hiding place
and gave them to Janet. He eyed the mess at his lab bench but
didn't touch it.
    "While you're perusing the charts," Sean said casually,
"I'll be heading out. But I'll be back shortly, maybe in an
hour."
    "Where are you going?" Janet asked. As usual, Sean was
full of surprises. "I thought you needed lab time. That's why
we rushed here."
    "I do," Sean assured her. "But I'm afraid I'm going to be
interrupted because of Alvarez and also because of that group
I locked in the closet in Key West. They must be out and fit
to be tied by now. I have to make some arrangements to keep
the barbarians at bay."
"What do you mean by arrangements?" Janet asked warily.
"Maybe it's better if you don't know," Sean said. "I came
up with a great idea that's guaranteed to work, but it's a bit
drastic. I don't think you should be involved."
  "I don't like the sound of this at all," Janet said.
    "If anybody comes in here while I'm gone and asks for
me," Sean said, ignoring Janet's concerns, "tell them that you
have no idea where I am, which will be the truth."  "Who might come?" Janet asked.
    "I hope no one," Sean said. "But if someone does come,
it will probably be Robert Harris, the guy who saved the day
on the beach. If Alvarez calls anyone, he'll call him."
  "What if he asks what I'm doing here?"
    "Tell him the truth," Sean said. "Tell him you're going
over these charts to try to understand my behavior."

 311

    "Oh, please!" Janet said superciliously. "I'm not going to
understand your behavior from these charts. That's ridicu-
lous."
  "Just read them and keep in mind what I just told you."
    "You mean about the economic demographics?" Janet
asked.
    "Exactly," Sean said. "Now I've got to get out of here.
But I need to borrow something. Can I have that container of
Mace you always carry in your purse?"
    "I don't like this at all," Janet repeated, but she got the
container of Mace and handed it to Sean. "This is making me
very nervous."
    "Don't worry," Sean said. "I need the Mace in case I run
into Batman."
  "Give me a break," Janet said with exasperation.

SEAN KNEW his time was limited. Alvarez would be regaining
consciousness soon if he hadn't already. Sean was quite con-
fident the guard would eventually get the message to someone
that he was no longer guarding the Forbes research building
and that Sean Murphy was back in town.
    Using the rental car, Sean drove to the City Yacht Basin
near the municipal auditorium. He parked the car and went
into one of the marinas where he rented a sixteen-foot Boston
Whaler. Leaving the yacht basin, he drove the boat across
Biscayne Bay and around the Dodge Island seaport. Since it
was Sunday afternoon, a number of cruise ships were lined up
at the dock with people boarding for Caribbean adventures.
There was also a horde of pleasure craft, from jet skis to large
oceangoing yachts.
    Crossing the sea lane was treacherous because of the chop
created by a combination of wind and other waterborne traffic,
but Sean made it safely to the bridge connecting the MacAr-
thur Causeway to Miami Beach. Passing under the bridge he
saw his objective off to the left: Star Island.
    It was easy to find the Masons' home since their huge white
yacht, Lady Luck, was moored to the pier in front. Sean angled

312                                                                                                         313

his Boston Whaler in behind the yacht where a floating dock
was connected to the pier by a ship's ladder. As Sean ex-
pected, by the time he secured his boat, Batman, the Masons'
Doberman, was at the top of the ladder growling and baring
his formidable teeth.
    Sean climbed the ladder saying "good dog" over and over.
Batman leaned out from the pier as far as he dared and re-
sponded to Sean's cajoling by curling his upper lip into a
menacing snarl. The volume of his growling rose as he showed
more teeth.
    Coming within twelve inches of the canine's canines, Sean
gave Batman a blast from Janet's Mace canister that sent the
dog howling toward its lair on the side of the garage.
    Confident that there was only one dog, Sean clambered up
onto the pier and surveyed the grounds. What he had to do,
he had to do quickly, before any phone calls could be made.
The sliders opening out from the living room to the pool were
cast open. The sound of opera issued forth.
    From where he was standing, Sean couldn't see anyone. As
nice a day as it was, he'd expected to see Sarah Mason sunning
herself on one of the chaises by the pool. Sean did see a towel,
some suntan lotion, and a portion of the Sunday paper, but no
Sarah.
    Moving quickly, Sean rounded the pool and approached the
open sliders. Screen doors obscured his view inside. The closer
he got to the house, the louder the music became.
    Reaching the door, Sean tried the screen. It was unlocked.
Silently he slid it open. Stepping into the room he tried to
listen for sounds of people over the opera's sudden crescendo.
    Advancing to the stereo, Sean searched among its dazzling
array of dials and gauges. Finding the power button, he turned
the system off, plunging the room into relative silence. He was
hoping that cutting off the Aida aria in the middle would have
a summoning effect. It did.
    Almost immediately, Dr. Mason appeared at the door to his
study, gazing at the stereo with a quizzical expression on his
face. He took a few steps into the room before he saw Sean.
He stopped, obviously flabbergasted.

    "Good afternoon, Dr. Mason," Sean said with a voice that
was more chipper than he felt. "Is Mrs. Mason around?"
      "What in heaven's name is the meaning of this... ?" Dr.
Mason blustered. He couldn't seem to find the right words.
  "Intrusion?" Sean suggested.
    Sarah Mason appeared, apparently equally baffled by the
sudden silence. She was dressed, if that was the word, in a
shiny black bikini. The skimpy suit barely covered her ample
flesh. Over the bikini she wore a diaphanous jacket with rhine-
stone buttons, but the jacket was so transparent, it hardly made
for a more modest appearance. Completing the outfit were
black, backless high-heeled slippers decorated with a tuft of
feathers over each instep.
    "I've come to invite you two to the lab," Sean said matter-
of-factly. "I suggest you bring some reading material. It may
be a long afternoon."
  Dr. and Mrs. Mason exchanged glances.
    "Trouble is, I don't have a lot of time," Sean added. "Let's
get a move on. We'll use your car since I came in a boat."
    "I'm going to call the police," Dr. Mason announced. He
started to turn back into his study.
    "I don't think that is part of the game plan," Sean said. He
pulled out Tom's gun and held it up in the air to be sure both
of the Masons could see it clearly.
 Mrs. Mason gasped. Dr. Mason stiffened.
    "I was hoping a mere invitation would be sufficient," Sean
said. "But I do have this gun if need be."
    'q think you are making a big mistake, young man," Dr.
Mason said.
    "With all due respect," Sean said, "if my suspicions are
correct, then you're the one who's made big mistakes."
  "You won't get away with this," Dr. Mason warned.
  "I don't intend to," Sean said.
    "Do something!" Mrs. Mason commanded her husband.
Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes, threatening her
eyeliner.
  "I want everybody to stay cool," Sean said. "No one will

314

get hurt. Now if we can all just go to the car." Sean motioned
with the gun.
    "I'll have you know we're expecting company," Dr. Mason
said. "In fact, we're expecting your..."
    "That just means we have to get out of here faster," Sean
interrupted. Then he yelled: "Move!" With gun in hand, he
motioned to the hall.
    Reluctantly, Dr. Mason put a protective arm around his wife
and walked her to the front door. Sean opened it for them.
Mrs. Mason was sobbing, saying that she couldn't go dressed
as she was.
  "Out!" Sean yelled, his impatience obvious.
    They got halfway to Dr. Mason's parked car when another
car pulled up to the curb.
    Dismayed at this intrusion, Sean slipped the gun into his
jacket pocket. He was thinking that he'd have to add this vis-
itor to his pair of hostages. When he saw who it was, he had
to blink several times: it was his own brother Brian.
    "Sean!" Brian called the moment he recognized his
brother. He ran up the lawn, his face reflecting both surprise
and pleasure. "I've been looking for you for twenty-four
hours! Where have you been?"
    "I've been calling you," Sean said. "What in God's name
are you doing in Miami?"
      "It's a good thing you've arrived, Brian," Dr. Mason in-
terjected. "Your brother was in the process of kidnapping us."
  "He has a gun!" Mrs. Mason warned between sniffles.
    Brian looked at his brother incredulously. "Gun?" he ech-
oed in disbelief. "What gun?"
  "It's in his pocket," Mrs. Mason snapped.
  Brian stared at Sean. "Is this true?"
  Sean shrugged. "It's been a crazy weekend."
  "Let me have the gun," Brian said, extending his hand.
  "No," Sean said.
    "Let me have the gun," Brian repeated, this time more
firmly.
    "Brian, there's more involved here than meets the eye,"
Sean said. "Please don't interfere right now. Obviously I'm

                                   315

going to need your legal talents later, so don't go away. Just
cool out for a few hours."
    Brian took another step closer to Sean, bringing him within
arm's reach. "Give me the gun," he repeated. "I'm not letting
you commit this kind of crime. Abduction with a deadly
weapon is a serious felony. It carries a compulsory prison
term."
    "I understand you have good intentions," Sean said. "I
know you're older, and you are a lawyer. But I can't explain
everything right now. Trust me!"
    Brian reached out and jammed his hand into Sean's jacket
pocket, groping toward the conspicuous bulge. His fingers
wrapped around the gun. Sean grabbed Brian's wrist in an iron
grip.
    "You're older," Sean said, "but I'm stronger. We've been
through this before."
  "I'm not letting you do this," Brian said.
  "Let go of the gun," Sean ordered.
    "I'm not about to let you throw your life away," Brian
said.
  "Don't make me do this," Sean warned.
    Brian tried to wrench his arm from Sean's grip while main-
taining a hold on the gun.
    Sean reacted by throwing a left uppercut into the pit of
Brian's stomach. With lightning speed, he followed his punch
with a sharp jab to the nose. Brian went down like a sack of
potatoes, curling into a tight ball as he struggled to catch his
breath. A bit of blood trickled out of his nose.  "I'm sorry," Sean said.
    Dr. and Mrs. Mason, who'd been watching this exchange,
bolted for the garage. Sean leapt after them, catching Mrs.
Mason first. Dr. Mason, who had hold of Mrs. Mason's other
arm, was pulled up short as well.
    Having just struck his brother, Sean was in no mood for
further argument. "In the car," he growled. "Dr. Mason, you
drive."
    Sheepishly, the Masons complied. Sean got in the back seat.
"The lab, please," he said.


316                                                                                                                                       317

    As they pulled out of the driveway, Sean caught a glimpse
of Brian, who'd managed to push himself into a sitting posi-
tion. Brian's face reflected a mixture of confusion, hurt, and
anger.

"IT's ABOUT time," Kurt Wanamaker snapped as he, Sterling,
and Wayne stumbled out of the storage closet. They were drip-
ping with perspiration. Despite the air-conditioning in the main
lab, the temperature in the unventilated closet had soared.
  "I just heard you," the technician explained.
"We've been shouting since noon," Kurt complained.
"It's hard to hear from downstairs," the technician said.
"Especially with all the equipment running. Plus, we never
come up here."
    "I don't understand how you couldn't have heard," Kurt
said.
    Sterling went directly to a phone and dialed Dr. Mason's
private number. When Dr. Mason didn't answer, Sterling
cursed as he pictured Dr. Mason spending a relaxing Sunday
afternoon at a country club.
    Replacing the receiver, Sterling considered what he should
do next. With decisive speed, he rejoined Kurt and Wayne and
said that he'd like to go back to the airport.
    As they descended the stairs, Wayne broke the strained si-
lence. "I never would have picked Sean Murphy for some-
body carrying a piece."
    "It was a definite surprise," Sterling agreed. "I believe it
is further evidence that Sean Murphy is a far more complex
individual than we have surmised."
    When they got to the front of the building, Kurt Wanamaker
was thrown into a panic. "My car's gone!" he moaned.
    "Undoubtedly compliments of Mr. Murphy," Sterling said.
"He seems to be thumbing his nose at us."
    "I wonder how Murphy and his girl got out here from the
center of town," Wayne said.
    "There's a motorcycle in the back that doesn't belong to
anyone who works here," the technician said.

    "I guess that answers it," Sterling said. "Call the police
and give them the details about your missing automobile.
Since he took the car I think it's safe to presume he's left the
island. Perhaps the police can pick him up."
    "It's a new car," Kurt whined. "I've only had it three
weeks. This is awful."
    Sterling held his tongue. He felt nothing but contempt for
this nervous, tiresome, balding man with whom he'd spent
more than five uncomfortable hours crammed into a tiny
closet. "Perhaps you could ask one of your technicians to give
us a ride to the airport." He took solace in the hope that this
would be the last thing he'd ever have to say to the man.


12

   March 7
Sunday, 2:30 P.M.

As soon as Dr. Mason pulled into the Forbes parking lot,
Sean tried to peer into the research building foyer to see if
anything had changed since he'd left. With sunlight reflecting
off the windows, it was impossible to see in. Sean couldn't
tell if another guard had come on duty or not.
    It was only after they'd parked, and Sean entered the build-
ing, keeping the Masons close ahead, that he saw another
guard had indeed come on duty. The man's ID badge read
"Sanchez."
    "Tell him who you are and ask for his pass keys," Sean
whispered as the trio neared the turnstile.
  "He knows who I am," Dr. Mason snapped.
    "Tell him you want no one else in the building until we
come down," Sean said. He knew such a command would be
ignored as the afternoon progressed, but he thought he might
as well try.
    Dr. Mason did as he was told. He passed the large key ring
to Sean as soon as Sanchez had given it to him. The guard
eyed them strangely as they went through the turnstile. Big-
breasted blondes wearing black bikinis and feathered high
heels weren't exactly regulars at the Forbes research building.
    "Your brother was right," Dr. Mason said after Sean closed
and locked the entrance doors beyond the turnstile. "This is
a serious felony. You'll go to prison. You're not going to get
away with this."

318

"I told you, I don't intend to get away with it," Sean said.
Sean locked the stairwell doors. On the second floor he
closed and locked the fire doors leading to the bridge to the
hospital. Once they got to the fifth floor he locked off the
elevator, then summoned the second car. When it arrived, he
locked that off as well.
    Ushering the Masons into his lab, Sean waved to Janet. She
was inside the glass-enclosed office reading the charts. She
came out and looked quizzically at the Masons. Sean hastily
introduced them, then sent the Masons into the glass-enclosed
office, telling them to stay put. He closed the door behind
them.
    "What are they doing here?" Janet asked with concern.
"And what's Mrs. Mason doing in a swimsuit? It looks like
she's been crying."
    "She's a bit hysterical," Sean explained. "There wasn't
time for her to change. I brought them here to keep others
from disturbing me. Besides, as soon as I do what I'm plan-
ning on doing, Dr. Mason is the first person I want to tell."
    "Did you force them to come here?" Janet asked. Even
after everything else Sean had resorted to, this had to be past
the limit.
    "They would have preferred to listen to the rest of Aida,"
Sean admitted. He began clearing a work area on his bench,
particularly under one of the exhaust hoods.
    "Did you use that gun you're carrying?" Janet asked. She
didn't want to hear the answer.
  "I had to show it to them," Sean admitted.
    "Heaven help us," Janet exclaimed, looking up toward the
ceiling and shaking her head.
    Sean got out some fresh glassware including a large Erlen-
meyer flask. He pushed away some of the debris near the sink
to make space.
    Janet reached out and grasped Sean's arm. "This whole
thing has gone too far," she said. "You've kidnapped the
Masons! Do you understand that?"
  "Of course," Sean said. "What do you think, I'm crazy?"
  "Don't make me answer that," Janet said.


320

  "Did anybody come by while I was gone?" Sean asked.
    "Yes," Janet said. "Robert Harris came like you thought
he might."
  "And?" Sean asked, looking up from his work.
    "I told him what you told me to say," Janet replied. "He
wanted to know if you'd gone back to the residence. I said I
didn't know. I think he went there to look for you."
    "Perfect," Sean said. "He's the one I'm the most afraid of.
He's too gung ho. Everything has to be in place by the time
he returns." Sean went back to work.
    Janet didn't know what to do. She watched Sean for a few
minutes as he mixed reagents in the large Erlenmeyer flask,
creating a colorless, oily liquid.
  "What exactly are you doing?" she asked.
    "I'm making a large batch of nitroglycerin," he said. "Plus
an ice bath for it to sit in and cool."
    "You're joking," Janet said with fresh concern. It was hard
to keep up with Sean.
    "You're right," Sean said, lowering his voice. "It's show
time. This is really for the benefit of Dr. Mason and his beau-
tiful bride. As a doctor, he knows just enough chemistry to
make this believable."
  "Sean, you're acting bizarre," Janet said.
    "I am a bit manic," Sean agreed. "By the way, what did
you think of those charts?"
    "I guess you were right," Janet said. "Not all the charts
had reference to economic status, but those that did indicated
that the patients were CEOs or family members of CEOs."
    "All part of the Fortune 500, I'd guess," Sean said. "What
does that make you think?"
    "I'm too exhausted to draw conclusions," Janet said. "But
I suppose it's a strange coincidence."
    Sean laughed. "What do you think the statistical probability
would be of that happening by chance?"
    "I don't know enough about statistics to answer that," Janet
said.
    Sean held up the flask and swirled the contained solution.
"This looks good enough to pass," he said. "Let's hope old

321

Doc Mason remembers enough of his inorganic chemistry to
be impressed."
    Janet watched Sean carry the flask into the glass enclosure.
She wondered if he was losing touch with reality. Granted,
he'd been driven to increasingly desperate acts, but abducting
the Masons at gunpoint was a mind-numbing quantum leap.
The legal consequences of such an act had to be severe. Janet
didn't know much law, but she knew she was implicated to
an extent. She doubted Sean's proposed coercion theory would
spare her. She only wished she knew what to do.
    Janet watched as Sean presented the fake nitroglycerin to
the Masons as the real thing. Judging by the impression he
made on Dr. Mason, she gathered that the Forbes director re-
called enough of his inorganic chemistry to make the pre-
sentation plausible. Dr. Mason's eyes opened wide. Mrs.
Mason brought a hand to her mouth. When Sean gave the flask
a violent swirl both the Masons stepped back in fear. Then
Sean jammed the flask into the ice bath he'd set up on the
desk, collected the charts Janet had left in there, and came out
into the lab. He dumped the charts on a nearby lab bench.
  "What did the Masons say?" Janet asked.
    "They were suitably impressed," Sean said. "Especially
when I told them the freezing point is only fifty-five degrees
Fahrenheit and that the stuff is extraordinarily unstable in a
solid form. I told them to be careful in there because bumping
the table would detonate it."
    "I think we should call this whole thing off," Janet said.
"You're going too far."
    "I beg to differ," Sean said. "Besides, it's me that's doing
this, not you."
    "I'm involved," Janet said. "Just being here probably
makes me an accessory."
    "When all is said and done, Brian will work it out," Sean
said. "Trust me."
    Janet's attention was caught by the couple in the glass of-
rice. "You shouldn't have left the Masons alone," Janet said.
"Dr. Mason is making a call."
  "Good," Sean said. "I fully expected him to call someone.

322

In fact, I hope he calls the police. You see, I want a circus
around here."
    Janet stared at Sean. For the first time, she thought he might
be experiencing a psychotic break. "Sean," she said gently,
"I have a feeling that you're decompensating. Maybe you've
been under too much pressure."
    "Seriously," Sean said. "I want a carnival atmosphere. It
will be much safer. The last thing I want is some frustrated
commando like Robert Harris crawling around through the air
ducts with a knife in his mouth trying to be a hero. That's
when people would get hurt. I want the police and the fire
department out there scratching their heads but keeping the
would-be paladins at bay. I want them to think I'm crazy for
four hours or so."
  "I don't understand you," Janet said.
    "You will," Sean assured her. "Meanwhile, I got some
work for you to do. You told me you know something about
computers. Head up to administration on the seventh floor."
He handed her the ring of pass keys. "Go into that glass room
that we saw when we copied the charts, the one where the
computer was running that program, flashing those nine-digit
numbers. I think those numbers are social security numbers.
And the phone numbers! I think those were numbers for in-
surance companies that write health insurance. See if you can
corroborate that. Then see if you can hack your way into the
Forbes mainframe. I want you to look for travel files for the
clinic, especially for Deborah Levy and Margaret Richmond."
  "Can't you tell me why I'm doing this?" Janet asked.
    "No," Sean said. "It's like a double blind study. I want
you to be objective."
    Sean's mania was oddly compelling--and persuasive. Janet
took the keys and walked to the stairwell. Sean gave her a
thumbs-up in parting. Whatever the resolution of this madcap,
reckless escapade would be, she'd know within four or five
hours.
    Before he got down to work, Sean picked up a telephone
and called Brian's number in Boston and left a long message.
First he apologized for hitting him. Then he said that in case

                                   323

something happened to go horribly wrong, he wanted to tell
him what he believed was happening at the Forbes Cancer
Center. It took him about five minutes.

LIEUTENANT HECTOR Salazar of the Miami Police Department
normally used Sunday afternoons as an opportunity to finish
the reams of paperwork generated by Miami's typically busy
Saturday nights. Sundays were generally quiet. Auto accidents,
which the uniformed patrol and their sergeants could handle,
comprised the biggest portion of the day's workload. Later on
Sundays, after the football games were over, domestic vio-
lence often flared. Sometimes that could involve the watch
commander, so Hector wanted to get as much done as he could
before the phone started to ring.
    Knowing that the Miami Dolphins game was still in prog-
ress, Hector answered the phone at three-fifteen with little con-
cern. The call was patched through the complaint room to a
land line.
    "Sergeant Anderson here," the voice said. "I'm at the
Forbes Cancer Center hospital building. We got a problem."
    "What is it?" Hector asked. His chair squeaked as he
leaned back.
    "We got a guy holed up in the research building next door
with two, maybe three hostages," Anderson said. "He's
armed. There's also a bomb of some kind involved."
    "Christ!" Hector said as his chair tipped forward with a
thump. From experience, he knew the paperwork this kind of
scene could generate. "Anyone else in the building?"
    "We don't think so," Anderson said. "At least not accord-
ing to the guard. To make matters worse, the hostages are
VIPs. It's the director of the center, Dr. Randolph Mason, and
his wife, Sarah Mason."
    "You have the area secured?" Hector asked. His mind was
already jumping ahead. This operation would be a hot potato.
Dr. Randolph Mason was well known in the Miami area.
    "We're doing it now," Anderson said. "We're running yel-
low crime scene tape around the whole building."


324

    "Any media yet?" Hector asked. Sometimes the media got
to a scene faster than backup police personnel. The media
often monitored the police radio bands.
    "Not yet," Anderson said. "That's why I'm using this land
line. But we expect a blizzard any minute. The hostage taker's
name is Sean Murphy. He's a medical student working at the
clinic. He's with a nurse named Janet Reardon. We don't
know if she's an accomplice or a hostage."
    "What do you mean by 'some kind of bomb'?" Hector
asked.
    "He mixed up a big flask of nitroglycerin," Anderson said.
"It's standing in ice on a desk in the room with the hostages.
Once it freezes, slamming the door can set it off. At least,
that's what Dr. Mason said."
  "You've talked with the hostages?" Hector asked.
    "Oh, yeah," Anderson said. "Dr. Mason told me he and
his wife are in a glass office along with the nitro. They're
terrified, but so far they're unharmed and they have a phone.
He says he can see the perp. But the girl is gone. He doesn't
know where she went."
    "What's Murphy doing?" Hector asked. "Has he made any
demands yet?"
    "No demands yet," Anderson said. "Apparently he's real
busy doing some kind of experiment."
  "What do you mean experiment?" Hector asked.
    "No clue," Anderson said. "I'm just repeating what Dr.
Mason said. Apparently Murphy had been disgruntled because
he'd been denied permission to work on a particular project.
Maybe he's working on that. At any rate, he's armed. Dr.
Mason said he waved the gun in front of them when he broke
into their home."
  "What kind of gun?"
    "Sounds like a .38 detective special, from Dr. Mason's de-
scription," Anderson said.
      "Make sure the building is secure," Hector said. "I want
no one going in or out. Got it?"  "Got it," Anderson said.
 After telling Anderson that he'd be out on site in a few

325

minutes, Hector made three calls. First he called the hostage
negotiating team and spoke with the supervisor, Ronald Hunt.
Next he called the shift SWAT team commander, George Lor-
ing. Finally he called Phil Darell, the bomb squad supervisor.
Hector told all three to assemble their respective teams and to
rendezvous at the Forbes Cancer Center ASAP.
    Hector heaved his two-hundred-and-twenty-pound frame
out of the desk chair. He was a stocky man who'd been all
muscle during his twenties. During his early thirties, a lot of
that muscle had turned to fat. Using his stubby, shovel-like
hands, he attached to his belt the police paraphernalia he'd
removed to sit at his desk. He was in the process of slipping
into his Kevlar vest when the phone rang again. It was the
chief, Mark Witman.
    "I understand there's a hostage situation," Chief Witlnan
said.
    "Yes, sir," Hector stammered. 'q was just called. We're
mobilizing the necessary personnel."
  "You feel comfortable handling this?" Chief Witman said.
  "Yes, sir," Hector answered.
    "You sure you don't want a captain running the show?"
Chief Witman asked.
'q believe there'll be no problem, sir," Hector said.
"Okay," Chief Witman said. "But I must tell you I have
already had a call from the mayor. This is a politically sen-
sitive situation."
  "I'11 keep that in mind, sir," Hector said.
  'q want this handled by the book," Chief Witman said.
  "Yes, sir," Hector said.

SEAN ATTACKED his work with determination. Knowing that
his time was limited, he tried to work efficiently, planning
each step in advance. The first thing he did was slip up to the
sixth floor to check on the automatic peptide analyzer that he'd
set up on Saturday to sequence the amino acids. He thought
there was a good chance his run had been disturbed since
Deborah Levy had appeared to read him the riot act just after

326

he'd started it. But the machine hadn't been touched, and his
sample was still inside. He tore off the readout from the
printer.
    The next thing Sean did was carry two thermal cyclers down
from the sixth floor to the fifth. They were going to be his
workhorses for the afternoon. It was in the thermal cyclers
that the polymerase chain reactions were carried out.
    After a quick check on the Masons, who seemed to be
spending most of their time arguing over whose fault it was
that they'd been taken hostage, Sean got down to real work.
    First he went over the readout from the peptide analyzer.
The results were dramatic. The amino acid sequences of the
antigen binding sites of Helen Cabot's medicine and Louis
Martin's medicine were identical. The immunoglobulins were
the same, meaning all the medulloblastoma patients were be-
ing treated, at least initially, with the same antibody. This in-
formation was consistent with Sean's theory, so it fanned his
excitement.
    Next, Sean got out Helen's brain and the syringe containing
her cerebrospinal fluid from the refrigerator. He took another
general sample of tumor from the brain, then returned the or-
gan to the refrigerator. After cutting it into small pieces, Sean
put the tumor sample in a flask with the appropriate enzymes
to create a cell suspension of the cancer cells. He put the flask
in the incubator.
    While the enzymes worked on the tumor sample, Sean be-
gan loading some of the ninety-six wells of the first thermal
cycler with aliquots of Helen's cerebrospinal fluid. To each
well of cerebrospinal fluid he added an enzyme called a re-
verse transcriptase to change any viral RNA to DNA. Then he
put the paired primers for St. Louis encephalitis virus into the
same well. Finally, he added the reagents to sustain the poly-
merase chain reaction. These reagents included a heat stable
enzyme called Taq.
    Turning back to the cell suspension of Helen's cancer, Sean
used a detergent designated NP-40 to open the cells and their
nuclear membranes. Then, by painstaking separation tech-
niques, he isolated the cellular nucleoproteins from the rest of



the cellular debris. In a final step he separated the DNA from
the RNA.
    He loaded samples of the DNA into the remaining wells of
the first thermal cycler. Into these same wells Sean carefully
added the paired primers for oncogenes, a separate pair for
each well. Finally he dosed each well with an appropriate
amount of reagents for the polymerase chain reaction.
With the first thermal cycler fully loaded, Sean turned it on.
Turning to the second thermal cycler, Sean added samples
of Helen's tumor cell RNA to each well. In the second run he
was planning to look for messenger RNA made from onco-
genes. To do this he bad to add aliquots of reverse transcrip-
tions to each well, the same enzyme that he'd added to the
samples of cerebrospinal fluid. While he was in the tedious
process of adding the oncogene primer pairs, a pair in each
well, the phone rang.
    At first Sean ignored the phone, assuming that Dr. Mason
would answer it. When Mason failed to do so, the continuous
ringing began to grate on Sean's nerves. Putting down the
pipette he was using, Sean walked over to the glass-enclosed
office. Mrs. Mason was sitting glumly in an office chair
pushed into the corner. She'd apparently cried herself out and
was just sniffling into a tissue. Dr. Mason was nervously
watching the flask in the ice bath, concerned that the ringing
phone might disturb it.
    Sean pushed open the door. ':Would you mind answering
the phone?" Sean said irritably. "Whoever it is, be sure to
tell them that the nitroglycerin is just on the verge of freez-
ing."
    Sean gave the door a shove. As it clunked into its jamb,
Sean could see Dr. Mason wince, but the doctor obediently
picked up the receiver. Sean turned back to his lab bench and
his pipetting. He'd only loaded a single well when his con-
centration was again broken.
    "It's a Lieutenant Hector Salazar from the Miami Police
Department," Dr. Mason called. "He'd like to talk with you."
    Sean looked over at the office. Dr. Mason had the door
propped open with his foot. He was holding the phone in one


328

hand, the receiver in the other. The cord snaked back into the
office.
    "Tell him that there will be no problems if they wait for a
couple more hours," Sean said.
    Dr. Mason spoke into the phone for a few moments, then
called out: "He insists on talking with you."
    Sean rolled his eyes. He put his pipette back down on the
lab bench, stepped over to the wall extension, and pushed the
blinking button.
"I'm very busy right now," he said without preamble.
"Take it easy," Hector said soothingly. "I know you're
upset, but everything is going to work out fine. There's some-
one here who'd like to have a word with you. His name is
Sergeant Hunt. We want to be reasonable about all this. I'm
sure you do too."
      Sean tried to protest that he didn't have time for conver-
sation when Sergeant Hunt's gruff voice came over the line.
  "Now I want you to stay calm," Sergeant Hunt said.
    "That's a little difficult," Sean said. "I've got a lot to do
in a short time."
      "No one will get hurt," Sergeant Hunt said. "We'd like
you to come down here so we can talk."  "Sorry," Sean said.
    "I've heard that you've been angry about not being able to
work on a particular project," Sergeant Hunt said. "Let's talk
about it. I can understand how upsetting that might be. You
may want to lash out at the people you think are responsible.
But we should also talk about the fact that holding people
against their will is a serious offense."
    Sean smiled when he realized the police had surmised he'd
taken the Masons hostage as a result of being kept off the
medulloblastoma protocol. In a way, they weren't far off.
    "I appreciate your concern and your presence," Sean said.
"But I don't have a lot of time to talk. I've got to get back
to work."
  "Just tell us what you want," Sergeant Hunt said.
    "Time," Sean said. "I only want a little time. Two or three,
or perhaps four hours at most."

329

    Sean hung up. Returning to his bench, he lifted his pipette
and went back to work.

RONALD HUNT was a six-foot redheaded man. At thirty-seven,
he'd been on the police force for fifteen years, ever since grad-
uating from community college. His major had been law
enforcement, but he'd minored in psychology. Attempting to
combine psychology with police work, he'd jumped at the
chance to join the Hostage Negotiating Team when a slot be-
came available. Although he didn't get to use his skills as
often as he would have liked, when he did he'd enjoyed the
challenge. He'd even been inspired to take more psychology
at night school at the University of Miami.
    Sergeant Hunt had been successful in all his previous op-
erations and had developed confidence in his abilities. After
the successful resolution of the last episode which involved a
discontented employee at a soft-drink bottling plant who'd
taken three female colleagues hostage, Ronald had received a
citation from the force for meritorious service. So when Sean
Murphy hung up on him, it was a blow to his ego.
  "The twerp hung up on me!" Ron said indignantly.
  "What did he say he wanted?" Hector asked.
  "Time," Ron said.
    "What do you mean, time?" Hector asked. "Like the mag-
azine? Does he want to be in Time?"
    "No," Ron said. "Time like hours. He told me he has to
get back to work. He must be working on that project he'd
been forbidden to work on."
  "What kind of project?" Hector asked.
    "I don't know," Ron said. He then pushed the redial on
the portable phone. "I can't negotiate unless we talk."
    Lieutenant Hector Salazar and Sergeant Ronald Hunt were
standing behind three blue-and-white Miami police cars
parked in the Forbes parking lot directly across from the en-
trance to the Forbes research building. The squad cars were
parked in the form of a letter U facing away from the building.
In the heart of this U they'd set up a mini-command center

330

with a couple of phones and a radio on a folding card table.
    The police presence at the site had swelled considerably.
Initially there had only been four officers: the original two
uniformed patrolmen who'd answered the call, plus their ser-
geant and his partner. Now there was a small crowd. Besides
dozens of regular uniformed police, including Hector, there
was the two-man negotiating team, a five-man bomb squad,
and a ten-man SWAT team dressed in black assault uniforms.
The SWAT team was off to the side warming up with some
jumping jacks.
    In addition to the police, Forbes was represented by Dr.
Deborah Levy, Margaret Richmond, and Robert Harris. They
had been allowed near the command post but had been asked
to keep to the side. A small crowd, including local media, had
gathered just beyond the yellow crime scene tape. Several TV
vans were parked as close as possible with their antennae ex-
tended. Reporters with microphones in hand and camera crews
at their heels were scouring the crowd to interview anyone
who seemed to have any information about the drama tran-
spiring within.
    While the crowd of spectators swelled, the police tried to
go about their business.
    "Dr. Mason says that Murphy flat out refuses to get back
on the phone," Ron said. He was clearly offended.
    "You keep trying," Hector advised him. Turning to Ser-
geant Anderson, Hector said: "I trust that all entrances and
exits are covered."
    "All covered," Anderson assured him. "No one is going
in or coming out without our knowing it. Plus we have sharp-
shooters on the roof of the hospital."
    "What about that pedestrian bridge connecting the two
buildings?" Hector asked.
    "We got a man on the bridge on the hospital side," An-
derson said. "There aren't going to be any surprises in this
operation."
    Hector motioned to Phil Darell to come over. "What's the
story on the bomb?" Hector asked.
  "It's a little unorthodox," Phil acknowledged. "I spoke

331

with the doctor. It's a flask of nitroglycerin. He estimates
about two or three hundred cc's. It's sitting in an ice bath.
Apparently Murphy comes in every so often and dumps ice
into the bath. Every time he does it, it terrifies the doctor."
  "Is it a problem?" Hector asked.
    "Yeah, it's a problem," Phil said. "Especially once it so-
lidifies."
  "Would slamming a door detonate it?" Hector asked.
      "Probably not," Phil replied. "But a shake might. A fall
to the floor certainly would."
  "But can you handle it?"
  "Absolutely," Phil said.
 Next Hector waved Deborah Levy over.
 "I understand you run the research here."
 Dr. Levy nodded.
    "What do you think this kid is doing?" Hector asked. "He
told our negotiator he wanted time to work."
    "Work!" Dr. Levy said disparagingly. "He's probably up
there sabotaging our research. He's been angry that we haven't
allowed him to work on one of our protocols. He has no re-
spect for anyone or anything. Frankly, I thought he was dis-
turbed from the first moment I met him."
  "Can he be working on that protocol now?" Hector asked.
    "Absolutely not," Dr. Levy said. "That protocol has
moved into clinical trials."
  "So you think he's up there causing trouble," Hector said.
    "I know that he is causing trouble!" Dr. Levy said. "I think
you should go up there and drag him out."
    "We have the safety of the hostages to consider," Hector
said.
    Hector was about to confer with George Loring and his
SWAT team when one of the uniformed patrolmen got his
attention.
    "This man insists on talking with you, Lieutenant," the
patrolman said. "He claims to be the brother of the guy who's
holed up inside."
    Brian introduced himself. He explained that he was a lawyer
from Boston.

332                                                                  T E R MI NAL                               333

"Any insight into what's going on here?" Hector asked.
"No, I'm sorry," Brian said. "But I know my brother. Al-
though he's always been headstrong, he would not do anything
like this unless there was a damn good reason. I want to be
sure that you people don't do anything rash."
    "Taking hostages at gunpoint and threatening them with a
bomb is more than headstrong," Hector said. "That kind of
behavior puts him in an unstable, unpredictable, and dangerous
category. We have to proceed on that basis."
    "I admit what he's done here appears foolhardy," Brian
said. "But Sean's ultimately rational. Maybe you should let
me talk to him."
  "You think he might listen to you?" Hector asked.
    "I think so," Brian said, despite still feeling the effects of
the episode at the Masons'.
    Hector got the phone away from Ronald Hunt and let Brian
try calling. Unfortunately no one answered, not even Dr. Ma-
son.
    "The doctor has been answering until a few minutes ago,"
Ron said.
  "Let me go in and talk with him," Brian said.
    Hector shook his head. "There are enough hostages in there
as it is," he said.
    "Lieutenant Salazar," a voice called. Hector turned to see
a tall, slender Caucasian approaching, along with a bearded,
powerfully built Afro-American. Sterling introduced himself
and Wayne Edwards. "I'm acquainted with your chief, Mark
Witman, quite well," Sterling said after the introductions.
Then he added: "We heard about this situation involving Sean
Murphy so we came to offer our services."
    "This is a police matter," Hector said. He eyed the new-
comers with suspicion. He never liked anyone who tried to
bully him by saying he was bosom buddies with the chief. He
wondered how they'd managed to cross the crime scene bar-
rier.
    "My colleague and I have been following Mr. Murphy for
several days," Sterling explained. "We are in the temporary
employ of the Forbes Cancer Center."

    "You have some explanation of what's going on here?"
Hector asked.
    "We know that this dude's been getting progressively
crazy," Wayne said.
    "He's not crazy!" Brian said, interrupting. "Sean is brash
and imprudent, but he's not crazy."
    "If someone does a string of crazy things," Wayne said,
"it's fair to say he's crazy."
    At that moment everyone ducked reflexively as a helicopter
swept over the building, then hovered over the parking lot.
The thunderous thump of the rotor blades rattled everyone's
ribcage. Every bit of dust and dirt smaller than medium-sized
gravel became airborne. A few papers on the card table were
swept away.
    George Loring, commander of the SWAT team, came for-
ward. "That's our chopper," he yelled into Hector's ear. The
noise of the aircraft was deafening. 'q called it over so we
can get to the roof the moment you give the green light."
    Hector was having trouble keeping his hat on. "For cris-
sake, George," he screamed back. "Tell the goddamn chopper
to move off until we call it."
    "Yes, sir!" George yelled back. He pulled a small micro-
phone clipped to one of his epaulets. Shielding it with his
hands he spoke briefly to the pilot. To everyone's relief the
chopper dipped, then swept away to land on a helipad next to
the hospital.
    "What's your take on this situation?" Hector asked George
now that they could talk.
    'q looked at the floor plans supplied by the head of security,
who's been very cooperative," George said, pointing out Rob-
ert Harris for Hector. "I think we'd only need a six-man team
on the roof.' three down each stairwell. The suspect's in the
fifth-floor lab. We'd only need one, but we'd probably go
ahead and use two concussion grenades. It would be over in
seconds. A piece of cake."
  "What about the nitroglycerin in the office?" Hector asked.
  "I didn't hear about any nitro," George said.
  "It's in a glass-enclosed office," Hector said.

334

    "It would be a risk," Phil interrupted, having overheard the
conversation. "The concussive waves could detonate the ni-
troglycerin if it's in a solid state."
    "Hell, then," George said. "Forget the grenades. We can
just come out of both stairwells simultaneously. The terrorist
wouldn't know what hit him."
  "Sean's no terrorist!" Brian said, horrified at this talk.
      "I'd like to volunteer to be with the assault team," Harris
said, speaking up for the first time. "I know the terrain."
  "This is not amateur hour," Hector said.
    "I'm no amateur," Harris said indignantly. "I trained as a
commando in the service and carried out a number of com-
mando missions in Desert Storm."
    "I think something should be done sooner rather than
later," Dr. Levy said. "The longer that crazy kid is left up
there, the more damage he can do to our ongoing experi-
ments."
    Everyone ducked again as another helicopter made a low
pass over the parking area. This one had "Channel 4 TV" on
its side.
    Hector yelled for Anderson to call the complaint room to
have them call Channel 4 to get their goddamn helicopter
away from the scene or he'd let the SWAT team have a go at
it with their automatic weapons.
    Despite the noise and general pandemonium, Brian picked
up one of the telephones and pressed the redial button. He
prayed it would be answered, and it was. But it wasn't Scan.
It was Dr. Mason.

SEAN HAD no idea how many cycles he should let the thermal
cyclers run. All he was looking for was a positive reaction in
any of the approximately one hundred and fifty wells he'd
prepared. Impatient, he stopped the first machine after twenty-
five cycles and removed the tray containing the wells.
    First he added a biotinylated probe and the enzymatic re-
agents used to detect whether the probe had reacted in the
series of wells containing Helen Cabot's cerebrospinal fluid.

335

Then he introduced these samples into the chemiluminescence
instrument and waited by the printout to see if there was any
luminescence.
    To Sean's surprise, the very first sample was positive. Al-
though he fully expected it to be positive eventually, he hadn't
expected a reaction so soon. What this established was that
Helen Cabot--just like Malcolm Betencourt--had contracted
St. Louis encephalitis in the middle of the winter, which was
strange since the normal vector for the illness is a mosquito.
    Scan then turned his attention to the other wells where he
would be searching for the presence of oncogenes. But before
he could start adding the appropriate probes, he was inter-
rupted by Dr. Mason.
    Although the phone had rung intermittently after he'd spo-
ken with Sergeant Hunt, Scan had ignored .it. Apparently Dr.
Mason had ignored it too, because on several occasions it rang
for extended periods. Sean had finally turned the ringer off on
his extension. But apparently it had rung again and apparently
this time Dr. Mason had answered it because he'd gingerly
opened the door to tell Scan that his brother was on the line.
    Although Scan hated to interrupt what he was doing, he felt
guilty enough about Brian to take his call. The first thing he
did was apologize for striking him.
    "I'm willing to forgive and forget," Brian said. "But you
have to end this nonsense right now and come down here and
give yourself up."
    "I can't," Scan said. "I need another hour or so, maybe
two at the most."
  "What in God's name are you doing?" Brian asked.
    "It'll take too long to explain," Scan said. "But it's big
stuff."
    "I'm afraid you have no idea of the hullabaloo you're caus-
ing," Brian said. "They've got everyone here but the National
Guard. You've gone too far this time. If you don't come out
this minute and put a stop to this, I won't have anything to
do with you."
    "I only need a little more time," Scan said. "I'm not asking
for the world."

336

"There's a bunch of gung ho nuts out here," Brian said.
"They're talking about storming the building."
    "Make sure they know about the purported nitroglycerin,"
Sean said. "That's supposed to dissuade them from heroics."
    "What do you mean, 'purported nitroglycerin'?" Brian
asked.
    "It's mostly ethanol with just a little acetone," Sean said.
"It looks like nitroglycerin. At least, it's close enough to fool
Dr. Mason. You didn't think I'd make up a batch of the real
thing, did you?"
    "At this point," Brian said, "I wouldn't put anything past
you."
    "Just talk them out of any commando action," Sean said.
"Get me at least one more hour."
    Sean could hear Brian continue to protest, but Sean didn't
listen. Instead he hung up the phone and turned back to the
first thermal cycler tray.
    Sean hadn't gotten far with the oncogene probes when Janet
came through the stairwell door trailing computer printout
sheets.
    "No problem finding the Forbes travel file," she said. She
thrust the computer paper at Sean. "For whatever it's worth,
Dr. Deborah Levy does a lot of traveling, but it's mostly back
and forth to Key West."
    Sean glanced at the printout. "She does keep on the move,"
he agreed. "But notice all these other cities. That's what I
expected. What about Margaret Richmond?"
    "No travel to Key West," Janet said. "But moderate travel
around the country. About once a month she's off to another
city."
    "What about that automated program we saw?" Sean
asked.
    "You were right about that," Janet said. "It was running
when I got up there, so I copied two of the numbers we
thought might have been phone numbers. When I tried to call
direct I could tell it was a computer link, so I used the main-
frame and its modem to connect. Both of them were insurance
companies: one was Medi-First; the other was Healthnet."

337

  "Bingo," Sean said. "It's all falling into place."
"How about letting me in on the revelation," Janet said.
"What I'd be willing to bet is that the computer searches
for medical insurance companies' precertification files for spe-
cific social security numbers. It probably does it on a nightly
basis during the week and on Sunday afternoons."
"You mean precertification for surgery?" Janet asked.
"That's exactly what I mean," Sean said. "In an attempt
to cut down on unnecessary surgery, most if not all health
plans require the doctor or the hospital to notify the insurance
company of proposed surgery in advance. Usually it's merely
a rubber-stamp exercise so it's pretty casual. I doubt there's
any concern about confidentiality. That computer upstairs is
printing out proposed elective surgery on a specific list of so-
cial security numbers."
    "Those are the numbers that are flashing on the screen,"
Janet said.
  "That's what it has to be," Sean said.
  "So why?" Janet asked.
    "I'll let you figure that out," Sean said. "While I continue
processing these thermal cycler samples, you look at the re-
ferring histories on these thirty-three charts we copied. I think
you'll find most will mention that the patient had elective sur-
gery within a relatively short period before their diagnosis of
medulloblastoma. I want you to compare the dates of those
surgeries with Dr. Levy's travel schedule."
    Janet stared at Sean without blinking. Despite her exhaus-
tion, she was beginning to assimilate the facts as Sean under-
stood them and therefore starting to comprehend the direct~on
Sean's thoughts were headed. Without saying another word,
she sat down with the charts and the computer printout she'd
brought down from the seventh floor.
    Turning back to his own work, Sean loaded a few more
wells with the appropriate oncogene probes. He hadn't gotten
far when Dr. Mason interrupted him.
  "My wife is getting hungry," Dr. Mason announced.
    With his general fatigue Sean's nerves were raw. After all
that had happened he could not abide the Masons, particularly


338                                                                T E R M I N A L                            339

Mrs. Mason. The fact that they thought it appropriate to bother
him with her being hungry threw him into a momentary rage.
Putting down the pipette, he raced back toward the glass of-
rice.
    Dr. Mason saw Sean coming and quickly guessed his state
of mind. He let go of the door and backed into the office.
    Sean threw open the office door so that it banged against
the doorstop. He flew into the office, snatched the Erlenmeyer
flask from the ice bath, and gave it a shake. Some of its con-
tents had solidified and cakes of ice clunked against the sides
of the container.
    Dr. Mason's face blanched as he cringed in anticipation of
an explosion. Mrs. Mason buried her face in her hands.
    "If I hear one more sound from you people I'm going to
come in here and shatter this flask on the floor," Sean yelled.
    When no explosion occurred Dr. Mason opened his eyes.
Mrs. Mason peeked out between her fingers.
  "Do you people understand?" Sean snapped.
  Dr. Mason swallowed hard, then nodded.
    Disgusted with the Masons and his own temper tantrum,
Sean went back to his lab bench. Guiltily he glanced over at
Janet, but she'd not paid any attention. She was too engrossed
in the charts.
    Picking up the pipette, Sean went back to work. It was not
easy, and he had to concentrate. He had to put the right probe
in the right well, and he had the primer pairs and probes for
over forty oncogenes, a rather extensive list.
    A number of the first samples were negative. Sean didn't
know if he'd taken them from the thermal cycler after an in-
sufficient number of cycles or if they were truly negative. By
the fifth sample he was beginning to become discouraged. For
the first time since he'd put this drama into motion, he seri-
ously questioned the conclusions which by then he'd come to
view as rock solid. But then the sixth sample proved positive.
He'd detected the presence of an oncogene known by the des-
ignation ERB-2, which referred to avian erythroblastosis virus,
a virus whose normal host was chickens.
 By the time Janet finished with the charts, Sean had found

another oncogene, called v-myc, which stood for myelocytoma
virus, another virus that grew in chickens.
    "Only about three-quarters of the charts have the surgery
dates," Janet said. "But of those, most of them match the
dates and destinations of Dr. Levy's travel."
    "Hallelujah!" Sean exclaimed. "It's all fitting into place
like a jigsaw puzzle."
    "What I don't understand," Janet said, "is what she did in
those cities."
    "Nearly everyone who's post-surgery is on an IV," Sean
said. "It keeps people hydrated, plus if there's a problem the
medical staff has a route for medication. My guess is that
Deborah Levy gave them an injection into their IV."  "Of what?" Janet asked.
    "An injection of St. Louis encephalitis virus," Sean said.
He told Janet about the positive test for the SLE virus in Helen
Cabot's cerebrospinal fluid. He also told her that Louis Martin
had had transient neurological symptoms similar to Helen's
several days after his elective surgery.
    "And if you look back at the charts," Sean continued, "I
think you'll find most of these people had similar fleeting
symptoms."
    "Why didn't they get full-blown encephalitis?" Janet
asked. "Especially if it was injected through their IVs?"
    "That's the truly clever part about all this," Sean said. "I
believe the encephalitis viruses were altered and attenuated
with the inclusion of viral oncogenes. I've already detected
two such oncogenes in Helen's tumor. My guess is that I'll
find another. One of the current theories on cancer is that it
takes at least three isolated events in a cell to make it cancer-
OUS."
    "How did all this occur to you?" Janet asked. It sounded
too complicated, too involved, too complex, and most of all
too hideous, to be true.
    "Gradually," Sean said. "Unfortunately it took me a long
time. I suppose initially my index of suspicion was so low;
it's the last thing I expected. But when you told me they
started immunotherapy with a specific agent from day one, I


340

thought something was out of whack. That flew in the face of
everything I knew about the specificity of immunotherapy. It
takes time to develop an antibody and everybody's tumor is
antigenically unique."
    "But it was at the Betencourts' that you started acting
strangely," Janet said.
    "Malcolm Betencourt was the one who emphasized the se-
quence," Sean said. "Elective surgery, followed by neurolog-
ical symptoms, and then brain tumor. Helen Cabot and Louis
Martin had the same progression. Until I heard Malcolm's
story, I hadn't realized its significance. As one of my medicine
professors said, if you are painstakingly careful in your his-
tory-taking, you should be able to make every diagnosis."
    "So you believe the Forbes Cancer Center has been going
around the country giving people cancer," Janet said, forcing
herself to put into words her awful fear.
    "A very special kind of cancer," Sean said. "One of the
viral oncogenes I've detected makes a protein that sticks out
through the cell membrane. Since it's homologous to the pro-
tein that forms the receptor for growth hormone, it acts like a
switch in the 'on' position to encourage cell growth and cell
division. But besides that, the portion that sticks through the
cell is a peptide and probably antigenic. My guess is the im-
munoglobulin they give these people is an antibody for that
extracellular part of the ERB-2 oncoprotein."  "You're losing me," Janet admitted.
    "Let's give it a try," Sean said. "Maybe I can show you.
It will only take a moment since 1 have some of the ERB-2
oncoprotein from the Key West lab. Let's see if Helen Cabot's
medicine reacts with it. Remember that I wasn't able to get it
to react with any natural cellular antigen. The only thing it
would react with was her tumor."
    As Sean quickly prepared the immunofluorescence test, Ja-
net tried to absorb what Sean had said so far.
    "In other words," Janet said after a pause, "what makes
this medulloblastoma cancer so different is that not only is it
manmade, it's curable."
 Sean looked up from his work with obvious admiration.

                                   341

"Right on!" he said. "You got it. They created a cancer with
a tumor-specific antigen for which they already had a mono-
clonal antibody. This antibody would react with the antigen
and coat all the cancer cells. Then all they'd have to do was
to stimulate the immune system both in vivo and in vitro to
get as many 'killer' cells as possible. The only minor problem
was that the treatment probably made the symptoms worse
initially because of the inflammation it would undoubtedly
cause."
  "Which is why Helen Cabot died," Janet said.
    "That's what I'd guess," Sean said. "Boston kept her too
long during the diagnostic stage. They should have sent her
right down to Miami. The trouble is that Boston can't believe
someone else might be better for any medical problem."
    "How could you be so sure of all this?" Janet asked. "By
the time we got back here you hadn't any proof. Yet you were
sure enough to force the Masons over here by gunpoint. Seems
to me you were taking a huge risk."
    "The clincher was some engineer-style drawings of viral
capsids I saw in the lab in Key West," Sean explained. "As
soon as I saw them, I knew it all had to be true. You see, Dr.
Levy's particular area of expertise is virology. The drawings
were of a spherical virus with icosahedral symmetry. That's
the kind of capsule an SLE virus has. The scientifically elegant
part of this vile plot is that Deborah Levy was able to package
the oncogenes into the SLE viral capsule. There wouldn't be
room for more than one oncogene in each virus because she'd
have to leave much of the SLE virus genome intact so that it
would still be infective. I don't know how she did it. She also
must have included some retroviral genes as well as the on-
cogene in order to get the oncogene to insert into the infected
cell's chromosomes. My guess is that she transformed a num-
ber of the viruses with the oncogenes and only those brain
cells that were unlucky enough to get all the oncogenes si-
multaneously became cancerous."
  "Why an encephalitis virus?" Janet asked.
    "It has a natural predilection for neurons," Sean said. "If
they wanted to cause a cancer they could treat, they needed a


342

tumor which they could count on giving early symptoms.
Brain cancer is one of them. Scientifically, it's all quite ra-
tional."
  "Diabolical is a better term," Janet said.
    Janet glanced over into the glass-enclosed office. Dr. Mason
was pacing the room although carefully avoiding the desk and
the flask in the ice bath. "Do you think he knows all this?"
she asked.
    "That I don't know," Sean said. "But if I had to guess,
I'd say yes. It would be hard to run this elaborate operation
without the director knowing. After all, it was a fund-raiser in
the final analysis."
    "That's why they targeted CEOs and their families," Janet
said.
    "That's my assumption," Sean said. "It's easy to find out
which health insurance company a large firm uses. It's also
not difficult to find out someone's social security number, es-
pecially for quasi-public figures. Once they had the subscrib-
er's social security number, it would be an easy step to get
their dependents'."
    "So that evening when we were here copying the charts
and heard the word donor, they were referring to money, not
organs."
    Sean nodded. "At that moment our imaginations were too
active," he said. "We forgot that specialty hospitals and as-
sociated research centers have become increasingly desperate
as NIH grants are getting harder and harder to come by. Cre-
ating a group of wealthy, grateful patients is a good way to
make it through to the twenty-first century."
    Meanwhile, the immunofluorescence test involving the
ERB-2 and Helen Cabot's medicine had registered strongly
positive, even stronger than it had with the tumor cells. "There
you go!" Sean said smugly. "There's the antigen-antibody
reaction I've been searching for."
    Next Sean turned back to his hundreds of samples in the
two thermocyclers.
  "Can I help?" Janet asked.
  "Definitely," Sean said. He showed her how to handle a

 343

twelve-channel pipette, then gave her a series of oncogene
probes to add to the thermocycler wells.
    They worked together for almost three-quarters of an hour,
concentrating on the meticulous work. They were both phys-
ically exhausted and emotionally overwrought from the mag-
nitude of the conspiracy they suspected. After the final well
was probed and analyzed for its luminescence, they'd uncov-
ered two more oncogenes: Ha-ras, named after the Harvey
sarcoma virus which normally infected rats, and SV40 Large
T from a virus usually found in monkey kidneys. From the
RNA studies in the second thermocycler, where Sean had run
a quantitative polymerase chain reaction, it was determined
that all the oncogenes were "mega" expressed.
    "What an oncogene cocktail!" Sean said with awe as he
stood and stretched his weary muscles. "Any nerve cell that
got those four would undoubtedly become cancerous. Dr. Levy
was leaving as little to chance as possible."
    Janet put down the pipette she was holding and cradled her
head in her hands. In a tired voice she spoke without looking
up: "What now?"
    "We give up, I guess," Sean said. As he tried to contem-
plate the next step, he glanced into the office at the Masons
who were arguing again. Mercifully, the glass partition damp-
ened the sound of their voices considerably.
    "How are we going to manage the giving up?" Janet asked
sleepily.
    Sean sighed. "You know, I hadn't given it much thought.
It could be tricky."
    Janet looked up. "You must have had some idea when you
came up with this plan."
"Nope," Sean admitted. "I didn't think that far ahead."
Janet pushed off her seat and went to the window. From
there she could see down into the parking lot. "You got that
circus you wanted," she said. "There are hundreds of people
out there, including a group in black uniforms."
    "They're the ones who make me nervous," Sean admitted.
"I'd guess they're a SWAT team."
  "Maybe the first thing we should do is send the Masons


342

tumor which they could count on giving early symptoms.
Brain cancer is one of them. Scientifically, it's all quite ra-
tional."
  "Diabolical is a better term," Janet said.
    Janet glanced over into the glass-enclosed office. Dr. Mason
was pacing the room although carefully avoiding the desk and
the flask in the ice bath. "Do you think he knows all this?"
she asked.
    "That I don't know," Sean said. "But if I had to guess,
I'd say yes. It would be hard to run this elaborate operation
without the director knowing. After all, it was a fund-raiser in
the final analysis."
    "That's why they targeted CEOs and their families," Janet
said.
    "That's my assumption," Sean said. "It's easy to find out
which health insurance company a large firm uses. It's also
not difficult to find out someone's social security number, es-
pecially for quasi-public figures. Once they had the subscrib-
er's social security number, it would be an easy step to get
their dependents'."
    "So that evening when we were here copying the charts
and heard the word donor, they were referring to money, not
organs."
    Sean nodded. "At that moment our imaginations were too
active," he said. "We forgot that specialty hospitals and as-
sociated research centers have become increasingly desperate
as NIH grants are getting harder and harder to come by. Cre-
ating a group of wealthy, grateful patients is a good way to
make it through to the twenty-first century."
    Meanwhile, the immunofluorescence test involving the
ERB-2 and Helen Cabot's medicine had registered strongly
positive, even stronger than it had with the tumor cells. "There
you go!" Sean said smugly. "There's the antigen-antibody
reaction I've been searching for."
    Next Sean turned back to his hundreds of samples in the
two thermocyclers.
  "Can I help?" Janet asked.
  "Definitely," Sean said. He showed her how to handle a

343

twelve-channel pipette, then gave her a series of oncogene
probes to add to the thermocycler wells.
    They worked together for almost three-quarters of an hour,
concentrating on the meticulous work. They were both phys-
ically exhausted and emotionally overwrought from the mag-
nitude of the conspiracy they suspected. After the final well
was probed and analyzed for its luminescence, they'd uncov-
ered two more oncogenes: Ha-ras, named after the Harvey
sarcoma virus which normally infected rats, and SV40 Large
T from a virus usually found in monkey kidneys. From the
RNA studies in the second thermocycler, where Sean had run
a quantitative polymerase chain reaction, it was determined
that all the oncogenes were "mega" expressed.
    "What an oncogene cocktail!" Sean said with awe as he
stood and stretched his weary muscles. "Any nerve cell that
got those four would undoubtedly become cancerous. Dr. Levy
was leaving as little to chance as possible."
    Janet put down the pipette she was holding and cradled her
head in her hands. In a tired voice she spoke without looking
up: "What now?"
    "We give up, I guess," Sean said. As he tried to contem-
plate the next step, he glanced into the office at the Masons
who were arguing again. Mercifully, the glass partition damp-
ened the sound of their voices considerably.
    "How are we going to manage the giving up?" Janet asked
sleepily.
    Sean sighed. "You know, I hadn't given it much thought.
It could be tricky."
    Janet looked up. "You must have had some idea when you
came up with this plan."
"Nope," Sean admitted. "I didn't think that far ahead."
Janet pushed off her seat and went to the window. From
there she could see down into the parking lot. "You got that
circus you wanted," she said. "There are hundreds of people
out there, including a group in black uniforms."
    "They're the ones who make me nervous," Sean admitted.
"I'd guess they're a SWAT team."
  "Maybe the first thing we should do is send the Masons

344

out to tell them that we're ready to come out."
"That's an idea," Sean said. "But you'll go with them."
"But then you'll be in here alone," Janet said. She came
back and sat down. "I don't like that. Not with all those black-
uniform guys itching to come charging in here."
  "The biggest problem is Helen Cabot's brain," Sean said.
  "Why?" Janet asked with a sigh of exasperation.
    "It's our only evidence," Sean said. "We cannot allow the
Forbes people to destroy the brain which I'm certain they'd
do if given the chance. My guess is that I'll not be very pop-
ular with anybody when we end this. During the confusion
there's a good chance the brain could get into the wrong
hands. I doubt anyone is going to take the time to stop and
hear me out."
  "I'd have to agree," Janet said.
    "Wait a second!" Sean said with sudden enthusiasm. "I've
got an idea."

13

   March 7
Sunday, 4:38 P.M.

It took Sean twenty minutes to convince Janet that the best
thing for her to do was join the Masons in the office. It was
Sean's hope that the idea she'd been coerced would be easier
to put forth if she was considered a hostage. Janet was skep-
tical, but in the end she relented.
    With that issue decided, Sean packed Helen Cabot's brain
in ice and put it in the cooler he'd used to wansport it to the
lab. Then with some cord that he'd found in the supply closet,
he made a large parcel out of the thirty-three chart copies plus
the computer printout of the Forbes Cancer Center travel file.
When all was ready, Sean picked up the pass keys and with
the cooler in one hand and the charts in the other, he climbed
up to the administration floor.
    Using the pass key, Sean went into the finance section. After
taking out the shelving from the dumbwaiter, he squeezed
himself in along with his two parcels. He rode the dumbwaiter
down the seven floors to the basement, trying hard to keep his
elbows in so they wouldn't rub on the walls.
    The chart vault was a problem. The light switch was at the
entrance, and Sean had to negotiate the entire length of the
room in utter blackness. Remembering at least the general lay-
out of the shelving, he was able to move with a modicum of
confidence although several times he became disoriented.
Eventually, he found the sister dumbwaiter. Within minutes
he was riding up the two stories to medical records in the
hospital building.

345

    When he opened the dumbwaiter door he was thankful for
the lights being on but disappointed to hear someone giving
muffled dictation. Before stepping out of the cramped car,
Sean determined that the voice was coming from a small cu-
bicle that was out of sight. As quietly as possible he got him-
self out of the hoist; then he crept into the hall, clutching his
two parcels, one under each arm.
    Once in the hall, Sean could sense the electricity in the air.
It was apparent that the clinical chemistry and radiology de-
partments had been informed of the hostage situation in the
neighboring building; the excitement provided an almost hol-
iday atmosphere for the weekend skeleton staff. Most of them
were in the hall at the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the
elevators that faced the research building. None of them paid
any attention to Sean.
    Shunning the elevators, Sean took the stairs down to the
first floor. When he came out into the main lobby, he felt
immediately at ease. Conveniently, it was visiting hours so
there was quite a mob of people clustered around the lobby
entrance. Despite his bulky parcels, two-day growth of whis-
kers, and rumpled clothes, Sean was able to blend in.
    Sean walked out of the hospital unimpeded. Crossing the
parking lot to the research side he began to appreciate the
number of people who'd showed up for his hostage show.
They were milling about the handful of cars parked there, in-
cluding his own 4x4.
    Passing near his Isuzu, Sean contemplated dropping the
brain and the charts off. But he decided it would be better to
give them directly to Brian. Sean was confident his brother
was still there despite his threats to abandon him.
    The police had stretched the yellow vinyl crime scene tape
from vehicle to vehicle all the way around the front of the
research building. Behind the building they used trees to seal
off the area completely. All along the tape at regular intervals
uniformed police officers stood guard.
    Sean noticed that the police had set up a command central
at a card table positioned behind a group of squad cars. A
crowd of several dozen police officials were gathered in the

                                   347

vicinity in the central spot. Off to the left was the black-suited
SWAT team, some of whom were doing calisthenics, others
checking an assortment of impressive weaponry.
    Sean paused at the tape and scanned the crowd. He was able
to pick Brian out instantly. He was the only man dressed in a
white shirt and paisley suspenders. Brian was off to the side
locked in an animated conversation with a black-suited SWAT
team member with black face paint smeared under each eye.
    Stepping over to one of the uniformed police officers man-
ning the crime scene tape, Sean waved to get his attention. He
was busy clipping his nails.
    "Sorry to be a bother," Sean said. "I'm related to the indi-
vidual who took the hostages and that's my brother over there
talking with a member of the SWAT team." Sean pointed to-
ward Brian. "I think I can help resolve the dilemma."
    The policeman raised the tape without saying a word. He
merely gestured for Sean to enter. Then he went back to his
nails.
    Sean kept clear of Deborah Levy and Robert Harris, who
he spotted near one of the squad cars. Fortunately they weren't
looking in his direction. He also steered away from one of the
men he'd locked in the closet in Key West, the same man
who'd been waiting on the Sushita jet in Naples, whom he
saw near the card table.
    Sean went directly to his brother, coming up behind him.
He caught bits and pieces of the argument which dealt with
the issue of storming the building. It was obvious they held
contrary views.
    Sean tapped Brian on the shoulder, but Brian shrugged the in-
trusion off with a disinterested shrug. He was busy making a
point by pounding a fist into an open palm. He continued his
emotional monologue until Sean drifted around into the coruer
of his vision. Brian stopped in midsentence, his mouth agape.
    George Loring followed the line of Brian's gaze, sized Sean
up as a homeless person, then looked back at Brian. "You
know this guy?" he asked.
    "We're brothers," Sean said as be nudged the shocked
Brian aside.


348                                                                                                                                     349

  "What the hell?" Brian exclaimed.
    "Don't make a scene!" Sean warned, pulling his brother
further away. "If you're still mad about me tagging you, I'm
sorry. I didn't want to hit you, but you left me with little
choice. It was an inconvenient moment for you to pop up."
    Brian threw a quick but concerned glance toward the com-
mand post a mere forty feet away. Redirecting his attention to
Sean, he said: "What are you doing here?"
    "I want you to take this cooler," Sean said, handing it over.
"Plus these chart copies. But it's the cooler that's most im-
portant."
    Brian adjusted his posture to deal with the weight of the
charts. "How on earth did you get out of there? They assured
me the place had been sealed off.' that no one could go in or
out."
    "I'll tell you in a few minutes," Sean said. "But first about
this cooler: it's got a brain in it. Not a very pretty brain, but
an important one."
    "Is this the brain you stole?" Brian asked. "If it is, it's
stolen property."
  "Hold your legal blarney," Sean said.
  "Whose brain is it?"
      "A patient's," Sean said. "And we'll need it to indict a
number of people here at Forbes Cancer Center."  "You mean it's evidence?" Brian asked.
  "It's going to blow a lot of people's minds," Sean promised.
    "But there's no appropriate chain of custody," Brian com-
plained.
    "The DNA will solve that," Sean said. "Just don't let any-
body have it. And the chart copies are important too."
    "But they're no good as evidence," Brian said. "They're
not authenticated copies."
    "For crissake, Brian!" Sean snapped. "I know it was
thoughtless of me not to have had the foresight to have a
notary with me when I copied them, but we can use them for
the grand jury. Besides, the copies will show us what we need
to subpoena, and we can use them to be sure they don't change
any of the originals." Sean lowered his voice. "Now, what

do we do to end this carnival with no loss of life, particularly
mine? These idle SWAT team guys give me the willies."
    Brian glanced around again. "I don't know," he said. "Let
me think. You're always throwing me off balance. Being your
brother is a full-time job for several lawyers. I wish I could
trade you in for a nice sister."
    "That's not how you felt when we sold the stock in Im-
munotherapy," Sean reminded him.
  "I suppose we could just walk away from here," Brian said.
  "Whatever is best," Sean said agreeably.
    "But then they could charge me as an accessory after the
fact," Brian mused.
    "Whatever you say," Sean said. "But I should tell you that
Janet is upstairs."
    "Is she that rich girl you've been dating in Boston?" Brian
asked.
    "That's the one," Sean said. "She surprised me and
showed up down here the same day I arrived."
    "Maybe it's best if you just give yourself up right here,"
Brian reasoned. "It will probably sit well with the judge. The
more I think about it, the more I like it. Come on, I'll introduce
you to Lieutenant Hector Salazar. He's running the show, and
he seems like a decent guy."
    "Fine byrne," Sean said. "Let's do it before one of these
black-suited SWAT team members doing calisthenics pulls a
groin muscle and I get sued for loss of consortium."
    "You'd better have one hell of an explanation for all of
this," Brian warned.
  "It'll blow your socks off," Sean said. "Guaranteed."
    "Let me do the talking," Brian said. They started toward
the card table.
    "I wouldn't think of interfering," Sean said. "It's the one
thing you do well."
    As they approached the card table Sean eyed Sterling Rom-
bauer and Robert Harris, who were arguing off to the side.
Sean tried to turn away from them and walk sideways lest
they recognize him and cause some kind of panic. But he


350

needn't have been concerned. They were too engrossed in their
conversation to notice him.
    Coming up behind Hector Salazar's bulk, Brian cleared his
throat to get the policeman's attention, but to no avail. Hector
had taken over where Brian had left off with George Loring.
George was eager to get the nod for action. Hector was ad-
vocating patience.
  "Lieutenant!" Brian called.
    "Goddamn it," Hector bellowed. "Anderson, did you call
complaints about that TV chopper? Here it comes again."
    All conversation had to halt as the Channel 4 helicopter flew
low overhead and banked around the parking area. Hector
flipped the cameraman a finger which he'd later regret when
he had to watch it replay again and again on TV.
    Once the helicopter disappeared, Brian got Hector's atten-
tion.
    "Lieutenant," Brian said buoyantly. "I'd like you to meet
my brother Sean Murphy."
    "Another brother!" Hector said, not making the proper con-
nection. "What is this, a family reunion?" Then to Sean he
said: "Do you think you might have some influence on that
nutty brother of yours up in the lab? We have to get him to
start talking to our negotiating team."
    "This is Sean!" Brian said. "He's the one who was up
there. But he's out now, and he wants to apologize for all this
trouble."
    Hector looked back and forth between the two brothers as
his mind tried to make sense of this sudden, mind-boggling
turn of events.
    Sean stuck his hand out. Hector took it automatically, still
too stunned to speak. The two men shook hands as if they'd
just been introduced at a cocktail party.
    "Hi!" Sean said, giving Hector one of his best smiles. "I
want to personally thank you for all your effort. It really saved
the day."

14

    March 8
Monday, 11:15 A.M.

Sean preceded Brian through the swinging doors of the Dade
County Courthouse and let the sun and cool fresh air wash
over him while he waited for Brian to emerge. Sean had been
in the lockup overnight after having been arrested and booked
the previous evening.
    "That was worse than medical school," Sean said, referring
to the night in jail, as he and Brian descended the broad, sun-
drenched steps.
    "You're eyeball to eyeball with a long prison sentence if
this case doesn't go perfectly smoothly," Brian said.
    Sean stopped. "You're not serious, are you?" he asked with
alarm. "Not after what I've told you these Forbes people have
been up to."
    "It's now in the hands of the judicial system," Brian said
with a shrug. "Once it goes to a jury, it's a crap shoot. And
you heard that judge in there at your arraignment. He was none
too happy with you despite your giving yourself up and despite
the nitroglycerin's not being nitroglycerin. As long as your
captives thought it was nitroglycerin, it makes no difference
what it was. You'd better thank me that I took the time and
trouble to get your juvenile record sealed. If I hadn't you prob-
ably wouldn't have gotten out on bail."
    "You could have made sure Kevin Porter told the judge
there were extenuating circumstances," Sean complained.
"An arraignment is not a trial," Brian explained. "I told

351

you that already. It's only a time for you to hear the formal
charges against you and for you to enter your plea. Besides,
Kevin alluded to extenuating circumstances during the bail
portion."
    "That's another thing," Sean said. "Five hundred thousand
dollars bail! My God! Couldn't he have done better than that?
Now we've tied up part of our seed capital of Oncogen."
    "You're lucky to be out on bail, period," Brian said. "Let's
go over your charges again: conspiracy, grand larceny, bur-
glary, burglary with a deadly weapon, assault, assault with a
deadly weapon, false imprisonment, kidnapping, mayhem, and
mutilation of a dead body. My God, Sean, why'd you leave
out rape and murder?"
    "What about the Dade County District Attorney?" Sean
asked.
    "They call him State's Attorney down here," Brian said.
"I met with him and with the U.S. District Attorney last night.
While you were comfortably sleeping in jail, I was working
my butt off."
  "What did they say?"
    "They were both interested, obviously," Brian said. "But
without any evidence to present to them other than some cir-
cumstantial travel records and copies of hospital charts, they
wisely withheld comment."
    "What about Helen Cabot's brain?" Sean asked. "That's
the evidence."
    "It's not evidence yet," Brian said. "The tests you say you
ran haven't been reproduced."
  "Where is the brain itself?." Sean asked.
    "It's been impounded by the police," Brian said. "But it
is in the physical custody of the Dade County Medical Ex-
aminer. Remember, it's stolen property. So that's an added
problem about its status as evidence."  "I hate lawyers," Sean said.
    "And I have a feeling you'll be liking them even less by
the time this is over," Brian said. "I heard this morning that
in light of your irresponsible and slanderous statements that
Forbes has retained one of the country's most successful and

flamboyant lawyers as well as the backup of Miami's largest
firm. A number of powerful people from all over the country
are incensed by your allegations and are flooding Forbes with
money for legal representation. In addition to the criminal
charges, you'll be facing a blizzard of civil suits."
    "I'm not surprised that important business people are stand-
ing behind Forbes," Sean said. "But these same people will
have a change of heart when they learn that the fantastic cure
Forbes provided them was for a brain cancer that Forbes
caused."
  "You'd better be right about that," Brian said.
    "I'm right," Sean said. "The tumor I checked had four
viral oncogenes. Even finding one in a natural tumor would
have been astounding."
    "But that's only one tumor out of thirty-eight cases," Brian
said.
  "Don't worry," Sean said. "I'm right about this."
    "But the other evidence has already been thrown into ques-
tion," Brian said. "Through its lawyers, Forbes is saying that
the fact that Dr. Deborah Levy happened to be in relevant
cities the same day subsequent Forbes patients underwent elec-
tive surgery was purely coincidental."
  "Oh, sure," Sean said sarcastically.
    "They do have a point," Brian said. "First of all, her travel
did not match all the cases."
    "So they sent someone else," Sean said. "Like Margaret
Richmond. You'll have to subpoena all their travel records."
    "There's more to it," Brian said. "Forbes contends that Dr.
Levy is an on-site inspector for the College of American Pa-
thology. I already checked it out. It's true. She often travels
around the country making clinical lab inspections necessary
for hospitals to maintain accreditation. I've also already
checked some of the hospitals. It seems Dr. Levy did make
inspections on those specific days."
    "What about the program running at night with the social
security numbers?" Sean asked. "That's pretty incriminat-
ing."
  "Forbes has already categorically denied it," Brian said.

354

"They say that they access insurance companies on a regular
basis but purely to process claims. They say they never access
precertification files for elective surgery. And what's more, the
insurance companies claim that all their files are secure."
    "Of course the companies would say that," Sean said. "I'm
sure they're all quaking in their boots that they might be drawn
in on the civil side of this. But in regard to the program at
Forbes, Janet and I saw it running."
    "It will be tough to prove," Brian said. "We'd need the
program itself, and they certainly aren't going to give it to
US."
  "Well, damn!" Sean said.
    "It's all going to come down to the science and whether
we can get a jury to believe it or even understand it," Brian
said. "I'm not sure I do. It's pretty esoteric stuff."
"Where's Janet?" Sean asked. They started walking again.
"She's in my car," Brian said. "Her arraignment was much
earlier and a bit easier, but she wanted to get out of the court-
house. I can't blame her. This whole experience has unnerved
her. She's not accustomed to being in trouble the way you
are."
  "Very funny," Sean said. "Is she being charged?"
    "Of course she's being charged," Brian said. "What do
you think, these people down here are morons? She was an
accomplice for everything except assault with a deadly
weapon and the kidnapping. Fortunately, the judge seemed to
believe her biggest crime is associating with you. He didn't
set bail. She was released on her own recognizance."
    As they neared Brian's rental car, Sean could see Janet sit-
ting in the front seat. She had her head leaning back on the
headrest and she appeared to be asleep. But as Sean came
alongside the car, her eyes popped open. Seeing Sean, she
scrambled out of the car and hugged him.
    Sean hugged her back, feeling self-conscious with his
brother standing next to them.
    "Are you all right?" Janet asked, pulling her head away
but keeping her arms around Sean's neck.
  "Fine, and you?"

 355

    "Being in jail was an eye-opener," she admitted. "I guess
I got a little hysterical at first. But my parents flew down with
a family attorney who speeded up my arraignment."
  "Where are your parents now?" Sean asked.
    "Back at a hotel," Janet said. "They're mad I wanted to
wait for you."
  "I can imagine," Sean said.
    Brian consulted his watch. "Listen, you two," he said. "Dr.
Mason has scheduled a news conference at noon at Forbes. I
think we should go. I was worried we'd still be tied up here
at the courthouse, but there's time. What do you say?"
  "Why should we go?" Sean asked.
    "I'm concerned about this case, as you can tell," Brian
said. "I'm worried about getting a fair trial here in Miami. I'd
prefer that this news conference not turn into the public rela-
tions bonanza I believe Forbes expects it to be. Your being
there will tone down their rhetoric. It will also help establish
you as a responsible individual who is serious about his alle-
gations."
      Sean shrugged. "Okay by me," he said. "Besides, I'm cu-
rious what Dr. Mason will say."  "Okay by me," Janet said.
    Because of traffic, it took more time than Brian expected to
drive from the Dade County Courthouse, but they were still
on time for the news conference when they finally pulled into
the Forbes parking area. The conference was scheduled to be
held in the hospital auditorium, and all the parking spaces near
the hospital were occupied. Several TV vans were parked in
the fire lane near the hospital's front door. Brian had to drive
around by the research building to find a space.
    As they walked around to the hospital, Brian commented
on how much media attention the affair was getting. "Let me
warn you, this is hot. It's just the kind of case that gets played
out in the media as much as it gets played out in the courts.
What's more, it's being played on the Forbes's turf. Don't be
surprised if your reception is less than cool."
    A throng of people was milling about in front of the hos-
pital. Many were reporters, and unfortunately several recog-

356

nized Sean. They mobbed him, fighting with each other to
thrust microphones into his face, everyone asking hostile ques-
tions at the same time. Flashbulbs flashed; TV camera lights
flooded the scene. By the time Sean, Brian, and Janet reached
the front door, Sean was angry. Brian had to restrain him from
taking a swing at a few of the photographers.
    Inside wasn't much better. News of Sean's arrival sent rip-
ples through the surprisingly large crowd. As the three entered
the auditorium, Sean heard a chorus of boos rise from the
members of the Forbes medical staff who were attending.
    "I see what you mean about chilly receptions," Sean said
as they found seats. "Hardly neutral territory."
    "It's a lynch mob mentality," Brian said. "But this gives
you an idea of what you're up against."
    The booing and hissing directed at Sean ceased abruptly and
was replaced by respectful applause when Dr. Randolph Ma-
son appeared from the wings of the small stage. He walked
resolutely to the podium, placing a sizable manila envelope on
it. Grasping either side of the podium, he looked out over the
audience with his head slightly tilted back. His bearing and
appearance were commendably professional, his classically
graying hair perfectly coiffed. He was dressed in a dark blue
suit, white shirt, and subdued tie. The only splash of color was
a lavender silk foulard handkerchief in his breast pocket.
    "He looks like everyone's romantic image of a physician,"
Janet whispered. "The kind you'd see on TV."
    Brian nodded. "He's the kind of man juries tend to believe.
This is going to be an uphill battle."
    Dr. Mason cleared his throat, then began speaking. His res-
onant voice easily filled the small auditorium. He thanked ev-
eryone for coming and for supporting the Forbes Cancer
Center in the face of the recent accusations.
    "Will you be suing Sean Murphy for slander?" one of the
reporters yelled out from the second row. But Dr. Mason
didn't have to answer. The entire auditorium erupted in a sus-
tained hiss in response to the reporter's rudeness. The reporter
got the message and meekly apologized.

 357

    Dr. Mason adjusted the position of the manila envelope as
he collected his thoughts.
    "These are difficult times for hospitals and research facili-
ties, particularly specialty hospitals which have the dual ob-
jectives of patient care and research. Clinical reimbursement
schemes based on diagnosis and standard therapy do not work
in environments such as Forbes where treatment plans often
follow experimental protocols. Treatment of this sort is inten-
sive and therefore expensive.
    "The question is, where is the money supposed to come
from for this type of care? Some people suggest it should come
from research grants since it is part of the research process.
Yet our public funding for general research has gone down,
forcing us to seek other sources for financial support, like in-
dustry, or even, in exceptional cases, foreign industry. But
even this source has limits, especially when the global econ-
omy is floundering. Where else can we turn but to the oldest
method: private philanthropy."
    "I can't believe this guy," Sean whispered. "This is like a
fund-raiser pep talk."
  A few people turned to glare at Sean.
    "I have devoted my life to the relief of suffering," Dr.
Mason continued. "Medicine and the fight against cancer have
been my life since the day I entered medical school. I have
always kept the good of mankind as my motivating force and
goal."
    "Now he sounds like a politician," Sean whispered.
"When is he going to address the issue?"
  "Quiet)" a person behind Sean snapped.
    "When I took the position as director of the Forbes Cen-
ter," Dr. Mason continued, "I knew the institution was in
financial difficulty. Restoring the institution to a solid financial
basis was a goal consistent with my desire to work for the
good of mankind. I've given this task my heart and my soul.
If I've made some mistakes, it is not for lack of altruistic
motives."
  There was spotty applause when Dr. Mason paused and

358

fumbled with his manila envelope, undoing the string that held
it closed.
  "This is a waste of time," Sean whispered.
    "That was just his introduction," Brian whispered in return.
"Pipe down. I'm sure he's about to get to the meat of the
news conference now."
    "At this time I would like to take leave of you," Dr. Mason
said. "To those who have helped me in this difficult period,
my heartfelt thanks."
    "Is this whole rigmarole so he can resign?" Sean asked out
loud. He was disgusted.
    But no one answered Sean's question. Instead, gasps of hor-
ror rippled through the audience when Dr. Mason reached into
the envelope and pulled out a nickel-plated .357 magnum re-
volver.
    Murmurs crescendoed as a few people nearest the podium
rose to their feet, unsure whether to flee or approach Dr. Ma-
son.
    "I don't mean for people to become upset," Dr. Mason
said. "But I felt..."
    It was clear Dr. Mason had more to say, but two reporters
in the front row made a move for him. Dr. Mason motioned
them to keep away, but the two men edged closer. Dr. Mason
took a step back from the podium. He looked panicked, like
a cornered deer. All the color had drained from his face.
    Then, to everyone's dismay, Dr. Mason put the barrel of
the revolver in his mouth and pulled the trigger. The bullet
went through his hard palate, liquified part of his brain stem
and cerebellum, and carried away a five-centimeter disk of
skull before burying itself deeply into the wooden cornice
molding. Dr. Mason fell backward while the gun was pro-
pelled forward. The revolver hit the floor and skidded beneath
the first row of seats, sending the people still seated there
scattering.
    A few people screamed, a few cried, most felt momentarily
ill. Sean, Janet, and Brian looked away at the moment the gun
went off. When they looked again the room was in pande-
monium. No one knew quite what to do. Even the doctors and

359

nurses felt helpless; clearly Dr. Mason was beyond help.
    All Sean, Janet, and Brian could see of Dr. Mason were his
shoes pointing upward and a foreshortened body. The wall
behind the podium was splattered as if someone had hurled a
handful of ripe red berries against it.
 Sean's mouth had gone dry. He found it difficult to swallow.
 A few tears welled in Janet's eyes.
Brian murmured: "Holy Mary, mother of God!"
Everyone was stunned and emotionally drained. There was
little conversation. A few hearty souls, including Sterling
Rombauer, ventured up to view Dr. Mason's corpse. For the
moment most people remained where they were--all except
for one woman, who got up from her seat and struggled toward
an exit. Sean saw her pushing dumbfounded people aside in
her haste. He recognized her immediately.
    "That's Dr. Levy," Sean said, getting to his feet. "Some-
body should stop her. I'll bet she's planning on fleeing the
country.' '
    Brian grabbed Sean by the arm, preventing him from giving
chase. "This is not the time or place for you to play a paladin.
Let her go."
    Sean watched as Dr. Levy got to an exit and disappeared
from view. He looked down at Brian. "The charade is begin-
ning to unravel."
    "Perhaps," Brian said evasively. His legal mind was con-
cerned about the sympathy this shocking event was likely to
evoke in the community.
    Gradually, the crowd began to disperse. "Come on," Brian
said. "Let's go."
    Brian, Janet, and Sean shuffled out in silence and pushed
through the subdued crowd gathered at the hospital entrance.
They headed toward Brian's car. Each struggled to absorb the
horrible tragedy they'd just had the misfortune of witnessing.
Sean was the first to speak.
    "I'd say that was a rather dramatic mea culpa," he said. "I
suppose we have to give him credit for at least being a good
shot."


36O

"Sean, don't be crude," Brian said. "Black humor is not
my cup of tea."
    "Thank you," Janet said to Brian. Then to Sean she said:
"A man is dead. How can you joke about it?"
    "Helen Cabot is dead, too," Sean said. "Her death bothers
me a lot more."
    "Both deaths should bother you," Brian said. "After all,
Dr. Mason's suicide could be attributed to all the bad publicity
Forbes has received thanks to you. The man had reason to be
depressed. His suicide wasn't necessarily an admission of
guilt."
    "Wait a second," Sean said, bringing the party to a halt.
"Do you still have any doubts about what I've told you con-
cerning this medulloblastoma issue after what we just wit-
nessed?"
    "I'm a lawyer," Brian said. "I'm trained to think in a spe-
cific fashion. I try to anticipate the defense."
    "Forget being a lawyer for two seconds," Sean said. "What
do you feel as a human being?"
    "Okay," Brian relented. "I'll have to admit, it was an ex-
tremely incriminating act."

EPILOGUE
     May 21
  Friday, 1:50 P.M.

The big Delta jet banked, then entered its final approach into
Logan Airport. It was landing to the northwest, and Sean, sit-
ting in a window seat, had a good view of Boston out the left
side of the plane. Brian was sitting next to him but had his
nose buried in a law journal. Below they passed over the Ken-
nedy Library on Columbus Point and then the tip of South
Boston with its shorefront of clapboard three-decker houses.
    Next Sean was treated to a superb view of the downtown
Boston skyline with the Boston inner harbor in the foreground.
Just before they touched down, he caught a quick glimpse of
Chariestown with the Bunker Hill obelisk jutting up into the
afternoon sky.
 Sean breathed a sigh of relief. He was home.
    Neither of them had checked luggage, so after deplaning
they went directly to a cab stand and got a taxi. First they
went to Brian's office in Old City Hall on School Street. Sean
told the cabbie to wait and got out with Brian. They hadn't
spoken much since they'd left Miami that morning, mainly
because they'd been under such tension and had spoken so
much during the prior three days. They had gone to Miami so
Sean could testify before a Florida grand jury concerning the
case The State of Florida v. The Forbes Cancer Center.
    Sean eyed his brother. Despite their differences and their
frequent arguments, he felt a rush of love for Brian. He stuck
out his hand. Brian grasped it firmly and they shook. But it

362

wasn't enough. Scan let go of Brian's hand and embraced him
in a strong, sustained hug. When they parted both felt a mo-
ment of awkwardness. Rarely did they convey their affection
physically. Generally they didn't touch save for jabs to the
shoulder and pats on the back.
  "Thanks for all you've done," Scan said.
    "It pales in comparison to what you've done for a lot of
potential Forbes victims," Brian said.
    "But without your legal follow-through," Scan said,
"Forbes would still be in business today."
    "It's not over yet," Brian cautioned. "This was merely the
first step."
    "Well, whatever," Scan said. "Let's get back to putting
our efforts into Oncogen. The Forbes matter is in the hands
of the Florida State's Attorney and the U.S. District Attorney.
Who do you think will prosecute the case?"
    "Maybe they'll cooperate," Brian said. "With all the media
attention, both obviously see the case as having great political
potential."
    Sean nodded. "Well, I'll be in touch," he said as he
climbed back into the cab.
    Brian grabbed the door before Scan had a chance to pull it
closed. "I hate to sound captious," Brian said, "but as your
older brother, I feel I should offer some advice. You'd make
things so much easier for yourself if you'd only tone down
that brazen side of your personality. I'm not talking about a
big change, either. If you could just shed some of that townie
abrasiveness. You're holding on to your past way too much."
    "Aw, come on," Sean said with a wry smile. "Lighten up,
Brian."
    "I'm serious," Brian said. "You make enemies of those
people less intelligent than yourself, which unfortunately is
most of us."
    "That's the most backhanded compliment I've ever re-
ceived," Scan said.
    "Well, it's not meant as a compliment," Brian said.
"You're like some idiot savant. As smart as you are in some
areas, you're retarded in others, like social skills. Either you're

363

unaware of what other people are feeling, or you don't care.
But either way, the results are the same."
  "You're out of control!" Scan said with a laugh.
    "Give it some thought, brother," Brian said. He gave
Sean's shoulder a friendly poke.
    Scan told the cabdriver to take him to the Boston Memorial
Hospital. It was getting on toward three, and Scan was eager
to catch Janet before her shift was over. Sitting back, Scan
thought about what Brian had said. He smiled. As likable as
his brother was, he could be such a nerd at times.
    At the hospital, Scan went straight to Janet's floor. At the
nurses' station he learned she was down in 503 medicating
Mrs. Mervin. Scan headed down the hall toward the patient's
room. He couldn't wait to give Janet the good news. He found
her injecting antibiotic into Mrs. Mervin's IV.
    "Well hello, stranger," Janet said when she caught sight of
Scan. She was pleased to see him although she was obviously
preoccupied. She introduced Scan to Mrs. Mervin, telling her
that he was one of the Harvard medical students.
    "I just love all you boys," Mrs. Metwin said. She was an
elderly white-haired woman with pink cheeks and sparkling
eyes. "You can come visit me anytime," she said with a titter.
  Janet winked at Scan. "Mrs. Metwin is on the mend."
  "I can see that," Scan agreed.
    Janet made a notation on a 3 x5 card and stuck it into her
pocket. After picking up her medication tray, she said good-
bye to Mrs. Metwin, advising her to ring if she wanted any-
thing.
 In the hall, Scan had to scurry to keep up with Janet's pace.
    "I'm anxious to talk with you," Scan said, coming along-
side. "In case you couldn't guess."
    "I'd love to chat," Janet said, "but I'm really busy. Re-
port's coming up and I've got to finish these medications."
    "The indictment against Forbes was handed down by the
grand jury," Scan said.
 Janet stopped and gave him a big, warm smile.
    "That's great!" she said. "I'm pleased. And I'm proud of
you. You must feel vindicated."
  "As Brian says, it's an important first step," Scan said.

364                                                                                                                                      365

"The indictment includes Dr. Levy, although she hasn't been
seen or heard from since Mason's mea culpa news conference.
No one knows where the heck she is. The indictment also
includes two clinical staff doctors and the director of nursing,
Margaret Richmond."
  "It's still all so hard to believe," Janet said.
    "It is until you realize how thankful the Forbes medullo-
blastoma patients have been," Sean said. "Up until we put an
end to it all, they'd given over sixty million dollars in essen-
tially unrestricted donations."
    "What's happened to the hospital?" Janet asked, eyeing her
watch.
    "The hospital is in receivership," Sean said. "But the re-
search institute is closed. And in case you're interested, the
Japanese were fooled by the scam as well. They had no part
in it. Since the lid blew off, they cut their losses and ran."
    "I'm sorry about the hospital," Janet said. "I personally
think it's a good hospital. I hope they make it."
    "One other piece of news," Sean said. "You know that
crazy guy that caught us on the beach and scared us half to
death? His name is Tom Widdicomb, and he's crazier than the
mad hatter. He'd kept his dead mother in a freezer at his
house. Seems he thought she was telling him to put all ad-
vanced breast cancer patients to sleep with succinylcholine.
The mother had had the same disease."
    "My God," Janet said. "Then that's what happened to Glo-
ria D'Amataglio."
  "Apparently so," Sean said. "And a number of others."
    "I even remember Tom Widdicomb," Janet said. "He was
the housekeeper who bugged Marjorie so much."
    "Well, apparently you bugged him," Sean said. "Somehow
in his distorted thinking, he decided that you had been sent to
stop him. That's why he was after you. They think he was the
guy in your bathroom at the Forbes residence, and he defi-
nitely was the person who followed us into the Miami General
morgue."
    "Good Lord!" Janet exclaimed. The idea that a psychotic
had been stalking her was terribly unnerving. It reminded her

again of how different her trip to Florida had been from what
she'd anticipated when she'd decided to go.
    "Widdicomb will be tried," Sean continued. "Of course
he's pleading insanity, and if they bring the mother in the
freezer in to testify, he won't have a problem." Sean laughed.
"Needless to say it's because of him that the hospital is in
receivership. Every family that lost a breast cancer patient un-
der suspicious circumstances is suing."
    "None of the medulloblastoma cases are suing?" Janet
asked.
    "Not the hospital," Sean said. "There'd been two entities:
the hospital and the research center. The medulloblastoma pa-
tients will have to sue the research center. After all, at the
hospital, they got cured."
  "All except for Helen Cabot," Janet said.
  "That's true," Sean agree~d.
    Janet glanced at her watch again and shook her head. "Now
I'm really behind," she said. "Sean, I've got to go. Can't we
talk about all this tonight, maybe over dinner or something?"
  "Not tonight," Sean said. "It's Friday."
    "Oh, of course!" Janet said coolly. She thumped her head
with the heel of her hand. "How stupid of me to forget. Well
then, when you get a chance, give me a call." Janet started
down the hall.
    Sean took a few steps and grasped her arm, pulling her to
a stop.
    "Wait!" he said, surprised at her abrupt end to their con-
versation. "Aren't you going to ask me about the charges
against you and me?"
    "It's not that I'm not interested," Janet said. "But you've
caught me at a bad time, and of course, you're busy tonight."
    "It'll only take a second," he said with exasperation.
"Brian and I spent most of last evening bargaining with the
State's Attorney. We got his word that all charges against you
will be dropped. As far as I'm concerned, in return for testi-
fying, all I have to do is plead guilty to disturbing the peace
and malicious mischief. What do you think?"
  "I think that's great," Janet said. "Now if you'll excuse


366                                                                                                      367

me." She tried to get her arm free, but Sean wouldn't let go.
    "There's something else," Sean said. "I've been doing a
lot of thinking now that this Forbes thing is out of the way."
Sean averted his gaze and shifted his weight uneasily. 'q don't
know how to say this, but remember when you said you
wanted to talk about our relationship when you came down to
Florida, how you wanted to talk about commitment and all
that? Well, I think I want to do that. That is, if you're still
thinking about what I think you were."
    Stunned, Janet looked Sean directly in his deep blue eyes.
He tried to look away. Janet reached out and, grasping his
chin, turned his head back to face her. "Is all this double-talk
an attempt to talk about marriage?"
    "Well, yeah, sorta," Sean equivocated. He pulled away
from Janet's hold on his chin to gaze down the hall. It was
difficult for him to look at her. He made some gestures with
his hands as if he were about to say more, but no words came.
    "I don't understand you," Janet said, color spreading across
her cheeks. "To think of all the times I wanted to talk and
you wouldn't, and now you bring this up here and now! Well,
let me tell you something, Sean Murphy. I'm not sure I can
deal with a relationship with you unless you're willing to make
some big changes, and frankly I don't think you're capable.
After that experience down in Florida, I'm not sure you are
what I want. It doesn't mean I don't love you, because I do.
It just means I don't think I could live with the kind of rela-
tionship you're capable of."
    Sean was shocked. For a moment he was incapable of
speech. Janet's response had been totally unexpected. "What
do you mean by change?" he asked finally. "Change what?"
    "If you don't know and if I have to tell you, then it's futile.
Of course, we could talk about it more tonight, but you have
to go out with the boys."
    "Don't get on my case," Sean said. "I haven't seen the
guys for weeks with all this legal malarkey going on."
    "That's undeniably true," Janet said. "And you have fun."
Again she started down the hail. After a few steps she turned
to face him. "Something else unexpected came out of my

Florida trip," she said. "I'm seriously thinking of going to
medical school. Not that I don't love nursing, and God only
knows what a challenge it is, but all that material you intro-
duced me to concerning molecular biology and the medical
revolution it's spawning has turned me on in a way no other
academic subject has been able to do. I think I want to be a
part of it.
    "Well, don't be a stranger, Sean," Janet added as she con-
tinued down the hall. "And close your mouth."
 Sean was too stunned to speak.

IT WAS a little after eight when Sean pushed into Old Scully's
Bar. Not having been able to go for many weeks, he was filled
with pleasant anticipation. The bar was jammed with friends
and acquaintances and was brimming with good cheer. A num-
ber of people had been there' since five and were feeling no
pain. A Red Sox game was on the tube and at the moment
Sean looked at it, Roger Clemens was giving the camera the
evil eye while waiting for the sign from the catcher. There
were a few cheers of encouragement from a knot of diehard
fans grouped directly under the TV. The bases were loaded.
    Standing just inside the door, Sean pausdd to take in the
scene. He saw Jimmy O'Connor and Brady Flanagan at the
dart board laughing to the point of tears. Someone's dart had
missed the board. In fact, it had missed the wall and was
embedded in one of the muntin bars of the window. Obvi-
ously, the two were smashed.
    At the bar, Sean could see Molly and Pete tirelessly going
about their business filling mugs of ale and stout, occasionally
holding four or five of the frosted, brimming glasses in a single
hand. Shots of Irish whiskey dotted the bar. The day's prob-
lems melted into oblivion much faster with these nips between
the drafts of beer.
    Sean eyed the guys at the bar. He recognized Patrick Fitz-
Gerald, or Fitzie, as they called him. He'd been the most pop-
ular guy in high school. Sean could remember as if it were
yesterday how Fitzie had stolen his girl when they were in


368                                                               T E R MI NAL                               369

ninth grade. Sean had fallen head over heels for Mary O'Hig-
gins only to have her disappear at a party he'd brought her to
in order to make out with Fitzie in the back of Frank Kildare's
pickup.
    But since his high school triumph, Fitzie had put on con-
siderable weight around his middle and his face had assumed
a puffy, pasty look. He worked on the maintenance crew down
at the old Navy Yard when he worked, and he was married
to Anne Shaughnessy, who'd blown up to two hundred pounds
after giving birth to twins.
    Sean took a step toward the bar. He wanted to be drawn
into his old world. He wanted people to slap him on the back,
tease him about his brother becoming a priest. He wanted to
remember those days when he thought his future was a lim-
itless road to be traveled along with the whole gang. Fun and
meaning were to be had in shared experiences that could be
enjoyed over and over through reminiscences. In fact, the ex-
periences became more enjoyable with the inevitable embel-
lishment that accompanied each retelling.
    But something held Sean back. With a disturbing, almost
tragic sense, he felt apart. The feeling that his life had taken
a different track from his old friends came back to him with
crushing clarity. He felt more like an observer of his old life;
he was no longer a participant. The events at the Forbes clinic
were forcing him to look at broader issues beyond the confines
of his old friends in Chariestown. He no longer had the in-
sulation that innocence of the world provided. Seeing his for-
mer friends all half drunk or worse made him appreciate their
limited opportunities. For a confusing combination of social
and economic reasons, they were caught in a web of repeated
mistakes. They were condemned to repeat the past.
    Without having spoken a single word to anyone, Sean
abruptly turned and stumbled out of Old Scully's Bar. He
quickened his step when he felt a powerful voice coaxing him
back to the warm familiarity of this haven of his youth. But
Sean had made up his mind. He would not be like his father.
He would look to the future, not to the past.

RESPONDING TO a knock on her apartment door, Janet heaved
her feet off the ottoman and struggled out of her deep club
chair. She'd been perusing a ponderous book she'd picked up
in the medical school bookstore called Molecular Biology of
the Cell. At the door she peered through the security port. She
was shocked to see Sean making a stupid face at her.
    Fumbling with the locks, Janet finally swung the door open
wide.
  "I hope I'm not disturbing you," Sean said.
    "What happened?" Janet asked. "Did that favorite haunt
of yours burn down?"
  "Maybe figuratively," Sean said.
"None of your old friends show up?" Janet asked.
"They were all there," Sean said. "May I come in?"
"I'm sorry," Janet said. "Please." She stepped aside, then
closed the door behind him. "I've forgotten my manners. I'm
just so surprised to see you. Can I get you something? A beer?
A glass of wine?"
    Sean thanked her but said no. He sat awkwardly on the edge
of the couch. "I went as usual to Old Scully's..." he began.
    "Oh, now I know what happened," Janet interrupted.
"They ran out of beer."
    "I'm trying to tell you something," Sean said with exas-
peration.
    "Okay, I'm sorry," Janet said. "I'm being sarcastic. What
happened?"
    "Everybody was there," Sean said. "Jimmy O'Connor,
Brady Flanagan, even Patrick FitzGerald. But I didn't talk to
anyone. I didn't get much past the door."  "Why not?"
    "I realized by going there I was condemning myself to the
past," Sean said. "All of a sudden I had an idea about what
you and even Brian were talking about concerning change.
And you know something? I want to change. I'm sure I'll have
occasional relapses, but I certainly don't want to be a 'townie'


370

all my life. And what I'd like to know is whether or not you'd
be willing to help me a little."
    Janet had to blink away a sudden rush of tears. She looked
into Sean's blue eyes and said, "I'd love to help you."


From "the man who
invented high-tech horror."
   --USA Weekend