Robin Cook (30 page)

“Are you telling me that all you've learned with forty men and a million dollars' worth of security equipment is that one of the orderlies has been found unconscious and one of our guests, Mr. Schonberg, is missing from his room?”

“That's correct,” said Mr. Burkett.

“And the orderly,” continued Dr. Nachman, “was presumably injected in the back with his own syringe of Conformin?”

“Exactly,” said Mr. Burkett. “He was injected with such force that the needle broke off and is imbedded in the man's skin.” Mr. Burkett wanted to impress the research director with the
completeness of his investigation, but Nachman wasn't having any of it. He found it inconceivable that Mr. Burkett, with his huge staff and sophisticated resources, could not locate a heavily sedated patient. Thanks to Burkett's inefficiency, what had started as an inconvenience was rapidly becoming a serious affair.

Dr. Nachman angrily lit his pipe, which had gone out for the tenth time. He couldn't decide whether or not he should inform the inner circle of MTIC. If the problem got worse, the earlier he reported it, the better off he'd be. But if the problem resolved itself, it would be best to remain silent.

“Has there been any evidence of anyone touching the perimeter fence?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” said Burkett. “And no one has been allowed out of the main gate since Dr. Mitchell called.” He glanced at the psychiatrist, who was nervously examining his cuticles.

Dr. Nachman nodded. He was certain the patient was still on the grounds and that the electrified fence was an insurmountable barrier, but he still worried about the competence of Burkett's security force. There was no reason to take chances.

“I want you to send someone to the airport to check the departing flights,” he ordered.

“I think that's going a bit far,” said Burkett. “The patient won't get off the compound.”

“I don't care what you think,” interrupted Dr. Nachman. “Everyone told me the patient couldn't have left the hospital, and obviously he has. So cover the airport.”

“OK,” said Burkett with an exasperated sigh.

Dr. Mitchell, who was well aware that he was the man who had insisted the patient couldn't
have left the hospital, stood up, saying, “Even if the transmitter is too weak to use to trace the patient, maybe if we stimulate his electrodes, he'll reveal himself.”

Dr. Nachman looked at Mr. Hofstra. “Could we do that?”

“I don't know,” said Hofstra. “The position of his electrodes hasn't been neurophysiologically mapped. I don't know what would happen if we stimulated him. It might kill him.”

“But could we stimulate him?” asked Dr. Nachman again.

“Maybe,” said Hofstra. “But it will take some time. The present program has been written with the expectation that the patient would be initially present.”

“What kind of time are you talking about?”

Hofstra spread his hands apart. “I should know if I'll be able to do it in an hour or so.”

“But you didn't have any trouble activating the electrodes.”

“That's true,” said Hofstra. “But actual stimulation is much more complicated.”

“Try it,” said Dr. Nachman wearily. Then, gesturing with his hands toward Mr. Burkett, who was still on the phone, he said, “I'd like to have some kind of backup for his Keystone Kops.”

• • •

Looking at his watch, Adam realized that they'd been sailing for nearly two hours. Once they'd rounded the point north of the MTIC-Arolen beach, they'd encountered increasingly high swells that occasionally crested and broke over the canvas trampoline. A couple of times when they were in the rough of a particularly high wave, Adam was
afraid they would be buried by tons of seawater. But each time the boat had bobbed up and ridden like a cork over the top of the wave.

They headed due west along the northern coast. Unsure if there were any reefs or not, Adam stayed about two or three hundred yards offshore. By far the hardest part of the adventure was dealing with his imagination. Each minute, his concern grew about sharks lurking beneath them in the dark swirling water. Every time he glanced down, he expected to see a huge black fin break the surface.

Certain that they had long since passed the limits of the MTIC-Arolen compound, Adam began to aim the Hobie Cat toward land. In the past fifteen minutes or so he'd begun to see occasional lights along the shore. He now could hear the waves pounding on the beach. He tried not to think about what that might mean.

A scream shattered the silence. All at once Alan grabbed his head with both hands and shrieked into the night. Adam was caught totally off guard. A large bolus of adrenaline shot into his system.

Alan's screams increased to full lung capacity, and he tried to stand up, straining against the rope that secured him to the mast. He began to throw himself from side to side, threatening to capsize the boat. Adam abandoned the tiller and the mainsail sheet and tried to restrain the crazed man. The boat immediately fell off the wind and the mainsail luffed.

“Alan!” yelled Adam above the sound of the wind. “What's the matter?” He grabbed Alan by the shoulders and shook him as hard as he could. Alan was still clasping his head with his hands with such force that his face was distorted. His shrieks came amid gasps for breath.

“What's the matter?” shouted Adam again.

Alan let go of his head, and for a second Adam could see his face. The man's previously blank expression had twisted into one of pain and rage. Like a mad dog, Alan lunged for Adam's throat.

Shocked at Alan's strength, Adam tried to scramble out of his reach, but there was little room on the Hobie Cat's trampoline. Alan twisted within his bonds and flailed his arms, catching Adam in the face with a forceful punch. Screaming himself, Adam teetered on the edge of the Hobie Cat, his hands frantically grabbing for a purchase. His fingers found the uncoiled mainsail halyard, but it did not provide any support. In a kind of agonizing slow motion Adam toppled into the forbidding ocean.

He plunged beneath the surface of the icy water. Desperately clawing at the water, Adam fought back up to the air, terrified that at any moment he would be bitten by a sea monster. His leg brushed the rope in his hand and he screamed.

Although the sails were luffing, the strong trade wind continued to push the boat through the water. Adam held on to the mainsail halyard and was dragged behind like bait on the end of a fish line. He could feel his right eyelid swelling, but worst of all, there was trailing warmth from his nose, which he guessed was blood. He expected his legs to be snapped off at any moment. Hand over hand, he frantically pulled himself back to the boat. On the trampoline Alan was still shrieking in pain. Adam grabbed a pontoon and started to scramble out of the water.

The snapping of the uncleated mainsail sounded like rifle shots. The boat had rotated to windward, and suddenly the boom wildly traversed the back
of the boat, slamming into the side of Alan's head and pitching him face downward onto the trampoline.

Adam hauled himself out of the water and, watching out for the swinging boom, approached the man uneasily, half expecting him to explode anew. But Alan was unconscious and breathing deeply. Steadying himself on the bobbing boat, Adam felt Alan's head for a fracture. All he found was an actively swelling egg-shaped lump.

Carefully Adam rolled Alan over, wondering what had possessed the man. He'd been so peaceful until that terrifying moment. Adam noticed that one of the sutured incisions had pulled open, and suddenly he guessed what might have happened.

Scrambling back to the stern, Adam grabbed the tiller and then pulled in on the mainsail tackle. The boat responded and the sails filled. Falling off the wind, Adam headed for the shore. He now had another, unanticipated problem. He had no idea what Alan could be made to do. Adam shivered, more from fear than from the chill of his damp clothes.

• • •

Edgar Hofstra glanced up at Dr. Nachman, whose eyes had become blood red. The man's lower lids hung away from his globes while he bent over Hofstra's shoulder, staring at the computer screen.

“I can't be one hundred percent sure that the electrodes responded,” said Hofstra, “but that was the strongest signal I could send at the moment. If you give me a couple of hours, I will be able to increase the power.”

“Well, see if you can speed things up,” said Dr. Nachman. “And maybe you can remember if any
of our early experiments with monkeys gave us clues as to how the subject will respond.”

“I hate to tell you,” said Mitchell, “but in addition to destroying everything around them, the monkeys in such situations ended up killing themselves.”

Dr. Nachman got up and stretched. “Listen, that may be the good news.”

“I'll have to take the whole system off line while we work on it,” said Hofstra.

“That's OK,” said Dr. Nachman. “At this hour I can't imagine anybody wanting to send instructions to any of the ‘controlled' doctors.”

“Too bad the patient hadn't at least been conditioned for the self-destruct mode,” said Dr. Mitchell.

“Yeah, too bad,” agreed Dr. Nachman.

• • •

By the time Adam got within a hundred feet of shore, the night had become significantly darker. He turned the boat to the west and paralleled the island while he listened carefully to the waves crashing on the shore. He hoped that the type of sound would enable him to guess the composition of the beach. With the heavy surf, he was afraid of coral.

Alan had moaned a few times but had not tried to get up. Adam thought that he was either still unconscious from the blow to his head or in some kind of post-ictic state from what had been a seizure of sorts. In any case, Adam hoped that he'd stay quiet until they reached the shore.

The sound of a dog barking against the noise of the ocean caught Adam's attention, and he strained his eyes shoreward. He could make out, nestled among the graceful trunks of a forest of coconut
palms, a group of dark houses. Thinking that they were a good indication of a sand beach, Adam shoved the tiller over, ducked under the jibing mainsail, and headed the boat toward land.

Although Adam let the sail out and was spilling the wind, the boat seemed to be flying. Holding the tiller with his leg, he reached up and let loose the jib, which began to flap angrily in the wind. Ahead, he could see where the waves were cresting, a white line of foam against the blackness of the island.

The closer they got, the louder was the noise of the breakers pounding the shoreline. Adam prayed silently for a sand beach, although at that speed even sand would be trouble. A huge wave passed under the boat, then a larger one built behind. The Hobi rode up the face of the wave, and with terror, Adam thought they were about to flip end over end. But the boat righted itself as the wave rolled under. Looking behind again, Adam saw another wave bearing down on them. It looked as big as a house. Its upper edge feathered against the sky, suggesting it was about to break. Adam saw the top begin to curl. Holding the tiller with one hand and the side of the trampoline with the other, he closed his eyes and braced himself for submersion.

But the tons of water that Adam expected didn't come. Instead, the Hobie Cat shot forward with an exhilarating burst of speed. Adam opened his eyes and saw that they were racing toward shore in front of the torrent of white water.

Before he knew what was happening, the speeding boat hit the backwash of the previous wave and bounced into the air, throwing him over the side into the water. He came up sputtering, but happily surprised that the water was only waist
deep. Alan had remained on the boat's trampoline, secured by the line around his chest, but he had rotated around the mast and his legs dangled over the side. Adam grabbed the boat and pulled it toward shore, straining against the undertow. The pontoons finally hit the bottom, and Adam waited for the next wave before running the boat up onto dry land.

He immediately collapsed onto the sand to catch his breath, then fished out his glasses and slipped them on. Looking around, he saw that they had landed on a narrow and rather steep sand beach that was strewn with all sorts of debris. A number of old wood-planked boats were drawn up from the water's edge and secured around the trunks of nearby coconut palms. Within the darkness of the trees was a village of ramshackle houses.

A welcoming committee of two scraggy dogs appeared at the edge of the beach and began to bark loudly. A light went on in the nearest house. When Adam struggled to his feet, the dogs dashed out of sight for a moment, only to reappear and bark more insistently. Adam ignored them. He untied Alan and got the man standing.

Alan held his head as Adam led him up the beach. Just within the shelter of the palms, they came upon a ramshackle house with a beaten-up half-ton pickup parked outside. Adam peered hungrily inside the cab. No keys were dangling from the ignition. He decided to knock on the door of the house and take his chances. The dogs were barking wildly now, nipping at his legs.

As he walked up the steps, a light went on and a face appeared at the window. Adam checked his back pocket to make sure his wallet was safe. A moment later the door opened. The man who
opened it was stripped to the waist and barefoot. He had a gun in his hand, an old revolver with a mother-of-pearl handle.