Terminal (20 page)

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 diagnostic 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
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.”

“W
ELL, 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 rug 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!” Sean 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.

Sean 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. Sean found Janet incredibly sexy, particularly when she was so scantily clad. Sean 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 cook,” she said, straightening up.

“Wonderful,” Sean said, but his mind was concerned with other basic appetites.

They moved back into the living room.

“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 exclusive,” 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 4×4 where they’d found a parking spot across from the apartment. Walking hand in hand, they wandered north up Collins Avenue beneath huge silver- and gold-tipped clouds that reflected 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 strolling up and down the streets, sitting on steps or porches, roller blading, or cruising in their cars. Some of the car stereos had
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 disorganization with tables and people crammed everywhere. The waiters 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, Sean and Janet found themselves squeezed among other diners at a large table. Frosted bottles of Corona with lime wedges stuck in their mourns 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 exudate,” Sean yelled.

“Gross!” Janet exclaimed. “Stop sounding so much like a medical student.”

Conversation was almost impossible in the raucous restaurant, 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 freezing rain,” Janet said. “But enough small talk. If, as you said,
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?”

Sean gave a short, mirthless laugh. “It was worse,” he said. “I wasn’t on the second floor for five minutes before the director 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.

Sean 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,” Sean 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,” Sean 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,” Sean 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 bloodcurdling yell. He nearly dropped his pants.”

“The poor fellow,” Janet said.

“Poor fellow nothing!” Sean said. “This guy’s been watching me since I arrived.”

“Well, I’ve had some luck,” Janet said.

Sean 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 medulloblastoma patients for the last ten years: thirty-eight in all; thirty-three in the past two years. I’ve summarized the data on the sheet.”

Sean 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 explained 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,” Sean said. “Are they right there in medical 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,” Sean said.

“You said we’d have to break rules, not the law,” Janet reminded him.

“Let’s not get into semantics,” Sean said with exasperation.

“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 I thought you did too. But, be that as it may, don’t you think we’re justified? These Forbes people have obviously developed a very effective treatment for medulloblastoma. Unfortunately, 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 return on investment instead of the public interest. The public weal is in second place if it is considered at all. This treatment for medulloblastoma undoubtedly has implications for all cancers, but the public 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 rule 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.

T
OM
W
IDDICOMB
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 gumbolimbo tree. Alice had told him to park there just in case someone noticed the car. It was Alice’s car, a lime green 1969 Cadillac convertible.

Tom opened the car door and stepped out after making certain 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 while 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 preferred not to be seen. Arriving outside of 207, he inserted the key, opened the door, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him in one swift, fluid motion.