Terminal

by Robin Cook

  On the other hand, Dr. Mason knew he needed something to offer the Japanese or they might not renew their grant, irrespective of other concerns. If Sean could help solve the problem associated with developing an antibody to their glycoprotein, then his arrival could turn into a godsend.

  Dr. Mason ran a nervous hand through his hair. The problem 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.”

  “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 recommendations.”

  “Everything I 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 stronger than an ox. He could have played professional 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. Mason said with a short laugh. “So we won’t be taking advantage of his skills in that regard. But tell me something else. Has Sean 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. “He not only worked at one, he owned one. He and a group of friends started a company called Immunotherapy to develop murine monoclonal antibodies. The company did well as far as I know. But then I don’t keep up with the industrial side of our field.”

  The pain in Mason’s gut intensified. This was not what he wanted to hear.

  Mason thanked Dr. Walsh, hung up the phone, and immediately swallowed two antacid tablets. Now he had to worry about Sushita learning of Sean’s association with this Immunotherapy company. If they did, it might be enough to cause them to break the agreement.

  Dr. Mason paced his office. Intuition told him he had to act. Perhaps he should send Sean back to Boston as Dr. Levy had suggested. But that would mean losing Sean’s potential contribution to the glycoprotein project.

  Suddenly Dr. Mason had an idea. He could at least find out all there was to know about Sean’s company. He picked up the phone again. This number he didn’t have his secretary dial. He dialed it himself. He called Sterling Rombauer.

  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 definitely 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 neighbor, Gary Engels. He even shaved.

  They took Sean’s 4×4 since it was roomier than Claire’s tiny Honda. With Claire giving directions, they skirted the downtown high rises and drove up Biscayne Boulevard. People 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,” Sean 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.”

  “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.”

  “How 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 went and lost most of the foundation’s money in some central Florida land development scheme. Dr. Mason was a latecomer to the Center and only arrived when it was about to go under. He and Dr. Levy have turned the place around.”

  They pulled into a sweeping drive in front of a huge white house with a portico supported by fluted Corinthian columns. A parking attendant quickly took charge of the car.

  The inside of the house was equally impressive. Everything was white: white marble floors, white furniture, white carpet, and white walls.

  “I hope they didn’t pay a decorator a lot of money for picking the colors,” Sean said.

  They were motioned through the house to a terrace overlooking Biscayne Bay. The bay was dotted with lights from other islands as well as hundreds 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 illuminated from beneath the water. To its left was a pink and white striped tent where long tables were laden with food and drink. A calypso steel band played next to the house and filled the velvety night air with melodious percussion. At the water’s edge beyond the terrace was a gigantic white cruiser moored to a pier. Hanging from davits off the yacht’s stern was yet another 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 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 heavily mascaraed lashes. Sean dutifully squeezed her hand, drawing 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 gift 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-t
o-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.

  “I 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.

  “This is my boat,” Sarah said. “It’s called Lady Luck. Would you like a tour?”

  “I don’t think that beast on deck wants company,” Sean said.

  “Batman?” Sarah questioned. “Don’t worry about him. As long as you’re with me he’ll be a lamb.”

  “Maybe we could come back later,” Sean said. “To tell the truth, I’m starved.”

  “There’s food in the fridge,” Sarah persisted.

  “Yeah, but I had my heart set on those oysters I saw under the tent.”

  “Oysters, huh?” Sarah said. “Sounds good to me. We can see the boat later.”

  As soon as he got Sarah back on land, Sean ducked away, leaving her with an unsuspecting couple who’d ventured toward the yacht. Searching through the crowd for Claire, a strong hand gripped his arm. Sean turned and found himself gazing into the puffy face of Robert Harris, head of security. Even a tux didn’t dramatically change his appearance, with his Marine-style crew cut. His collar must have been too tight since his eyes were bulging.

  “I want to give you some advice, Murphy,” Harris said with obvious disdain.

  “Really?” Sean questioned. “This should be interesting, since we have so much in common.”

  “You’re a wiseass,” Harris hissed.

  “Is that the advice?” Sean asked.

  “Stay away from Sarah Forbes,” Harris said. “I’m only telling you once.”

  “Damn,” Sean said. “I’ll have to cancel our picnic tomorrow.”

  “Don’t push me!” Harris warned. With a final glare, he stalked off.

  Sean finally found Claire at the table featuring oysters, shrimp, and stone crab. Filling his plate, he scolded her for allowing him to fall into the clutches of Sarah Mason.

  “I 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 stepped to the podium and tapped the microphone. As soon as the crowd was silent, he introduced Howard Pace, thanking him profusely for his generous gift. After a resounding round of applause, Dr. Mason turned the microphone over to the guest of honor.

  “This is a bit syrupy for my taste,” Sean whispered.

  “Be nice,” Claire chided him.

  Howard Pace began his talk with the usual platitudes, but then his voice cracked with emotion. “Even this check for ten million dollars cannot adequately express my feelings. The Forbes Cancer Center has given me a second chance at life. Before I came here all my doctors believed my brain tumor was terminal. I almost gave up. Thank God I didn’t. And thank God for the dedicated doctors at the Forbes Cancer Center.”

  Unable to speak further, Pace waved his check in the air as tears streamed down his face. Dr. Mason immediately appeared at his side and rescued the check lest it waft out into the wine-dark Biscayne Bay.

  After another round of applause, the formal events of the evening were over. The guests surged forward, all overcome with the emotion Howard Pace had expressed. They had not expected such intimacy from such a powerful person.

  Sean turned to Claire. “I hate to be a drag,” he said. “But I’ve been up since five. I’m fading fast.”

  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 distracted and barely realized they were leaving. Sean was thankful 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.

  “It’s what makes it all worthwhile,” Claire agreed.

  Sean pulled up and parked next to Claire’s Honda. There was a moment of awkwardness. “I did get some beer this afternoon,” he said after a pause. “Would you like to come up for a few minutes?”

  “Fine,” Claire said enthusiastically.

  As Sean 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 attendants. 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 Richmond 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 medication 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 magnate?” John Cabot asked.

  “None other,” Dr. Mason said. “Mr. Pace has made a generous donation to the Forbes Center, and we were having a small celebration. But the affair was winding down when you called.”

  “Still, your concern is reassuring,” John Cabot said. “So many doctors are distracted by their own agendas. They are more interested in themselves than the patients. My daughter’s illness has been an eye-opening experience.”

  “Unfortunately your complaints are all too common,” Dr. Mason said. “But at Forbes it’s the patient who counts. We would do even more if we weren’t so strapped for funds. Since government began limiting grants, we’ve had to struggle.”

  “If you can help my daughter I’ll be happy to contribute to your capital needs.”

  “We will do everything in our power to help her.”

  “Tell me,” Cabot said. “What do you think her chances are? I’d like to know the truth.”

  “The possibility of a full recovery is excellent,” Dr. Mason said. “We’ve had remarkable luck with Helen’s type of tumor, but we must start treatment immediately. I tried to expedite her transfer, but your doctors in Boston seemed reluctant to release her.”

  “You know the doctors in Boston. If there’s another test available, they want to do it. Then, of course, they want to repeat it.”

  “We tried to talk them out of biopsying the tumor,” Dr. Mason said. “We can now make the diagnosis of medulloblastoma with an enhanced MRI. But they woul
dn’t listen. You see we have to biopsy it regardless of whether they did or not. We have to grow some of her tumor cells in tissue culture. It’s an integral part of the treatment.”

  “When can it be done?” John Cabot asked.

  “The sooner the better,” Dr. Mason said.

  “BUT YOU didn’t have to scream,” Sean said. He was still shaking from the fright he’d experienced when he’d flipped on the light switch.

  “I 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. “I’ve told you a dozen times. She’s in their public relations department. She was assigned to deal with me.”

  “And dealing with you means coming back to your apartment after ten at night?” Janet asked with scorn. “Don’t patronize 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 manners just in time to bestow them on a young, attractive female,” 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?”