Terminal

by Robin Cook

  “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 arranged for a temporary 120-day endorsement so I can practice while the paperwork is being completed for my Florida nursing license.”

  “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 employment more than most employees.”

  “Well, this is all very interesting,” Sean said. For the moment that was all he could think of to say.

  “So we’ll still be working at the same institution.”

  “Did you ever think that maybe you should have discussed this idea with me?” Sean asked.

  “I couldn’t,” Janet said. “You were on the road.”

  “What about before I left?” Sean asked. “Or you could have waited until I’d arrived. I think we should have talked about this.”

  “Well, that’s the whole point,” Janet said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I came here so we can talk,” Janet said. “I think this is a perfect opportunity for us to talk about us. In Boston you’re so involved with school and your research. Here your schedule will undoubtedly be lighter. We’ll have the time we never had in Boston.”

  Sean pushed off the couch and walked over to the open slider. He was at a loss for words. This whole episode of coming to Florida was working out terribly. “How’d you get here?” he asked.

  “I flew down and rented a car,” Janet said.

  “So nothing’s irreversible?” Sean said.

  “If you think you can just send me home, think again,” Janet said, an edge returning to her voice. “This is probably the first time in my life I’ve gone out on a limb for something I think is important.” She still sounded angry, but Sean sensed she could also be on the verge of tears. “Maybe we’re not important in your scheme of things…”

  Sean interrupted her. “It isn’t that at all. The problem is, I don’t know whether I’m staying.”

  Janet’s mouth dropped open. “What are you talking about?” she asked.

  Sean came back to the couch and sat down. He looked into 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 medulloblastoma protocol.

  “What do they want you to do?” she asked.

  “Busywork as far as I’m concerned,” Sean 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 oncogene project for my dissertation.”

  “Maybe you could do both,” Janet suggested. “Help them with their protein and in return get to work on the medulloblastoma project.”

  Sean shook his head. “They were very emphatic. They are not about to change their minds. They said the medulloblastoma 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.

  Sean told Janet about the huge grant Forbes had accepted in return for any patentable biotechnology products. “Somehow 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 intend to get a return on their investment someday—and probably 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.” Sean 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 in the first place. She’d probably have to go back on nights at Boston Memorial, at least for a while. Janet pushed herself out of the deep armchair where she’d been sitting and wandered over to the sliding door. Coming to Florida had seemed like such a good idea to her when she’d been in Boston. Now it seemed like the dumbest thing she’d ever thought of.

  Suddenly Janet spun around. “Wait a minute!” she said. “Maybe I have an idea.”

  “Well?” Sean questioned when Janet remained silent.

  “I’m thinking,” she said, motioning for him to be quiet for a moment.

  Sean studied her face. A few moments ago she’d looked depressed. Now her eyes sparkled.

  “Okay, here’s what I think,” she said. “Let’s stay here and look into this medulloblastoma business together. We’ll work as a team.”

  “What do you mean?” Sean sounded skeptical.

  “It’s simple,” Janet said. “You mentioned that the project had moved into clinical trials. Well, no problem. I’ll be on the wards. I’ll be able to determine the treatment regimens: the timing, the dosages, the works. You’ll be in the lab and you can do your thing there. That monoclonal stuff shouldn’t take all your time.”

  Sean bit his lower lip as he gave Janet’s suggestion some thought. He had actually considered looking into the medulloblastoma issue on the sly. His biggest obstacle had been exactly what Janet would be in a position to provide, namely clinical information.

  “You’d have to get me charts,” Sean 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 find a copy machine, that should be no problem,” she said.

  “I’d need samples of any medication,” Sean said.

  “I’ll probably be dispensing the medicine myself,” she said.

  He sighed. “I don’t know. It all sounds pretty tenuous.”

  “Oh, come on,” Janet said. “What is this, role reversal?

  You’re the one who’s always telling me I’ve lived too sheltered 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 I’m talking 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 message. At that moment he knew it was one-thirty in the afternoon the following day in Tokyo. It was usually after lunch that his supervisor would get the word from the directors regarding 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 Hiroshi’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 agreement with the Forbes. The directive went on to emphasize the company’s belief that 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 economic 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. He 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 directive 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 automatically 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 stature vis-à-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.

  Hanging up the phone, Hiroshi 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 Japanese 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.

  “Moshimoshi,” Hiroshi said much too quickly, betraying his nervousness.

  The voice that answered was sharp and piercing like a stiletto. It was Tanaka.

  4

  March 3

  Wednesday, 8:30 A.M.

  When Sean’s eyes blinked open at eight-thirty, he was instantly 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. “I’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 Harris straightened up from 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 hours?” Harris asked provocatively.

  “My favorite Marine,” Sean said. “Were you able to keep Mrs. Mason out of trouble, or was she desperate enough to take you on a tour of Lady Luck?”

  Robert Harris glared at Sean as Sean leaned against the bar of the turnstile to show his ID to the guard at the desk. But Harris couldn’t think of an appropriate retort fast enough. The guard at the desk released the bar and Sean pushed through.

  Unsure how to approach the day, Sean first took the elevator to the seventh floor and went to Claire’s office. He was not looking forward to meeting her since they’d parted on such uncomfortable terms. But he wanted to clear the air.

  Claire and her superior shared an office with their desks facing each other. But when Sean found her, Claire was alone.

  “Morning!” Sean said cheerfully.

  Claire looked up from her work. “I trust you slept well,” she said sarcastically.

  “I’m sorry about last night,” Sean offered. “I know it was unpleasant and awkward for everyone. I apologize that the evening had to end that way, but I assure you Janet’s arrival was totally unexpected.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Claire said coolly.

  “Please,” Sean asked. “Don’t you turn unfriendly. You’re one of the few people here who has been nice to me. I’m apologizing. What more can I do?”

  “You’re right,” Claire said, finally softening. “Consider it history. What can I do for you today?”

  “I suppose I have to talk with Dr. Levy,” Sean said. “How do you suggest I find her?”

  “Page her,” Claire said. “All of the professional staff carry beepers. You should get one yourself.” She picked up the phone, checked with the operator that Dr. Levy was in, then had her paged.

  Claire only had time to tell Sean where to go to get a beeper when her phone rang. It was one of the administrative secretaries 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, photomicrographs, scattered color slides, erlenmeyer flasks, culture 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 started. 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 assignment 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 forthrightness,” 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 meticulously dressed. Sporting a spotless white apron over his suit, he looked more like men Sean had seen around cosmetic counters in department stores than 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 before. By the time Mark left, Sean was satisfied with the physical aspects of his work situation; he only wished he was working on something he was truly interested in.

  Picking up the vial Dr. Levy had given him, Sean unscrewed the cap and looked in at the fine white powder. He sniffed it; it had no smell. Pulling his stool closer to the counter, he set to work. First he dissolved the powder in a variety of solvents to get an idea of its solubility. He also set up a gel electrophoresis to get some approximation of its molecular weight.

  After about an hour of concentration, Sean was suddenly distracted by movement that he thought he’d seen out of the corner of his eye. When he looked in that direction, all he saw was empty lab space extending over to the door to the stairwell. Sean paused from what he was doing. The only detectable sound came from the hum of a refrigerator compressor and the whirring of a shaking platform Sean was using to help super-saturate a solution. He wondered if the unaccustomed solitude was making him hallucinate.

  Sean was seated near the middle of the room. Putting down the utensils in his hands, he walked the length of the lab, glancing down each aisle. The more he looked the more uncertain he became that he’d seen something. Reaching the door to the stairwell, he yanked it open and took a step forward, intending to look up and 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 someone who’d been lurking just beyond the door.