by Robin Cook
“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 met 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 sometime 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 Marjorie, 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 ambulance except for having to deal with fellow EMTs. With housekeeping, 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 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.
Opening the door, Tom 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 afford 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 Marjorie!
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’ll 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 academic 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. Wonderful 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 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 unexpected guest. Anne Murphy was surprised enough that someone 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 muscular 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 involved 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 moments of her son’s checkered past.
“Is he still involved with this Immunotherapy?” Tanaka asked.
“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 t
he refrigerator. She thought about calling Brian but decided 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 worried 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 was 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 Sean 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’ll 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 business suit and white shirt. 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.
“I’ve been sent by the Forbes Cancer Center in Miami,” Sterling explained.
Recognizing the name of the institution where Sean 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 Sean 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 companies 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 inquiries?”
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 Immunotherapy.”
“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.
“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 furnished 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 discouraged 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,” Sean said. “The atmosphere sucks. For one thing, there’s a Japanese weirdo who I swear is watching 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,” Sean 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 supposed 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 department 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.” Sean held up his thumb and index finger about a half inch apart.
“So what happened?” Janet asked.
“Nothing,” Sean 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,” Sean 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.”
“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 not all you’ll be doing,” Janet said.
“How’s that?”
“You’ll also be investigating the medulloblastoma protocol,” 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 i
t,” Janet said. “Plus another patient from Boston. 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 explained.
“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 science!” He looked up at Janet. “I wonder if anybody in Washington 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.”