Terminal (A Medical Thriller)
Terminal: Chapter 9

March 6

Saturday, 7:50 P.M.

This is a fabulous room,” Janet said as she opened the large wooden tropical shutters.

Sean joined her. “It looks almost as if we’re cantilevered out over the beach,” he said. They were on the third floor. The beach was illuminated all the way down to the water’s edge. A line of Hobie Cats were directly below them.

They were both making an attempt to put the disturbing beach experience behind them. At first Janet wanted to go back to Miami, but Sean talked her into staying. He’d said whatever the explanation for the episode was, at least it was now behind them. He’d said that since they’d driven all the way over to Naples, they should at least enjoy themselves.

“Let’s get a move on,” Sean said. “Malcolm Betencourt is expecting us in forty minutes.”

While Janet showered, Sean sat down and tried Brian one more time. He was frustrated when he got the answering machine yet again. He left a third message instructing his brother to disregard the previous phone number. He gave the Edgewater Beach number and the room number, adding that he’d be out for dinner, but to call later, no matter the time. He said it was vitally important for them to talk.

Sean then called the Betencourt residence to say they might be a few minutes late. Mr. Betencourt assured him it wasn’t a problem and thanked him for calling.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with Janet still in the shower, Sean took out the pistol he’d picked up on the beach. Snapping open the cylinder, he shook out some sand. It was an ancient .38 Smith and Wesson detective special. There were four remaining cartridges. Sean shook his head when he thought how close he’d come to being shot. He also thought about the irony of being saved by someone he’d disliked from the moment he’d first met him.

Snapping the cylinder of the revolver closed, Sean put the gun under his shirt. There had been a few too many inexplicable brushes with disaster in the last twenty-four hours for him to pass up this chance to arm himself. Sean sensed that something bizarre was happening, and like any good medical diagnostician, he was trying to relate all the symptoms to a single illness. Intuitively, he felt he should keep the gun just in case. Inwardly he was still shaking from the feeling of helplessness he’d had just before the gun had gone off.

After Janet got out of the shower, Sean got in. Janet was still complaining about not having reported the man with the gun, and said as much as she was applying her makeup. But Sean remained unwavering, adding that he believed Robert Harris was fully capable of handling the situation.

“Won’t it look suspicious if we have to explain after the fact why we didn’t go to the police?” Janet persisted.

“Probably,” Sean agreed, “but it is just something else Brian will have to handle. Let’s stop talking about it for a while and try to enjoy ourselves a little.”

“One more question,” Janet said. “The man said something about my interfering. What do you think he meant?”

Sean threw up his hands in exasperation. “The guy was obviously crazy. He was probably in the middle of some acute paranoid psychotic episode. How am I supposed to know what he was talking about?”

“All right,” Janet said. “Take it easy. Did you try Brian again?”

Sean nodded. “The bum is still not home,” he said. “But I left this number. He’ll probably call while we’re at dinner.”

When they were ready to leave, Sean phoned the parking valet to have the car brought up to the entrance. As they exited the room, Sean pocketed the Smith and Wesson, unbeknownst to Janet.

As they drove south on Gulf Shore Boulevard, Janet finally began to calm down. She even began to notice the surroundings again and to appreciate all the flowering trees. She noticed there was no debris or graffiti or any signs of homeless people. The problems of urban America seemed a long way from Naples, Florida.

While she was trying to get Sean to look at a particularly beautiful flowering tree, she noticed that he was spending an inordinate amount of time looking in the rearview mirror.

“What are you looking for?” she questioned.

“Robert Harris,” Sean said.

Janet glanced behind them, then at Sean.

“Have you seen him?” she asked with alarm.

Sean shook his head. “No,” he said. “I haven’t seen Harris, but I think a car is following us.”

“Oh great!” Janet said. The weekend was not turning out as she’d envisioned at all.

All of a sudden, Sean made a U-turn in the middle of the road. Janet had to grab the dash to steady herself. In the blink of an eye they were traveling north, returning in the direction from which they’d come.

“It’s the second car,” Sean said. “See if you can tell what kind of car it is and if you can see the driver.”

There were two cars bearing down on them from the opposite direction, their headlights cutting a swath in the darkness. The first car went by. Sean slowed, and then the second car passed them.

“It’s a limousine,” Janet said with surprise.

“Well, that shows how paranoid I’m getting,” Sean said with a touch of chagrin. “That’s certainly not the kind of car Robert Harris would be driving.”

Sean made another sudden U-turn, and they were again heading south.

“Would you give me a little warning when you are about to do one of your maneuvers?” Janet complained. She resettled herself in her seat.

“Sorry,” Sean said.

As they traveled south beyond the old section of town they noticed the homes got progressively larger and more impressive. Within Port Royal they were even more lavish, and when they pulled into Malcolm Betencourt’s driveway lined with blazing torches, they were awed. They parked in an area designated “visitor parking” at least a hundred feet from the door.

“This looks more like a transplanted French château,” Janet said. “It’s huge. What does this man do?”

“He runs some enormous for-profit hospital corporation,” Sean said. He got out of the car and came around to open the door for Janet.

“I didn’t know there was so much money in for-profit medicine,” Janet said.

The Betencourts were gracious hosts. They welcomed Sean and Janet as if they were old friends. They even teased them for parking in an area reserved for the “trades.”

Armed with glasses of the finest champagne flavored with a mere drop of cassis, Sean and Janet were treated to a grand tour of the twenty-thousand-square-foot home. They also had a walk around the grounds which included two pools, one cascading into the other, and a hundred-and-twenty-foot teak sailboat moored to a sizable pier.

“Some people might say that this house is a bit too big,” Malcolm said when they were seated in the dining room. “But Harriet and I are accustomed to a lot of room. Our home up in Connecticut is actually a little larger.”

“Plus we entertain regularly,” Harriet said. She rang a little bell and a servant appeared with the first course. Another poured crisp white wine.

“So you are studying at Forbes?” Malcolm said to Sean. “You’re a lucky man, Sean. It’s a great place. You’ve met Dr. Mason, I presume?”

“Dr. Mason and Dr. Levy,” Sean said.

“They’re doing great things,” Malcolm said. “Of course, I don’t have to tell you that. As you know, I’m living proof.”

“I’m certain you are grateful,” Sean said. “But…”

“That’s an understatement,” Malcolm interrupted. “They’ve given me a second chance at life, so we’re more than grateful.”

“We’ve donated five million from our foundation,” Harriet said. “We in the United States have to put our resources in those institutions that are successful instead of following those pork barrel policies of Congress.”

“Harriet’s sensitive about the research issue,” Malcolm explained.

“She’s got a good point,” Sean admitted. “But Mr. Betencourt, as a medical student I’m interested in your experience as a patient, and I’d like to hear it in your own words. How did you understand the treatment you were given? Especially considering the business you are in, I’m sure you were interested.”

“You mean the quality of the treatment or the treatment per se?”

“The treatment per se,” Sean said.

“I’m a businessman, not a doctor,” Malcolm said. “But I consider myself an informed layperson. When I got to Forbes they immediately started me on immunotherapy with an antibody. On the first day they took a biopsy of the tumor, and they took white blood cells from my body. They incubated the white blood cells with the tumor to sensitize them to become ‘killer cells.’ Finally, they injected my own sensitized cells back into my bloodstream. As I understand it, the antibody coated the cancer cells and then the killer cells came along and ate ‘em up.”

Malcolm shrugged and looked at Harriet to see if she wanted to add anything.

“That’s what happened,” she agreed. “Those little cells went in there and gave those rumors hell!”

“At first my symptoms got a little worse,” Malcolm said. “But then they got progressively better. We followed the progression on MRI. The tumors just melted away. And today I feel great.” To emphasize his point he gave his chest a thump with his fist.

“And now you are treated in the outpatient?” Sean asked.

“That’s right,” Malcolm said. “I’m scheduled at present to go back every six months. But Dr. Mason is convinced I’m cured, so I expect to extend it out to once a year. Each time I go I get a dose of antibody just to be sure.”

“And no more symptoms?” Sean asked.

“Nothing,” Malcolm said. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

The first-course dishes were removed. The main course arrived along with a mellow red wine. Sean felt relaxed despite the episode on the beach. He glanced at Janet, who was having a separate conversation with Harriet; it turned out they had family friends in common. Janet smiled back at Sean when he caught her eye. Clearly she, too, was enjoying herself.

Malcolm took an appreciative taste of his wine. “Not bad for an ‘86 Napa,” he said. He put his glass down on the table and looked over at Sean. “Not only have I no symptoms from the brain tumor, but I feel great. Better than I have in years. Of course, I’m probably comparing it to the year before I got the immunotherapy which was pure hell. Not much else could have gone wrong. First I had knee surgery, which wasn’t fun, then encephalitis, and then the brain tumor. This year I’ve been great. Haven’t even had a cold.”

“You had encephalitis?” Sean asked, his fork poised halfway to his mouth.

“Yes,” Malcolm said. “I was a medical oddity. Somebody could have gone through medical school just studying me. I had a bout of headache, fever, and was generally feeling crappy, and…” Malcolm leaned over and spoke behind his hand. “There was some burning in my pecker when I peed.” He glanced over to be sure the women hadn’t overheard.

“How did you know it was encephalitis?” Sean asked. He put his full fork down on his plate.

“Well, the headache was the worst part,” Malcolm said. “I went to my local internist who sent me down to Columbia Presbyterian. They’re used to seeing strange stuff down there, all kinds of exotic, tropical diseases. They had these high-powered infectious-disease people see me. They were the ones who first suspected encephalitis and then proved it with some new method called polymerase something or other.”

“Polymerase Chain Reaction,” Sean said as if he were in a trance. “What kind of encephalitis was it?”

“They called it SLE,” Malcolm said. “It stands for St. Louis encephalitis. They were all surprised, saying it was kinda out of season. But I had been on a couple of trips. Anyway, the encephalitis was mild, and after some bed rest I felt fine. Then of course, two months later, bam! I got a brain tumor. I thought I was done for. So did my doctors up north. First they thought it had spread from someplace else like my colon or my prostate. But when they all proved clean, they decided to biopsy. The rest, of course, is history.”

Malcolm took another bite of his food, chewed and swallowed it. He took a taste of his wine, then glanced back at Sean. Sean hadn’t moved. He appeared stunned. Malcolm leaned across the table to look him in the eye. “You okay, young fella?”

Sean blinked as if he were emerging from hypnosis. “I’m fine,” he stammered. He quickly apologized for seeming distracted, saying that he was just astounded by Malcolm’s story. He thanked Malcolm profusely for being willing to share it with him.

“My pleasure,” Malcolm said. “If I can help train a few of you medical students, I’ll feel like I’m repaying a little of the interest I owe on my debt to the medical profession. If it weren’t for your mentor Dr. Mason and his colleague Dr. Levy, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Malcolm then turned his attention to the women, and while everyone but Sean ate his dinner, the conversation switched to Naples and why the Betencourts had decided to build their house there.

“How about we take our dessert out on the terrace above the pool,” Harriet suggested after the dishes had been cleared.

“I’m sorry but we’ll have to skip dessert,” Sean said, speaking up after a long silence. “Janet and I have been working tremendously hard. I’m afraid we’ll have to get back to our hotel before we fall asleep on our feet. Right, Janet?”

Janet nodded and smiled self-consciously, but it was not a smile motivated by cheerful assent. It was an attempt to hide her mortification.

Five minutes later they were saying goodbye in the Betencourts’ grand foyer with Malcolm insisting that if Sean had any more questions he should call him directly. He gave Sean his private direct-dial number.

When the door closed behind them, and they started out the massive driveway, Janet was incensed. “That was a rude way to end the evening,” she said. “After they’d been so gracious with us, you practically walk out in the middle of the meal.”

“That was the end of the meal,” Sean reminded her. “Harriet was talking about dessert. Besides, I couldn’t sit there another minute. Malcolm made me realize several extraordinary things. I don’t know if you were listening when he described his illnesses.”

“I was talking with Harriet,” Janet said irritably.

“He told me he had an operation, encephalitis, and then his brain tumor all within a period of a few months.”

“What did that tell you?” Janet asked.

“It made me realize that both Helen Cabot and Louis Martin had the same history,” Sean said. “I know because I did their history and physicals.”

“You think these illnesses are related somehow?” she asked. Some of the anger was gone from her voice.

“It seems to me I saw a similar sequence and timing in a number of the charts we copied,” Sean said. “I’m not positive because I wasn’t looking for it, but even with three, the possibility of it happening by chance is pretty small.”

“What are you saying?” Janet asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sean said. “But it convinced me I want to go to Key West. Forbes has a spin-off diagnostic lab down there where they sent the biopsies. It’s a favorite trick of hospitals to have quasi-independent labs to maximize the profits they can make out of diagnostic lab work, self-referral limitations be damned.”

“I have next weekend off,” Janet said. “Both Saturday and Sunday. I wouldn’t mind visiting Key West.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Sean said. “I want to go right away. I think we’re on to something here.” He was also thinking that between the police looking for him and not being able to reach Brian, he might not have the luxury of waiting a week.

Janet stopped dead in her tracks and glanced at her watch. It was after ten. “Are you talking about going there tonight?” she asked with disbelief.

“Let’s replace out how far it is,” Sean said. “Then we can decide.”

Janet started walking again, passing Sean who’d paused when she had. “Sean, you are getting more incomprehensible and crazier all the time,” she said. “You call people up at the last minute, get them to graciously invite you to dinner, then you walk out in the middle because you suddenly have the idea of going to Key West. I give up. But I’ll tell you something: this lady is not going to Key West tonight. This lady is…”

Janet didn’t finish her angry monologue. Rounding the Pontiac, which was partially hidden by a large banyan tree, she’d practically collided with a figure in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. His face and hair were obscured by shadows.

Janet gasped. She was still on edge from the episode on the beach, and confronting yet another man coming out of the dark frightened her terribly. Sean started toward her but was stopped by a similarly shadowy figure on his side of the car.

Despite the darkness, Sean could tell the man before him was Asian. Before Sean knew it, a third man had stepped behind him. For a moment no one spoke. Sean glanced back at the house and estimated how long it would take him to cover the distance to the front door. He also thought about what he’d do once he got there. Unfortunately, a lot depended on how quickly Malcolm Betencourt responded.

“If you please,” the man in front of Sean said in flawless English. “Mr. Yamaguchi would be most grateful if you and your companion would come and have a word with him.”

Sean looked at each man in turn. All of them exuded an aura of total confidence and tranquility that Sean found unnerving. Sean could feel the weight of Tom’s pistol in his jacket pocket, but he dared not pull it out. He had no experience with guns, and there was no way he could shoot these people. And he hesitated to think how these men might retaliate.

“It would be regretful if there was trouble,” the same man said. “Please, Mr. Yamaguchi is waiting in a car parked on the street.”

“Sean,” Janet called over the top of the car in a wavering voice, “who are these people?”

“I don’t know,” Sean answered her. Then, to the man in front of him, he said: “Can you give me an idea who Mr. Yamaguchi is, and why he particularly wants to talk with us?”

“Please,” the man repeated. “Mr. Yamaguchi will tell you himself. Please, the car is just a few steps away.”

“Well, since you are being so nice about it,” Sean said. “Sure, let’s say hello to Mr. Yamaguchi.”

Sean turned and started around the car. The man who was standing behind him stepped aside. Sean put an arm around Janet’s shoulder and together they started toward the street. The taller Japanese man, the one who had been in front of Sean, led the way. The other two silently followed.

The limousine was parked beneath a line of trees and was so dark it was difficult to see it until they were only a few feet away. The taller man opened the rear door and motioned for Sean and Janet to climb inside.

“Can’t Mr. Yamaguchi come out?” Sean asked. He wondered if this was the same limo that he thought had been following them on their way to the Betencourts’. He guessed it was.

“Please,” the taller Japanese man said. “It will be far more comfortable inside.”

Sean motioned for Janet to get in, and he climbed in after her. Almost immediately the other rear door opened, and one of the silent Japanese men crowded in next to Janet. Another man followed immediately behind Sean. The taller man got in the front behind the wheel and started the car.

“What’s going on here, Sean?” Janet asked. Her initial shock was changing to alarm.

“Mr. Yamaguchi?” Sean asked. In front of him he could just make out the figure of a man sitting in one of the seats to the side of a console with a small built-in TV set.

“Thank you very much for joining me,” Tanaka said with a slight bow. His accent was barely perceptible. “I apologize for the inconvenient seating, but we shall have only a short ride.”

The car lurched forward. Janet grabbed Sean’s hand.

“You people are very polite,” Sean said. “And we appreciate that. But we would also appreciate some idea what this is all about and where we’re going.”

“You have been invited on a vacation,” Tanaka said. His white teeth flashed in the dark. When they passed a street lamp, Sean got his first glimpse of the man’s face. It was calm but determined. There was no sign of emotion.

“Your trip is compliments of Sushita Industries,” Tanaka continued. “I can assure you that you will be treated extremely well. Sushita would not go through this effort unless they had great respect for you. I am sorry it has to be done in this furtive, barbaric fashion, but I have my orders. I’m also sorry that your companion has been caught up in this affair, but your hosts will treat her with equal respect. Her presence at this point is helpful since I’m certain you would not want to see any harm befall her. So please, Mr. Murphy, do not attempt any heroics. My colleagues are professionals.”

Janet began to complain, but Sean squeezed her hand to silence her.

“And where are we going?” Sean asked.

“To Tokyo,” Tanaka said as if there had been no question.

They drove in strained silence as they worked their way in a northeasterly direction. Sean considered his options. There weren’t many. The threat of violence toward Janet was sobering, and the pistol in his pocket was not reassuring.

Tanaka had been correct about the ride. In less than twenty minutes they pulled into the general aviation area of the Naples airport. As late as it was on a Saturday night, there were minimal signs of life, only a few lights in the main building. Sean tried to think of ways of alerting whomever he could, but the specter of harm to Janet kept him in check. Although he certainly did not want to be taken forcibly to Japan, he couldn’t think of a plausible way to forestall it.

The limo drove through a gate in a chain link fence and out onto the tarmac. Skirting the rear of the general aviation building, they headed for a large private jet that was clearly prepared to take off at any moment. Its engines were running, its anti-collision and navigational lights were flashing, its door was open, and its retractable steps were extended.

The limousine stopped about fifty feet from the plane. Sean and Janet were politely asked to climb out of the car and walk the short distance to the steps. Cupping their hands over their ears to shield them from the whine of the jet engine, Sean and Janet reluctantly headed for the plane as commanded. Once again, Sean considered his options. Nothing seemed promising. He caught Janet’s eye. She looked distraught. They paused at the base of the plane’s steps.

“Please,” Tanaka yelled over the sound of the engines as he motioned for Sean and Janet to move up the stairs.

Sean and Janet again exchanged glances. Sean nodded for her to board, then followed her up. They had to duck to enter, but once inside they could stand up. To their left was the cockpit with its door closed.

The interior of the plane was simple yet elegant, featuring darkly stained mahogany and tan leather. The carpeting was dark green. The seating included a banquette and a series of reclinable club chairs that could rotate to face any direction. Toward the rear of the plane was a galley and a door to a lavatory. On a counter in the galley was an open bottle of vodka and a sliced lime.

Sean and Janet paused near the door, unsure of where they were to go. One of the near club chairs was occupied by a Caucasian man dressed in a business suit. Like the Japanese, he exuded an aura of calm confidence. His features were angular and handsome; his hair was mildly curly. In his right hand he held a drink. Sean and Janet could hear the ice tinkle against the glass as he brought it to his lips.

Tanaka, who had boarded directly behind Sean and Janet, saw the Caucasian man seconds after Sean and Janet had. He seemed startled.

The taller of the Japanese men bumped into Tanaka since Tanaka had stopped so abruptly. The collision prompted a rapid outpouring of angry-sounding Japanese from Tanaka.

The taller Japanese began to respond, but he was interrupted by the Caucasian.

“I should warn you,” he said in English. “I speak fluent Japanese. My name is Sterling Rombauer.” He put his drink down in a depression in the arm of his chair made for that purpose, stood up, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Tanaka with a deferential bow.

Tanaka bowed in unison with Sterling as he accepted the card, and despite the surprise he obviously felt concerning Sterling’s presence, he examined the card with care and bowed again. Then he spoke in rapid Japanese to his companion behind him.

“I believe I can best answer that,” Sterling said casually as he reclaimed his seat and lifted his drink. “The pilot, copilot, and cabin crew are not in the cockpit. They are resting in the lavatory.” Sterling gestured over his shoulder.

Tanaka spoke more angry Japanese to his cohort.

“Please excuse me for interrupting again,” Sterling said. “But what you are asking your associate to do is unreasonable. I’m certain that if you carefully consider the situation, you’ll agree that it would not serve my purposes to be here alone. And indeed, if you look out the starboard side you will see a vehicle occupied by an accomplice who is currently holding a portable phone programmed to speed dial the police. In this country, abduction is a crime, a felony to be more specific.”

Tanaka looked again at Sterling’s business card as if there was something he could have missed on his first examination. “What is it you want?” he asked in English.

“I believe we need to talk, Mr. Tanaka Yamaguchi,” Sterling said. He rattled the ice cubes in his drink and took a last sip. “I am currently representing the interests of the Forbes Cancer Center,” he continued. “Its director does not want to jeopardize the Center’s relationship with Sushita Industries, but there are limits. He does not want to see Mr. Murphy spirited away to Japan.”

Tanaka was silent.

“Mr. Murphy,” Sterling called, ignoring Tanaka for the moment. “Would you mind allowing Mr. Yamaguchi and myself a few moments alone? I suggest you and your companion deplane and join my associate in the car. You can wait for me there; I will not be long.”

Tanaka made no effort to countermand Sterling’s suggestion. Not needing a second invitation, Sean grabbed Janet’s hand, and together they pushed past Tanaka and his cohort, descended the short flight of stairs, and ran toward the darkened car parked perpendicular to the plane.

Reaching the Mercedes, Sean went to the passenger-side rear door and opened it. He allowed Janet to climb in. He followed. Before he closed the door Wayne Edwards greeted them with a warm, “Hi, folks.” Although he’d briefly glanced at them as they got in, he quickly turned his attention back to the plane which could be seen clearly through his windshield. “I don’t mean to sound inhospitable,” he continued, “but maybe it would be better for you to wait in the terminal building.”

“Mr. Rombauer told us to join you,” Sean said.

“Hey, I know,” Wayne said. “’Cause that was the plan. But I’ve been thinking ahead. If something goes awry, and that plane starts to move, I’m driving straight into its nose gear. There aren’t any air bags in the back seat.”

“I get the picture,” Sean said. He got out and gave Janet a hand. Together they headed toward the general aviation building.

“This keeps getting more and more confusing,” Janet complained. “Spending time with you is living on the edge, Sean Murphy. What is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Sean said. “Maybe they think I know more than I do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Sean shrugged his shoulders. “One thing I do know is that we’ve just missed an unwanted trip to Japan,” Sean said.

“But why Japan?” Janet asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sean said. “But that Hiroshi character at Forbes has been watching me ever since I showed up, and some Japanese man recently visited my mother asking about me. The only explanation I can think of is that they somehow see me as a risk to their investment in Forbes.”

“This whole situation is insane,” Janet said. “Who was that man in the plane who got us out of there?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Sean said. “It’s just another part to the mystery. He did say he was working for Forbes.”

They arrived at the general aviation building only to replace the door locked.

“Now what?” Janet asked.

“Come on!” Sean said. “We’re not staying here.” He grabbed her hand, and together they skirted the two-story cement structure, exiting the airfield through the same gate the limo had entered through. In front of the building was a sizable parking lot. Sean began going from car to car, trying doors.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Janet said. “Now you’re going to steal a car just to round out the evening!”

“Borrow is a better term,” Sean said. He found a Chevrolet Celebrity with its doors unlocked. After leaning in so he could feel under the dash, he got in behind the wheel. “Get in,” he called to her. “This will be easy.”

Janet hesitated, feeling more and more that she was being drawn into something she didn’t want any part of. The idea of riding in a stolen car was not appealing, particularly given the trouble they were already in.

“Get in!” Sean called again.

Janet opened the door and did as she was told.

Sean got the car started instantly, much to Janet’s dismay. “Still a pro,” she commented scornfully.

“Practice makes perfect,” Sean said.

Where the airport entrance met the county road, Sean took a right. They drove for a time in silence.

“Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” Janet asked.

“I’m not sure where,” Sean said. “I’d like to replace someplace where I can ask directions to Key West. Trouble is that this town is pretty quiet even though it’s only eleven on a Saturday night.”

“Why don’t you take me back to the Betencourts’,” Janet said. “I’ll get my rental car and go back to the hotel. Then you can go to Key West if you’re so inclined.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sean said. “Those Japanese guys didn’t show up at the Betencourts’ by accident. They were in that limo that I thought was following us earlier. Obviously they followed us from the Edgewater Beach Hotel, which means they must have been following us from the Ritz Carlton. More likely, they’ve been following us all the way from Forbes.”

“But the others had followed us, too,” Janet said.

“We must have been a regular caravan coming across the Everglades,” Sean agreed. “But the point is we can’t go back to the car or the hotel. Not unless we want to risk further pursuit.”

“And I suppose we can’t go to the police,” Janet said.

“Of course not,” Sean snapped.

“What about our belongings?” Janet asked.

“We’ll call from Miami and have them sent,” Sean said. “We’ll call the Betencourts about the car. Hertz will have to get it. It’s not that important. It’s more important that we’re no longer followed.”

Janet sighed. She felt indecisive. She wanted to go to bed, yet Sean was making some sense in a situation that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The episode with the Japanese had frightened her, in some ways just as badly as the episode on the beach.

“Here are some people,” Sean said. “I can ask them.” Ahead, they could see a line of cars pulled up near a big sign heralding the Oasis, some sort of nightclub/disco. Sean pulled over to the side of the road. The line for valet parking snaked through a parking lot that was half-filled with trailered boats. The Oasis shared a parking lot with a land-locked marina.

Sean got out of the Celebrity and weaved his way among the parked cars toward the disco’s entrance. Spine-jangling bass emanated from the open door. After waiting at the parking valet’s podium, Sean cornered one of the men and asked directions to the city dock. The harried man quickly described the route to Sean with flamboyant hand gestures. A few minutes later Sean was back in the car. He repeated the directions to Janet so she could help.

“Why are we going to the city dock?” Janet asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”

“Hey, don’t be mad at me,” Sean complained.

“Who else can I be mad at?” Janet said. “This weekend so far is hardly what I had anticipated.”

“Reserve your anger for that kook on the beach or those paranoid Japanese,” Sean said.

“What about the city dock?” Janet asked again.

“Key West is due south of Naples,” Sean said. “That much I remember from seeing it on a map. The Keys curve to the west. Going by boat could be easier and probably faster. We could even get some sleep. Plus, we wouldn’t be using a ‘borrowed’ car.”

Janet didn’t even comment. The idea of a night-long boat ride would be a fitting end to such an insane day.

They found the city dock with ease at the base of a short cul de sac with a large flagpole at its entrance. But the docks were a disappointment as far as Sean was concerned. He’d expected it to be much busier, having heard that sports fishing was popular on the west coast of Florida. The only marina was shut tight. There were a few offers for fishing boat charters on a bulletin board, but not much else. After parking the car, they walked out on the pier. The larger, commercial boats were all dark.

Returning to the car, Janet leaned on the hood. “Any more bright ideas, Einstein?”

Sean was thinking. The idea of getting to Key West by boat still appealed to him. It was certainly too late to rent another car. Besides, they’d be exhausted when they arrived. Next to the city dock was a restaurant/bar appropriately called The Dock. Sean pointed.

“Let’s go in there,” he said. “I could use a beer, and we can see if the bartender knows any charter boat people.”

The Dock was a rustic, casual affair constructed of planked, pressure-treated wood and furnished with epoxy-filled hatch-cover tables. There were no windows, just screened openings that could be closed with shutters. In lieu of drapes were a collection of fishnets, buoys and other nautical gear. Ceiling fans turned slowly overhead. A darkly burnished wood bar in the shape of a J stretched around one wall.

A small crowd was grouped around the bar watching a basketball game on a TV positioned high on the wall in a corner by the entrance. It wasn’t like Old Scully’s back in Charlestown, but Sean thought the place had a comfortable feel. In fact, it made him a little homesick.

Sean and Janet found room at the bar, their backs to the TV. There were two bartenders, one tall, serious, and mustached, the other stocky with a constant smirk on his face. Both were casually dressed in printed short-sleeved shirts and dark shorts. Short aprons were tied around their waists.

The taller bartender came over immediately and tossed circular cardboard coasters in front of Sean and Janet with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“I see you have conch fritters,” Sean said, eyeing a large menu attached to the wall.

“Sure do,” the bartender said.

“We’ll have an order,” Sean said. “And I’ll have a light draft.” Sean looked at Janet.

“I’ll have the same,” she said.

Frosted mugs of beer were soon before them, and Sean and Janet had only a moment to comment on the relaxed character of the place before the conch fritters arrived.

“Wow!” Sean commented. “That was fast.”

“Good food takes time,” the bartender said.

In spite of all that had happened that evening, both Sean and Janet found themselves laughing. The bartender, like any good comedian, never cracked a smile.

Sean used the opportunity to ask about boats.

“What kind of boat you interested in?” the bartender asked.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know enough about boats to say,” he admitted. “We want to go to Key West tonight. How long would it take?”

“Depends,” the bartender said. “It’s ninety miles as the crow flies. With a good-sized boat you can be down there in three or four hours.”

“Any idea how we could replace someone to take us?” Sean said.

“It’ll cost you,” the bartender said.

“How much?”

“Five, six hundred,” the bartender said with a shrug.

“They take credit cards?” Sean asked.

Janet started to complain, but Sean gripped her leg under the edge of the bar. “I’ll pay you back,” he whispered.

The bartender stepped around the corner where he used a telephone.

STERLING DIALED Randolph Mason’s home number with malicious pleasure. Well paid though he was, Sterling wasn’t pleased to be working at two o’clock in the morning. He thought that Dr. Mason should be equally as inconvenienced.

Even though Dr. Mason’s voice was groggy and full of sleep, he sounded pleased to hear from Sterling.

“I have resolved the Tanaka-Sushita conundrum,” Sterling announced. “We even received fax confirmation from Tokyo. They will not abduct Mr. Murphy. He can stay at the Forbes Cancer Center provided you personally guarantee that he will not be exposed to patentable secrets.”

“I cannot make that guarantee,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s too late.”

Sterling was too surprised to speak.

“There’s been a new development,” Dr. Mason explained. “Sean Murphy’s brother, Brian Murphy, has shown up here in Miami concerned about Sean. Unable to locate him, he got in touch with me. He has informed me that the Miami police are looking for Sean in connection with a break-in at a funeral home and the unauthorized theft of a cadaver’s brain.”

“Does this cadaver’s brain involve the Forbes Cancer Center?” Sterling asked.

“Most definitely,” Dr. Mason said. “The deceased was a patient at Forbes. She’d been one of our medulloblastoma patients, the only one to die in the last several years, I might add. The problem is, our treatment protocol has no patent protection yet.”

“You mean to say that Sean Murphy could be in possession of patentable secrets by having this brain at his disposal?”

“Exactly,” Dr. Mason said. “As usual, you are right on target. I’ve already instructed security at Forbes to deny Mr. Murphy access to our labs. What I want you to do is see that he is turned over to the police.”

“That might be difficult,” Sterling said. “Mr. Murphy and Miss Reardon have vanished. I’m calling from their hotel. They have left their belongings, but I do not think they are planning on returning. It’s now after two in the morning. I’m afraid I underestimated their fortitude. I thought that after being rescued from the prospect of abduction, their relief would have rendered them passive. Quite the contrary. My guess is that they commandeered an automobile and drove away.”

“I want you to replace them,” Dr. Mason said.

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” Sterling said. “But the character of this assignment is changing. I think you would do better to hire a regular private investigator whose fees are considerably less than mine.”

“I want you to stay on the job,” Dr. Mason said. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “I want Sean Murphy turned over to the police as soon as possible. In fact, knowing what I now know, I wish you’d let the Japanese take him. I’ll pay you time and a half. Just do it.”

“That is very generous,” Sterling said, “but, Randolph…”

“Double time,” Dr. Mason said. “There’d be too much lag time attempting to get someone else involved at this point. I want Sean Murphy in police custody now!”

“All right,” Sterling said reluctantly. “I will stay with the assignment. But I have to warn you that unless Miss Reardon uses her Visa card, I’ll have no way of tracking him until he turns up in Miami again.”

“Why her card?” Dr. Mason asked.

“That’s how they paid for their hotel bills,” Sterling said.

“You’ve never let me down,” Dr. Mason said.

“I will do my best,” Sterling promised.

After Sterling had disconnected, he indicated to Wayne that he had to make another call. They were in the lobby of the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Wayne was comfortably ensconced on a couch with a magazine in his lap.

Sterling dialed one of his many bank contacts in Boston. Once he was sure the man was awake enough to be coherent, Sterling gave him the details he’d learned about Janet Reardon, including the fact that she had used her Visa card at two hotels that evening. Sterling asked for him to call back on Sterling’s portable line if the card was used again.

Rejoining Wayne, Sterling informed him that they were to remain on the assignment, but the goal had changed. He told him what Dr. Mason had said and that they were to see that Mr. Murphy was turned over to the police. Sterling also asked if Wayne had any suggestions.

“Just one,” Wayne said. “Let’s get a couple of rooms and get some shut-eye.”

JANET FELT her stomach lurch. It was as if the steak with green peppercorn sauce she’d had for dinner at the Betencourts’ had reversed its progress in her digestive tract. She was lying on a bunk in the bow of the forty-two-foot boat that was taking them to Key West. In the bunk across the narrow room, Sean was fast asleep. In the half-light he looked so peaceful. The fact that he could be so relaxed under the circumstances left Janet exasperated. It made her discomfort that much more trenchant.

Despite the Gulf’s apparent calm during their sunset walk, it now felt as violent as a rough ocean. They were traveling due south and hitting oncoming swells at forty-five degrees. The boat alternately bounced dizzily up to the right only to crash down with a shudder to the left. Through it all was the constant, deep-throated roar of the diesel engines.

They had not been able to get under way until two-forty-five in the morning. At first they’d motored on calm waters with hundreds of dark mangrove-covered islands visible in the moonlight. As exhausted as she was, Janet had gone down to sleep only to be awakened by the sudden pounding of the boat against the waves and the sound of suddenly strong wind. She hadn’t heard Sean come down, yet when she awoke, there he was, sleeping peacefully.

Throwing her feet over the side of the bunk, Janet braced herself as the boat thumped into the trough of another wave. Holding on with both hands, she made her way aft and up into the main salon. She knew she would be sick if she didn’t get air. Below deck the slight smell of diesel only compounded her nascent nausea.

Holding on for dear life, Janet managed to get to the stern of the careening boat where there were two swivel deep-sea fishing chairs mounted to the deck. Fearing these chairs were too exposed, Janet collapsed onto a series of cushions covering a seat along a port side. The starboard side was getting drenched with spray.

The wind and fresh air did wonders for Janet’s stomach, but there was no opportunity for rest. She literally had to hold on. With the roar of the engines and the pounding magnified where she was in the stern, Janet could not fathom what people saw in power boating. Up ahead under a canopy sat Doug Gardner, the man who’d been willing to forgo a night’s sleep to ferry them to Key West—for a price. He was silhouetted against an illuminated cluster of dials and gauges. He didn’t have much to do since he’d put the boat on automatic pilot.

Janet looked up at the canopy of stars and recalled how she used to do the same thing on summer evenings when she was a teen. She’d lie there dreaming about her future. Now she was living it and one thing was for sure: it wasn’t quite what she used to imagine.

Maybe her mother had been right, Janet thought reluctantly. Maybe it had been foolish for her to come to Florida to try to talk to Sean. She smiled a wry smile. The only talk they’d managed thus far was the little they’d done on the beach that evening, when Sean had merely echoed her own expression of love. It had been less than satisfying.

Janet had come to Florida in hopes of taking command of her life, but the longer she was with Sean, the less in command she felt.

STERLING GOT even more satisfaction out of calling Dr. Mason at three-thirty A.M. than he had at two. It took four rings for the doctor to answer. Sterling himself had just been awakened by a call from his banking contact in Boston.

“I now know the destination of the infamous couple,” Sterling said. “Fortunately, the young lady used her credit card again for a rather sizable sum. She paid five hundred and fifty dollars to be ferried from Naples to Key West.”

“That’s not good news,” Dr. Mason said.

“I thought you’d be pleased to know we’ve learned where they’re going,” Sterling said. “I consider it a bit of good luck.”

“The Forbes has a facility in Key West,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s called Basic Diagnostics. I imagine that’s where Mr. Murphy is headed.”

“Why do you believe he would go to Basic Diagnostics?” Sterling asked.

“We send a lot of our lab work there,” Dr. Mason said. “With current third-party payment schemes, it’s cost effective.”

“Why do you care if Mr. Murphy visits the facility?”

“The medulloblastoma biopsies are sent there,” Dr. Mason said. “I don’t want Mr. Murphy exposed to our techniques of sensitizing patient T lymphocytes.”

“And Mr. Murphy might be able to deduce these techniques by a mere visit?” Sterling asked.

“He’s very savvy as far as biotechnology is concerned,” Dr. Mason said. “I can’t take the risk. Get yourself down there immediately and keep him out of that lab. See that he is turned over to the police.”

“Dr. Mason, it is three-thirty in the morning,” Sterling reminded him.

“Charter a plane,” Dr. Mason said. “We’re paying the expenses. The manager’s name is Kurt Wanamaker. I’ll give him a call right after I hang up and tell him to expect you.”

After Sterling got Mr. Wanamaker’s phone number, he hung up. Despite the money that he was being paid, he was not happy with the idea of rushing off to Key West in the middle of the night. He felt that Dr. Mason was overreacting. After all, it was Sunday and the lab very likely wasn’t even open.

Yet Sterling got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.