Terminal (A Medical Thriller)
Terminal: Chapter 8

March 6

Saturday, 3:20 P.M.

By three-twenty when the last details of report were being given, Janet fell asleep. She’d been exhausted when Sean had awakened her that morning, but after a shower and coffee, she’d felt reasonably good. She’d needed more coffee midway through the morning and then again early in the afternoon. She’d done well until she’d sat down for report. As soon as she was stationary, her fatigue became overpowering, and she embarrassed herself by nodding off. Marjorie had to give her a nudge in the ribs.

“You look like you’re burning the candle at both ends,” Marjorie said.

Janet merely smiled. Even if she could tell Marjorie all she’d been up to the previous afternoon and evening, she doubted Marjorie would have believed her. In fact, she wasn’t sure she believed it herself.

As soon as report was over, Janet got her things together and crossed over to the Forbes research building. Sean was sitting in the foyer reading a magazine. He smiled as soon as he saw her. She was glad to see his mood had improved since they’d met in the cafeteria.

“You ready for our little trip?” Sean asked, getting to his feet.

“Couldn’t be more ready,” Janet said. “Although I would like to get this uniform off and take a shower.”

“The uniform we can handle,” Sean said. “There’s a ladies’ room right here in the foyer where you can change. The shower will have to wait, but beating the traffic is worth the sacrifice. Our route will take us right by the airport, and I’m sure there’s traffic there every afternoon.”

“I was only kidding about the shower,” Janet said. “But I will change.”

“Be my guest,” Sean said. He pointed to the ladies’ room door.

TOM WIDDICOMB had his hand in his pants pocket clutching his pearl-handled “Saturday night special” revolver. He’d been standing off to the side of the hospital entrance watching for Janet Reardon to emerge. He thought that there might be a chance he could shoot her as she got into her car. In his mind’s eye he saw himself walk up just as she got in behind the wheel. He’d shoot her in the back of the head and keep walking. With all the clutter and confusion of people and cars and the noise of car engines starting, the sound of the gun would be lost.

But there was one problem. Janet had not appeared. Tom had seen other familiar faces, including nurses from the fourth floor, so it was not as if report had held her up.

Tom looked at his watch. It was three-thirty-seven, and the mass exodus of the day shift had slowed to a trickle. Most people had now left, and Tom was confused and frantic; he had to replace her. He’d made the effort to be sure she was working, but where was she?

Pushing off from where he’d been leaning against the building, Tom walked around the edge of the hospital and headed in the direction of the research building. He could see the walkway spanning the two structures. He wondered if she could have crossed and exited on the research side.

He was midway between the two buildings when the sight of a long black limousine gave him pause. Tom figured that some celebrity was being treated in the outpatient department. It had happened before.

Scanning the parking lot in a wide arc, Tom nervously tried to think what he should do. He wished he knew what kind of car Janet drove because then he’d know if she’d slipped away or not. If she had, there was a big problem. He knew she was scheduled to be off the next day, and unless he found out where she lived, she’d be inaccessible for the rest of the weekend. And that was trouble. Without some kind of definitive information, Tom hated the thought of going home to a silent house. Alice hadn’t spoken to him all night.

Tom was still trying to figure out what to do when he saw the black 4 × 4 he’d followed the day before. He started moving toward it for a closer look when suddenly, there she was! She’d just exited the research building.

Tom was relieved to see her at last but chagrined that she was not alone. Accompanying her was the same man she’d been with the previous afternoon. Tom watched as they walked toward the 4 × 4. She was carrying an overnight bag. Tom was about to sprint back to his car when he saw that they weren’t climbing into the Isuzu. Instead they merely got out an additional suitcase and a garment bag.

Tom knew that shooting Janet in the parking lot was out of the question now that the day shift had left. Besides, being with someone meant he’d have to shoot both if he didn’t want to leave a witness.

Tom started back for his car, keeping an eye on the couple as he did. By the time he got to his Escort, Janet and Sean had arrived at a red Pontiac rent-a-car. Tom got into his car and started it while he watched Janet and Sean put their bags in the Pontiac’s trunk.

ROBERT HARRIS had been watching every move Tom Widdicomb made. He’d seen Sean and Janet before Tom had, and when Tom initially didn’t react, Harris had been disappointed, thinking that his whole “house of cards” theory was in error. But then Tom had spotted them and had scurried back to his Escort. In response Harris started his own car and drove out of the parking lot, thinking and hoping that Tom intended to follow Janet. At the corner of Twelfth Street he pulled over to the side of the road. If he were correct, Tom would soon be exiting, and Harris’s suspicion would be significantly reinforced.

Presently Sean and Janet drove by and turned north to cross the Miami River. Then, just as Harris expected, Tom came and turned in the same direction. Only a black limo separated Tom from his apparent quarry.

“This is looking more and more interesting,” Harris said to himself as he started to pull out. Behind him a horn blasted and Harris jammed on his brakes. A big green Mercedes missed him by inches.

“Damn!” Harris growled. He didn’t want to lose Tom Widdicomb and had to tromp on the gas pedal to catch up. He was determined to follow the man to see if he made any overt threatening gestures toward Janet Reardon. If he did, then Harris would nail him.

Harris was content until Tom turned west instead of east on the 836 East-West Expressway. As he passed Miami International Airport, then merged with Florida’s Turnpike heading south, Harris realized this was going to be a far longer trip than he’d anticipated.

“I DON’T like this,” Sterling said as they exited Florida’s Turnpike at Route 41. “Where are these people going? I wanted them to go home or stay in crowds.”

“If they turn west up here at the next intersection, they’re on their way into the Everglades,” Wayne said. He was doing the driving. “Either that or they’re heading across Florida. Route 41 cuts through the Everglades from Miami to the Gulf Coast.”

“What’s on the Gulf Coast?” Sterling asked.

“Not much, in my book,” Wayne said. “Nice beaches and good weather, but it’s subdued. Naples is the first real town. There are also a couple of islands like Marco and Sanibel. Mostly it’s condo heaven with a lot of retirees. Pretty low-key, but high end. You can spend millions for a condo in Naples.”

“Looks like they’re turning west,” Sterling said, his eyes on the limousine ahead of them. They were following Tanaka, not Sean, assuming Tanaka would keep Sean in sight.

“What’s between here and Naples?” Sterling asked.

“Not a lot,” Wayne said. “Just alligators, saw grass, and Cypress swamp.”

“This is making me very nervous,” Sterling said. “They’re playing directly into Tanaka’s hands. Let’s hope they don’t stop in some isolated pull-out.”

Sterling glanced to the right and did a double-take. In the blue sedan alongside them was a familiar face. It was Robert Harris, head of security at Forbes. Sterling had just been introduced to the man the previous day.

Sterling pointed Harris out to Wayne and explained who he was. “This is a disturbing complication,” he said. “Why would Mr. Harris be following Sean Murphy? Chances are he’ll only serve to make this situation significantly more difficult than it need be.”

“Would he know about Tanaka?” Wayne asked.

“I cannot imagine he would,” Sterling said. “Dr. Mason would not be so foolish.”

“Maybe he’s got a crush on the chick,” Wayne offered. “Maybe he’s following Reardon, not Murphy.”

Sterling sighed. “It’s disconcerting how quickly an operation can go awry. A minute ago I was confident we would be able to control the course of events since we had me informational edge. Unfortunately, I no longer believe that. I’m beginning to have that uncomfortable feeling that chance will become a major factor. Suddenly there are too many variables.”

BRIAN HADN’T checked any luggage. He’d simply brought a carry-on and his briefcase. After getting off the plane he went directly to the Hertz counter. After a short ride on the Hertz shuttle bus he found his rental car in the lot: a cream-colored Lincoln Town Car.

Armed with a detailed street map of Miami, Brian first drove south to the Forbes residence. He’d tried calling Sean’s number several times from the airport in Boston, but there hadn’t been any answer. Concerned, he’d called Kevin from the plane, but Kevin had assured him that the police had not yet picked Sean up.

At the Forbes residence, Brian knocked on Sean’s door, but there was no response. Hoping Sean would soon return, Brian left him a note saying that he was in town and would be staying at the Colonnade Hotel. Brian jotted down the hotel’s phone number. Just as he was slipping the note under Sean’s door, the door opposite opened.

“You looking for Sean Murphy?” a shirtless young man in jeans asked.

“Yes,” Brian said. He then introduced himself as Sean’s brother.

Gary Engels introduced himself. “Sean was here this afternoon around two-thirty,” he said. “I told him the police had been here looking for him so he didn’t stay long.”

“Did he say where he was going?” Brian asked.

“Nope,” Gary said. “But he took a suitcase and a garment bag with him when he left.”

Brian thanked Gary, then returned to his rental car. The idea of Sean leaving with luggage did not sound promising. Brian only hoped his brother wasn’t dumb enough to be trying to make a run for it. Unfortunately, with Sean, anything was possible.

Brian headed for the Forbes Cancer Center. Although the switchboard was closed, Brian thought that the building itself would be open, and it was. He went into the foyer.

“I’m looking for Sean Murphy,” he told the guard. “My name is Brian Murphy. I’m Sean’s brother from Boston.”

“He’s not here,” the guard said with a heavy Spanish accent. He consulted a log in front of him. “He left at two-twenty. He came back at three-oh-five, but left again at three-fifty.”

“Do you have any way to get in touch with him?” Brian asked.

The guard consulted another book. “He’s staying at the Forbes residence. Would you like that address?”

Brian told the guard he already had that information and thanked him. He walked outside and got back into his car, wondering what he should do. He questioned the wisdom of his coming to Miami without having spoken to Sean first and wondered where his brother could be.

Deciding to check into his hotel, Brian started his car and made a U-turn to head out of the parking lot. In the process he spotted a black Isuzu that looked suspiciously like Sean’s. Steering closer to it, he noticed that the plates were from Massachusetts. Putting his Lincoln in park, Brian hopped out to peer into the 4 × 4. It was Sean’s, all right. The interior was filled with his fast-food wrappers and empty foam cups.

It seemed odd that Sean would leave it parked in the hospital lot. Going back into the building, Brian mentioned the car’s presence to the guard and asked if he could account for it. The guard simply shrugged his shoulders.

“Is there any way to get in touch with the director of the Center before Monday?” Brian asked.

The guard shook his head.

“If I were to leave my name and hotel number,” Brian said, “would you call your supervisor and ask if he could pass it on to the director of the Center?”

The guard nodded agreeably and even got out a pen and paper for Brian to write on. Brian wrote the note quickly, then handed it to the guard along with a five-dollar bill. The guard’s face lit up with a big smile.

Brian returned to his car, drove to his hotel, and checked in. Once in his room, the first thing he did was call Kevin to give him the number. Kevin again assured him there’d been no arrest.

Brian then called Anne to reassure her that he’d gotten to Miami safely. He admitted he’d not yet spoken with Sean but expected to do so soon. He gave her his number at the hotel before hanging up.

After speaking with his mother, Brian kicked off his shoes and opened his briefcase. If he was stuck in a hotel room, at least he could get some work done.

“THIS IS more like the scenery I expected to see in South Florida,” Sean said. They had finally left civilization behind. The four-lane highway lined with strip malls and condominiums had given way to a two-lane road slicing straight across the Everglades.

“It’s breathtakingly beautiful,” Janet said. “It looks almost prehistoric. I half expect to see a brontosaurus rise up from one of these ponds,” she added with a laugh.

They were cruising past oceans of saw grass interspersed with hummocks of pine, palm, and cypress. Exotic birds were everywhere. Some were ghostly white, others iridescent blue. Huge cumulus clouds billowed in the distance, looking whiter than usual against the intense blue sky.

The drive had done much to help calm Janet. She was glad to be leaving Miami and her patients behind. With Sean driving, she had her shoes off and her bare feet planted on the dash. She was dressed in her most comfortable pair of jeans with a simple white cotton shirt. For work she’d had her hair tied back, but she’d taken it down as soon as they’d pulled out of the Forbes lot. With all the car windows rolled down, it was blowing free.

The only problem was the sun. Since they were heading due west, bright sunlight was streaming through the windshield with a vengeance. Both Sean and Janet were wearing their sunglasses, and they had tilted the sun visors in an attempt to keep their faces shaded from the harsh rays.

“I think I’m beginning to understand Florida’s attraction,” Janet said, the sun notwithstanding.

“It makes winter in Boston seem extra cruel,” Sean said.

“How come you didn’t want to take your Isuzu?” Janet asked.

“There’s a little problem with my car,” Sean said.

“What kind of problem?” Janet asked.

“The police are interested in talking to its owner.”

Janet took her feet down from the dash. “I don’t think I like what I’m hearing,” she said. “What’s with the police?”

“The police came to the Forbes residence,” Sean said. “Gary Engels talked with them. I think someone got the tag number from my license plate after the alarm went off at the funeral home.”

“Oh, no!” Janet exclaimed. “Then the police are looking for us.”

“Correction,” Sean said. “They’re looking for me.”

“Oh, God!” Janet said. “If someone saw the license plate then they saw both of us.” She closed her eyes. This was the kind of nightmare she’d feared.

“All they have is a tag number,” Sean said. “That’s hardly evidence.”

“But they can get our fingerprints,” Janet said.

Sean shot her a look of mild disdain. “Be serious,” he said. “They’re not about to send a team of crime scene investigators out to dust the site over a broken window and a cadaver’s missing brain.”

“How do you know?” Janet shot back. “You’re no law enforcement expert. I think we should turn ourselves in to the police and explain everything.”

Sean gave a scornful laugh. “Please! We’re not giving ourselves up. Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, they’re looking for me. They want to talk with me. If worse comes to worst, I’ll take the rap. But it’s not going to come to that. I put in a call to Brian. He knows people in Miami. He’ll fix it.”

“Did you speak to Brian?” Janet asked.

“No, not yet,” Sean admitted. “But I left a message on his answering machine. When we get to the hotel, I’ll try again and leave the hotel number if he’s still not in. By the way, did you bring your credit card?”

“Of course I brought my credit card,” Janet said.

“Thank heaven for your trust fund,” Sean said. He reached over and gave Janet’s knee a playful slap. “I made a reservation at the Ritz Carlton. The Quality Inn was full.”

Janet stared out the passenger-side window, wondering what she was doing with her life. It had nothing to do with the credit card issue. She didn’t mind picking up the tab every now and again. Sean was generous with his money when he had it, and she had more than enough. What bothered her was the fact that they were wanted by the police. It was gallant of Sean to offer to take the rap alone, but Janet knew she couldn’t let him do it even if it did fly, which it probably wouldn’t. Whoever had seen that license plate had seen her too. Falling in love with Sean seemed to be bringing her nothing but grief, first emotionally and now potentially professionally. She wasn’t sure how the Forbes Center would react to having a nurse on staff who was charged with God knows what in connection with a funeral home break-in. She couldn’t think of too many employers who would view that kind of record as a plus.

Janet was on the verge of panic, yet there was Sean, as calm and cocky as ever. He really seemed to be enjoying himself. How he could be so cool and collected knowing the Miami police were searching for him was beyond her. She wondered if she would ever truly understand him.

“What’s the story with Naples, Florida?” Janet asked, deciding to change the subject. “You said you’d explain once we were on our way.”

“Very simple,” Sean said. “One of the patients from that group of thirty-three lives in Naples. His name is Malcolm Betencourt.”

“One of the medulloblastoma patients in remission?” Janet asked.

“Yup,” Sean said. “One of the first to be treated. He’s been in remission for almost two years.”

“What do you plan to do?”

“Call him up.”

“And say what?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Sean said. “I’ll have to improvise. I think it would be interesting to hear about the Forbes treatment from the patient’s point of view. I’m especially curious as to what they told him. They had to have told him something just to get the informed consent forms signed.”

“What makes you think he’ll talk to you?” Janet asked.

“How could he resist my Irish charm?” Sean said.

“Seriously,” Janet said. “People don’t like to talk about their infirmities.”

“Infirmities, perhaps,” Sean admitted. “But recovery from an otherwise terminal illness is something else. You’d be surprised. People love to talk about that kind of thing and the world-famous doctor who made it happen. Have you ever noticed how people like to think their doctor is world famous, even if he practices someplace like Maiden or Revere?”

“I think you have a lot of chutzpah,” Janet said. She wasn’t convinced that Malcolm Betencourt would be receptive to Sean’s call, but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to do anything to prevent Sean from trying. Besides, except for this new worry about the Miami police, the idea of a weekend away was still delicious, even if Sean had an ulterior aim in mind. She even thought that she and Sean might finally have a moment to talk about their future. After all, aside from Malcolm Betencourt, she’d have Sean to herself without interruption.

“How did you make out with the sample of Louis Martin’s medicine?” Janet asked. She thought she’d keep the conversation light until they got to dinner. She could imagine a candlelight dinner on a terrace overlooking the sea. Then she’d talk about commitment and love.

Sean flashed Janet a look of frustration. “I was interrupted by the charming head of research,” he said. “She read me the riot act and told me I had to go back to the Forbes glycoprotein baloney. She really caught me off guard; for once words failed me. I couldn’t think of anything clever to say.”

“I’m sorry,” Janet said.

“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later,” Sean said. “But even before the harpy showed up I wasn’t doing that great. I haven’t been able to get Helen’s medicine to react with any antigen, cellular, viral, or bacterial. But you must be right about the medicine all coming from a single batch. I ran a sample of Louis’s medicine against Helen’s tumor and it reacted just as strongly at the same dilutions as Helen’s.”

“So they use the same medicine,” Janet said. “What’s the big deal? When people are treated with an antibiotic, they all get the same drug. Labeling the drug for each patient is probably more a matter of control than anything else.”

“But cancer immunotherapy is not comparable to antibiotics,” Sean said. “Like I said before, cancers are antigenically distinct, even the same type of cancer.”

“I thought one of the tenets of scientific reasoning involved the issue of an exception,” Janet said. “If an exception is found to a hypothesis then one is forced to reconsider the original hypothesis.”

“Yeah, but…” Sean said, but he hesitated. Janet was making good sense. The fact was that Forbes was getting one hundred percent remission, apparently with medication that was not individualized. Sean had seen that success documented in the thirty-three cases. Therefore, there had to be an error in his insistence on the immunological specificity of cancer cells.

“You have to admit I have a point,” Janet persisted.

“Okay,” Sean said, “but I still think there’s something strange with all this. Something I’m missing.”

“Obviously,” Janet said. “You don’t know what antigen the immunoglobulin reacts with. That’s what’s missing. Once you figure that out maybe everything else will fall into place. Let’s see what a relaxing weekend will do for your creativity. Maybe by Monday you’ll have an idea that will get you around this apparent roadblock.”

After passing through the heart of the Everglades, Sean and Janet began to see signs of civilization. First there was an isolated resort or two, then the road expanded to four lanes. Quickly the saw grass gave way to strip malls, convenience gas station/food stores, and miniature golf courses equally as ugly as on the Miami side.

“I’d heard Naples was upscale,” Janet said. “This hardly looks upscale.”

“Let’s hold our verdict until we get to the Gulf,” Sean said.

The road suddenly turned north, and the unattractive profusion of unrestricted signs and commercial development continued.

“How can so many strip malls survive?” Janet asked.

“It’s one of the mysteries of American culture,” Sean said.

With map in hand, Janet did the navigating. She gave Sean plenty of warning before they had to turn left toward the water.

“It’s starting to look a bit more promising,” Sean said.

After a mile or so of more scenic vistas, the Mediterranean-style Ritz Carlton loomed out of the mangroves to the left of the road. The profusion of lush tropical plants and exotic flowers was staggering.

“Ah, home!” Sean said as they pulled beneath the porte cochere.

A man in a blue morning coat and a black top hat opened their car doors. “Welcome to the Ritz Carlton,” the liveried gentleman said.

They entered through oversized glass doors into a haze of polished pink marble, expansive Oriental carpets, and crystal chandeliers. High tea was being served on the dais beneath the huge arched windows. Off to the side was a grand piano complete with tuxedoed pianist.

Sean put his arm around Janet as they meandered over to the registration desk. “I think I’m going to like this place,” he told her.

TOM WIDDICOMB had gone through a range of emotions during his two-hour pursuit. Initially when Janet and Sean had headed out of town toward the Everglades, he’d been disturbed. Then he’d decided it was a good thing. If they were on some mini-vacation, they’d be lax and unsuspecting. In the city, people were naturally more suspicious and careful. But as one hour turned into two, and Tom began to eye his gas gauge, he’d become angry. This woman had caused him so much trouble, he began to wish they’d just pull over to the side of the road. Then he could stop and shoot them both and put an end to it all.

As he pulled into the Ritz Carlton, he wondered if he had any gas at all. The gauge had registered empty for the last five miles.

Avoiding the front entrance, Tom drove around and parked in a large lot next to the tennis courts. Getting out of his car he ran up the drive, slowing when he saw the red rental car parked directly in front of the entrance. Clutching the handle of the pistol in his pocket, Tom walked around the car and fell in with a group of guests and entered the hotel. He was afraid someone might try to stop him, but no one did. Nervously, he scanned the lavish foyer. He spotted Janet and Sean standing at the registration desk.

With his anger giving him courage, Tom boldly walked to the registration desk and stood next to Sean. Janet was just on the other side of him. Being so close sent a shiver down Tom’s spine.

“We’re out of nonsmoking rooms with an ocean view,” the desk person said to Sean. She was a petite woman with large eyes, golden hair, and the type of tan that made dermatologists cringe.

Sean looked at Janet and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?” he asked.

“We can see how bad the smoking room is,” she suggested.

Sean turned back to the receptionist. “What floor is your room with the ocean view?” he asked.

“Fifth floor,” the receptionist said. “Room 501. It’s a beautiful room.”

“Okay,” Sean said. “Let’s give it a try.”

Tom moved away from the registration desk, silently mouthing “Room 501” as he headed for the elevators. He saw a heavyset man in a business suit with a small earphone in his ear. Tom avoided him. The whole time he kept his hand in his pocket, clutching his pistol.

ROBERT HARRIS stood by the piano racked by indecision. Like Tom, he’d been exhilarated early in the chase. Tom’s obvious pursuit of Janet seemed to confirm his fledgling theory. But as the procession left Miami, he’d become irritated, especially when he too thought he might run out of gas. On top of that, he was starved; his last meal had been early that morning. Now that they had made it all the way through the Everglades to the Ritz Carlton in Naples, he was having doubts as to what exactly the journey proved. It certainly was no crime to drive to Naples, and Tom could contend he hadn’t been following anybody. Sadly, Harris had to admit that as of yet, he hadn’t come up with anything conclusive. The link between Tom and the attack on Janet or the breast cancer patient deaths was tenuous at best, still made up only of hypothesis and conjecture.

Harris knew he’d have to wait for Tom to make an overtly aggressive move toward Janet, and he hoped he would. After all, Tom’s apparent interest in the nurse could be chalked up to some crazy obsession. The woman wasn’t bad. In fact she was reasonably attractive and sexy; Harris himself had appreciated that.

Feeling distinctly out of place dressed as he was in shorts and T-shirt, Harris skirted the piano as Tom Widdicomb disappeared from view down the hallway past reception. Walking quickly, Harris passed Janet and Sean, who were still busy checking in.

Up ahead, Harris could see Tom round a corner and disappear from sight. Harris was about to pick up his pace when he felt a hand grab his arm. Turning, he looked into the face of a heavyset man with an earphone stuck in his right ear. He was dressed in a dark suit, presumably to blend in with the guests. He wasn’t a guest. He was hotel security.

“Excuse me,” the security man said. “May I help you?”

Harris cast a quick glance in the direction Tom had gone, then looked back at the security man who still had hold of his arm. He knew he had to think of something quickly…

“WHAT ARE we going to do?” Wayne asked. He was hunched over the steering wheel. The green Mercedes was parked at the curb near the main entrance to the Ritz Carlton. Ahead of them was the limousine parked on one side of the porte cochere. No one had gotten out of the limousine although the liveried doorman had spoken with the driver, and the driver had handed him a bill, presumably a large denomination.

“I truly don’t know what to do,” Sterling said. “My intuition tells me to stay with Tanaka, but I’m concerned about Mr. Harris’s entering the hotel. I have no idea what he plans to do.”

“Uh oh!” Wayne uttered. “More complications.” Ahead they saw the front passenger-side door of the limousine open. An immaculately dressed, youthful Japanese man climbed out. He placed a portable phone on top of the car, adjusted his dark tie, and buttoned his jacket. Then he picked up the phone and went into the hotel.

“Do you think they might be considering killing Sean Murphy?” Wayne asked. “That dude looks like a professional to me.”

“I would be terribly surprised,” Sterling said. “It’s not the Japanese way. On the other hand, Tanaka is not your typical Japanese, especially with his connections to the Yakusa. And biotechnology has become an extremely big prize. I’m afraid I’m losing confidence in my ability to predict his intentions. Perhaps you’d better follow the Japanese man inside. Whatever you do, make sure he does not harm Mr. Murphy.”

Relieved to get out of the car, Wayne lost no time going into the hotel.

After Wayne slipped inside the hotel, Sterling’s eyes drifted back to the limousine. He tried to imagine what Tanaka was thinking, what he was planning next. Absorbed by these thoughts, he suddenly remembered the Sushita jet.

Reaching for the car phone, Sterling called his contact at the FAA. The contact asked him to hold while he punched the query into his computer. After a brief pause, he came back on the line.

“Your bird has flown the coop,” he said.

“When?” Sterling asked. This he didn’t want to hear. If the plane was gone, Wayne might be correct. Tanaka certainly wasn’t planning on bringing Sean to Japan if he no longer had the Sushita jet at his command.

“It left just a short time ago,” the contact said.

“Is it going back up the east coast?” Sterling asked.

“Nope,” the contact said. “It’s going to Naples, Florida. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Indeed it does,” Sterling said with relief.

“From there it’s going to Mexico,” the contact said. “That will take it out of our jurisdiction.”

“You’ve been most helpful,” Sterling said.

Sterling hung up the phone. He was glad he’d called. Now he was certain Sean Murphy was not about to be killed. Instead he was about to be offered a free trip across the Pacific.

“I CAN’T smell any cigarette smoke in here,” Janet said as she sniffed around the spacious room. Then she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. “Sean, come out here!” she called. “This is gorgeous.”

Sean was sitting on the edge of the bed reading the directions for making a long-distance call. He got up and joined Janet on the terrace.

The view was spectacular. A beach shaped like a scimitar swept to the north in a gigantic arc, ending in the distance at Sanibel Island. Directly below their terrace was the lush greenery of a mangrove swamp. To the south the beach ran a straight line, eventually disappearing behind a line of high-rise condominiums. To the west, the sun was slanting through a sheath of red clouds. The Gulf was calm and deep green. A few windsurfers dotted the surface, their sails offering bright splashes of color.

“Let’s go to the beach for a swim,” Janet suggested. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“You’re on,” Sean said. “But first I want to call Brian and Mr. Betencourt.”

“Good luck,” Janet said over her shoulder. She was already on her way inside to change.

With Janet in the bathroom putting on her suit, Sean dialed Brian’s number. It was after six, and Sean fully expected him to be home. It was disappointing to hear the damn answering machine kick on and have to sit through Brian’s message yet again. After the beep Sean left the number of the Ritz and his room number and asked his brother to please call. As an afterthought he added that it was important.

Next, Sean dialed Malcolm Betencourt’s number. Mr. Betencourt himself answered on the second ring.

Sean winged it. He explained that he was a medical student at Harvard who was taking an elective at the Forbes Cancer Center. He said he’d been reviewing charts of patients who’d been on the medulloblastoma protocol and who had been doing well. Having had an opportunity to review Mr. Betencourt’s chart, he’d appreciate the chance to talk to Mr. Betencourt in person about his treatment, if that would be at all possible.

“Please call me Malcolm,” Mr. Betencourt said. “Where are you calling from, Miami?”

“I’m in Naples,” Sean said. “My girlfriend and I just drove over.”

“Splendid. So you’re already in the neighborhood. And you’re a Harvard man. Just the med school or undergrad too?”

Sean explained that he was on leave from the M.D./Ph.D. program but that he’d been an undergrad at Harvard too.

“I went to Harvard myself,” Malcolm said. “Class of ‘50. I’ll bet that sounds like a century ago. You play any sports while you were there?”

Sean was somewhat surprised by the direction the conversation was taking, but he decided to go with it. He told Malcolm that he’d been on the ice hockey team.

“I was on the crew team, myself,” Malcolm said. “But it’s my time at the Forbes you’re interested in, not my glory days of youth. How long will you be in Naples?”

“Just the weekend.”

“Hang on a second, young fella,” Malcolm said. In a minute, he came back on the line. “How about coming over for dinner?” he asked.

“That’s awfully kind,” Sean said. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

“Hell, I already checked with the boss,” Malcolm said cheerfully. “And Harriet will be tickled to have some youthful company. How’s eight-thirty sound? Dress is casual.”

“Perfect,” Sean said. “How about some directions?”

Malcolm told Sean that he lived on a street called Galleon Drive in Port Royal, an area just south of Naples’s old town. He then gave specific directions which Sean wrote down.

No sooner had Sean hung up the phone than there was a knock on the door. Sean read over the directions as he walked to the door. Absentmindedly, he opened the door without asking who it was or looking through the security peephole. What he didn’t realize was that Janet had hooked the security chain. When he pulled the door open, it abruptly stopped, leaving only a two-inch crack.

Through the crack Sean saw a momentary glint of metal in the hand of whoever was at the door. The significance of that glint failed to register. Sean was too embarrassed to have bungled opening the door to focus on it. As soon as he reopened the door properly, he apologized to the man standing there.

The man, dressed in a hotel uniform, smiled and said there was no need for an apology. He said he should apologize for disturbing them, but the management was sending up fruit and a complimentary bottle of champagne because of the inconvenience of not having a nonsmoking ocean-view room.

Sean thanked the man and tipped him before seeing him out, then he called to Janet. He poured two glasses.

Janet appeared at the bathroom doorway in a black one-piece bathing suit cut high on her thighs and low in the back. Sean had to swallow hard.

“You look stunning,” he said.

“You like it?” Janet asked as she pirouetted into the room. “I got it just before I left Boston.”

“I love it,” Sean said. Once again he appreciated Janet’s figure, remembering it had been her figure that had first attracted him to her when he’d seen her climbing down from that countertop.

Sean handed her a glass of champagne, explaining the management’s gift.

“To our weekend escape,” Janet said, extending her glass toward Sean.

“Hear, hear!” Sean said, touching her glass with his.

“And to our discussions this weekend,” Janet added, thrusting her glass at him again.

Sean touched her glass for a second time, but his face assumed a quizzical expression. “What discussions?” he asked.

“Sometime in the next twenty-four hours I want to talk about our relationship,” Janet said.

“You do?” Sean winced.

“Don’t look so mournful,” Janet said. “Drink up and get your suit on. The sun’s going to set before we get out there.”

Sean’s nylon gym shorts had to double as a bathing suit. He’d not been able to replace his real bathing suit when he’d packed in Boston. But it hadn’t worried him. He hadn’t planned on going to the beach much, and if he did, it would have been just to walk and look at the girls. He hadn’t planned on going into the water.

After they’d each had a glass of champagne, they donned terrycloth robes provided by the hotel. As they rode down in the elevator, Sean told Janet about Malcolm Betencourt’s invitation. Janet was surprised by this development, and a little disappointed. She’d been envisioning a romantic dinner for just the two of them.

On the way to the beach they walked by the hotel’s pool, which was a free-form variation of a clover leaf. There were half a dozen people in the water, mostly children. After crossing a boardwalk spanning a narrow tongue of mangrove swamp, they arrived at the Gulf of Mexico.

Even at this hour, the beach was dazzling. The sand was white and mixed with the crushed, sun-bleached remains of billions of shellfish. Redwood beach furniture and blue canvas umbrellas dotted the beach directly in front of the hotel. Groups of dawdling sunbathers were scattered to the north, but to the south, the sand was empty.

Opting for privacy, they turned to the south, angling across the sand to reach the apogee of the small waves as they washed up on the beach. Expecting the water to feel like Cape Cod in the summer, Sean was pleasantly surprised. It was still cool, but certainly not cold.

Holding hands, they walked on the damp, firm sand at the water’s edge. The sun was dipping toward the horizon, casting a glistening path of golden light along the surface of the water. A flock of pelicans silently glided by overhead. From the depths of a vast mangrove swamp came the cry of a tropical bird.

As they walked past the beachfront condominiums just south of the Ritz Carlton, real estate development gave way to a line of Australian pine trees mixed with sea grapes and a few palms. The Gulf changed from green to silver as the sun sank below the horizon.

“Do you honestly care for me?” Janet asked suddenly. Since she wouldn’t get a chance to talk seriously with Sean at dinner, she decided there was no time better than the present to at least get a discussion started. After all, what could be more romantic than a sunset walk on the beach?

“Of course I care for you,” Sean said.

“Why don’t you ever tell me?”

“I don’t?” Sean asked, surprised.

“No, you don’t.”

“Well, I think it all the time,” Sean said.

“Would you say you care for me a lot?”

“Yeah, I would,” Sean said.

“Do you love me, Sean?” Janet asked.

They walked for a way in silence watching their feet press into the sand.

“Yeah, I do,” Sean said.

“Do what?” Janet asked.

“What you said,” Sean replied. He glanced off at the spot on the horizon where the sun had set. It was still marked by a fiery glow.

“Look at me, Sean,” Janet said.

Reluctantly, Sean looked into her eyes.

“Why can’t you tell me you love me?” she asked.

“I’m telling you,” Sean said.

“You can’t say the words,” Janet said. “Why not?”

“I’m Irish,” Sean said, trying to lighten the mood. “The Irish aren’t good at talking about their feelings.”

“Well, at least you admit it,” Janet said. “But whether you truly care for me or not is an important issue. It’s futile to have the kind of talk I want if the basic feelings aren’t there.”

“The feelings are there,” Sean insisted.

“Okay, I’ll let you off the hook for the moment,” Janet said, pulling Sean to a halt. “But I have to say it’s a mystery to me how you can be so expressive about everything else in life and so uncommunicative when it comes to us. But we can talk about that later. How about a swim?”

“You really want to go in the water?” he asked reluctantly. The water was so dark.

“What do you think going for a swim means?” Janet asked.

“I get the point,” Sean said. “But this really isn’t a bathing suit.” He was afraid that once his shorts got wet it would be akin to wearing nothing.

Janet couldn’t believe that after they’d come this far he was balking at going into the water because of his shorts.

“If there’s a problem,” she said, “why don’t you just take them off?”

“Listen to this!” Sean said mockingly. “Miss Proper is suggesting I skinny-dip. Well, I’d be happy to as long as you’ll do the same.”

Sean glared at Janet in the half-light. Part of him relished making her feel uncomfortable. After all, hadn’t she just made him squirm on this issue of expressing feelings? He wasn’t quite sure she’d rise to his challenge, but then Janet had been surprising him a lot lately, starting with her following him to Florida.

“Who first?” she asked.

“We’ll do it together,” he said.

After a moment’s hesitation they both peeled off their terrycloth robes, then their suits, and pranced naked into the light surf. As evening deepened toward night, they frolicked in the shallow water, letting the miniature waves cascade over their nude bodies. After the controlling grip of Boston winter it seemed like the epitome of abandon, especially for Janet. To her surprise, she was enjoying the sensation immensely.

Fifteen minutes later they drew themselves out of the water and rushed up the beach to gather their clothes, giggling like giddy adolescents. Janet immediately began to step into her suit, but Sean had different ideas. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her up into the shadows of the Australian pines. After spreading their robes on the sandy bed of pine needles at the edge of the beach, they lay down in tight, joyous embrace.

But it didn’t last long.

Janet was the first to sense something was wrong. Lifting her head, she looked out at the luminous line of white sand beach.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“I don’t think so,” Sean replied without even listening.

“Seriously,” Janet said. She sat up. “I heard something.”

Before either could move, a figure stepped out of the shadows enveloping the copse of pine trees. The stranger’s face was lost in shadow. All they could see clearly was the pearl-handled gun pointed at Janet.

“If this is your property we’ll just go,” Sean said. He sat up.

“Shut up!” Tom hissed. He couldn’t take his eyes off Janet’s nakedness. He’d planned on stepping out of the darkness and immediately shooting them both, but now he found himself hesitating. Although he couldn’t see much in the half-light, what he could see was mesmerizing. He was replaceing it difficult to think.

Sensing Tom’s penetrating eyes, Janet snatched up her bathing suit and pressed it against her chest. But Tom was not to be denied. With his free hand he wrenched the suit away and let it drop to the sand.

“You never should have interfered,” Tom snapped.

“What are you talking about?” Janet asked, unable to take her eyes off the gun.

“Alice told me girls like you would try to tempt me,” Tom said.

“Who’s Alice?” Sean asked. He got to his feet. He hoped to keep Tom talking.

“Shut up!” Tom barked, swinging the gun in Sean’s direction. He decided it was time to get rid of this guy. He extended his arm, tightening his grip on the trigger until the gun fired.

But the bullet went wide. At the exact moment Tom pulled the trigger a second shadowy figure hurled out of the darkness, tackling Tom, knocking him sideways a number of yards.

The gun sprang from Tom’s grip with the stranger’s impact. It fell to the ground inches from Sean’s foot. With the sound of the shot still ringing in his ears, Sean looked down at the weapon with shock. He couldn’t believe it; someone had fired a gun at him!

“Get the gun!” Harris managed to grunt as he wrestled with Tom. They rolled against the trunk of one of the pine trees. Tom momentarily broke free. He started out onto the beach, but he only got fifty feet away before Harris tackled him again.

Both Sean and Janet got over their initial shock and began to react at the same moment. Janet snatched up their robes and suits. Sean picked up the gun. They could see Harris and Tom rolling around in the sand close to the water.

“Let’s get out of here!” Sean said urgently.

“But who saved us?” Janet asked. “Shouldn’t we help him?”

“No,” Sean said. “I recognize him. He doesn’t need any help. We’re out of here.”

Sean grabbed Janet’s reluctant hand, and together they ran out from beneath the canopy of pine onto the beach and then north toward the hotel. Several times Janet tried to look over her shoulder, but each time Sean urged her on. As they neared the hotel they stopped long enough to slip into their robes.

“Who was that man who saved us?” Janet demanded between gasping breaths.

“Head of security at Forbes,” Sean said, equally as winded. “His name is Robert Harris. He’ll be okay. We should worry about that other fruitcake.”

“Who was he?” Janet asked.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” Sean said.

“What are we going to tell the police?” Janet asked.

“Nothing,” Sean said. “We’re not going to the police. I can’t. They’re looking for me. I can’t go until I talk to Brian.”

They ran past the pool and into the hotel.

“The man with the gun had to be associated with Forbes too,” Janet said. “Otherwise, the head of security wouldn’t have been here.”

“You’re probably right,” Sean said. “Unless Robert Harris is after me just like the police are. He could be playing bounty hunter. I’m sure he’d like nothing better than to get rid of me.”

“I don’t like any of this,” Janet admitted as they rode up in the elevator.

“Me neither,” Sean said. “Something weird’s happening, and we don’t have a clue.”

“What are we going to do?” Janet asked. “I still think we should go to the police.”

“First thing we’re going to do is change hotels,” Sean said. “I don’t like Harris knowing where we’re staying. It’s bad enough he knows we’re in Naples.”

Once in the room they quickly got their things together. Janet again tried to talk Sean into going to the police, but he adamantly refused.

“Now here’s the plan,” Sean said. “I’ll take the bags and go down to the pool, then slip out by the tennis courts. You go down to the front door, get the car, then come and pick me up.”

“What are you talking about?” Janet demanded. “Why all this sneaking around?”

“We were followed here at least by Harris,” Sean said. “I want everybody to think we’re still staying here.”

Janet decided it was easier just to go along with Sean. She could tell he was in no mood to argue. Besides, he might be right to be this paranoid.

Sean left first with the bags.

WAYNE EDWARDS walked back to the Mercedes at a fast clip and climbed into the passenger seat. Sterling had moved behind the wheel.

Up ahead Sterling could see the youthful Japanese man climbing back into the limousine.

“What’s happening?” Sterling asked.

“I’m not sure,” Wayne said. “The Jap just sat in the foyer and read magazines. Then the girl appeared alone. She’s under the porte cochere waiting for the car. No sign of Sean Murphy. I bet those guys in the limo are as confused as we are.”

A parking valet drove by in the red Pontiac. He parked under the porte cochere.

The limousine started up, spewing a puff of black smoke from its tailpipe.

Sterling started the Mercedes. He told Wayne that the Sushita jet was on its way to Naples.

“Not much doubt something’s going to happen,” Wayne said.

“I’m sure it will be tonight,” Sterling said. “We’ve got to be prepared.”

Presently the red Pontiac went by with Janet Reardon at the wheel. Behind her came the limo. Sterling made a U-turn.

At the base of the drive the Pontiac turned right. The limo followed.

“I smell a fish,” Wayne said. “Something’s not right with this picture. To get to the road you have to rum left. This right is a dead end.”

Sterling turned right to follow the others. Wayne was correct; the road dead-ended. But just before the dead end they came to an entrance to a large parking lot that was partially obscured by foliage. Sterling pulled in.

“There’s the limo,” Wayne said, pointing off to the right.

“And there’s the Pontiac,” Sterling said, motioning toward the tennis courts. “And there is Mr. Murphy loading luggage in the trunk. This is a rather unorthodox departure.”

“I suppose they think they’re being clever,” Wayne said, shaking his head.

“Maybe this move has something to do with Mr. Robert Harris,” Sterling suggested.

They watched the red Pontiac drive by and out the exit. The limo followed. After waiting a bit. Sterling did the same.

“Watch for Harris’s blue sedan,” Sterling advised.

Wayne nodded. “I’ve been watching,” he assured him.

They drove south for four or five miles, then cut west toward the Gulf. Eventually they ended up on Gulf Shore Boulevard.

“This area is a lot more built up,” Wayne said. Either side of the road had condominium buildings with manicured lawns and pampered flower beds.

They drove for a short time before they saw the red Pontiac pull up a ramp to the first-floor entrance of the Edgewater Beach Hotel. The limo pulled off the road but remained on the ground level, turning in under the building. Sterling pulled off the road and parked in a diagonal spot to the right of the ramp. He turned off the ignition. At the top of the ramp they could see Sean directing the removal of their luggage from the Pontiac’s trunk.

“A nice little hotel,” Wayne said. “Less ostentatious.”

“I believe you’ll replace the facade misleading,” Sterling said. “Through some of my banking connections I’ve heard this place had been purchased by a charming Swiss fellow who added significant European elegance.”

“You think Tanaka will try to make his move from here?” Wayne asked.

“I believe he’s hoping Sean and his companion will go out so that he can comer them in some isolated location.”

“If I were with that chick I think I’d bolt the door and order room service.”

Sterling picked up the car phone. “Speaking of Mr. Murphy’s companion, let’s see what my contacts in Boston have learned about her.”