Mindbend

by Robin Cook

  “What do you think I should do, Father?”

  Mr. Carson put his arm around her. “Whatever you think is right.”

  “But what is your opinion?” asked Jennifer.

  “That’s a different question,” said Mr. Carson. “Your mother really trusts this Dr. Vandermer. The mix-up with the amniocentesis samples was unfortunate, but I like the way he handled it. My feeling is that you should follow his recommendations.”

  “Dr. Vandermer wants me to repeat the amniocentesis immediately,” said Jennifer.

  “If he thinks there is a chance you might want to consider an abortion, then I think you should do it. Your mother and I don’t believe that a severely defective child should be brought into this world. It’s not fair to anyone, including the child. But that’s just the way we feel.”

  “I suppose I feel the same way,” said Jennifer. “It just makes me feel so bad.”

  Mr. Carson gave his daughter a squeeze. “Of course, honey. And your husband isn’t making things any easier. I don’t like to make judgments, but I don’t appreciate the way he is acting. He should be here helping make these decisions, not gallivanting off on some mysterious trip.”

  They reached the screen door at the back of the house. They could hear Mrs. Carson in the kitchen, preparing dinner.

  “You’re probably right,” said Jennifer, opening the door. “I’ll call Dr. Vandermer and have the amniocentesis repeated tomorrow.”

  • • •

  “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is now being served.”

  Adam woke from a sound sleep, and it took him several minutes to realize that the voice was coming from a small speaker in the wall of the cabin. He looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock.

  Struggling to his feet, Adam felt the ship rolling as well as pitching. The idea of dinner wasn’t all that appealing. He took a quick shower, trying to maintain his balance, then dressed and left the cabin. He paused a minute and knocked on Alan’s door, but there was no answer. Either the man was still asleep or he had already gone to dinner. In either case, it wasn’t any of Adam’s business.

  He noticed the ship’s store was open and went in to buy Dramamine, but the man behind the counter said they were out and would have to wait until morning to get more from the storeroom. Disappointed, Adam made his way to the dining room, where a steward asked if he was an obstetrician or an orthopedist. Adam told him OB and the steward led him to a table near the speaker’s platform.

  There were five other doctors already seated. Adam was so busy remembering that his name was Stuart, he only caught two of his companions’ names during the introductions: Ted and Archibald.

  The conversation was almost exclusively medical, although more about the profession’s economics than its practice.

  Adam said little, preoccupied with his queasy stomach. As soon as he could, he motioned for the steward to remove his plate, wondering how the others could ignore the rolling motion of the ship. After coffee was served, a tall, dark man mounted the speaker’s platform.

  “Hello, hello,” he said, testing the microphone. “My name is Raymond Powell, and I am your official MTIC host. Welcome to the Arolen Pharmaceuticals Medical Conference Cruise.”

  Conversation ceased as people turned their attention to the podium. Powell gave a typical welcoming speech and then handed the microphone to Dr. Goddard, who was in charge of the actual medical program.

  When Goddard finished speaking, Powell stepped back to the microphone and said, “And now we have a surprise. For your enjoyment, let me present the Caribbean Dancers.”

  Doors on either side of the speaker’s platform burst open and a dozen scantily clad dancers swept into the room. Adam noticed only two men. The rest were unusually pretty young girls. Behind the dancers was a rock group with electric guitars. This band quickly set up speakers on the plaform.

  As the girls worked the audience, Adam saw that Powell and Goddard were standing to one side as if trying to assess the effect of the dancers on the usually restrained medical group. After a few minutes Adam found his attention held by a particularly attractive brunette. She had narrow hips and firm, upstanding breasts. She caught Adam’s eye for just a moment and he could have sworn that she winked at him. Unfortunately, Adam’s stomach was not cooperative, and in the middle of the performance, Adam reluctantly decided that he’d better visit the deck.

  Excusing himself, he fought his way through the boisterous crowd in more and more of a hurry to get away. He barely reached the rail of the promenade deck before his stomach turned over and he vomited violently over the side. After a minute he glanced around to check if anyone had seen him. Thankfully, the deck was deserted. Lowering his eyes, he inspected the front of his shirt. It was clean. Relieved, Adam wandered forward into the wind. He wasn’t ready to go below yet.

  After a few minutes he felt a little better, and when he reached the door forbidden to passengers, he simply opened it and walked through. The lights were scarcer in this part of the ship and the deck was a plain unvarnished gray. Adam walked all the way to the bow and looked down on a tangle of ropes and chains. The sea leaped and twisted on either side. The starry sky stretched out above him.

  A hand suddenly fell on Adam’s shoulder.

  “This is an unauthorized area,” said a man with a Spanish accent.

  “I’m sorry,” said Adam nervously, trying to make out the man’s face. “This is my first cruise and I was just wandering around. Any chance of visiting the bridge?” Adam remembered the adage that the best defense was offense.

  “Are you stoned?” asked the man.

  “Me?” said Adam, taken aback. “No. I’m fine.”

  “No offense,” said the man, “but we’ve had some bad experiences with passengers in the past. The captain happens to be on the bridge. I’ll see if he’ll let you up.”

  After asking for Adam’s name, the man disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. A moment later a voice shouted down, inviting him up. There was a ladder to starboard.

  Adam walked around the side and found a stairway. He guessed that on a ship a ladder and a stairway were the same thing. At the top, the man with the Spanish accent was holding open the door to the bridge.

  Inside, Adam saw that the instruments were illuminated by red lights, giving the room a surrealistic air. The man at the wheel ignored Adam’s presence, but another man stood up and introduced himself as Captain Eric Nordstrom. He seemed younger than Adam would have expected and, at first, seemed rather wary of his guest.

  “José said this is your first cruise, Dr. Smyth.”

  “That’s right,” said Adam uneasily, remembering that Smyth had already been on an Arolen cruise. The captain made no comment, and Adam asked, “Who owns the ship?”

  “I’m not sure,” said Nordstrom. “The crew works for a company called MTIC. Whether they own the ship or lease it, I don’t really know.”

  “Is MTIC a good employer?”

  Captain Nordstrom shrugged. “We get our paychecks on time. It’s a bit boring running the same route over and over, and socializing with this crew has its limitations.”

  “Don’t you get to meet the passengers?” asked Adam.

  “Never,” said Captain Nordstrom. “MTIC is strict about keeping the passengers and the ship’s crew from fraternizing. You’re the first person I’ve had on the bridge in a long time. We’ve had some unfortunate experiences with the passengers getting drunk.”

  Adam nodded. If the amount of alcohol that the doctors had consumed tonight was any indication, he wasn’t surprised.

  Away from the sea breeze, the pitching of the ship began to bother Adam again, and he decided to say good-bye.

  “José, accompany Dr. Smyth back to the passenger section,” said Captain Nordstrom.

  José moved quickly, preceding Adam out the door. He went down the steep ladder, oblivious to the movement of the ship. Adam followed but much more cautiously.

  “In a day or so you’ll have your s
ea legs,” said José with a laugh.

  Adam wondered.

  As they walked aft, José offered some technical details about the ship. Adam nodded dutifully, but most of the terms went over his head. When they got to the barrier, José hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. In the better light Adam could see the man’s face, which was dominated by a luxurious mustache.

  “Dr. Smyth . . .” began José. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Adam suspiciously. From what the captain had said, crew and passengers were not supposed to mix, and Adam was not interested in any trouble. On the other hand, the idea of having a friend among the crew was appealing and could come in handy.

  “They sell cigarettes in the ship’s store,” said José. “If I gave you the money, would you buy some for me?”

  “Why don’t you get them yourself?” asked Adam.

  “We’re not allowed beyond this door.”

  Adam considered the request. It seemed sufficiently innocuous. “How many packs do you want?”

  “As many as you can get for this.” José reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.

  Adam had the feeling that José’s request wasn’t so innocent after all. José was probably running a little shipboard black market.

  “Let me start with ten dollars’ worth,” said Adam.

  José quickly substituted a ten for the fifty.

  Adam took the money and told José that he’d meet him at the same location the next day at eleven. He remembered from the lecture schedule there was a coffee break scheduled at that time. José smiled broadly, his teeth startlingly white against his mustache.

  Taking a few deep breaths of sea air, Adam went inside and headed for his stateroom.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Adam heard the voice calling Dr. Smyth but ignored it. The name had nothing to do with him, and he preferred remaining immobile. Then someone grasped his arm and with great effort he opened his eyes.

  “My glasses,” said Adam, surprised to find he was slurring his words.

  Slowly and carefully he swung his feet over the side of the bunk and groped around on the night table. His hand hit the glasses and knocked them on the floor. Reaching over to pick them up, he suddenly remembered he was Dr. Smyth.

  The steward handed him a glass of water.

  “Thank you,” said Adam, puzzled.

  Then the steward held out another one of the yellow capsules. Without hesitating, Adam took it and put it into his mouth. But as he had done the day before, he didn’t swallow it, taking a little water instead.

  Satisfied, the steward took the glass into the bathroom. Adam slipped the capsule from his mouth.

  “Excuse me,” he said, his words much clearer. “What are these yellow pills?”

  “They are to relax you,” the steward said in his oddly mechanical voice.

  “Hey,” said Adam. “I am relaxed. A little seasick maybe, but relaxed. Wouldn’t it be better if you gave me something for my stomach?”

  “The yellow pills are to make you more relaxed and receptive,” the steward said, opening the door.

  “Receptive to what?” called Adam.

  “To instructions,” said the steward as he pulled the door closed.

  Adam got up feeling unusually tired and weak. He’d had no idea that seasickness could be so debilitating. Forcing himself into the bathroom, he showered and dressed, still puzzling over the steward’s comment.

  On his way to breakfast, he decided to see if Alan were up. This time, instead of knocking, he just turned the knob and the door swung open.

  Alan was still stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even.

  “Alan,” called Adam. Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, only to close again. Adam bent down and gently lifted Alan’s eyelids. At first, all he saw was sclera, but then the corneas descended and seemed to focus.

  “Wake up,” said Adam. He took his hands from Alan’s eyes and, grabbing his shoulders, pulled him into a sitting position.

  “What’s the matter with you?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Alan in a flat voice that reminded Adam of the steward’s. “I’m just tired. Let me sleep.” He started to sag backward, but Adam caught him.

  “Tell me,” demanded Adam. “What is your name?”

  “Alan Jackson.”

  “Where are you?” asked Adam.

  “I’m on an Arolen cruise.” Alan spoke with no inflection whatsoever.

  “What month is this?”

  “June,” said Alan.

  “Raise your right hand,” said Adam.

  Dutifully, Alan raised his right hand. He was like an automaton or a patient under heavy sedation. In fact, he reminded Adam of his patient with tardive dyskinesia. When the man had first come into the hospital, he’d been so heavily medicated that he’d slept around the clock, although if aroused he’d been oriented to time and place.

  Adam allowed Alan to slump back onto his bed. After watching him for a moment or two, he returned to his own stateroom. Closing the door, Adam felt really afraid for the first time. Alan had been drugged. There was little doubt of that.

  Obviously, the yellow pills were some kind of tranquilizer. All at once Adam recalled how drowsy he’d felt when the steward had awakened him. He had attributed his condition to the aftermath of seasickness, but maybe he, too, had been drugged. Yet how could that have happened? He hadn’t taken the yellow pills and what little dinner he’d eaten he’d vomited almost immediately. Maybe it was the water.

  Adam went into the bathroom and filled his glass. It had no smell. Gingerly, he tasted it. It had a chemical flavor, but that could be from chlorination. Dumping it down the drain, Adam decided to go to breakfast.

  The dining room held no trace of last night’s raucous party. A buffet had been set up in the center of the room with an impressive array of food. People were lined up, patiently awaiting their turn. Adam strolled among the tables and looked for Ned and Clair but didn’t see them.

  His stomach not only felt better, he was actually hungry. The only trouble was, now that he had an appetite, he was terrified to eat. He eyed the buffet. There was the usual selection of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and Danish. Then Adam saw something even better: a large bowl of fruit.

  Thinking that unpeeled fruit had to be safe, he took several bananas, two oranges, and a grapefruit and made his way to an empty table. Just as he sat down, Ned and Clair appeared. Adam called out to them, and they came over to his table. They said they would join him.

  Adam watched them go through the buffet line. They seemed tired, and when they came and sat down, Adam noticed that they hadn’t taken much food. He was puzzled. If the drug were in the food and water, why weren’t they and the other doctors in the room knocked out like Alan? Maybe it was the yellow pill. Maybe it was only given to guests on their second cruise. Maybe it was the combination of the capsule and whatever was put in the food . . .

  “Quite an affair last night,” said Ned interrupting Adam’s thoughts.

  Adam nodded.

  “I’m exhausted,” said Clair. “I didn’t think I’d drunk as much as I must have. I slept like the dead.”

  “Same with me,” said Ned. “Must be the salt air.”

  Trying to sound casual, Adam said, “Have you people been given any yellow capsules for seasickness?”

  “I haven’t,” said Ned, sipping his coffee. He looked at Clair.

  “Nor have I,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I’m looking for an anti-nauseant. I just wondered . . .” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to arouse their suspicion. If he mentioned anything about the doctors being drugged, they would think he was crazy. Ned and Clair drank their coffee in silence. Obviously, neither of them felt very well.

  After breakfast Adam stopped at the ship’s store. It had a new supply of Dramamine and anti-motion patches. A
dam bought some of the patches, and before he left he remembered to pick up ten dollars’ worth of Marlboros for José.

  Back in his cabin he found another yellow capsule with a glass of water on his night table. This time he flushed both down the toilet.

  The first lecture of the morning was scheduled for the large auditorium. Given by a Columbia pathologist, it was stultifyingly dull. Adam noticed that a number of the doctors were dozing and wondered whether it was because they were bored or drugged. The second lecture was given by Dr. Goddard and was far more interesting. Adam noticed a number of the doctors straightening up in their chairs. Goddard was summarizing a recent experiment that showed that fetal tissue that was injected into adults was not rejected. The guess was that the fetal tissue had not developed antigens strong enough to elicit an antibody response. The potential for the therapy was immense. Repopulating islet cells in the pancreases of diabetics was only one of the revolutionary possibilities.

  At the coffee break, Adam went back to his stateroom, got the cartons of Marlboros, and headed up to the promenade deck. He waited until no one seemed to be around, then walked up to the barrier and stepped through the door. José was waiting. He had a canvas bag over his shoulder and the cartons disappeared into it in a flash. At least he’s not drugged, thought Adam, and he handed back José’s ten-dollar bill.

  Confused, the sailor examined the bill, thinking something was wrong with it.

  “I have a deal you can’t refuse,” said Adam. “I’ll get you cigarettes if you get me food and water.”

  José raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter with the food back there? I thought it was pretty fancy.”

  “Part of the deal is no questions,” said Adam. “I won’t ask you what you do with so many cigarettes, and you don’t ask me what I do with the food.”

  “Fine by me,” said José. “When do you want to meet again?”

  “At four this afternoon, but I’d like some food now.”

  José glanced over his shoulder, then told Adam to follow him. They walked forward to a bulkhead door, which José opened. Making sure they were alone, José led Adam down to his cabin in the bowels of the ship. It was like a jail cell. There was a shower and a toilet with no door and the air was heavy with the odor of sweat and stale cigarettes.