Terminal

by Robin Cook

  “Got to inject my rats,” Sean said.

  The security guard motioned for them to enter. He didn’t speak, nor did he take his eyes off Janet’s lower half. As Sean and Janet passed through the turnstile they could see he had a miniature portable TV wedged on top of the bank of security monitors. It was tuned to a soccer match.

  “See what I mean about the guards?” Sean said as they used the stairs to descend to the basement. “He was more interested in your legs than my ID card. I could have had Charlie Manson’s photo on it and he wouldn’t have noticed.”

  “How come you said rats instead of mice?” Janet asked.

  “People hate rats,” Sean said. “I didn’t want him deciding to come down and watch.”

  “You do think of everything,” Janet said.

  The basement was a warren of corridors and locked doors, but at least it was adequately lighted. Sean had made many trips to the animal room and was generally familiar with that area, but he hadn’t gone beyond it. As they walked, the sound of their heels echoed off the bare concrete.

  “Do you have any idea where we’re going?” Janet asked.

  “Vaguely,” Sean said.

  They walked down the central corridor taking several twists and turns before coming to a T intersection.

  “This must be the way to the hospital,” Sean said.

  “How can you tell?”

  Sean pointed to the tangle of pipes lining the ceiling. “The power plant is in the hospital,” he said. “These lines are coming over to feed the research building. Now we have to figure out which side has the chart vault.”

  They proceeded down the corridor toward the hospital. Fifty feet down there was a door on either side of the narrow hall. Sean tried each. Both were locked.

  “Let’s give these a try,” he said. He set down his bag and removed some tools, including a slender jeweler-like alien wrench and several short pieces of heavy wire. Holding the alien wrench in one hand and one of the pieces of heavy wire in the other, he inserted both into the lock.

  “This is the tricky part,” he said. “It’s called raking the pins.”

  Sean closed his eyes and proceeded by feel.

  “What do you think?” Janet asked as she looked up and down the corridor, expecting someone to appear at any moment.

  “Piece of cake,” Sean said. There was a click and the door opened. Finding a light, Sean turned it on. They had broken into an electrical room with huge wall-sized electrical buses facing each other.

  Sean turned out the light and closed the door. Next he went to work on the door across the corridor. He had it open in less time than the first.

  “These tools make a decent tension bar and pick,” he said. “Nothing like the real thing, but not bad.”

  Switching on a light, he and Janet found themselves in a long, narrow room filled with metal shelving. Arranged on the shelves were hospital charts. There was a lot of empty space.

  “This is it,” Sean said.

  “A lot of room to expand,” Janet commented.

  “Don’t move for a couple of minutes,” Sean said. “Let me make sure there are no alarms.”

  “Good grief!” Janet said. “Why don’t you tell me these things in advance.”

  Sean took a quick turn around the room looking for infrared sensors or motion detectors. He found nothing. Rejoining Janet and taking out the computer printout sheet he said: “Let’s divide these charts up between us. I only want the ones from the last two years. They’ll reflect the successful treatment.”

  Janet took the top half of the list and Sean took the lower. In ten minutes they had a stack of thirty-three charts.

  “It’s easy to tell this isn’t a teaching hospital,” Sean said. “In a teaching hospital you’d be lucky to find one chart, much less all thirty-three.”

  “What do you want to do with them?” Janet asked.

  “Copy them,” Sean said. “There’s a copy machine in the library. The question is, is the library open? I don’t want the guard seeing me pick that lock. There’s probably a camera there.”

  “Let’s check,” Janet said. She wanted to get this over with.

  “Wait,” Sean said. “I think I have a better idea.” He started toward the research building end of the chart vault. Janet struggled to keep up. Rounding the last bank of metal shelves, they came to the end wall. In the center of the wall was a glass door. To the right of the door was a panel with two buttons. When Sean pushed the lower of the two, a deep whirring noise broke the silence.

  “Maybe we’re in luck,” he said.

  Within several minutes the dumbwaiter appeared. Sean opened the door and began removing the shelves.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “A little experiment,” Sean said. When he had enough of the racks removed, he climbed inside. He had to double up with his knees near his chin.

  “Close the door and push the button,” he said.

  “Are you sure?” Janet asked.

  “Come on!” Sean said. “But after the motor stops, wait for a couple of beats, then be sure to push the ‘down’ button to get me back.”

  Janet did as she was told. Sean ascended with a wave and disappeared from view.

  With Sean gone, Janet’s anxiety grew. The gravity of their actions hadn’t sunk in when Sean had been with her. But in the eerie silence the reality of where she was and what she was doing hit her: she was burglarizing the Forbes Cancer Center.

  When the whirring stopped, Janet counted to ten, then pressed the down button. Thankfully, Sean quickly reappeared. She opened the door.

  “Works like a charm,” Sean said. “It goes right up to finance in administration. Best of all, they’ve got one of the world’s best copy machines.”

  It took them only a few minutes to carry the charts over to the electric dumbwaiter.

  “You first,” Sean said.

  “I don’t know whether I want to do this,” Janet said.

  “Fine,” Sean said. “Then you wait here while I copy the charts. It’ll probably take about a half hour.” He started to climb back in the dumbwaiter.

  Janet grabbed his arm. “I changed my mind. I don’t want to wait here by myself, either.”

  Sean rolled his eyes and got out of the dumbwaiter. Janet climbed into the hoist. Sean handed her most of the charts, closed the door, and pushed the button. When the motor stopped, he pressed again and the dumbwaiter reappeared. With the remaining charts in hand, he piled into the dumbwaiter a second time and waited a few uncomfortable minutes until Janet pushed the button upstairs in administration.

  When Janet opened the door for him, he could tell she was becoming frantic.

  “What’s the matter now?” he asked as he struggled out of the dumbwaiter.

  “All the lights are on up here,” she said nervously. “Did you turn them on?”

  “Nope,” Sean said, gathering up an armload of the charts. “They were on when I came up. Probably the cleaning service.”

  “I never thought of that,” Janet said. “How can you be so calm through all this?” She sounded almost angry.

  Sean shrugged. “Must have been all that practice I had as a kid.”

  They quickly fell into a system at the copy machine. By taking each chart apart, they could load it into the automatic feed. Using a stapler they found on a nearby desk, they kept the copies organized and reassembled the originals as soon as they’d been copied.

  “Did you notice that computer in the glass enclosure?” Janet asked.

  “I saw it on my tour on day one,” Sean said.

  “It’s running some kind of program,” Janet said. “When I was waiting for you to come up, I glanced in. It’s connected to several modems and automatic dialers. It must be doing some kind of survey.”

  Sean looked at Janet with surprise. “I didn’t know you knew so much about computers. That’s rather odd for an English lit major.”

  “At Wellesley I majored in English literature but computers fasc
inated me,” she explained. “I took a lot of computer courses. At one point I almost changed majors.”

  After loading more sets of charts into the copy machine, Sean and Janet walked over to the glass enclosure and looked in. The monitor screen was flashing digits. Sean tried the door. It was open. They went inside.

  “Wonder why this is in a glass room?” he asked.

  “To protect it,” Janet said. “Big machines like this can be affected by cigarette smoke. There’s probably a handful of smokers in the office.”

  They looked at the figures flashing on the screen. They were nine-digit numbers.

  “What do you think it’s doing?” Sean asked.

  “No idea,” Janet said. “They’re not phone numbers. If they were, there’d be seven or ten digits, not nine. Besides, there’s no way it can be calling phone numbers that rapidly.”

  The screen suddenly went blank, then a ten-digit number appeared. Instantly an automatic dialer went into motion, its tones audible above the hum of the air-conditioning fans.

  “Now that’s a phone number,” Janet said. “I even recognize the area code. It’s Connecticut.”

  The screen went blank again, then resumed flashing more nine-digit numbers. After a minute the list of numbers froze at a specific number and the computer printout device activated. Both Sean and Janet glanced over to the printer in time to see the nine-digit number print out followed by: Peter Ziegler, age 55, Valley Hospital, Charlotte, North Carolina, Achilles tendon repair, March 11.

  Suddenly, an alarm sounded. As the computer reverted to flashing its nine-digit numbers, Sean and Janet looked at each other, Sean with confusion, Janet with panic.

  “What’s happening?” she demanded. The alarm kept ringing.

  “I don’t know,” Sean admitted. “But it isn’t a burglar alarm.” He turned to look out into the office just in time to see the door to the hallway opening.

  “Down!” he said to Janet, forcing her to her hands and knees. Sean figured that whoever was coming into the room was coming to check the computer. He frantically motioned to Janet to crawl behind the console. In utter terror, Janet did as she was told, fumbling over coiled computer cables. Sean was right behind her. Hardly had they gotten out of sight when the door to the glass enclosure was opened.

  From where they were huddled, they could see a pair of legs enter the room. Whoever it was, it was a woman. The alarm that initiated the episode was turned off. The woman picked up a phone and dialed.

  “We have another potential donor.” she said. “North Carolina.”

  At that moment, the laser printer began printing yet again, and again the alarm sounded for a brief moment.

  “Did you hear that?” the woman asked. “What a coincidence. We’re getting another, as we speak.” She paused, waiting for the printer. “Patricia Southerland, age forty-seven, San Jose General, San Jose, California, breast biopsy, March 14. Also sounds good. What do you think?”

  There was a pause before she spoke again: “I know the team’s out. But there’s time. Trust me. This is my department.”

  The woman hung up. Sean and Janet heard her tear off the sheet that had just printed. Then the woman turned and left.

  For a few minutes neither Sean nor Janet spoke.

  “What the hell did she mean, a potential donor?” Sean whispered at last.

  “I don’t know and I don’t care,” Janet whispered back. “I want out of here.”

  “Donor?” Sean murmured. “That sounds creepy to me. What do we have here? A clearinghouse for body parts? Reminds me of a movie I saw once. I tell you, this place is nuts.”

  “Is she gone?” Janet asked.

  “I’ll check,” Sean said. Slowly he backed out from their hiding place, then peeked over the countertop. The room was empty. “She seems to be gone,” Sean said. “I wonder why she ignored the copy machine.”

  Janet backed out and gingerly raised her head. She scanned the room as well.

  “Coming in, the computer alarm must have shielded the sound,” Sean said. “But going out, she had to have heard it.”

  “Maybe she was too preoccupied,” Janet offered.

  Sean nodded. “I think you’re probably right.”

  The computer screen that had been flashing the innumerable nine-digit numbers suddenly went blank.

  “The program seems to be over,” Sean said.

  “Let’s get away from here,” Janet said, her voice quavering.

  They ventured out into the room. The copy machine had finished the latest stack of charts and was silent.

  “Now we know why she didn’t hear it,” Sean said, going up to the machine and checking it. He loaded the last of the charts.

  “I want out of here!” Janet said.

  “Not until I have my charts,” Sean said. He pushed the copy button and the copier roared to life. Then he began removing the originals and the copies already done, stapling the copies and reassembling the charts.

  At first, Janet watched, terrified that any moment the same woman would reappear. But after she recognized the faster they were finished, the sooner they would leave, she pitched in. With no further interruptions they had all the charts copied and stapled in short order.

  Returning to the small elevator, Sean discovered that it was possible to push the button with the door ajar. Then, when the door was closed, the dumbwaiter operated. “Now I don’t have to worry about you forgetting to bring me down,” he said teasingly.

  “I’m in no mood for humor,” Janet remarked as she climbed into the hoist. She held out her arms to take as many charts and copies as possible.

  Repeating the procedure that had brought them up to the seventh floor, they returned the charts to the vault. To Janet’s chagrin, Sean insisted they take the time to return the charts to their original locations. With that accomplished, they carried the chart copies to the animal room where Sean hid them beneath the cages of his mice.

  “I should inject these guys,” Sean said, “but to tell you the truth, I don’t much feel like it.”

  Janet was pleased to leave but didn’t start to relax until they were driving out of the parking lot.

  “That has to have been one of the worst experiences of my life,” she said as they traversed Little Havana. “I can’t believe that you stayed so calm.”

  “My heart rate was up,” Sean admitted. “But it went smoothly except for that little episode in the computer room. And now that it’s over, wasn’t it exciting? Just a little?”

  “No!” Janet said emphatically.

  They drove in silence until Sean spoke again: “I still can’t figure out what that computer was doing. And I can’t figure out what it has to do with organ donation. They certainly don’t use organs from deceased cancer patients. It’s too risky in relation to transplanting the cancer as well as the organ. Any ideas?”

  “I can’t think about anything at this point,” Janet said.

  They pulled into the Forbes residence.

  “Geez, look at that old Caddy convertible,” Sean said. “What a boat. Barry Dunhegan had one just like it when I was a kid, except his was pink. He was a bookmaker and all us kids thought he was cool.”

  Janet cast a cursory glance at the finned monster parked within the shadow of an exotic tree. She marveled how Sean could go through such a wrenching experience, then think about cars.

  Sean pulled to a stop and yanked on the emergency brake. They got out of the car and entered the building in silence. Sean was thinking about how nice it would be to spend the night with Janet. He couldn’t blame the security guard for ogling her. As Sean climbed the stairs behind Janet, he was reminded how fabulous her legs were.

  As they came abreast of his door he reached out and drew her to him, enveloping her in his arms. For a moment they merely hugged.

  “What about staying together tonight?” Sean forced himself to ask. His voice was hesitant; he feared rejection. Janet didn’t answer immediately, and the longer she delayed, the more optimistic he bec
ame. Finally he used his left hand to take out his keys.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said.

  “Come on,” Sean urged. He could smell her fragrance from having held her close.

  “No!” Janet said with finality after another pause. Although she’d been wavering, she’d made a decision. “I know it would be nice, and I could use the sense of security after this evening, but we have to talk first.”

  Sean rolled his eyes in frustration. She could be so impossibly stubborn. “Okay,” he said petulantly, trying another tack. “Have it your way.” He let go of her, opened his door, and stepped inside. Before shutting the door, he glanced at her face. What he wanted to see was sudden concern that he was miffed. Instead he saw irritation. Janet turned and walked away.

  After closing his door, Sean felt guilty. He went to his slider, opened it, and stepped out on the balcony. A few doors down he saw Janet’s light in her living room go on. Sean hesitated, not sure what to do.

  “MEN,” JANET said aloud with ire and exasperation. She hesitated inside her door, going over the conversation outside Sean’s door. There was no reason for him to get angry with her. Hadn’t she gone along with his risky plan? Didn’t she generally defer to his wishes? Why couldn’t he ever even try to understand hers?

  Knowing that nothing would be solved that evening, Janet walked into the bedroom and turned on the light. Although she would later remember it, it didn’t completely register that her bathroom door was closed. When Janet was by herself she never closed doors. It had been a habit developed as a child.

  Pulling off her tank top and unhooking her bra, Janet tossed them on the armchair by the bed. She undid the clip on the top of her head and shook her hair free. She felt exhausted, irritable, and as one of her roommates at college used to say, fried. Picking up the hair dryer she’d tossed on her bed in haste that morning, Janet opened the bathroom and entered. The moment she turned on the light, she became aware of a hulking presence to her left. Reacting instinctively, Janet’s hand shot out as if to fend off the intruder.