Terminal

by Robin Cook

  7

  March 6

  Saturday, 4:45 A.M.

  As soon as Sean’s eyes fluttered open, he was instantly awake. He couldn’t wait to get to the lab to unravel more of the medulloblastoma mystery cure. The little work that he’d been able to do the night before had merely whetted his appetite. Despite the early hour, he slipped out of bed, showered, and dressed.

  When Sean was ready to leave for the lab he tiptoed back into the dark bedroom and gently nudged Janet. He knew she’d want to sleep until the last possible moment but there was something he wanted to tell her.

  Janet rolled over and groaned: “Is it time to get up already?”

  “No,” Sean whispered. “I’m off to the lab. You can go back to sleep for a few minutes. But I wanted to remind you to pack some things for our overnight trip to Naples. I want to leave this afternoon when you get off work.”

  “Why do I have the feeling you have some ulterior motive in this?” Janet asked, rubbing her eyes. “What’s with Naples?”

  “I’ll tell you on our way there,” Sean said. “If we leave from the Forbes we’ll beat the traffic out of Miami. Don’t pack a lot of stuff. All you’ll need is something for dinner tonight, a bathing suit, and jeans. One other thing,” Sean added, leaning over her.

  Janet looked into his eyes.

  “I want you to get some of Louis Martin’s medicine this morning,” he said.

  Janet sat up. “Great!” she exclaimed sarcastically. “How do you expect me to do that? I told you how hard it was to get Helen’s samples.”

  “Calm down,” Sean said. “Just give it a try. It could be important. You said that you thought the medicine all came from a single batch. I want to prove it’s impossible. I don’t need a lot, and just some from the larger vial. Even a few cc’s will do.”

  “They control the medicine more carefully than a narcotic,” Janet complained.

  “What about diluting it with saline?” Sean suggested. “You know, the old trick of putting water in your parents’ liquor bottles. They’re not going to know the concentration changed.”

  Janet thought about the suggestion. “You think it could hurt the patient?”

  “I can’t see how,” Sean said. “More than likely it’s designed with a wide safety margin.”

  “All right, I’ll try,” Janet said with reluctance. She hated being deceptive and devious with Marjorie.

  “That’s all I can ask,” Sean said. He kissed her on the forehead.

  “Now I can’t get back to sleep,” she complained as Sean headed for the door.

  “We’ll be sure to get lots of sleep over the weekend,” he promised.

  As Sean made his way out to his 4×4 there was only a slight hint of dawn in the eastern sky. To the west the stars twinkled as if it were still the middle of the night.

  Pulling away from the curb, he was already preoccupied with the work ahead in the lab and oblivious to his surroundings. Once again he failed to notice the dark green Mercedes as it too pulled out into the light traffic several cars behind.

  Inside the Mercedes Wayne Edwards was dialing his car phone, calling Sterling Rombauer at the Grand Bay Hotel in Coconut Grove.

  A sleepy Sterling picked up on the third ring.

  “He’s left the lair and is heading west,” Wayne said. “Presumably to Forbes.”

  “Okay,” Sterling said. “Stay with him. I’ll join you. I was just informed a half an hour ago that the Sushita jet is winging south at this very moment.”

  “Sounds like game time,” Wayne said.

  “That’s my assumption,” Sterling said.

  ANNE MURPHY was depressed again, Charles had come home, but he’d only stayed one night. And now that he was gone, the apartment seemed so lonely. He was such a pleasure to be with, so calm and so close to God. She was still in bed, wondering if she should get up, when the front door buzzer sounded.

  Anne reached for her plaid robe and headed for the kitchen. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but then she hadn’t been expecting the two callers inquiring about Sean, either. She remembered her promise not to talk to any strangers about Sean or Oncogen.

  “Who is it?” Anne asked, pressing the talk button of her intercom.

  “Boston police,” a voice replied.

  A shiver went down Anne’s spine as she buzzed the door open. She was sure this visit meant Sean had reverted to his old ways. After quickly brushing out her hair, she went to the door. A man and a woman were standing there, dressed in Boston police uniforms. Anne had never seen either of them before.

  “Sorry to bother you, ma’am,” the female officer said. She held up her identification. “I’m Officer Hallihan and this is Officer Mercer.”

  Anne was clutching the lapels of her robe, holding it closed. The police had come to the door a number of times when Sean had been a teenager. This visit brought back bad memories.

  “What’s the problem?” Anne asked.

  “Are you Anne Murphy, mother of Sean Murphy?” Officer Hallihan asked.

  Anne nodded.

  “We’re here at the request of the Miami police,” Officer Mercer said. “Do you know where your son Sean Murphy is currently?”

  “He’s at the Forbes Cancer Center in Miami,” Anne said. “What’s happened?”

  “We don’t know that,” Officer Hallihan said.

  “Is he in trouble?” Anne asked, afraid to hear the answer.

  “We really have no information,” Officer Hallihan said. “Do you have an address for him there?”

  Anne went to the telephone table in the hall, copied down the address of the Forbes residence, and gave it to the police.

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Hallihan said. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

  Anne closed the door and leaned against it. In her heart, she knew that what she’d feared had happened: Miami had been the bad influence she’d suspected; Sean was in trouble again.

  As soon as she thought she was composed enough, Anne called Brian at home.

  “Sean’s in trouble again,” she blurted when Brian answered. Tears came as soon as she got the words out.

  “Mom, try to control yourself,” Brian said.

  “You have to do something,” Anne said between sobs.

  Brian got his mother to calm down enough to tell him what had happened and what the police had said.

  “It’s probably some traffic violation,” Brian said. “He probably drove over someone’s lawn, something like that.”

  “I think it’s worse,” Anne sniffled. “I know it is. I can feel it. That boy will be the death of me.”

  “How about if I come over?” Brian said. “I’ll make some calls in the meantime and check it out. I bet it’s something minor.”

  “I hope so,” Anne said as she blew her nose.

  While Anne waited for Brian to drive over from Marlborough Street, she dressed and began putting her hair up. Brian lived across the Charles River in Back Bay, and since it was Saturday with no traffic, he was there in half an hour. When he buzzed to let her know he was on his way up, Anne was putting in the last of her hairpins.

  “Before I left my apartment I put in a call to a lawyer colleague in Miami by the name of Kevin Porter,” Brian told his mother. “He works for a firm we do business with in the Miami area. I told him what had happened, and he said he had an in with the police and could find out what’s going on.”

  “I know it’s bad,” Anne said.

  “You don’t know it’s bad!” Brian said. “Now don’t get yourself all worked up. Remember last time you ended up in the hospital.”

  The call from Kevin Porter came within minutes of Brian’s arrival.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have great news for you,” Kevin said. “A liquor store owner got your brother’s tag leaving the scene of a burglary.”

  Brian sighed and looked at his mother. She was sitting on the very edge of a straight-backed chair with her hands clasped together in her lap. Brian was furious with Sean. Didn’t he eve
r consider the effects of his escapades on their poor mother?

  “It’s a weird story,” Kevin continued. “It seems that a dead body was mutilated and, you ready for this…?”

  “Let me have the whole story,” Brian said.

  “Somebody stole the brain out of the body,” Kevin said. “And this body wasn’t some derelict. The deceased was a young woman whose father is some business bigwig up there in Beantown.”

  “Here in Boston?”

  “Yup, and there’s a big ruckus down here because of his connections,” Kevin said. “Pressure is being put on the police to do something. The state’s attorney has drawn up a list of charges a mile long. The medical examiner who looked at the body guessed the skull had been opened with a jigsaw.”

  “And Sean’s 4 × 4 was seen leaving the scene?” Brian asked. He was already trying to think of a defense.

  “Afraid so,” Kevin said. “Plus one of the medical examiners says your brother and a nurse were at the medical examiner’s office only a few hours before asking about the same body. Seems they wanted samples. Looks like they got them. Obviously the police are looking for your brother and the nurse for questioning and probably arrest.”

  “Thanks, Kevin,” Brian said. “Let me know where you’ll be today. I might need you, especially if Sean is arrested.”

  “You can reach me all weekend,” Kevin said. “I’ll leave word at the station to call me if your brother is picked up.”

  Brian slowly replaced the receiver and looked at his mother. He knew she wasn’t ready for this, especially since she thought Sean was alone in Sodom and Gomorrah.

  “Do you have Sean’s phone numbers handy?” he asked. He tried to keep the concern out of his voice.

  Anne got them for him without speaking.

  Brian called the residence first. He let it ring a dozen times before giving up. Then he tried calling the Forbes Cancer Center research building. Unfortunately all he got was a recording saying that the switchboard was open Monday through Friday, eight until five.

  Picking the phone back up decisively, he called Delta Airlines and made a reservation on the noon flight to Miami. Something strange was going on, and he thought he’d better be there in the thick of things.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” Anne said. “It’s bad.”

  “I’m sure it’s all some misunderstanding,” Brian said. “That’s why I think I should go down there and clear things up.”

  “I don’t know what I did wrong,” Anne said.

  “Mother,” Brian said. “It’s not your fault.”

  HIROSHI GYUHAMA’S stomach was bothering him. His nerves were on edge. Ever since Sean had frightened him in the stairwell, he’d been reluctant to spy on the man. But this morning he’d had no choice. He checked on Sean as soon as he saw the 4 × 4 in the parking lot so early in the day. When he saw that Sean was feverishly working in his lab, Hiroshi returned to his office.

  Hiroshi was doubly upset now that Tanaka Yamaguchi was in town. Hiroshi had met him at the airport two days earlier and had driven him to the Doral Country Club where he planned to stay and play golf until the final word came from Sushita.

  The final word had come late Friday night. After reviewing Tanaka’s memorandum, the Sushita board had decided that Sean Murphy was a risk to the Forbes investment. Sushita wanted him in Tokyo forthwith where they would “reason” with him.

  Hiroshi was not at all comfortable around Tanaka. Knowing of the man’s associations with the Yakusa made Hiroshi extremely wary. And Tanaka gave subtle hints that he did not respect Hiroshi. He’d bowed when they met, but he hadn’t bowed very low, and not for very long. Their conversation on the way to the hotel had been inconsequential. Tanaka did not mention Sean Murphy. And once they arrived at the hotel, Tanaka had ignored Hiroshi. Worst of all he did not invite Hiroshi to play golf.

  All these slights were painfully obvious to Hiroshi; the implications were clear.

  Hiroshi dialed the Doral Country Club Hotel and asked to speak with Mr. Yamaguchi. He was transferred to the clubhouse since Mr. Yamaguchi had scheduled a tee time in twenty minutes.

  Tanaka came on the line. He was particularly curt when he heard Hiroshi’s voice. Speaking in rapid Japanese, Hiroshi got directly to the point.

  “Mr. Sean Murphy is here at the research center,” Hiroshi said.

  “Thank you,” Tanaka said. “The plane is on its way. All is in order. We will be at Forbes this afternoon.”

  SEAN HAD started the morning off in high spirits. After the initial ease of identifying the immunoglobulin and the three cytokines, Sean had expected just as rapid progress in determining exactly what kind of antigen the immunoglobulin reacted to. Since it reacted so strongly with the tumor cell suspension, he reasoned that the antigen had to be membrane-based. In other words, the antigen had to be on the surface of the cancer cells.

  To assure himself of this assumption as well as confirm that the antigen was at least partially a peptide, Sean had treated intact cells from Helen’s tumor with trypsin. When he tried to see if these digested cells reacted with the immunoglobulin, he quickly learned they did not.

  But from that moment on, Sean had run into trouble. He could not characterize this membrane-based antigen. His idea was to try innumerable known antigens and see if they reacted with the antigen binding portion of the unknown immunoglobulin. None reacted. Using literally hundreds of cell lines grown in tissue culture, he spent hours filling the little wells, but he got no reaction. He was particularly interested in cell lines whose origins were from neural tissues. He tried normal cells and transformed or neoplastic cells. He tried digesting all the cells with detergents in increasing concentration, first to open the cell membranes and expose cytoplasmic antigens, then to open nuclear membranes to expose nuclear antigens. Still nothing reacted. There wasn’t a single episode of immunofluorescence in any of hundreds of tiny wells.

  Sean couldn’t believe how difficult it was turning out to be to find an antigen to react with the mysterious immunoglobulin. So far he hadn’t even gotten a partial reaction. Just when he was losing patience, the phone rang. He walked to a wall extension to answer it. It was Janet.

  “How’s it going, Einstein?” she asked brightly.

  “Terrible,” Sean said. “I’m not getting anywhere.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Janet said. “But I’ve got something that might brighten your day.”

  “What?” Sean asked. At the moment he couldn’t imagine anything except the antigen he was seeking. But Janet certainly wouldn’t be able to supply that.

  “I got a sample of Louis Martin’s large vial medicine,” Janet said. “I used your idea.”

  “Great,” Sean said without much enthusiasm.

  “What’s the matter?” Janet questioned. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  “I am pleased,” he said. “But I’m also frustrated with the stuff I have; I’m at a loss.”

  “Let’s meet so I can give you this syringe,” Janet said. “Maybe you need a break.”

  They met as usual in the cafeteria. Sean took advantage of the time to get something to eat. As before, Janet passed Sean the syringe under the table. He slipped it into his pocket.

  “I brought my overnight bag, as requested,” she said, hoping to lighten Sean’s mood.

  Sean merely nodded as he ate his sandwich.

  “You seem a lot less excited about our trip than you did this morning,” Janet commented.

  “I’m just preoccupied,” Sean said. “I never would have guessed I’d not find some antigen that would react with the mysterious immunoglobulin.”

  “My day hasn’t been so great either,” Janet said. “Gloria is no better. If anything, she’s a little worse. Seeing her makes me depressed. I don’t know about you, but I’m really looking forward to getting away. I think it will do us both some good. Maybe a little time away from the lab will give you some ideas.”

  “That would be nice,” Sean said dully.

 
; “I’ll be off sometime around three-thirty,” Janet said. “Where shall we meet?”

  “Come over to the research building,” Sean said. “I’ll meet you downstairs in the foyer. If we leave from that side, we’ll miss the shift-change crowd in the hospital.”

  “I’ll be there with bells on,” Janet said brightly.

  STERLING REACHED over the seat and nudged Wayne. Wayne, who’d been sleeping in the back, sat up quickly.

  “This looks promising,” Sterling said. He pointed through the windshield at a black stretch Lincoln Town Car that was parking at the curb midway between the hospital building and the research building. Once the car stopped, a Japanese man got out of the rear and gazed up at the two buildings.

  “That’s Tanaka Yamaguchi,” Sterling said. “Can you tell how many people are in the limousine with your glasses?”

  “It’s difficult to see through the tinted windows,” Wayne said, using a small pair of binoculars. “There’s a second man sitting in the back seat. Wait a sec. The front door is opening as well. I can see two more. That’s four people total.”

  “That’s what I’d expect,” Sterling said. “I trust that they’re all Japanese.”

  “You got it, man,” Wayne said.

  “I’m surprised they’re here at Forbes,” Sterling said. “Tanaka’s preferred technique is to abduct people in an isolated location so there will be no witnesses.”

  “They’ll probably follow him,” Wayne suggested. “Then just wait for the right spot.”

  “I imagine you are right,” Sterling said. He saw a second man get out of the limousine. He was tall compared to Tanaka. “Let me have a look with those binoculars,” Sterling said. Wayne passed them over the seat. Sterling adjusted the focus of the glasses and studied the two Orientals. He didn’t recognize the second one.

  “Why don’t we go over there and introduce ourselves?” Wayne suggested. “Let them know this is a risky operation. Maybe they’d give up the whole plan.”

  “That would only serve to alert them,” Sterling said. “It’s better this way. If we announce ourselves too soon they’ll merely operate more clandestinely. We have to catch them in the act so we have something we can use to bargain with them.”