Terminal

by Robin Cook

  “It seems like such a cat-and-mouse game,” Wayne said.

  “You are absolutely correct,” Sterling said.

  ROBERT HARRIS had been sitting in his car a few doors down from Tom Widdicomb’s home on Palmetto Lane in Hialeah since early that morning. Although he’d been there for over four hours, Harris had seen no sign of life except that the lights had all gone out. Once he thought he saw the curtains move the way they had the night before, but he couldn’t be certain. He thought maybe in his boredom his eyes were playing tricks on him.

  Several times Harris had been on the verge of giving up. He was wasting too much valuable time on one individual who was suspicious only because of a career switch, the fact that he kept all his lights on, and because he wouldn’t answer his doorbell. Yet the idea that the attack on the two nurses could be related to the cancer patient episodes gnawed at Harris. With no other current ideas or leads, he stayed where he was.

  It was just after two P.M., and just when Harris was about to leave to deal with hunger and other bodily needs, that he first saw Tom Widdicomb. The garage door went up, and there he was, blinking in the bright sunlight.

  Physically, Tom fit the bill. He was of medium height and medium build with brown hair. His clothes were mildly disheveled. His shirt and pants were unpressed. One sleeve of his shirt was rolled up to mid-forearm, the other was down but unbuttoned. On his feet were old, lightweight running shoes.

  There were two cars in the garage: a huge, vintage lime green Cadillac convertible and a gray Ford Escort. Tom started the Ford with some difficulty. Once the engine caught, black smoke billowed out of the exhaust as if the car had not been started for some time. Tom backed it out of the garage, closed the garage door manually, then got back into the Escort. When he pulled out of the driveway, Harris let him build up a lead before following.

  Harris did not have any preconceived plan. When he first saw Tom the moment the garage door opened, he considered getting out of the car and having a conversation with the man. But he’d held back, and now he was following him for no specific reason. But soon it became apparent where Tom was headed, and Harris got progressively interested. Tom was heading for the Forbes Cancer Center.

  When Tom entered the parking lot, Harris followed but purposefully turned in the opposite direction to avoid Tom’s noticing him. Harris stopped quickly, opened the door, and stood on the running board as he watched Tom cruise around the parking lot and finally stop near the entrance to the hospital.

  Harris got back into his car and worked his way closer, finding a vacant spot about fifty feet from the Escort. What was going through his mind was the possibility that Tom Widdicomb might be stalking the second nurse to be attacked, Janet Reardon. If that were true, perhaps he’d been the one who had attacked her, and if he had, maybe he was the breast cancer patients’ killer.

  Harris shook his head. It was all so conjectural, with so many “ifs” and so contrary to the way he liked to think and act. He liked facts, not vague suppositions. Yet this was all he had for the moment, and Tom Widdicomb was acting strange: staying in a house with every light on; hiding out most of the day; now loitering in the hospital parking area on his day off, especially when he was supposed to be home sick. As ridiculous as it all might have sounded from a rational point of view it was enough to keep Harris sitting in his car wishing he’d had the foresight to bring sandwiches and Gatorade.

  WHEN SEAN returned from his meeting with Janet, he changed the direction of his investigations. Instead of attempting to characterize the antigenic specificity of Helen Cabot’s medicine, he decided to determine exactly how Louis Martin’s medicine differed from hers. A rapid electrophoresis of the two showed them to be of approximately the same molecular weight, which he’d expected. An equally rapid ELISA test with the anti-human immunoglobulin IgGI confirmed it was the same class of immunoglobulins as Helen’s. He’d also expected that.

  But then he discovered the unexpected. He ran a fluorescence antibody test with Louis Martin’s medicine with Helen’s tumor and got just as strong a positive reaction as he’d gotten with Helen’s medicine! Even though Janet believed that the medicines came from the same source, Sean did not believe they could be the same. From what he knew about the antigenic specificity of cancers and their antibodies, it was extremely improbable. Yet now he was faced with the fact that Louis’s medicine reacted with Helen’s tumor. He almost wished he could get his hands on Louis’s biopsy just so he could run it against Helen’s medicine to confirm this baffling finding.

  Sitting at the lab bench, Sean tried to think what to do next. He could subject Louis Martin’s medicine to the same battery of antigens he’d tried with Helen’s medicine, but that would probably be futile. Instead, he decided to characterize the antigenic binding areas of the two immunoglobulins. Then he could compare their amino acid sequences directly.

  The first step of this procedure was to digest each of the immunoglobulins with an enzyme called papain to split off the fragments that were associated with antigen binding. After the splitting, Sean separated these segments, then “unfolded” the molecules. Finally, he introduced these compounds into an automated peptide analyzer that would do the complicated work of sequencing the amino acids. The machine was on the sixth floor.

  Sean went to the sixth floor and primed the automated instruments. There were a few other researchers working that Saturday morning, but Sean was too engrossed in his work to start any conversations.

  Once the analyzer was prepared and set to run, Sean returned to his lab. Since he had more of Helen’s medicine than he did of Louis’s, he used hers to continue trying to find something that would react with its antigen binding area. He tried to think what kind of surface antigen could be on her tumor cells and reasoned that it was probably some kind of glycoprotein that formed a cellular binding site.

  That was when he thought of the Forbes glycoprotein that he had been trying to crystallize.

  As he had been doing with numerous other antigen candidates, he tested the reactivity of the Forbes glycoprotein with Helen’s medicine using an immunofluorescence test. Just as he was scanning the plate for signs of reactivity, which he didn’t see, he was startled by a husky female voice.

  “Exactly what are you doing?”

  Sean turned to see Dr. Deborah Levy standing directly behind him. Her eyes sparkled with a fierce intensity.

  Sean was taken completely by surprise. He’d not even taken the precaution of coming up with a convincing cover story for all his immunological testing. He hadn’t expected anyone to interrupt him on Saturday morning, particularly not Dr. Levy; he didn’t even think she was in town.

  “I asked a simple question,” Dr. Levy said. “I expect an answer.”

  Sean looked away from Dr. Levy, his eyes sweeping over the mess of reagents on the lab bench, the profusion of cell culture tubes, and the general disarray. He stammered, trying to think up some reasonable explanation. Nothing came to mind except the crystal work he was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately that had nothing to do with immunology.

  “I’m trying to grow crystals,” Sean said.

  “Where are they?” Dr. Levy asked evenly. Her tone indicated she would take some convincing.

  Sean didn’t answer right away.

  “I’m waiting for an answer,” Dr. Levy said.

  “I don’t know exactly,” Sean said. He felt like a fool.

  “I told you I run a tight ship here,” Dr. Levy said. “I have a feeling you didn’t take my word.”

  “I did,” Sean hastened to say. “I mean, I do.”

  “Roger Calvet said you haven’t been by to inject any more of your mice,” Dr. Levy said.

  “Yes, well…” Sean began.

  “And Mr. Harris said he caught you in our maximum containment area,” Dr. Levy interrupted. “Claire Barington said she told you specifically that area was closed.”

  “I just thought…” Sean started to say.

  “I let you know from the s
tart that I did not approve of your coming here,” Dr. Levy said. “Your behavior thus far has only confirmed my reservations. I want to know what you are doing with all this equipment and expensive reagents. One doesn’t use immunologic materials to grow protein crystals.”

  “I’m just fooling around,” Sean said lamely. The last thing he wanted to admit was that he was working on medulloblastoma, particularly after he’d been forbidden access.

  “Fooling around!” Dr. Levy repeated contemptuously. “What do you think this place is, your personal playground?” Despite her dark complexion, color rose in her cheeks. “No one does any work around here without submitting a formal proposal to me. I’m in charge of research. You are to work on the colonic glycoprotein project and on that alone. Do I make myself clear? I want to see defractable crystals by next week.”

  “Okay,” Sean said. He avoided looking at the woman.

  Dr. Levy stayed for another minute, as if to make sure her words had sunk in. Sean felt like a child caught red-handed in a naughty act. He didn’t have a thing to say for himself. His usual talent for witty retort had momentarily abandoned him.

  At long last, Dr. Levy stalked out of the lab. Silence returned.

  For a few minutes Sean merely stared at the mess in front of him without moving. He still had no idea where the crystal work was. It had to be there someplace, but he didn’t make any move to find it. He simply shook his head. What a ridiculous situation. His sense of frustration came back in a rush. He’d really had it with this place. He never should have come—and never would have had he known the Forbes Center’s terms. He should have left in protest as soon as he’d been informed. It was all he could do to restrain himself from using his hand to sweep the countertop of all the glassware, pipettes, and immunologic reagents and allow them to smash to the floor.

  Sean looked at his watch. It was just after two in the afternoon. “The hell with it all,” he thought. Gathering up the immunoglobulin unknowns, he stashed them in the back of the refrigerator along with Helen Cabot’s brain and the sample of her cerebrospinal fluid.

  Sean grabbed his jean jacket and headed for the elevators, leaving behind the mess he’d created.

  Emerging into the bright, warm Miami sunshine, Sean felt a bit of relief. Tossing his jacket into the back seat of his 4 × 4, he climbed in behind the wheel. The engine roared to life. He made it a point to burn a little rubber as he exited the parking area and sped south toward the Forbes residence. He was so wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the stretch limo pull out after him, bumping its undercarriage on the dip as it struggled to keep Sean in sight, nor did he spot the dark green Mercedes tailing the limo.

  Sean sped back to his apartment, slammed the car door with extra force, and kicked the front door of the residence shut. He was in a foul mood.

  Going into his apartment, he heard the door across the hall open. It was Gary Engels dressed in his usual jeans without a shirt.

  “Hey, man,” Gary said casually, leaning against the door jamb. “You had some company earlier.”

  “What kind of company?” Sean asked.

  “The Miami police,” Gary said. “Two big burly cops came in here nosing around, asking all sorts of questions about you and your car.”

  “When?” Sean asked.

  “Just minutes ago,” Gary said. “You could have passed them in the parking lot.”

  “Thanks,” Sean said. He went into his apartment and closed the door, irritated anew with another problem. There was only one explanation for the police’s visit: someone had noted his license plate after the funeral home alarm went off.

  The last thing Sean wanted now was a hassle with the police. He grabbed a small suitcase and filled it with a dop kit, underwear, a bathing suit, and shoes. In his garment bag he packed a shirt, tie, slacks, and a jacket. In less than three minutes he was headed back down the stairs.

  Before stepping out of the building he looked to see if there were any police cars, marked or otherwise. The only vehicle that looked out of place was a limousine. Confident the cops wouldn’t be coming after him in a limo, Sean made a dash for his 4 × 4, then headed back to the Forbes Cancer Center. En route he stopped to use a pay phone.

  The idea the police were looking for him bothered Sean immensely. It brought back bad memories of his unruly youth. Parts of his brief life of petty crime had been exhilarating, but his brushes with the judicial system had only been tedious and disheartening. He never wanted to get bogged down in that bureaucratic quagmire again.

  The first person Sean thought to call after hearing about the police was his brother Brian. Before Sean spoke to any police, he wanted to speak to the best lawyer he knew. He hoped his brother would be home. He usually was on Saturday afternoon. But instead of Brian he got Brian’s answering machine with its inane message complete with background elevator music. Sometimes Sean wondered how they could have grown up in the same house.

  Sean left a message saying that it was important that they talk, but that he couldn’t leave a number. He said he’d call later. Sean would try again once he got to Naples.

  Returning to his car, Sean sped back toward the Forbes. He wanted to be sure to be at their appointed meeting place when Janet got off work.

  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 find 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 buildi
ng, 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.