by Robin Cook
“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 te
rrace. “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 find 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?
&
nbsp; “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.
