Terminal

by Robin Cook

  “She’s got a good point,” Sean admitted. “But Mr. Betencourt, as a medical student I’m interested in your experience as a patient, and I’d like to hear it in your own words. How did you understand the treatment you were given? Especially considering the business you are in, I’m sure you were interested.”

  “You mean the quality of the treatment or the treatment per se?”

  “The treatment per se,” Sean said.

  “I’m a businessman, not a doctor,” Malcolm said. “But I consider myself an informed layperson. When I got to Forbes they immediately started me on immunotherapy with an antibody. On the first day they took a biopsy of the tumor, and they took white blood cells from my body. They incubated the white blood cells with the tumor to sensitize them to become ‘killer cells.’ Finally, they injected my own sensitized cells back into my bloodstream. As I understand it, the antibody coated the cancer cells and then the killer cells came along and ate ‘em up.”

  Malcolm shrugged and looked at Harriet to see if she wanted to add anything.

  “That’s what happened,” she agreed. “Those little cells went in there and gave those rumors hell!”

  “At first my symptoms got a little worse,” Malcolm said. “But then they got progressively better. We followed the progression on MRI. The tumors just melted away. And today I feel great.” To emphasize his point he gave his chest a thump with his fist.

  “And now you are treated in the outpatient?” Sean asked.

  “That’s right,” Malcolm said. “I’m scheduled at present to go back every six months. But Dr. Mason is convinced I’m cured, so I expect to extend it out to once a year. Each time I go I get a dose of antibody just to be sure.”

  “And no more symptoms?” Sean asked.

  “Nothing,” Malcolm said. “I’m fit as a fiddle.”

  The first-course dishes were removed. The main course arrived along with a mellow red wine. Sean felt relaxed despite the episode on the beach. He glanced at Janet, who was having a separate conversation with Harriet; it turned out they had family friends in common. Janet smiled back at Sean when he caught her eye. Clearly she, too, was enjoying herself.

  Malcolm took an appreciative taste of his wine. “Not bad for an ‘86 Napa,” he said. He put his glass down on the table and looked over at Sean. “Not only have I no symptoms from the brain tumor, but I feel great. Better than I have in years. Of course, I’m probably comparing it to the year before I got the immunotherapy which was pure hell. Not much else could have gone wrong. First I had knee surgery, which wasn’t fun, then encephalitis, and then the brain tumor. This year I’ve been great. Haven’t even had a cold.”

  “You had encephalitis?” Sean asked, his fork poised halfway to his mouth.

  “Yes,” Malcolm said. “I was a medical oddity. Somebody could have gone through medical school just studying me. I had a bout of headache, fever, and was generally feeling crappy, and…” Malcolm leaned over and spoke behind his hand. “There was some burning in my pecker when I peed.” He glanced over to be sure the women hadn’t overheard.

  “How did you know it was encephalitis?” Sean asked. He put his full fork down on his plate.

  “Well, the headache was the worst part,” Malcolm said. “I went to my local internist who sent me down to Columbia Presbyterian. They’re used to seeing strange stuff down there, all kinds of exotic, tropical diseases. They had these high-powered infectious-disease people see me. They were the ones who first suspected encephalitis and then proved it with some new method called polymerase something or other.”

  “Polymerase Chain Reaction,” Sean said as if he were in a trance. “What kind of encephalitis was it?”

  “They called it SLE,” Malcolm said. “It stands for St. Louis encephalitis. They were all surprised, saying it was kinda out of season. But I had been on a couple of trips. Anyway, the encephalitis was mild, and after some bed rest I felt fine. Then of course, two months later, bam! I got a brain tumor. I thought I was done for. So did my doctors up north. First they thought it had spread from someplace else like my colon or my prostate. But when they all proved clean, they decided to biopsy. The rest, of course, is history.”

  Malcolm took another bite of his food, chewed and swallowed it. He took a taste of his wine, then glanced back at Sean. Sean hadn’t moved. He appeared stunned. Malcolm leaned across the table to look him in the eye. “You okay, young fella?”

  Sean blinked as if he were emerging from hypnosis. “I’m fine,” he stammered. He quickly apologized for seeming distracted, saying that he was just astounded by Malcolm’s story. He thanked Malcolm profusely for being willing to share it with him.

  “My pleasure,” Malcolm said. “If I can help train a few of you medical students, I’ll feel like I’m repaying a little of the interest I owe on my debt to the medical profession. If it weren’t for your mentor Dr. Mason and his colleague Dr. Levy, I wouldn’t be here today.”

  Malcolm then turned his attention to the women, and while everyone but Sean ate his dinner, the conversation switched to Naples and why the Betencourts had decided to build their house there.

  “How about we take our dessert out on the terrace above the pool,” Harriet suggested after the dishes had been cleared.

  “I’m sorry but we’ll have to skip dessert,” Sean said, speaking up after a long silence. “Janet and I have been working tremendously hard. I’m afraid we’ll have to get back to our hotel before we fall asleep on our feet. Right, Janet?”

  Janet nodded and smiled self-consciously, but it was not a smile motivated by cheerful assent. It was an attempt to hide her mortification.

  Five minutes later they were saying goodbye in the Betencourts’ grand foyer with Malcolm insisting that if Sean had any more questions he should call him directly. He gave Sean his private direct-dial number.

  When the door closed behind them, and they started out the massive driveway, Janet was incensed. “That was a rude way to end the evening,” she said. “After they’d been so gracious with us, you practically walk out in the middle of the meal.”

  “That was the end of the meal,” Sean reminded her. “Harriet was talking about dessert. Besides, I couldn’t sit there another minute. Malcolm made me realize several extraordinary things. I don’t know if you were listening when he described his illnesses.”

  “I was talking with Harriet,” Janet said irritably.

  “He told me he had an operation, encephalitis, and then his brain tumor all within a period of a few months.”

  “What did that tell you?” Janet asked.

  “It made me realize that both Helen Cabot and Louis Martin had the same history,” Sean said. “I know because I did their history and physicals.”

  “You think these illnesses are related somehow?” she asked. Some of the anger was gone from her voice.

  “It seems to me I saw a similar sequence and timing in a number of the charts we copied,” Sean said. “I’m not positive because I wasn’t looking for it, but even with three, the possibility of it happening by chance is pretty small.”

  “What are you saying?” Janet asked.

  “I don’t know for sure,” Sean said. “But it convinced me I want to go to Key West. Forbes has a spin-off diagnostic lab down there where they sent the biopsies. It’s a favorite trick of hospitals to have quasi-independent labs to maximize the profits they can make out of diagnostic lab work, self-referral limitations be damned.”

  “I have next weekend off,” Janet said. “Both Saturday and Sunday. I wouldn’t mind visiting Key West.”

  “I don’t want to wait,” Sean said. “I want to go right away. I think we’re on to something here.” He was also thinking that between the police looking for him and not being able to reach Brian, he might not have the luxury of waiting a week.

  Janet stopped dead in her tracks and glanced at her watch. It was after ten. “Are you talking about going there tonight?” she asked with disbelief.

  “Let’s find out how far it i
s,” Sean said. “Then we can decide.”

  Janet started walking again, passing Sean who’d paused when she had. “Sean, you are getting more incomprehensible and crazier all the time,” she said. “You call people up at the last minute, get them to graciously invite you to dinner, then you walk out in the middle because you suddenly have the idea of going to Key West. I give up. But I’ll tell you something: this lady is not going to Key West tonight. This lady is…”

  Janet didn’t finish her angry monologue. Rounding the Pontiac, which was partially hidden by a large banyan tree, she’d practically collided with a figure in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. His face and hair were obscured by shadows.

  Janet gasped. She was still on edge from the episode on the beach, and confronting yet another man coming out of the dark frightened her terribly. Sean started toward her but was stopped by a similarly shadowy figure on his side of the car.

  Despite the darkness, Sean could tell the man before him was Asian. Before Sean knew it, a third man had stepped behind him. For a moment no one spoke. Sean glanced back at the house and estimated how long it would take him to cover the distance to the front door. He also thought about what he’d do once he got there. Unfortunately, a lot depended on how quickly Malcolm Betencourt responded.

  “If you please,” the man in front of Sean said in flawless English. “Mr. Yamaguchi would be most grateful if you and your companion would come and have a word with him.”

  Sean looked at each man in turn. All of them exuded an aura of total confidence and tranquility that Sean found unnerving. Sean could feel the weight of Tom’s pistol in his jacket pocket, but he dared not pull it out. He had no experience with guns, and there was no way he could shoot these people. And he hesitated to think how these men might retaliate.

  “It would be regretful if there was trouble,” the same man said. “Please, Mr. Yamaguchi is waiting in a car parked on the street.”

  “Sean,” Janet called over the top of the car in a wavering voice, “who are these people?”

  “I don’t know,” Sean answered her. Then, to the man in front of him, he said: “Can you give me an idea who Mr. Yamaguchi is, and why he particularly wants to talk with us?”

  “Please,” the man repeated. “Mr. Yamaguchi will tell you himself. Please, the car is just a few steps away.”

  “Well, since you are being so nice about it,” Sean said. “Sure, let’s say hello to Mr. Yamaguchi.”

  Sean turned and started around the car. The man who was standing behind him stepped aside. Sean put an arm around Janet’s shoulder and together they started toward the street. The taller Japanese man, the one who had been in front of Sean, led the way. The other two silently followed.

  The limousine was parked beneath a line of trees and was so dark it was difficult to see it until they were only a few feet away. The taller man opened the rear door and motioned for Sean and Janet to climb inside.

  “Can’t Mr. Yamaguchi come out?” Sean asked. He wondered if this was the same limo that he thought had been following them on their way to the Betencourts’. He guessed it was.

  “Please,” the taller Japanese man said. “It will be far more comfortable inside.”

  Sean motioned for Janet to get in, and he climbed in after her. Almost immediately the other rear door opened, and one of the silent Japanese men crowded in next to Janet. Another man followed immediately behind Sean. The taller man got in the front behind the wheel and started the car.

  “What’s going on here, Sean?” Janet asked. Her initial shock was changing to alarm.

  “Mr. Yamaguchi?” Sean asked. In front of him he could just make out the figure of a man sitting in one of the seats to the side of a console with a small built-in TV set.

  “Thank you very much for joining me,” Tanaka said with a slight bow. His accent was barely perceptible. “I apologize for the inconvenient seating, but we shall have only a short ride.”

  The car lurched forward. Janet grabbed Sean’s hand.

  “You people are very polite,” Sean said. “And we appreciate that. But we would also appreciate some idea what this is all about and where we’re going.”

  “You have been invited on a vacation,” Tanaka said. His white teeth flashed in the dark. When they passed a street lamp, Sean got his first glimpse of the man’s face. It was calm but determined. There was no sign of emotion.

  “Your trip is compliments of Sushita Industries,” Tanaka continued. “I can assure you that you will be treated extremely well. Sushita would not go through this effort unless they had great respect for you. I am sorry it has to be done in this furtive, barbaric fashion, but I have my orders. I’m also sorry that your companion has been caught up in this affair, but your hosts will treat her with equal respect. Her presence at this point is helpful since I’m certain you would not want to see any harm befall her. So please, Mr. Murphy, do not attempt any heroics. My colleagues are professionals.”

  Janet began to complain, but Sean squeezed her hand to silence her.

  “And where are we going?” Sean asked.

  “To Tokyo,” Tanaka said as if there had been no question.

  They drove in strained silence as they worked their way in a northeasterly direction. Sean considered his options. There weren’t many. The threat of violence toward Janet was sobering, and the pistol in his pocket was not reassuring.

  Tanaka had been correct about the ride. In less than twenty minutes they pulled into the general aviation area of the Naples airport. As late as it was on a Saturday night, there were minimal signs of life, only a few lights in the main building. Sean tried to think of ways of alerting whomever he could, but the specter of harm to Janet kept him in check. Although he certainly did not want to be taken forcibly to Japan, he couldn’t think of a plausible way to forestall it.

  The limo drove through a gate in a chain link fence and out onto the tarmac. Skirting the rear of the general aviation building, they headed for a large private jet that was clearly prepared to take off at any moment. Its engines were running, its anti-collision and navigational lights were flashing, its door was open, and its retractable steps were extended.

  The limousine stopped about fifty feet from the plane. Sean and Janet were politely asked to climb out of the car and walk the short distance to the steps. Cupping their hands over their ears to shield them from the whine of the jet engine, Sean and Janet reluctantly headed for the plane as commanded. Once again, Sean considered his options. Nothing seemed promising. He caught Janet’s eye. She looked distraught. They paused at the base of the plane’s steps.

  “Please,” Tanaka yelled over the sound of the engines as he motioned for Sean and Janet to move up the stairs.

  Sean and Janet again exchanged glances. Sean nodded for her to board, then followed her up. They had to duck to enter, but once inside they could stand up. To their left was the cockpit with its door closed.

  The interior of the plane was simple yet elegant, featuring darkly stained mahogany and tan leather. The carpeting was dark green. The seating included a banquette and a series of reclinable club chairs that could rotate to face any direction. Toward the rear of the plane was a galley and a door to a lavatory. On a counter in the galley was an open bottle of vodka and a sliced lime.

  Sean and Janet paused near the door, unsure of where they were to go. One of the near club chairs was occupied by a Caucasian man dressed in a business suit. Like the Japanese, he exuded an aura of calm confidence. His features were angular and handsome; his hair was mildly curly. In his right hand he held a drink. Sean and Janet could hear the ice tinkle against the glass as he brought it to his lips.

  Tanaka, who had boarded directly behind Sean and Janet, saw the Caucasian man seconds after Sean and Janet had. He seemed startled.

  The taller of the Japanese men bumped into Tanaka since Tanaka had stopped so abruptly. The collision prompted a rapid outpouring of angry-sounding Japanese from Tanaka.

  The taller Japanese began to respon
d, but he was interrupted by the Caucasian.

  “I should warn you,” he said in English. “I speak fluent Japanese. My name is Sterling Rombauer.” He put his drink down in a depression in the arm of his chair made for that purpose, stood up, pulled out a business card, and handed it to Tanaka with a deferential bow.

  Tanaka bowed in unison with Sterling as he accepted the card, and despite the surprise he obviously felt concerning Sterling’s presence, he examined the card with care and bowed again. Then he spoke in rapid Japanese to his companion behind him.

  “I believe I can best answer that,” Sterling said casually as he reclaimed his seat and lifted his drink. “The pilot, copilot, and cabin crew are not in the cockpit. They are resting in the lavatory.” Sterling gestured over his shoulder.

  Tanaka spoke more angry Japanese to his cohort.

  “Please excuse me for interrupting again,” Sterling said. “But what you are asking your associate to do is unreasonable. I’m certain that if you carefully consider the situation, you’ll agree that it would not serve my purposes to be here alone. And indeed, if you look out the starboard side you will see a vehicle occupied by an accomplice who is currently holding a portable phone programmed to speed dial the police. In this country, abduction is a crime, a felony to be more specific.”

  Tanaka looked again at Sterling’s business card as if there was something he could have missed on his first examination. “What is it you want?” he asked in English.

  “I believe we need to talk, Mr. Tanaka Yamaguchi,” Sterling said. He rattled the ice cubes in his drink and took a last sip. “I am currently representing the interests of the Forbes Cancer Center,” he continued. “Its director does not want to jeopardize the Center’s relationship with Sushita Industries, but there are limits. He does not want to see Mr. Murphy spirited away to Japan.”

  Tanaka was silent.

  “Mr. Murphy,” Sterling called, ignoring Tanaka for the moment. “Would you mind allowing Mr. Yamaguchi and myself a few moments alone? I suggest you and your companion deplane and join my associate in the car. You can wait for me there; I will not be long.”