Robin Cook - Seizure

Tony came to a stop next to three vehicles similar to his own: All of them were Cadillacs, and all of them were black. He flicked his cigarette into a pile of rusting sinks and killed the engine. As he got out of the car, he was assaulted by the odor of the salt marsh. It wasn’t pleasant. With night rapidly approaching, the wind had shifted to the east.

The building’s façade was in need of paint. In addition to the firm’s name in block letters, there was a smattering of graffiti on the walls. The door was unlocked, and Tony walked in without knocking, as was his custom. A counter stood in the middle of the room. Behind the counter were rows of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with plumbing materials. No one was in sight. A radio on the counter was tuned to a station playing music from the fifties.

Tony skirted the counter and walked down the center aisle. At the rear, he opened a second door that led into an office. In contrast to the supply area, this area was relatively plush, with a leather sofa and two desks on a threadbare Oriental carpet. Small, paned windows looked out onto the mudflats that were ringed with cattails and dotted with discarded tires and other debris. There were three men sitting in the room, one at each desk and one on the sofa.

Along with terse greetings, Tony shook hands with the two men at the desks first and then with the man on the sofa before sitting down himself. The men at the desks were the Castigliano brothers. They were twins named Sal and Louie. Tony had known them from the third grade, but by name only and not as friends. In high school they’d been scrawny, pimply kids who’d been teased mercilessly, and as adults they were still gaunt, with cadaverous cheeks and deeply set eyes.

The man on the sofa next to Tony was Gaetano Baresse, who’d grown up in New York City. He was built like Tony, but larger and with heavier features. He normally manned the plumbing supply counter in the outer room. As a side job, he was the twin’s muscle. Most people thought he was around to make up for all the teasing the twins had weathered as schoolkids, but Tony knew better. Gaetano’s strong-arm contribution was an occasional requirement with the twins’ other business activities: some legal, some less so. It was in these business activities that Tony and the twins had become acquainted.

“First off,” Tony said, “I want to thank you all for coming out on a Sunday.”

“No problem,” Sal said. He was sitting to Tony’s left. “I hope you don’t mind that we invited Gaetano.”

“When you called and said there was trouble, we thought he should be included,” Louie added.

“No problem,” Tony said. “I just wish we could have had this get-together a little earlier, which I’ll explain.”

“We did the best we could,” Sal said.

“My cell phone battery was dead,” Gaetano said. “I was at my sister-in-law’s house, playing pool. I was hard to find.”

Tony lit up a cigarette and offered them all around. Everyone took one. Soon they were all smoking.

After taking a few deep drags, Tony put his cigarette down. He needed his hands to gesture while he talked. Thus prepared, he told the Castigliano brothers word for word as he remembered it the conversation he’d had earlier that afternoon with Stephanie. He left nothing out, nor did he mince words. He said it was his opinion and that of his accountant that Stephanie’s company was going belly-up.

While Tony spoke, the twins became progressively agitated. Sal, who had been fiddling with a paper clip by bending it back and forth, snapped it in two. Louie angrily stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette.

“I don’t believe this!” Sal said when Tony concluded.

“Is your sister married to this twerp?” Louie demanded.

“No, they just live together.”

“Well, I tell you, we’re not going to sit around while this bastard enjoys himself in the sun,” Sal said. “No way!”

“We have to let him know we’re not pleased,” Louie said. “He’s either got to get his ass back up here and straighten things out, or else. You got that, Gaetano?”

“Yeah, sure. When?”

Louie looked at Sal. Sal looked at Tony.

“It’s too late today,” Tony said. “Which is why I would have liked to have seen you guys earlier. They’re on their way someplace before they head to Nassau. But my sister will be calling my ma when she’s settled in the Bahamas.”

“You’ll let us know?” Sal questioned.

“Yeah, sure. But the deal is, you leave my sister out of it.”

“Our beef’s not with her,” Louie said. “At least, I don’t think it is.”

“It’s not,” Tony said. “Trust me! I don’t want there to be bad blood between us.”

“Our beef’s with him,” Sal said.

Louie looked at Gaetano. “I guess you’ll be going to Nassau.”

Gaetano cracked the knuckles of his right hand with his left. “Sounds good to me!”

7:00 A.M., Monday, February 25, 2002

“Stephanie!” Daniel called softly as he gently shook her shoulder. “They are about to serve breakfast. Do you want any, or should I let you sleep until we land?”

Stephanie forcibly opened her eyes, rubbed them, and yawned at the same time. Then she had to blink rapidly a few times before she was able to see. Her eyes were dry from the plane’s parched atmosphere.

“Where are we?” she asked in a husky voice. Her throat was dry as well. She sat up and stretched. Then she leaned over and looked out the window. Although there was a hint of dawn along the horizon, the ground below was still dark. She could see the lights of cities and towns dotting the landscape.

“My guess would be we’re over someplace in France,” Daniel said.

Despite attempts at planning to avoid a last-minute rush, the night before had been an anxious scramble to get out of Daniel’s apartment, get to Logan Airport, and get through security. They’d made the flight with less than ten minutes to spare. Thanks to Butler’s money, they were flying Alitalia’s Magnifica Class and were seated in the first two seats on the left side of the Boeing 767 aircraft.

Stephanie raised the back of her seat from its reclined position. “How come you’re so wide awake? Did you sleep?”

“Not a wink,” Daniel admitted. “I started reading these books of yours about the Shroud of Turin, particularly the one by Ian Wilson. I can see why you got hooked. It’s fascinating stuff.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“I’m not,” Daniel said. “Reading about the shroud has kind of energized me. I’m even more encouraged about treating Butler and using the shroud’s DNA fragments. In fact, it occurred to me that maybe after we finish with Butler, we should go ahead and treat another celebrity someplace offshore with the same DNA source, somebody who doesn’t mind publicity. Once the story of the cure hits the media, no politician would dare interfere, and better yet, the FDA would be forced to alter their protocol for approval of the treatment.”

“Whoa!” Stephanie warned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to concentrate on Butler for the time being. His cure is not a given by any stretch of the imagination.”

“You don’t think treating another celebrity is a good idea?”

“I need to give it some thought to respond intelligently,” Stephanie said, trying to be diplomatic. “Right now my mind is a bit addled. I need to use the restroom, and then I want some breakfast. I’m starved. When my mind is firing on all cylinders, I want to hear what you have read about the shroud, particularly whether you have a hypothesis of how the image was formed.”

Less than an hour later, they landed at Rome’s Fiumicino Airport. Along with a crush of other people arriving at the same time from various international destinations, they got through passport control and then managed to find their way to the gate for their connecting flight to Turin. At a nearby coffee bar, Daniel indulged himself with an Italian espresso that he bolted down like the local patrons. There was no Magnifica Class on this leg, and once they boarded the plane, they found themselves in a tight cabin filled with businessmen. Stephanie was in the middle seat and Daniel on the aisle, halfway down the aircraft’s cabin.