Robin Cook - Mindbend

“Jennifer, please promise me one thing,” said Adam. “Don’t have the abortion until I get back.”

“Get back?” questioned Jennifer. “Where are you?”

Adam hadn’t meant to tell her where he was, but it was too late to think of a lie. “Puerto Rico,” he said reluctantly.

“Adam,” said Jennifer, making it obvious that she was furious, “if you want to tell me what to do, you can’t keep running off. The moment the court gives me clearance, I intend to go back to the clinic.”

“Please, Jennifer,” said Adam.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” said Jennifer, and she slammed down the receiver.

Adam sank back on the bed totally depressed. He only had two more days. The phone rang and Adam grabbed the receiver, thinking it might be Jennifer, but it was just the receptionist, telling him that dinner was in half an hour.

The dining room was in the club overlooking the beach. The row of Hobie Cats stood in the sand just beyond the sliding doors. A full moon had risen, casting a glittering path along the surface of the water.

The room had dark green walls and matching carpet with pink tablecloths and pink upholstery. The waiters were dressed in white jackets with black pants.

Adam was seated at a round table for eight. To his immediate right was Dr. Heinrich Nachman, whom Adam had met the day he’d had his interview at Arolen. Next to Dr. Nachman was Dr. Sinclair Glover, a short, portly, red-faced man who said he supervised fetal research.

Next to Dr. Glover was Dr. Winfield Mitchell, a bearded but bald middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Nachman said Mitchell was in charge of psychotropic drug development. Adam had the distinct impression the man was a psychiatrist, judging by how calmly he listened to the conversation without contributing anything, yet at the same time maintaining a superior-than-thou attitude.

Beyond Dr. Mitchell was a business executive, a William somebody; Adam missed his last name. He was strictly Ivy League, with sandy blond hair and a boyish complexion. Also at the table were Brian Hopkins, who was in charge of management training, Ms. Linda Aronson, who handled PR, and a jovial older man named Harry Burkett, who was the manager of the Puerto Rican compound.

Remembering his experience on the Fjord, Adam was at first reluctant to try the food, but everyone else was eating with gusto, and none of them appeared to be drugged. Besides, Adam reasoned, if they had intended to drug him, they could have done so on the plane.

The atmosphere at the table was relaxed, and everyone made a point of making Adam feel welcome. Burkett explained the reason MTIC chose Puerto Rico for its research center was because the government offered excellent tax incentives as well as a policy of noninterference. It turned out that many drug firms had large installations on the island.

Adam asked about the heavy security.

“That’s one of the prices we have to pay for living in this paradise,” said Harry Burkett. “There’s always a chance of terrorist activity from the small group championing Puerto Rican independence.”

Adam wondered if that were the whole story, but he did not pursue the issue.

William, the MTIC executive, looked over at Adam and said, “MTIC has a certain philosophy about the medical profession. We feel that economic interests have supplanted service. I’ve heard that you agree with that premise.”

Adam noticed that the rest of the table was listening. He swallowed a bite of dessert and said, “Yes, that’s true. In the brief time I was at medical school I was dismayed by the lack of humanism. I felt that technology and research were considered more rewarding than patient care.”

There were several doctors at the table and Adam hoped he wasn’t offending them, but he did notice that Dr. Nachman was smiling. Adam was pleased, since he thought the more enthusiastic they were about him, the better his chance of learning what they were doing.

“Do you think your attitude would make dealing with doctors difficult?” asked Linda Aronson.

“Not at all,” said Adam. “I think my understanding of medical reality makes it easier. As a sales rep I’ve been reasonably successful.”

“From what Bill Shelly has reported,” said Nachman, “I think that Mr. Schonberg is being modest.”

“Adam, has anyone described our plans should you decide to enlist in our management training program?” asked Dr. Glover.

“Not specifically,” said Adam.

Dr. Nachman folded his hands and leaned forward. “Arolen is about to release a whole new generation of drugs or treatment modalities as a result of our fetal research. We are looking for someone to work with Linda to educate the medical profession in these new concepts. We feel that you have the perfect background and attitudes for the job.”

“Precisely,” said Linda. “But we don’t mean to overwhelm you. At first, all you would be doing would be familiarizing yourself with Arolen’s research.”

Adam wished he had more than two days. The job they had in mind would undoubtedly put him in a position to learn what he needed.

“That’s not quite true,” said Brian Hopkins. “Mr. Schonberg must first take our management training course.”

“Brian, we all know that Mr. Schonberg has to take your course first.”

“Please,” said Dr. Nachman. “Let’s not display our departmental jealousies yet. There will be plenty of time for that.”

Everyone laughed except Hopkins.

Adam finished his dessert and put down his spoon. Looking at Dr. Nachman, he said, “That was a wonderful dinner, but I’m eager to see the research facility.”

“And we are eager to show it to you. Tomorrow we plan to…”

“Why not tonight?” interrupted Adam enthusiastically.

Dr. Nachman looked at Glover and Mitchell, who smiled and shrugged. “I suppose we could show you some of the facilities tonight,” said Dr. Nachman. “Are you sure you are not too tired?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Adam.

Dr. Nachman stood up, followed by Dr. Glover and Dr. Mitchell. The others excused themselves, preferring to remain at the table for more coffee and after-dinner drinks.

Dr. Nachman led Adam back to the main building, where guests signed in. Then the four went through another set of double doors to the research center. This part of the building was floored in white tile, the walls painted in bright primary colors.

“These are the administration offices,” explained Dr. Nachman. A moment later Adam found himself crossing a glass-walled bridge. He could see palm trees waving on either side and realized that there were two concentric buildings, one nestled inside of the other, much like the Pentagon in Washington.

Turning down another hallway, Adam smelled the unmistakable odor of caged animals. Dr. Glover opened the first door and for the next half hour led Adam from room to room, explaining the complicated machinery and examining an endless number of rats and monkeys. This was where Arolen was doing its basic fetology research.

To Adam’s surprise, white-gowned technicians were working in some of the labs, despite the late hour. Dr. Glover explained that ever since they’d begun to get positive results with fetal implants, they’d been working around the clock.

“Where do you get your material?” asked Adam, pausing by a cage of pink mice.

“Most of the research is done with animal systems,” explained Dr. Glover, “and we breed our animals right here at the center.”

“But surely you’re doing some human implants. Where do you get your tissue?” persisted Adam.

“Very good question,” said Dr. Glover. “We did run into a bit of a problem after restrictive laws were passed, but we’ve managed one way or another. Most of our material comes from the Julian Clinic.”