Michael Crichton - Drug of Choice

“Intellectual stimulation, pleasant working conditions, and financial compensation. That is what we provide for our employees.”

“Where exactly would I be working? In this building?”

“No,” Blood said. “Our research facilities are located a short distance away. Naturally, since many of our projects are confidential, we must maintain a certain amount of secrecy.”

“Yes.”

Someone entered the room, a cheerful young man, carrying what looked like a large poster.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Blood, but we need approval of the dummy.”

“All right,” Blood said.

Clark leaned forward, hoping for a look at the poster. He could see that it was a penciled drawing of some kind, like an ad for something. Space for copy and photographs were blocked out.

Dr. Blood looked at it closely. “What’s it for?”

“The New Yorker,” the man said. “That’s our first big market.”

“All right,” Dr. Blood said. “Go ahead with it.”

“Thank you sir,” the man said, and left.

“Well now, Roger, where were we? Oh yes, talking about secrecy. It’s a problem, Roger. I’ll be frank. Our confidential work imposes restrictions on all of us. But we manage, and I’m sure you won’t find it much of a burden.” He looked at his watch. “Now, I’m afraid I must go. I have an, ah, appointment in half an hour. Do you have any other questions?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Fine. Then we’ll expect to hear of your decision within the next few days.”

“All right.”

“Good luck, Roger.”

Clark left, with a final glimpse of the stocky, red-faced man and his enormous polished desk. Harvey Blood smiled benignly.

Roger Clark smiled back.

AERO TRAVEL, LOCATED ON the unfashionable (eastern) end of Sunset Strip, was operated by Ron Harmon. Clark had known him since college days; they had both been in the same fraternity. Since then, Clark had booked all his vacations through Aero and Harmon had arranged for discounts wherever possible. They were old friends.

Clark arrived at the office late in the day, just as Harmon was preparing to shut down. Clark went in, looking past the posters of Switzerland and Hawaii, and inquired about his reservations for Mexico.

“For what?” Harmon said. He seemed rather distant and preoccupied.

“Mexico. You remember.”

“Mexico?” He searched among his files.

“Ron, are you feeling okay?”

“Yes, yes, I feel fine.” Harmon continued to search. His fingers moved slowly, sluggishly through the stacks of papers in his desk drawer.

“You aren’t acting fine.”

“What? Oh. Listen, I just got back.”

“Back?”

“Listen,” Harmon said, ignoring the files and closing the drawer. “Listen, Roger, you don’t want to go to Mexico.”

“I don’t?”

“Hell no. Listen, I just got back.”

“Back from what?”

Harmon sighed. “That’s a good question. It’s really back from where, but it doesn’t matter. Back from what is just as good.”

Clark said nothing.

“Listen, Roger, I’m your buddy, right?”

“Right.”

“And I’m a travel agent, right?”

“Right.”

“So listen: will you take my advice?”

Clark hesitated. “That depends.”

“Don’t go to Mexico, Roger.”

“Why?”

“Don’t go.” Harmon stared at him, his eyes distant. “Don’t go.”

“But Ron, I thought it was all set up, the plane reservations, the hotels…”

“It is. But don’t go.”

“Didn’t you tell me that the girls in Mexico City were—”

“Forget that. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“What lesson?”

“Listen,” Ron Harmon said. “I just got back from the greatest place in the world. It’s a new resort, it’s just fabulous, and in a year or so it will be the most famous vacation spot in the world, bar none. As a tourist attraction, it’s unsurpassed. It’s better than the Alhambra in Spain, better than the pyramids in Egypt, better than the Taj Mahal in India, better than anything.”

Clark said, “What is it?”

“It’s great,” Harmon said. “Absolutely great. Nothing can touch it for rest, relaxation, excitement adventure—”

“But what is it?”

“It’s a resort,” Harmon said. “A brand new resort of a type previously unknown. We’re in the middle of an age, you know. The resort age. Travel is greater than ever before in history, and resorts are booming as never before. The Aga Khan is developing Sardinia. The Costa Brava is booming. South America is just beginning; the Caribbean is expanding fantastically. But all of these places offer basically the same thing—sun, a new environment, a little action….”

“So?”

“So once in a great while, a new thing comes along. Something different. Really different And that has just happened.”

“What has?”

“A new resort which is really new and different. Really exciting, really special. I’ve just been to this resort: they invited all the travel agents out there for a week, to see what it was like. I must tell you: it’s the place to go.”

“It is?”

“No question,” Ron Harmon said. “No question about it. You’ll have a fantastic time. I did.”

“Where is this resort? What’s it like?”

“It’s on an island” Harmon said, “called San Cristobal.”

Clark said nothing. He was feeling very peculiar, as if he had eaten something raw, and it was now disagreeing with his stomach.

“San Cristobal?”

“It’s in the Caribbean,” Ron said. “A brand new island—not really, of course—but brand new in the sense of development. It’s been built up quietly by a group of Americans, to make it into the finest resort in the world. And they’ve succeeded.”

“How do you mean?”

“This island,” Ron Harmon said, “is about five square miles. It’s mostly bare coral and scrubby trees, and vegetation. But it’s been bought up, and modernized, and now….” He sighed. His eyes were staring off into space.

“And now?”

“Beautiful.”

“What’s it like?”

“Beautiful.”

“What do you do there?”

“It’s marvelous. I’ve never had a better time. I was there for a week; I could have stayed a century. I could have stayed for the rest of my life. It was beautiful.”

“What did you do there?”

“Listen, this is a place where they pay attention to detail. Everything is perfect, down to the smallest detail. The little things, like shower curtains and water faucets and silverware and headboards on the beds. Every minor detail is flawless. You’ll just adore it.”

Clark paused. “Why will I adore it?”

“Because it’s perfect. Because you can do anything and everything there. Name it, and there are the most modern, up to date—”

“Such as?”

“Anything,” Ron Harmon said, “just anything. Listen, this resort is great. It’s a whole new departure in travel and entertainment. You’ll love it”

“Why?”

Harmon frowned. “Name something?”

“Coprophagia.”

“Done!” Harmon said. “The finest, most complete facilities—”

“But coprophagia is eating fec—”

“Doesn’t matter! If human beings do it, this resort is set up to permit the most advanced, the most—”

“What?”

“Let me begin at the beginning,” Harmon said. “This resort is located in the Caribbean, right? Okay. The first thing is, nobody knows exactly where it is. It’s a huge secret. You fly to Miami, and then stop over in Nassau, and from there you take an airplane with no windows to this island. Everyone assumes it’s one of the Exeumas of the Bahamas, but nobody knows for sure. It’s a seaplane, and when you land—”