Робин Кук - Mortal Fear

Two blocks down Hanover Street, Jason turned right and quickly found himself in sight of Paul Revere‘s modest wood clapboard house. The cobblestoned square was defined by a heavy black nautical chain looped between metal stanchions. Directly across from Paul Revere’s house was Carbonara, one of Jason’s favorite restaurants. There were two other restaurants in the square but neither was as good as the Carbonara. He mounted the front steps and was greeted by the maître d’, who led him to his table by the front window, affording him a view of the quaint square. Like many Boston locations the scene had an unreal quality, as though it were the set for some theme park.

Jason ordered a bottle of Gavi white wine and munched on a dish of antipasto while waiting for Hayes to appear. Within ten minutes, a cab pulled up and Hayes got out. For a few moments after the cab had left, he just stood on the sidewalk and peered back up North Street from the direction he had come. Jason watched, wondering what the man was waiting for. Eventually, he turned and entered the restaurant.

As the maître d’ escorted him to the table, Jason noted how out of place Hayes seemed in the elegant decor and among the fashionably dressed diners. In place of his stained lab coat, Hayes was wearing a baggy tweed jacket with a torn elbow patch. He seemed to be having trouble walking, and Jason wondered if the man had been drinking.

Without acknowledging Jason’s presence, Hayes threw himself into the empty seat and stared out the window, again looking up North Street. A couple had appeared, strolling arm in arm. Hayes watched them until they disappeared from view down Prince Street. His eyes still appeared glassy, and Jason noted that a web of new, red capillaries had spread out over his nose like a sea fan. His skin was pale as ivory, not too dissimilar to Harring’s when Jason had seen him in the CCU. It seemed certain that Hayes was not well.

Fumbling in one of the bulging pockets of his tweed jacket, Hayes brought out a crumpled pack of unfiltered Camels. He lit one with trembling hands and said, his eyes glittering with some strong emotion, “Someone is following me.”

Jason wasn’t sure how to react. “Are you sure?”

“No doubt,” Hayes said, taking a long drag on his cigarette. A smoldering ash fell onto the white tablecloth. “A dark guy, smooth — a sharp dresser, a foreigner,” he added with venom.

“Does that make you concerned?” Jason asked, trying to play psychiatrist. Apparently, on top of everything else, Hayes was acutely paranoid.

“Christ, yes!” Hayes shouted. A few heads turned and Hayes lowered his voice. “Wouldn’t you be upset if someone wanted to kill you?”

“Kill you?” Jason echoed, now sure Hayes had gone mad.

“Absolutely positive. And my son, too.”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” Jason said. In fact, he hadn’t even been aware Hayes was married. It was rumored in the hospital that Hayes frequented the disco scene on the rare occasions he wanted distraction.

Hayes mashed out his cigarette in the ashtray, cursed under his breath, and lit another, blowing the smoke away in short, nervous puffs. Jason realized that Hayes was at the breaking point and he’d have to tread carefully. The man was about to decompensate.

“I’m sorry if I sound dumb,” Jason said, “but I would like to help. I presume that’s why you wanted to talk to me. And frankly, Alvin, you don’t look too well.”

Hayes leaned the back of his right wrist on his forehead, his elbow on the table. His lit cigarette was dangerously close to his disheveled hair. Jason was tempted to move either the hair or the cigarette; he didn’t want the man lighting himself like a pyre. But fearful of Hayes’s distraught state, he did neither.

“Would you gentlemen like to order?” asked a waiter, silently materializing at the table.

“For Christ’s sake!” Hayes snarled, his head popping up. “Can’t you see we’re talking?”

“Excuse me, sir,” the waiter said, bowing and moving off.

After taking a deep breath, Hayes returned his attention to Jason. “So I don’t look well?”

“No. Your color isn’t good, and you seem exhausted as well as upset.”

“Ah, the clairvoyant clinician,” Hayes said sarcastically. Then he added, “I’m sorry — I don’t mean to be nasty. You’re right. I’m not feeling well. In fact, I’m feeling terrible.”

“What’s the problem?”

“Just about everything. Arthritis, GI upset, blurred vision. Even dry skin. My ankles itch so much they’re driving me insane. My body is literally falling apart.”

“Perhaps it would have been better to meet in my office,” Jason said. “Maybe we should check you out.

“Maybe later — but that’s not why I wanted to see you. It may be too late for me, anyway, but if I could save my son...” He broke off, pointing out the window. “There he is!”

Twisting in his seat, Jason barely caught sight of a figure disappearing up North Street. Turning back to Hayes, Jason asked, “How could you tell it was him?”

“He’s been following me from the moment I left GHP. I think he plans on killing me.”

With no way to tell fact from delusion, Jason studied his colleague. The man was acting weird, to put it mildly, but the old cliché “even paranoids have enemies” echoed in his brain. Maybe someone was in fact following Hayes. Fishing the chilled bottle of Gavi from the ice bucket, Jason poured Hayes a glass and filled his own. “Maybe you’d better tell me what this is all about.”

Tossing back the wine as if it were a shot of aquavit, Hayes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “It’s such a bizarre story... How about a little more of the wine?”

Jason refilled the glass as Hayes continued. “I don’t suppose you know too much of what my research interests are...”

“I have some idea.”

“Growth and development,” Hayes said. “How genes turn on and off. Like puberty; what turns on the appropriate genes. Solving the problem would be a major achievement. Not only could we potentially influence growth and development, but we’d probably be able to ‘turn off’ cancers, or, after heart attacks, ‘turn on’ cellular division to create new cardiac muscle. Anyway, in simplified terms, the turning on and off of growth and development genes has been my major interest. But like so often in research, serendipity played a role. About four months ago, in the process of my research I stumbled onto an unexpected discovery, ironic but astounding. I’m talking about a major scientific breakthrough. Believe me: it is Nobel material.”

Jason was willing to suspend disbelief, although he wondered if Hayes was exhibiting symptoms of a delusion of grandeur to go along with his paranoia.

“What was your discovery?”

“Just a moment,” Hayes said. He put his cigarette in the ashtray and pressed his right hand against his chest.

“Are you all right?” Jason asked. Hayes appeared to have become a shade grayer, and a line of perspiration had formed at his hairline.

“I’m okay,” Hayes assured him. He let his hand drop to the table. “I didn’t report this discovery because I realized it was the first step toward an even bigger breakthrough. I’m talking about something akin to antibiotics or the helical structure of DNA. I’ve been so excited I’ve been working around the clock. But then I found out my original discovery was no longer a secret. That it was being used. When I suspected this, I...” Hayes stopped in midsentence. He stared at Jason with an expression that started out as confusion but rapidly changed to fear.

“Alvin, what’s the matter?” Jason asked. Hayes didn’t reply. His right hand again pressed against his chest. A moan escaped from his lips, then both hands shot out and gripped the tablecloth, clawing it toward him. The wine glasses fell over. He started to get to his feet but he never made it. With a violent choking cough, he spewed a stream of blood across the table, drenching the cloth and spraying Jason, who jumped backward, knocking over his chair. The blood didn’t stop. It came in successive waves, splattering everything as nearby diners began to scream.