Robin Cook - Terminal

“Come in, come in!” Dr. Randolph Mason repeated, holding open his office door. Almost immediately Sean’s unease was replaced by a feeling of genuine welcome. “We’re pleased to have you with us,” Dr. Mason said. “I was so happy when Clifford called and suggested it. Would you like some coffee?”

Sean acquiesced and was soon balancing a cup while sitting on a couch across from the Forbes director. Dr. Mason looked like everyone’s romantic image of a physician. He was tall with an aristocratic face, classically graying hair, and an expressive mouth. His eyes were sympathetic and his nose slightly aquiline. He seemed the type of man you could tell a problem to and know he’d not only care but he’d solve it.

“The first thing we must do,” Dr. Mason said, “is have you meet our head of research, Dr. Levy.” He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to have Deborah come up. “I’m certain you will be impressed by her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were soon in contention for the big Scandinavian prize.”

“I’ve already been impressed with her earlier work on retroviruses,” Sean said.

“Like everyone else,” Dr. Mason said. “More coffee?”

Sean shook his head. “I have to be careful with this stuff,” he said. “It makes me hyper. Too much and I don’t come down for days.”

“I’m the same way,” Dr. Mason said. “Now about your accommodations. Has anyone discussed them with you?”

“Dr. Walsh just said that you would be able to provide housing.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Mason said. “I’m pleased to say that we had the foresight to purchase a sizable apartment complex several years ago. It’s not in Coconut Grove, but it’s not far either. We use it for visiting personnel and patients’ families. We’re delighted to offer you one of the apartments for your stay. I’m certain you will find it suitable, and you should enjoy the neighborhood as it’s so close to the Grove.”

“I’m pleased I didn’t have to make my own arrangements,” Sean said. “And as far as entertainment is concerned, I’m more interested in working than playing tourist.”

“Everyone should have a balance in life,” Dr. Mason said. “But rest assured, we have plenty of work for you to do. We want your experience here to be a good one. When you go into practice we hope you will be referring us patients.”

“My plan is to remain in research,” Sean said.

“I see,” Dr. Mason said, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.

“In fact, the reason I wanted to come here...” Sean began, but before he could complete the statement, Dr. Deborah Levy walked into the room.

Deborah Levy was a strikingly attractive woman with dark olive skin, large almond-shaped eyes, and hair even blacker than Sean’s. She was stylishly thin and wore a dark blue silk dress beneath her lab coat. She walked with the confidence and grace of the truly successful.

Sean struggled to get to his feet.

“Don’t bother to get up,” Dr. Levy said in a husky yet feminine voice. She thrust a hand at Sean.

Sean shook Dr. Levy’s hand while balancing his coffee in the other. She gripped his fingers with unexpected strength and gave Sean’s arm a shake that rattled his cup in its saucer. Her gaze bore into him with intensity.

“I’ve been instructed to say welcome,” she said, sitting across from him. “But I think we should be honest about this. I’m not entirely convinced your visit is a good idea. I run a tight ship here in the lab. You’ll either pitch in and work or you’ll be out of here and on the next plane back to Boston. I don’t want you to think...”

“I drove down,” Sean interrupted. He knew he was already being provocative, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t expect such a brusque greeting from the head of research.

Dr. Levy stared at him for a moment before continuing. “The Forbes Cancer Center is no place for a holiday in the sun,” she added. “Do I make myself clear?”

Sean cast a quick glance at Dr. Mason who was still smiling warmly.

“I didn’t come here for a holiday. If Forbes had been in Bismarck, North Dakota, I would have wanted to come. You see, I’ve heard about the results you’ve been getting with medulloblastoma.”

Dr. Mason coughed and moved forward in his seat, placing his coffee on the table. “I hope you didn’t expect to work on the medulloblastoma protocol,” he said.

Sean’s gaze shifted between the two doctors. “Actually, I did,” he said with some alarm.

“When I spoke with Dr. Walsh,” Mason said, “he emphasized that you have had extensive and successful experience with the development of murine monoclonal antibodies.”

“That was during my year at MIT,” Sean explained. “But that’s not my interest now. In fact, I feel it is already yesterday’s technology.”

“That’s not our belief,” Dr. Mason said. “We think it’s still commercially viable and will be for some time. In fact, we’ve had a bit of luck isolating and producing a glycoprotein from patients with colonic cancer. What we need now is a monoclonal antibody in hopes it might be an aid to early diagnosis. But, as you know, glycoproteins can be tricky. We’ve been unable to get mice to respond antigenically, and we’ve failed to crystallize the substance. Dr. Walsh assured me you were an artist when it comes to this kind of protein chemistry.”

“I was,” Sean said. “I haven’t been doing it for some time. My interest has changed to molecular biology, specifically oncogenes and oncoproteins.”

“This is just what I feared,” Dr. Levy said, turning to Dr. Mason. “I told you this was not a good idea. We are not set up for students. I’m much too busy to babysit a medical student extern. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must get back to my work.”

Dr. Levy got to her feet and looked down at Sean. “My rudeness is not meant to be personal. I’m very busy, and I’m under a lot of stress.”

“I’m sorry,” Sean said. “But it is difficult not to take it personally since your medulloblastoma results are the reason I took this elective and drove all the way the hell down here.”

“Frankly, that’s not my concern,” she said, striding toward the door.

“Dr. Levy,” Sean called out. “Why haven’t you published any articles on the medulloblastoma results? With no publications, if you’d stayed in academia, you’d probably be out looking for a job.”

Dr. Levy paused and cast a disapproving look at Sean. “Impertinence is not a wise policy for a student,” she said, closing the door behind her.

Sean looked over at Dr. Mason and shrugged his shoulders. “She was the one who said we should be honest about all this. She hasn’t published for years.”

“Clifford warned me that you might not be the most diplomatic extern,” Dr. Mason said.

“Did he now?” Sean questioned superciliously. He was already beginning to question his decision to come to Florida. Maybe everybody else had been right after all.

“But he also said you were extremely bright. And I think Dr. Levy came on a bit stronger than she meant. At any rate she has been under great strain. In fact we all have.”

“But the results you’ve been getting with the medulloblastoma patients are fantastic,” Sean said, hoping to plead his case. “There has to be something to be learned about cancer in general here. I want desperately to be involved in your protocol. Maybe by looking at it with fresh, objective eyes I’ll see something that you people have missed.”

“You certainly don’t lack self-confidence,” said Dr. Mason. “And perhaps someday we could use a fresh eye. But not now. Let me be honest and open with you and give you some confidential information. There are several reasons you won’t be able to participate in our medulloblastoma study. First, it is already a clinical protocol and you are here for basic science research. That was made clear to your mentor. And second of all we cannot permit outsiders access to our current work because we have yet to apply for the appropriate patents on some of our unique biological processes. This policy is dictated by our source of funding. Like a lot of research institutions, we’ve had to seek alternate sources for operating capital since the government started squeezing research grants to everything but AIDS. We have turned to the Japanese.”