Robin Cook - Terminal

Malcolm took an appreciative taste of his wine. “Not bad for an ’86 Napa,” he said. He put his glass down on the table and looked over at Sean. “Not only have I no symptoms from the brain tumor, but I feel great. Better than I have in years. Of course, I’m probably comparing it to the year before I got the immunotherapy which was pure hell. Not much else could have gone wrong. First I had knee surgery, which wasn’t fun, then encephalitis, and then the brain tumor. This year I’ve been great. Haven’t even had a cold.”

“You had encephalitis?” Sean asked, his fork poised halfway to his mouth.

“Yes,” Malcolm said. “I was a medical oddity. Somebody could have gone through medical school just studying me. I had a bout of headache, fever, and was generally feeling crappy, and...” Malcolm leaned over and spoke behind his hand. “There was some burning in my pecker when I peed.” He glanced over to be sure the women hadn’t overheard.

“How did you know it was encephalitis?” Sean asked. He put his full fork down on his plate.

“Well, the headache was the worst part,” Malcolm said. “I went to my local internist who sent me down to Columbia Presbyterian. They’re used to seeing strange stuff down there, all kinds of exotic, tropical diseases. They had these high-powered infectious-disease people see me. They were the ones who first suspected encephalitis and then proved it with some new method called polymerase something or other.”

“Polymerase Chain Reaction,” Sean said as if he were in a trance. “What kind of encephalitis was it?”

“They called it SLE,” Malcolm said. “It stands for St. Louis encephalitis. They were all surprised, saying it was kinda out of season. But I had been on a couple of trips. Anyway, the encephalitis was mild, and after some bed rest I felt fine. Then of course, two months later, bam! I got a brain tumor. I thought I was done for. So did my doctors up north. First they thought it had spread from someplace else like my colon or my prostate. But when they all proved clean, they decided to biopsy. The rest, of course, is history.”

Malcolm took another bite of his food, chewed and swallowed it. He took a taste of his wine, then glanced back at Sean. Sean hadn’t moved. He appeared stunned. Malcolm leaned across the table to look him in the eye. “You okay, young fella?”

Sean blinked as if he were emerging from hypnosis. “I’m fine,” he stammered. He quickly apologized for seeming distracted, saying that he was just astounded by Malcolm’s story. He thanked Malcolm profusely for being willing to share it with him.

“My pleasure,” Malcolm said. “If I can help train a few of you medical students, I’ll feel like I’m repaying a little of the interest I owe on my debt to the medical profession. If it weren’t for your mentor Dr. Mason and his colleague Dr. Levy, I wouldn’t be here today.”

Malcolm then turned his attention to the women, and while everyone but Sean ate his dinner, the conversation switched to Naples and why the Betencourts had decided to build their house there.

“How about we take our dessert out on the terrace above the pool,” Harriet suggested after the dishes had been cleared.

“I’m sorry but we’ll have to skip dessert,” Sean said, speaking up after a long silence. “Janet and I have been working tremendously hard. I’m afraid we’ll have to get back to our hotel before we fall asleep on our feet. Right, Janet?”

Janet nodded and smiled self-consciously, but it was not a smile motivated by cheerful assent. It was an attempt to hide her mortification.

Five minutes later they were saying goodbye in the Betencourts’ grand foyer with Malcolm insisting that if Sean had any more questions he should call him directly. He gave Sean his private direct-dial number.

When the door closed behind them, and they started out the massive driveway, Janet was incensed. “That was a rude way to end the evening,” she said. “After they’d been so gracious with us, you practically walk out in the middle of the meal.”

“That was the end of the meal,” Sean reminded her. “Harriet was talking about dessert. Besides, I couldn’t sit there another minute. Malcolm made me realize several extraordinary things. I don’t know if you were listening when he described his illnesses.”

“I was talking with Harriet,” Janet said irritably.

“He told me he had an operation, encephalitis, and then his brain tumor all within a period of a few months.”

“What did that tell you?” Janet asked.

“It made me realize that both Helen Cabot and Louis Martin had the same history,” Sean said. “I know because I did their history and physicals.”

“You think these illnesses are related somehow?” she asked. Some of the anger was gone from her voice.

“It seems to me I saw a similar sequence and timing in a number of the charts we copied,” Sean said. “I’m not positive because I wasn’t looking for it, but even with three, the possibility of it happening by chance is pretty small.”

“What are you saying?” Janet asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sean said. “But it convinced me I want to go to Key West. Forbes has a spin-off diagnostic lab down there where they sent the biopsies. It’s a favorite trick of hospitals to have quasi-independent labs to maximize the profits they can make out of diagnostic lab work, self-referral limitations be damned.”

“I have next weekend off,” Janet said. “Both Saturday and Sunday. I wouldn’t mind visiting Key West.”

“I don’t want to wait,” Sean said. “I want to go right away. I think we’re on to something here.” He was also thinking that between the police looking for him and not being able to reach Brian, he might not have the luxury of waiting a week.

Janet stopped dead in her tracks and glanced at her watch. It was after ten. “Are you talking about going there tonight?” she asked with disbelief.

“Let’s find out how far it is,” Sean said. “Then we can decide.”

Janet started walking again, passing Sean who’d paused when she had. “Sean, you are getting more incomprehensible and crazier all the time,” she said. “You call people up at the last minute, get them to graciously invite you to dinner, then you walk out in the middle because you suddenly have the idea of going to Key West. I give up. But I’ll tell you something: this lady is not going to Key West tonight. This lady is...”

Janet didn’t finish her angry monologue. Rounding the Pontiac, which was partially hidden by a large banyan tree, she’d practically collided with a figure in a dark suit, white shirt, and dark tie. His face and hair were obscured by shadows.

Janet gasped. She was still on edge from the episode on the beach, and confronting yet another man coming out of the dark frightened her terribly. Sean started toward her but was stopped by a similarly shadowy figure on his side of the car.

Despite the darkness, Sean could tell the man before him was Asian. Before Sean knew it, a third man had stepped behind him. For a moment no one spoke. Sean glanced back at the house and estimated how long it would take him to cover the distance to the front door. He also thought about what he’d do once he got there. Unfortunately, a lot depended on how quickly Malcolm Betencourt responded.

“If you please,” the man in front of Sean said in flawless English. “Mr. Yamaguchi would be most grateful if you and your companion would come and have a word with him.”

Sean looked at each man in turn. All of them exuded an aura of total confidence and tranquility that Sean found unnerving. Sean could feel the weight of Tom’s pistol in his jacket pocket, but he dared not pull it out. He had no experience with guns, and there was no way he could shoot these people. And he hesitated to think how these men might retaliate.