Robin Cook - Terminal

Returning to the car, Janet leaned on the hood. “Any more bright ideas, Einstein?”

Sean was thinking. The idea of getting to Key West by boat still appealed to him. It was certainly too late to rent another car. Besides, they’d be exhausted when they arrived. Next to the city dock was a restaurant/bar appropriately called The Dock. Sean pointed.

“Let’s go in there,” he said. “I could use a beer, and we can see if the bartender knows any charter boat people.”

The Dock was a rustic, casual affair constructed of planked, pressure-treated wood and furnished with epoxy-filled hatch-cover tables. There were no windows, just screened openings that could be closed with shutters. In lieu of drapes were a collection of fishnets, buoys and other nautical gear. Ceiling fans turned slowly overhead. A darkly burnished wood bar in the shape of a J stretched around one wall.

A small crowd was grouped around the bar watching a basketball game on a TV positioned high on the wall in a corner by the entrance. It wasn’t like Old Scully’s back in Charlestown, but Sean thought the place had a comfortable feel. In fact, it made him a little homesick.

Sean and Janet found room at the bar, their backs to the TV. There were two bartenders, one tall, serious, and mustached, the other stocky with a constant smirk on his face. Both were casually dressed in printed short-sleeved shirts and dark shorts. Short aprons were tied around their waists.

The taller bartender came over immediately and tossed circular cardboard coasters in front of Sean and Janet with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“I see you have conch fritters,” Sean said, eyeing a large menu attached to the wall.

“Sure do,” the bartender said.

“We’ll have an order,” Sean said. “And I’ll have a light draft.” Sean looked at Janet.

“I’ll have the same,” she said.

Frosted mugs of beer were soon before them, and Sean and Janet had only a moment to comment on the relaxed character of the place before the conch fritters arrived.

“Wow!” Sean commented. “That was fast.”

“Good food takes time,” the bartender said.

In spite of all that had happened that evening, both Sean and Janet found themselves laughing. The bartender, like any good comedian, never cracked a smile.

Sean used the opportunity to ask about boats.

“What kind of boat you interested in?” the bartender asked.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know enough about boats to say,” he admitted. “We want to go to Key West tonight. How long would it take?”

“Depends,” the bartender said. “It’s ninety miles as the crow flies. With a good-sized boat you can be down there in three or four hours.”

“Any idea how we could find someone to take us?” Sean said.

“It’ll cost you,” the bartender said.

“How much?”

“Five, six hundred,” the bartender said with a shrug.

“They take credit cards?” Sean asked.

Janet started to complain, but Sean gripped her leg under the edge of the bar. “I’ll pay you back,” he whispered.

The bartender stepped around the corner where he used a telephone.

Sterling dialed Randolph Mason’s home number with malicious pleasure. Well paid though he was, Sterling wasn’t pleased to be working at two o’clock in the morning. He thought that Dr. Mason should be equally as inconvenienced.

Even though Dr. Mason’s voice was groggy and full of sleep, he sounded pleased to hear from Sterling.

“I have resolved the Tanaka-Sushita conundrum,” Sterling announced. “We even received fax confirmation from Tokyo. They will not abduct Mr. Murphy. He can stay at the Forbes Cancer Center provided you personally guarantee that he will not be exposed to patentable secrets.”

“I cannot make that guarantee,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s too late.”

Sterling was too surprised to speak.

“There’s been a new development,” Dr. Mason explained. “Sean Murphy’s brother, Brian Murphy, has shown up here in Miami concerned about Sean. Unable to locate him, he got in touch with me. He has informed me that the Miami police are looking for Sean in connection with a break-in at a funeral home and the unauthorized theft of a cadaver’s brain.”

“Does this cadaver’s brain involve the Forbes Cancer Center?” Sterling asked.

“Most definitely,” Dr. Mason said. “The deceased was a patient at Forbes. She’d been one of our medulloblastoma patients, the only one to die in the last several years, I might add. The problem is, our treatment protocol has no patent protection yet.”

“You mean to say that Sean Murphy could be in possession of patentable secrets by having this brain at his disposal?”

“Exactly,” Dr. Mason said. “As usual, you are right on target. I’ve already instructed security at Forbes to deny Mr. Murphy access to our labs. What I want you to do is see that he is turned over to the police.”

“That might be difficult,” Sterling said. “Mr. Murphy and Miss Reardon have vanished. I’m calling from their hotel. They have left their belongings, but I do not think they are planning on returning. It’s now after two in the morning. I’m afraid I underestimated their fortitude. I thought that after being rescued from the prospect of abduction, their relief would have rendered them passive. Quite the contrary. My guess is that they commandeered an automobile and drove away.”

“I want you to find them,” Dr. Mason said.

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” Sterling said. “But the character of this assignment is changing. I think you would do better to hire a regular private investigator whose fees are considerably less than mine.”

“I want you to stay on the job,” Dr. Mason said. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “I want Sean Murphy turned over to the police as soon as possible. In fact, knowing what I now know, I wish you’d let the Japanese take him. I’ll pay you time and a half. Just do it.”

“That is very generous,” Sterling said, “but, Randolph...”

“Double time,” Dr. Mason said. “There’d be too much lag time attempting to get someone else involved at this point. I want Sean Murphy in police custody now!”

“All right,” Sterling said reluctantly. “I will stay with the assignment. But I have to warn you that unless Miss Reardon uses her Visa card, I’ll have no way of tracking him until he turns up in Miami again.”

“Why her card?” Dr. Mason asked.

“That’s how they paid for their hotel bills,” Sterling said.

“You’ve never let me down,” Dr. Mason said.

“I will do my best,” Sterling promised.

After Sterling had disconnected, he indicated to Wayne that he had to make another call. They were in the lobby of the Edgewater Beach Hotel. Wayne was comfortably ensconced on a couch with a magazine in his lap.

Sterling dialed one of his many bank contacts in Boston. Once he was sure the man was awake enough to be coherent, Sterling gave him the details he’d learned about Janet Reardon, including the fact that she had used her Visa card at two hotels that evening. Sterling asked for him to call back on Sterling’s portable line if the card was used again.

Rejoining Wayne, Sterling informed him that they were to remain on the assignment, but the goal had changed. He told him what Dr. Mason had said and that they were to see that Mr. Murphy was turned over to the police. Sterling also asked if Wayne had any suggestions.

“Just one,” Wayne said. “Let’s get a couple of rooms and get some shut-eye.”

Janet felt her stomach lurch. It was as if the steak with green peppercorn sauce she’d had for dinner at the Betencourts’ had reversed its progress in her digestive tract. She was lying on a bunk in the bow of the forty-two-foot boat that was taking them to Key West. In the bunk across the narrow room, Sean was fast asleep. In the half-light he looked so peaceful. The fact that he could be so relaxed under the circumstances left Janet exasperated. It made her discomfort that much more trenchant.