Robin Cook - Terminal

Sean first checked the refrigerator to make certain that Helen’s brain and sample of cerebrospinal fluid had not been disturbed. Next he got the charts out from their hiding place and gave them to Janet. He eyed the mess at his lab bench but didn’t touch it.

“While you’re perusing the charts,” Sean said casually, “I’ll be heading out. But I’ll be back shortly, maybe in an hour.”

“Where are you going?” Janet asked. As usual, Sean was full of surprises. “I thought you needed lab time. That’s why we rushed here.”

“I do,” Sean assured her. “But I’m afraid I’m going to be interrupted because of Alvarez and also because of that group I locked in the closet in Key West. They must be out and fit to be tied by now. I have to make some arrangements to keep the barbarians at bay.”

“What do you mean by arrangements?” Janet asked warily.

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t know,” Sean said. “I came up with a great idea that’s guaranteed to work, but it’s a bit drastic. I don’t think you should be involved.”

“I don’t like the sound of this at all,” Janet said.

“If anybody comes in here while I’m gone and asks for me,” Sean said, ignoring Janet’s concerns, “tell them that you have no idea where I am, which will be the truth.”

“Who might come?” Janet asked.

“I hope no one,” Sean said. “But if someone does come, it will probably be Robert Harris, the guy who saved the day on the beach. If Alvarez calls anyone, he’ll call him.”

“What if he asks what I’m doing here?”

“Tell him the truth,” Sean said. “Tell him you’re going over these charts to try to understand my behavior.”

“Oh, please!” Janet said superciliously. “I’m not going to understand your behavior from these charts. That’s ridiculous.”

“Just read them and keep in mind what I just told you.”

“You mean about the economic demographics?” Janet asked.

“Exactly,” Sean said. “Now I’ve got to get out of here. But I need to borrow something. Can I have that container of Mace you always carry in your purse?”

“I don’t like this at all,” Janet repeated, but she got the container of Mace and handed it to Sean. “This is making me very nervous.”

“Don’t worry,” Sean said. “I need the Mace in case I run into Batman.”

“Give me a break,” Janet said with exasperation.

Sean knew his time was limited. Alvarez would be regaining consciousness soon if he hadn’t already. Sean was quite confident the guard would eventually get the message to someone that he was no longer guarding the Forbes research building and that Sean Murphy was back in town.

Using the rental car, Sean drove to the City Yacht Basin near the municipal auditorium. He parked the car and went into one of the marinas where he rented a sixteen-foot Boston Whaler. Leaving the yacht basin, he drove the boat across Biscayne Bay and around the Dodge Island seaport. Since it was Sunday afternoon, a number of cruise ships were lined up at the dock with people boarding for Caribbean adventures. There was also a horde of pleasure craft, from jet skis to large ocean-going yachts.

Crossing the sea lane was treacherous because of the chop created by a combination of wind and other waterborne traffic, but Sean made it safely to the bridge connecting the MacArthur Causeway to Miami Beach. Passing under the bridge he saw his objective off to the left: Star Island.

It was easy to find the Masons’ home since their huge white yacht, Lady Luck , was moored to the pier in front. Sean angled his Boston Whaler in behind the yacht where a floating dock was connected to the pier by a ship’s ladder. As Sean expected, by the time he secured his boat, Batman, the Masons’ Doberman, was at the top of the ladder growling and baring his formidable teeth.

Sean climbed the ladder saying “good dog” over and over. Batman leaned out from the pier as far as he dared and responded to Sean’s cajoling by curling his upper lip into a menacing snarl. The volume of his growling rose as he showed more teeth.

Coming within twelve inches of the canine’s canines, Sean gave Batman a blast from Janet’s Mace canister that sent the dog howling toward its lair on the side of the garage.

Confident that there was only one dog, Sean clambered up onto the pier and surveyed the grounds. What he had to do, he had to do quickly, before any phone calls could be made. The sliders opening out from the living room to the pool were cast open. The sound of opera issued forth.

From where he was standing, Sean couldn’t see anyone. As nice a day as it was, he’d expected to see Sarah Mason sunning herself on one of the chaises by the pool. Sean did see a towel, some suntan lotion, and a portion of the Sunday paper, but no Sarah.

Moving quickly, Sean rounded the pool and approached the open sliders. Screen doors obscured his view inside. The closer he got to the house, the louder the music became.

Reaching the door, Sean tried the screen. It was unlocked. Silently he slid it open. Stepping into the room he tried to listen for sounds of people over the opera’s sudden crescendo.

Advancing to the stereo, Sean searched among its dazzling array of dials and gauges. Finding the power button, he turned the system off, plunging the room into relative silence. He was hoping that cutting off the Aida aria in the middle would have a summoning effect. It did.

Almost immediately, Dr. Mason appeared at the door to his study, gazing at the stereo with a quizzical expression on his face. He took a few steps into the room before he saw Sean. He stopped, obviously flabbergasted.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Mason,” Sean said with a voice that was more chipper than he felt. “Is Mrs. Mason around?”

“What in heaven’s name is the meaning of this...?” Dr. Mason blustered. He couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Intrusion?” Sean suggested.

Sarah Mason appeared, apparently equally baffled by the sudden silence. She was dressed, if that was the word, in a shiny black bikini. The skimpy suit barely covered her ample flesh. Over the bikini she wore a diaphanous jacket with rhinestone buttons, but the jacket was so transparent, it hardly made for a more modest appearance. Completing the outfit were black, backless high-heeled slippers decorated with a tuft of feathers over each instep.

“I’ve come to invite you two to the lab,” Sean said matter-of-factly. “I suggest you bring some reading material. It may be a long afternoon.”

Dr. and Mrs. Mason exchanged glances.

“Trouble is, I don’t have a lot of time,” Sean added. “Let’s get a move on. We’ll use your car since I came in a boat.”

“I’m going to call the police,” Dr. Mason announced. He started to turn back into his study.

“I don’t think that is part of the game plan,” Sean said. He pulled out Tom’s gun and held it up in the air to be sure both of the Masons could see it clearly.

Mrs. Mason gasped. Dr. Mason stiffened.

“I was hoping a mere invitation would be sufficient,” Sean said. “But I do have this gun if need be.”

“I think you are making a big mistake, young man,” Dr. Mason said.

“With all due respect,” Sean said, “if my suspicions are correct, then you’re the one who’s made big mistakes.”

“You won’t get away with this,” Dr. Mason warned.

“I don’t intend to,” Sean said.

“Do something!” Mrs. Mason commanded her husband. Tears had formed in the corners of her eyes, threatening her eyeliner.

“I want everybody to stay cool,” Sean said. “No one will get hurt. Now if we can all just go to the car.” Sean motioned with the gun.

“I’ll have you know we’re expecting company,” Dr. Mason said. “In fact, we’re expecting your...”