Robin Cook - Terminal

Hector motioned to Phil Darell to come over. “What’s the story on the bomb?” Hector asked.

“It’s a little unorthodox,” Phil acknowledged. “I spoke with the doctor. It’s a flask of nitroglycerin. He estimates about two or three hundred cc’s. It’s sitting in an ice bath. Apparently Murphy comes in every so often and dumps ice into the bath. Every time he does it, it terrifies the doctor.”

“Is it a problem?” Hector asked.

“Yeah, it’s a problem,” Phil said. “Especially once it solidifies.”

“Would slamming a door detonate it?” Hector asked.

“Probably not,” Phil replied. “But a shake might. A fall to the floor certainly would.”

“But can you handle it?”

“Absolutely,” Phil said.

Next Hector waved Deborah Levy over.

“I understand you run the research here.”

Dr. Levy nodded.

“What do you think this kid is doing?” Hector asked. “He told our negotiator he wanted time to work.”

“Work!” Dr. Levy said disparagingly. “He’s probably up there sabotaging our research. He’s been angry that we haven’t allowed him to work on one of our protocols. He has no respect for anyone or anything. Frankly, I thought he was disturbed from the first moment I met him.”

“Can he be working on that protocol now?” Hector asked.

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Levy said. “That protocol has moved into clinical trials.”

“So you think he’s up there causing trouble,” Hector said.

“I know that he is causing trouble!” Dr. Levy said. “I think you should go up there and drag him out.”

“We have the safety of the hostages to consider,” Hector said.

Hector was about to confer with George Loring and his SWAT team when one of the uniformed patrolmen got his attention.

“This man insists on talking with you, Lieutenant,” the patrolman said. “He claims to be the brother of the guy who’s holed up inside.”

Brian introduced himself. He explained that he was a lawyer from Boston.

“Any insight into what’s going on here?” Hector asked.

“No, I’m sorry,” Brian said. “But I know my brother. Although he’s always been headstrong, he would not do anything like this unless there was a damn good reason. I want to be sure that you people don’t do anything rash.”

“Taking hostages at gunpoint and threatening them with a bomb is more than headstrong,” Hector said. “That kind of behavior puts him in an unstable, unpredictable, and dangerous category. We have to proceed on that basis.”

“I admit what he’s done here appears foolhardy,” Brian said. “But Sean’s ultimately rational. Maybe you should let me talk to him.”

“You think he might listen to you?” Hector asked.

“I think so,” Brian said, despite still feeling the effects of the episode at the Masons’.

Hector got the phone away from Ronald Hunt and let Brian try calling. Unfortunately no one answered, not even Dr. Mason.

“The doctor has been answering until a few minutes ago,” Ron said.

“Let me go in and talk with him,” Brian said.

Hector shook his head. “There are enough hostages in there as it is,” he said.

“Lieutenant Salazar,” a voice called. Hector turned to see a tall, slender Caucasian approaching, along with a bearded, powerfully built Afro-American. Sterling introduced himself and Wayne Edwards. “I’m acquainted with your chief, Mark Witman, quite well,” Sterling said after the introductions. Then he added: “We heard about this situation involving Sean Murphy so we came to offer our services.”

“This is a police matter,” Hector said. He eyed the newcomers with suspicion. He never liked anyone who tried to bully him by saying he was bosom buddies with the chief. He wondered how they’d managed to cross the crime scene barrier.

“My colleague and I have been following Mr. Murphy for several days,” Sterling explained. “We are in the temporary employ of the Forbes Cancer Center.”

“You have some explanation of what’s going on here?” Hector asked.

“We know that this dude’s been getting progressively crazy,” Wayne said.

“He’s not crazy!” Brian said, interrupting. “Sean is brash and imprudent, but he’s not crazy.”

“If someone does a string of crazy things,” Wayne said, “it’s fair to say he’s crazy.”

At that moment everyone ducked reflexively as a helicopter swept over the building, then hovered over the parking lot. The thunderous thump of the rotor blades rattled everyone’s ribcage. Every bit of dust and dirt smaller than medium-sized gravel became airborne. A few papers on the card table were swept away.

George Loring, commander of the SWAT team, came forward. “That’s our chopper,” he yelled into Hector’s ear. The noise of the aircraft was deafening. “I called it over so we can get to the roof the moment you give the green light.”

Hector was having trouble keeping his hat on. “For crissake, George,” he screamed back. “Tell the goddamn chopper to move off until we call it.”

“Yes, sir!” George yelled back. He pulled a small microphone clipped to one of his epaulets. Shielding it with his hands he spoke briefly to the pilot. To everyone’s relief the chopper dipped, then swept away to land on a helipad next to the hospital.

“What’s your take on this situation?” Hector asked George now that they could talk.

“I looked at the floor plans supplied by the head of security, who’s been very cooperative,” George said, pointing out Robert Harris for Hector. “I think we’d only need a six-man team on the roof: three down each stairwell. The suspect’s in the fifth-floor lab. We’d only need one, but we’d probably go ahead and use two concussion grenades. It would be over in seconds. A piece of cake.”

“What about the nitroglycerin in the office?” Hector asked.

“I didn’t hear about any nitro,” George said.

“It’s in a glass-enclosed office,” Hector said.

“It would be a risk,” Phil interrupted, having overheard the conversation. “The concussive waves could detonate the nitroglycerin if it’s in a solid state.”

“Hell, then,” George said. “Forget the grenades. We can just come out of both stairwells simultaneously. The terrorist wouldn’t know what hit him.”

“Sean’s no terrorist!” Brian said, horrified at this talk.

“I’d like to volunteer to be with the assault team,” Harris said, speaking up for the first time. “I know the terrain.”

“This is not amateur hour,” Hector said.

“I’m no amateur,” Harris said indignantly. “I trained as a commando in the service and carried out a number of commando missions in Desert Storm.”

“I think something should be done sooner rather than later,” Dr. Levy said. “The longer that crazy kid is left up there, the more damage he can do to our ongoing experiments.”

Everyone ducked again as another helicopter made a low pass over the parking area. This one had “Channel 4 TV” on its side.

Hector yelled for Anderson to call the complaint room to have them call Channel 4 to get their goddamn helicopter away from the scene or he’d let the SWAT team have a go at it with their automatic weapons.

Despite the noise and general pandemonium, Brian picked up one of the telephones and pressed the redial button. He prayed it would be answered, and it was. But it wasn’t Sean. It was Dr. Mason.

Sean had no idea how many cycles he should let the thermal cyclers run. All he was looking for was a positive reaction in any of the approximately one hundred and fifty wells he’d prepared. Impatient, he stopped the first machine after twenty-five cycles and removed the tray containing the wells.