Robin Cook - Terminal

Meanwhile, the immunofluorescence test involving the ERB-2 and Helen Cabot’s medicine had registered strongly positive, even stronger than it had with the tumor cells. “There you go!” Sean said smugly. “There’s the antigen-antibody reaction I’ve been searching for.”

Next Sean turned back to his hundreds of samples in the two thermocyclers.

“Can I help?” Janet asked.

“Definitely,” Sean said. He showed her how to handle a twelve-channel pipette, then gave her a series of oncogene probes to add to the thermocycler wells.

They worked together for almost three-quarters of an hour, concentrating on the meticulous work. They were both physically exhausted and emotionally overwrought from the magnitude of the conspiracy they suspected. After the final well was probed and analyzed for its luminescence, they’d uncovered two more oncogenes: Ha-ras, named after the Harvey sarcoma virus which normally infected rats, and SV40 Large T from a virus usually found in monkey kidneys. From the RNA studies in the second thermocycler, where Sean had run a quantitative polymerase chain reaction, it was determined that all the oncogenes were “mega” expressed.

“What an oncogene cocktail!” Sean said with awe as he stood and stretched his weary muscles. “Any nerve cell that got those four would undoubtedly become cancerous. Dr. Levy was leaving as little to chance as possible.”

Janet put down the pipette she was holding and cradled her head in her hands. In a tired voice she spoke without looking up: “What now?”

“We give up, I guess,” Sean said. As he tried to contemplate the next step, he glanced into the office at the Masons who were arguing again. Mercifully, the glass partition dampened the sound of their voices considerably.

“How are we going to manage the giving up?” Janet asked sleepily.

Sean sighed. “You know, I hadn’t given it much thought. It could be tricky.”

Janet looked up. “You must have had some idea when you came up with this plan.”

“Nope,” Sean admitted. “I didn’t think that far ahead.”

Janet pushed off her seat and went to the window. From there she could see down into the parking lot. “You got that circus you wanted,” she said. “There are hundreds of people out there, including a group in black uniforms.”

“They’re the ones who make me nervous,” Sean admitted. “I’d guess they’re a SWAT team.”

“Maybe the first thing we should do is send the Masons out to tell them that we’re ready to come out.”

“That’s an idea,” Sean said. “But you’ll go with them.”

“But then you’ll be in here alone,” Janet said. She came back and sat down. “I don’t like that. Not with all those black-uniform guys itching to come charging in here.”

“The biggest problem is Helen Cabot’s brain,” Sean said.

“Why?” Janet asked with a sigh of exasperation.

“It’s our only evidence,” Sean said. “We cannot allow the Forbes people to destroy the brain which I’m certain they’d do if given the chance. My guess is that I’ll not be very popular with anybody when we end this. During the confusion there’s a good chance the brain could get into the wrong hands. I doubt anyone is going to take the time to stop and hear me out.”

“I’d have to agree,” Janet said.

“Wait a second!” Sean said with sudden enthusiasm. “I’ve got an idea.”

It took Sean twenty minutes to convince Janet that the best thing for her to do was join the Masons in the office. It was Sean’s hope that the idea she’d been coerced would be easier to put forth if she was considered a hostage. Janet was skeptical, but in the end she relented.

With that issue decided, Sean packed Helen Cabot’s brain in ice and put it in the cooler he’d used to transport it to the lab. Then with some cord that he’d found in the supply closet, he made a large parcel out of the thirty-three chart copies plus the computer printout of the Forbes Cancer Center travel file. When all was ready, Sean picked up the pass keys and with the cooler in one hand and the charts in the other, he climbed up to the administration floor.

Using the pass key, Sean went into the finance section. After taking out the shelving from the dumbwaiter, he squeezed himself in along with his two parcels. He rode the dumbwaiter down the seven floors to the basement, trying hard to keep his elbows in so they wouldn’t rub on the walls.

The chart vault was a problem. The light switch was at the entrance, and Sean had to negotiate the entire length of the room in utter blackness. Remembering at least the general layout of the shelving, he was able to move with a modicum of confidence although several times he became disoriented. Eventually, he found the sister dumbwaiter. Within minutes he was riding up the two stories to medical records in the hospital building.

When he opened the dumbwaiter door he was thankful for the lights being on but disappointed to hear someone giving muffled dictation. Before stepping out of the cramped car, Sean determined that the voice was coming from a small cubicle that was out of sight. As quietly as possible he got himself out of the hoist; then he crept into the hall, clutching his two parcels, one under each arm.

Once in the hall, Sean could sense the electricity in the air. It was apparent that the clinical chemistry and radiology departments had been informed of the hostage situation in the neighboring building; the excitement provided an almost holiday atmosphere for the weekend skeleton staff. Most of them were in the hall at the floor-to-ceiling windows opposite the elevators that faced the research building. None of them paid any attention to Sean.

Shunning the elevators, Sean took the stairs down to the first floor. When he came out into the main lobby, he felt immediately at ease. Conveniently, it was visiting hours so there was quite a mob of people clustered around the lobby entrance. Despite his bulky parcels, two-day growth of whiskers, and rumpled clothes, Sean was able to blend in.

Sean walked out of the hospital unimpeded. Crossing the parking lot to the research side he began to appreciate the number of people who’d showed up for his hostage show. They were milling about the handful of cars parked there, including his own 4 x 4.

Passing near his Isuzu, Sean contemplated dropping the brain and the charts off. But he decided it would be better to give them directly to Brian. Sean was confident his brother was still there despite his threats to abandon him.

The police had stretched the yellow vinyl crime scene tape from vehicle to vehicle all the way around the front of the research building. Behind the building they used trees to seal off the area completely. All along the tape at regular intervals uniformed police officers stood guard.

Sean noticed that the police had set up a command central at a card table positioned behind a group of squad cars. A crowd of several dozen police officials were gathered in the vicinity in the central spot. Off to the left was the black-suited SWAT team, some of whom were doing calisthenics, others checking an assortment of impressive weaponry.

Sean paused at the tape and scanned the crowd. He was able to pick Brian out instantly. He was the only man dressed in a white shirt and paisley suspenders. Brian was off to the side locked in an animated conversation with a black-suited SWAT team member with black face paint smeared under each eye.

Stepping over to one of the uniformed police officers manning the crime scene tape, Sean waved to get his attention. He was busy clipping his nails.

“Sorry to be a bother,” Sean said. “I’m related to the individual who took the hostages and that’s my brother over there talking with a member of the SWAT team.” Sean pointed toward Brian. “I think I can help resolve the dilemma.”