Mindbend

After Adam signed in, another blue jacketed clerk, whose name tag said “Craig,” picked up his bag and led him to the elevator. They got out at the sixth floor and walked down a long corridor. At the very end was another elevator.

“Will you be with us long?” asked Craig in the now familiar inflectionless speech.

“Just a few days,” said Adam evasively as Craig pulled out his key and opened one of the doors.

Adam didn’t have a room; he had a suite. Craig went around like a bellhop, checking all the lighting, making sure the TV

worked, glancing at the full bar, and opening the drapes.

Adam tried to give him a tip, but he politely refused.

Adam was amazed by the accommodations. He had a magnificent view of the ocean, which had darkened with the approaching night. On the distant islands pinpoint lights sparkled. Adam watched as a single Hobie Cat beat its way toward the shore. Hearing sounds of Caribbean music, he stepped out onto the terrace. A band seemed to be playing in the building Adam thought was a club. The weather was perfect, and Adam wished Jennifer was with him. Even the honeymoon suite they’d had in the Poconos, with the heart-shaped bath, hadn’t been so luxurious.

Adam decided to try to call her. To his delight, she answered the phone herself, but when she realized who it was, her voice became cool.

“Jennifer, please promise me one thing,” said Adam. “Don’t have the abortion until I get back.”

“Get back?” questioned Jennifer. “Where are you?”

Adam hadn’t meant to tell her where he was, but it was too late to think of a lie. “Puerto Rico,” he said reluctantly.

“Adam,” said Jennifer, making it obvious that she was furious, “if you want to tell me what to do, you can’t keep running off. The moment the court gives me clearance, I intend to go back to the clinic.”

“Please, Jennifer,” said Adam.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” said Jennifer, and she slammed down the receiver.

Adam sank back on the bed totally depressed. He only had two more days. The phone rang and Adam grabbed the receiver, thinking it might be Jennifer, but it was just the receptionist, telling him that dinner was in half an hour.

• • •

The dining room was in the club overlooking the beach. The row of Hobie Cats stood in the sand just beyond the sliding doors. A full moon had risen, casting a glittering path along the surface of the water.

The room had dark green walls and matching carpet with pink tablecloths and pink upholstery. The waiters were dressed in white jackets with black pants.

Adam was seated at a round table for eight. To his immediate right was Dr. Heinrich Nachman, whom Adam had met the day he’d had his interview at Arolen. Next to Dr. Nachman was Dr. Sinclair Glover, a short, portly, red-faced man who said he supervised fetal research.

Next to Dr. Glover was Dr. Winfield Mitchell, a bearded but bald middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Nachman said Mitchell was in charge of psychotropic drug development.

Adam had the distinct impression the man was a psychiatrist, judging by how calmly he listened to the conversation without contributing anything, yet at the same time maintaining a superior-than-thou attitude.

Beyond Dr. Mitchell was a business executive, a William somebody; Adam missed his last name. He was strictly Ivy League, with sandy blond hair and a boyish complexion. Also at the table were Brian Hopkins, who was in charge of management training, Ms. Linda Aronson, who handled PR, and a jovial older man named Harry Burkett, who was the manager of the Puerto Rican compound.

Remembering his experience on the Fjord, Adam was at first reluctant to try the food, but everyone else was eating with gusto, and none of them appeared to be drugged. Besides, Adam reasoned, if they had intended to drug him, they could have done so on the plane.

The atmosphere at the table was relaxed, and everyone made a point of making Adam feel welcome. Burkett explained the reason MTIC chose Puerto Rico for its research center was because the government offered excellent tax incentives as well as a policy of noninterference. It turned out that many drug firms had large installations on the island.

Adam asked about the heavy security.

“That’s one of the prices we have to pay for living in this paradise,” said Harry Burkett. “There’s always a chance of terrorist activity from the small group championing Puerto Rican independence.”

Adam wondered if that were the whole story, but he did not pursue the issue.

William, the MTIC executive, looked over at Adam and said,

“MTIC has a certain philosophy about the medical profession.

We feel that economic interests have supplanted service. I’ve heard that you agree with that premise.”

Adam noticed that the rest of the table was listening. He swallowed a bite of dessert and said, “Yes, that’s true. In the brief time I was at medical school I was dismayed by the lack of humanism. I felt that technology and research were considered more rewarding than patient care.”