Mindbend

Alan did not even feel the needle. He grabbed Adam’s head with seemingly superhuman strength and practically lifted Adam off the floor. But then, as Adam watched, his crazed eyes fluttered and his pupils dilated. His right eye wandered like a child’s lazy eye, and his left one assumed a questioning look. His grip relaxed and he slowly sagged to his knees. Finally, he collapsed backward and flopped out of the stall onto the floor in front of one of the sinks.

For a moment Adam could not move. He felt he’d come close to death. Slowly he lowered his eyes to look at the tip of the needle that was still in his hand. A drop of fluid had collected there and now dropped off. Adam let go of the syringe, and it clattered to the floor.

Stepping out of the stall and pushing aside two gurneys that were at the back of the room, Adam knelt beside Alan and felt his pulse. It was strong and normal. To Adam’s surprise, the man’s eyes fluttered open. In a very slurred voice he complained that his hands hurt.

• • •

“At that level of energy, there is no doubt that our patient’s electrodes were stimulated to maximum,” said Hofstra. “The result has to have been devastating.”

“But now we may have a new problem,” said Dr. Nachman. “If the patient is dead, no one can examine the body. We can’t let anyone find the implants. We must find him at once.”

The phone rang, and Dr. Mitchell answered. After listening and saying “good” several times, he turned to Nachman with a thumbs-up sign.

“Your idea of covering the airport was a good one,” he said. “Burkett says the patient and Mr. Schonberg were sighted and are being picked up by the ambulance medics.”

“What if they were already in the ambulance when the stimulus was given?” asked Nachman.

“It could have been big trouble. I think we’d better search the road between here and the airport.”

Dr. Nachman threw up his hands. “When is this going to end?”

• • •

Adam had no doubt that Alan’s psychotic episodes were due to remote stimulation, and he prayed that once they were airborne Alan would be out of range. Their one hope was to get aboard, but Adam was now afraid they both looked so bad that the Delta agents might turn them away. There were only five more minutes until their flight was due to take off.

Adam washed his face quickly and tried to wipe Alan’s hands, which were coated with blood. Worse still, there were several raw patches on his head, where Alan had torn out clumps of his hair. Adam mopped at them with little result.

Well, there was nothing more he could do. He lifted Alan onto the wheelchair and was about to push him out the door when he spotted a full hypodermic lying on the floor. He picked it up, deciding it would be useful if Alan had another fit.

As he approached the gate, Adam saw the plane was in the final boarding process.

“Hold it,” he yelled. Two Delta agents eyed him curiously.

Then one of them said, “Are you the two who were stranded on the sailboat?”

“That’s right,” said Adam, handing over the tickets.

“The agent at the ticket counter said to expect you. We thought that perhaps you’d changed your minds.”

“Heavens, no,” said Adam. “It’s just been hard getting my friend motivated.”

The agent looked at Alan, whose head was lolling sideways.

“He’s not drunk, is he?”

“Hell, no,” said Adam. “He got pretty scraped up when we capsized. They had to give him a painkiller, and it seems to have knocked him out.”

“Oh, I see,” said the agent, handing Adam the boarding cards. “Seats 2A and 2B. Will you need a wheelchair in Atlanta?”

“That would be nice,” said Adam. “Actually, we’ll be going on to Washington. Could you make those arrangements for us?”

“Absolutely,” said the agent.

Adam wheeled Alan down the jetway with a sense of relief.

The stewardesses were less than enthusiastic when they saw the pair board, but they helped Alan out of the wheelchair and listened politely as Adam ran through his shipwreck story one more time. The plane was only half full, and most of the other passengers were asleep. Adam decided to close his eyes too and slept all the way to Atlanta except for the few minutes when he woke to wolf down breakfast.

Adam dreaded the transfer, thinking that there might be trouble. But a Delta agent had a wheelchair waiting and ticketed them straight through to Washington. The layover was only forty minutes, but it gave Adam a chance to call Jennifer. Luckily, she answered herself.

“Jennifer, everything is going to be all right. I can explain everything.”

“Oh,” she said vaguely.

“Just promise me you won’t have the abortion until I get there.”

“The hearing is this morning,” said Jennifer, “and I won’t do anything today, but if you’re not here by tomorrow . . .”

Her voice trailed off.

“Jennifer, I love you. I have to get to the plane now.

We’re just taking off from Atlanta.”

“Atlanta?” said Jennifer, completely confused. “And who’s

‘we’?”

• • •

“Adam?” asked Margaret Weintrob, her nimble fingers coming to an abrupt halt on her typewriter. “Is that you?”