Terminal

“And you have to go to that stupid bar,” Janet snapped. She saw some of the other people in the room turn to stare at them.

“Janet, keep your voice down!” Sean said. “We’ll get together Saturday night as planned. We can talk then.”

“Knowing how upset this leaving would make me, I cannot understand why you can’t give up drinking with your trashy buddies for one night.”

“Careful, Janet,” Sean warned. “My friends are important to me. They’re my roots.”

For a moment their eyes met with palpable hostility. Then Janet turned and strode from the lab.

Self-consciously, Sean glanced at his colleagues. Most avoided his gaze. Dr. Clifford Walsh did not. He was a big man with a full beard. He wore a long white coat with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows.

“Turmoil does not help creativity,” he said. “I hope your leaving on this sour note does not influence your behavior down in Miami.”

“Not a chance,” Sean said.

“Remember, I’ve gone out on a limb for you,” Dr. Walsh said. “I assured Dr. Mason you’d be an asset to his organization. He liked the idea that you’ve had a lot of experience with monoclonal antibodies.”

“That’s what you told him?” Sean questioned with dismay.

“I could tell from our conversation that he’d be interested in that,” Dr. Walsh explained. “Don’t get your dander up.”

“But that was what I did three years ago at MIT,” Sean said. “Protein chemistry and I have parted ways.”

“I know you’re interested in oncogenes now,” Dr. Walsh said, “but you wanted the job and I did what I thought was best to get you invited. When you are there, you can explain you’d rather work in molecular genetics. Knowing you as I do, I’m not worried about you making your feelings known. Just try to be tactful.”

“I’ve read some of the work of the chief investigator,” Sean said. “It’s perfect for me. Her background is in retroviruses and oncogenes.”

“That’s Dr. Deborah Levy,” Dr. Walsh said. “Maybe you can get to work with her. But whether you do or not, just be grateful you’ve been invited at this late date.”

“I just don’t want to get all the way down there and get stuck with busywork.”

“Promise me you won’t cause trouble,” Dr. Walsh said.

“Me?” Sean asked with eyebrows arched. “You know me better than that.”

“I know you too well,” Dr. Walsh said. “That’s the problem. Your brashness can be disturbing, to put it mildly, but at least thank the Lord for your intelligence.”

2

February 26

Friday, 4:45 P.M.

“Just a second, Corissa,” Kathleen Sharenburg said as she stopped and leaned against one of the cosmetic counters of Neiman Marcus. They’d come to the mall just west of Houston to shop for dresses for a school dance. Now that they had made their purchases, Corissa was eager to get home.

Kathleen had had a sudden sensation of dizziness giving her the sickening sensation that the room was spinning. Luckily, as soon as she touched the countertop, the spinning stopped. She then shuddered through a wave of nausea. But it too passed.

“You all right?” Corissa asked. They were both juniors in high school.

“I don’t know,” Kathleen said. The headache she’d had off and on for the last few days was back. It had been awakening her from sleep, but she hadn’t said anything to her parents, afraid that it might be related to the pot she’d smoked the weekend before.

“You look white as a ghost,” Corissa said. “Maybe we shouldn’t have eaten that fudge.”

“Oh my God!” Kathleen whispered. “That man over there is listening to us. He’s planning on kidnapping us in the parking garage.”

Corissa spun about, half expecting some fearful man to be towering over them. But all she saw was a handful of peaceful, women shoppers, mostly at the cosmetic counters. She didn’t see any man.

“What man are you talking about?” she asked.

Kathleen’s eyes stared ahead, unblinking. “That man over there near the coats.” She pointed with her left hand.

Corissa followed the direction of Kathleen’s finger and finally saw a man almost fifty yards away. He was standing behind a woman who was shuffling through a rack of merchandise. He wasn’t even facing toward them.

Confused, Corissa turned back to her best friend.

“He’s saying we cannot leave the store,” Kathleen said.

“What are you talking about?” Corissa questioned. “I mean, you’re starting to scare me.”

“We have to get out of here,” Kathleen warned. Abruptly she turned and headed in the opposite direction. Corissa had to run to catch up with her. She grabbed Kathleen’s arm and yanked her around.

“What is wrong with you?” Corissa demanded.

Kathleen’s face was a mask of terror. “There are more men now,” she said urgently. “They are coming down the escalator. They’re talking about getting us as well.”

Corissa turned. Several men were indeed coming down the escalator. But at such a distance Corissa couldn’t even see their faces much less hear what they said.