Terminal

HARRIS CLOSED the door to the camera room, went back to his desk, and sat down. Sean had been worse than he’d feared. The idea of some wiseass kid coming down from Harvard had not appealed to him in the first place, but he hadn’t expected anyone looking like a hippie from the sixties.

Lighting a cigarette, Harris cursed the likes of Sean. He hated such liberal Ivy League types who thought they knew everything. Harris had gone through the Citadel, then into the army where he’d trained hard for the commandos. He’d done well, making captain after Desert Storm. But with the breakup of the Soviet Union, the peacetime army had begun cutting back. Harris had been one of its victims.

Harris stubbed out his cigarette. Intuition told him Sean would be trouble. He decided he’d have to keep his eye on him.

WITH A new photo ID clipped to his shirt pocket, Sean left security. The experience didn’t mesh with the welcome sign, but one fact did impress him. When he’d asked the reticent Ramirez why security was so tight, Ramirez had told him that several researchers had disappeared the previous year.

“Disappeared?” Sean asked with amazement. He’d heard of equipment disappearing, but people!

“Were they found?” Sean had asked.

“I don’t know,” Ramirez had said. “I only came this year.”

“Where are you from?”

“Medellín, Colombia,” Ramirez had said.

Sean had not asked any more questions, but Ramirez’s reply added to Sean’s unease. It seemed overkill to head security with a man who acted like a frustrated Green Beret and staff it with a group of guys who could have been from some Colombian drug lord’s private army. As Sean followed Ramirez into the elevator to the seventh floor his initial positive impression of Forbes security faded.

“Come in, come in!” Dr. Randolph Mason repeated, holding open his office door. Almost immediately Sean’s unease was replaced by a feeling of genuine welcome. “We’re pleased to have you with us,” Dr. Mason said. “I was so happy when Clifford called and suggested it. Would you like some coffee?”

Sean acquiesced and was soon balancing a cup while sitting on a couch across from the Forbes director. Dr. Mason looked like everyone’s romantic image of a physician. He was tall with an aristocratic face, classically graying hair, and an expressive mouth. His eyes were sympathetic and his nose slightly aquiline. He seemed the type of man you could tell a problem to and know he’d not only care but he’d solve it.

“The first thing we must do,” Dr. Mason said, “is have you meet our head of research, Dr. Levy.” He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to have Deborah come up. “I’m certain you will be impressed by her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were soon in contention for the big Scandinavian prize.”

“I’ve already been impressed with her earlier work on retroviruses,” Sean said.

“Like everyone else,” Dr. Mason said. “More coffee?”

Sean shook his head. “I have to be careful with this stuff,” he said. “It makes me hyper. Too much and I don’t come down for days.”

“I’m the same way,” Dr. Mason said. “Now about your accommodations. Has anyone discussed them with you?”

“Dr. Walsh just said that you would be able to provide housing.”

“Indeed,” Dr. Mason said. “I’m pleased to say that we had the foresight to purchase a sizable apartment complex several years ago. It’s not in Coconut Grove, but it’s not far either. We use it for visiting personnel and patients’ families. We’re delighted to offer you one of the apartments for your stay. I’m certain you will find it suitable, and you should enjoy the neighborhood as it’s so close to the Grove.”

“I’m pleased I didn’t have to make my own arrangements,” Sean said. “And as far as entertainment is concerned, I’m more interested in working than playing tourist.”

“Everyone should have a balance in life,” Dr. Mason said. “But rest assured, we have plenty of work for you to do. We want your experience here to be a good one. When you go into practice we hope you will be referring us patients.”

“My plan is to remain in research,” Sean said.

“I see,” Dr. Mason said, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.

“In fact, the reason I wanted to come here . . .” Sean began, but before he could complete the statement, Dr. Deborah Levy walked into the room.

Deborah Levy was a strikingly attractive woman with dark olive skin, large almond-shaped eyes, and hair even blacker than Sean’s. She was stylishly thin and wore a dark blue silk dress beneath her lab coat. She walked with the confidence and grace of the truly successful.

Sean struggled to get to his feet.

“Don’t bother to get up,” Dr. Levy said in a husky yet feminine voice. She thrust a hand at Sean.

Sean shook Dr. Levy’s hand while balancing his coffee in the other. She gripped his fingers with unexpected strength and gave Sean’s arm a shake that rattled his cup in its saucer. Her gaze bore into him with intensity.