Terminal

Sterling sipped his drink and gazed out the window at the superb view. As usual, his room was on a high floor overlooking the magical Boston Garden. As the sunlight waned, the park’s lamps lining the serpentine walkways had blinked on, illuminating the swan boat pond with its miniature suspension bridge. Although it was early March, the recent cold snap had frozen the pond solid. Skaters dotted its mirrored surface, weaving in effortless, intersecting arcs.

Raising his eyes, Sterling could see the fading dazzle of the gold-domed Massachusetts State House. Ruefully he bemoaned the sad fact that the legislature had systematically destroyed its own tax base by enacting short-sighted, anti-business legislation. Unfortunately Sterling had lost a number of good clients who’d either been forced to flee to a more business-oriented state or forced to leave business altogether. Nevertheless, Sterling enjoyed his trips to Boston. It was such a civilized city.

Pulling the phone over to the edge of the table, Sterling wanted to finish work for the day before he indulged in dinner. Not that he found work a burden. Quite the contrary. Sterling loved his current employ, especially considering that he didn’t have to work at all. He’d trained at Stanford in computer engineering, worked for Big Blue for several years, then founded his own successful computer chip company, all before he was thirty. By his middle thirties he was tired of an unfulfilling life, a bad marriage, and the stultifying routine of running a business. First he divorced, then he took his company public and made a fortune. Then he engineered a buyout and made another fortune. By age forty he could have bought a sizable portion of the State of California if he’d so desired.

For almost one year he indulged himself in the adolescence he felt he’d somehow missed. Eventually, he got extremely bored with such places as Aspen. That was when a business friend asked him if he would look into a private matter for him. From that moment on, Sterling had been launched on a new career which was stimulating, never routine, rarely dull, and which utilized his engineering background, his business acumen, his imagination, and his intuitive sense for human behavior.

Sterling called Randolph Mason at home. Dr. Mason took the call from his private line in his study.

“I’m not sure you will be happy about what I’ve learned,” Sterling said.

“It’s better I learn it sooner rather than later,” Dr. Mason responded.

“This young Sean Murphy is an impressive young fellow,” Sterling said. “He founded his own biotechnology company called Immunotherapy while a graduate student at MIT. The company turned a profit almost from day one marketing diagnostic kits.”

“How’s it doing now?”

“Wonderfully,” Sterling said. “It’s a winner. It’s done so well that Genentech bought them out over a year ago.”

“Indeed!” Dr. Mason said. A ray of sunshine entered the picture. “Where does that leave Sean Murphy?”

“He and his young friends realized a considerable profit,” Sterling said. “Considering their initial investment, it was extremely lucrative indeed.”

“So Sean’s no longer involved?” Dr. Mason asked.

“He’s completely out,” Sterling said. “Is that helpful?”

“I’d say so,” Dr. Mason said. “I could use the kid’s experience with monoclonals, but not if he’s got a production facility behind him. It would be too risky.”

“He could still sell the information to someone else,” Sterling said. “Or he could be in someone else’s employ.”

“Can you find that out?”

“Most likely,” Sterling said. “Do you want me to continue on this?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Mason said. “I want to use the kid but not if he’s some kind of industrial spy.”

“I’ve learned something else,” Sterling said as he poured himself more champagne. “Someone besides myself has been investigating Sean Murphy. His name is Tanaka Yamaguchi.”

Dr. Mason felt the tortellini in his stomach turn upside down.

“Have you ever heard of this man?” Sterling asked.

“No,” Dr. Mason said. He’d not heard of him, but with a name like that, the implications were obvious.

“My assumption would be he’s working for Sushita,” Sterling said. “And I know that he is aware of Sean Murphy’s involvement with Immunotherapy. I know because Sean’s mother told him.”

“He’d been to see Sean’s mother?” Dr. Mason asked with alarm.

“As have I,” Sterling said.

“But then Sean will know he’s being investigated,” Dr. Mason sputtered.

“Nothing wrong in that,” Sterling said. “If Sean is an industrial spy, it will give him pause. If he’s not, it will only be a matter of curiosity or at worst a minor irritation. Sean’s reaction should not be your concern. You should be worried about Tanaka Yamaguchi.”

“What do you mean?”