Terminal

Relieved to get out of the car, Wayne lost no time going into the hotel.

After Wayne slipped inside the hotel, Sterling’s eyes drifted back to the limousine. He tried to imagine what Tanaka was thinking, what he was planning next. Absorbed by these thoughts, he suddenly remembered the Sushita jet.

Reaching for the car phone, Sterling called his contact at the FAA. The contact asked him to hold while he punched the query into his computer. After a brief pause, he came back on the line.

“Your bird has flown the coop,” he said.

“When?” Sterling asked. This he didn’t want to hear. If the plane was gone, Wayne might be correct. Tanaka certainly wasn’t planning on bringing Sean to Japan if he no longer had the Sushita jet at his command.

“It left just a short time ago,” the contact said.

“Is it going back up the east coast?” Sterling asked.

“Nope,” the contact said. “It’s going to Naples, Florida. Does that mean anything to you?”

“Indeed it does,” Sterling said with relief.

“From there it’s going to Mexico,” the contact said. “That will take it out of our jurisdiction.”

“You’ve been most helpful,” Sterling said.

Sterling hung up the phone. He was glad he’d called. Now he was certain Sean Murphy was not about to be killed. Instead he was about to be offered a free trip across the Pacific.

“I CAN’T smell any cigarette smoke in here,” Janet said as she sniffed around the spacious room. Then she opened the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace. “Sean, come out here!” she called. “This is gorgeous.”

Sean was sitting on the edge of the bed reading the directions for making a long-distance call. He got up and joined Janet on the terrace.

The view was spectacular. A beach shaped like a scimitar swept to the north in a gigantic arc, ending in the distance at Sanibel Island. Directly below their terrace was the lush greenery of a mangrove swamp. To the south the beach ran a straight line, eventually disappearing behind a line of high-rise condominiums. To the west, the sun was slanting through a sheath of red clouds. The Gulf was calm and deep green. A few windsurfers dotted the surface, their sails offering bright splashes of color.

“Let’s go to the beach for a swim,” Janet suggested. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm.

“You’re on,” Sean said. “But first I want to call Brian and Mr. Betencourt.”

“Good luck,” Janet said over her shoulder. She was already on her way inside to change.

With Janet in the bathroom putting on her suit, Sean dialed Brian’s number. It was after six, and Sean fully expected him to be home. It was disappointing to hear the damn answering machine kick on and have to sit through Brian’s message yet again. After the beep Sean left the number of the Ritz and his room number and asked his brother to please call. As an afterthought he added that it was important.

Next, Sean dialed Malcolm Betencourt’s number. Mr. Betencourt himself answered on the second ring.

Sean winged it. He explained that he was a medical student at Harvard who was taking an elective at the Forbes Cancer Center. He said he’d been reviewing charts of patients who’d been on the medulloblastoma protocol and who had been doing well. Having had an opportunity to review Mr. Betencourt’s chart, he’d appreciate the chance to talk to Mr. Betencourt in person about his treatment, if that would be at all possible.

“Please call me Malcolm,” Mr. Betencourt said. “Where are you calling from, Miami?”

“I’m in Naples,” Sean said. “My girlfriend and I just drove over.”

“Splendid. So you’re already in the neighborhood. And you’re a Harvard man. Just the med school or undergrad too?”

Sean explained that he was on leave from the M.D./Ph.D. program but that he’d been an undergrad at Harvard too.

“I went to Harvard myself,” Malcolm said. “Class of ’50. I’ll bet that sounds like a century ago. You play any sports while you were there?”

Sean was somewhat surprised by the direction the conversation was taking, but he decided to go with it. He told Malcolm that he’d been on the ice hockey team.

“I was on the crew team, myself,” Malcolm said. “But it’s my time at the Forbes you’re interested in, not my glory days of youth. How long will you be in Naples?”

“Just the weekend.”

“Hang on a second, young fella,” Malcolm said. In a minute, he came back on the line. “How about coming over for dinner?” he asked.

“That’s awfully kind,” Sean said. “Are you sure it’s not an imposition?”

“Hell, I already checked with the boss,” Malcolm said cheerfully. “And Harriet will be tickled to have some youthful company. How’s eight-thirty sound? Dress is casual.”

“Perfect,” Sean said. “How about some directions?”

Malcolm told Sean that he lived on a street called Galleon Drive in Port Royal, an area just south of Naples’s old town. He then gave specific directions which Sean wrote down.