Terminal

“I now know the destination of the infamous couple,” Sterling said. “Fortunately, the young lady used her credit card again for a rather sizable sum. She paid five hundred and fifty dollars to be ferried from Naples to Key West.”

“That’s not good news,” Dr. Mason said.

“I thought you’d be pleased to know we’ve learned where they’re going,” Sterling said. “I consider it a bit of good luck.”

“The Forbes has a facility in Key West,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s called Basic Diagnostics. I imagine that’s where Mr. Murphy is headed.”

“Why do you believe he would go to Basic Diagnostics?” Sterling asked.

“We send a lot of our lab work there,” Dr. Mason said. “With current third-party payment schemes, it’s cost effective.”

“Why do you care if Mr. Murphy visits the facility?”

“The medulloblastoma biopsies are sent there,” Dr. Mason said. “I don’t want Mr. Murphy exposed to our techniques of sensitizing patient T lymphocytes.”

“And Mr. Murphy might be able to deduce these techniques by a mere visit?” Sterling asked.

“He’s very savvy as far as biotechnology is concerned,” Dr. Mason said. “I can’t take the risk. Get yourself down there immediately and keep him out of that lab. See that he is turned over to the police.”

“Dr. Mason, it is three-thirty in the morning,” Sterling reminded him.

“Charter a plane,” Dr. Mason said. “We’re paying the expenses. The manager’s name is Kurt Wanamaker. I’ll give him a call right after I hang up and tell him to expect you.”

After Sterling got Mr. Wanamaker’s phone number, he hung up. Despite the money that he was being paid, he was not happy with the idea of rushing off to Key West in the middle of the night. He felt that Dr. Mason was overreacting. After all, it was Sunday and the lab very likely wasn’t even open.

Yet Sterling got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.

10

March 7

Sunday, 5:30 A.M.

Sean’s first glimpse of Key West in the pre-dawn light was of a line of low-rise clapboard buildings nestled in tropical greenery. A few taller brick structures poked out of the skyline here and there, but even they were no taller than five stories. The water’s edge from the northwest was dotted with marinas and hotels all cheek to jowl.

“Where’s the best place to drop us off?” Sean asked Doug.

“Probably the Pier House pier,” Doug said as he cut back the engines. “It’s right at the base of Duval Street which is Key West’s main drag.”

“You familiar with the area?” Sean asked.

“I’ve been here a dozen or so times,” Doug said.

“Ever hear of an organization called Basic Diagnostics?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Doug said.

“What about hospitals?” Sean asked.

“There are two,” Doug replied. “There’s one right here in Key West, but it’s small. There’s a larger one on the next key called Stock Island. That’s the main facility.”

Sean went below and woke Janet up. She wasn’t pleased about having to get up. She told Sean she’d only come down below fifteen or twenty minutes earlier.

“When I came down here hours ago you were sleeping like a baby,” Sean said.

“Yeah, but as soon as we hit rough seas, I had to go back out on deck. I didn’t get to sleep the whole trip like you did. Some restful weekend this has turned out to be.”

The docking was uneventful since there was no other boating activity so early on a Sunday morning. Doug waved goodbye and motored away as soon as Sean and Janet jumped to the pier.

While Sean and Janet strolled off the pier and began to look around, they had the strange feeling they were the only living beings on the island. There was plenty of evidence of the previous night’s partying; empty beer bottles and other debris were haphazardly strewn about in the gutters. But there were no people. There weren’t even any animals. It was like the calm after the storm.

They walked up Duval Street with its complement of T-shirt stores, jewelers, and souvenir shops all shuttered as if they expected a riot. The famous Conch Tour Train appeared abandoned by its bright yellow ticket kiosk. The place was as much of a honky-tonk as Sean expected, yet the net effect was surprisingly charming.

As they passed Sloppy Joe’s Bar the sun peeked tentatively over the Atlantic Ocean and filled the deserted street with misty morning light. Half a block farther on they were enveloped by a delicious aroma.

“That smells suspiciously like . . .” Sean began.

“Croissants,” Janet finished.

Following their noses they turned into a French bakery cum café. The delectable smell was coming from open windows off a terrace dotted with tables and umbrellas. The front door was locked so Sean had to yell through the open window. A woman with red frizzy hair came out wiping her hands on an apron.

“We’re not open yet,” she said with the hint of a French accent.

“How about a couple of those croissants?” Sean suggested.

The woman cocked her head while she gave the idea some thought. “I suppose,” she said. “I could offer you some café au lait that I’ve made for myself. The espresso machine hasn’t been turned on yet.”