Terminal

Instead of retreating, which the guard expected, Sean lunged ahead to meet Alvarez as if throwing a body check in a hockey game. Sean came up from below. The base of his forearm connected with the guard’s lower jaw. Alvarez was lifted off his feet and smashed back against the wall before he could try anything with the truncheon. On impact Sean could hear a definite crack like a piece of dried kindling being snapped. Sean also heard the man grunt when he hit the wall as the breath was forced from his lungs. When Sean pulled away, Alvarez fell to the floor, his body limp.

“Oh, God!” Janet cried. “You’ve hurt him.”

“Geez, what a jaw,” Sean said as he rubbed the base of his forearm.

Janet stepped around Sean to get to Alvarez, who was bleeding from his mouth. Janet half feared that he was dead, but she quickly determined he was merely unconscious.

“When is this going to end?” she moaned. “Sean, I think you’ve broken this man’s jaw, and he’s bitten his tongue. You knocked him out.”

“Let’s walk him over to the hospital side,” Sean suggested.

“They don’t have trauma capability here,” Janet said. “We’ll have to take him over to Miami General.”

Sean rolled his eyes and sighed. He eyed his cardboard box of primers and probes. He needed a few hours, maybe even as much as four, up in the lab. He looked at his watch. It was just after one in the afternoon.

“Sean!” Janet commanded. “Now! It’s only three minutes away. We can come back once we’ve dropped him off. We can’t just leave him this way.”

Reluctantly, Sean pushed his cardboard box behind the guard’s desk, then helped Janet carry Alvarez outside. Between the two of them, they got him out to the rental car and into the back seat.

Sean could see the wisdom in taking Alvarez to the emergency room at Miami General. It wasn’t smart to leave a bleeding, unconscious man unattended. If Alvarez took a turn for the worse, Sean would be in serious trouble, the kind even his clever brother would have a hard time getting him out of. But Sean wasn’t about to get caught now just because he’d agreed to this mission of mercy.

Even though it was midday Sunday, Sean counted on a busy ER. He wasn’t disappointed. “This is a quick dropoff,” he warned Janet. “A speedy in and out. Once we get him in the ER, we’re out of there. The staff there will know what to do.”

Janet wasn’t in complete agreement, but she knew better than to disagree.

Sean left the engine idling, the gear in park, while he and Janet struggled with Alvarez’s still-limp body. “At least he’s breathing,” Sean said.

Just inside the door to the ER, Sean spotted an empty gurney. “Put him on this,” he ordered Janet.

With Alvarez safely laid atop it, Sean gave the gurney a gentle shove. “Possible code,” Sean shouted as the gurney rolled down the hall. Then he grabbed Janet by the arm. “Come on, let’s go,” he said.

As they raced back to the car, Janet said, “He wasn’t a code.”

“I know,” Sean admitted. “But it was all I could think of to get some action. You know how emergency rooms are. Alvarez could have lain around for hours before anyone did something for him.”

Janet only shrugged. Sean did have a point. And before they’d left she’d been relieved to see a male nurse already intercepting the gurney.

On the way back to Forbes, neither Sean nor Janet said another word. Both were exhausted. On top of that, Janet was unnerved by Sean’s explosive violence; it was yet more behavior she had not anticipated from him.

Meanwhile, Sean was trying to figure out how he could ensure himself four hours of uninterrupted lab time. Between the unfortunate episode with Alvarez and the fact the Miami police were already looking for him, Sean knew he would have to come up with something creative to hold off the hordes. Suddenly he had an idea. It was radical, but it would definitely work. His plan brought a smile to his face despite his exhaustion. There was a kind of poetic justice involved that appealed to him.

Sean felt justified in using extreme measures at this point. The more he thought about his current theory of what was going on at the Forbes Cancer Center, the more convinced he was that he was correct. But he needed proof, and to get proof, he needed lab time. And to get the lab time, he needed something drastic. In fact the more drastic it was, the better it would work.

When they made the final turn into the parking lot at Forbes, Sean broke the silence: “The night you arrived in Florida I’d gone to an affair at Dr. Mason’s,” he said. “A medulloblastoma patient donated money to Forbes, big money. He headed up an airplane manufacturing firm in St. Louis.”

Janet was silent.

“Louis Martin is the CEO of a computer hardware manufacturing firm north of Boston,” Sean said. He glanced at Janet as he parked. She looked puzzled.

“Malcolm Betencourt runs a huge for-profit chain of hospitals,” Sean continued.

“And Helen Cabot was a college student,” Janet said at last.