Terminal (A Medical Thriller)

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.”

Sitting under one of the umbrellas on the deserted terrace, Sean and Janet savored the oven-fresh pastries. The coffee revived them.

“Now that we’re here,” Janet said, “what’s the plan?”

Sean stroked his heavily whiskered chin. “I’ll see if they have a phone book,” he said. “That will give me the address of the lab.”

“While you do that, I think I’ll use the ladies’ room,” Janet said. “I feel like something the cat dragged in.”

“A cat would be afraid to go near you,” Sean said. He ducked when Janet threw her crumpled napkin at him.

By the time Janet returned, looking much fresher, Sean had not only gotten the address, he’d gotten directions from the red-haired woman.

“It’s kinda far,” he said. “We’ll need a ride.”

“And of course that will be easy,” Janet said. “We can either hitchhike or just take one of the many cabs streaming by.” They hadn’t seen a single car since they’d arrived.

“I was thinking about something else,” Sean said as he left a generous tip for their hostess. He stood up.

Janet looked at him questioningly for a moment before realizing what he had in mind. “Oh, no!” she said. “We’re not stealing another car.”

“Borrow,” Sean corrected her. “I’d forgotten how easy it is.”

Janet refused to have anything to do with “borrowing” a car, but Sean proceeded undeterred.

“I don’t want to break anything,” he said, going from car to car on a side street, trying all the doors. Every one was locked. “Must be a lot of suspicious people around here.” Then he stopped, staring across the street. “I just changed my mind. I don’t want a car.”

Crossing over to a large motorcycle teetering on its kickstand, Sean got the engine going almost as quickly as he would have if he’d had the ignition key. Straddling the bike and kicking back the kickstand, he motioned for Janet to join him.

Janet studied Sean with his unshaven face and rumpled clothes as he revved the motorcycle’s engine. How could she have fallen in love with a guy like this? she asked herself. Reluctantly, she threw a leg over the machine and threw her arms around Sean’s waist. Sean hit the gas and they sped off, shattering the early morning silence.

They traveled back down Duval Street in the direction from which they’d come, then turned north at the Conch Train kiosk and followed the shoreline. Eventually they came to an old wharf. Basic Diagnostics occupied a two-story brick warehouse that had been nicely refurbished. Sean drove around to the back of the building and parked the bike behind a shed. Once the motorcycle engine was off the only sound they could hear was the cry of distant sea gulls. Not a soul was around.

“I think we’re out of luck,” Janet said. “It doesn’t look open.”

“Let’s check it out,” Sean said.

They mounted some back stairs and peered in the rear door. There were no lights on inside. A platform ran along the north side of the building. They tried the doors along the platform, including a large overhead door, but everything was locked tight. In the front of the building there was a sign on the double-door entry that announced that the lab was open from twelve noon to five P.M. on Sundays and holidays. There was a small metal drop door for leaving samples during off hours.

“Guess we’ll have to come back,” Janet said.

Sean didn’t respond. He cupped his hands and peered through the front windows. Rounding the corner, he did the same at another window. Janet followed him as he went from window to window working his way back the way they’d come.

“I hope you’re not getting any ideas,” Janet said. “Let’s find someplace where we can sleep for a few hours. Then we can return after noon.”

Sean didn’t answer. Instead he stepped away from the last window he’d been peering through. Without warning he gave the glass a sudden karate-like chop with the side of his hand. The window imploded, shattering on the floor within. Janet leapt back, then quickly looked over her shoulder to see if there were any witnesses. Then, looking back at Sean, she said: “Let’s not do this. The police are already looking for us from the episode in Miami.”

Sean was busy removing a few of the larger shards. “No shatter alarm,” he said.

He quickly climbed through the window, then turned around to inspect it carefully. “No alarm at all,” he said. Unlocking the sash, he pulled it up. Then he extended a hand toward Janet.

Janet held back. “I don’t want to be part of this,” she said.

“Come on,” he insisted. “I wouldn’t be breaking in here unless I thought it was mighty important. Something bizarre is going on, and there might be some answers here. Trust me.”

“What if someone comes?” Janet asked. She gave another nervous glance over her shoulder.

“No one is going to come,” Sean said. “It’s seven-thirty Sunday morning. Besides, I’m only going to look around. We’ll be out of here in fifteen minutes, I promise. And if it makes you feel any better, we’ll leave a ten-dollar bill for the window.”

After everything they’d been through, Janet figured there wasn’t much point in resisting now. She let Sean help her through the window.

They were standing in a men’s lavatory. There was the scented smell of disinfectant coming from an oval pink cake in the base of the urinal attached to the wall.

“Fifteen minutes!” Janet said as they cautiously opened the door.

Outside the men’s room was a hall running the length of the building. A cursory check of the floor revealed a large laboratory across from the men’s room that also ran the length of the building. On the same side as the men’s room were a ladies’ room, a storeroom, an office, and a stairwell.

Sean opened each door and peered inside. Janet looked over his shoulder. Entering the laboratory proper he walked down the central aisle, glancing from side to side. The floor was a gray vinyl, the cabinets a lighter gray plastic laminant, and the countertops stark white.

“Looks like a normal, garden-variety clinical lab,” he said.

“All the usual equipment.” He paused in the microbiological section and looked into an incubator filled with petri dishes.

“Are you surprised?” Janet asked.

“No, but I expected more,” Sean said. “I don’t see a pathology section where they’d process biopsies. I was told the biopsies are sent here.”

Returning down the main hall, Sean went to the stairwell. He mounted the steps. At the top was a stout metal door. It was locked.

“Uh oh,” Sean said. “This might take more than fifteen minutes.”

“You promised,” Janet said.

“So I lied,” Sean said as he inspected the lock. “If I can find some appropriate tools it might be sixteen minutes.”

“It’s been fourteen already,” Janet said.

“Come on,” Sean said. “Let’s see if we can find something to act as a tension bar and some heavy wire to use as picks.” He retreated down the stairs. Janet followed.

STERLING’S CHARTERED Sea King touched down with a squeal of rubber at seven-forty-five in the morning at the Key West airport and taxied over to general aviation. At the commercial terminal right next door an American Eagle commuter plane was in the final boarding process.

By the time Sterling had gotten a call back from the charter company it had been close to five A.M. After some persuasion which included a promise of extra money, the plane was supposed to have departed around six, but because of refueling problems it wasn’t ready to leave until six-forty-five.

Both Sterling and Wayne took advantage of the delay to catch some sleep, first at the Edgewater Beach Hotel, then in the waiting area at the airport. Then they had slept most of the flight.

Arriving at the general aviation building in Key West, Sterling saw a short balding man in a floral print short-sleeved shirt gazing out the front window. He was holding a steaming foam cup.

As Sterling and Wayne deplaned, the balding man came out and introduced himself. He was Kurt Wanamaker. He was of stocky build with a broad, suntanned face. What hair he had was bleached by the sun.

“I went by the lab about seven-fifteen,” Kurt said on the way to his Chrysler Cherokee. “Everything was quiet. So I think you’ve beaten them if they are planning on coming at all.”

“Let’s go directly to the lab,” Sterling said. “I’d like to be there if and when Mr. Murphy breaks in. Then we could do more than merely deliver him to the police.”

“THIS SHOULD work,” Sean said. He had his eyes tightly closed while he fiddled with the two ballpoint pen refills. He’d bent the end of one to a right angle to serve as a tension bar.

“What exactly are you doing in there?” Janet asked.

“I told you back at Forbes,” Sean said. “When we were trying to get in the chart vault. It’s called raking the pins. There are five of the little guys in there keeping the cylinder from turning. Ah, there we go.” The lock opened with a click. The door swung in.

Sean entered first. Since there were no windows, the interior was as dark as a moonless night, save for the light that spread up through the stairwell. Groping on the wall to the left of the door, Sean’s hand hit against a panel of switches. He flipped them all on at once and the entire ceiling lit up in a wink.

“Well, look at this!” Sean said in utter amazement. Here was the lab he’d expected to see at the Forbes Cancer Center research building. It was enormous, encompassing the entire floor. It was also very white, with its white floor tiles, white cabinets, and white walls.

Slowly Sean walked down the center aisle, appreciating the equipment. “Everything is brand new,” he said admiringly. He put his hand on a desktop machine. “And strictly top notch. This is an automated southern blotting instrument. It runs at least twelve thousand dollars. And here is the latest chemiluminescence spectrophotometer. It’s a cool twenty-three. And over there is a high phase liquid chromatography unit. That’s around twenty grand. And here’s an automatic cell sorter. That’s at least one hundred and fifty thousand. And my God!”

Sean stopped in awe in front of a peculiar egg-shaped apparatus. “Don’t let your credit card get near to this big guy,” he said. “It’s a nuclear magnetic resonator. You have any idea what this baby costs?”

Janet shook her head.

“Try half a million dollars,” Sean said. “And if they have that, it means they have an X-ray defractor as well.”

Walking on, Sean came to a glass-enclosed area. Inside he could see a Type III maximum containment hood as well as banks and banks of tissue culture incubators. Sean tried the glass door. It opened out, so he had to work against the suction holding it closed. In order to prevent the escape of any organisms, the pressure inside the viral lab was kept lower than the rest of the laboratory.

Stepping into the maximum containment area, Sean motioned for Janet to stay where she was. First he went to a floor freezer and opened its hood. The temperature on an internal gauge stood at minus seventy degrees Fahrenheit. Nestled inside the freezer were multiple racks containing small vials. Each vial contained a frozen viral culture.

Closing the freezer, Sean glanced in some of the tissue culture incubators. They were being kept at ninety-eight point six degrees Fahrenheit, mimicking the normal internal temperature of a human being.

Moving on to the desk, Sean picked up some electron photomicrographs of isometric viruses as well as accompanying engineering-style drawings of the viral capsids. The drawings were done to study the icosahedral symmetry of the viral shells and included actual measurement of the capsomeres. Sean noted that the viral particle had an overall diameter of 43 nanometers.

Leaving the maximum containment area, Sean proceeded into an area in which he felt very much at home. A whole section of the lab seemed dedicated to oncogene study, just what Sean was doing back in Boston. The difference, however, was that in this lab the equipment was all brand new. Sean longingly looked at shelf upon shelf of appropriate reagents for the isolation of oncogenes and their products, the oncoproteins.

“This place is state of the art in every regard,” he said. In the oncogene section there were additional tissue culture incubators the size of thousand-bottle wine coolers. He opened the door of one and glanced at the cell lines. “This is a place I could work,” he said, closing the incubator.

“Is this what you expected?” Janet asked. She’d followed behind like a puppy except when he went into the maximum containment area.

“More than I expected,” Sean said. “This must be where Levy works. I’d guess that most of this equipment has come from the off-limits area of the sixth floor of the Forbes research building.”

“What is all this telling you?” Janet asked.

“It’s telling me I need a few hours in the lab back at Forbes,” Sean said. “I believe…”

Sean didn’t get to finish. The sounds of voices and footsteps were heard coming up the stairway. Janet put a hand over her mouth in panic. Sean grabbed her, his eyes desperately sweeping that area of the lab for a place to hide. There was no escape.