Robin Cook (23 page)

Moving as silently as the metal floor would allow, Adam tiptoed to José's door and knocked. There was no answer. He tried the knob, which turned easily, then stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.

Unfortunately, there was no light in the room. He ran his fingers along the wall by the door but didn't encounter any switches. Cautiously, he advanced farther into the room, trying to recall the floor plan. He remembered there was a lamp fixed to the wall above the suspended bed.

Suddenly a hand came out of the blackness and grabbed Adam by the throat.

“José!” he gasped before the hand tightened its grip, cutting off his air. Adam was just about to pass out when the grip on his neck loosened. There was a click, and light filled the room. José was standing in front of Adam, looking at him with disgust.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asked, taking his hand away and sitting on the edge of the bed.

“I knocked,” Adam managed to say, rubbing his throat. “You didn't answer.”

“I was fucking asleep,” said José.

“I'm sorry,” said Adam, “but it was an emergency.”

“One of the college girls after you?” asked José sarcastically.

“Not quite,” said Adam. “It's the weirdos in the white jackets.”

“What the hell do they want with you?” asked José.

“You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But there's a chance for you to make some money. Does that interest you?”

“Money always interests me,” said José. “What do you have in mind?”

“When do we get to St. Thomas?”

“What time is it?”

Adam looked at his watch. “One-thirty.”

“In four or five hours. Something like that.”

“Well, I need to stay hidden until we dock, and then I'll have to sneak off the ship.”

José wiped his face with the back of his hand. “What kind of money are we talking about?”

Adam took out his wallet and counted the cash. All told, he had close to three hundred dollars.

“I'll need some for a taxi, but two hundred seventy-five is yours,” said Adam.

José raised his eyebrows. “I can't guarantee anything, but I'll give it a try. If you get caught, though, I'll swear we never met.”

Adam handed over a hundred dollars. “You'll get the rest when I get ashore.”

José nodded agreement and went over to his locker. He pulled out a pair of grease-stained khaki trousers and a torn flannel shirt. Tossing them to Adam, he said, “Put them on and you pass for crew. I got a couple of friends who hate the stewards as much as I do. Maybe they'll help. You stay here. No one should bother you.”

Adam tried to tell José how much he appreciated his help, but José stopped him and said the money was all he wanted. Then he pulled on a pair of pants and left the room.

Adam put on the filthy clothes and stashed his own in the back of the locker. Then he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked terrible, but for once he appreciated his rapid-growing beard. He certainly no longer looked like one of the passengers.

The door opened again and Adam almost fainted, but it was only José.

“Next time, why don't you knock,” Adam said.

“Hey, this is my fucking cabin,” said José irritably.

Adam couldn't argue that point.

José sat back down on the bed. “I just talked to a friend of mine about getting you off the ship. He knows a way. Seems he used it himself one day when the crew wasn't supposed to go ashore in St. Thomas. The problem is that it requires all your money up front. I got to pay off two other guys.”

Adam shook his head.

“Listen,” said José, “if you're not happy with the arrangement, why don't you leave?”

Adam got the point. He didn't have any leverage at all. If José wanted to, he could take the money by force.

With a sigh of resignation, Adam pulled out his
wallet. Keeping twenty-five dollars for himself, he handed the rest to José.

“You act as if you're doing me a favor,” the sailor said, stuffing the notes into his pocket. “But let me tell you, we wouldn't be sticking our necks out for this kind of money except we hate those steward bastards.”

“I appreciate it,” said Adam, wondering what the chances were that José was just taking him for a ride.

“You can hide here for the rest of the night. In the morning, after we dock, I'll come and get you. Understand?”

Adam nodded. “Can you give me an idea of your plans?”

José smiled. “I'd rather let that be a surprise. You make yourself comfortable and don't worry about a thing.”

Adam could hear José laughing as he closed the door.

Looking at his watch, Adam guessed that it was going to be a long night. He thought he was much too tense to sleep, but after a while he drifted off. He didn't know how many hours had passed when he was awakened by loud shouts in the corridor. Adam recognized the voice at once.

“In this part of the ship, I am in command, and no one is going to search without my permission.” It was the captain speaking.

A deeper voice responded, “I'm in charge of the ship, so please let me through.”

Adam thought it might have been Raymond Powell.

Other voices began shouting, and Adam could hear doors being opened and slammed shut.

In panic, Adam glanced around the tiny room
for someplace to hide. There was nowhere. Even the locker was too narrow to squeeze into. Then he had an idea. He pulled his hair forward over his forehead and yanked the grease-stained pants down around his ankles. Hobbling over to the exposed toilet, he sat down. A
Penthouse
magazine was laying next to the toilet, and he picked it up and put it on his lap. In a couple of minutes he heard a key in the lock and the door swung open.

Adam looked up. A steward was standing in the doorway. Adam saw Mr. Powell right behind him and heard Captain Nordstrom, who was still protesting. Powell gave Adam a look of disgust and moved on. The steward slammed the door behind him.

For a moment, Adam didn't move. He could hear the group noisily moving farther down the corridor. Finally, he stood up and pulled up his pants. Taking the
Penthouse
over to the bunk, he tried to read but was too scared the search party would return. In the end, he fell back to sleep until a loud banging announced the ship had docked. It was five-fifteen.

The next hour and a quarter were the longest in Adam's life. People would occasionally pass in the passageway, and each time Adam was sure they were coming to find him.

At six-thirty José came back.

“Everything is ready,” he said, going over to the locker and getting out the bottle of dark rum. “First, I think you better have a drink.”

“Do you think I need it?”

“Yup,” said José as he handed Adam a glass. “I would take it if I were you.”

Adam took a small sip, but the liquor was rough and bitter. He shook his head and handed the
glass back to José. Unconcerned, José tossed it down.

Returning the bottle to the locker, José rubbed his hands. “Your name's Angel in case someone asks. But I don't think you'll have to do much talking.”

José opened the door to the corridor and motioned Adam to follow him.

Jennifer had a restless night and was in the kitchen when the phone rang at seven forty-five. She answered it quickly, thinking that her parents were still sleeping, but her mother had already picked up.

“I've got it, mother,” said Jennifer when she heard Dr. Vandermer's voice.

“Good morning, Jennifer,” he said. “We're all set to take you at three-thirty. I'm sorry it's so late, but we're so busy we had trouble even fitting you in. Just stick to clear liquids and by tonight it will be all over and you can order whatever you want for dinner.”

“OK,” said Jennifer without much feeling. “How long will I be staying?”

“Probably just overnight. I'll explain things to you when you are here.”

“What time should I check in?”

“Why not drive over later this morning? That way we can do the routine admission work. And if the surgical schedule lightens up, maybe we can
take you earlier. Meanwhile, just relax and let me worry about the details.”

Jennifer made herself some coffee and walked out into the garden. For a moment she had second thoughts, but then she decided she was doing the right thing. Both Dr. Vandermer and her parents felt she had no other choice. She just wished Adam was there to share in the decision.

• • •

Adam followed José, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. They walked the length of the passageway, passing the mess, and descended a steep flight of stairs. The crew members they encountered seemed to take Adam's presence for granted. Even so, it was a nerve-racking experience for Adam. He kept expecting someone to recognize him and sound the alarm.

When they reached the lowest level, they began to walk aft down a narrow corridor that was lined with pipes and smelled of diesel fuel. They passed rooms filled with machines, which Adam guessed were the generators. A number of men were working there, stripped to their waists, their bodies glistening with sweat. The noise was deafening.

They walked until they came to a large dark room filled with painted metal dumpsters on casters that stank from the garbage they contained. José went in and guided Adam to the far corner, where two men were sitting on the floor playing blackjack. As José approached, the larger fellow glanced up and then went back to his game.

“Hit me easylike,” he said to the smaller man as José squatted down.

In the wall behind the player was a wide
opening through which Adam could see a portion of the bustling pier. A swath of radiant sunlight, which looked heavenly in the hellish surroundings, slanted into the room.

“Hallelujah,” he muttered as he moved over to the lower door, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the tropical sun. He felt so close to land—and freedom. Never mind that he still didn't see how he'd get there. He glanced outside at the concrete pier again and his elation vanished. To his immediate right was a passenger gangway carefully guarded by a brace of white-jacketed stewards who were carefully screening anyone leaving the ship.

“José, there's no way I can walk out there without being stopped,” said Adam, trying to control his voice.

Without looking up from the card game, José said, “Just wait.”

Adam stood there for a few minutes, wondering what to do.

“José,” he said, “is this how you're getting me off the ship?” He nodded toward the gangway.

“Nope,” said José, “the best is yet to come.”

“What are you planning?” said Adam angrily.

José didn't answer. Going back to the opening, Adam stared longingly at the green hills rising gently from the harbor. They were dotted with small cottages. He was about to question José again when a line of yellow garbage trucks started down the pier, belching diesel smoke from vertical exhaust pipes. They came to a halt not far from the ship's side, one behind the other. Then there was a fearful blast of an air horn.

The cardplayers cursed, threw down their cards, and went over to the nearest dumpster. With the
big fellow pushing and the other two pulling, they rolled it down the ramp and up to the lead truck. While the men returned for another dumpster, the truck went to work. Large hydraulic arms came forward and grabbed the dumpster, lifting it high over the truck's cab and dumping the contents in back. It was all done very neatly because the dumpster had a metal lid that did not open until the last moment. By the time the dumpster was slammed back onto the concrete, José and the others had the next one out on the quay. After a few more loads had been swallowed by the truck, José shouted to Adam, “OK, come over here.”

Adam followed him to the next dumpster in line.

“You're going out with the trash,” said José. The three men began to laugh.

“You want me to get into that?” asked Adam with horror.

“You've no time to argue,” said José. “This is the last load for the first truck.”

“Is this the only way off the ship?” asked Adam.

“The only way,” said the huskier cardplayer. “I did it myself once. Not the fanciest way to ride around town, but it ain't crowded.”

“Where will it take me?” asked Adam, considering what he should do if he went through with their plan.

“Right out to a landfill near the airport.”

“Jesus,” said Adam. “Why didn't you tell me you were going to send me out with the garbage.”

“This ain't garbage,” said the cardplayer. “We dump that into the ocean. This is trash.”

The truck's air horn impatiently sounded.

“You have to go,” said José. “You can't hang around my cabin forever. Put your foot here.” He made a platform of his hands and, against his
better judgment, Adam used it as a step. The big cardplayer lifted the dumpster's lid, and with a swift movement José tossed Adam headfirst into the mess of boxes, paper, waxed containers, and other debris. And contrary to what the cardplayer had said, there was garbage, too. The lid banged down, and Adam was plunged into darkness. He felt the dumpster roll down the ramp onto the pier. Then there was a violent jolt and Adam visualized his rise from the ground. The dumpster shook, tilted upside down, and with a flash of light Adam screamed and flew into the back of the truck. He ended up on his hands and knees, covered with trash.

Almost at once the truck began to roll. It was well away from the pier before Adam worked his head clear of the trash. The junk cushioned his ride, and he was not disturbed by the bumpy road. But after a few minutes the tropical sun turned the truck's metal shell into a broiling oven. Adam began to sweat, and by the time the truck got to the landfill he didn't care what happened to him as long as he could get out. He was dimly aware of a diesel whining beneath him as the back of the truck began to lift. A moment later he shot onto an enormous pile of trash. He got to his feet in time to see his truck lumber away.

No one had seen him leave the ship. He was safe. Looking about, he could see the tiny island airport two hundred yards to his right. To his left, the blue Caribbean stretched as far as he could see.

Dusting himself off as best he could, Adam started walking to the terminal.

The airport was a casual affair with an entrance crowded with colorfully painted taxis. As Adam
started inside, he saw a group of tourists eyeing him nervously. It was clear that he could not casually buy a ticket unless he did something about his appearance. Ducking into a small store, he charged a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that cheerfully proclaimed: “Come to St. Thomas.” In the crowded men's room Adam found an empty stall and changed his shirt and pants. On the way out, he tossed José old clothes into the trash where they certainly belonged.

Looking about, Adam spotted the flight schedules, which were displayed on felt boards with white plastic letters. There were two major carriers: American and Eastern. To his delight, Adam realized that he could easily make American's nonstop flight to New York, which would leave at nine-twenty. He got at the end of the line to buy his ticket.

The line crept forward at a snail's pace, and Adam began to fear he would miss the plane.

“One-way ticket to New York,” he said when he finally reached the counter.

The girl glared at him as if she thought his casual dress, unshaved face, and lack of luggage a little odd, but all she said was, “How do you plan to pay?”

“Credit card,” said Adam as he pulled out his wallet, which had somehow snagged a piece of lemon peel. Embarrassed, Adam flicked it off and extracted his Visa card.

The girl looked at the card and requested some identification. Adam went back to his wallet and pulled out his driver's license. The girl checked it, then showed it to the heavyset clerk at the next counter.

“The Visa card is for Schonberg, but the license reads Smyth,” the man said, coming over to Adam.

Beet red, Adam got out his real license plus his Arolen employment card that had his picture and handed them over. He tried to explain that a friend had entrusted him with his license.

“Would you step to the side, please?” the man said, taking Adam's cards and disappearing through a door. Adam tried not to appear nervous as the girl continued to sell tickets to the rest of the people in line, eyeing Adam from time to time to make sure he was not about to leave.

It was nearly ten minutes before the clerk returned with an airline agent who told Adam he was Baldwin Jacob, the supervisor. He was holding Adam's cards.

“We'll issue you a ticket,” he said, “but the flight is full. You'll have to go standby.”

Adam nodded. There was nothing else he could do. The clerk made out the ticket and pointedly asked Adam if he had any luggage.

“No,” said Adam. “I travel light when I'm on vacation.”

He walked over to a cafeteria and bought a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee, happy not to have to worry about the possibility of being drugged. Then he put through a call to the Carsons'. Just as he'd feared, Jennifer didn't answer the phone. Instead, Mr. Carson's baritone echoed over the wire.

“Hello,” said Adam more cheerfully than he felt. “This is Adam. Is Jennifer awake yet?”

“Jennifer is not here,” said Mr. Carson in a distinctly unfriendly voice.

“Where is she?”

“I don't think you can reach her.”

“Look, I know you love your daughter,” said
Adam, “but the fact of the matter is that I am her husband, and it is urgent that I speak with her.”

There was a pause as Mr. Carson apparently made up his mind. “She's not here. She and her mother just left for the Julian Clinic. They are admitting her this morning.”

“Admitting her?” repeated Adam with alarm. “Why is she being admitted? Is she all right?”

“She's fine,” said Mr. Carson. “And that's why I think you should leave her alone for a few days. After that, you two can iron out your differences. But frankly, Adam, your being away at this time is very upsetting.”

“Why? What's going on?” said Adam, trying to control his fear.

“Jennifer had a repeat amniocentesis,” said Mr. Carson, “and it was again positive. She's decided to have an abortion.”

Adam felt something snap. “She doesn't need an abortion,” he shouted.

“That's your opinion,” said Mr. Carson calmly. “It is not ours or Jennifer's, and under the circumstances, there's not a lot you can do about it.”

There was a click. The line was dead.

In a panic, Adam tried to call Jennifer at the clinic, only to learn that she had not been assigned a room yet and, no, patients could not be paged.

Adam slammed the phone down. There was still a half hour before flight time. He tried calling Vandermer, but was told he was in surgery.

Leaving the phone booth, Adam ran back to the American Airlines counter, which was now jammed with people trying to check in for the flight. Pushing and shoving, he managed to get to the front of the line and asked to speak to the supervisor.

It was several minutes before Mr. Jacob appeared.
Not even trying to conceal his rising hysteria, Adam told the man he had to get to New York because his wife was going to have a baby.

The supervisor took Adam's ticket and without saying anything checked the computer. “We'll do the best we can, but, as I said, the flight is fully booked.”

Adam didn't know what to do. Jacob obviously wasn't going to put out any extraordinary effort for his sake. Adam stood there, trying to think what he could do. Then he ran back to the telephone and put in a call to an old friend from college, Harvey Hatfield. Harvey had finished law school and was working at a big Wall Street firm. Without going into details, Adam told Harvey that his wife was going to have an abortion and he wanted to stop her.

Harvey seemed to think he was kidding. “So why are you calling a firm that specializes in corporate mergers?” he asked.

“Jesus, Harvey, I'm serious.”

“Well, you'd better get someone who specializes in litigation. Try Emmet Redford. He's a friend of my father.”