before. Directly below him was the connecting bridge that led to the steel doors he’d seen on his way out of the lab.
The roof bristled with antennae, wires, and satellite discs, which Adam guessed were related to some complicated communications center. There were a number of bubble skylights, the largest being in the exact center of the building. The roof also contained a cooling tower for air-conditioning and a shedlike access door similar to the one Adam had used to get to the roof of the outer building.
Light from the central skylight gave the whole complex an alien, futuristic appearance.
For a few minutes Adam stood with his palms resting on the concrete wall, which was still warm from the day’s sun. The night breeze tousled his hair. With a sigh he wondered what insane impulse had taken him to Puerto Rico. There was no way MTIC would let him leave with its secrets. Frustrated and depressed, he decided he might as well go to bed.
CHAPTER
16
The next day, despite Adam’s impatience to see the hospital, he found it wasn’t on his schedule until the afternoon. Most of the morning was spent with Mr. Burkett, who showed Adam not only the condo where he and Jennifer would live, but also all the facilities MTIC offered employees’ spouses and children. He wondered what Burkett’s response would be if he suddenly confronted the man with the knowledge that MTIC was doing its best to see that Adam’s child was never born. It took all of his willpower to smile admiringly as they walked about the compound. Adam was relieved when Burkett finally released him just outside of Linda Aronson’s office.
Linda greeted Adam with enthusiasm and showed him the computer terminals that distributed Arolen’s information all over the world in a matter of minutes. She also introduced Adam to Mr. Crawford, who organized the Arolen cruises. Adam thought the man a dead ringer for the con artist who’d provided Smyth’s fake passport.
Crawford showed Adam a graph analyzing where the doctors who took the cruises practiced. Most came from the New York City area, though in recent months there had been a number of doctors from Chicago and Los Angeles as well. Adam noted that a good ten percent of the doctors who’d been on more than one cruise now worked at the Julian Clinic.
“The cruises have certainly become popular,” said Adam, concealing his dismay.
“Popular isn’t the word,” said Crawford proudly. “With our present facilities, there is no way that we can keep up with the demand. MTIC has already purchased a second cruise ship on the west coast. We estimate it will be in service within the year. The eventual plan is to have five ships in operation, which will mean we will be able to accommodate the entire medical profession.”
Mr. Crawford folded his arms across his chest and gave Adam a what-do-you-think-of-that look, a proud parent describing his child’s accomplishments. Adam felt sick. An entire generation of doctors programmed to be unknowing representatives of a pharmaceutical house.
Dr. Nachman met Adam for lunch and afterward led him down to Dr. Glover’s office, where Glover and Mitchell were arguing over who should show Adam around first.
“It’s getting so I can’t leave the two of you in the same room,” said Nachman irritably.
Adam wondered if the center’s isolation was responsible for their bickering. The competition between the two doctors had a neurotic quality. But Adam was pleased that he would at last be seeing the hospital. He didn’t relish another hour of Mitchell’s commentary, though, and hoped to escape it.
When they reached the double doors to the innermost building, Dr. Nachman opened them by gently pressing his thumb against a small electronic scanner. Beyond the doors, the covered bridge was glassed on both sides, and Adam saw the attractive landscaping he’d appreciated from the roof the night before.
There was a second set of double doors at the end of the walkway, which Dr. Nachman again opened with his thumb. The minute the men went through, Adam recognized the familiar smell of a hospital. After passing through a three-story foyer illuminated by some of the bubble skylights Adam had seen the night before, they walked past a series of small operating rooms to a nurses’ station that boasted all the latest telemetry equipment. One of the nurses showed them into the locked ward beyond. Dr. Glover introduced Adam to several of the patients.
The doctor presented each case, impressing Adam with the amount of information he had committed to memory. The few details he couldn’t remember, he was able to call up on one of the computer terminals that were in each room.
There were several diabetics who had received fetal islet-cell infusions and who were now completely off insulin.
Adam was impressed in spite of himself, though he knew the ends could never justify the means.
On the far side of the ward were the patients with central nervous system implants. Adam met a young woman whose spinal cord had been severed in an automobile accident. After having been a paraplegic for over a year, she now was able to move her legs, thanks to infusions of fetal central nervous system tissue. Her movement was uncoordinated as yet, but the results were astounding when compared with the hopelessness of traditional treatment.
She greeted Dr. Glover with a hug. “Thank you for giving me hope,” she said.
“You’re welcome,” said Glover, beaming with pride, while Dr. Mitchell glanced through the chart.
“Bacteria count is going up in the urine,” Mitchell criticized.
“We are quite aware of that,” said Dr. Glover.
“Let’s move on,” said Dr. Nachman.
They saw another ten or fifteen patients before Dr.
Nachman led them back to the foyer, where they took the elevator to the next level. This was the psychiatric floor, and the minute they walked down the hall Dr. Mitchell seemed to come alive. Stroking his beard, running his hand over the smooth crown of his head, he described his patients with the enthusiasm of a born teacher.
“Our main treatment modality is psychopharmacology,” he stated. “Once therapeutic psychotropic drug levels are achieved, we then use a type of behavior modification.”
They came to a set of double doors similar to those that blocked access to the hospital proper. Dr. Mitchell pressed his thumb against the scanner.
“This, of course, is the nurses’ station,” said Dr.
Mitchell as he waved to two middle-aged women dressed in white blouses and blue jumpers. They just nodded, but two orderlies in blue blazers jumped to their feet. Adam immediately noticed their stiff smiles and unblinking stares.
“Some spontaneity is sacrificed,” thought Adam wryly.
As they continued down the hall, Mitchell described all the technical devices, until Dr. Glover interrupted, saying,
“Adam understands all this, for God’s sake. He’s been to medical school.”
But Dr. Mitchell didn’t even pause in his narrative. Using his thumb, he opened the double doors leading to the ward, and Adam and the others filed in.
For such a modern hospital facility, Adam was surprised to find the ward laid out identically to the one at University Hospital. But aside from the floor plan, everything else was different. At University Hospital the beds, the nightstands, and even the ceilings were about to collapse from lack of maintenance. In sharp contrast, the ward at MTIC was so spotlessly clean that it looked as if it had just opened.
Even the patients were lying well cared for in their beds, their covers uniformly pulled up to their chests. They were awake but immobile. Only their eyes moved as they followed the visitors’ progress down the ward. Adam had never seen such a peaceful ward and certainly not such a peaceful psychiatric one.
Adam’s eyes roved over the blank faces. Dr. Mitchell had begun another of his interminable lectures. Adam was wondering how long he’d have to listen when his eyes fell on the patient in the second bed to the right. It was Alan Jackson! Adam’s heart began to pound. He was horrified that Alan might recognize him. He turned quickly to hide his face, but when he glanced back, Alan’s expression had not changed.
