Sean followed Ramirez for a short distance, turning into the first office on the left. “Security” was printed in block letters on the open door. Inside was a control room with banks of TV monitors covering one wall. In front of the monitors was a third guard with a clipboard. Even a cursory glance at the monitors told Sean that he was looking at a multitude of locations around the complex.
Sean continued to follow Ramirez into a small windowless office. Behind the desk sat a fourth guard who had two gold stars attached to his uniform and gold trim on the peak of his hat. His name tag said: Harris.
“That will be all, Ramirez,” Harris said, giving Sean the feeling he was being inducted into the army.
Harris studied Sean who stared back. There was an almost immediate feeling of antipathy between the men.
With his tanned, meaty face, Harris looked like a lot of people Sean had known in Charlestown when he was young. They usually had jobs of minor authority that they practiced with great officiousness. They were also nasty drunks. Two beers and they’d want to fight about a call a referee had made on a televised sporting event if you suggested you disagreed with their perception. It was crazy. Sean had learned long ago to avoid such people. Now he was standing across the desk from one.
“We don’t want any trouble here,” Harris was saying. He had a faint southern accent.
Sean thought that was a strange way to begin a conversation. He wondered what this man thought he was getting from Harvard, a parolee? Harris was in obvious good physical shape, his bulging biceps straining the sleeves of his short-sleeved shirt, yet he didn’t look all that healthy. Sean toyed with the idea of giving the man a short lecture on the benefits of proper nutrition, but thought better of the idea. He could still hear Dr. Walsh’s admonitions.
“You’re supposed to be a doctor,” Harris said. “Why the hell are you wearing your hair so long? And I’d hazard to say that you didn’t shave this morning.”
“But I did put on a shirt and tie for the occasion,” Sean said. “I thought I was looking quite natty.”
“Don’t mess with me, boy,” Harris said. There was no sign of humor in his voice.
Sean shifted his weight wearily. He was already tired of the conversation and of Harris.
“Is there some particular reason you need me here?”
“You’ll need a photo ID card,” Harris said. He stood up and came around from behind the desk to open a door to a neighboring room. He was several inches taller than Sean and at least twenty pounds heavier. In hockey Sean used to like to block such guys low, coming up fast under their shins.
“I’d suggest you get a haircut,” Harris said, as he motioned for Sean to pass into the next room. “And get your pants ironed. Maybe then you’ll fit in better. This isn’t college.”
Stepping through the door Sean saw Ramirez look up from adjusting a Polaroid camera mounted on a tripod. Ramirez pointed toward a stool in front of a blue curtain, and Sean sat down.
HARRIS CLOSED the door to the camera room, went back to his desk, and sat down. Sean had been worse than he’d feared. The idea of some wiseass kid coming down from Harvard had not appealed to him in the first place, but he hadn’t expected anyone looking like a hippie from the sixties.
Lighting a cigarette, Harris cursed the likes of Sean. He hated such liberal Ivy League types who thought they knew everything. Harris had gone through the Citadel, then into the army where he’d trained hard for the commandos. He’d done well, making captain after Desert Storm. But with the breakup of the Soviet Union, the peacetime army had begun cutting back. Harris had been one of its victims.
Harris stubbed out his cigarette. Intuition told him Sean would be trouble. He decided he’d have to keep his eye on him.
WITH A new photo ID clipped to his shirt pocket, Sean left security. The experience didn’t mesh with the welcome sign, but one fact did impress him. When he’d asked the reticent Ramirez why security was so tight, Ramirez had told him that several researchers had disappeared the previous year.
“Disappeared?” Sean asked with amazement. He’d heard of equipment disappearing, but people!
“Were they found?” Sean had asked.
“I don’t know,” Ramirez had said. “I only came this year.”
“Where are you from?”
“Medellin, Colombia,” Ramirez had said.
Sean had not asked any more questions, but Ramirez’s reply added to Sean’s unease. It seemed overkill to head security with a man who acted like a frustrated Green Beret and staff it with a group of guys who could have been from some Colombian drug lord’s private army. As Sean followed Ramirez into the elevator to the seventh floor his initial positive impression of Forbes security faded.
“Come in, come in!” Dr. Randolph Mason repeated, holding open his office door. Almost immediately Sean’s unease was replaced by a feeling of genuine welcome. “We’re pleased to have you with us,” Dr. Mason said. “I was so happy when Clifford called and suggested it. Would you like some coffee?”
Sean acquiesced and was soon balancing a cup while sitting on a couch across from the Forbes director. Dr. Mason looked like everyone’s romantic image of a physician. He was tall with an aristocratic face, classically graying hair, and an expressive mouth. His eyes were sympathetic and his nose slightly aquiline. He seemed the type of man you could tell a problem to and know he’d not only care but he’d solve it.
“The first thing we must do,” Dr. Mason said, “is have you meet our head of research, Dr. Levy.” He picked up the phone and asked his secretary to have Deborah come up. “I’m certain you will be impressed by her. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were soon in contention for the big Scandinavian prize.”
“I’ve already been impressed with her earlier work on retroviruses,” Sean said.
“Like everyone else,” Dr. Mason said. “More coffee?”
Sean shook his head. “I have to be careful with this stuff,” he said. “It makes me hyper. Too much and I don’t come down for days.”
“I’m the same way,” Dr. Mason said. “Now about your accommodations. Has anyone discussed them with you?”
“Dr. Walsh just said that you would be able to provide housing.”
“Indeed,” Dr. Mason said. “I’m pleased to say that we had the foresight to purchase a sizable apartment complex several years ago. It’s not in Coconut Grove, but it’s not far either. We use it for visiting personnel and patients’ families. We’re delighted to offer you one of the apartments for your stay. I’m certain you will find it suitable, and you should enjoy the neighborhood as it’s so close to the Grove.”
“I’m pleased I didn’t have to make my own arrangements,” Sean said. “And as far as entertainment is concerned, I’m more interested in working than playing tourist.”
“Everyone should have a balance in life,” Dr. Mason said. “But rest assured, we have plenty of work for you to do. We want your experience here to be a good one. When you go into practice we hope you will be referring us patients.”
“My plan is to remain in research,” Sean said.
“I see,” Dr. Mason said, his enthusiasm dimming slightly.
“In fact, the reason I wanted to come here . . .” Sean began, but before he could complete the statement, Dr. Deborah Levy walked into the room.
Deborah Levy was a strikingly attractive woman with dark olive skin, large almond-shaped eyes, and hair even blacker than Sean’s. She was stylishly thin and wore a dark blue silk dress beneath her lab coat. She walked with the confidence and grace of the truly successful.
Sean struggled to get to his feet.
“Don’t bother to get up,” Dr. Levy said in a husky yet feminine voice. She thrust a hand at Sean.
Sean shook Dr. Levy’s hand while balancing his coffee in the other. She gripped his fingers with unexpected strength and gave Sean’s arm a shake that rattled his cup in its saucer. Her gaze bore into him with intensity.
“I’ve been instructed to say welcome,” she said, sitting across from him. “But I think we should be honest about this. I’m not entirely convinced your visit is a good idea. I run a tight ship here in the lab. You’ll either pitch in and work or you’ll be out of here and on the next plane back to Boston. I don’t want you to think . . .”
“I drove down,” Sean interrupted. He knew he was already being provocative, but he couldn’t help himself. He didn’t expect such a brusque greeting from the head of research.
Dr. Levy stared at him for a moment before continuing. “The Forbes Cancer Center is no place for a holiday in
