had gone down to sleep only to be awakened by the sudden pounding of the boat against the waves and the sound of suddenly strong wind. She hadn’t heard Sean come down, yet when she awoke, there he was, sleeping peacefully.
Throwing her feet over the side of the bunk, Janet braced herself as the boat thumped into the trough of another wave. Holding on with both hands, she made her way aft and up into the main salon. She knew she would be sick if she didn’t get air. Below deck the slight smell of diesel only compounded her nascent nausea.
Holding on for dear life, Janet managed to get to the stern of the careening boat where there were two swivel deep-sea fishing chairs mounted to the deck. Fearing these chairs were too exposed, Janet collapsed onto a series of cushions covering a seat along a port side. The starboard side was getting drenched with spray.
The wind and fresh air did wonders for Janet’s stomach, but there was no opportunity for rest. She literally had to hold on. With the roar of the engines and the pounding magnified where she was in the stern, Janet could not fathom what people saw in power boating. Up ahead under a canopy sat Doug Gardner, the man who’d been willing to forgo a night’s sleep to ferry them to Key West—for a price. He was silhouetted against an illuminated cluster of dials and gauges. He didn’t have much to do since he’d put the boat on automatic pilot.
Janet looked up at the canopy of stars and recalled how she used to do the same thing on summer evenings when she was a teen. She’d lie there dreaming about her future. Now she was living it and one thing was for sure: it wasn’t quite what she used to imagine.
Maybe her mother had been right, Janet thought reluctantly. Maybe it had been foolish for her to come to Florida to try to talk to Sean. She smiled a wry smile. The only talk they’d managed thus far was the little they’d done on the beach that evening, when Sean had merely echoed her own expression of love. It had been less than satisfying.
Janet had come to Florida in hopes of taking command of her life, but the longer she was with Sean, the less in command she felt.
STERLING GOT even more satisfaction out of calling Dr. Mason at three-thirty A.M. than he had at two. It took four rings for the doctor to answer. Sterling himself had just been awakened by a call from his banking contact in Boston.
“I now know the destination of the infamous couple,” Sterling said. “Fortunately, the young lady used her credit card again for a rather sizable sum. She paid five hundred and fifty dollars to be ferried from Naples to Key West.”
“That’s not good news,” Dr. Mason said.
“I thought you’d be pleased to know we’ve learned where they’re going,” Sterling said. “I consider it a bit of good luck.”
“The Forbes has a facility in Key West,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s called Basic Diagnostics. I imagine that’s where Mr. Murphy is headed.”
“Why do you believe he would go to Basic Diagnostics?” Sterling asked.
“We send a lot of our lab work there,” Dr. Mason said. “With current third-party payment schemes, it’s cost effective.”
“Why do you care if Mr. Murphy visits the facility?”
“The medulloblastoma biopsies are sent there,” Dr. Mason said. “I don’t want Mr. Murphy exposed to our techniques of sensitizing patient T lymphocytes.”
“And Mr. Murphy might be able to deduce these techniques by a mere visit?” Sterling asked.
“He’s very savvy as far as biotechnology is concerned,” Dr. Mason said. “I can’t take the risk. Get yourself down there immediately and keep him out of that lab. See that he is turned over to the police.”
“Dr. Mason, it is three-thirty in the morning,” Sterling reminded him.
“Charter a plane,” Dr. Mason said. “We’re paying the expenses. The manager’s name is Kurt Wanamaker. I’ll give him a call right after I hang up and tell him to expect you.”
After Sterling got Mr. Wanamaker’s phone number, he hung up. Despite the money that he was being paid, he was not happy with the idea of rushing off to Key West in the middle of the night. He felt that Dr. Mason was overreacting. After all, it was Sunday and the lab very likely wasn’t even open.
Yet Sterling got out of bed and walked into the bathroom.
10
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
“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 cafe 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?”
