“Of course,” Sean said. “What do you think, I’m crazy?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” Janet said.
“Did anybody come by while I was gone?” Sean asked.
“Yes,” Janet said. “Robert Harris came like you thought he might.”
“And?” Sean asked, looking up from his work.
“I told him what you told me to say,” Janet replied. “He wanted to know if you’d gone back to the residence. I said I didn’t know. I think he went there to look for you.”
“Perfect,” Sean said. “He’s the one I’m the most afraid of. He’s too gung ho. Everything has to be in place by the time he returns.” Sean went back to work.
Janet didn’t know what to do. She watched Sean for a few minutes as he mixed reagents in the large Erlenmeyer flask, creating a colorless, oily liquid.
“What exactly are you doing?” she asked.
“I’m making a large batch of nitroglycerin,” he said. “Plus an ice bath for it to sit in and cool.”
“You’re joking,” Janet said with fresh concern. It was hard to keep up with Sean.
“You’re right,” Sean said, lowering his voice. “It’s show time. This is really for the benefit of Dr. Mason and his beautiful bride. As a doctor, he knows just enough chemistry to make this believable.”
“Sean, you’re acting bizarre,” Janet said.
“I am a bit manic,” Sean agreed. “By the way, what did you think of those charts?”
“I guess you were right,” Janet said. “Not all the charts had reference to economic status, but those that did indicated that the patients were CEOs or family members of CEOs.”
“All part of the Fortune 500, I’d guess,” Sean said. “What does that make you think?”
“I’m too exhausted to draw conclusions,” Janet said. “But I suppose it’s a strange coincidence.”
Sean laughed. “What do you think the statistical probability would be of that happening by chance?”
“I don’t know enough about statistics to answer that,” Janet said.
Sean held up the flask and swirled the contained solution. “This looks good enough to pass,” he said. “Let’s hope old Doc Mason remembers enough of his inorganic chemistry to be impressed.”
Janet watched Sean carry the flask into the glass enclosure. She wondered if he was losing touch with reality. Granted, he’d been driven to increasingly desperate acts, but abducting the Masons at gunpoint was a mind- numbing quantum leap. The legal consequences of such an act had to be severe. Janet didn’t know much law, but she knew she was implicated to an extent. She doubted Sean’s proposed coercion theory would spare her. She only wished she knew what to do.
Janet watched as Sean presented the fake nitroglycerin to the Masons as the real thing. Judging by the impression he made on Dr. Mason, she gathered that the Forbes director recalled enough of his inorganic chemistry to make the presentation plausible. Dr. Mason’s eyes opened wide. Mrs. Mason brought a hand to her mouth. When Sean gave the flask a violent swirl both the Masons stepped back in fear. Then Sean jammed the flask into the ice bath he’d set up on the desk, collected the charts Janet had left in there, and came out into the lab. He dumped the charts on a nearby lab bench.
“What did the Masons say?” Janet asked.
“They were suitably impressed,” Sean said. “Especially when I told them the freezing point is only fifty-five degrees Fahrenheit and that the stuff is extraordinarily unstable in a solid form. I told them to be careful in there because bumping the table would detonate it.”
“I think we should call this whole thing off,” Janet said. “You’re going too far.”
“I beg to differ,” Sean said. “Besides, it’s me that’s doing this, not you.”
“I’m involved,” Janet said. “Just being here probably makes me an accessory.”
“When all is said and done, Brian will work it out,” Sean said. “Trust me.”
Janet’s attention was caught by the couple in the glass office. “You shouldn’t have left the Masons alone,” Janet said. “Dr. Mason is making a call.”
“Good,” Sean said. “I fully expected him to call someone. In fact, I hope he calls the police. You see, I want a circus around here.”
Janet stared at Sean. For the first time, she thought he might be experiencing a psychotic break. “Sean,” she said gently, “I have a feeling that you’re decompensating. Maybe you’ve been under too much pressure.”
“Seriously,” Sean said. “I want a carnival atmosphere. It will be much safer. The last thing I want is some frustrated commando like Robert Harris crawling around through the air ducts with a knife in his mouth trying to be a hero. That’s when people would get hurt. I want the police and the fire department out there scratching their heads but keeping the would-be paladins at bay. I want them to think I’m crazy for four hours or so.”
“I don’t understand you,” Janet said.
“You will,” Sean assured her. “Meanwhile, I got some work for you to do. You told me you know something about computers. Head up to administration on the seventh floor.” He handed her the ring of pass keys. “Go into that glass room that we saw when we copied the charts, the one where the computer was running that program, flashing those nine-digit numbers. I think those numbers are social security numbers. And the phone numbers! I think those were numbers for insurance companies that write health insurance. See if you can corroborate that. Then see if you can hack your way into the Forbes mainframe. I want you to look for travel files for the clinic, especially for Deborah Levy and Margaret Richmond.”
“Can’t you tell me why I’m doing this?” Janet asked.
“No,” Sean said. “It’s like a double blind study. I want you to be objective.”
Sean’s mania was oddly compelling—and persuasive. Janet took the keys and walked to the stairwell. Sean gave her a thumbs-up in parting. Whatever the resolution of this madcap, reckless escapade would be, she’d know within four or five hours.
Before he got down to work, Sean picked up a telephone and called Brian’s number in Boston and left a long message. First he apologized for hitting him. Then he said that in case something happened to go horribly wrong, he wanted to tell him what he believed was happening at the Forbes Cancer Center. It took him about five minutes.
LIEUTENANT HECTOR Salazar of the Miami Police Department normally used Sunday afternoons as an opportunity to finish the reams of paperwork generated by Miami’s typically busy Saturday nights. Sundays were generally quiet. Auto accidents, which the uniformed patrol and their sergeants could handle, comprised the biggest portion of the day’s workload. Later on Sundays, after the football games were over, domestic violence often flared. Sometimes that could involve the watch commander, so Hector wanted to get as much done as he could before the phone started to ring.
Knowing that the Miami Dolphins game was still in progress, Hector answered the phone at three-fifteen with little concern. The call was patched through the complaint room to a land line.
“Sergeant Anderson here,” the voice said. “I’m at the Forbes Cancer Center hospital building. We got a problem.”
“What is it?” Hector asked. His chair squeaked as he leaned back.
“We got a guy holed up in the research building next door with two, maybe three hostages,” Anderson said. “He’s armed. There’s also a bomb of some kind involved.”
“Christ!” Hector said as his chair tipped forward with a thump. From experience, he knew the paperwork this kind of scene could generate. “Anyone else in the building?”
“We don’t think so,” Anderson said. “At least not according to the guard. To make matters worse, the hostages are VIPs. It’s the director of the center, Dr. Randolph Mason, and his wife, Sarah Mason.”
“You have the area secured?” Hector asked. His mind was already jumping ahead. This operation would be a hot potato. Dr. Randolph Mason was well known in the Miami area.
“We’re doing it now,” Anderson said. “We’re running yellow crime scene tape around the whole building.”
“Any media yet?” Hector asked. Sometimes the media got to a scene faster than backup police personnel. The media often monitored the police radio bands.
“Not yet,” Anderson said. “That’s why I’m using this land line. But we expect a blizzard any minute. The
