Terminal (39 page)

Tanaka looked again at Sterling’s business card as if there was something he could have missed on his first examination. “What is it you want?” he asked in English.

“I believe we need to talk, Mr. Tanaka Yamaguchi,” Sterling said. He rattled the ice cubes in his drink and took a last sip. “I am currently representing the interests of the Forbes Cancer Center,” he continued. “Its director does not want to jeopardize the Center’s relationship with Sushita Industries,
but there are limits. He does not want to see Mr. Murphy spirited away to Japan.”

Tanaka was silent.

“Mr. Murphy,” Sterling called, ignoring Tanaka for the moment. “Would you mind allowing Mr. Yamaguchi and myself a few moments alone? I suggest you and your companion deplane and join my associate in the car. You can wait for me there; I will not be long.”

Tanaka made no effort to countermand Sterling’s suggestion. Not needing a second invitation, Sean grabbed Janet’s hand, and together they pushed past Tanaka and his cohort, descended the short flight of stairs, and ran toward the darkened car parked perpendicular to the plane.

Reaching the Mercedes, Sean went to the passenger-side rear door and opened it. He allowed Janet to climb in. He followed. Before he closed the door Wayne Edwards greeted them with a warm, “Hi, folks.” Although he’d briefly glanced at them as they got in, he quickly turned his attention back to the plane which could be seen clearly through his windshield. “I don’t mean to sound inhospitable,” he continued, “but maybe it would be better for you to wait in the terminal building.”

“Mr. Rombauer told us to join you,” Sean said.

“Hey, I know,” Wayne said. “’Cause that was the plan. But I’ve been thinking ahead. If something goes awry, and that plane starts to move, I’m driving straight into its nose gear. There aren’t any air bags in the back seat.”

“I get the picture,” Sean said. He got out and gave Janet a hand. Together they headed toward the general aviation building.

“This keeps getting more and more confusing,” Janet complained. “Spending time with you is living on the edge, Sean Murphy. What is going on?”

“I wish I knew,” Sean said. “Maybe they think I know more than I do.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

Sean shrugged his shoulders. “One thing I do know is that we’ve just missed an unwanted trip to Japan,” Sean said.

“But why Japan?” Janet asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sean said. “But that Hiroshi character at Forbes has been watching me ever since I showed up, and some Japanese man recently visited my mother asking about me. The only explanation I can think of is that they somehow see me as a risk to their investment in Forbes.”

“This whole situation is insane,” Janet said. “Who was that man in the plane who got us out of there?”

“I’ve never seen him before,” Sean said. “It’s just another part to the mystery. He did say he was working for Forbes.”

They arrived at the general aviation building only to find the door locked.

“Now what?” Janet asked.

“Come on!” Sean said. “We’re not staying here.” He grabbed her hand, and together they skirted the two-story cement structure, exiting the airfield through the same gate the limo had entered through. In front of the building was a sizable parking lot. Sean began going from car to car, trying doors.

“Don’t tell me, let me guess,” Janet said. “Now you’re going to steal a car just to round out the evening!”

“Borrow is a better term,” Sean said. He found a Chevrolet Celebrity with its doors unlocked. After leaning in so he could feel under the dash, he got in behind the wheel. “Get in,” he called to her. “This will be easy.”

Janet hesitated, feeling more and more that she was being drawn into something she didn’t want any part of. The idea of riding in a stolen car was not appealing, particularly given the trouble they were already in.

“Get in!” Sean called again.

Janet opened the door and did as she was told.

Sean got the car started instantly, much to Janet’s dismay. “Still a pro,” she commented scornfully.

“Practice makes perfect,” Sean said.

Where the airport entrance met the county road, Sean took a right. They drove for a time in silence.

“Am I allowed to ask where we’re going?” Janet asked.

“I’m not sure where,” Sean said. “I’d like to find someplace where I can ask directions to Key West. Trouble is that
this town is pretty quiet even though it’s only eleven on a Saturday night.”

“Why don’t you take me back to the Betencourts’,” Janet said. “I’ll get my rental car and go back to the hotel. Then you can go to Key West if you’re so inclined.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Sean said. “Those Japanese guys didn’t show up at the Betencourts’ by accident. They were in that limo that I thought was following us earlier. Obviously they followed us from the Edgewater Beach Hotel, which means they must have been following us from the Ritz Carlton. More likely, they’ve been following us all the way from Forbes.”

“But the others had followed us, too,” Janet said.

“We must have been a regular caravan coming across the Everglades,” Sean agreed. “But the point is we can’t go back to the car or the hotel. Not unless we want to risk further pursuit.”

“And I suppose we can’t go to the police,” Janet said.

“Of course not,” Sean snapped.

“What about our belongings?” Janet asked.

“We’ll call from Miami and have them sent,” Sean said. “We’ll call the Betencourts about the car. Hertz will have to get it. It’s not that important. It’s more important that we’re no longer followed.”

Janet sighed. She felt indecisive. She wanted to go to bed, yet Sean was making some sense in a situation that didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The episode with the Japanese had frightened her, in some ways just as badly as the episode on the beach.

“Here are some people,” Sean said. “I can ask them.” Ahead, they could see a line of cars pulled up near a big sign heralding the Oasis, some sort of nightclub/disco. Sean pulled over to the side of the road. The line for valet parking snaked through a parking lot that was half-filled with trailered boats. The Oasis shared a parking lot with a land-locked marina.

Sean got out of the Celebrity and weaved his way among the parked cars toward the disco’s entrance. Spine-jangling bass emanated from the open door. After waiting at the parking
valet’s podium, Sean cornered one of the men and asked directions to the city dock. The harried man quickly described the route to Sean with flamboyant hand gestures. A few minutes later Sean was back in the car. He repeated the directions to Janet so she could help.

“Why are we going to the city dock?” Janet asked. “Or is that a stupid question?”

“Hey, don’t be mad at me,” Sean complained.

“Who else can I be mad at?” Janet said. “This weekend so far is hardly what I had anticipated.”

“Reserve your anger for that kook on the beach or those paranoid Japanese,” Sean said.

“What about the city dock?” Janet asked again.

“Key West is due south of Naples,” Sean said. “That much I remember from seeing it on a map. The Keys curve to the west. Going by boat could be easier and probably faster. We could even get some sleep. Plus, we wouldn’t be using a ‘borrowed’ car.”

Janet didn’t even comment. The idea of a night-long boat ride would be a fitting end to such an insane day.

They found the city dock with ease at the base of a short cul de sac with a large flagpole at its entrance. But the docks were a disappointment as far as Sean was concerned. He’d expected it to be much busier, having heard that sports fishing was popular on the west coast of Florida. The only marina was shut tight. There were a few offers for fishing boat charters on a bulletin board, but not much else. After parking the car, they walked out on the pier. The larger, commercial boats were all dark.

Returning to the car, Janet leaned on the hood. “Any more bright ideas, Einstein?”

Sean was thinking. The idea of getting to Key West by boat still appealed to him. It was certainly too late to rent another car. Besides, they’d be exhausted when they arrived. Next to the city dock was a restaurant/bar appropriately called The Dock. Sean pointed.

“Let’s go in there,” he said. “I could use a beer, and we can see if the bartender knows any charter boat people.”

The Dock was a rustic, casual affair constructed of planked, pressure-treated wood and furnished with epoxy-filled hatch-cover tables. There were no windows, just screened openings that could be closed with shutters. In lieu of drapes were a collection of fishnets, buoys and other nautical gear. Ceiling fans turned slowly overhead. A darkly burnished wood bar in the shape of a J stretched around one wall.

A small crowd was grouped around the bar watching a basketball game on a TV positioned high on the wall in a corner by the entrance. It wasn’t like Old Scully’s back in Charlestown, but Sean thought the place had a comfortable feel. In fact, it made him a little homesick.

Sean and Janet found room at the bar, their backs to the TV. There were two bartenders, one tall, serious, and mustached, the other stocky with a constant smirk on his face. Both were casually dressed in printed short-sleeved shirts and dark shorts. Short aprons were tied around their waists.

The taller bartender came over immediately and tossed circular cardboard coasters in front of Sean and Janet with a practiced flick of his wrist.

“What’ll it be?” he asked.

“I see you have conch fritters,” Sean said, eyeing a large menu attached to the wall.

“Sure do,” the bartender said.

“We’ll have an order,” Sean said. “And I’ll have a light draft.” Sean looked at Janet.

“I’ll have the same,” she said.

Frosted mugs of beer were soon before them, and Sean and Janet had only a moment to comment on the relaxed character of the place before the conch fritters arrived.

“Wow!” Sean commented. “That was fast.”

“Good food takes time,” the bartender said.

In spite of all that had happened that evening, both Sean and Janet found themselves laughing. The bartender, like any good comedian, never cracked a smile.

Sean used the opportunity to ask about boats.

“What kind of boat you interested in?” the bartender asked.

Sean shrugged. “I don’t know enough about boats to say,”
he admitted. “We want to go to Key West tonight. How long would it take?”

“Depends,” the bartender said. “It’s ninety miles as the crow flies. With a good-sized boat you can be down there in three or four hours.”

“Any idea how we could find someone to take us?” Sean said.

“It’ll cost you,” the bartender said.

“How much?”

“Five, six hundred,” the bartender said with a shrug.

“They take credit cards?” Sean asked.

Janet started to complain, but Sean gripped her leg under the edge of the bar. “I’ll pay you back,” he whispered.

The bartender stepped around the corner where he used a telephone.

S
TERLING DIALED
Randolph Mason’s home number with malicious pleasure. Well paid though he was, Sterling wasn’t pleased to be working at two o’clock in the morning. He thought that Dr. Mason should be equally as inconvenienced.

Even though Dr. Mason’s voice was groggy and full of sleep, he sounded pleased to hear from Sterling.

“I have resolved the Tanaka-Sushita conundrum,” Sterling announced. “We even received fax confirmation from Tokyo. They will not abduct Mr. Murphy. He can stay at the Forbes Cancer Center provided you personally guarantee that he will not be exposed to patentable secrets.”

“I cannot make that guarantee,” Dr. Mason said. “It’s too late.”

Sterling was too surprised to speak.

“There’s been a new development,” Dr. Mason explained. “Sean Murphy’s brother, Brian Murphy, has shown up here in Miami concerned about Sean. Unable to locate him, he got in touch with me. He has informed me that the Miami police are looking for Sean in connection with a break-in at a funeral home and the unauthorized theft of a cadaver’s brain.”

“Does this cadaver’s brain involve the Forbes Cancer Center?” Sterling asked.

“Most definitely,” Dr. Mason said. “The deceased was a patient at Forbes. She’d been one of our medulloblastoma patients, the only one to die in the last several years, I might add. The problem is, our treatment protocol has no patent protection yet.”

“You mean to say that Sean Murphy could be in possession of patentable secrets by having this brain at his disposal?”

“Exactly,” Dr. Mason said. “As usual, you are right on target. I’ve already instructed security at Forbes to deny Mr. Murphy access to our labs. What I want you to do is see that he is turned over to the police.”

“That might be difficult,” Sterling said. “Mr. Murphy and Miss Reardon have vanished. I’m calling from their hotel. They have left their belongings, but I do not think they are planning on returning. It’s now after two in the morning. I’m afraid I underestimated their fortitude. I thought that after being rescued from the prospect of abduction, their relief would have rendered them passive. Quite the contrary. My guess is that they commandeered an automobile and drove away.”

“I want you to find them,” Dr. Mason said.

“I appreciate your confidence in my abilities,” Sterling said. “But the character of this assignment is changing. I think you would do better to hire a regular private investigator whose fees are considerably less than mine.”

“I want you to stay on the job,” Dr. Mason said. There was a hint of desperation in his voice. “I want Sean Murphy turned over to the police as soon as possible. In fact, knowing what I now know, I wish you’d let the Japanese take him. I’ll pay you time and a half. Just do it.”

“That is very generous,” Sterling said, “but, Randolph…”

“Double time,” Dr. Mason said. “There’d be too much lag time attempting to get someone else involved at this point. I want Sean Murphy in police custody now!”

“All right,” Sterling said reluctantly. “I will stay with the assignment. But I have to warn you that unless Miss Reardon
uses her Visa card, I’ll have no way of tracking him until he turns up in Miami again.”