When he got home slightly after six, he found the apartment in the same disorder in which he’d left it. His note, which said “Welcome home. I’m sorry. I love you,” was still on the floor by the door where he’d left it.
   Glancing in the refrigerator, he remembered there was nothing in it, and he’d have to go out to eat. Before doing so, he dialed Jennifer’s parents’ number, hoping she’d answer.
   Unfortunately, her mother answered the call. “Adam! So nice of you to call,” she said icily.
   “Is Jennifer there?” asked Adam as politely as he could.
   “She is,” said Mrs. Carson. “She’s been trying to call you since early this morning.”
   “I’ve been working,” explained Adam, pleased that she wanted to reach him.
   “Good for you,” said Mrs. Carson. “I should tell you that Jennifer had an amniocentesis test this morning. Everything went smoothly.”
   Adam almost dropped the phone. “Oh my God, how is she.”
   “Fine, no thanks to you.”
   “Please put her on the phone,” said Adam.
   “I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Carson in a voice that suggested she wasn’t sorry at all, “but Jennifer is sleeping at the moment. When she awakens, I’ll mention that you called.”
   There was a click as Mrs. Carson hung up.
   Adam eyed the receiver for a moment as if it were responsible for his frustration. Controlling himself, he calmly replaced the instrument in its cradle, but the nervousness and fear that he’d felt after leaving the Julian came back in a rush. Why on earth hadn’t Vandermer mentioned Jennifer was in the clinic that morning?

Chapter 11

   Jennifer never called, and the next morning Adam awoke still filled with anxiety. After shaving, he found himself pacing the bedroom floor. What was going on at the clinic? He was terrified at the thought of the strangely mechanical Vandermer continuing to treat Jennifer but didn’t know how to stop his wife from seeing him. If only he could figure out why the doctors changed so much after the cruises. If only he could go on one himself, maybe he’d be able to figure out a way of persuading Jennifer that Vandermer was dangerous.
   Smyth had said his cruise was scheduled to leave from Miami this week. Adam wondered what would happen if he showed up instead.
   “They’d tell me to get my ass off the boat,” he said out loud.
   Suddenly he stopped pacing, went into the living room, and turned on the computer. By the time he got the phone hooked up to the modem, he was sure he was right.
   In his usual two-fingered style, he called up Dr. Stuart Smyth’s file and was told again that the doctor was scheduled for a refresher course, a second cruise, that was to leave that very day.
   Dressing quickly, Adam made up his mind. Christine had said he looked like Smyth, and he had seen the resemblance himself. He picked up the phone and dialed Miami information. When the operator answered, he requested the number for Arolen Cruises. The operator said in a nasal voice, “Sorry, but there is nothing listed under that name.”
   Adam replaced the phone. Then he had another idea. This time he asked for a listing for the Fjord. No luck. There was a Fjord Travel Agency, but that didn’t sound promising.
   Adam picked up his seersucker jacket and took it into the kitchen. The iron was on top of the refrigerator and he plugged it into the wall socket next to the sink. Folding a bath towel lengthwise, he put it on the kitchen card table and pressed out the jacket’s worst wrinkles. That was when he got the inspiration to call MTIC.
   “There is no MTIC in the directory,” said the Miami operator, “but there is MTIC Cruise Lines.”
   Elated, Adam took the number and tried to call. When a woman answered, he introduced himself as Dr. Stuart Smyth and asked if he were still expected on today’s cruise. His secretary had failed to confirm his reservation.
   “Just one moment please,” said the woman. Adam could hear the faint sounds of a computer keyboard.
   “Here it is,” she said. “Stuart Smyth of New York City. You’re expected with today’s OB-GYN group. You should be on board no later than 6:00 P.M.”
   “Thank you,” said Adam. “Can you tell me one other thing? Do I need a passport or anything?”
   “Any type of identification is fine,” said the woman. “You just need proof of citizenship.”
   “Thanks,” said Adam, hanging up. How the hell was he going to get proof of Smyth’s citizenship?
   For ten minutes Adam sat on the edge of the bed trying to make a decision. Except for the passport problem, the idea of impersonating Smyth on the Arolen cruise had a lot of appeal. There was no doubt in Adam’s mind that in order to change Jennifer’s impression of Vandermer he’d have to have damn good evidence of the man’s instability. Going on the cruise seemed the most promising course of action.
   But could he impersonate a practicing OB man? And what if there were people on the cruise who were personal friends of Smyth? Impulsively, Adam decided he’d give it a try. What could he lose? If he ran into a personal friend of Smyth, he’d tell him that Smyth had sent him in his place. And if Arolen found him out, he’d simply say that he couldn’t function as a rep without more information. The worst they could do was fire him.
   With the decision made, Adam jumped into action. His first call was to Clarence McGuire, whom he told that a family crisis would take him out of town for a few days. Clarence was instantly sympathetic, hoping that things would work out.
   Adam’s next call was to the airlines to see what flight he could get to Miami. Between Delta and Eastern, he could go anytime he chose.
   Finally, he worked up his courage to call Jennifer. His mouth went dry as he heard the connection go through. One ring. Another. Then Mrs. Carson picked up the phone.
   Using all the graciousness he could muster, Adam said good morning and asked if he could talk with his wife.
   “I’ll see if she is awake,” said Mrs. Carson coolly.
   Adam was relieved when Jennifer said hello.
   “I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Adam.
   “I wasn’t asleep,” said Jennifer.
   “Jennifer,” said Adam. “I’m sorry about the other night. I don’t know what happened to me. But I want you to come home. The only trouble is that I have to go out of town for a few days for work.”
   “I see,” said Jennifer.
   “I’d prefer not to explain right now, but it is probably best for you to stay with your parents for a few more days.”
   “I suppose you’re going down to Puerto Rico,” said Jennifer icily.
   “No, I’m not,” said Adam.
   “Where are you going?” asked Jennifer.
   “I’d rather not say,” said Adam.
   “Fine,” said Jennifer. “Have it your way. Incidentally, just in case you’re interested, I had the amniocentesis yesterday.”
   “I know,” said Adam.
   “How did you know?” asked Jennifer. “I tried calling you from seven in the morning on. You were never in.”
   Adam realized that Mrs. Carson had not even told Jennifer that he’d phoned the previous evening. Getting his wife back was going to be an uphill battle.
   “Well, you have a wonderful time on your trip,” said Jennifer coldly, and she hung up before Adam could even tell her how much he loved her.

   Jennifer put down the phone wondering what could be so important that Adam would leave her at this difficult time. It had to be Puerto Rico, and yet Adam had never lied to her before.
   “Anything new?” questioned Mrs. Carson.
   Jennifer turned to face her parents.
   “Adam is going on some kind of trip,” she said.
   “How nice for him,” said Mrs. Carson. “Where is he going?”
   “I don’t know,” said Jennifer. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
   “Could he be having an affair?” asked Mrs. Carson.
   “By George, he better not be,” said Mr. Carson, who lowered his Wall Street Journal and glared at the two women.
   “He’s not having an affair,” said Jennifer irritably.
   “Well, he’s surely acting inappropriately,” said her mother.
   Jennifer got some Raisin Bran cereal and cut up a banana. Since she’d started the pregdolen, her nausea had all but disappeared. She carried her breakfast to the table and sat in front of the TV.
   The phone rang again, and she leaped up, thinking it was Adam calling, having changed his mind about the trip. But when she picked up the phone, it was Dr. Vandermer on the other end.
   “I’m sorry to be calling so early,” he said, “but I wanted to be certain to get you.”
   “It’s all right,” said Jennifer, her stomach doing a flip-flop.
   “I’d like you to come back to the clinic today,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I need to talk to you. Could you make it this morning some time around ten? I’m afraid I have surgery this afternoon.”
   “Of course. I’ll be there at ten,” said Jennifer. She hung up the phone, afraid to ask what he wanted to talk about.
   “Who was it, dear?” asked Mrs. Carson.
   “Dr. Vandermer. He wants to see me this morning.”
   “What about?”
   “He didn’t say,” said Jennifer softly.
   “Well, at least it can’t have anything to do with the amniocentesis,” said Mrs. Carson. “He told us the results take about two weeks.”
   Jennifer dressed quickly, her mind trying to guess what Dr. Vandermer was going to tell her. Her mother’s comment about the amniocentesis test made her feel a bit better. The only other thing she could think of was that one of the blood tests had shown she was low on iron or some vitamin.
   Mrs. Carson insisted on driving Jennifer to the Julian Clinic and going in with her for her appointment. They were escorted immediately to Dr. Vandermer’s new office, which smelled of fresh paint.
   Dr. Vandermer stood when they entered and motioned for Jennifer and her mother to take the two chairs in front of his desk. Looking at his face, Jennifer knew that something was seriously wrong.
   “I’m afraid I have some bad news,” he said in a voice that betrayed no emotion.
   Jennifer felt her heart leap. All at once the room felt intolerably hot.
   “Normally it takes two weeks to get the results of an amniocentesis,” said Dr. Vandermer. “The reason is that tissue cultures have to be made in order to see the nuclear material properly. Occasionally, however, the abnormality is so apparent that the free cells in the amniotic fluid tell the story. Jennifer, like your mother, you are carrying a baby with Down’s syndrome. The karyotype is of the most severe type.”
   Jennifer was speechless. There had to be a mistake. She couldn’t believe that her body would deceive her and produce some sort of monster.
   “Does that mean that the child won’t live more than a few weeks?” Mrs. Carson asked, struggling with her own memories.
   “We believe that the infant wouldn’t survive,” said Dr. Vandermer. He walked over to Jennifer and put his arm on her shoulder. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such news. I would have waited for the final results, but it is better for you to know now. It gives you more time to make a decision. It may not seem much consolation to you, but try to remember that you are a very young woman. You can have lots of other children and, as you mentioned yourself, this is not the best time for you and Adam to have a baby.”
   Jennifer listened in shocked silence. Dr. Vandermer turned and caught Mrs. Carson’s eye.
   “I think you should go home and discuss the situation with your family,” Dr. Vandermer continued. “Believe me, it’s better to come to a decision now than after a lengthy and difficult labor and delivery.”
   “I can vouch for that,” said Mrs. Carson. “Dr. Vandermer’s right, Jennifer. We’ll go home and talk. Everything is going to work out fine.”
   Jennifer nodded and even managed a smile for Dr. Vandermer, whose face finally revealed a trace of emotion.
   “Please call me whenever you want,” he said as they left.
   The two women passed through the clinic, descended into the parking garage, and retrieved their car in silence. As they drove up the ramp, Jennifer said, “I want to go home to my apartment.”
   “I thought we’d go right back to New Jersey,” said Mrs. Carson. “I think your father should know about this.”
   “I’d like to see Adam,” said Jennifer. “He didn’t say what time he was leaving. Maybe I can catch him.”
   “Maybe we should call first,” said Mrs. Carson.
   “I’d prefer just to go,” said Jennifer.
   Deciding this was not the time to argue, Mrs. Carson drove her daughter downtown. When they went up to the apartment, Jennifer saw that Adam’s two suitcases were still in the closet and none of his clothes seemed to be missing. She felt reasonably confident that he had not left.
   “Well, what do you want to do?” asked her mother.
   “Wait and talk to him,” said Jennifer in a tone that brooked no further debate.

   “I’m going to have to charge you a fee if this happens again,” teased the porter at the university information booth.
   Adam took the white coat and slipped it on.
   “I just can’t stay away from this place. I’m homesick.” The sleeves were two inches too short and there was a big yellow stain on the pocket. “Is this the best you can do?” he joked.
   Confident in his medical disguise, Adam took the elevator to Neurology, went directly to the nurses’ station, smiled at the ward clerk, and again pulled Smyth’s chart from the rack.
   All he really wanted was the information on the front sheet. Turning his back to the clerk, Adam copied down all the personal information he could find on Smyth: health insurance information, social security number, wife’s name, and birth date. That was a good start.
   Returning the chart to the rack, Adam took the elevator back down to the library on the main floor. A research assistant directed him to a compendium of American physicians. Looking up Stuart Smyth, Adam checked the schools the man had attended from college through residency and was interested to note that he’d done a year of surgical training in Hawaii. Adam also memorized all of Smyth’s professional associations.
   His final act before leaving the medical center was to call Christine at GYN Associates under the pretext of setting up an appointment with Baumgarten and Stens the following week. He managed to learn that Smyth was an avid tennis player, a lover of classical music, and a movie buff.
   Back in the Buick, Adam drove across town and tumed right on Eighth Avenue. As he approached Forty-second Street, the city changed from office buildings and warehouses to garish movie theaters with harsh neon lights and adult bookstores advertising twenty-five-cent X-rated flicks. Streetwalkers in high-heeled sandals and miniskirts beckoned to him as he parked his car.
   Adam wandered east, lingering in front of magazine stands. After many offers of drugs, he was approached by a thin man wearing one of those narrow mustaches that Adam remembered from thirties films.
   “You interested in a real lady?” asked the man.
   Adam wondered if a real lady was the opposite of the kind that you had to inflate. He was tempted to ask but wasn’t sure if the thin man would appreciate his humor.
   “I’m interested in some ID cards,” said Adam.
   “What kind?” asked the man as if it were an everyday request.
   Adam shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a driver’s license and a voter’s registration card.”
   “A voter’s registration card?” repeated the thin man. “I never heard of somebody asking for that.”
   “No?” said Adam. “Well, I’m sort of new at this. I want to go on a cruise, and I don’t want anyone to know who I really am.”
   “Then you want a friggin’ passport,” said the man. “When do you need it?”
   “Right now,” said Adam.
   “I trust you got cash.”
   “Some,” said Adam. He’d been careful to lock most of his money, plus his own identification cards, into the glove compartment of the car.
   “It will cost you twenty-five for the driver’s license and fifty for the passport,” said the thin man.
   “Wow,” said Adam. “I only have fifty on me.”
   “Too bad,” said the man. He turned and started toward Eighth Avenue.
   Adam watched him for a moment, then continued walking toward Broadway. After a few steps he felt a hand on his shoulder.
   “Sixty bucks for both,” said the thin man.
   Adam nodded.

  Without another word the man led Adam back toward Eighth Avenue and into one of the many stores that were plastered with hand-lettered signs reading “Going Out of Business! Last Three Days! Everything Reduced!” Adam noticed that the “Last Three Days!” sign was brittle with age.
   The store sold the usual assortment of cameras, calculators, and videotapes and a handful of “authentic Chinese ivories.” A center table supported a line of miniature Empire State Buildings and Statues of Liberty, plus coffee mugs with “I Love New York” on the sides.
   None of the salesmen even looked up as the thin man led Adam through the length of the store and out the rear door. In the back of the building was a hall with doors on either side. Adam hoped he wasn’t getting himself into something he couldn’t handle. The thin man knocked on the first door, then opened it and motioned Adam into a small, dark room.
   In one corner was a Polaroid camera on a tripod. In another was a drafting table, set under a bright fluorescent light. A man with a shiny bald head sat at the table. He was wearing one of those green visors Adam remembered seeing on cardplayers in old westerns.
   The thin man spoke. “This kid wants a driver’s license and a passport for sixty bucks.”
   “What name?” asked the man with the green visor.
   Adam quickly gave Smyth’s name, address, birth date, and social security number.
   There was no more talk. Adam was positioned behind the Polaroid camera and several pictures were taken. Next, the man with the green visor went over to the drafting table and began to work. The thin man leaned against the wall and lit a cigarette.
   Ten minutes later Adam walked back through the store, clutching his phony IDs. He didn’t open them until he reached the car, but when he did he found they looked entirely authentic. Pleased, he turned the car toward the Village. He had only an hour or so to pack.
   When he reached the apartment, he was surprised to find the police lock unengaged. He pushed open the door and saw Jennifer and her mother.
   “Hi,” he said, quite amazed. “This is a nice surprise.”
   “I was hoping to catch you before you went to Puerto Rico,” said Jennifer.
   “I’m not going to Puerto Rico,” said Adam.
   “I don’t think you should be going anyplace,” said Mrs. Carson. “Jennifer has had a shock and she needs your support.”
   Adam put his things on the desk and turned to Jennifer. She did look pale.
   “What’s the matter?” asked Adam.
   “Dr. Vandermer gave her some bad news,” replied Mrs. Carson.
   Adam did not take his eyes from Jennifer’s face. He wanted to tell Mrs. Carson to shut up, but instead he stood directly in front of his wife. “What did Dr. Vandermer say?” he asked gently.
   “The amniocentesis was positive. He said our baby is severely deformed. I’m so sorry, Adam. I think I’ll have to have an abortion.”
   “That’s impossible,” said Adam, slamming his fist into his palm. “It takes weeks to do the tissue cultures after an amniocentesis. What the hell is wrong with this Vandermer?”
   Adam strode to the phone.
   Jennifer burst into tears. “It’s not Dr. Vandermer’s fault,” she sobbed, explaining that the abnormality was so severe that tissue cultures weren’t needed.
   Adam hesitated, trying to remember what he’d read. He couldn’t recall any cases where tissue culture wasn’t needed.
   “That’s not good enough for me,” he said, putting through a call to the Julian Clinic. When he asked for Dr. Vandermer, he was put on hold.
   Mrs. Carson cleared her throat. “Adam, I think that you should be more concerned about Jennifer’s feelings than about Dr. Vandermer.”
   Adam ignored her. The Julian Clinic operator came back on the line and told Adam that Dr. Vandermer was doing a procedure but would call back. Adam gave his name and number and then dropped the receiver into its cradle.
   “This is crazy,” he mumbled. “I had a strange feeling about the Julian Clinic. And Vandermer…” He didn’t finish the sentence.
   “I think the Julian Clinic is one of the finest hospitals I’ve ever been in,” said Mrs. Carson. “And except for my own doctor, I’ve never met a more caring man than Dr. Vandermer.”
   “I’m going over there,” said Adam, ignoring his mother-in-law. “I want to talk to him in person.” Picking up his keys, Adam strode toward the door.
   “What about your wife?” demanded Mrs. Carson.
   “I’ll be back.” Then he left, slamming the door behind him.
   Mrs. Carson was furious. She couldn’t believe that she had originally favored the marriage. Hearing Jennifer weep, she decided it was better not to say anything. She went over to her daughter, murmuring, “We’ll go home. Daddy will take care of everything.”
   Jennifer didn’t object, but when she got to the door, she said, “I want to leave Adam a note.”
   Mrs. Carson nodded and watched Jennifer write a short note at Adam’s desk, then put it on the floor by the door. It said simply: “Gone home. Jennifer.”

   Adam drove uptown like an aggressive New York City cabbie, pulled directly in front of the Julian Clinic, and jumped out of the car. A uniformed security guard tried to stop him, but Adam merely called over his shoulder that he was Dr. Schonberg and it was an emergency.
   When he reached Gynecology, the receptionist acted as if he were expected.
   “Adam Schonberg,” she said. “Dr. Vandermer said for you to wait in his office.” She pointed down another corridor. “It’s the third door on the left.”
   Adam thanked the girl and went to the office she’d indicated. The room was impressive, the shelves filled with books and medical journals. Adam glanced at a row of model fetuses, feeling an uncharacteristic urge to vandalize the place. He wandered over to the desk. It was a large, inlaid affair with claw feet. On top was a pile of typed operative notes awaiting signatures.
   Dr. Vandermer came in almost immediately. He was carrying a manila folder under his arm.
   “Won’t you sit down?” he suggested.
   “No, thank you,” said Adam. “This won’t take long. I just wanted to confirm my wife’s diagnosis. I understand you believe she’s carrying a chromosomally defective child.”
   “I’m afraid so,” said Dr. Vandermer.
   “I thought it took weeks to do tissue cultures,” said Adam.
   Dr. Vandermer looked Adam directly in the eye. “Normally, that is true,” he said. “But in your wife’s case there were plenty of cells for us to examine directly in the amniotic fluid. Adam, as a medical student, I’m sure you understand these things happen. But as I told your wife, you’re both young. You can have other babies.”
   “I want to see the slides,” said Adam, preparing himself for an argument. But Vandermer just nodded and said, “Why don’t you follow me?”
   Adam began to wonder if he’d been too hasty in his judgment. The man seemed genuinely sorry to be the bearer of such bad news.
   On the fourth floor Vandermer led Adam to the cytology lab. Adam blinked as they went through the door. Everything was white: walls, floor, ceiling, and countertops. At the back of the room was a lab bench with four microscopes. Only one was in use, and a middle-aged brunette woman looked up as Dr. Vandermer approached.
   “Cora,” he asked, “I hate to bother you, but could you get us the slides on Jennifer Schonberg?”
   Cora nodded and Vandermer motioned for Adam to sit down at a teaching microscope with dual viewing heads.
   “I don’t know if you wanted to see the B scan ultrasonography or not,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but I brought it anyway.” He opened the folder he’d been carrying and handed the images to Adam.
   As a medical student, Adam had not had any experience with ultrasonography, and the pictures looked like inkblots to him. Dr. Vandermer took the photo that Adam was examining, turned it over, and outlined the developing fetus with the tip of his finger. “The technique is getting better and better,” he said. “Here you can plainly see testicles. A lot of times at this age you can’t tell the sex by ultrasound. Perhaps this little guy takes after his father.”
   Adam realized Vandermer was doing his best to be friendly.
   The door swung open and Cora reappeared with a tray of slides. Each had a tiny cover glass over its center. Dr. Vandermer selected one that had been labeled with a grease pencil. He placed it under the optical head of the microscope, put a drop of oil on it, and lowered the oil-immersion lens. Adam sat up and looked through the eyepiece.
   Dr. Vandermer explained that the specimens had been specially stained to make viewing of the chromatin material as easy as possible. He said they had to find a cell in the process of division. Finally, he gave up and asked for Cora’s assistance.
   “I should have let you do this in the first place,” he said, changing seats with the woman.
   It took Cora about thirty seconds to find an appropriate cell. By manipulating the hairline pointer, she showed Adam the chromosomal abnormality.
   Adam was crushed. He had hoped the results would be ambiguous, but even to his inexperienced eye, the problem was clear. Cora continued pointing out other minor problems that had been noticed, including the fact that one of the X chromosomes also appeared slightly abnormal.
   Finally, Cora asked if he would like to see another case that demonstrated a more common type of Down’s syndrome.
   Adam shook his head. “No, but thanks for your time.” He put both hands on the lab bench and started to rise. Halfway up he stopped. Something was wrong. He leaned forward and peered into the microscope. “Show me that X chromosome abnormality again,” said Adam.
   Cora leaned forward and put her face to the eyepiece. Soon the hairline pointer moved to a pair of identical chromosomes. Cora started to explain the suspected abnormality, but Adam interrupted her.
   “Are those X chromosomes?” asked Adam.
   “Absolutely,” said Cora. “But…”
   Adam again interrupted her and asked Dr. Vandermer to take a look. “Do you see the X chromosomes?”
   “I do,” said Dr. Vandermer, “but like you, I can’t appreciate the abnormality that Cora is talking about.”
   “I’m not concerned about the abnormality,” said Adam. “I’m concerned about the two X chromosomes. Just a moment ago on the ultrasound image you pointed out that my child is a boy. This slide we are looking at is a girl.”
   Dr. Vandermer had straightened up when Adam had begun to talk. His face wiped clean of all expression.
   Cora immediately turned to the microscope. “He’s right,” she said. “This slide is of a girl.”
   Slowly Dr. Vandermer raised his right hand to his face. Cora flipped over the edge of the slide tray and checked the number. Then she checked the number on the slide. They matched. Getting the main register, she checked the number there. The name was Jennifer Schonberg. Looking very pale, Dr. Vandermer told Adam to wait for a moment.
   “Has anything like this ever happened before?” asked Adam when the doctor had gone.
   “Never,” said Cora.
   Dr. Vandermer reappeared with a large man in tow. Like Dr. Vandermer, he was wearing a long white coat. Dr. Vandermer introduced him to Adam as Dr. Ridley Stanford. Adam recognized the name. He was the author of the textbook on pathology that Adam had used during his second year of medical school, and had been chief of pathology at University Hospital.
   “This is a disaster,” said Dr. Vandermer after Dr. Stanford had taken a look.
   “I agree,” said Dr. Stanford, his voice as emotionless as Vandermer’s. “I can’t imagine how this could have happened. Let me make some calls.”
   Within a few minutes there were ten other people crowded around the microscope.
   “How many amniocenteses were done yesterday?” asked Dr. Vandermer.
   Cora glanced at the book. “Twenty-one,” she said.
   “They all have to be repeated,” said Dr. Vandermer.
   “Absolutely,” said Dr. Stanford.
   Turning to Adam, Dr. Vandermer said, “We owe you a vote of thanks.” The others echoed his sentiments.
   Adam felt as if a huge black cloud had been lifted from over his head. His child was not some kind of genetic monster. The first thing he wanted to do was call Jennifer.
   “We would be honored if you would stay for lunch,” said Dr. Stanford. “There’s a fabulous pathology lecture on retroperitoneal tumors which you might find interesting.”
   Adam excused himself and hurriedly descended to the main lobby. He couldn’t believe that in the face of the current disaster they wanted him to stay for lunch and a lecture! There was no question but the place was weird. Passing the front door en route to the telephone, Adam was pleased to see that his car was still where he’d left it.
   Adam first called the apartment, but there was no answer. Thinking that Jennifer might have gone home with her mother, he dialed the Englewood number, but there was no answer there, either.
   After a moment’s hesitation, Adam decided to go back to the apartment. He ran out of the Julian Clinic, got in his car, and started for home.
   His excitement at the good news was beginning to give way to a heightened sense of uneasiness about the Julian Clinic and Dr. Vandermer. It had been only a lucky break that he’d noticed the discrepancy. What if he hadn’t and Jennifer had had an abortion!
   Adam felt all his anxieties return in a rush. He’d narrowly averted one catastrophe, but unless he could get Jennifer to switch from both Vandermer and the clinic, there might be more. For a while he’d abandoned the thought of the Arolen cruise. Now it looked again as if it might be the only way to get the evidence to prove Vandermer was dangerous. Adam looked at his watch. It was twelve-twenty. Still time to make the Fjord by six o’clock.
   Reaching his apartment door, Adam was disappointed to find the police lock engaged. He found Jennifer’s impersonal note and decided to call Englewood once again. He was pleased when Jennifer answered instead of her mother.
   “I’ve got good news and bad.”
   “I’m in no mood to play games,” said Jennifer.
   “The good news is that they got your specimen mixed up at the clinic. Someone else’s baby has the bad chromosomes. They mixed up the slides.”
   For a moment Jennifer was afraid to ask if Adam were telling the truth or if this were just some sort of plot to make her lose faith in Vandermer. The news seemed too good to be true.
   “Jennifer, did you hear me?”
   “Is it true?” asked Jennifer tentatively.
   “Yes,” said Adam, and he described how he’d noticed the discrepancy in relation to the sex of the cell.
   “What did Dr. Vandermer say?” asked Jennifer.
   “He said that all the amniocenteses done that day have to be repeated.”
   “Is that the bad news you were referring to?” asked Jennifer.
   “No,” said Adam. “The bad news is that I’m still going out of town, unless you promise me something.”
   “What do I have to promise?” asked Jennifer skeptically.
   “Promise to see Dr. Wickelman for the remainder of your pregnancy and stop taking pregdolen.”
   “Adam…” said Jennifer, drawing out his name impatiently.
   “I’m more convinced than ever that there is something strange about the Julian Clinic,” said Adam. “If you agree to see Dr. Wickelman, I’ll promise not to interfere with anything he suggests.”
   “Mistakes happen every day in hospitals,” said Jennifer. “Just because one happened at the Julian Clinic doesn’t mean I shouldn’t go there. It seems like the ideal place to have my baby now that I’ve gotten over that episode with Cheryl Tedesco. I like the people there and the atmosphere.”
   “Well,” said Adam. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
   “Where are you going?” asked Jennifer.
   “I’d rather not say,” said Adam.
   “Under the circumstances,” said Jennifer, “don’t you think that you should stay here? Adam, I need you.”
   “That’s a little hard to believe with you at your parents’ and me alone in the apartment. I’m sorry, but I have to run. I love you, Jennifer.”
   Adam hung up and called Eastern Airlines before he had time to have second thoughts. He booked a seat on a flight leaving for Miami from LaGuardia in forty-eight minutes.
   Adam got his small Samsonite suitcase from the closet and began packing. Just as he was cramming in his toilet articles, the phone rang. Adam reached out his hand, but then, for once in his life, ignored the sound. Even a minute’s delay would make him miss his flight.

   Jennifer waited, letting the phone ring on and on. Finally, she hung up. Right after speaking with Adam, she’d decided that she’d be willing to see this Dr. Wickelman if it meant so much to Adam. She could at least give the man a chance, and if she didn’t feel comfortable with him, she could always go back to Dr. Vandermer. But Adam had apparently left. Jennifer felt abandoned. Before she took her hand off the receiver, the phone rang again. Hoping it was Adam, she picked it up before the first ring was complete. It was Dr. Vandermer.
   “I assume you have heard the good news.”
   “Yes, Adam just told me,” said Jennifer.
   “We are very grateful to your husband,” said Dr. Vandermer. “It is unusual for someone to notice a secondary abnormality in the face of an overwhelmingly positive finding.”
   “So it is true that I am not carrying a defective child,” said Jennifer.
   “I’m afraid I can’t go so far as to say that,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Unfortunately, we have no idea of the result of your amniocentesis. We’ll have to repeat the procedure. I’m terribly sorry this happened. There were twenty people besides yourself who had amniocentesis that day, and all of them have to be repeated. Obviously it will be done at the clinic’s expense.”
   “When do you want to repeat the test?” asked Jennifer. She appreciated Dr. Vandermer’s willingness to accept responsibility even though the error was undoubtedly made by someone in the lab.
   “As soon as possible,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Remember, we are up against a time constraint if there really is a problem.”
   “How about if I get back to you in the morning?” said Jennifer.
   “That will be fine. There’s no rush, but the sooner we do it, the better.”

Chapter 12

   The flight to Miami was uneventful. As soon as Adam was airborne, he removed his own driver’s license from his billfold and replaced it with Smyth’s. Then he studied the addresses in the passport. If someone asked him where he lived, he wanted to be able to rattle it off by heart.
   The plane landed at five minutes after four, and since Adam had carried his luggage aboard, he was at the taxi stand by four-fifteen. The taxi was an old broken-down Dodge station wagon and the driver spoke only Spanish, but he recognized the name of the Fjord and understood that Adam was going on a cruise.
   Adam stared at the tropical scenery. Miami was much more beautiful than he’d imagined. Soon they passed over a long causeway and Adam saw the harbor. The cruise ships were tied up in a line, with the Fjord the last in the row. Compared to the others, the Fjord seemed neither especially large nor particularly small. Like the others, it was painted white. It had one huge smokestack with an image of two intertwining arrows on the side. Adam wondered if that were MTIC’s logo.
   Adam’s driver could not get close to the curb, so Adam paid him and got out in the middle of the street. Suitcase in hand, he made his way toward the entrance of the building. The din of car horns, voices, and idling motors was terrific, the air heavy with fumes. It was a relief to get inside.
   Adam made his way to an information booth where the receptionists’ uniforms reminded him of the staff’s dress at the Julian Clinic. They, too, were dressed in white blouses and blue jumpers.
   Adam had to shout to be heard. He asked how he should check in and was told to go up the escalator to the second level. Adam thanked the girl who’d directed him by mouthing the words.
   Getting on the escalator was a trick, especially with the suitcase. While he rode up, he looked over the crowd. Although there were a few women, the majority of the people were men and they certainly looked like doctors—prosperous and self-satisfied. Most were dressed in business suits, though a few had on sport shirts and slacks.
   On the second floor of the terminal was a long registration table, divided into alphabetical segments. Adam joined the line marked “N—Z.”
   Glancing around the room, he suddenly got cold feet. Maybe he should leave. No one would notice. He could just catch a cab to the airport and fly home. He began counting the number of people between him and the registration desk. At that moment, Adam’s eye caught those of a man standing a few feet away in the neighboring line. Quickly looking away, Adam nervously tapped his foot. There was no reason for someone to be staring at him. Gradually, Adam allowed his eyes to return to the next line. Unfortunately, the man was still looking directly at him. When he saw Adam look up, he smiled. Self-consciously, Adam smiled back. Then, to his horror, the man came over.
   “My name is Alan Jackson,” he said, forcing Adam to put down his suitcase and shake hands. Nervously, Adam introduced himself as Stuart Smyth. Alan just nodded and smiled again.
   He was at least ten years older than Adam and had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His sandy hair was combed forward, probably to hide a bald spot.
   “You look awfully familiar,” said Alan. “Are you from New York?”
   Adam felt the blood drain from his face. He hadn’t even checked in yet and already he was in trouble.
   At that moment the loudspeaker came to life: “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. For those of you with boarding cards, the Fjord will be ready to receive you in just a few minutes. If you haven’t received a boarding card, we recommend that you proceed to the registration desk immediately.”
   “Aren’t you in orthopedics?” asked Alan as soon as the loudspeaker fell silent.
   “No,” said Adam, relieved. Obviously the man didn’t know the real Smyth. “I’m OB-GYN. How about you?”
   “Orthopedics. I’m with the University of California, San Diego. This your first Arolen cruise?”
   “No,” said Adam quickly. “How about you?”
   “It’s my second,” said Alan, turning suddenly. “My God, there’s Ned Janson. Hey, Ned, you old bastard. Over here!”
   Adam saw a stocky, dark-haired man who was with one of the few women in the crowd look up. Seeing Alan, his face lit up with a smile. He took the woman by the arm and made his way over.
   While Alan and Ned had a back-slapping reunion, Adam introduced himself to the woman. Her name was Clair Osborn. She was a handsome lady, about thirty, with a round, healthy face, and long, muscular legs. She was dressed in a short black-and-white skirt. Adam was enjoying himself until she told him she was a gynecologist.
   “What’s your specialty?” asked Clair. “Orthopedics or OB-GYN?”
   “Why limit the choices to those two?” joked Adam, trying to change the subject.
   “It’s my brilliant intuition,” said Clair. “Plus the fact that this cruise is for orthopods and obstetricians only.”
   Adam laughed nervously. “Well, I’m OB.”
   “Really?” said Clair with delight. “Then we’ll be going to the same functions.”
   “That will be nice,” said Adam. “Is this your first cruise?” Adam wanted to talk about anything other than OB-GYN. He didn’t fool himself into thinking he could hold up his end of a professional conversation.
   “Sure is,” said Clair. “It’s Ned’s first time, too. Right, Ned?” Clair yanked on Ned’s arm to get his attention. Hearing bits and pieces of their conversation, Adam understood that Alan and Ned had trained at the same hospital.
   “Hey! This is great,” said Ned after meeting Adam. “Why don’t we all have dinner tonight?”
   Alan shook his head. “The Arolen people do the seating. They consider meals an extension of the scientific sessions.”
   “Oh, bullshit,” said Ned. “What is this supposed to be, summer camp?”
   The man in front of Adam moved away with his boarding card in hand. Adam stepped up to the counter and faced a young man nattily dressed in a white blazer. On the breast pocket was the same logo Adam had seen painted on the side of the Fjord’s smokestack. On his lapel was a name tag that said “Juan.” Below the name and in small letters was printed “MTIC.”
   “Your name, please?” asked Juan. His voice sounded as if he’d asked the question so often that he was speaking by rote.
   “Stuart Smyth,” said Adam and fumbled with his billfold to get out the driver’s license. In the process his Arolen card dropped on the counter. Luckily, Juan was already busy entering Stuart Smyth into the computer so he didn’t see it. Adam turned around to see if any of his new friends had noticed, but they were busy talking. Adam turned back to face Juan, thinking that by the time this cruise was over, he was going to be a nervous wreck. Furtively, he slipped the Arolen card into his jacket pocket.
   “Passport?” asked Juan.
   After a moment of panic Adam found the passport in his inside jacket pocket and handed it over. Juan opened it. Adam felt a stab of terror, but Juan just looked at it for two seconds and handed it back, saying, “Here’s your boarding card. Please present it to the purser and he will assign you your stateroom. If you leave the ship during the cruise, be sure to have the card on your person. Next, please.”
   Adam stepped aside so the man behind him could approach the counter. So far so good.
   After Alan had obtained his boarding card, he, Ned, and Clair accompanied Adam to the Arolen desk. There they were given a package of “goodies” as Ned called them. The process starts, thought Adam as he took the gift, a leather shoulder bag with the MTIC logo on the side. Inside the bag were a Cross pen and pencil set, a legal-sized, leatherbound note pad, and a lecture schedule for the cruise. There was also an array of Arolen products which comprised a small pharmacy. Adam glanced at the loot with interest, but knew that he’d have to wait to examine it in detail.
   The loudspeaker crackled to life and it was announced that the ship was ready to board. A cheer rose from the crowd as Adam and his newly made friends slowly walked outside. A uniformed policeman checked their boarding cards at dockside, and they all trooped up the gangway.
   Stepping off the ramp, Adam found himself on the main deck. It wasn’t a new ship by any stretch of the imagination, but it appeared to be well cared for and certain sections seemed to have been recently renovated. The personnel were all dressed like the man at the registration desk, in white blazers and black slacks. Their uniforms were spotlessly clean and carefully pressed.
   Adam was approached by one of the stewards who politely checked his boarding card and directed him to a desk to the right. Apparently, there were different colored boarding cards for those who had been on a previous cruise. Ned and Clair were sent to a different desk.
   Adam was assigned stateroom 407 on A deck, which was the floor below the main deck. As he took his key, he noticed that the purser had the same monotonous inflection in his voice as the man at the registration desk.
   Alan, who was right behind Adam, was assigned stateroom 409. As they walked away, Adam commented on the flat speech pattern.
   “I suppose they say the same thing over and over again,” said Alan.
   A steward approached Adam and relieved him of his small suitcase and his new Arolen shoulder bag.
   “Thank you,” said Adam.
   The man didn’t respond except by indicating that Adam was to follow him.
   “See you later, Stuart,” called Alan.
   It took Adam a moment to remember that that was his name. “Yes, of course,” he called.
   The steward was leading him past a gift shop filled with Gucci bags and Japanese cameras. At the back were wines, liquors, and tobaccos as well as a drug section. For the first time, Adam thought about the possibility of seasickness.
   “Excuse me,” he said. “When will the store be opened?”
   “About an hour after departure.”
   “Do they sell Dramamine or those ear patches for motion sickness?” asked Adam.
   The steward looked at him with a blank expression. “I don’t know if they sell Dramamine or those ear patches.” The way he echoed Adam’s question didn’t invite further conversation.
   Staterooms 407 and 409 were adjacent on the port side of the ship. Alan was nowhere in sight. Adam’s steward opened the door to 407 and led Adam inside.
   To Adam, who’d never been on a luxury liner, the room seemed small. There was a single bed on the right with a night table. On the left were a small desk and a chair. The bathroom was a tiny affair with a shower, toilet, and sink crammed next to a narrow closet.
   The steward stuck his head in the bathroom, entered, and reappeared a moment later with a glass of water, which he handed to Adam.
   “For me?” asked Adam. He took the glass and sipped the water. It had a rather chemical taste.
   The steward reached into his side pocket and pulled out a yellow capsule, which he extended toward Adam. “Welcome back,” he said.
   Adam smiled uneasily. “Sure is good to be here,” he said, eyeing the yellow capsule. It became obvious that the steward expected him to take the pill.
   Adam put out his hand and the steward dropped the capsule into his palm. It didn’t look like Dramamine, but how was he to know?
   “Is this for motion sickness?” he asked.
   The steward said nothing, but his unblinking stare made Adam acutely uncomfortable.
   “I’ll bet it is for motion sickness,” said Adam, tossing the pill into his mouth. After a swallow, he gave the water glass to the steward, who returned it to the bathroom. While he was out of the room, Adam took the yellow capsule out of his mouth and dropped it into his pocket.
   The steward pulled down the covers on the bed as if he expected Adam to take a nap. Then he set Adam’s suitcase on a stand and began to unpack.
   Amazed at such service, Adam sat on the bed and watched the man silently go about his business. When the steward was finished, he thanked Adam and left.
   For a moment Adam sat puzzling over the steward’s behavior. Then he got up and upended his new Arolen shoulder bag. The drugs spilled onto the blanket.
   Taking the yellow capsule out of his pocket, he checked to see if it matched any of the samples. It didn’t. Adam wondered if he would be able to find a PDR on board. There should be a library with basic reference books. He was curious about the yellow capsule. It had to be for motion sickness. Adam glanced at it one last time, then put it into a small bottle of aspirin.
   He picked up the lecture schedule and began to read. It was nearly twenty-five pages long. The first half dealt with orthopedics, the second with OB-GYN. Adam noted that most of the lectures were clinically oriented, which he thought accounted for the conferences’ popularity.
   Adam was convinced that if anything were done in the nature of brainwashing, it had to be done during the lectures. But what could they say to make a doctor like Vandermer change his mind about a drug? Could it be some kind of subliminal hypnosis? Adam tossed the schedule aside. He guessed he’d find out soon enough.
   The blast of a horn made Adam jump. Then he heard the engines start. He decided to go on deck to watch.
   Hanging up his seersucker jacket and removing his tie, Adam stepped into the corridor. He paused outside of room 409, realizing that although they shared a common wall, he’d heard nothing from Alan. Adam rapped on the door and waited, but there was no answer. Another steward came past, and Adam had to flatten himself against the wall. Then he knocked again. He was about to leave when he heard a thump from inside the room. With the heel of his hand, he pounded on the door, thinking perhaps Alan was in the bathroom. Still there was no answer. Reaching down, Adam tried the latch. The door was unlocked and swung inward.
   Alan was sitting on the edge of the bed. At his feet was a water glass that had apparently just fallen to the floor.
   “I beg your pardon,” said Adam, embarrassed. Alan mumbled that it didn’t matter, but Adam saw that he must have been asleep.
   “Sorry to have disturbed you,” said Adam. “I was going to watch the departure and thought that maybe you…” Adam didn’t finish his sentence. Alan was slowly falling forward. Entering the room, Adam grabbed him before he hit the floor and eased him back onto the bed.
   “Hey, are you OK?” asked Adam.
   Sleepily, Alan nodded. “I’m just tired.”
   “I think you’d better have a snooze,” laughed Adam, glancing around at the night table, suspecting that Alan might have taken a drink or two. But there was no liquor in evidence. He debated if he should cover the man, but since Alan was fully dressed, he just left him on top of the spread.
   Back at the reception area there were still a few people waiting for room assignments. The gangplank, however, had been raised. Adam continued up two levels to what was called the promenade deck and went outside.
   The change from air-conditioned coolness to the torpid Miami heat was a shock. Adam went to the railing and looked down at the quay. Stevedores were busy casting off the lines, freeing the ship from its mooring. The vibrations of the engines increased, and side thrusters moved the ship slowly away from the pier. From the stern Adam heard a cheer and then the noise of a Dixieland band.
   Walking forward, Adam soon came to a teak barrier with a door leading to the bow. A sign cautioned: “Crew Only. Passengers Not Permitted Forward.” Adam tried the door. It was unlocked, but he decided not to test his luck by going through.
   The horn blared again and at the same time the vibration of the ship changed. Adam guessed that the main screws had started to turn. Slowly, the ship began to move forward.
   Adam met other passengers exploring the ship. Everyone was friendly and outgoing. A vacation mood prevailed.
   Adam descended a deck and found himself surrounded by conference rooms of all sizes, ranging from a full-fledged theater to seminar rooms for less than a dozen people. Almost all the rooms were equipped with blackboards and slide projectors.
   Amidships, Adam came to a door marked “Library.” He wanted to go in and look for a PDR, but the door was locked. Assuming that it would be open in the morning, he continued forward. Soon the central corridor ended at a locked door, which Adam guessed led to the crew’s quarters.
   Descending another level, Adam came out on the main deck. He wandered past the store and the reception area and stopped to look into the main dining room. It was huge, with crystal chandeliers and large picture windows. At one end was a raised platform with a podium for speakers. On either side of the platform were swinging doors which apparently led to the kitchen. Stewards busy laying the tables were going in and out of the doors with their trays. A sign near the entrance stated that dinner would be served at nine o’clock.
   Adam descended another level to the A deck where his stateroom was located. A number of cabin doors were open, and Adam could see the doctors unpacking and going in and out of each other’s rooms.
   Walking down still another level, Adam found more conference rooms, a small gym, the ship’s doctor’s office, and an indoor swimming pool. Deciding he had explored the ship as much as he could, Adam made his way back to the promenade deck, where a noisy cocktail party was well under way.
   Ned Janson spotted him and rushed him over to a group next to the pool. There was no way Adam could refuse, and soon he found himself drinking an ice-cold Heineken.
   “Where the hell is Alan?” asked Ned over the babble of voices.
   “In his room, sleeping,” said Adam.
   Ned nodded as if it were expected and then started slapping his thigh as the band struck up “When the Saints Come Marchin’ In.”
   Adam smiled across the table at Clair, who seemed to be enjoying herself, and then glanced around the party. It seemed a typical gathering of MDs. It was boisterous, physical—with lots of back-slapping, jokes, and booze. The minute Adam finished his beer, Ned thrust another into his hand.
   Rather suddenly the ship began to pitch. Adam looked back and saw that the lights of Miami had vanished. The ship was now out into the Atlantic. His stomach did a flip-flop, and he hastily put down the beer.
   The other doctors at the table seemed oblivious to the ship’s motion, and Adam wished he’d been able to find an anti-nauseant. Once again he wondered if the yellow capsule were for seasickness. He was tempted to ask but then decided he couldn’t stay in the loud, laughing group a minute longer.
   He excused himself and quickly walked forward to a quiet spot by the rail. After a few minutes he felt better but decided to lie down for a while in his cabin. Closing his eyes, he felt OK, although the beer was still sloshing around in his stomach.

   Jennifer and her father had gone for a walk in the field behind their house. She knew he wanted to discuss her pregnancy, and for the last half hour she had held him off with a barrage of chatter. Finally, turning back to the house, Jennifer decided it was time to face the subject.
   “What do you think I should do, Father?”
   Mr. Carson put his arm around her. “Whatever you think is right.”
   “But what is your opinion?” asked Jennifer.
   “That’s a different question,” said Mr. Carson. “Your mother really trusts this Dr. Vandermer. The mix-up with the amniocentesis samples was unfortunate, but I like the way he handled it. My feeling is that you should follow his recommendations.”
   “Dr. Vandermer wants me to repeat the amniocentesis immediately,” said Jennifer.
   “If he thinks there is a chance you might want to consider an abortion, then I think you should do it. Your mother and I don’t believe that a severely defective child should be brought into this world. It’s not fair to anyone, including the child. But that’s just the way we feel.”
   “I suppose I feel the same way,” said Jennifer. “It just makes me feel so bad.”
   Mr. Carson gave his daughter a squeeze. “Of course, honey. And your husband isn’t making things any easier. I don’t like to make judgments, but I don’t appreciate the way he is acting. He should be here helping make these decisions, not gallivanting off on some mysterious trip.”
   They reached the screen door at the back of the house. They could hear Mrs. Carson in the kitchen, preparing dinner.
   “You’re probably right,” said Jennifer, opening the door. “I’ll call Dr. Vandermer and have the amniocentesis repeated tomorrow.”

   “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Dinner is now being served.”
   Adam woke from a sound sleep, and it took him several minutes to realize that the voice was coming from a small speaker in the wall of the cabin. He looked at his watch. It was nine o’clock.
   Struggling to his feet, Adam felt the ship rolling as well as pitching. The idea of dinner wasn’t all that appealing. He took a quick shower, trying to maintain his balance, then dressed and left the cabin. He paused a minute and knocked on Alan’s door, but there was no answer. Either the man was still asleep or he had already gone to dinner. In either case, it wasn’t any of Adam’s business.
   He noticed the ship’s store was open and went in to buy Dramamine, but the man behind the counter said they were out and would have to wait until morning to get more from the storeroom. Disappointed, Adam made his way to the dining room, where a steward asked if he was an obstetrician or an orthopedist. Adam told him OB and the steward led him to a table near the speaker’s platform.
   There were five other doctors already seated. Adam was so busy remembering that his name was Stuart, he only caught two of his companions’ names during the introductions: Ted and Archibald.
   The conversation was almost exclusively medical, although more about the profession’s economics than its practice.
   Adam said little, preoccupied with his queasy stomach. As soon as he could, he motioned for the steward to remove his plate, wondering how the others could ignore the rolling motion of the ship. After coffee was served, a tall, dark man mounted the speaker’s platform.
   “Hello, hello,” he said, testing the microphone. “My name is Raymond Powell, and I am your official MTIC host. Welcome to the Arolen Pharmaceuticals Medical Conference Cruise.”
   Conversation ceased as people turned their attention to the podium. Powell gave a typical welcoming speech and then handed the microphone to Dr. Goddard, who was in charge of the actual medical program.
   When Goddard finished speaking, Powell stepped back to the microphone and said, “And now we have a surprise. For your enjoyment, let me present the Caribbean Dancers.”
   Doors on either side of the speaker’s platform burst open and a dozen scantily clad dancers swept into the room. Adam noticed only two men. The rest were unusually pretty young girls. Behind the dancers was a rock group with electric guitars. This band quickly set up speakers on the plaform.
   As the girls worked the audience, Adam saw that Powell and Goddard were standing to one side as if trying to assess the effect of the dancers on the usually restrained medical group. After a few minutes Adam found his attention held by a particularly attractive brunette. She had narrow hips and firm, upstanding breasts. She caught Adam’s eye for just a moment and he could have sworn that she winked at him. Unfortunately, Adam’s stomach was not cooperative, and in the middle of the performance, Adam reluctantly decided that he’d better visit the deck.
   Excusing himself, he fought his way through the boisterous crowd in more and more of a hurry to get away. He barely reached the rail of the promenade deck before his stomach turned over and he vomited violently over the side. After a minute he glanced around to check if anyone had seen him. Thankfully, the deck was deserted. Lowering his eyes, he inspected the front of his shirt. It was clean. Relieved, Adam wandered forward into the wind. He wasn’t ready to go below yet.
   After a few minutes he felt a little better, and when he reached the door forbidden to passengers, he simply opened it and walked through. The lights were scarcer in this part of the ship and the deck was a plain unvarnished gray. Adam walked all the way to the bow and looked down on a tangle of ropes and chains. The sea leaped and twisted on either side. The starry sky stretched out above him.
   A hand suddenly fell on Adam’s shoulder.
   “This is an unauthorized area,” said a man with a Spanish accent.
   “I’m sorry,” said Adam nervously, trying to make out the man’s face. “This is my first cruise and I was just wandering around. Any chance of visiting the bridge?” Adam remembered the adage that the best defense was offense.
   “Are you stoned?” asked the man.
   “Me?” said Adam, taken aback. “No. I’m fine.”
   “No offense,” said the man, “but we’ve had some bad experiences with passengers in the past. The captain happens to be on the bridge. I’ll see if he’ll let you up.”
   After asking for Adam’s name, the man disappeared as silently as he’d arrived. A moment later a voice shouted down, inviting him up. There was a ladder to starboard.
   Adam walked around the side and found a stairway. He guessed that on a ship a ladder and a stairway were the same thing. At the top, the man with the Spanish accent was holding open the door to the bridge.
   Inside, Adam saw that the instruments were illuminated by red lights, giving the room a surrealistic air. The man at the wheel ignored Adam’s presence, but another man stood up and introduced himself as Captain Eric Nordstrom. He seemed younger than Adam would have expected and, at first, seemed rather wary of his guest.
   “José said this is your first cruise, Dr. Smyth.”
   “That’s right,” said Adam uneasily, remembering that Smyth had already been on an Arolen cruise. The captain made no comment, and Adam asked, “Who owns the ship?”
   “I’m not sure,” said Nordstrom. “The crew works for a company called MTIC. Whether they own the ship or lease it, I don’t really know.”
   “Is MTIC a good employer?”
   Captain Nordstrom shrugged. “We get our paychecks on time. It’s a bit boring running the same route over and over, and socializing with this crew has its limitations.”
   “Don’t you get to meet the passengers?” asked Adam.
   “Never,” said Captain Nordstrom. “MTIC is strict about keeping the passengers and the ship’s crew from fraternizing. You’re the first person I’ve had on the bridge in a long time. We’ve had some unfortunate experiences with the passengers getting drunk.”
   Adam nodded. If the amount of alcohol that the doctors had consumed tonight was any indication, he wasn’t surprised.
   Away from the sea breeze, the pitching of the ship began to bother Adam again, and he decided to say good-bye.
   “José, accompany Dr. Smyth back to the passenger section,” said Captain Nordstrom.
   José moved quickly, preceding Adam out the door. He went down the steep ladder, oblivious to the movement of the ship. Adam followed but much more cautiously.
   “In a day or so you’ll have your sea legs,” said José with a laugh.
   Adam wondered.
   As they walked aft, José offered some technical details about the ship. Adam nodded dutifully, but most of the terms went over his head. When they got to the barrier, José hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. In the better light Adam could see the man’s face, which was dominated by a luxurious mustache.
   “Dr. Smyth…” began José. “I was wondering if you would do me a favor.”
   “What do you have in mind?” asked Adam suspiciously. From what the captain had said, crew and passengers were not supposed to mix, and Adam was not interested in any trouble. On the other hand, the idea of having a friend among the crew was appealing and could come in handy.
   “They sell cigarettes in the ship’s store,” said José. “If I gave you the money, would you buy some for me?”
   “Why don’t you get them yourself?” asked Adam.
   “We’re not allowed beyond this door.”
   Adam considered the request. It seemed sufficiently innocuous. “How many packs do you want?”
   “As many as you can get for this.” José reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty-dollar bill.
   Adam had the feeling that José’s request wasn’t so innocent after all. José was probably running a little shipboard black market.
   “Let me start with ten dollars’ worth,” said Adam.
   José quickly substituted a ten for the fifty.
   Adam took the money and told José that he’d meet him at the same location the next day at eleven. He remembered from the lecture schedule there was a coffee break scheduled at that time. José smiled broadly, his teeth startlingly white against his mustache.
   Taking a few deep breaths of sea air, Adam went inside and headed for his stateroom.

Chapter 13

   Adam heard the voice calling Dr. Smyth but ignored it. The name had nothing to do with him, and he preferred remaining immobile. Then someone grasped his arm and with great effort he opened his eyes.
   “My glasses,” said Adam, surprised to find he was slurring his words.
   Slowly and carefully he swung his feet over the side of the bunk and groped around on the night table. His hand hit the glasses and knocked them on the floor. Reaching over to pick them up, he suddenly remembered he was Dr. Smyth.
   The steward handed him a glass of water.
   “Thank you,” said Adam, puzzled.
   Then the steward held out another one of the yellow capsules. Without hesitating, Adam took it and put it into his mouth. But as he had done the day before, he didn’t swallow it, taking a little water instead.
   Satisfied, the steward took the glass into the bathroom. Adam slipped the capsule from his mouth.
   “Excuse me,” he said, his words much clearer. “What are these yellow pills?”
   “They are to relax you,” the steward said in his oddly mechanical voice.
   “Hey,” said Adam. “I am relaxed. A little seasick maybe, but relaxed. Wouldn’t it be better if you gave me something for my stomach?”
   “The yellow pills are to make you more relaxed and receptive,” the steward said, opening the door.
   “Receptive to what?” called Adam.
   “To instructions,” said the steward as he pulled the door closed.
   Adam got up feeling unusually tired and weak. He’d had no idea that seasickness could be so debilitating. Forcing himself into the bathroom, he showered and dressed, still puzzling over the steward’s comment.
   On his way to breakfast, he decided to see if Alan were up. This time, instead of knocking, he just turned the knob and the door swung open.
   Alan was still stretched out on the bed, his eyes closed, his breathing deep and even.
   “Alan,” called Adam. Slowly the man’s eyes fluttered open, only to close again. Adam bent down and gently lifted Alan’s eyelids. At first, all he saw was sclera, but then the corneas descended and seemed to focus.
   “Wake up,” said Adam. He took his hands from Alan’s eyes and, grabbing his shoulders, pulled him into a sitting position.
   “What’s the matter with you?” he asked.
   “Nothing,” said Alan in a flat voice that reminded Adam of the steward’s. “I’m just tired. Let me sleep.” He started to sag backward, but Adam caught him.
   “Tell me,” demanded Adam. “What is your name?”
   “Alan Jackson.”
   “Where are you?” asked Adam.
   “I’m on an Arolen cruise.” Alan spoke with no inflection whatsoever.
   “What month is this?”
   “June,” said Alan.
   “Raise your right hand,” said Adam.
   Dutifully, Alan raised his right hand. He was like an automaton or a patient under heavy sedation. In fact, he reminded Adam of his patient with tardive dyskinesia. When the man had first come into the hospital, he’d been so heavily medicated that he’d slept around the clock, although if aroused he’d been oriented to time and place.
   Adam allowed Alan to slump back onto his bed. After watching him for a moment or two, he returned to his own stateroom. Closing the door, Adam felt really afraid for the first time. Alan had been drugged. There was little doubt of that.
   Obviously, the yellow pills were some kind of tranquilizer. All at once Adam recalled how drowsy he’d felt when the steward had awakened him. He had attributed his condition to the aftermath of seasickness, but maybe he, too, had been drugged. Yet how could that have happened? He hadn’t taken the yellow pills and what little dinner he’d eaten he’d vomited almost immediately. Maybe it was the water.
   Adam went into the bathroom and filled his glass. It had no smell. Gingerly, he tasted it. It had a chemical flavor, but that could be from chlorination. Dumping it down the drain, Adam decided to go to breakfast.
   The dining room held no trace of last night’s raucous party. A buffet had been set up in the center of the room with an impressive array of food. People were lined up, patiently awaiting their turn. Adam strolled among the tables and looked for Ned and Clair but didn’t see them.
   His stomach not only felt better, he was actually hungry. The only trouble was, now that he had an appetite, he was terrified to eat. He eyed the buffet. There was the usual selection of scrambled eggs, bacon, sausage, and Danish. Then Adam saw something even better: a large bowl of fruit.
   Thinking that unpeeled fruit had to be safe, he took several bananas, two oranges, and a grapefruit and made his way to an empty table. Just as he sat down, Ned and Clair appeared. Adam called out to them, and they came over to his table. They said they would join him.
   Adam watched them go through the buffet line. They seemed tired, and when they came and sat down, Adam noticed that they hadn’t taken much food. He was puzzled. If the drug were in the food and water, why weren’t they and the other doctors in the room knocked out like Alan? Maybe it was the yellow pill. Maybe it was only given to guests on their second cruise. Maybe it was the combination of the capsule and whatever was put in the food…
   “Quite an affair last night,” said Ned interrupting Adam’s thoughts.
   Adam nodded.
   “I’m exhausted,” said Clair. “I didn’t think I’d drunk as much as I must have. I slept like the dead.”
   “Same with me,” said Ned. “Must be the salt air.”
   Trying to sound casual, Adam said, “Have you people been given any yellow capsules for seasickness?”
   “I haven’t,” said Ned, sipping his coffee. He looked at Clair.
   “Nor have I,” she said. “Why do you ask?”
   “Well, I’m looking for an anti-nauseant. I just wondered…” He let his voice trail off, not wanting to arouse their suspicion. If he mentioned anything about the doctors being drugged, they would think he was crazy. Ned and Clair drank their coffee in silence. Obviously, neither of them felt very well.
   After breakfast Adam stopped at the ship’s store. It had a new supply of Dramamine and anti-motion patches. Adam bought some of the patches, and before he left he remembered to pick up ten dollars’ worth of Marlboros for José.
   Back in his cabin he found another yellow capsule with a glass of water on his night table. This time he flushed both down the toilet.
   The first lecture of the morning was scheduled for the large auditorium. Given by a Columbia pathologist, it was stultifyingly dull. Adam noticed that a number of the doctors were dozing and wondered whether it was because they were bored or drugged. The second lecture was given by Dr. Goddard and was far more interesting. Adam noticed a number of the doctors straightening up in their chairs. Goddard was summarizing a recent experiment that showed that fetal tissue that was injected into adults was not rejected. The guess was that the fetal tissue had not developed antigens strong enough to elicit an antibody response. The potential for the therapy was immense. Repopulating islet cells in the pancreases of diabetics was only one of the revolutionary possibilities.
   At the coffee break, Adam went back to his stateroom, got the cartons of Marlboros, and headed up to the promenade deck. He waited until no one seemed to be around, then walked up to the barrier and stepped through the door. José was waiting. He had a canvas bag over his shoulder and the cartons disappeared into it in a flash. At least he’s not drugged, thought Adam, and he handed back José’s ten-dollar bill.
   Confused, the sailor examined the bill, thinking something was wrong with it.
   “I have a deal you can’t refuse,” said Adam. “I’ll get you cigarettes if you get me food and water.”
   José raised his eyebrows. “What’s the matter with the food back there? I thought it was pretty fancy.”
   “Part of the deal is no questions,” said Adam. “I won’t ask you what you do with so many cigarettes, and you don’t ask me what I do with the food.”
   “Fine by me,” said José. “When do you want to meet again?”
   “At four this afternoon, but I’d like some food now.”
   José glanced over his shoulder, then told Adam to follow him. They walked forward to a bulkhead door, which José opened. Making sure they were alone, José led Adam down to his cabin in the bowels of the ship. It was like a jail cell. There was a shower and a toilet with no door and the air was heavy with the odor of sweat and stale cigarettes.
   José told Adam to make himself comfortable, laughing at his own joke as he went out the door. Adam eyed the bunk and sat down on it.
   Within five minutes José returned with a paper bag full of food, including bread, cheese, fruit and juice. He handed the parcel to Adam, who pointed at an empty container in the corner of the room which he asked José to fill at the sink.
   “Do you have the same water as the rest of the ship?” asked Adam.
   “I don’t know,” said José. “I’m not an engineer.” He opened the door and peered out. “We have to be careful. There are some people who wouldn’t like the fact that we are doing business.”
   Adam took the hint and scuttled back to his cabin, where he opened his suitcase and hid the food. He put the two juice containers into the closet and covered them with a soiled shirt. Checking his watch, he realized he was late for the third lecture and hurried back.

   Stretched out on an examining table in the Julian Clinic, Jennifer was amazed at her own calm. Deciding whether or not to repeat the amniocentesis had been far harder than the actual return to the hospital. Dr. Vandermer had scheduled her for an early appointment, and she and her mother were waiting for his arrival. He didn’t keep them long, but he looked so haggard, Jennifer decided the amniocentesis mix-up had worse ramifications for him than for herself. Vandermer’s face was puffy and his speech brief and halting, yet he performed the procedure even more smoothly than the first time. The only problem for Jennifer was that she felt her child move soon after the needle had been placed. It frightened her, but Dr. Vandermer assured her that there was no cause for alarm.
   Afterward, Jennifer sat up on the table and said, “I guess I don’t have to tell you to contact me as soon as you learn anything.”
   “No, you don’t,” he said. “I’m taking personal interest in how the laboratory handles this. You try to relax, and don’t worry.”
   “I’ll try,” said Jennifer. She appreciated the attention Dr. Vandermer was giving her, but she wished he didn’t look so serious. It made her more nervous than she already was.

   At lunch Adam bought another ten dollars’ worth of cigarettes and took them back to his cabin. On his way out, he decided to check again on Alan.
   The door was still unlocked, but when Adam opened it, Alan was gone! Adam checked the bathroom, thinking that perhaps the man had collapsed there, but the cabin was completely empty. Adam was certain that the man he’d seen before breakfast was in no shape to go for a walk. But it was possible he had improved, and Adam hoped that was the explanation. Yet it was also possible that he had been taken out, and the implications of that were frightening. One way or another, Adam felt it was important to find Alan.
   He first checked the dining room, then the sun deck, where an outdoor grill had been set up for hamburgers and hot dogs. A number of passengers were stretched out on deck chairs, sleeping. Adam walked back through the empty conference rooms and made his way down to the gym and doctor’s office. A sign on the door said: “For Emergency, See Steward.”
   Adam was getting more and more anxious. He had to calm down or someone would notice and become suspicious. He decided to go back to the dining room. He wouldn’t eat, but he’d watch the other doctors.
   As soon as he found his table, he realized that the girl on his right was the brunette dancer he’d admired the night before. She was dressed in a demure suit and could have been mistaken for a passenger.
   Gazing around the room, Adam spotted a number of other dancers. Feeling a tug on his sleeve, he turned his attention to the brunette next to him.
   “My name is Heather,” she said in that oddly inflectionless voice Adam was beginning to associate with the cruise. She didn’t offer her last name.
   The other guests at the table seemed to be concentrating on their meal. A bowl of savory minestrone was placed in front of Adam. As he pretended to eat a little, Heather rewarded him with her undivided attention. Adam kept nodding and smiling until she finally said, “You’re not eating much.”
   Adam, who had been toying with his food, said simply, “I’m afraid I’ve been seasick.” It was the only excuse that came to mind.
   “It’s better to eat,” said Heather. “Strangely enough, an empty stomach is more vulnerable.”
   “Really?” said Adam evasively. Then as an afterthought, he added, “You haven’t eaten much yourself.”
   Heather laughed a high-pitched, granting laugh. “That’s a problem of being a dancer. I always have to watch my weight.”
   Adam nodded. He knew from Jennifer that dancers were obsessed with their weight.
   “Would you like me to come to your cabin tonight?” Heather asked as casually as she would if inquiring about the weather.
   Adam was glad he hadn’t been eating. If he’d had anything in his mouth, he would have choked. As it was, he coughed and glanced around to see if anyone else had heard, but his fellow guests just continued eating in their silent half-stupor. Adam turned to Heather. Although her voice was strange, she certainly didn’t seem drugged. Adam decided to play along. She might be able to answer some questions about this increasingly odd cruise.
   “Come after your last performance,” he whispered.
   “I’ll be in your cabin at eleven,” she agreed enthusiastically.
   Adam turned beet red. Fortunately, the other diners seemed too out of it to notice. With a quick smile Adam nodded to her.
   He went down to his cabin and hastily ate some of José’s bread and cheese. At the afternoon lecture Adam noticed more and more empty seats. There was no sign of Alan, though later on Adam caught up with Ned and Clair. They smiled but hadn’t seen Alan and had very little to say. Adam guessed they were receiving low dosages of tranquilizers. By the third lecture, a good number of people in the audience were asleep, and Adam was convinced it wasn’t just because they were bored.
   At four he left and went to meet José. Maybe the sailor would have an idea where Alan might be found.
   “I’d like to talk,” said Adam when José let him through the barrier.
   “What’s the matter?” asked José.
   “Nothing,” said Adam. “I’d just like to ask you some questions.”
   José led him back to his cabin and shut the door. From an upright locker he produced two glasses and a bottle of dark rum. Adam declined, but José filled both glasses anyway. “What’s on your mind?” he said.
   “Have you been around the entire ship?” asked Adam.
   José downed his rum in a single gulp. “Nope,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Not all of it. I haven’t seen where all those pricks with the white coats berth.”
   “I thought they lived up here with the crew,” said Adam.
   “What, are you crazy?” asked José. “We never see those weird guys. They have cabins on C deck.”
   “Where is that? I thought B was the lowest deck.”
   José lifted the second glass. “You sure you don’t want some rum?”
   Adam shook his head.
   “The stairs to the stewards’ quarters are in the passengers’ mess,” said José, sipping the second drink. “The only reason I know that is because I went there looking for something to eat one day when we were in port. Unfortunately, I got caught and I almost lost my job. But what do you care about those guys?”
   “The reason I’m asking these questions,” explained Adam, “is because a passenger in the room next to mine seems to have disappeared. First he seemed ill, and now he’s vanished.”
   “Did you try the sick bay?” asked José. “One of the crew told me they have a fully equipped hospital. He knew because he helped bring in the equipment.”
   “Where is it?” asked Adam.
   “On B deck,” said José. “Behind the doctor’s office.”
   Adam picked up the food José had wrapped for him. The sick bay sounded like a promising place to find Alan.
   “What about more cigarettes?” asked José.
   “Sure,” said Adam. “Tomorrow morning. Same time.”
   “Sounds good,” said José. “Let me check the hall.” He put down his empty glass and started to open the door.
   “One more question,” said Adam. “Do you know anything about the dancers?”
   José looked back at Adam with a broad smile. “Not as much as I’d like to know.”
   “Are they prostitutes?” asked Adam, thinking it would be good to know for sure before Heather’s visit.
   José shook his head, laughing. “No, they’re college girls working for extra credit. What kind of question is that?”
   “Do you ever get to see them?” asked Adam.
   “I wish,” said José. “Listen, they never let us mingle with those weirdos who run the cruise. But I did see one of the girls on a beach in Puerto Rico about a year ago. I tried to get some action, but she wasn’t interested. I was pretty drunk and tried to grab her. That’s when I found out she was wearing a wig. It came off, and her head was shaved. On either temple there were big round scars. Now tell me that isn’t weird.”
   “What had happened to her?” asked Adam.
   “I never found out,” said José. “She kneed me and suddenly I lost interest.”
   “What a cruise,” said Adam, picking up his parcel.
   “What’s the matter?” asked José. “You’re not enjoying yourself?”

   When the phone rang, Jennifer had a premonition it was Dr. Vandermer. She heard her mother answer and then a moment later give a little shriek. That was when Jennifer knew. She started downstairs before her mother could call her. When she reached the kitchen, Mrs. Carson wordlessly held out the receiver.
   “Hello, Dr. Vandermer,” Jennifer said, controlling her voice.
   “Hello, Jennifer,” he said. There was a long pause. “I’m afraid I have bad news.”
   “I expected it,” she said. She could sense that Dr. Vandermer was struggling to find the right words.
   “The amniocentesis is definitely positive,” he said. “This time I supervised the straining of the amniotic fluid myself. There was no chance of error. The same major chromosomal abnormality is there. In fact, the specimens were never mixed up. I’m afraid that in addition to Down’s syndrome, your fetus must have significant developmental abnormality of its sex organs.”
   “Oh God,” said Jennifer. “That’s terrible.”
   “It is,” agreed Dr. Vandermer. “Look, if we are going to do something, I think we should act quickly.”
   “I agree. I’ve thought it over carefully, and I want to have an abortion. The sooner the better.”
   “In that case I’ll try to arrange it for tomorrow.”
   “Thank you, Dr. Vandermer,” said Jennifer. Then she hung up.
   Mrs. Carson put her arms around her daughter and said, “I know how you must feel, but I believe you are doing the right thing.”
   “I know I am. I just want to talk to Adam.”
   Mrs. Carson’s mouth tightened angrily.
   “Mother, he’s still my husband, and I don’t want to do this without telling him.”
   “Well, dear, whatever you think best.” Her mother left the kitchen and went upstairs, probably to complain about Adam to her husband on the other phone.
   As soon as she was alone, Jennifer dialed the apartment just in case Adam had returned. She let it ring twenty times before hanging up and dialing information for Arolen Pharmaceuticals in Montclair, New Jersey. When the Arolen switchboard answered, she demanded to speak to Clarence McGuire. She wasn’t put through until she’d had a shouting match with his secretary.
   “How are you, Mrs. Schonberg?” McGuire said when he finally came on the line.
   “Not very well,” said Jennifer coldly. “I want to know where my husband is.”
   “I’m sorry, but I don’t know myself. He called in and said he had to go out of town because of family problems.”
   “You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?” asked Jennifer. “I thought you’d sent him to Puerto Rico.”
   “He turned down the offer,” said McGuire. “And there’s no reason for me to lie to you.”
   Jennifer hung up feeling confused. She’d been so certain that Adam was on a trip for Arolen and hadn’t wanted to tell her, she had trouble conceiving of any other possibility. Impulsively, she placed a call to Adam’s father.
   “I’m sorry to bother you, Dr. Schonberg,” said Jennifer, who’d never called the man before, “but I’m looking for Adam and I thought you might know where he is.”
   “I haven’t the slightest idea,” said Dr. Schonberg, “and you of all people should know that.”
   Jennifer hung up the phone as her mother came back into the kitchen. She must have overheard Jennifer’s conversation with McGuire. “Better not tell your father this,” she said. “He already thinks Adam is having an affair.”

   Adam was nervous. He’d been handed another yellow capsule about six o’clock, and the stewards were watching him carefully during dinner. Afraid that they were realizing he was avoiding their treatment, Adam resorted to hiding food in his napkin to make it look like he was eating. As soon as he could, he left the dining room. On the way back to his cabin he checked out the infirmary. It was an impressive setup with a full operating room and fancy radiological equipment. But there were no patients in the small ward.
   As he passed Alan’s room, he opened the door, expecting to see an empty cabin. To his surprise, Alan was in bed and in essentially the same condition as he’d been in before his disappearance. Adam roused him. Alan seemed to know where he was but insisted he had never left his room. Adam eased him back onto the bed and returned to his own cabin.
   Coming on the cruise to discover why Vandermer had changed his position on pregdolen had seemed like a good idea in the safety of New York. Now Adam only wanted to get home safe and sound to his wife. He remembered someone explaining to him that the reason Arolen sent the doctors on a cruise was to get them away from their usual cares. But drugging them so they didn’t know what they were doing was more than extreme. It was terrifying.
   A knock on Adam’s door sent his pulse racing. He hoped it wasn’t the blank-faced steward with another pill.
   “Oh God,” said Adam when he saw it was Heather.
   “I’m so glad they let me off the last set,” she said, coming in and looking about the small cabin. She was wearing a see-through blouse and what must have been the shortest skirt Adam had ever seen. She did have a marvelous figure. I’m crazy, thought Adam, unable to take his eyes off her. How on earth would he go about explaining this scene to Jennifer?
   “Heather, why don’t you sit down so I can talk with you?”
   Heather stopped the little dance she was doing about the room. “Sure,” she said, dropping onto the bed next to Adam and pressing her bare thigh against his leg. With two dainty kicks she sent her high heels across the room.
   “What would you like to talk about?”
   “You,” said Adam, finding it difficult not to look down at the curve of her breasts.
   “I’d rather talk about you,” said Heather, putting her arms around his neck.
   “That’s what you told me at lunch,” said Adam, gently pushing her away, “but I really want to get to know you.”
   “There’s not a whole lot to tell,” insisted Heather.
   “Look, this isn’t a run-of-the-mill job for a young girl. How did you happen to end up here?”
   Heather didn’t answer. At first Adam believed she was thinking, but when he looked at her, she appeared to be in a trance.
   “Heather?” said Adam, waving his hand in front of her eyes.
   “Yes,” she said, blinking.
   “I asked you a question.”
   “Oh, yeah. How did I end up on the Fjord? Well, it’s a long story. I was a secretary at Arolen Pharmaceuticals in New Jersey. They liked me and offered me a job with MTIC in Puerto Rico. I started as a secretary there, too, but then they found out I liked to dance, so I got this job.”
   That explained the dancing, thought Adam, but not the prostitution, if she actually was a prostitute. Adam was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt.
   “Are you enjoying yourself on the cruise?” Heather asked, changing the subject.
   “I’m having a wonderful time,” said Adam.
   “I’m going to make it even better,” promised Heather. “But first I have a present for you.”
   “Really,” said Adam.
   “You wait right here.” Getting up, she went over to the little purse she’d put on the desk. When she turned around, Adam saw she was holding out two more of the yellow capsules. He felt a twinge of panic.
   “Could you get me some fruit juice from the closet?” he asked. “I can’t stand the water.”
   “OK,” said Heather agreeably. She put the pills down on the desk and fetched the juice. Removing the top of the container, she handed it to Adam, who palmed the pills and dropped them behind the bed when she put the juice back.
   “Now I’m really going to make you enjoy this cruise,” she said, sitting on his lap.
   “Wait just a second,” said Adam, avoiding her lips. “What were the capsules you just gave me?”
   “It was for enjoyment,” said Heather. “To make you relax and forget your troubles.”
   “Do you take them?” asked Adam.
   “No,” said Heather with her high-pitched laugh. “I don’t have any troubles.”
   “What makes you think I do?” asked Adam.
   “All the doctors have troubles,” said Heather.
   “Do you visit all the doctors?” asked Adam. “You and the other dancers?”
   “No,” said Heather. “Just the ones Mr. Powell and Dr. Goddard tell us to see.”
   “And they told you to see me?”
   Heather nodded.
   “Do you know why?”
   “Because you haven’t relaxed enough,” said Heather petulantly. “Aren’t you interested in me?”
   “Yes, indeed,” said Adam. He bent her head and kissed her, while his fingers probed her hairline to see if she was wearing a wig. She wasn’t, but as he rubbed the skin above her temples he felt little ridged lines.
   “Heather, I want to ask you a question. Are those scars?”
   “I don’t think so,” said Heather, sounding annoyed. “Where?”
   “Along your temples,” said Adam. Gently, he turned her head to one side and separated her hair so he could see. There were small scars, about a centimeter long, just as José had described.
   Heather raised her hand and felt the spot. Then she shrugged.
   “Do you have any idea how you got those?” asked Adam.
   “No,” said Heather. “And what’s more, I don’t care.”
   “I’m sorry if I’m not much fun,” said Adam. “I guess I’m just too relaxed.”
   Heather looked disappointed. “Maybe I should have waited to give you the capsules.”
   “Will Mr. Powell be pleased that I’ve finally forgotten my worries?” asked Adam.
   Heather nodded, gently rubbing his shoulders.
   “Why does Mr. Powell care if I’m relaxed?” asked Adam.
   “So you can go to the instruction room,” said Heather.
   Adam stared at the girl. She caught his glance and said quickly, “Are you sure you’re too relaxed?”
   “Absolutely,” said Adam. “Do you know where this instruction room is?”
   “Of course. In fact I’m supposed to take you there. But not until you’re ready.”
   “I’ve never been this relaxed before,” said Adam, allowing his arms to go limp. “Why don’t you take me now?”
   Instead of answering, Heather seemed to go into another trance. A few minutes later she picked up the conversation as if she were unaware of the pause. “I could take you to the instruction room if you take another pill. I’m supposed to make sure you fall asleep.”
   “Give it to me,” said Adam. “I can hardly keep my eyes open now.”
   It was curious how easy it was to fool Heather. Like the steward, she seemed almost childlike in her trust. After a while Adam lay back and closed his eyes. Ten minutes later, Heather helped him to his feet and guided him out the door. They went back to the central stairs, climbed to the main deck, and entered the dining room. Just beyond one of the doors to the side of the podium was a pantry with tablecloths, flatware, and trays. To the right was another door that opened onto a stairway that descended deep into the ship. Adam guessed it led to C deck.
   As they went down, they passed several stewards coming up. Adam tried to avoid their eyes. He didn’t want anyone to notice that he was faking his sedation.
   When they reached the bottom of the stairs, they went down a long hall to a pair of double doors.
   “Stuart Smyth,” said Heather to the steward who was guarding the entrance. “He’s a repeat.”
   “Bench 47,” said the steward, handing Heather something that looked like a credit card. She and Adam went inside.
   When Adam’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw he was in what appeared to be the lobby of a theater. Peering over the chest-high wall, he saw a movie screen. There was no sound, but he thought he saw images of doctors flickering in the dark.
   A steward took the card from Heather and without a word grasped Adam by the arm and pulled him into the theater. Even in the dark Adam could see that the seats were very different from those in a regular movie house. Each one looked like a miniature electric chair with a myriad of electrodes and straps. There were fifteen to twenty seats in each row and more than twenty rows.
   Holding his arm in an uncomfortably firm grip, the steward led Adam down the center aisle. Adam was shocked to see that the doctors were stark naked and were restrained by leather straps. They all wore helmets fitted with earphones and surface electrodes for stimulation. They all seemed to be heavily drugged, like Alan, to a point between sleeping and wakefulness. More wires snaked around their bodies and were attached with needle electrodes to various nerve sites.
   The steward stopped by an empty chair in the front row. Then he inserted the card into a slot on the side of the chair and started to adjust the wires.
   Adam was almost afraid to breathe. He felt as if he’d been dropped into a horror movie. Glancing up at the huge screen, he saw the image of a doctor offering a patient a generic brand of medicine. The moment the name flashed on the screen, the doctor’s face contorted in pain and he dropped the bottle. At the same time Adam heard an eerie wail rise from the doctors in the room. Then the doctor on the screen reached for an Arolen product and a broad smile crossed his face. Adam glanced at the doctor next to him and saw that he, too, was smiling blissfully.
   Watching the steward position the straps, Adam realized he was seeing the very latest in mind-control techniques involving adverse conditioning and positive reinforcing. As more clinical situations were enacted on the screen, Adam saw the faces of the doctors near him contorting in either pain or pleasure, depending on the circumstances projected.
   My God, thought Adam, I’m in a nightmare where the doctor has become the patient! No wonder Vandermer had changed his mind about pregdolen. And to think he is in charge of Jennifer!
   The steward began unbuttoning Adam’s shirt, and the touch of his fingers made Adam aware of his own vulnerability. He wasn’t an observer. They meant to wire him up and subject him to the same treatment.
   Studying the blank face of the steward as he awkwardly struggled with the buttons, Adam realized the man was drugged like the doctors, just less heavily. In fact, Adam decided, all the stewards must be drugged. Maybe some had even had psychosurgery, as Adam suspected Heather had.
   A sequence that condemned unnecessary surgery came on the screen. Apparently, MTIC wanted to do more than simply brainwash the doctors into prescribing Arolen products.
   The steward had taken off Adam’s shirt and was fumbling with his belt.
   “Do you know what you are doing?” rasped Adam, unable to remain silent any longer.
   “We are helping the doctors learn,” said the steward, taken aback by Adam’s unexpected question.
   “At what cost?” said Adam, grabbing the man’s wrist.
   Slowly but with great strength, the steward peeled Adam’s fingers off his arm. Adam was amazed at the man’s strength in light of the amount of drugs he’d undoubtedly been given

   “Please,” said the steward. “You must cooperate.” He lifted the helmet device with the intention of slipping it over the top of Adam’s head.
   Knowing surprise was his only weapon, Adam snatched the helmet and jammed it down on the steward’s head. Grasping the mass of wires, Adam wrapped them around the man’s neck, then turned and fled, hoping the steward would be unable to shout before Adam could get out of the room.
   As Adam ran up the central aisle, the doctors issued another anguished wail, sending a new spike of terror down his spine. He rushed for the door, bursting into the hallway at full speed. As he shot by the guard in the booth, the man gave a shout.
   Adam raced up the stairs to the main deck so quickly that he almost fell. A steward coming down reached out a hand to help, but he made no attempt to stop Adam.
   In the dining room Adam had to choose whether or not to go farther up. He decided he would, since the areas below made him claustrophobic. Running past the lecture halls, he heard a series of bells. Then the ship’s PA system crackled to life.
   “Now hear this. Passenger Smyth is in distress and must be detained.”
   Pausing at the top of the stairs, Adam began to shake with fright. Desperately, he tried to control his panic and think of a place to hide. The various lockers and closets seemed too obvious. Besides, he’d be trapped. He continued up another flight of stairs. As he passed the promenade deck, he heard men shouting on the level below.
   Gripped by terror, he emerged on the sun deck and ran by the swimming pool. Suddenly the imposing white smokestack loomed in front of him. He could see a metal ladder set into the near side. Without thinking, he grabbed the lowest rung and began climbing. As he rose from the shelter of the deck the wind buffeted his naked chest. He had gone about fifty feet when he heard his pursuers on the sun deck below. Imagining a spotlight pinning him against the white wall, Adam closed his eyes with fear.
   After several seconds had passed with no shout of discovery, Adam hazarded a downward glance. Several stewards were methodically lifting the canvas covers of the lifeboats and opening the various lockers. At least they hadn’t guessed his hiding spot, but seeing how high he was above the deck made him dizzy. When he looked up, it wasn’t any better. The stars seemed to be careening back and forth across the sky.
   After a few minutes Adam looked down again. Several stewards were milling about at the base of the stack. Despite his fear of heights, Adam began inching his way farther up the ladder. He estimated that he had another twenty-five feet or so before the top. Just below the top on either side of the stack were two dark openings, each about the size of a man. He decided to see if he could hide in one. Trying to keep his mind off the possibility of falling, Adam reached the openings. Within each was a metal grate floor.
   Knowing he couldn’t remain in his exposed position any longer, he grasped the edge of the opening on the left and worked his foot over to the lip. Suspended between the ladder and the opening, he almost lost his nerve. It was a long drop to the deck. Marshaling his courage, he let go of the ladder and pulled himself inside the stack.
   Adam walked around on the catwalk inside of the smokestack once he’d regained his balance. He had no idea what the space could be used for, but he was happy it was there. Feeling more secure now that no one could see him, he began trying to figure out what to do next. The image of those doctors moaning in pain haunted him. Now he understood what Vandermer and Foley had endured.
   Remembering Dr. Goddard’s lecture about Arolen’s interest in fetology, he realized the company must have a growing need for fetal tissue. He suddenly knew why the Julian Clinic had such an active amniocentesis program. The mix-up with Jennifer’s specimen was probably not an accident. Adam broke into a cold sweat. What if they talked Jennifer into repeating the amniocentesis before he got back to New York!
   Adam sank to his knees. If he had only run forward, he might have gotten to the crew’s quarters and somehow used the radio. No, he thought, that was pure fantasy. He was trying to think how he could get back to the deck when there was a thud against the outside of the stack.
   Carefully Adam pulled himself to the edge of the opening and looked over the rim. About halfway up the ladder was a steward. Adam panicked again. He was trapped. Maybe the man would not climb into the opening, but that seemed unlikely.
   Adam could hear the man’s labored breathing, and a second later a hand gripped the rim, followed by a foot and then the steward himself. Adam waited until the man was silhouetted against the opening, his arms apart for balance. Lunging forward, Adam used both hands to grab the man’s head and ram it as hard as he could against the steel plate of the chimney. Adam had to grab the steward’s jacket to keep him from tumbling backward out of the opening. He pulled him in and allowed the man to crumble onto the catwalk. He bent down to look at the man’s head. At least there was no blood.
   Pulling the steward into a sitting position, Adam struggled to remove the man’s shirt and white jacket. The bow tie was easy to take off, since it was just a clip-on. Standing up, Adam tried on the clothes. They were big but serviceable. Buttoning the top button of the shirt, he put on the bow tie. Stepping over the man, Adam sighted down the ladder, deciding that he’d better leave before the man regained consciousness. Adam figured his best bet was to hide in the crew’s quarters.
   He was halfway down the ladder when a number of stewards appeared on the deck below. He’d just have to bluff his way through. When he got to the deck, he straightened his tie, smoothed his jacket, and started forward.
   He had to fight the urge to run as he passed one of the stewards who was checking deck-chair lockers near the main stairs. Fortunately, the stairway itself was empty, and Adam reached the promenade deck otherwise unobserved. The rest of the stewards had dispersed, no doubt searching for him in other parts of the ship. Adam exited on the starboard side and walked forward. As he slipped through the door in the barricade, he realized his disguise might make him look suspicious in that part of the ship. Pulling off the jacket, he threw it overboard.
   Moving quickly, Adam walked to the door that he’d entered with José. Opening the door, he looked down a corridor illuminated by bare light bulbs which threw grotesque shadows on the walls. From the far end of the hall, Adam heard voices and the clink of cutlery. He guessed it was the crew’s mess.
   Moving as silently as the metal floor would allow, Adam tiptoed to José’s door and knocked. There was no answer. He tried the knob, which turned easily, then stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind him.
   Unfortunately, there was no light in the room. He ran his fingers along the wall by the door but didn’t encounter any switches. Cautiously, he advanced farther into the room, trying to recall the floor plan. He remembered there was a lamp fixed to the wall above the suspended bed.
   Suddenly a hand came out of the blackness and grabbed Adam by the throat.
   “José!” he gasped before the hand tightened its grip, cutting off his air. Adam was just about to pass out when the grip on his neck loosened. There was a click, and light filled the room. José was standing in front of Adam, looking at him with disgust.
   “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he asked, taking his hand away and sitting on the edge of the bed.
   “I knocked,” Adam managed to say, rubbing his throat. “You didn’t answer.”
   “I was fucking asleep,” said José.
   “I’m sorry,” said Adam, “but it was an emergency.”
   “One of the college girls after you?” asked José sarcastically.
   “Not quite,” said Adam. “It’s the weirdos in the white jackets.”
   “What the hell do they want with you?” asked José.
   “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. But there’s a chance for you to make some money. Does that interest you?”
   “Money always interests me,” said José. “What do you have in mind?”
   “When do we get to St. Thomas?”
   “What time is it?”
   Adam looked at his watch. “One-thirty.”
   “In four or five hours. Something like that.”
   “Well, I need to stay hidden until we dock, and then I’ll have to sneak off the ship.”
   José wiped his face with the back of his hand. “What kind of money are we talking about?”
   Adam took out his wallet and counted the cash. All told, he had close to three hundred dollars.
   “I’ll need some for a taxi, but two hundred seventy-five is yours,” said Adam.
   José raised his eyebrows. “I can’t guarantee anything, but I’ll give it a try. If you get caught, though, I’ll swear we never met.”
   Adam handed over a hundred dollars. “You’ll get the rest when I get ashore.”
   José nodded agreement and went over to his locker. He pulled out a pair of grease-stained khaki trousers and a torn flannel shirt. Tossing them to Adam, he said, “Put them on and you pass for crew. I got a couple of friends who hate the stewards as much as I do. Maybe they’ll help. You stay here. No one should bother you.”
   Adam tried to tell José how much he appreciated his help, but José stopped him and said the money was all he wanted. Then he pulled on a pair of pants and left the room.
   Adam put on the filthy clothes and stashed his own in the back of the locker. Then he looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked terrible, but for once he appreciated his rapid-growing beard. He certainly no longer looked like one of the passengers.
   The door opened again and Adam almost fainted, but it was only José.
   “Next time, why don’t you knock,” Adam said.
   “Hey, this is my fucking cabin,” said José irritably.
   Adam couldn’t argue that point.
   José sat back down on the bed. “I just talked to a friend of mine about getting you off the ship. He knows a way. Seems he used it himself one day when the crew wasn’t supposed to go ashore in St. Thomas. The problem is that it requires all your money up front. I got to pay off two other guys.”
   Adam shook his head.
   “Listen,” said José, “if you’re not happy with the arrangement, why don’t you leave?”
   Adam got the point. He didn’t have any leverage at all. If José wanted to, he could take the money by force.
   With a sigh of resignation, Adam pulled out his wallet. Keeping twenty-five dollars for himself, he handed the rest to José.
   “You act as if you’re doing me a favor,” the sailor said, stuffing the notes into his pocket. “But let me tell you, we wouldn’t be sticking our necks out for this kind of money except we hate those steward bastards.”
   “I appreciate it,” said Adam, wondering what the chances were that José was just taking him for a ride.
   “You can hide here for the rest of the night. In the morning, after we dock, I’ll come and get you. Understand?”
   Adam nodded. “Can you give me an idea of your plans?”
   José smiled. “I’d rather let that be a surprise. You make yourself comfortable and don’t worry about a thing.”
   Adam could hear José laughing as he closed the door.
   Looking at his watch, Adam guessed that it was going to be a long night. He thought he was much too tense to sleep, but after a while he drifted off. He didn’t know how many hours had passed when he was awakened by loud shouts in the corridor. Adam recognized the voice at once.
   “In this part of the ship, I am in command, and no one is going to search without my permission.” It was the captain speaking.
   A deeper voice responded, “I’m in charge of the ship, so please let me through.”
   Adam thought it might have been Raymond Powell.
   Other voices began shouting, and Adam could hear doors being opened and slammed shut.
   In panic, Adam glanced around the tiny room for someplace to hide. There was nowhere. Even the locker was too narrow to squeeze into. Then he had an idea. He pulled his hair forward over his forehead and yanked the grease-stained pants down around his ankles. Hobbling over to the exposed toilet, he sat down. A Penthouse magazine was laying next to the toilet, and he picked it up and put it on his lap. In a couple of minutes he heard a key in the lock and the door swung open.
   Adam looked up. A steward was standing in the doorway. Adam saw Mr. Powell right behind him and heard Captain Nordstrom, who was still protesting. Powell gave Adam a look of disgust and moved on. The steward slammed the door behind him.
   For a moment, Adam didn’t move. He could hear the group noisily moving farther down the corridor. Finally, he stood up and pulled up his pants. Taking the Penthouse over to the bunk, he tried to read but was too scared the search party would return. In the end, he fell back to sleep until a loud banging announced the ship had docked. It was five-fifteen.
   The next hour and a quarter were the longest in Adam’s life. People would occasionally pass in the passageway, and each time Adam was sure they were coming to find him.
   At six-thirty José came back.
   “Everything is ready,” he said, going over to the locker and getting out the bottle of dark rum. “First, I think you better have a drink.”
   “Do you think I need it?”
   “Yup,” said José as he handed Adam a glass. “I would take it if I were you.”
   Adam took a small sip, but the liquor was rough and bitter. He shook his head and handed the glass back to José. Unconcerned, José tossed it down.
   Returning the bottle to the locker, José rubbed his hands. “Your name’s Angel in case someone asks. But I don’t think you’ll have to do much talking.”
   José opened the door to the corridor and motioned Adam to follow him.

Chapter 14

   Jennifer had a restless night and was in the kitchen when the phone rang at seven forty-five. She answered it quickly, thinking that her parents were still sleeping, but her mother had already picked up.
   “I’ve got it, mother,” said Jennifer when she heard Dr. Vandermer’s voice.
   “Good morning, Jennifer,” he said. “We’re all set to take you at three-thirty. I’m sorry it’s so late, but we’re so busy we had trouble even fitting you in. Just stick to clear liquids and by tonight it will be all over and you can order whatever you want for dinner.”
   “OK,” said Jennifer without much feeling. “How long will I be staying?”
   “Probably just overnight. I’ll explain things to you when you are here.”
   “What time should I check in?”
   “Why not drive over later this morning? That way we can do the routine admission work. And if the surgical schedule lightens up, maybe we can take you earlier. Meanwhile, just relax and let me worry about the details.”
   Jennifer made herself some coffee and walked out into the garden. For a moment she had second thoughts, but then she decided she was doing the right thing. Both Dr. Vandermer and her parents felt she had no other choice. She just wished Adam was there to share in the decision.

   Adam followed José, trying to make himself as unobtrusive as possible. They walked the length of the passageway, passing the mess, and descended a steep flight of stairs. The crew members they encountered seemed to take Adam’s presence for granted. Even so, it was a nerve-racking experience for Adam. He kept expecting someone to recognize him and sound the alarm.
   When they reached the lowest level, they began to walk aft down a narrow corridor that was lined with pipes and smelled of diesel fuel. They passed rooms filled with machines, which Adam guessed were the generators. A number of men were working there, stripped to their waists, their bodies glistening with sweat. The noise was deafening.
   They walked until they came to a large dark room filled with painted metal dumpsters on casters that stank from the garbage they contained. José went in and guided Adam to the far corner, where two men were sitting on the floor playing blackjack. As José approached, the larger fellow glanced up and then went back to his game.
   “Hit me easylike,” he said to the smaller man as José squatted down.
   In the wall behind the player was a wide opening through which Adam could see a portion of the bustling pier. A swath of radiant sunlight, which looked heavenly in the hellish surroundings, slanted into the room.
   “Hallelujah,” he muttered as he moved over to the lower door, shielding his eyes from the intensity of the tropical sun. He felt so close to land—and freedom. Never mind that he still didn’t see how he’d get there. He glanced outside at the concrete pier again and his elation vanished. To his immediate right was a passenger gangway carefully guarded by a brace of white-jacketed stewards who were carefully screening anyone leaving the ship.
   “José, there’s no way I can walk out there without being stopped,” said Adam, trying to control his voice.
   Without looking up from the card game, José said, “Just wait.”
   Adam stood there for a few minutes, wondering what to do.
   “José,” he said, “is this how you’re getting me off the ship?” He nodded toward the gangway.
   “Nope,” said José, “the best is yet to come.”
   “What are you planning?” said Adam angrily.
   José didn’t answer. Going back to the opening, Adam stared longingly at the green hills rising gently from the harbor. They were dotted with small cottages. He was about to question José again when a line of yellow garbage trucks started down the pier, belching diesel smoke from vertical exhaust pipes. They came to a halt not far from the ship’s side, one behind the other. Then there was a fearful blast of an air horn.
   The cardplayers cursed, threw down their cards, and went over to the nearest dumpster. With the big fellow pushing and the other two pulling, they rolled it down the ramp and up to the lead truck. While the men returned for another dumpster, the truck went to work. Large hydraulic arms came forward and grabbed the dumpster, lifting it high over the truck’s cab and dumping the contents in back. It was all done very neatly because the dumpster had a metal lid that did not open until the last moment. By the time the dumpster was slammed back onto the concrete, José and the others had the next one out on the quay. After a few more loads had been swallowed by the truck, José shouted to Adam, “OK, come over here.”
   Adam followed him to the next dumpster in line.
   “You’re going out with the trash,” said José. The three men began to laugh.
   “You want me to get into that?” asked Adam with horror.
   “You’ve no time to argue,” said José. “This is the last load for the first truck.”
   “Is this the only way off the ship?” asked Adam.
   “The only way,” said the huskier cardplayer. “I did it myself once. Not the fanciest way to ride around town, but it ain’t crowded.”
   “Where will it take me?” asked Adam, considering what he should do if he went through with their plan.
   “Right out to a landfill near the airport.”
   “Jesus,” said Adam. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to send me out with the garbage.”
   “This ain’t garbage,” said the cardplayer. “We dump that into the ocean. This is trash.”
   The truck’s air horn impatiently sounded.
   “You have to go,” said José. “You can’t hang around my cabin forever. Put your foot here.” He made a platform of his hands and, against his better judgment, Adam used it as a step. The big cardplayer lifted the dumpster’s lid, and with a swift movement José tossed Adam headfirst into the mess of boxes, paper, waxed containers, and other debris. And contrary to what the cardplayer had said, there was garbage, too. The lid banged down, and Adam was plunged into darkness. He felt the dumpster roll down the ramp onto the pier. Then there was a violent jolt and Adam visualized his rise from the ground. The dumpster shook, tilted upside down, and with a flash of light Adam screamed and flew into the back of the truck. He ended up on his hands and knees, covered with trash.
   Almost at once the truck began to roll. It was well away from the pier before Adam worked his head clear of the trash. The junk cushioned his ride, and he was not disturbed by the bumpy road. But after a few minutes the tropical sun turned the truck’s metal shell into a broiling oven. Adam began to sweat, and by the time the truck got to the landfill he didn’t care what happened to him as long as he could get out. He was dimly aware of a diesel whining beneath him as the back of the truck began to lift. A moment later he shot onto an enormous pile of trash. He got to his feet in time to see his truck lumber away.
   No one had seen him leave the ship. He was safe. Looking about, he could see the tiny island airport two hundred yards to his right. To his left, the blue Caribbean stretched as far as he could see.
   Dusting himself off as best he could, Adam started walking to the terminal.
   The airport was a casual affair with an entrance crowded with colorfully painted taxis. As Adam started inside, he saw a group of tourists eyeing him nervously. It was clear that he could not casually buy a ticket unless he did something about his appearance. Ducking into a small store, he charged a pair of jeans and a tee shirt that cheerfully proclaimed: “Come to St. Thomas.” In the crowded men’s room Adam found an empty stall and changed his shirt and pants. On the way out, he tossed José old clothes into the trash where they certainly belonged.
   Looking about, Adam spotted the flight schedules, which were displayed on felt boards with white plastic letters. There were two major carriers: American and Eastern. To his delight, Adam realized that he could easily make American’s nonstop flight to New York, which would leave at nine-twenty. He got at the end of the line to buy his ticket.
   The line crept forward at a snail’s pace, and Adam began to fear he would miss the plane.
   “One-way ticket to New York,” he said when he finally reached the counter.
   The girl glared at him as if she thought his casual dress, unshaved face, and lack of luggage a little odd, but all she said was, “How do you plan to pay?”
   “Credit card,” said Adam as he pulled out his wallet, which had somehow snagged a piece of lemon peel. Embarrassed, Adam flicked it off and extracted his Visa card.
   The girl looked at the card and requested some identification. Adam went back to his wallet and pulled out his driver’s license. The girl checked it, then showed it to the heavyset clerk at the next counter.
   “The Visa card is for Schonberg, but the license reads Smyth,” the man said, coming over to Adam.
   Beet red, Adam got out his real license plus his Arolen employment card that had his picture and handed them over. He tried to explain that a friend had entrusted him with his license.
   “Would you step to the side, please?” the man said, taking Adam’s cards and disappearing through a door. Adam tried not to appear nervous as the girl continued to sell tickets to the rest of the people in line, eyeing Adam from time to time to make sure he was not about to leave.
   It was nearly ten minutes before the clerk returned with an airline agent who told Adam he was Baldwin Jacob, the supervisor. He was holding Adam’s cards.
   “We’ll issue you a ticket,” he said, “but the flight is full. You’ll have to go standby.”
   Adam nodded. There was nothing else he could do. The clerk made out the ticket and pointedly asked Adam if he had any luggage.
   “No,” said Adam. “I travel light when I’m on vacation.”
   He walked over to a cafeteria and bought a couple of donuts and a cup of coffee, happy not to have to worry about the possibility of being drugged. Then he put through a call to the Carsons’. Just as he’d feared, Jennifer didn’t answer the phone. Instead, Mr. Carson’s baritone echoed over the wire.
   “Hello,” said Adam more cheerfully than he felt. “This is Adam. Is Jennifer awake yet?”
   “Jennifer is not here,” said Mr. Carson in a distinctly unfriendly voice.
   “Where is she?”
   “I don’t think you can reach her.”
   “Look, I know you love your daughter,” said Adam, “but the fact of the matter is that I am her husband, and it is urgent that I speak with her.”
   There was a pause as Mr. Carson apparently made up his mind. “She’s not here. She and her mother just left for the Julian Clinic. They are admitting her this morning.”
   “Admitting her?” repeated Adam with alarm. “Why is she being admitted? Is she all right?”
   “She’s fine,” said Mr. Carson. “And that’s why I think you should leave her alone for a few days. After that, you two can iron out your differences. But frankly, Adam, your being away at this time is very upsetting.”
   “Why? What’s going on?” said Adam, trying to control his fear.
   “Jennifer had a repeat amniocentesis,” said Mr. Carson, “and it was again positive. She’s decided to have an abortion.”
   Adam felt something snap. “She doesn’t need an abortion,” he shouted.
   “That’s your opinion,” said Mr. Carson calmly. “It is not ours or Jennifer’s, and under the circumstances, there’s not a lot you can do about it.”
   There was a click. The line was dead.
   In a panic, Adam tried to call Jennifer at the clinic, only to learn that she had not been assigned a room yet and, no, patients could not be paged.
   Adam slammed the phone down. There was still a half hour before flight time. He tried calling Vandermer, but was told he was in surgery.
   Leaving the phone booth, Adam ran back to the American Airlines counter, which was now jammed with people trying to check in for the flight. Pushing and shoving, he managed to get to the front of the line and asked to speak to the supervisor.
   It was several minutes before Mr. Jacob appeared. Not even trying to conceal his rising hysteria, Adam told the man he had to get to New York because his wife was going to have a baby.
   The supervisor took Adam’s ticket and without saying anything checked the computer. “We’ll do the best we can, but, as I said, the flight is fully booked.”
   Adam didn’t know what to do. Jacob obviously wasn’t going to put out any extraordinary effort for his sake. Adam stood there, trying to think what he could do. Then he ran back to the telephone and put in a call to an old friend from college, Harvey Hatfield. Harvey had finished law school and was working at a big Wall Street firm. Without going into details, Adam told Harvey that his wife was going to have an abortion and he wanted to stop her.
   Harvey seemed to think he was kidding. “So why are you calling a firm that specializes in corporate mergers?” he asked.
   “Jesus, Harvey, I’m serious.”
   “Well, you’d better get someone who specializes in litigation. Try Emmet Redford. He’s a friend of my father.”
   “Thanks,” said Adam as his flight was announced over the loudspeaker, the flight he hoped to be on. He dropped the receiver and ran back to the counter, where he practically flung himself at the clerk he’d originally approached.
   “Please, Miss, I’ve got to get on the plane. My wife is having a baby and it’s going to die unless I get to New York.”
   For the first time, Adam had the feeling that someone was taking pity on him. The girl stared into his frantic eyes and said, “I’ll put you on top of the standby list.”
   Adam allowed himself a little hope, but a few more passengers arrived breathlessly and were given boarding passes. Then a portly man showed up with a walkie-talkie. He went through the boarding gate and pulled it closed behind him.
   “Mr. Schonberg,” called Carol, the airline clerk.
   Adam dashed back to the desk, but Carol was shaking her head. “Sorry, but the plane is completely full. No standbys at all.”
   Crushed, Adam collapsed into a seat. He could hear the whine of the jet engines starting up outside. Then the boarding door reopened and a stewardess appeared, holding up one finger.
   The clerk turned to Adam. “Seems like there is one seat, but it is in smoking. Do you want it?”

   Unfortunately, the receptionist who greeted Jennifer at the Julian Clinic was the same girl who had helped admit Cheryl Tedesco. Seeing Karen Krinitz in her white blouse and blue jumper, Jennifer remembered the whole awful episode. Karen, however, acted as if they’d never met. She greeted Jennifer and her mother with the same mechanical smile.
   “Hi! I’m Karen. I’ve been assigned to your case. I’m here to help if you have any questions or problems. We want your stay to be as pleasant as possible, so please call me if you need anything.”
   “Well, isn’t that nice,” said Mrs. Carson, but Jennifer had the strange feeling she had heard the entire speech before—word for word.
   Karen went on, explaining the Julian philosophy. When she was done, Mrs. Carson thanked her enthusiastically, saying, “I’m not sure I’ll ever be satisfied with Englewood Memorial after this. There is so much concern for the patient here.”
   Jennifer nodded. The clinic certainly cared about people. Yet Karen’s speech bothered Jennifer. She had felt it was a little too pat the first time she’d heard it.
   Jennifer sighed. She decided the experience with Cheryl was upsetting her. Who cared if a woman memorized a speech that she was required to give to all the patients?
   “Are you all right, dear?” asked Mrs. Carson.
   “I’m fine, mother,” said Jennifer as she watched Karen recede down the hall. “Thanks for coming with me today. It means a lot to me.”
   Mrs. Carson reached over and gave her daughter a hug. She didn’t want Jennifer to know how worried she really was.

  The moment Adam’s plane landed at Kennedy he ran for the nearest phone booth. First, he called the Julian Clinic and asked to be put through to Jennifer’s room. There was no answer. Then he dialed again and asked when Jennifer’s procedure was scheduled. When the operator asked who wanted to know, he said Dr. Smyth. The operator seemed to accept his answer, and a moment later a nurse came on the line and said that Jennifer Schonberg was set for that afternoon.
   “So she hasn’t been done yet?” said Adam.
   “Not yet, but she’s been called for the OR. Dr. Vandermer is almost ready for her.”
   Adam fumbled with his coins and dialed the Julian Clinic a third time, this time asking to have Dr. Vandermer paged. An OR nurse picked up and said the doctor was unavailable, but should be done with his current case in thirty minutes.
   With renewed panic, Adam called the lawyer that Harvey had recommended, Emmet Redford. Shouting that it was a life-or-death situation, he finally got put through. As briefly as possible, Adam told the lawyer that his wife was going to have an abortion and that he wanted to stop her.
   “There’s not much you can do, my friend,” said Mr. Redford. “According to the Supreme Court, a husband cannot block his wife’s abortion.”
   “That’s incredible,” said Adam. “It’s my child, too. Isn’t there anything you can do?”
   “Well, I might be able to delay it.”
   “Do it!” shouted Adam. “Whatever you can!”
   “Give me her name and all the particulars,” said Mr. Redford.
   Adam did so as quickly as he could.
   “When is she scheduled to have the abortion?” asked Mr. Redford.
   “In thirty minutes or so,” said Adam desperately.
   “Thirty minutes! What do you expect me to do in half an hour?”
   “I’ve got to go,” said Adam. “She’s at the Julian Clinic. There’s no time to lose.”
   Adam dropped the phone and ran through the terminal to the taxi stand. Leaping into the first cab in line, he yelled for the driver to take him to the Julian Clinic.
   “You got money?” the cabbie asked, eyeing Adam’s casual dress.
   Adam pulled out his twenty, hoping it would be enough. Satisfied, the man put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

   Jennifer was lying on a gurney just outside the treatment room. Her mother was standing beside her, and Jennifer was again forcibly reminded of her earlier visit to the Julian with Cheryl. Mrs. Carson was smiling, feigning confidence, but it was clear she was as nervous as her daughter.
   “Why don’t you go back to the lounge?” suggested Jennifer. “I’ll be fine. From what Dr. Vandermer says, it’s going to be easy.”
   Mrs. Carson glanced at her daughter, undecided as to what she should do.
   “Please,” said Jennifer. “Don’t make a big deal out of this. Go back and read a magazine.”
   Relenting, Mrs. Carson bent down, kissed Jennifer on her forehead, and headed back toward the lounge. Jennifer watched her go with mixed emotions.
   “OK,” said the nurse, emerging from the treatment room. “We’re all ready for you.” She released the brake on the gurney and pushed Jennifer through the door. In contrast to the room where she’d had her amniocentesis, this room looked very much like an OR. Jennifer remembered the white floor and large white glass-fronted cabinets.
   Two nurses were waiting. As they moved her to the table, one said, “It will all be over very soon, and you’ll be able to forget the whole episode.”
   As she lay back, Jennifer thought she felt the child move. She struggled not to cry as one of the nurses prepped her lower abdomen.
   The door to the corridor opened, and Dr. Vandermer came in, dressed in a surgical scrub suit. Jennifer felt better the moment she saw him.
   “How are you doing?” he asked.
   “OK, I guess,” said Jennifer faintly.
   Jennifer wanted him to say something else, but he just stared at her with unblinking eyes. She looked questioningly at the nurses, but they didn’t seem to think there was anything odd about his silence. Then Vandermer seemed to come out of his trance and asked the nurses to hand him the anesthetic.
   “You’ll just feel a little sting now,” said Dr. Vandermer flatly. With a deft jab he slipped the needle beneath Jennifer’s skin.
   Closing her eyes, Jennifer tried also to close her mind to what was about to happen.

   The cab ride from Kennedy Airport to the Julian Clinic was hair-raising. Once Adam had flashed his twenty, the driver acted as if he were in a race for his life. He screeched to a halt in front of the hospital in less than thirty minutes. Adam tossed him the twenty and dashed up the stairs without waiting for change.
   Interrupting the girls chatting at the reception desk, he demanded to know where Vandermer was operating.
   “He’s performing an abortion on my wife,” he gasped.
   “Pregnancy terminations are done on the sixth floor, but…”
   Adam didn’t wait for her to finish. He ducked into an elevator just as the doors were closing, ignoring the receptionist who yelled after him that he was not allowed to go to six unaccompanied.
   When the elevator stopped, Adam got out and made for the double doors at the end of the hall marked “Treatment Rooms.” As he passed the nurses’ station, he noticed the elaborate antique furniture and wondered what the Julian was trying to prove.
   One of the nurses yelled for him to stop, but Adam kept running. He went through the double doors and opened the first treatment room door. It was empty. He went on to the next. A nurse tried to bar his way, but he was able to look over her shoulder at the patient’s face. It wasn’t Jennifer.
   Adam crossed the hall and tried another door.
   “Exactly what do you think you are doing?” asked a nurse with a German accent.
   Adam rudely shoved the woman aside. He saw Dr. Vandermer bending over the table. He was holding a hypodermic whose needle sparkled under the overhead light.
   “Jennifer!” shouted Adam, relieved that the surgery had proceeded no further than her being given the local anesthetic. “Don’t do it, please. Don’t have the abortion. Not without further tests.”
   Jennifer started to sit up as two orderlies rushed through the door and pinned Adam’s arms behind his back. Adam saw that both men had the same unblinking stares as the stewards on the ship.
   “OK, OK,” said Adam. “You’ve made your point. You’re stronger than I am. Now kindly let me go.”
   “Adam Schonberg?” said Dr. Vandermer. Until he’d heard Adam’s voice, he’d thought they were dealing with a psychotic stranger. “What are you doing here? Jennifer just told me you were out of town.”
   “Please don’t go ahead with the procedure. There’s something I must tell you.”
   As if suddenly remembering the orderlies, Dr. Vandermer tapped the nearest on the shoulder and said, “I know this man. You can let go of him.” He undid his mask and let it fall on his chest.
   The orderlies released Adam as the door to the corridor opened and a number of clinic staff members peered in to see what was happening.
   “Everything is under control,” said Dr. Vandermer. Addressing the orderlies, he said, “Why don’t you two wait outside.”
   As soon as they left, he guided Adam to a small anteroom, promising Jennifer they would both be back in a minute.
   As soon as the door was closed, Adam blurted out, “I managed to get on one of the Arolen cruises.”
   Dr. Vandermer stared at him as if just noticing the jeans and St. Thomas tee shirt for the first time. If he knew what Adam was talking about, he gave no indication.
   “I’m happy you got to go,” was all he said. “We can compare notes later. Right now I need to take care of your wife. Why don’t you go down to the lounge and wait for me? I won’t be long.”
   “But you don’t understand,” said Adam. “The Arolen cruises are more than continuing education sessions. They’re a cover for an elaborate behavior-modification scheme.”
   Dr. Vandermer debated what to do. Adam was obviously psychotic. Maybe he could persuade him to go over to Psychiatry, where someone with experience could help him. Taking a step forward, Dr. Vandermer put his arm around Adam’s shoulder. “I think the person you should be talking with is Dr. Pace. Why don’t we go downstairs and I’ll introduce you to him?”
   Adam pushed Dr. Vandermer’s arm away. “I don’t think you heard what I said. I’m talking about drug-induced behavior modification. Dr. Vandermer, you were a victim. You were drugged. Do you understand me?”
   Dr. Vandermer sighed. “Adam, I know you believe what you are saying, but I was not drugged on my cruise. I gave lectures. It was a delightful time, as were the days I spent in Puerto Rico.”
   “I saw it all,” said Adam. “I was on the Fjord. I saw how they drugged the doctors’ food and kept giving them yellow pills. Then they were subjected to these films. It was mind control. Look, you’ve got to believe me. Think. Why did you change your mind about pregdolen? Before you went on the cruise, you thought the drug was unsafe. You told me you’d never prescribe it.”
   “I’ve never changed my mind about pregdolen,” protested Dr. Vandermer. “I’ve always thought it was the best product on the market if one were forced to use medication for morning sickness.”
   Realizing he was making no headway, Adam grabbed Dr. Vandermer’s hand. Looking directly into the doctor’s eyes, he said, “Please, even if you don’t believe me, please don’t abort my child. I think the lab mixup that occurred with the amniocentesis slides was deliberate. I think Arolen is trying to increase its supply of fetal tissue, and this is how it is done.”
   The door to the room opened.
   “Dr. Vandermer,” said the nurse in the doorway, “what are we to do?”
   Dr. Vandermer waved her away.
   “Adam,” he said kindly, “I can appreciate how upset you must be with the way things have turned out.”
   “Don’t be condescending,” warned Adam as he rubbed his eyes. “All I want is to delay the abortion. That’s all. I don’t think that’s asking too much.”
   “It depends from whose point of view you’re talking about.” He pointed toward the treatment room. “Jennifer might feel differently. To delay at this point would be cruel for her. She’s already been through more than enough.”
   Adam realized he was losing the battle. Desperately, he sought some way to get through to the doctor.
   “Now,” Vandermer said firmly. “Why don’t you go down to the lounge and wait. I’ll be there shortly.”
   “No,” shouted Adam, blocking the way. “You haven’t heard everything.”
   “Adam!” shouted Dr. Vandermer. “Move out of my way or I’ll be forced to have you removed.”
   “Listen, I think some of the people running the cruise have had psychosurgery. I’m telling you the truth. They had scars on the sides of their heads. Right here.” Adam reached out to touch the spot he meant on Vandermer’s head. When he did, he jumped back in horror. Tiny ridged lines were on either side of the doctor’s skull. Adam could just see the healing incisions. Dr. Vandermer reacted angrily.
   “This has gone far enough.” He opened the door and motioned for the two orderlies to take Adam away. “Please show Mr. Schonberg down to the lounge. He can wait there if he behaves himself, but if he gives you any trouble, call Psychiatry.”
   Adam put up his hands. “I won’t cause any trouble,” he said softly. The last thing he wanted was to be given some kind of tranquilizer. He realized that if Vandermer had undergone some sort of psychosurgery, there was no way he could be persuaded of Arolen’s treachery.
   “May I speak to my wife?” he said.
   Dr. Vandermer eyed Adam for a moment and then shook his head. “I don’t think it is in Jennifer’s best interests, but I will let her make the decision.”
   He opened the door to the treatment room and stepped inside. Jennifer pushed herself up on her elbow. “What is happening?” she asked anxiously.
   Dr. Vandermer briefly described his scene with Adam, ending with Adam’s request to talk with her. “He seems to have been unable to deal with the stress of your pregnancy” was the only thing Vandermer had to offer by way of an opinion.
   “Well, he certainly hasn’t made the situation any easier for me,” said Jennifer. “I’m sorry he’s caused you so much trouble.”
   “There’s no need to apologize,” said Dr. Vandermer. “I think we should get on with the procedure. You can deal with Adam when we are done.”
   Jennifer nodded. “Why did he have to come back? You’re right. I don’t think I can handle Adam just now. Why don’t you just go ahead while I’m still in control?”
   Dr. Vandermer smiled reassuringly and motioned for the nurse to begin setting up again. Then he returned to the anteroom and told Adam that Jennifer would speak to him afterward.
   Adam realized there was no use in protesting further. Numbly, he followed the orderlies down the corridor.
   Dr. Vandermer rescrubbed and went back into the treatment room. Picking up the hypodermic, he gave Jennifer the local anesthetic. He was just about to begin the procedure when the door opened again.
   “Dr. Vandermer, I’m afraid you’ll have to hold up on this case.”
   Jennifer opened her eyes. Standing at the door was a stocky woman dressed in a scrub suit. Jennifer didn’t recognize her, but Dr. Vandermer did. It was Helen Clark, director of the ORs at the Julian Clinic.
   “We have just been served with an emergency restraining order. We cannot proceed with Jennifer Schonberg’s abortion.”
   “On what grounds?” asked an astonished Dr. Vandermer.
   “I don’t know the details,” said Mrs. Clark, “but it is signed by a New York Supreme Court judge.”
   Dr. Vandermer shrugged and turned back to Jennifer.
   “Don’t do anything foolish,” warned Mrs. Clark. “Defying a court order would get us all in trouble.”
   “This is ridiculous,” said Dr. Vandermer. “Litigation in the operating room.” But he took off his mask and gloves.
   Seeing that he was about to leave, Jennifer bit down on her lower lip to keep from screaming.

  After Vandermer had thrown him out of the treatment room, Adam had immediately phoned Emmet Redford. The lawyer told him that he’d called in an old favor and had gotten a restraining order. It was on its way to the clinic as they spoke. Adam went back to the lounge, praying that the papers would be served in time. Seeing Mrs. Carson bent over a magazine, he took a chair out of her line of vision.
   Less than five minutes later a nurse hurried over to Mrs. Carson. She bent and whispered something to the older woman who then threw up her hands and cried, “Her abortion has been canceled!”
   Adam felt like cheering until he heard Jennifer’s sobs as she was wheeled down the corridor. He and Mrs. Carson both ran over to her and ended up standing on opposite sides of the gurney.
   “Jennifer,” said Adam, grasping her hand. “Everything is going to be all right.”
   She wrenched her hand away, crying hysterically, “Leave me alone. You’ve gone crazy. Leave me alone.”
   Adam stepped away and sadly watched the gurney continue down the corridor.
   “Are you responsible for this disaster?” sputtered Mrs. Carson.
   Adam was too upset to answer. Was it a disaster to prevent an unnecessary abortion? Close to tears himself, he turned and walked blindly to the elevator. Once out on the street, he checked his wallet. Only three dollars and some change left. He decided he’d better take the subway to Emmet Redford’s Fifth Avenue office.
   “Sorry about my clothes,” said Adam when the secretary ushered him in. “I didn’t want to waste any time going home to change.”
   Mr. Redford nodded, although he was disturbed by Adam’s appearance. In fact, he was disturbed by the whole case. Though he’d arranged for the restraining order, he felt Adam’s claims were dubious at best, especially in light of the information he’d just received from the assistant he had assigned the case to.
   “I think I should be frank,” Redford began. “I agreed to help out as a favor to Harvey, but there are a number of points that seriously trouble me.”
   “I couldn’t agree more,” said Adam. “I think the Julian Clinic is deliberately doing unnecessary abortions.”
   “I see,” said Redford, taking in Adam’s unkempt hair and unshaven face.
   “But the real problem,” continued Adam, “is that Arolen Pharmaceuticals and its parent company, MTIC, have an elaborate program involving drugs and even brain surgery to influence the way doctors practice medicine.”
   This man is nuts, thought Redford with dismay.
   Adam’s voice became more urgent. “But now that I’ve learned all this,” he said, “I don’t know what to do about it.”
   “I can understand your dilemma,” said Redford, wondering if Adam were potentially violent. He certainly seemed excitable. Redford pressed a concealed button under his desk and said, “Mr. Schonberg, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
   “Not at all,” said Adam.
   “Have you ever sought professional help for your obsessions? I think that might be in everyone’s best interest.”
   “What I’m telling you is true,” protested Adam.
   There was a soft knock on the door. Redford got up to open it and told his secretary to ask Mr. Stupenski to join them. “I’m afraid a grand jury wouldn’t give much credence to your allegations,” he said to Adam while they waited.
   Adam searched the lawyer’s face for some hint that the man believed him. There was none.
   “I guess you’re right,” admitted Adam. “The only proof I have is what I saw.”
   The door opened again and a young man wearing a pin-striped suit identical to Redford’s came into the room.
   “This is my associate, Mr. Stupenski,” said Redford.
   Adam said hello and then tried once more to convince Redford that his story was true. “They drug the food on the cruises and supplement those doses with yellow pills that have to be some kind of tranquilizer.”
   “So you say, Mr. Schonberg, but the problem is you have no proof,” repeated Redford.
   The lawyers exchanged knowing glances. Adam stared at them in frustration.
   “I think I should tell you that given the amniocentesis report that the clinic showed Mr. Stupenski, I’m sorry we went about getting the restraining order,” said Redford. “As it is, it remains in force only until the emergency hearing three days from now, and since I’m certainly not going to argue for the motion, you can expect it will be rescinded at that time. Good day, Mr. Schonberg.”
   It took Adam a moment to realize that the interview was over.

   Four hours later, washed and shaved and dressed in his best suit, Adam was sitting outside his father’s office waiting for Dr. Schonberg to finish with his last appointment. It was after six o’clock.
   When Dr. Schonberg was finally free, he listened with some impatience to what even Adam had to admit sounded farfetched.
   “I simply can’t believe this,” he told Adam. “Look, if it will make you feel better, let me call Peter Davenport of the AMA. He’s the guy who certifies the courses for CME credits. He’s been on several of the cruises himself.”
   Dr. Schonberg dialed Davenport at home and jovially asked his opinion of the Arolen cruises. After listening for a few minutes, he thanked the man and hung up.
   “Pete says the seminars on the Fjord are completely above board. Some of the evening entertainment was a little risqué, but otherwise the conferences were among the best he’s attended.”
   “He was probably drugged like the rest of them,” said Adam.
   “Adam, please,” said Dr. Schonberg. “You are being ridiculous. MTIC has been sponsoring seminars and medical conventions either under its own auspices or through Arolen Pharmaceuticals for over a decade. The cruises have been going on for five years.”
   “That may be,” said Adam, losing hope of convincing even his own father, “but I swear to you they are drugging the doctors and subjecting them to rigorous behavior modification. They even operate on certain people. I saw the scars on Dr. Vandermer myself. I think they are controlling him through some kind of remote-control device.”
   Dr. Schonberg rolled his eyes. “Even given the small amount of psychiatry that you’ve had, Adam, I would think you would be able to recognize how paranoid your story sounds.”
   Adam abruptly stood up and started for the door.
   “Wait,” called Dr. Schonberg. “Come back here for a minute.”
   Adam hesitated, wondering if his father would relent.
   Dr. Schonberg tilted back his chair. “Let’s say for the sake of discussion that there is something to your story.”
   “That’s gracious of you,” said Adam.
   “What would you have me do? I’m the director of new products for the FDA and I can’t espouse a wild theory like yours. But seeing you are so upset, perhaps I should go on one of these cruises and see for myself.”
   “No,” interrupted Adam. “Don’t go on the cruise. Please.”
   “Well, what would you like me to do?”
   “I guess I want you to start an investigation.”
   “I’ll make you a deal,” said Dr. Schonberg. “If you agree to see a psychiatrist and explore the possibility that you may be experiencing some sort of paranoid reaction, I’ll make further explorations into Arolen.”
   Adam took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. If one more person suggested that he see a shrink, he’d scream.
   “Thanks, Dad,” he said. “I’ll give your offer some serious thought.”
   As he rode back to the airport, Adam wondered just what kind of treatment Arolen had given Pete Davenport of the AMA and how much of the medical profession was under MTIC’s control.

   Adam landed at LaGuardia around nine and took a cab back to the city. The thought of returning to his empty apartment was depressing, and he was very concerned about Jennifer. Although he dreaded having to drive out to Englewood and brave the Carsons’ anger, he didn’t feel he had much choice. He had to talk to Jennifer.
   There were no lights on at the Carson house when he pulled into the drive. Cautiously, he walked up the front steps and pressed the doorbell. He was surprised when the door opened almost immediately.
   “Your headlights shone right into our bedroom,” Mr. Carson said angrily. “What on earth do you want at this hour?”
   “I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Adam, “but I need to speak to Jennifer.”
   Mr. Carson folded his sizable arms across his chest. “Well, you have some nerve. I’ll give you credit for that, but my daughter refuses to speak to you. Maybe she’ll change her mind after a few days, but for the moment…”
   “I’m afraid that I must insist,” said Adam. “You see, I don’t believe she needs an abortion…”
   Mr. Carson grabbed Adam’s shirt and shouted, “You will insist on nothing!” He shoved Adam back from the doorway.
   Adam regained his balance, cupped his hands over his mouth, and began calling, “Jennifer! Jennifer!”
   “That’s enough,” yelled Mr. Carson. He grabbed Adam again, intending to march him to his car. But Adam sidestepped his father-in-law and ran inside. At the foot of the steps he shouted again for his wife. Jennifer appeared in her nightgown in the upstairs hall. She looked down at her husband with dismay.
   “Listen to me,” shouted Adam again, but before Jennifer could speak, Mr. Carson had grabbed Adam from behind and carried him back out the door. Unwilling to fight back, Adam tripped when he was shoved toward his car and fell off the porch into the bushes. He heard the door slam before he could scramble to his feet. He was beginning to get the message that Mr. Carson would never let him speak to Jennifer that night.
   Climbing into his car, Adam tried to figure out what he could do to keep Jennifer from having the abortion, at least until she got a second opinion. He only had three days to persuade her.
   He was halfway back across the George Washington Bridge before he knew what he had to do. Everyone wanted proof. Well, he’d go to Puerto Rico to get proof. He was certain everything he’d seen on the cruise would be replicated there in spades.