The job wasn’t demanding to say the least. About half of the patients were on IVs, and she was supposed to check them at least twice during her shift. Otherwise all she had to do was shine her flashlight into the face of each patient to make sure he was still alive.
Selma stopped, her light playing on an empty pillow. Bending down, she looked along the floor. Once a patient had fallen out of bed, but that did not seem to be the case here. She moved over to the chart and read the name: Iseman.
Still thinking that the patient must be nearby, she went back to the nurses’ station and flipped on the ward’s overhead lights. A harsh fluorescent glare flooded the room. Summoning the orderlies, Selma quickly checked the room herself. There was no doubt about it: Iseman had vanished.
Selma began to worry. Nothing like this had ever happened. Telling the orderlies to keep searching, she hurried back up to the OR.
“A patient is missing,” she said, spotting Nachman and Mitchell as they were about to leave.
“That’s impossible,” said Dr. Mitchell.
“It may be impossible,” said Selma, “but Mr. Iseman’s bed is empty, and he’s nowhere in sight. I think that you’d better come down and see for yourselves.”
“That’s the patient that was operated on yesterday,” said Dr. Nachman. “Wasn’t he on a continuous Conformin drip?”
Without waiting for Mitchell’s answer, he hurried off downstairs. As they entered the ward, Selma gestured triumphantly toward the empty bed.
Dr. Mitchell picked up the IV line and looked at the catheter. It was still slowly dripping. “Well, he can’t be far.”
After exhausting all possible hiding places on the floor, Dr. Nachman and Dr. Mitchell tried the fetology floor, then the roof, and finally the garden.
“I think we’d better call out all the orderlies,” said Dr. Nachman. “We have to find Iseman immediately.”
“This is incredible,” said Dr. Mitchell with disbelief. “I’m surprised the man could even walk.”
“If we don’t find him right away,” asked Dr. Nachman, “what would happen if we were to activate his implanted electrodes? Would that let us home in on him?”
Dr. Mitchell shrugged. “The patient has not started conditioning. If we activate him, the signals could cause either pain or pleasure but without any specific control on behavior. It could be dangerous.”
“Dangerous to whom?” asked Dr. Nachman. “The patient or people around him?”
“That I can’t answer,” admitted Dr. Mitchell.
“Well, that’s a worst-case scenario,” said Dr. Nachman. “I hope he’ll be found in short order. Maybe the dosage in his IV was wrong. In any case, let’s alert all the orderlies. Tell them to carry full hypodermics of Conformin so that when he is found there’s no trouble.”
• • •
Adam was beginning to get desperate. There were plenty of cars in the parking lot opposite the main building, but no keys. Adam had assumed that with the tight security, people would be careless. But unfortunately, that was not the case. He cursed himself again for his casual planning.
Not quite sure what he might find, he made his way down the secluded walk to the beach and over to the club. A handful of cars were in the parking lot behind the clubhouse, and Adam went from one to another without luck. Then he noticed a good-sized Ford truck parked at the delivery entrance.
The door was open and Adam swung himself into the cab. He started to search for the ignition, but before he could find it, an alarm went off with an ear-piercing wail. Adam fumbled for the door and leapt out in panic.
The club door opened and Adam ran around the building to the shelter of a stand of pines. The alarm was turned off, but the sound of approaching voices made Adam realize he would have to keep moving. Seeing the masts of the Hobie Cats, Adam raced to the beach and slid under the nearest one.
He could hear the men returning to the club. They had obviously decided it was a false alarm, but Adam knew he only had a few more hours before daylight to figure out how to get Alan out of the compound. He wondered if anyone had noticed the patient was missing.
• • •
Dr. Nachman’s face appeared more haggard than usual. His eyes seemed to have visibly sunk into their sockets.
“He has to be here,” said Dr. Mitchell.
“If he’s here, then he should have been found,” said Dr. Nachman humorlessly.
“Perhaps he’s in the garden. It’s the only place left.”
“We have twenty orderlies searching,” snapped Dr. Nachman. “If he were there, they would have found him by now.”
“He’ll be found,” said Mitchell, more to convince himself than anyone else. “Maybe we’ll have to wait until it gets light.”
“I’m wondering if he could have gotten out of the hospital,” said Dr. Nachman. “He’s not the kind of patient we’d like to have found on the outside.”
“He can’t have escaped, even if he’d wanted to,” said Dr. Mitchell. “He couldn’t have opened the security doors. And besides, Ms. Parkman has been here. She said she definitely saw the patient when she made her earlier rounds.”
“She wasn’t here when she came up to the OR,” said Dr. Nachman.
“But that was just for a few minutes,” said Selma. “And the two orderlies on duty said that everything was quiet.”
“I want the search extended to the main building,” said Dr. Nachman, ignoring Selma. “I’m beginning to fear that someone else is involved, someone with access to the ward. If that is the case, I think we should try to activate the patient’s electrodes. That might allow us to trace the man via the transmitter.”
“I don’t know if it will work,” said Dr. Mitchell. “We’ve never tried to activate from a distance.”
“Well, try it now,” ordered Dr. Nachman. “Also, call security and tell them that no one goes through the main gate.”
Dr. Mitchell went to the telephone and called Security. Then he called the head of programming, Edgar Hofstra, telling him that there was an emergency and he was needed in the control room. Then he and Nachman went upstairs.
The control room was on the same floor as the automated operating room. At one end, protected by a glass wall, was the MTIC mainframe computer. About a half dozen white-coated technicians were in evidence, performing a wide range of operational and maintenance procedures.
Hofstra arrived about ten minutes later, his eyes still puffy with sleep.
Not even bothering to apologize, Mitchell outlined the problem. “If we can activate the patient’s electrodes, I think security can trace the patient by the transmitter. Do you think you can activate him from long range?”
“I’m not certain,” said Hofstra, seating himself at the terminal. As soon as he punched in Iseman’s name, the computer responded by saying that there was an error and that the patient was not engaged. Hofstra overrode the signal.
Everyone in the room watched anxiously. After a minute the screen flashed “electrodes activated,” followed in another minute by the word “proceed.”
“So far, so good,” said Hofstra. “Now let’s see if his battery has any power.” He entered the command for Iseman’s electrodes to transmit. The result was a very weak signal that was unintelligible to the computer.
Hofstra swung around in his chair. “Well, the electrodes activated, but the signal is so weak, I doubt we can trace the location.”
• • •
Adam never knew where he found the courage to go back into the main building, particularly when he saw that most of the lights had been turned on and that groups of men in blue blazers, carrying hypodermic syringes, were swarming over the ground floor. Only the thought of Jennifer and her impending abortion had forced him to risk the comparative safety of the outdoors. Now he simply walked through the main building lobby as if nothing was wrong. When he got out of the elevator on six, the hall was quiet and Adam guessed that they hadn’t begun to search the guests’ rooms.
He turned on the
light when he got to his room and was relieved to find Alan still sleeping peacefully.
“I don’t know if you can understand me,” said Adam tensely, “but we have to get the hell out of here.”
He pulled Alan to a sitting position and checked the rolls of gauze covering his head. Once he’d carefully unwound them, he was pleased to see that the automated surgery had only shaved a small area on either side of the man’s head. Adam grabbed his comb and carefully covered the bald patches with Alan’s remaining hair.
With his heart pounding, he helped Alan to his feet and quietly opened the door. Three orderlies were entering a suite at the end of the corridor. Adam knew that if he hesitated he wouldn’t get a second chance. The moment they disappeared into the suite he grabbed Alan’s hand and hurried him down to the bathers’ elevator. As the doors closed, Adam heard voices, but no one seemed to be shouting alarm.
He pressed the ground-floor button. To his horror, after descending briefly, the elevator stopped on three!
Adam glanced at Alan. He looked better without his bandage, but his face still had that telltale drugged blankness.
The doors opened and a scarfaced orderly stepped into the elevator. Glancing mechanically at Adam and Alan, he turned to face the closing doors. He was so close, Adam could see the individual hairs on his neck. Adam held his breath as the elevator recommenced its descent.
They were just passing two when the orderly seemed to recognize their presence. He made a slow turn. In his left hand he held a hypodermic syringe without its protective plastic cap.
Adam reacted by reflex with speed that surprised him. He went for the syringe, wresting it from the orderly’s grip with a quick twist, and then pushed the orderly forward into Alan. As the men collided, Adam jammed the needle into the man’s back just to the side of the spine, depressing the plunger with the heel of his hand.
All three of them fell against the wall of the elevator and collapsed in a heap with Alan on the bottom. The orderly arched his back, rolled to the side, and opened his mouth to scream. Adam clamped his hand over the man’s mouth to muffle the cry. The elevator stopped and the doors opened.
The orderly grabbed Adam’s arm in a tight grip and began to pry his hand from his face. Adam strained to keep the man’s mouth covered. Then he saw the man’s eyes cross. Abruptly, the man’s grip loosened and his body went limp.
Adam removed his hand and then recoiled in horror. He pushed himself away and stared at the man, whose eyes had now rolled up into his head. Although he appeared to have had some kind of plastic surgery to mar his facial features, Adam still recognized him. It was Percy Harmon!
For a second Adam was too startled to react. Then the elevator doors started to close, and Adam knew he had to keep moving. Wedging Alan against the door to keep it ajar, he dragged Harmon outside and dropped him behind the dense ferns. He had a moment’s hope of taking him along, then realized it would be hard enough just handling Alan. He led the doctor out the back door to the path that led to the beach. His vague plan was to head over to the condominiums and see if he could find a car there.
The moon was now partially concealed, and the beach was not the bright landscape it had been before. The palms and pine trees provided deep concealing shadow.
Halfway to the club, Adam and Alan came upon the Hobie Cat Adam had hidden under. Adam halted. An idea stirred in the back of his mind. He looked out at the ocean and wondered. He wasn’t a good sailor by any stretch of the imagination, but he knew a little about small boats. And he was pleased to note that the last person to use the Hobie Cat had beached it without taking off the sails.
The sound of a man’s shout from the area of the main building made him decide for sure. Time was running out. First, Adam dragged the boat to the water. Next, he led Alan to it and helped him climb on, forcing him to lie down on the canvas. With the bowline, Adam tied Alan loosely to the mast. Wading into the water, Adam pulled the Hobie off the sand and into the surf. The waves were only two or three feet high, but they made it hard to control the boat. When he was waist-deep, he hauled himself aboard.
His original idea was to paddle the boat out of sight around the point, but he saw that was going to be impossible. He would have to raise the sail. As quickly as he could, he hauled up the mainsail. He winced in pain from his raw palms, but he kept at it. Finally the sail billowed out, and the boom lifted with a clatter. To his relief, the boat stabilized the moment it was under sail. Turning around, he snapped the rudders into position, then pushed the tiller to the right.
For an agonizing minute, the boat seemed to drift back toward the beach. Then, falling off the wind, it shot forward, smacking the incoming waves as it headed away from the beach. There was little Adam could do but grab Alan with one hand and hold the tiller with the other.
The boat passed directly in front of the club, but Adam was afraid to try to change his course. He heaved a sigh of relief when they got beyond the breakers. Soon after, they were around the point and safely out of sight.
Relaxing to a degree, Adam looked up at the parabolic curve of the sail contrasted against the star-strewn tropical sky. Glancing to the west, he saw the moon intermittently veiled with small, scudding clouds. Below the moon was the dark silhouette of Puerto Rico’s craggy mountains. The beauty was overwhelming. Then the boat hit the long Atlantic swells and Adam had to turn his full attention to the tiller. Cleating the mainsheet securely, he raised the jib and the Hobie Cat shot through the water at even greater speed. He started to feel optimistic that within a few hours he’d be far enough up the coast to find help.
• • •
Dr. Nachman turned from the computer in a rage. Harry Burkett had come to update the research director on the search, but Nachman wasn’t content with false assurances.
“Are you telling me that all you’ve learned with forty men and a million dollars’ worth of security equipment is that one of the orderlies has been found unconscious and one of our guests, Mr. Schonberg, is missing from his room?”
“That’s correct,” said Mr. Burkett.
“And the orderly,” continued Dr. Nachman, “was presumably injected in the back with his own syringe of Conformin?”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Burkett. “He was injected with such force that the needle broke off and is imbedded in the man’s skin.” Mr. Burkett wanted to impress the research director with the completeness of his investigation, but Nachman wasn’t having any of it. He found it inconceivable that Mr. Burkett, with his huge staff and sophisticated resources, could not locate a heavily sedated patient. Thanks to Burkett’s inefficiency, what had started as an inconvenience was rapidly becoming a serious affair.
Dr. Nachman angrily lit his pipe, which had gone out for the tenth time. He couldn’t decide whether or not he should inform the inner circle of MTIC. If the problem got worse, the earlier he reported it, the better off he’d be. But if the problem resolved itself, it would be best to remain silent.
“Has there been any evidence of anyone touching the perimeter fence?” he asked.
“Absolutely not,” said Burkett. “And no one has been allowed out of the main gate since Dr. Mitchell called.” He glanced at the psychiatrist, who was nervously examining his cuticles.
Dr. Nachman nodded. He was certain the patient was still on the grounds and that the electrified fence was an insurmountable barrier, but he still worried about the competence of Burkett’s security force. There was no reason to take chances.
“I want you to send someone to the airport to check the departing flights,” he ordered.
“I think that’s going a bit far,” said Burkett. “The patient won’t get off the compound.”
“I don’t care what you think,” interrupted Dr. Nachman. “Everyone told me the patient couldn’t have left the hospital, and obviously he has. So cover the airport.”
“OK,” said Burkett with an exasperated sigh.
Dr. Mitchell, who was well aware that he was the man who had insisted the patient
couldn’t have left the hospital, stood up, saying, “Even if the transmitter is too weak to use to trace the patient, maybe if we stimulate his electrodes, he’ll reveal himself.”
Dr. Nachman looked at Mr. Hofstra. “Could we do that?”
“I don’t know,” said Hofstra. “The position of his electrodes hasn’t been neurophysiologically mapped. I don’t know what would happen if we stimulated him. It might kill him.”
“But could we stimulate him?” asked Dr. Nachman again.
“Maybe,” said Hofstra. “But it will take some time. The present program has been written with the expectation that the patient would be initially present.”
“What kind of time are you talking about?”
Hofstra spread his hands apart. “I should know if I’ll be able to do it in an hour or so.”
“But you didn’t have any trouble activating the electrodes.”
“That’s true,” said Hofstra. “But actual stimulation is much more complicated.”
“Try it,” said Dr. Nachman wearily. Then, gesturing with his hands toward Mr. Burkett, who was still on the phone, he said, “I’d like to have some kind of backup for his Keystone Kops.”
• • •
Looking at his watch, Adam realized that they’d been sailing for nearly two hours. Once they’d rounded the point north of the MTIC-Arolen beach, they’d encountered increasingly high swells that occasionally crested and broke over the canvas trampoline. A couple of times when they were in the rough of a particularly high wave, Adam was afraid they would be buried by tons of seawater. But each time the boat had bobbed up and ridden like a cork over the top of the wave.
They headed due west along the northern coast. Unsure if there were any reefs or not, Adam stayed about two or three hundred yards offshore. By far the hardest part of the adventure was dealing with his imagination. Each minute, his concern grew about sharks lurking beneath them in the dark swirling water. Every time he glanced down, he expected to see a huge black fin break the surface.