Mindbend

CHAPTER 8

There must have been more than a hundred people in the conference room. All had come to watch their friends and relatives graduate the Arolen sales course. Arnold Wiseman, the man who’d been in charge of the course, sat in the front of the podium next to Bill Shelly. To their right was a large limp American flag.

Adam was somewhat embarrassed by the ceremony, aware that Arolen was making more of a production than the four weeks of classes deserved. Yet it was fitting, since Adam had learned that nine-tenths of what the drug rep sold was pure show.

When he thought about it, Adam was amazed at how quickly those four weeks had gone. From the first day, he had realized that his two and a half years of medical school put him ahead of everyone else. Half of the other twenty students had degrees in pharmacology, five had master’s degrees in business administration, and the rest were from various departments of Arolen Pharmaceuticals.

Adam searched the crowd for Jennifer, thinking she might have changed her mind at the last minute and come, but even as he searched he realized it was a vain hope. She’d been against his working for Arolen from the beginning, and even if she had overcome her distaste for his new job, her morning sickness had become so severe that she could rarely leave the apartment before noon. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from staring at all the dark-haired women in the audience in case by some miracle she had arrived.

Suddenly his roving gaze stopped short at a small man with dark curly hair dressed in a black raincoat. He was standing by the entrance with his hands thrust into his pockets. Plain, wire-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his aquiline nose.

Adam turned away, thinking his eyes were playing a trick on him. Then he slowly turned to look at the man again. There was no doubt. It was his father.

Adam spent the rest of the ceremony in a state of shock. When the formalities were concluded and the reception had begun, he pushed his way toward the door where the man was standing. It was his father all right.

“Dad?” said Adam.

Dr. Schonberg turned around. He was holding a shrimp on the end of a toothpick. There was no smile on his lips or in his eyes.

“What a surprise,” said Adam, unsure how to act. He was flattered that his father had come, but nervous too.

“So it is true,” said Dr. Schonberg sternly. “You’re working for Arolen Pharmaceuticals!”

Adam nodded.

“What happened to medical school?” asked Dr. Schonberg angrily. “What am I going to say to your mother? And after I went to such lengths to be sure you would be admitted!”

“I think my A average had something to do with that,” said Adam. “Besides, I’ll go back. I’ve just taken a leave of absence.”

“Why?” demanded Dr. Schonberg.

“Because we need the money,” said Adam. “We are going to have a child.”

For a moment Adam thought he saw a softening in his father’s expression. Then Dr. Schonberg was looking about the room with distaste. “So you have allied yourself with this…” He gestured at the sumptuously appointed hall. “Don’t tell me you are unaware that business interests are trying to take over the medical profession.”

“Arolen provides a public service,” said Adam defensively.

“Spare me,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I’m not interested in their propaganda. The drug houses and the holding companies that control them are out to make money like any other industry, yet they waste millions of PR dollars trying to convince the public otherwise. Well, it is a lie. And to think that my own son has become a part of it and because of that girl he married…”

“Her name is Jennifer,” snapped Adam, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“Dr. David Schonberg.” Bill Shelly had come up behind Adam, champagne glass in hand. “Welcome to Arolen. I’m sure you are as proud of your son as we are. My name is Bill Shelly.”

Dr. Schonberg ignored the hand. “I know who you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I am appalled rather than proud to see my son here. The only reason I responded to your invitation was to make certain that Arolen is not expecting any special considerations because Adam here has joined your organization.”

“Dad,” sputtered Adam.

“I’ve always appreciated honesty,” said Bill, withdrawing his hand, “and I can assure you that we did not hire Adam because his father is with the FDA.”

“I hope that is true,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Arolen will have an easier time getting new drugs approved.”

Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Schonberg tossed his shrimp into a wastebasket and pushed through the crowd toward the door.

Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Bill Shelly.

“There is no need to apologize,” interrupted Bill. “You’re not responsible for your father’s beliefs. He’s had lots of experience with the less honest companies in our field. I’m only sorry that he’s not had enough contact with Arolen to appreciate the difference.”

“That may be true,” said Adam, “but it still does not excuse his behavior.”

“Maybe someday we could convince your father to take one of the Arolen Conference Cruises. Have you heard of them?”

Adam nodded, remembering Percy Harmon. He had not thought about the man for over a month, but now Adam wondered why the genial rep had not kept in touch as he’d promised.

“We’ve invited your father many times,” continued Bill. “Not only on the cruise, but also to visit our research facilities in Puerto Rico. Perhaps you might be able to talk him into accepting our invitation. I’m certain that if he did, his opinion about Arolen would change.”

Adam forced a laugh. “At this point in my life I couldn’t talk my father into accepting a free Rembrandt painting. We’re barely on speaking terms. Frankly, I was shocked to see him here today.”

“That’s a shame,” said Bill. “We’d love your father to be one of our featured lecturers. You know that the seminars have the best reputation in the country. And, of course, all your father’s expenses would be paid if he agreed to speak.”

“Sounds like you should try to appeal to my mother,” laughed Adam.

“Spouses are not invited,” said Bill as he guided Adam toward the champagne table.

“Why not?” asked Adam, taking a drink.

“The cruises are strictly academic,” said Bill.

“Yeah, sure,” said Adam.

“I mean it,” said Bill. “The cruises are sponsored by Arolen, but they are run by MTIC. The only reason the company chose a ship was to keep the doctors from their usual interruptions: no telephone, no patients, and no stockbrokers. Each cruise concentrates on a particular clinical or research topic, and we invite the top men in each field to lecture. The quality of the seminars is really superb.”

“So the ship just goes out to sea and anchors?” asked Adam.

“Oh, no,” said Bill. “The ship leaves from Miami, travels to the Virgin Islands, then to Puerto Rico, then back to Miami. Some of the guests, usually the lecturers, disembark in Puerto Rico to visit our research institute.”

“So it’s all work and no play. Not even any gambling?”

“Well, just a little gambling,” admitted Bill with a smile. “Anyway, your father would enjoy the experience, so if you have any influence as far as that might be concerned, you might try to use it.”

Adam nodded, but he was still thinking about Percy Harmon. He’d seemed so sincere that Adam was surprised that he’d not called. He was about to ask Shelly when the rep had left Manhattan, but Bill was saying, “Have you given any more thought to our managerial training offer?”

“To tell the truth,” said Adam, “I’ve been completely absorbed by the sales course. But I promise to think about it.”

“Do that,” said Bill, his eyes gleaming over the rim of his champagne glass.

Later that afternoon Adam was in McGuire’s office, going over his sales territory. “You’ll be taking over Percy Harmon’s area,” said McGuire. “Normally we’d assign a more experienced rep, but as you know we have great confidence in you. Here, let me show you.”

Clarence opened up a map of Manhattan with a large portion of the east side outlined in yellow marking pencil. It started at Thirty-fourth Street and ran north, bounded on the west by Fifth Avenue and on the east by the river. Adam was disappointed that it did not include his medical center, but New York Hospital, Mount Sinai, and the Julian Clinic were within the border.

As if reading Adam’s mind, Clarence said, “Of course you understand that you are not responsible for hospitals or large health maintenance organizations like the Julian Clinic.”

“Why not?” questioned Adam.

“You are eager!” Clarence laughed. “But I can assure you that you will be busy enough with the private MDs in your area. All hospitals are handled by the main office.”

“The Julian Clinic is more than a hospital,” said Adam.

“That’s true,” said Clarence. “In fact, there is a special relationship between Arolen and the Julian, since both are controlled by MTIC. Consequently, the Julian provides Arolen with direct access to clinical information, and Arolen provides the Julian with special educational opportunities.”

Leaning forward, Clarence picked up a computer printout and put it on Adam’s lap. “If you have any concern about not being busy enough, just take a quick glance at this list of your clients.”

The weight of the material in Adam’s lap was considerable. The front page said: “Upper East Side Manhattan MD Listing.” Under that was written: “Property of Arolen Pharmaceuticals, Montclair, New Jersey ”; and in the lower right-hand corner was the single word “Confidential.”

Adam flipped through the sheets and saw an alphabetical list of physicians followed by their addresses and phone numbers. The first name on the last page was Clark Vandermer, 67 East 36th Street.

As Adam considered what it would be like calling on Jennifer’s obstetrician, McGuire launched into a long description of the kinds of doctors Adam would be seeing.

“Any questions?” he said at last.

“Yes,” said Adam, remembering the one he’d forgotten to ask Shelly that morning. “Do you know what happened to Percy Harmon?”

Clarence shook his head. “I’d heard that he was to take the managerial course in Puerto Rico, but I don’t know if he actually did. I have no idea. Why do you ask?”

“No particular reason,” said Adam.

“Well, if you don’t have any other questions, you can be on your way. We’re always available if you need us, and don’t let me forget, here are the keys to your Arolen car. It’s a Buick Century.”

Adam took the keys.

“And here is the address of a parking garage. It’s as near to your apartment as my staff could arrange. We pick up the rent.”

Adam took the paper, again awed by his company’s generosity. A parking place in the city was worth as much as a car.

“And last but not least, here’s your computer access code, as was explained to you during the sales course. Your personal computer is in the trunk of the car. Good luck to you.”

Adam took the final envelope and shook hands once again with the district sales manager. He was now officially an Arolen detail man.

After tuning the radio to an FM rock station, Adam rolled down the window and jauntily stuck out an elbow. Traveling at fifty miles an hour, he felt unaccountably light-headed. Then he recalled his father’s sneering disbelief and his smile faded.

“We need the money!” he said out loud. “If you’d helped us, I’d still be in medical school.”

His mood did not improve when he reached the apartment only to find it empty, a short note taped to the refrigerator: “Gone home.” Adam tore it off and threw it across the room.

He pulled open the refrigerator door and looked inside. There was a little leftover roast chicken. He took it out along with a jar of mayonnaise and two pieces of rye. After making a sandwich, he went into the living room and set up his personal computer. Turning it on, he keyed in his access code. What doctor should he look up? Hesitating a moment, he keyed in Vandermer’s name. Then he took the telephone off the cradle and hooked it up to the modem. When everything was ready, he pushed the execute button, leaned back, and took a hefty bite from his sandwich. Small red lights appeared on the modem, indicating that he was attached to the Arolen mainframe.

The screen in front of Adam shimmered, then some text appeared. Adam stopped chewing for a moment and leaned forward to read.

CLARK VANDERMER, M.D., F.A.C.O.G.

____________________Biographical data

____________________Personal data

____________________Economic data

____________________Professional data

____________________Pharmaceutical usage data

(press space bar to select)

His interest aroused, Adam pressed the space bar until the cursor was next to “Personal data.” Then he pressed the execute key. Again he got an index:

PERSONAL DATA:

____________________Family history (past) includes parents and siblings

____________________Family history (present) includes wife and children

____________________Interests and hobbies

____________________Likes and dislikes

____________________Social history (includes education)

____________________Health history

____________________Personality profile

(press space bar to select)

My God, thought Adam, this is Orwell’s 1984. He moved the cursor to “Family history (present)” and again pushed the execute button. Immediately the screen filled with extensive text. For the next ten minutes Adam read about Clark Vandermer’s wife and children. It was mostly insignificant detail, but there were some important things as well. Adam learned that Vandermer’s wife had been hospitalized on three occasions for depression following the birth of their third child. He also discovered that his middle child, a female, was diagnosed as having anorexia nervosa.

Adam looked up from the screen, appalled. There was no reason for a drug firm like Arolen to have such a complete file on a doctor. He suspected everything they could use was summarized under the single category “Pharmaceutical usage data.” To prove his point, Adam called up that category and got what he expected, namely an analysis of Vandermer’s prescribing habits, including the amounts of each type of drug he prescribed each year.

Returning to the index, Adam asked the computer to print out on the high-speed dot-matrix printer a full report on Dr. Vandermer. The printer sprang to life, and Adam went back to the kitchen for a Coke.

It was thirty-two minutes before the printer fell silent. Adam tore off the last sheet and gathered the long train of paper that had formed behind the computer. There were almost fifty pages. Adam wondered if the good doctor had any idea of the amount of material Arolen had amassed on him.

The content of the report was dry and tediously complete. It even included Vandermer’s investments. Adam skimmed until he got to a description of Vandermer’s practice. He learned the doctor was a co-founder of GYN Associates along with Lawrence Foley! Lawrence Foley, the doctor who had committed suicide so unexpectedly. Adam wondered if Jennifer knew Foley had once been in partnership with her own doctor.

Reading on, Adam discovered that Vandermer’s current associates were Dr. John Stens and Dr. June Baumgarten.

His curiosity piqued, Adam decided that Dr. Vandermer would be his first customer. Remembering Percy Harmon’s advice that the way to the doctor was through his receptionist, Adam punched her up on the computer. Her name was Christine Morgan. She was twenty-seven, married to David Morgan, a painter, and had one male child, David Junior, nicknamed DJ.

Trying to conjure up Percy Harmon’s confident air, he dialed GYN Associates. When Christine answered, he explained that he was taking over for Harmon. He mentioned in passing that the rep had spoken so warmly of her handsome son. He must have done something right because Christine told him to come right down. She’d try and get him in.

Five minutes later Adam was heading north on Park Avenue, trying to remember which Arolen drugs he was supposed to push on OB-GYNs. He decided he’d concentrate on the generic line of vitamins that Arolen advertised for pregnancy.

In the neighborhood of Thirty-sixth Street and Park Avenue even unoccupied tow zones were hard to come by. Adam had to be content with a fire hydrant space between Park and Lexington. After locking the car, he went around the back and opened the trunk. It was outfitted with a full complement of Arolen samples, reprints, and other paraphernalia. There were a dozen Cross pens emblazoned with the Arolen insignia. Adam was to give them out at his discretion.

Adam selected an appropriate sample of the drugs and reprints and tossed them into his briefcase. He slipped one of the Cross pens into the side pocket of his jacket. Locking the trunk, he set off at a brisk pace for Vandermer’s office.

Christine Morgan was a tightly permed woman with frightened-birdlike mannerisms. She slid back the glass and asked if she could help him.

“I’m Adam Schonberg from Arolen,” he said with as big a smile as he could muster as he gave out his first Arolen business card. She returned the smile and motioned for him to come into the reception area. After he’d admired her most recent photos of DJ, Christine led him back to one of the empty examining rooms, promising that she would let the head nurse know that he was there.

Adam sat down on the stool in front of the small white desk. He eyed the examination table with its stainless-steel stirrups. It was hard to imagine Jennifer there as a patient.

Several moments later the door burst open and Dr. Clark Vandermer walked in. To pass the time Adam had pulled out a desk drawer and was casually looking at the collection of pens, prescription pads, and lab slips. Now flushing a deep crimson, he shut the drawer and stood up.

“Was there something in particular you were looking for?” asked Dr. Vandermer sarcastically. He was holding Adam’s business card and glanced back and forth between the card and Adam’s embarrassed face. “Who the hell let you in here?”

“Your staff,” managed Adam, purposefully vague.

“I’ll have to talk to them,” said Dr. Vandermer as he turned to leave. “I’ll have someone show you out. I have patients to see.”

“I have some samples for you,” said Adam quickly. “Also a Cross pen.” Hastily he fished out the pen and held it toward Vandermer who was about to tear Adam’s business card in half.

“Are you by chance related to Jennifer Schonberg?” asked Dr. Vandermer.

“She’s my wife,” said Adam eagerly, adding, “and a patient of yours.”

“I thought you were a medical student,” said Dr. Vandermer.

“That’s true,” said Adam.

“Then what the hell kind of nonsense is this?” Vandermer said, waving the business card.

“I’ve taken a leave from medical school,” said Adam defensively. “With Jennifer pregnant, we needed the money.”

“This is not the time for you people to be having a baby,” said Vandermer pedantically. “But if you are foolish enough to do so, your wife can still work.”

“She’s a dancer,” said Adam. Remembering Vandermer’s own personal problems, Adam didn’t think it fair for the doctor to offer easy solutions.

“Well, it’s a crime for you to leave medical school. And working as a detail man for a drug firm. My God, what a waste!”

Adam bit his lip. Vandermer was beginning to remind him of his father. Hoping to end the lecture, he asked Vandermer if there wasn’t something that could be done for Jennifer’s morning sickness.

“Fifty percent of my patients get morning sickness,” said Dr. Vandermer with a wave of his hand. “Unless it causes nutritional problems, it is best to treat it symptomatically. I don’t like to use drugs if I can avoid it, especially not Arolen’s pregdolen. And don’t you start playing doctor and give her any of that crap. It’s not safe, despite its popularity.”

Adam’s opinion of Dr. Clark Vandermer rose a little. He might be unpleasantly brusque, but at least he was up-to-date in his medical reading.

“As long as you are here,” said Dr. Vandermer, “you can save me a phone call. I’m scheduled to lecture next week on the Arolen Conference Cruise. What’s the latest I can board the ship in Miami?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” admitted Adam.

“Wonderful,” said Dr. Vandermer, reassuming his sarcastic tone. “Now would you come with me.”

Grabbing his briefcase, Adam followed the man out of the examination room and down the narrow corridor. After about twenty steps Vandermer stopped, opened a door, and stepped aside to allow Adam to pass. As he did, Vandermer unceremoniously thrust the Arolen business card into Adam’s hand, then closed the door behind him. Blinking, Adam found himself back in the crowded waiting room.

“Did you see the doctor?” asked Christine.

“I did indeed,” said Adam, wondering why in hell they hadn’t discussed the Arolen cruises during the sales course. If he had known the answer to Vandermer’s question, he might have been able to make his pitch.

“I told you I could get you in,” said Christine proudly.

Adam was about to ask if he could see either of the other doctors in the group, when he noticed the nameplates on the wall behind the receptionist. In addition to Vandermer, Baumgarten, and Stens, Dr. Lawrence Foley and Dr. Stuart Smyth were also listed. Adam didn’t remember seeing a Dr. Smyth in Vandermer’s file.

Reaching into his pocket, Adam pulled out the Cross pen. “Got a little surprise for you,” he said, handing it to Christine. Brushing off her thanks, he pointed to Dr. Smyth’s name. “Is he a new associate?”

“Oh, no,” said Christine. “Dr. Smyth has been an associate for fifteen years. Unfortunately, he’s very sick. But I never did see too much of him. He scheduled most of his patients at the Julian Clinic.”

Adam looked back at the nameplates. “Is this the Dr. Foley who committed suicide?”

“Yes. What a tragedy,” said Christine. “He was my favorite doctor. But we didn’t see too much of him either during the last six months. He also began scheduling his patients at the clinic.”

Christine’s comment jogged Adam’s memory. Percy Harmon had been upset that so many doctors, including Foley, were abandoning their practices to go to the Julian Clinic.

“Were you here when Dr. Foley left?” asked Adam.

“Unfortunately,” admitted Christine. “It was a nightmare because all of his patients had to be called and rescheduled.”

“Had he been on a trip before he moved?” asked Adam.

“I think so,” said Christine. “If I remember correctly he’d been to some kind of medical meeting. I think it was a cruise.”

“What about Dr. Baumgarten and Dr. Stens?” asked Adam. “Are they here today?”

“Sorry,” said Christine. “They’re both in surgery.”

“I don’t understand,” Adam said two hours later, waving his chopsticks at Jennifer. “How come you were too sick to drive out to Arolen this morning, but well enough to go shopping with your mother all afternoon?”

Jennifer lowered her eyes, pushing her stir-fried vegetables around on her plate. Earlier she had tried to explain to Adam why it was important for her to talk with her mother. But Adam had shrugged off her explanation, and now, rather than say anything nasty, she decided to say nothing at all.

Adam drummed his fingers on the Formica tabletop. Ever since Jennifer had learned she was pregnant, they seemed unable to talk rationally about anything. Adam was afraid that if he criticized her further, she would start to cry.

“Look,” he said, “forget about today. Let’s just enjoy dinner. You look beautiful. Is that a new dress?”

She nodded, and he guessed it was a present from her mother.

“It’s sure pretty,” he said diplomatically, but Jennifer was not to be soothed.

“The dress may be OK, but I look awful. I thought being pregnant would make me glow with femininity, but I just feel fat and unattractive.” When Adam didn’t answer, she added, “I think a lot of it has to do with this awful nausea. I don’t know why they call it morning sickness when it seems to last all day.”

Adam reached across the table and squeezed her hand. Hoping to cheer her up, he began telling her about his disastrous visit to Dr. Vandermer. While he talked, her face began to relax.

“I told you he had a dreadful bedside manner,” laughed Jennifer. “Did he say anything useful about the nausea.”

“No, just that it would go away and you were doing fine.”

Jennifer sighed. As they walked back from the restaurant, she said little and as soon as they got home she got into bed and turned on Dynasty.

Depressed by his first day as a rep and upset by his wife’s silence, Adam restlessly turned on his computer. Idly he called up GYN Associates, thinking he would add Dr. Smyth’s name. To his surprise, it was already there. Wondering if he had made a mistake that afternoon, he went back to the printout on Vandermer. Smyth’s name was not listed. To cross-check, Adam called up the other associates, Stens and Baumgarten. Neither Smyth nor Foley appeared in their files.

Adam bit his lower lip. There had to be checks in the program that would catch such an omission. Or maybe the programmers forgot to put in a cross-check. If that were the case, Adam felt he should probably tell Arolen.

Wondering which associates appeared in Smyth’s file, Adam punched the doctor’s name. The monitor blinked, then displayed a curt message: “OB-GYN Cruise course 9/9/83. Refresher course scheduled 6/5/84 with planned visit to Puerto Rico Research Center.” Adam rubbed the corners of his mouth. The computer obviously knew about Smyth but apparently had no file on him. Adam couldn’t understand it.

He opened his list of customers and ran his finger down the list. Smyth wasn’t mentioned. Adam decided that Arolen serviced Smyth at the Julian Clinic, even though he was technically a member of GYN Associates. Still, it all seemed very peculiar.

Puzzled, Adam decided to retrieve Lawrence Foley’s file. The machine printed out a single word: “Terminated.”

Pretty sick humor on the part of some programmer, thought Adam.

Over the next three weeks Adam’s proficiency as a salesman improved significantly. As long as he loaded the doctors on his list with samples, most of them were pleased to hear him extol the virtues of Arolen Pharmaceuticals. They rarely questioned his claims or inquired about possible side effects. Adam cheerfully pushed Arolen’s full line of drugs with one exception: pregdolen. The journal article and Vandermer’s warning had impressed him, and he did not want to be responsible for encouraging the use of such a potentially dangerous drug.

In the evenings he would look up on the computer the doctors he planned to see next, but just for information to help sales. He decided not to worry about any possible omissions or inaccuracies like the one involving GYN Associates.

Then, just when he was relaxing into his new routine, something happened that aroused his misgivings. He had an appointment to see a group of busy internists, but when he reached the office, the receptionist told him they all had to cancel. One of the partners had just returned from an Arolen cruise and announced he was quitting the practice and going to work at the Julian Clinic. The other doctors were furious and at their wits’ end trying to accommodate his patients.

Adam walked away remembering how Percy Harmon had described a similar incident. And that reminded him that he had never learned why Percy had failed to call him. When he’d asked in New Jersey, no one had seemed sure where Harmon was, though he apparently had not gone as planned to Puerto Rico. Knowing how excited Percy had been about the management program, Adam found this extremely disturbing.

One afternoon when he finished his rounds early, he decided to run out to headquarters and see if Bill Shelly could answer some of his questions. He’d become increasingly curious about the mysterious Arolen cruises. While he wasn’t ready to move to Puerto Rico, he thought a five-day medical seminar at sea might be fascinating. It would make him feel as if he were back in medical school. And maybe a little vacation would put his marriage back in perspective. Jennifer’s nausea had worsened, and she was spending more and more time at her parents’. When Adam tried to interest her in his new job or to persuade her to call some of her friends, she just put him off.

It was nearly three-thirty when Adam pulled into the Arolen parking lot. Shelly had said on the phone that he’d be available until four. A uniformed guard checked with Shelly’s office before buzzing Adam through. When Adam reached the executive floor, Bill’s secretary Joyce was waiting by the receptionist.

“Good to see you, Mr. Schonberg,” she said. “Bill is upstairs. Would you follow me?”

At the end of the hall, Joyce unlocked the door to a small elevator. She stepped inside and, using the same key, selected the twenty-first floor. Adam was startled to find himself riding up the outside of the building in a glass cage. It was not a pleasant sensation, and he closed his eyes to the Jersey countryside until the elevator came to a stop.

He was greeted by a heavily muscled man in a tee shirt and khaki trousers.

“Adam Schonberg?” he asked before leading Adam down a sun-drenched corridor. The entire exterior wall was glass, and Adam edged as far away from it as possible. He wasn’t exactly afraid of heights, but he didn’t enjoy them. He felt better when they entered an empty lounge. A television screen was turned to the news. Beyond the lounge was a Nautilus room and beyond that, a locker room lined with massage cubicles. A wide door at the opposite end led to the pool.

The man in the tee shirt held the door but did not follow Adam through it. For a moment the light was so strong, Adam could barely see. One entire wall was glass, rising for two stories and curving back to form a portion of the roof. The floor was made of glistening white marble, and the pool itself was constructed of white tile with blue markings.

A lone swimmer was vigorously doing laps. As he turned, he caught sight of Adam and swam over to the edge. He was wearing tiny goggles that just covered his eyes and a black rubber racing cap.

“How about a swim?” said Bill Shelly.

Adam shook his head. “Sorry, but I forgot my bathing suit.”

“No need for a suit right now. It’s the men’s hour. Come on, give it a try. I’m sure Paul can rustle up a towel.”

Adam wavered. There really was no reason to refuse, and the chance to swim twenty-some stories off the ground did not come along every day.

“OK,” said Adam. “How do I find Paul?”

“Go back into the locker room. You’ll see a buzzer on the wall. Push it and Paul will appear like a genie.”

Adam did as he was told. Paul showed him to a locker and supplied him with an enormous towel and a white terry-cloth robe.

Adam stripped off his clothes and put on the robe. Walking back outside, he was acutely aware of his winter white body, and he wondered again how Shelly maintained his tan. Feeling extremely self-conscious, Adam dropped the protective robe and dove in. The water was ice cold.

“We keep the pool cool so that it is stimulating,” explained Bill when he caught the pained expression on Adam’s face.

After he began swimming, Adam felt better, but when he tried to emulate Bill’s tumbling turns, he only succeeded in getting a nose full of water. He came up coughing and sputtering.

Bill took pity on him and led him back to the locker room, suggesting they both have a short massage.

“What is it you wanted to see me about?” Bill asked when they were settled on adjoining tables.

Adam hesitated. Even though Bill had always been nice to Adam, he never dropped his cool executive manner.

“I wanted to learn more about the Conference Cruises,” said Adam as Paul indicated he should roll on his back. “My customers always ask about them.”

“What do they want to know?”

“Who can go. How you schedule the various specialties. Whether there’s someone at Arolen they can call for information.”

“They can call the toll-free MTIC number,” said Bill stiffly. “I was hoping you were going to tell me you’d decided to take the managerial training course.”

“Not just yet,” said Adam as Paul continued to knead his shoulders. “But I was wondering if you would consider sending me on one of the cruises. Do any of the sales reps go?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Bill, getting up and starting to dress. “There are a lot of people here who would like to go. Unfortunately, the Fjord is not that big a ship. Anyway, you’d find it boring. Since the purpose of the program is to supply continuing education to the practicing physician, most of the entertainment areas of the ship have been converted into lecture halls.”

“I’d still like to go.”

“I’m sorry,” said Bill, who was obviously losing interest in the subject. He went to a mirror to put on his tie. “I think it would be smart for you to concentrate on the work that you are supposed to be doing.”

Adam decided this was not the moment to ask about the doctors who had given up their practices after going on a cruise. It was obvious that Bill Shelly was becoming irritated by Adam’s questions. As he dressed and followed Bill to the elevator Adam was careful to answer questions, not ask them. But later, driving back to New York, Adam continued to ponder some of the strange occurrences he now associated with the Arolen cruise. Percy Harmon’s disappearance in particular was disturbing. When Adam had learned Percy had not gone to Puerto Rico, he’d tried calling him but no one ever answered. As he drove into the city through the Lincoln Tunnel, Adam decided to stop by Percy’s apartment. Maybe one of his neighbors knew where he was.

Percy lived in a rundown brownstone four doors in from Second Avenue. Adam found Percy Harmon’s name next to the button for 3C. He pushed it and waited.

Diagonally across the street, a man in a rumpled blue suit threw down a cigarette and ground it under the heel of his shoe. Looking in both directions, he started across to the brownstone, his hand moving toward his breast pocket.

Adam shifted his weight and pushed the button for the superintendent. Almost immediately the small foyer filled with a raucous buzz and Adam opened the door. The interior was dilapidated but much cleaner than in Adam’s building. On the floor below, Adam heard a door open. He walked to the head of the stairs and looked down. An unshaven man in a sleeveless undershirt was on his way up.

“Whaddaya want?” said the super.

“I’m looking for Percy Harmon,” said Adam.

“You and everybody else,” said the super, obviously unimpressed. “He ain’t here, and I haven’t seen him for more than a month.”

“Sorry to bother you,” said Adam as the super went back down. Turning to leave, Adam hesitated by the stairs. He heard the super’s door close and on a sudden impulse quietly climbed to the third floor. He knocked on 3C, but there was no answer. He tried the door, but it was locked. He was debating leaving a note when he noticed a window at the end of the corridor leading to the fire escape.

Although he had never done anything like this in his life, Adam opened the window and climbed out. He had an intuitive feeling something had happened to Percy. He wanted to look into Harmon’s apartment to see if there was any sign of how long he’d been away.

The fire escape was old and rusted, and Adam tried not to look down through the metal grate at the concrete courtyard below. After inching along with his hands pressed against the building, Adam finally reached Percy’s window. It was ajar about two inches. Hoping no one would see him and call the cops, Adam raised the window. Having come this far, he figured he had nothing to lose and climbed inside Percy’s musty bedroom.

Heart pounding, Adam walked around the unmade bed and opened the closet door. It was filled with clothes. Turning, he looked inside the bathroom. The water level in the toilet was low, suggesting that it had not been used for some time.

Adam walked back through the bedroom and into the living room. There was a newspaper on the coffee table with a seven-week-old date. Moving into the kitchen, Adam saw that the dishes in the sink were covered with a fuzzy black mold. Obviously, Percy Harmon had planned to return. And that was exactly what Adam had feared. Something unexpected must have happened to the man.

Adam decided to get out and call the police. Before he could leave the kitchen, a soft noise made him freeze. It was the distinctive sound of a door closing.

Adam waited. There was only silence. He peered out into the living room. The security chain on the front door was slowly swinging back and forth.

Adam almost passed out. If it had been Percy who’d come in, why was he hiding? Adam stayed glued to his spot in the kitchen, straining to hear additional noise. When the refrigerator kicked on next to him, he moaned with fright. Finally, deciding that at least ten minutes had passed, that maybe it was all his imagination, he walked into the living room and glanced into the bedroom. He could see the open window to the fire escape. The curtains were slowly billowing in the draft. Adam estimated that it would only take a second to cross the room and climb out.

He never made it. As he ran for the window, a figure appeared from the closet. Before Adam could respond, a fist slammed into his abdomen, sending him sprawling to the floor.