Mindbend

CHAPTER 15

Bill Shelly rose from his desk and clasped Adam’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said. “You’ve probably just made the best decision of your life.”

“I’m not saying I’ll definitely take the position,” cautioned Adam. “But I’ve been giving Puerto Rico a lot of thought, and I’d like to take you up on the offer to go down there and see the facility firsthand. Jennifer’s not happy about the idea, but if I really want to go, she’ll support me in the decision.”

“That reminds me; Clarence left a message that he’d gotten a rather strange call from your wife. She thought you were away on Arolen business.”

“In-law problems,” said Adam with a wave of his hand. “She and my father have never gotten along.”

Even Adam wasn’t sure what he meant, but fortunately Shelly nodded understandingly and said, “Getting back to the matter at hand, I’m certain you will be thrilled with the Arolen research center. When would you like to go?”

“Immediately,” said Adam brightly. “My bag is packed and in the car.”

Mr. Shelly chuckled. “Your attitude has always been refreshing. Let me see if the Arolen plane is available.”

While Shelly waited for his secretary to check, he asked Adam what had changed his mind about the management training program. “I was afraid I hadn’t been convincing enough,” he said.

“Quite the contrary,” said Adam, “If it hadn’t been for you, I never would have considered it.” As he spoke, Adam eyed Bill Shelly’s skull, resisting the urge to see if he, too, had been subjected to surgery. At this point Adam had no idea if anybody at Arolen could be trusted.

There were two Arolen executives on the luxurious Gulf Stream jet. One had gotten on the plane with Adam, and the other came aboard in Atlanta. Though both offered friendly greetings, they spent the trip working, leaving Adam to distract himself with some old magazines.

When they landed in San Juan, the two executives headed for the Arolen minibus, which was waiting at the curb. Adam was wondering if he should join them when he was greeted by two men in blue blazers and white duck pants. Both had close-cropped hair: one blond, the other dark. Their MTIC name tags said “Rodman” and “Dunly.”

“Good afternoon, Mr. Schonberg,” said Rodman. “Welcome to Puerto Rico.”

As Dunly relieved Adam of his shoulder bag, Adam felt gooseflesh form on his back and arms in spite of the tropical heat. Rodman’s voice had the same inflectionless quality of the stewards on the Fjord, and as they walked to an awaiting limousine, Adam noticed that both men moved with the same mechanical step.

The limousine was not new, but it was a limousine nonetheless, and Adam felt self-conscious when they put him in the back seat by himself.

Leaning forward, he looked out at the rush-hour traffic. They drove out of the city, apparently paralleling the northern coast of the island, although Adam could not see the ocean. They passed shopping centers, gas stations, and automobile body shops. Everything appeared to be both beginning to decay and in the process of construction at the same time. It was a strange combination. Rusting rods stuck out of the concrete in various locations as if additional rooms or floors had been originally planned but the workers had failed to return. And there was litter everywhere. Adam wasn’t impressed.

Gradually, the shabby commercial buildings gave way to equally shabby housing, although on occasion there was a well-appointed and cared-for home amid the general squalor. There was no separation between rich and poor, and goats and chickens ran free everywhere.

Eventually, the road narrowed from four lanes to two, and Adam caught glimpses of the ocean beyond the green hills. The air became fresh and clean.

Finally, after about an hour and a half, they turned off the main road onto a well-paved lane that twisted and turned through the lush vegetation. At one point there was a gap in the foliage, and Adam had a spectacular view of the sea. The sky was shot with red, and Adam knew the sun was about to set.

The road plunged down a hill and tunneled beneath a dark canopy of exotic trees. About a quarter mile farther, the limousine slowed and then stopped. They had arrived at a gatehouse. On either side and extending off into the forest was an impressive chain link fence, topped with spirals of barbed wire. Resisters on the wire suggested the fence was electrified.

An armed guard came out of the house and approached the car. After taking a sheet of paper from the driver, he glanced at Adam and opened the gate. As the limousine drove onto the MTIC grounds, Adam twisted in his seat and watched the gate close. He wondered if the security was there to keep people out or to keep people in. He began to question what he was getting himself into. As when he was on the Fjord, he had no real plan and didn’t delude himself that he had any talent as a detective. His only consolation was that in Puerto Rico he wasn’t hiding behind a assumed name.

The car suddenly swept around a bend, and he was confronted by some of the most magnificent architecture he had ever seen, set against a background of rolling lawns and clear turquoise sea.

The main building was a hexagonally shaped glass structure of the same mirrored bronzed glass as Arolen headquarters. To the left and closer to the beach was another building, only two stories high, which appeared to be a club. Tennis courts and a generous swimming pool were off to one side. Beyond it was a white sand beach with a volleyball court and a row of Hobie Cats and surf sailers. Several of the craft were in use, and their colorful sails stood out sharply against the water. On the other side of the clearing were beachfront condominiums. All in all, the compound appeared like a world-class resort. Adam was impressed.

The limousine pulled up beneath a large awning at the front of the main building.

“Good evening, Mr. Schonberg,” said the doorman. “Welcome to MTIC. This way, please.”

Adam got out of the car and followed the man to a registration desk. It was like signing into a hotel. The chief difference was that there was no cashier.

After Adam signed in, another blue jacketed clerk, whose name tag said “Craig,” picked up his bag and led him to the elevator. They got out at the sixth floor and walked down a long corridor. At the very end was another elevator.

“Will you be with us long?” asked Craig in the now familiar inflectionless speech.

“Just a few days,” said Adam evasively as Craig pulled out his key and opened one of the doors.

Adam didn’t have a room; he had a suite. Craig went around like a bellhop, checking all the lighting, making sure the TV worked, glancing at the full bar, and opening the drapes. Adam tried to give him a tip, but he politely refused.

Adam was amazed by the accommodations. He had a magnificent view of the ocean, which had darkened with the approaching night. On the distant islands pinpoint lights sparkled. Adam watched as a single Hobie Cat beat its way toward the shore. Hearing sounds of Caribbean music, he stepped out onto the terrace. A band seemed to be playing in the building Adam thought was a club. The weather was perfect, and Adam wished Jennifer was with him. Even the honeymoon suite they’d had in the Poconos, with the heart-shaped bath, hadn’t been so luxurious.

Adam decided to try to call her. To his delight, she answered the phone herself, but when she realized who it was, her voice became cool.

“Jennifer, please promise me one thing,” said Adam. “Don’t have the abortion until I get back.”

“Get back?” questioned Jennifer. “Where are you?”

Adam hadn’t meant to tell her where he was, but it was too late to think of a lie. “Puerto Rico,” he said reluctantly.

“Adam,” said Jennifer, making it obvious that she was furious, “if you want to tell me what to do, you can’t keep running off. The moment the court gives me clearance, I intend to go back to the clinic.”

“Please, Jennifer,” said Adam.

“I hope you’re enjoying yourself,” said Jennifer, and she slammed down the receiver.

Adam sank back on the bed totally depressed. He only had two more days. The phone rang and Adam grabbed the receiver, thinking it might be Jennifer, but it was just the receptionist, telling him that dinner was in half an hour.

The dining room was in the club overlooking the beach. The row of Hobie Cats stood in the sand just beyond the sliding doors. A full moon had risen, casting a glittering path along the surface of the water.

The room had dark green walls and matching carpet with pink tablecloths and pink upholstery. The waiters were dressed in white jackets with black pants.

Adam was seated at a round table for eight. To his immediate right was Dr. Heinrich Nachman, whom Adam had met the day he’d had his interview at Arolen. Next to Dr. Nachman was Dr. Sinclair Glover, a short, portly, red-faced man who said he supervised fetal research.

Next to Dr. Glover was Dr. Winfield Mitchell, a bearded but bald middle-aged man wearing wire-rimmed glasses. Nachman said Mitchell was in charge of psychotropic drug development. Adam had the distinct impression the man was a psychiatrist, judging by how calmly he listened to the conversation without contributing anything, yet at the same time maintaining a superior-than-thou attitude.

Beyond Dr. Mitchell was a business executive, a William somebody; Adam missed his last name. He was strictly Ivy League, with sandy blond hair and a boyish complexion. Also at the table were Brian Hopkins, who was in charge of management training, Ms. Linda Aronson, who handled PR, and a jovial older man named Harry Burkett, who was the manager of the Puerto Rican compound.

Remembering his experience on the Fjord, Adam was at first reluctant to try the food, but everyone else was eating with gusto, and none of them appeared to be drugged. Besides, Adam reasoned, if they had intended to drug him, they could have done so on the plane.

The atmosphere at the table was relaxed, and everyone made a point of making Adam feel welcome. Burkett explained the reason MTIC chose Puerto Rico for its research center was because the government offered excellent tax incentives as well as a policy of noninterference. It turned out that many drug firms had large installations on the island.

Adam asked about the heavy security.

“That’s one of the prices we have to pay for living in this paradise,” said Harry Burkett. “There’s always a chance of terrorist activity from the small group championing Puerto Rican independence.”

Adam wondered if that were the whole story, but he did not pursue the issue.

William, the MTIC executive, looked over at Adam and said, “MTIC has a certain philosophy about the medical profession. We feel that economic interests have supplanted service. I’ve heard that you agree with that premise.”

Adam noticed that the rest of the table was listening. He swallowed a bite of dessert and said, “Yes, that’s true. In the brief time I was at medical school I was dismayed by the lack of humanism. I felt that technology and research were considered more rewarding than patient care.”

There were several doctors at the table and Adam hoped he wasn’t offending them, but he did notice that Dr. Nachman was smiling. Adam was pleased, since he thought the more enthusiastic they were about him, the better his chance of learning what they were doing.

“Do you think your attitude would make dealing with doctors difficult?” asked Linda Aronson.

“Not at all,” said Adam. “I think my understanding of medical reality makes it easier. As a sales rep I’ve been reasonably successful.”

“From what Bill Shelly has reported,” said Nachman, “I think that Mr. Schonberg is being modest.”

“Adam, has anyone described our plans should you decide to enlist in our management training program?” asked Dr. Glover.

“Not specifically,” said Adam.

Dr. Nachman folded his hands and leaned forward. “Arolen is about to release a whole new generation of drugs or treatment modalities as a result of our fetal research. We are looking for someone to work with Linda to educate the medical profession in these new concepts. We feel that you have the perfect background and attitudes for the job.”

“Precisely,” said Linda. “But we don’t mean to overwhelm you. At first, all you would be doing would be familiarizing yourself with Arolen’s research.”

Adam wished he had more than two days. The job they had in mind would undoubtedly put him in a position to learn what he needed.

“That’s not quite true,” said Brian Hopkins. “Mr. Schonberg must first take our management training course.”

“Brian, we all know that Mr. Schonberg has to take your course first.”

“Please,” said Dr. Nachman. “Let’s not display our departmental jealousies yet. There will be plenty of time for that.”

Everyone laughed except Hopkins.

Adam finished his dessert and put down his spoon. Looking at Dr. Nachman, he said, “That was a wonderful dinner, but I’m eager to see the research facility.”

“And we are eager to show it to you. Tomorrow we plan to…”

“Why not tonight?” interrupted Adam enthusiastically.

Dr. Nachman looked at Glover and Mitchell, who smiled and shrugged. “I suppose we could show you some of the facilities tonight,” said Dr. Nachman. “Are you sure you are not too tired?”

“Not in the slightest,” said Adam.

Dr. Nachman stood up, followed by Dr. Glover and Dr. Mitchell. The others excused themselves, preferring to remain at the table for more coffee and after-dinner drinks.

Dr. Nachman led Adam back to the main building, where guests signed in. Then the four went through another set of double doors to the research center. This part of the building was floored in white tile, the walls painted in bright primary colors.

“These are the administration offices,” explained Dr. Nachman. A moment later Adam found himself crossing a glass-walled bridge. He could see palm trees waving on either side and realized that there were two concentric buildings, one nestled inside of the other, much like the Pentagon in Washington.

Turning down another hallway, Adam smelled the unmistakable odor of caged animals. Dr. Glover opened the first door and for the next half hour led Adam from room to room, explaining the complicated machinery and examining an endless number of rats and monkeys. This was where Arolen was doing its basic fetology research.

To Adam’s surprise, white-gowned technicians were working in some of the labs, despite the late hour. Dr. Glover explained that ever since they’d begun to get positive results with fetal implants, they’d been working around the clock.

“Where do you get your material?” asked Adam, pausing by a cage of pink mice.

“Most of the research is done with animal systems,” explained Dr. Glover, “and we breed our animals right here at the center.”

“But surely you’re doing some human implants. Where do you get your tissue?” persisted Adam.

“Very good question,” said Dr. Glover. “We did run into a bit of a problem after restrictive laws were passed, but we’ve managed one way or another. Most of our material comes from the Julian Clinic.”

Adam wanted to pound the glass cases in frustration. Why couldn’t he get anyone to listen to him? Obviously, doctors like Vandermer were increasing the supply of fetal tissue by merely increasing the number of therapeutic abortions.

“Tomorrow,” continued Dr. Glover, pleased that Adam was demonstrating such interest, “we will take you into our hospital wing. We’ve had some amazing results, particularly in treating diabetics with fetal pancreatic extracts.”

“I know how interesting this is, but I think Dr. Mitchell would like to describe some of his work,” said Nachman, smiling at Glover.

“Indeed,” echoed Dr. Mitchell. “A year from now, when the sales figures are in, we’ll see whose department accounts for the biggest increases.”

Mitchell devoted the next thirty minutes to a nonstop monologue on psychotropic drugs, particularly a new brand of phenothiazine. “It’s effective for every type of psychotic condition. It’s essentially nontoxic, and it changes the most disturbed individual into an exemplary citizen. Of course, some spontaneity is sacrificed.”

Adam started to protest, but thought better of it. He was certain that “some spontaneity is sacrificed” was the company’s way of downplaying the drug’s side effects. Certainly the stewards on the Fjord and the orderlies at the Julian had lacked “spontaneity.”

“What’s the name of this new drug?” Adam asked instead.

“Scientific, generic, or trade name?” asked Dr. Mitchell, out of breath from his monologue.

“Trade name.”

“Conformin,” said Dr. Mitchell.

“Would it be possible for me to get a sample?”

“You’ll be able to get all the samples you want when the drug is released,” said Dr. Mitchell. “We’re waiting for FDA clearance.”

“Just a small amount?” asked Adam. “I’d like to see how it’s packaged. As a sales rep, I’ve learned how important that is.”

Dr. Mitchell looked at Adam strangely. “Perhaps a small amount,” he murmured.

Adam didn’t push the issue, saying, “If the drug is close to being released, then you’ve started human testing.”

“My word, yes,” said Dr. Mitchell, brightening. “We’ve been using the drug on humans for several years, on patients with intractable psychiatric problems brought in from all over the world, in fact. The drug has proved one hundred percent effective.”

“I’d like to visit the ward,” said Adam.

“Tomorrow,” said Dr. Mitchell. “Right now, I’d like to show you our main chemistry laboratory. It’s one of the most advanced in the world.”

There was no doubt in Adam’s mind that Arolen’s research facilities were superb, especially when compared with those at University Hospital, where money was so tight that every No. 2 Mongol pencil had to be included in grant requests. But after seeing so many labs, Adam became bored. He tried to look interested, but the longer the tour went on, the more difficult that became.

“I think that will be enough for tonight,” said Dr. Nachman finally. “We don’t want to exhaust Mr. Schonberg on his first evening with us.”

“I’ll second that,” said Dr. Glover. “We only spent half an hour in my department.”

“That’s because there is more to see here,” said Dr. Mitchell.

“Gentlemen!” interjected Dr. Nachman, lifting his hands.

“I’ve enjoyed all of it,” protested Adam, careful to use the past tense so as not to encourage an encore from Dr. Mitchell.

They walked down the main corridor and crossed the connecting bridge to the outer building. Adam stopped to look behind him. He could see that the bridge continued beyond the corridor to a third interior building, which was blocked off by heavy steel doors.

“What’s back there?” asked Adam.

“The clinical wards,” said Dr. Nachman. “You’ll see them tomorrow.”

That must be where the psychiatric ward is located, thought Adam. He hesitated a minute, then followed Nachman out to the main lobby where they all said good night.

It was quarter to twelve, and even though Adam had had a busy day, he was not sleepy. A dull headache was beginning behind his eyes, and he could not forget he had only two more days to come up with convincing, concrete evidence. Even if he got a sample of Conformin, it would take time to have it analyzed, and then even more time to try to convince someone like Vandermer to have himself checked to see if he’d received it. Knowing sleep was out of the question, Adam opened his door and walked the length of the corridor to the far elevator. A small Formica sign said “Bathers’ Elevator.”

Descending to the ground floor, Adam found himself outside in a dense garden of palms, bamboo, and ferns. A curving pathway led through the lush vegetation. Following it, Adam arrived at the beach.

Taking off his shoes, he stepped onto the cool sand. The full moon made the night almost as bright as day. The sand was smooth and soft as powder. A slight wind rattled the rigging of the Hobie Cats so that they sounded like Japanese wind chimes. Adam could understand why people like Bill Shelly were so enchanted with the place.

Passing the club, Adam could see into the dining room. A few of the busboys were still laying the tables for the next meal.

About a hundred yards beyond the club Adam saw the condominiums. They were designed in a pseudo-Spanish style with stuccoed walls and red tile roofs. Lights were burning in some of the residences, and Adam caught glimpses of men and women watching television or reading. The whole scene was so peaceful it was hard to believe it could be the center of some gigantic conspiracy. Yet apparently it was. All drug firms spent millions of dollars attempting to influence the purchasing behavior of doctors, but MTIC wanted more. It wanted to control the doctors. It was no wonder that Arolen was planning to reduce its sales force.

Adam turned and retreated along the beach to where he’d left his shoes, then made his way back to the main building. Halfway down the hallway, he noticed an exit sign. He tried the door, which opened onto a staircase that wound up toward the roof. After making sure that he could get back in, Adam followed the steps to a door, which was also unlocked. Turning the knob, he found himself gazing out across the top of the main building. The wind was whipping in off the sea. Adam walked over to the four-foot-high wall that marked the edge of the roof. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of the compound. The residential structures ended at a small rocky hill, beyond which was dense forest. As large as the center was, Adam realized that there could well be more buildings hidden from sight.

Turning, he looked back at the first interior building. In the bright moonlight he could clearly see its outline, and he realized that it was an excellent architectural solution for eliminating windowless offices. Looking down, Adam could see that the space between the buildings had been carefully landscaped with pools, greenery, and palm trees. Both buildings were of equal height, and there was a bridge from one to the other on each floor.

The core building, which Dr. Nachman had said housed the hospital, was not visible. Adam crossed the bridge to the second building, walked to the inner edge, and looked down. Below him was the hospital. It was only three stories, which was why Adam had been unable to see it before. Directly below him was the connecting bridge that led to the steel doors he’d seen on his way out of the lab.

The roof bristled with antennae, wires, and satellite discs, which Adam guessed were related to some complicated communications center. There were a number of bubble skylights, the largest being in the exact center of the building. The roof also contained a cooling tower for air-conditioning and a shedlike access door similar to the one Adam had used to get to the roof of the outer building. Light from the central skylight gave the whole complex an alien, futuristic appearance.

For a few minutes Adam stood with his palms resting on the concrete wall, which was still warm from the day’s sun. The night breeze tousled his hair. With a sigh he wondered what insane impulse had taken him to Puerto Rico. There was no way MTIC would let him leave with its secrets. Frustrated and depressed, he decided he might as well go to bed.