Seizure

sixteen

2:07 P.M., Friday, March 1, 2002

Leaving Spencer to go up to his expansive office, Paul took the stairs and descended into the basement of the central building after the two of them had said goodbye to their guests. Paul often wondered what Spencer did all day, rattling around in that huge room, which was four times the size of Paul’s neighboring office and ten times more sumptuous. Yet Paul did not begrudge the situation. It had been Spencer’s only demand during the building of the new clinic. Other than insisting on a ridiculously large personal space, Spencer had otherwise given Paul relatively free rein-most important, in regard to the laboratory and its equipment. Besides, Paul had a second office, albeit tiny, in the laboratory, which he used a hell of a lot more than the one in the admin building.

Paul was whistling as he opened the fire door on the basement level of the stairwell. He had reason to be in a good mood. Not only was he anticipating a serious enhancement of his legitimacy as a stem-cell researcher by collaborating with a potential Nobel laureate, but more important, he was looking at the prospect of a significant and needed financial windfall for the clinic. Like the mythological phoenix, Paul had again risen from the ashes, and this time there had been literal ashes. Less than a year before, he and the other principals at the clinic had to flee Massachusetts with barbarians in the form of Federal marshals at their former facility’s gate. Luckily, Paul had anticipated problems because of what he had been spearheading in the research arena, although he envisioned the problems would come via the FDA, not directly from the Justice Department, and he had been making detailed plans to move the clinic out of harm’s way offshore. For almost a year, he had been siphoning off funds behind Spencer’s back, which had been easy, since Spencer had essentially retired to Florida. Paul had used the money to buy the land in the Bahamas, design a new clinic, and begin construction. The unexpected raid by law enforcement in the wake of a couple pesky whistle-blowers merely meant he and his cohorts’ departure had to be precipitous and prior to the new clinic’s completion. It also meant they had to activate a preplanned doomsday protocol, burning down their old facility to eliminate all the evidence.

The irony for Paul was that this recent rise from the ashes had been his second miraculous recovery. Only seven years before, his prospects had appeared dismal. He’d lost his hospital privileges and was poised to lose his medical license in the State of Illinois only two years after he’d finished his ob/gyn residency. It was over some stupid, diddly-squat Medicaid/Medicare billing scam he’d copied from some local colleagues and then refined. The problem had forced him to flee the state. Pure serendipity had taken him to Massachusetts, where he’d taken a fellowship in infertility in order to avoid the Massachusetts Medical Board’s finding out about his problems in Illinois. His luck continued when one of the fellowship instructors happened to be Spencer Wingate, who was contemplating retiring. The rest was history.

“If only my friends could see me now!” Paul mumbled happily, as he walked down the basement’s central corridor. Such musings were a favorite pastime. Of course, he used the term friends loosely, since he didn’t have many, having been forced to be a loner most of his life after being the butt of jokes throughout his formative years. He’d always been a hard worker, yet he was destined to continually come up short by society’s usual criteria, save for getting a medical degree. But now, with a superbly equipped laboratory at his disposal and without even the threat of FDA oversight, he knew he was positioned to become the biomedical researcher of the year, maybe the decade… maybe even the century, considering the Wingate’s potential to have a virtual monopoly with both reproductive and therapeutic cloning. Of course, for Paul, the idea he was to be a famous researcher was the biggest irony of all. He’d never planned on it, had no appropriate training for it, and even had the dubious honor of being the last in his class in medical school. Paul laughed silently, knowing that in reality he owed his present position not only to luck, but also to U.S. politicians’ ongoing preoccupation with the abortion issue, which had effectively kept oversight from the infertility business as well as handicapped stem-cell research. If that hadn’t been the case, researchers on the mainland would be where he was at the moment.

Paul rapped on Kurt Hermann’s door. Kurt was the clinic’s head of security and one of Paul’s first hirelings. Soon after his arrival at the Wingate Clinic, Paul had sensed the enormous profit potential of infertility, particularly if one were willing to push the boundaries and take full advantage of the lack of oversight of the field. With that in mind, Paul had assumed security would be a big issue. Accordingly, he had wanted to find the right person for the job, someone without a lot of scruples, in case draconian methods became necessary, someone highly chauvinistic in the nonsexist sense of the term, and someone with some serious experience. Paul had found all of the above in Kurt Hermann. The fact that the man had been discharged from the U.S. Army’s Special Forces under less-than-honorable circumstances following a series of prostitute murders on the island of Okinawa did not trouble Paul in the slightest. In fact, he had considered it a plus.

Hearing a “Come in,” Paul opened the door. Kurt had designed his own basement office complex. The main room was a combination office with a couple desks and a couple chairs, plus a small gym with a half dozen exercise machines. There was also a mat for tae kwon do sparring. In addition, there was a video room with an entire wall of monitors showing feeds from cameras sprinkled all around the complex. Down a short interior corridor were a bedroom and a bathroom. Kurt had another, larger apartment over in the laboratory building, but on occasion he would stay right there in his office for several days on end. Across from the office’s bedroom was a holding cell, complete with a sink, a head, and an iron cot.

The sharp metallic clank of weights caught Paul’s attention and directed it toward the gym section of the room. Kurt Hermann sat up from a bench press. He was dressed as usual, in a tight-fitting black T-shirt, black pants, and black cross-trainer shoes, all of which contrasted sharply with his closely cropped, dirty blond hair. At one point, Paul had casually inquired why Kurt insisted on wearing black, considering the radiant power of the Bahamian sun. Kurt’s response was only a slight shrug and an arching of his eyebrows. For the most part, he was a man of few words.

“We need to talk,” Paul said.

Kurt didn’t answer. He peeled off his Velcro wrist straps, ran a towel across his forehead, and sat down behind his desk. His bulging pectoral and triceps muscles strained the fabric of his T-shirt as he placed his forearms on the desktop. Once he was seated, he didn’t move. Paul likened him to a cat ready to pounce.

Paul took hold of one of the side chairs, positioned it in front of the desk, and sat down himself.

“The doctor and his girlfriend have arrived on the island,” Paul said.

“I know,” Kurt responded in a clipped monotone. He turned around the monitor on his desk. The image was of Daniel and Stephanie, frozen in their approach to the front entrance of the administration building. Both their faces were plainly visible, as they squinted in the morning sun.

“A good shot,” Paul commented. “It certainly shows to good effect that the woman is downright attractive.”

Kurt turned the monitor back around toward himself but didn’t respond.

“Any information about the identity of the patient since the last time we talked?” Paul asked.

Kurt shook his head.

“So a repeat visit to their apartment back in Cambridge and one to their office didn’t reveal anything?”

Kurt shook his head. “Nothing!”

“I hate to beat a dead horse,” Paul said, “but we need to know who this person is as soon as possible. The longer we have to wait, the less chance we have of maximizing our compensation. And we do need the money.”

“Things will be easier now that they are here in Nassau.”

“What’s your strategy?”

“When will they be starting their work here at the clinic?”

“Tomorrow, provided they get a FedEx package they are waiting for.”

“I need possession of their laptops and their cell phones for a few minutes,” Kurt said. “To do that, assistance from the lab people may be needed.”

“Oh?” Paul questioned. It was rare for Kurt to ask for help from anyone. “Sure! I’ll arrange for the assistance from Ms. Finnigan. What is it you’d want her to do?”

“Once they are working here, I need to know where they keep their computers, and hopefully phones, when they go over to the cafeteria.”

“Well, that should be easy,” Paul said. “Megan will surely provide them with some sort of lockable compartment for their personal effects. Why would you want their cell phones? I mean, I understand why you’d want the laptops, but why the phones?”

“To check their Caller IDs,” Kurt said. “Not that I expect to learn anything, considering how careful they’ve been up to now. Nor do I expect anything from the computers. That would be too easy. These professor types are far from stupid. What I really want to do is insert a bug in each of their phones to monitor their calls. That is what is going to give us what we want. The downside is that the monitoring has to be close, within a hundred feet or so, because of power limitations. Once the bugs have been planted, Bruno or myself will have to stay within range.”

“Now, that’s going to be a chore!” Paul exclaimed. “I hope you remember that discretion is the key here. We can’t have any type of scene over this; otherwise, Dr. Wingate will be apoplectic.”

Kurt gave one of his signature inscrutable shrugs.

“We found out they are staying at the Ocean Club on Paradise Island.”

Kurt nodded his head ever so slightly.

“We did learn something else today that might be helpful,” Paul said. “This mystery patient might be someone high up in the Catholic Church, which could work nicely in our favor, considering the church’s stand on stem cells. Maintaining the secrecy might be worth a lot of money.”

Kurt didn’t respond in the slightest.

“Well, that’s it,” Paul said. He slapped his knees before standing up. “Let me emphasize again, we need the name.”

“I’ll get it,” Kurt said. “Trust me!”

“What’s going on?” Daniel questioned, with an edge to his voice. “Are you giving me the silent treatment or what? You haven’t said boo since we left the clinic twenty-some minutes ago.”

“You haven’t said much yourself,” Stephanie responded. She was staring broodingly out the front windshield and didn’t bother to turn her head in Daniel’s direction.

“I said it was a beautiful day when we got into the car.”

“Oh, wow!” Stephanie remarked with unmistakable derision. “That’s a stimulating conversation-starter, considering what we’ve experienced this morning.”

Daniel cast Stephanie a quick, irritated glance before redirecting his attention to the road. They were driving along the north shore of the island, heading back to their hotel. “I don’t think you are being fair. In front of our hosts, you carry on like a banshee, which I don’t want you to do anymore, and now that we’re alone, you’re as quiet as a mouse. You’re acting as if I did something wrong.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t understand why you’re not outraged about what’s going on at the Wingate Clinic.”

“You mean about their supposed stem-cell therapy.”

“Even calling it therapy is a gross misnomer. It is a pure, unadulterated medical scam. Not only is it bilking desperate people out of money and appropriate treatment, it will give stem cells a bad name, because it’s not going to cure anything, except as an elaborate placebo.”

“I am outraged,” Daniel said. “Anybody would be, but I’m equally outraged about the politicians who are making it all possible and at the same time forcing us to deal with these people.”

“And what about the Wingate’s putative trade secret that enables them to supply human eggs on demand with only twelve hours notice?”

“That is equally as ethically worrisome, I have to admit.”

“Worrisome!” Stephanie repeated scornfully. “It’s a lot more than worrisome. Did you happen to see that there is an article about oocytes in the journal they gave us?” She unrolled the magazine, which she had clutched in her hand. She pointed. “Article number three’s title is ‘Our Extensive Experience with In Vitro Maturation of Human Fetal Oocytes.’ What does that suggest?”

“Do you think they get their oocytes from aborted fetuses?”

“With what we know, that would not be an outlandish supposition. And did you notice all the pregnant young Bahamian women working in the cafeteria, none of whom, I might add, had any of the usual signs of being married? And what about Paul flaunting their experience with nuclear transfer? These people are probably offering reproductive cloning on top of everything else.”

Stephanie exhaled forcibly while shaking her head. Instead of looking over at Daniel, she turned and looked out her passenger-side window. She had her arms tightly folded over her chest. “Just being there and talking with these people, much less working there, makes me feel like an accomplice.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. Daniel spoke up as they reached the outskirts of Nassau and had to slow because of traffic. “Everything you are saying is true. But it is also true that we had a pretty damn good idea of what these people were like before we got here. You’re the one who checked them out on the Internet, and to quote you, you said, ‘These people are definitely not nice, and we should limit our interaction with them.’ Do you remember saying that?”

“Of course I do,” Stephanie snapped. “It was at the Rialto restaurant in Cambridge, not even a week ago.” She sighed. “My word! So much has happened in the last six days, it seems like a year has gone by.”

“But you get my point,” Daniel persisted.

“I suppose, but I also said I wanted to be sure that by working at their clinic, we wouldn’t be supporting something unconscionable.”

“At the expense of being ridiculously redundant, we’re here to treat Butler, and nothing else. We agreed on it, and that’s what we are going to do. We’re not on a social crusade to expose the Wingate Clinic, not now and not even after we treat Butler, because if the FDA finds out what we’ve done, there could be trouble.”

Stephanie turned around to face Daniel. “When I initially agreed to participate in treating Butler, I thought the only compromise we would be making was in regard to experimental ethics. Unfortunately, it seems as if we find ourselves on the proverbial slippery slope. I’m worried where this is going to take us, conscience-wise.”

“You could always go home,” Daniel said. “You’re better at the cellular work, but I suppose I could muddle through it.”

“Do you mean that?”

“I do. You have a far better technique with nuclear transfer than I.”

“No, I’m asking if you would mind if I leave.”

“If the ethical compromises we have to make are going to make you miserable, morose, and unpleasant to be with, then no, I don’t mind if you leave.”

“Would you miss me?”

“Is this a trick question? I already implied that I’d much prefer you to stay. Compared with you, I have two thumbs on each hand when I’m working with oocytes and blastocysts under a dissecting microscope.”

“I mean miss me emotionally.”

“Of course! That’s a given.”

“It’s never a given, especially since you’ve never said as much. But don’t get me wrong; I appreciate you saying it now, and I appreciate your willingness to let me leave. It means a lot to me.” Stephanie sighed. “But as much as I’m conflicted about working with these morons, I don’t think I could leave you here to carry on by yourself. But I’ll think about it. It makes me feel better to know it is an option, and such feelings are appreciated. After all, from day one, this whole affair has been against my intuition and better judgment, and this morning’s experience hasn’t helped.”

“I’m aware of your misgivings,” Daniel said. “And knowing them makes me even more appreciative of your support. But enough is enough! We know they are bad news, and what we’ve seen this morning just confirms it. Let’s move on to another subject! What was your take on the Pakistani neurosurgeon?”

“What can I say? I liked his English accent, but he’s kind of short. On the other hand, he’s cute.”

“I’m trying to be serious,” Daniel said, with an edge returning to his voice.

“Well, I’m trying to be humorous. I mean, how can you evaluate a professional after meeting him for lunch? At least he’s had good training at recognized academic centers in London, but whether he’s a good surgeon, who’s to say? At least he’s personable.” Stephanie shrugged. “What do you think?”

“I think he’s terrific, and I think we’re lucky to have him on board. The fact that he had experience doing fetal cell implants for Parkinson’s disease as a resident is an extraordinary plus. I mean, he’s going to be doing the same procedure for us. Implanting our cloned dopaminergic neural cells will merely be a rerun, with the exception that it will work. I sensed a true frustration on his part that the results of the fetal cell study he was involved in were so poor.”

“He is enthusiastic,” Stephanie agreed. “I have to give him credit for that, but I wasn’t totally convinced it wasn’t because he needs the work. One thing that surprised me was that he thought it would only take him an hour or so.”

“I’m not,” Daniel said. “Setting the stereotaxic headgear in place is the only step that’s time-consuming. The burr hole and the injection will be quick.”

“I suppose we should be thankful to have found him so easily.”

Daniel nodded.

“I know one other reason you were upset this morning,” Daniel said suddenly, after a short break in their conversation.

“Oh?” Stephanie questioned, feeling herself tense up after finally relaxing to a degree. The last thing she wanted to hear was another upsetting detail.

“Your faith in the medical profession must now be at a new nadir.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Spencer Wingate is hardly the short, fat, and warted individual you’d hoped, although, as I already said, he could still be a chain-smoker and have bad breath.”

Stephanie gave Daniel several playful swats on the shoulder. “After all the things I’ve said lately, it’s just like you to remember that.”

In an equally playful fashion, Daniel pretended to be terrified and pressed himself up against his window to get out of her reach. At that moment, they were stopped at a traffic light just short of the bridge to Paradise Island.

“Now, Paul Saunders is another story,” Daniel said, righting himself. “So maybe your faith hasn’t suffered an irreversible blow, since his appearance certainly makes up for Spencer’s matinee-idol good looks.”

“Paul is not that bad-looking,” Stephanie said. “He certainly has interesting hair, with such a striking white forelock.”

“I know you have trouble saying anything bad about someone’s person,” Daniel said. “Not that I understand it, particularly in this instance, considering how you feel about these people, but let’s at least admit that the man is an odd-looking duck.”

“People are born with their faces and their bodies; they don’t choose them. I’ll say Paul Saunders is unique. I’ve never seen anyone with two different-colored irises.”

“He has an eponymous genetic syndrome,” Daniel explained. “It’s fairly rare, if I remember correctly, but I don’t recall its name. It was one of those arcane diseases that would occasionally get tossed out during internal medicine rounds.”

“A hereditary disease!” Stephanie remarked. “Well, that’s exactly why I don’t like to criticize people’s basic appearances. Does this syndrome have any serious health consequences?”

“I can’t remember,” Daniel admitted.

The light changed, and they motored over the bridge. The view of the Nassau harbor was engaging, and neither spoke until they got to the other side.

“Hey!” Daniel blurted. He veered into a lane for making a right-hand turn across traffic and came to a stop. “What about heading over to this shopping plaza to get ourselves some more clothes? At the very least, we need bathing suits so we can visit the beach. After the FedEx package gets here, there’s not going to be much opportunity to take advantage of Nassau’s pleasures.”

“Let’s go back to the hotel first. It’s time to give Father Maloney a call. By now, he should be back in New York, and maybe he has some information about our luggage. What clothes we buy will depend on whether we’re going to get it or not.”

“Good point!” Daniel said. He changed his turn signals and looked over his shoulder as he drove back into the line of traffic heading east.

A few minutes later, Daniel drove the car past the hotel’s parking area and directly up to the front of the hotel. Liveried doormen came to both sides of the car and opened the doors simultaneously.

“You’re not going to park it in the lot?” Stephanie questioned.

“Let’s leave the car here with the doormen,” Daniel said. “We’ll give Father Maloney a try, but whether or not we get him, I want to go back and get us bathing suits.”

“Fine by me,” Stephanie said, as she slid out of the car. After the stress of the morning, a little shopping plus a relaxing visit to the beach sounded glorious.

As if he’d had a shot of speed, Gaetano felt his pulse quicken and the hairs rise up on the back of his neck. Finally, after lots of false alarms, the two people coming in through the front doors of the hotel looked like the pair he was searching for. He quickly withdrew the photo he had in the pocket of his flower-print shirt. While the couple was still in view, he compared their faces with those in the photograph. “Bingo,” he said under his breath. He replaced the photo and glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to three. He shrugged. If the professor cooperated by either going for a long walk or, better yet, heading back into town, where the two of them must have been, Gaetano might make the evening flight to Boston after all.

The couple disappeared from view to Gaetano’s right, apparently walking through the lobby, past the registration desks. Without causing a scene by hurrying, Gaetano replaced the magazine he’d been perusing, picked up his jacket, which he’d draped over the back of the sofa, smiled at the bartender, who’d been nice enough to engage him in chitchat, which had kept the hotel security from becoming suspicious, and headed after the couple. By the time he got outside, they were out of sight.

Gaetano headed along the serpentine walkway that wended its way among flowering trees and high bushes. He wasn’t concerned that he couldn’t see the couple, since he assumed they were headed to their room, and he knew exactly where room 108 was located. As he walked, he regretted his instructions not to confront the professor in the hotel. It would have been so much easier than having to wait for the man to leave the premises.

Gaetano caught sight of his quarry just as they were entering their building. He walked around to the ocean side, and found a strategically situated hammock stretched between two palm trees. After draping his jacket over one of the ropes, he gingerly climbed aboard. From that convenient vantage point, he would see them if they went to the beach, the pool, or any other of the hotel attractions. There wasn’t much more he could do but wait and watch and hope their plans took them away from the hotel.

As the minutes passed, Gaetano’s heart rate settled back to normal, although he was still titillated by the anticipation of imminent physical action. He was about as comfortable as he could imagine, with his head propped up on a little canvas pillow attached to the hammock and one foot out on the ground to gently sway himself. Only a smattering of sunlight sifted through the palm fronds overhead, which was a godsend. If he’d been in the direct sun, he would have broiled.

A woman in a skimpy bikini and a see-through cover-up walked by and smiled. Gaetano gave a wave in return, which nearly upended him. As far as he knew, he’d never been in a hammock before, and since it was stretched rather tightly between the trees, it wasn’t as steady as he imagined. He felt better gripping both sides.

Gaetano was about to risk checking his watch when he saw the couple. Instead of going to the beach, they were on the walkway, heading back to the lobby. More important, they were dressed as they had been earlier. Gaetano didn’t want to jinx himself, but attired as they were, they weren’t going to the pool for damn sure, and just maybe they might be heading back out of the hotel.

In an attempt to get out of the hammock quickly, Gaetano caused it to flip completely over, resulting in his being ignominiously dumped face-first on the ground. He scrambled to his feet and was further embarrassed when he discovered that two toddlers and their mother had witnessed his fall.

He brushed off blades of grass adhering to the front of his slacks and picked up his sunglasses. It irritated him that both kids had smirks on their faces at his expense, and for a second, he thought about teaching them a lesson about respect. Luckily, the family moved on, although one of the brats looked back over his shoulder, with a mocking smile still plastered to his face. Gaetano gave him the finger. He then grabbed his jacket and took off after the couple.

This time, Gaetano ran, since it was now important to keep them in sight. He caught up with them before they reached the central building, and he slowed to a walk. He was breathing heavily. When they entered the lobby, Gaetano was right behind them. He was close enough to hear them talk. He was also close enough to appreciate that Stephanie was even more comely than her photograph suggested.

“Why don’t you have them pull the car up,” Stephanie was saying. “I’ll be out in a second. I want to check with the concierge whether we need a reservation for dinner tonight in the courtyard.”

“Fine,” Daniel said agreeably.

Suppressing a smile to hide his delight, Gaetano reversed course and exited the lobby area through the door he’d just come in. Walking quickly, he beat it out to the parking lot and jumped into the Cherokee. After getting it started, he drove back toward the front of the hotel, positioning the car so he could see the roundabout and the porte cochere. Directly in front of the hotel entrance was a blue Mercury Marquis with its engine idling. Stephanie appeared from within and climbed into the front passenger seat.

“Score!” Gaetano happily said out loud. He looked at his watch. It was a quarter past three. Suddenly, things seemed to be falling into place.

The Mercury Marquis started forward and passed directly in front of Gaetano. Gaetano fell in behind, close enough at first to commit the license plate to memory. He then dropped back.

“What did you think about my conversation with Father Maloney?” Stephanie asked.

“I’m just as confused about him as I was the day we left Turin.”

“Me too,” Stephanie agreed. “I was hoping he’d be a bit more forthcoming than he was back in Italy about divine intervention and his merely being the Good Lord’s servant. But, hey, at least he’s supposedly arranged for us to get our luggage. With us being fugitives and with what I know about lost luggage, that’s got to be evidence of divine intervention.”

“Maybe so, but without having any idea when it might arrive, it’s not much help in the short run.”

“Well, I’m going to think positively about it being soon, so my shopping is going to be restricted to a bathing suit and a few basics.”

Daniel pulled into the strip mall’s parking area and drove along the storefronts, pausing in front of a woman’s clothing store immediately adjacent to a men’s shop. Both window displays were tastefully done. The clothes looked European.

“Isn’t this convenient,” Daniel commented as he parked the car. He looked at his watch. “Let’s meet back here at the car in half an hour.”

“Sounds good to me,” Stephanie said, as she stepped out of the vehicle.

With his heart rate back up to where it had been when he first saw the couple coming into the hotel, Gaetano nosed into a parking space that afforded a direct route back onto the street and hence directly over the bridge to Nassau. It was always important to provide a quick getaway in his line of work. He turned off the engine and looked back over his shoulder. He watched while the couple split up, with the professor going toward a men’s haberdashery, while Tony’s sister headed for an adjacent woman’s shop.

Gaetano couldn’t believe his luck. The question of how to deal with the woman while he took care of business with the professor had been a nagging concern, since by decree, she was supposed to be left out of the action. Now she wouldn’t be a problem, as long as the professor provided an appropriate opportunity while he was alone. Unsure how long he would be alone, Gaetano leaped out of the Cherokee. As he quickened his step to a jog, his anticipatory fervor soared. For him, the necessary maneuvering as he closed in on a mark was like foreplay in a self-fulfilling cycle of excitement, while the resulting violence was very nearly orgasmic. In fact, for him, the entire experience was similar to sex but better.

It was a relief for Daniel to be by himself, even for only thirty minutes. Stephanie’s carping about her conscience was getting on his nerves. Finding out Spencer Wingate et al. were into questionable activities was hardly a surprise, especially after what she had reported learning during her Internet search. He hoped that her current bothersome self-righteousness wasn’t going to cause her to lose sight of the big picture and get in the way. He could do without her, but he’d been truthful when he admitted she was better than he when it came to cellular manipulation.

Daniel did not like to shop, and as he entered the haberdashery, he intended to make the visit quick so he could go back out to the car and just sit and relax. All he wanted to buy was a few pairs of underpants, a bathing suit, and some appropriate clothes for work, such as khaki pants and short-sleeve shirts. In London, Stephanie had talked him into buying slacks, two dress shirts, and a tweed jacket, so he was fine in that arena.

The interior of the shop was surprisingly large, despite its modest storefront, since it was deep. Just inside the door was a sizable golf and smaller tennis section, while everyday apparel was farther back. The temperature was pleasantly cool. The air was scented with cologne mixed with the odor of new fabric. Classical music issued from a multitude of wall speakers. The décor was decidedly clubby, with lots of dark red mahogany, horse prints, and dark green carpeting. There were a half dozen other shoppers, all of whom were in the golf area. Each was being helped by a salesperson.

No one came to greet Daniel, which he preferred. Officious haberdashers had always put him off with their condescending manner, as if they were paragons of good taste. When it came to clothes Daniel was Ivy League conservative. He essentially wore what he’d worn in college. Unaccosted and unaccompanied, he passed through the sports section and headed into the depths of the store.

Since he knew it would be easy, Daniel started with the bathing-suit quest. He found the appropriate section and then his size. After flipping through a few on the rack of dozens, he pulled out a solid, dark-blue, medium boxer. He thought that would do just fine. Immediately adjacent to the bathing suits was the underwear section. He was a classic brief man, and he found his size with ease.

With only a few of his thirty minutes of reprieve gone, Daniel went to the shirt section. He passed up the majority, which were flower prints in bright, tropical colors, and zeroed in on button-down oxfords with short sleeves. He found his size and took two in blue. With the bathing suit, underwear, and shirts in hand, he walked to the pants section. It was equally hard to find plain khakis, but he did, although with the pants, he wasn’t sure of the size. Reluctantly, he took several of varying lengths and looked for the dressing rooms. He found them at the very back of the store beyond the deserted suits and sport jackets section.

There were four changing cubicles arranged along the back of a mahogany-paneled fitting room. The fitting room was reached by pushing through a pair of swinging doors. Three-way mirrors graced the end walls. Each cubicle had a paneled door that stood open. The first dressing room on the right was twice the size of the other three, and Daniel headed there.

Inside, he found a single upholstered chair, several clothes hooks, and a floor-to-ceiling mirror. Daniel closed and locked the door, put his intended purchases on the chair, and hung the pants on the hooks. After kicking off his shoes, he undid his belt and slipped out of his slacks. Taking the first pair of pants, he was about to pull them on when a reverberating thud preceded the changing-room door being rudely kicked open with such force to cause it to smash against the wall hard enough to drive the doorknob through the plasterboard. Daniel’s heart leaped into his throat as a feeble moan escaped from his lips.

Literally caught with his pants down, Daniel merely stared at the hulking intruder, who closed the door despite the splintered casing. The man then stepped over to the startled Daniel, who looked up into a pair of dark, metallic eyes peering out of an oversized head capped with black hair in a buzz cut. Before Daniel could respond, the pants he was holding were ripped from his grasp and tossed to the side.

At the exact moment Daniel found his voice to start to protest, a fist came out of nowhere and smashed into the side of his face, rupturing capillaries in his nose and crushing others in his lower right eyelid. Propelled backward, Daniel slammed against the mirror before collapsing to a sitting position with his legs crumpled beneath him. The image of the attacker swam before him. Only partially aware of what was happening and offering no resistance, Daniel was yanked upright before he was sent sprawling into the upholstered chair on top of the clothes he’d intended to buy. He could feel blood trickle out of his nose, and he could barely see out of his right eye.

“Listen, asshole,” Gaetano growled. He poked his head close to Daniel’s face. “I’m going to make this short. My bosses, the Castigliano brothers, in the name of all stockholders in your freaking company, want you to get your ass back up north and put the company back on track. You hear me?”

Daniel tried to talk, but his vocal cords wouldn’t respond. Instead, he nodded his head.

“It’s not a complicated message,” Gaetano continued. “They feel it’s disrespectful for you to be frolicking down here in the sun while their hundred-grand investment is on the rocks.”

“We’re trying…” Daniel managed, but his voice was a high-pitched squeak.

“Yeah, sure you’re trying,” Gaetano scoffed. “You and your hot-ticket girlfriend. But it doesn’t look that way to my bosses, who would much prefer you do your trying back in Beantown. And whether the company tanks or not, my bosses are going to expect their money back, no matter what kind of fancy lawyers you might employ. You understand?”

“Yes, but…”

“No buts,” Gaetano interrupted. “I’m making this crystal clear. You gotta tell me you understand! Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Daniel croaked.

“Good,” Gaetano said. “But just to be sure, I have something else I want you to think about.”

Without warning, Gaetano hit Daniel again. This time, it was on the left side of Daniel’s head, but in contrast to the first blow, Gaetano used an open hand. Nonetheless, it was a powerful whack that landed with enough force to propel Daniel out of the chair like a ragdoll and onto the floor.

The side of Daniel’s face was stinging, and a high-pitched ringing sounded in his ear. He felt Gaetano nudge him with his foot before grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head off the carpet. Daniel opened his eyes. He squinted at the backlit image of his assailant hovering over him.

“Can I feel confident you have gotten the message?” Gaetano demanded. “Because I want you to know I could have hurt you bad. I hope you understand that. But at the moment, we don’t want you hurt so bad that you can’t get your company back on its feet. Of course, that might change if I have to fly the hell back down here from Boston. You catch my drift?”

“I get the message,” Daniel squeaked.

Gaetano let Daniel’s hair go, and his head bounced down on the carpet. Daniel kept his eyes closed.

“That’s all for now,” Gaetano said. “I hope I don’t have to come and visit you again.”

A moment later, Daniel heard the door to the changing room creak open and then shut again. All was quiet.