Adam washed his face quickly and tried to wipe Alan’s hands, which were coated with blood. Worse still, there were several raw patches on his head, where Alan had torn out clumps of his hair. Adam mopped at them with little result. Well, there was nothing more he could do. He lifted Alan onto the wheelchair and was about to push him out the door when he spotted a full hypodermic lying on the floor. He picked it up, deciding it would be useful if Alan had another fit.
As he approached the gate, Adam saw the plane was in the final boarding process.
“Hold it,” he yelled. Two Delta agents eyed him curiously. Then one of them said, “Are you the two who were stranded on the sailboat?”
“That’s right,” said Adam, handing over the tickets.
“The agent at the ticket counter said to expect you. We thought that perhaps you’d changed your minds.”
“Heavens, no,” said Adam. “It’s just been hard getting my friend motivated.”
The agent looked at Alan, whose head was lolling sideways. “He’s not drunk, is he?”
“Hell, no,” said Adam. “He got pretty scraped up when we capsized. They had to give him a painkiller, and it seems to have knocked him out.”
“Oh, I see,” said the agent, handing Adam the boarding cards. “Seats 2A and 2B. Will you need a wheelchair in Atlanta?”
“That would be nice,” said Adam. “Actually, we’ll be going on to Washington. Could you make those arrangements for us?”
“Absolutely,” said the agent.
Adam wheeled Alan down the jetway with a sense of relief. The stewardesses were less than enthusiastic when they saw the pair board, but they helped Alan out of the wheelchair and listened politely as Adam ran through his shipwreck story one more time. The plane was only half full, and most of the other passengers were asleep. Adam decided to close his eyes too and slept all the way to Atlanta except for the few minutes when he woke to wolf down breakfast.
Adam dreaded the transfer, thinking that there might be trouble. But a Delta agent had a wheelchair waiting and ticketed them straight through to Washington. The layover was only forty minutes, but it gave Adam a chance to call Jennifer. Luckily, she answered herself.
“Jennifer, everything is going to be all right. I can explain everything.”
“Oh,” she said vaguely.
“Just promise me you won’t have the abortion until I get there.”
“The hearing is this morning,” said Jennifer, “and I won’t do anything today, but if you’re not here by tomorrow…” Her voice trailed off.
“Jennifer, I love you. I have to get to the plane now. We’re just taking off from Atlanta.”
“Atlanta?” said Jennifer, completely confused. “And who’s ‘we’?”
“Adam?” asked Margaret Weintrob, her nimble fingers coming to an abrupt halt on her typewriter. “Is that you?”
Arm in arm, like drunken buddies, Adam and Alan staggered past the startled secretary’s desk.
“Adam!” shouted Mrs. Weintrob, starting to rise. “You can’t go in your father’s office. He has…”
But Adam had already opened the door.
The two well-dressed men sitting across from Dr. Schonberg turned in surprise. Momentarily speechless, Dr. Schonberg sat helplessly as Adam asked the two men to wait outside.
“Adam,” said Dr. Schonberg finally, “what on earth is the meaning of this?”
“Did you take any action on the charges we discussed the last time I was here?” asked Adam.
“No, not yet.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Adam. “You said that you needed more evidence. Well, I’ve brought all the proof you’ll ever want. Come over here and meet Dr. Alan Jackson of the University of California. He has just come from one of the famous Arolen cruises. And made a short stop at the research center in Puerto Rico.”
“Is the man drunk?” asked Dr. Schonberg.
“No,” said Adam. “Drugged and a victim of psychosurgery. Come over here. I’ll show you.”
Dr. Schonberg approached Alan cautiously, as if he expected the man to leap suddenly out of his chair.
Adam gently tilted Alan’s head so his father could see the small incisions where the electrodes had been implanted.
“They implanted some kind of remote-control device there,” said Adam, his voice softer and shaded with compassion. “But I got Alan out before they ‘conditioned’ him. As soon as his drug wears off, he’ll be able to tell you at least some of what happened. And I know he will agree to have the electrodes removed and examined.”
Dr. Schonberg looked up at his son after examining the incisions on the sides of Alan’s head. He was silent for a moment and then turned on the intercom and said, “Margaret, I want you to call Bernard Niepold at the Justice Department. Tell him it is urgent that I see him immediately. And call the Bethesda Naval Hospital and tell them to expect a confidential patient under my signature. And I want a twenty-four-hour guard.”
EPILOGUE
Jennifer was exhausted. Despite all of the childbirth classes she’d attended, she’d not been prepared for the real thing. Giving birth was both better and worse than she’d expected. No amount of reading or hearing about other women’s experiences could have readied her for this unique and passionate event.
The pain of labor had been intense yet strangely thrilling, but as the hours had gone by, she had felt progressively drained. She wondered if she would find the strength. Then the pain came more often and for longer periods until finally, from somewhere deep in her being, came a new burst of energy. She felt an irresistible urge, half voluntary, half involuntary, to push and bear down. A crescendo of pressure made her feel she was stretched to her limit, yet still she pushed and held her breath.
Suddenly, there was an almost sensuous release, accompanied by a gush of fluid and the thrilling squeal of a newborn infant exercising its vocal cords for the first time.
Opening her eyes, Jennifer gripped Adam’s hand with what little strength she had remaining. Looking up into his face, she could see that his attention was directed down between her outstretched legs. With a terrible feeling of dread, she watched him. No test had been able to dispel the worry she had about the health and well-being of the child within her. Doctors at University Hospital had repeated the amniocentesis and had reported that the baby was normal, but with all that had happened, Jennifer had had trouble believing it.
She watched Adam to see what glimpse of disaster would register on his face. She wanted to know how their child was from him, not from seeing for herself. As she expected, he didn’t smile and didn’t blink. After what seemed too long a time, he lowered his eyes to meet hers, cradling her head with his hands as he did so. He spoke softly, sensitive to her feelings. First he told her he loved her!
Jennifer’s heart seemed to stop. She held her breath, although the physical pain had ceased, and waited for the inevitable, dreaded news. In her heart she had known all along. She shouldn’t have listened to anyone, she told herself. She’d had a bad feeling ever since the mixup at the Julian lab, never mind that it had been done on purpose.
Adam wetted his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. “We have a beautiful, healthy boy, Jennifer. Luckily, he looks like you.”
It took a moment for Adam’s words to sink in. When she finally comprehended, tears of happiness and thanksgiving welled in her eyes. She tried to speak but couldn’t. She swallowed. Then she reached up and pulled Adam down and hugged his head as hard as she could. His laugh gave voice to the joy and relief in her heart. All she could think to do was thank God.
Adam collected himself, smoothed out his surgical scrub suit, and stepped from the delivery area into University Hospital’s obstetrical waiting room. One glance was enough. It was hard to believe, but the message he’d gotten during the last stages of Jennifer’s labor had been correct. Sitting among a group of expectant fathers was his own, Dr. David Schonberg.