Sterling sipped his drink and gazed out the window at the superb view. As usual, his room was on a high floor overlooking the magical Boston Garden. As the sunlight waned, the park’s lamps lining the serpentine walkways had blinked on, illuminating the swan boat pond with its miniature suspension bridge. Although it was early March, the recent cold snap had frozen the pond solid. Skaters dotted its mirrored surface, weaving in effortless, intersecting arcs.
Raising his eyes, Sterling could see the fading dazzle of the gold-domed Massachusetts State House. Ruefully he bemoaned the sad fact that the legislature had systematically destroyed its own tax base by enacting short-sighted, anti-business legislation. Unfortunately Sterling had lost a number of good clients who’d either been forced to flee to a more business-oriented state or forced to leave business altogether. Nevertheless, Sterling enjoyed his trips to Boston. It was such a civilized city.
Pulling the phone over to the edge of the table, Sterling wanted to finish work for the day before he indulged in dinner. Not that he found work a burden. Quite the contrary. Sterling loved his current employ, especially considering that he didn’t have to work at all. He’d trained at Stanford in computer engineering, worked for Big Blue for several years, then founded his own successful computer chip company, all before he was thirty. By his middle thirties he was tired of an unfulfilling life, a bad marriage, and the stultifying routine of running a business. First he divorced, then he took his company public and made a fortune. Then he engineered a buyout and made another fortune. By age forty he could have bought a sizable portion of the State of California if he’d so desired.
For almost one year he indulged himself in the adolescence he felt he’d somehow missed. Eventually, he got extremely bored with such places as Aspen. That was when a business friend asked him if he would look into a private matter for him. From that moment on, Sterling had been launched on a new career which was stimulating, never routine, rarely dull, and which utilized his engineering background, his business acumen, his imagination, and his intuitive sense for human behavior.
Sterling called Randolph Mason at home. Dr. Mason took the call from his private line in his study.
“I’m not sure you will be happy about what I’ve learned,” Sterling said.
“It’s better I learn it sooner rather than later,” Dr. Mason responded.
“This young Sean Murphy is an impressive young fellow,” Sterling said. “He founded his own biotechnology company called Immunotherapy while a graduate student at MIT. The company turned a profit almost from day one marketing diagnostic kits.”
“How’s it doing now?”
“Wonderfully,” Sterling said. “It’s a winner. It’s done so well that Genentech bought them out over a year ago.”
“Indeed!” Dr. Mason said. A ray of sunshine entered the picture. “Where does that leave Sean Murphy?”
“He and his young friends realized a considerable profit,” Sterling said. “Considering their initial investment, it was extremely lucrative indeed.”
“So Sean’s no longer involved?” Dr. Mason asked.
“He’s completely out,” Sterling said. “Is that helpful?”
“I’d say so,” Dr. Mason said. “I could use the kid’s experience with monoclonals, but not if he’s got a production facility behind him. It would be too risky.”
“He could still sell the information to someone else,” Sterling said. “Or he could be in someone else’s employ.”
“Can you find that out?”
“Most likely,” Sterling said. “Do you want me to continue on this?”
“Absolutely,” Dr. Mason said. “I want to use the kid but not if he’s some kind of industrial spy.”
“I’ve learned something else,” Sterling said as he poured himself more champagne. “Someone besides myself has been investigating Sean Murphy. His name is Tanaka Yamaguchi.”
Dr. Mason felt the tortellini in his stomach turn upside down.
“Have you ever heard of this man?” Sterling asked.
“No,” Dr. Mason said. He’d not heard of him, but with a name like that, the implications were obvious.
“My assumption would be he’s working for Sushita,” Sterling said. “And I know that he is aware of Sean Murphy’s involvement with Immunotherapy. I know because Sean’s mother told him.”
“He’d been to see Sean’s mother?” Dr. Mason asked with alarm.
“As have I,” Sterling said.
“But then Sean will know he’s being investigated,” Dr. Mason sputtered.
“Nothing wrong in that,” Sterling said. “If Sean is an industrial spy, it will give him pause. If he’s not, it will only be a matter of curiosity or at worst a minor irritation. Sean’s reaction should not be your concern. You should be worried about Tanaka Yamaguchi.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never met Tanaka,” Sterling said. “But I have heard a lot about him since we’re competitors of sorts. He came to the United States many years ago for college. He’s the eldest son of a wealthy industrial family, heavy machinery I believe. The problem was he adapted to ‘degenerate’ American ways a bit too easily for the family’s honor. He was swiftly Americanized and became too individualistic for Japanese tastes. The family decided they didn’t want him home so they funded a lavish lifestyle. It’s been a kind of exile, but he’s been clever to augment his allowance by doing what I do, only for Japanese companies operating in the U.S. But he’s like a double agent of sorts, frequently representing the Yakusa at the same time he’s representing a legitimate firm. He’s clever, he’s ruthless, and he’s effective. The fact that he’s involved means your Sushita friends are serious.”
“You think he was involved with our two researchers who disappeared and whom you found happily working for Sushita in Japan?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Sterling said.
“I can’t afford to have this Harvard student disappear,” Dr. Mason said. “That would be the kind of media event that could destroy the Forbes.”
“I don’t think there is a worry for the moment,” Sterling said. “My sources tell me Tanaka is still here in Boston. Since he has access to a lot of the same information as I, he must think Sean Murphy is involved in something else.”
“Like what?” Dr. Mason asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sterling said. “I haven’t been able to locate all that money those kids made when they sold Immunotherapy. Neither Sean nor his friends have any personal money to speak of, and none of them indulged themselves with expensive cars or other high-ticket items. I think they are up to something, and I believe Tanaka thinks so too.”
“Good God!” Dr. Mason said. “I don’t know what to do. Maybe I should send the kid home.”
“If you think Sean can help you with that protein work you told me about,” Sterling said, “then hold tight. I believe I have everything under control. I have made inquiries with numerous contacts, and because of the computer industry here, I’m well connected. All you have to do is tell me to remain on the case and continue paying the bills.”
“Keep on it,” Dr. Mason said. “And keep me informed.”
5
March 4
Thursday, 6:30 A.M.
Janet was up, dressed in her white uniform, and out of the apartment early since her shift ran from seven to three. At that time of the morning there was very little traffic on I95, especially northbound. She and Sean had discussed driving together but in the end decided it would be better if each had their own wheels.
Janet felt a little queasy entering the Forbes Hospital that morning. Her anxiety went beyond the usual nervousness associated with starting a new job. The prospect of breaking rules was what had her on edge and tense. She already felt guilty to a degree; it was guilt by intent.