Sean gave a scornful laugh. “Please! We’re not giving ourselves up. Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, they’re looking for me. They want to talk with me. If worse comes to worst, I’ll take the rap. But it’s not going to come to that. I put in a call to Brian. He knows people in Miami. He’ll fix it.”
“Did you speak to Brian?” Janet asked.
“No, not yet,” Sean admitted. “But I left a message on his answering machine. When we get to the hotel, I’ll try again and leave the hotel number if he’s still not in. By the way, did you bring your credit card?”
“Of course I brought my credit card,” Janet said.
“Thank heaven for your trust fund,” Sean said. He reached over and gave Janet’s knee a playful slap. “I made a reservation at the Ritz Carlton. The Quality Inn was full.”
Janet stared out the passenger-side window, wondering what she was doing with her life. It had nothing to do with the credit card issue. She didn’t mind picking up the tab every now and again. Sean was generous with his money when he had it, and she had more than enough. What bothered her was the fact that they were wanted by the police. It was gallant of Sean to offer to take the rap alone, but Janet knew she couldn’t let him do it even if it did fly, which it probably wouldn’t. Whoever had seen that license plate had seen her too. Falling in love with Sean seemed to be bringing her nothing but grief, first emotionally and now potentially professionally. She wasn’t sure how the Forbes Center would react to having a nurse on staff who was charged with God knows what in connection with a funeral home break-in. She couldn’t think of too many employers who would view that kind of record as a plus.
Janet was on the verge of panic, yet there was Sean, as calm and cocky as ever. He really seemed to be enjoying himself. How he could be so cool and collected knowing the Miami police were searching for him was beyond her. She wondered if she would ever truly understand him.
“What’s the story with Naples, Florida?” Janet asked, deciding to change the subject. “You said you’d explain once we were on our way.”
“Very simple,” Sean said. “One of the patients from that group of thirty-three lives in Naples. His name is Malcolm Betencourt.”
“One of the medulloblastoma patients in remission?” Janet asked.
“Yup,” Sean said. “One of the first to be treated. He’s been in remission for almost two years.”
“What do you plan to do?”
“Call him up.”
“And say what?”
“I don’t know exactly,” Sean said. “I’ll have to improvise. I think it would be interesting to hear about the Forbes treatment from the patient’s point of view. I’m especially curious as to what they told him. They had to have told him something just to get the informed consent forms signed.”
“What makes you think he’ll talk to you?” Janet asked.
“How could he resist my Irish charm?” Sean said.
“Seriously,” Janet said. “People don’t like to talk about their infirmities.”
“Infirmities, perhaps,” Sean admitted. “But recovery from an otherwise terminal illness is something else. You’d be surprised. People love to talk about that kind of thing and the world-famous doctor who made it happen. Have you ever noticed how people like to think their doctor is world famous, even if he practices someplace like Malden or Revere?”
“I think you have a lot of chutzpah,” Janet said. She wasn’t convinced that Malcolm Betencourt would be receptive to Sean’s call, but she also knew she wouldn’t be able to do anything to prevent Sean from trying. Besides, except for this new worry about the Miami police, the idea of a weekend away was still delicious, even if Sean had an ulterior aim in mind. She even thought that she and Sean might finally have a moment to talk about their future. After all, aside from Malcolm Betencourt, she’d have Sean to herself without interruption.
“How did you make out with the sample of Louis Martin’s medicine?” Janet asked. She thought she’d keep the conversation light until they got to dinner. She could imagine a candlelight dinner on a terrace overlooking the sea. Then she’d talk about commitment and love.
Sean flashed Janet a look of frustration. “I was interrupted by the charming head of research,” he said. “She read me the riot act and told me I had to go back to the Forbes glycoprotein baloney. She really caught me off guard; for once words failed me. I couldn’t think of anything clever to say.”
“I’m sorry,” Janet said.
“Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later,” Sean said. “But even before the harpy showed up I wasn’t doing that great. I haven’t been able to get Helen’s medicine to react with any antigen, cellular, viral, or bacterial. But you must be right about the medicine all coming from a single batch. I ran a sample of Louis’s medicine against Helen’s tumor and it reacted just as strongly at the same dilutions as Helen’s.”
“So they use the same medicine,” Janet said. “What’s the big deal? When people are treated with an antibiotic, they all get the same drug. Labeling the drug for each patient is probably more a matter of control than anything else.”
“But cancer immunotherapy is not comparable to antibiotics,” Sean said. “Like I said before, cancers are antigenically distinct, even the same type of cancer.”
“I thought one of the tenets of scientific reasoning involved the issue of an exception,” Janet said. “If an exception is found to a hypothesis then one is forced to reconsider the original hypothesis.”
“Yeah, but...” Sean said, but he hesitated. Janet was making good sense. The fact was that Forbes was getting one hundred percent remission, apparently with medication that was not individualized. Sean had seen that success documented in the thirty-three cases. Therefore, there had to be an error in his insistence on the immunological specificity of cancer cells.
“You have to admit I have a point,” Janet persisted.
“Okay,” Sean said, “but I still think there’s something strange with all this. Something I’m missing.”
“Obviously,” Janet said. “You don’t know what antigen the immunoglobulin reacts with. That’s what’s missing. Once you figure that out maybe everything else will fall into place. Let’s see what a relaxing weekend will do for your creativity. Maybe by Monday you’ll have an idea that will get you around this apparent roadblock.”
After passing through the heart of the Everglades, Sean and Janet began to see signs of civilization. First there was an isolated resort or two, then the road expanded to four lanes. Quickly the saw grass gave way to strip malls, convenience gas station/food stores, and miniature golf courses equally as ugly as on the Miami side.
“I’d heard Naples was upscale,” Janet said. “This hardly looks upscale.”
“Let’s hold our verdict until we get to the Gulf,” Sean said.
The road suddenly turned north, and the unattractive profusion of unrestricted signs and commercial development continued.
“How can so many strip malls survive?” Janet asked.
“It’s one of the mysteries of American culture,” Sean said.
With map in hand, Janet did the navigating. She gave Sean plenty of warning before they had to turn left toward the water.
“It’s starting to look a bit more promising,” Sean said.
After a mile or so of more scenic vistas, the Mediterranean-style Ritz Carlton loomed out of the mangroves to the left of the road. The profusion of lush tropical plants and exotic flowers was staggering.
“Ah, home!” Sean said as they pulled beneath the porte cochere.
A man in a blue morning coat and a black top hat opened their car doors. “Welcome to the Ritz Carlton,” the liveried gentleman said.