“Are you responsible for this disaster?” sputtered Mrs. Carson.
Adam was too upset to answer. Was it a disaster to prevent an unnecessary abortion? Close to tears himself, he turned and walked blindly to the elevator. Once out on the street, he checked his wallet. Only three dollars and some change left. He decided he’d better take the subway to Emmet Redford’s Fifth Avenue office.
“Sorry about my clothes,” said Adam when the secretary ushered him in. “I didn’t want to waste any time going home to change.”
Mr. Redford nodded, although he was disturbed by Adam’s appearance. In fact, he was disturbed by the whole case. Though he’d arranged for the restraining order, he felt Adam’s claims were dubious at best, especially in light of the information he’d just received from the assistant he had assigned the case to.
“I think I should be frank,” Redford began. “I agreed to help out as a favor to Harvey, but there are a number of points that seriously trouble me.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said Adam. “I think the Julian Clinic is deliberately doing unnecessary abortions.”
“I see,” said Redford, taking in Adam’s unkempt hair and unshaven face.
“But the real problem,” continued Adam, “is that Arolen Pharmaceuticals and its parent company, MTIC, have an elaborate program involving drugs and even brain surgery to influence the way doctors practice medicine.”
This man is nuts, thought Redford with dismay.
Adam’s voice became more urgent. “But now that I’ve learned all this,” he said, “I don’t know what to do about it.”
“I can understand your dilemma,” said Redford, wondering if Adam were potentially violent. He certainly seemed excitable. Redford pressed a concealed button under his desk and said, “Mr. Schonberg, do you mind if I ask a personal question?”
“Not at all,” said Adam.
“Have you ever sought professional help for your obsessions? I think that might be in everyone’s best interest.”
“What I’m telling you is true,” protested Adam.
There was a soft knock on the door. Redford got up to open it and told his secretary to ask Mr. Stupenski to join them. “I’m afraid a grand jury wouldn’t give much credence to your allegations,” he said to Adam while they waited.
Adam searched the lawyer’s face for some hint that the man believed him. There was none.
“I guess you’re right,” admitted Adam. “The only proof I have is what I saw.”
The door opened again and a young man wearing a pin-striped suit identical to Redford ’s came into the room.
“This is my associate, Mr. Stupenski,” said Redford.
Adam said hello and then tried once more to convince Redford that his story was true. “They drug the food on the cruises and supplement those doses with yellow pills that have to be some kind of tranquilizer.”
“So you say, Mr. Schonberg, but the problem is you have no proof,” repeated Redford.
The lawyers exchanged knowing glances. Adam stared at them in frustration.
“I think I should tell you that given the amniocentesis report that the clinic showed Mr. Stupenski, I’m sorry we went about getting the restraining order,” said Redford. “As it is, it remains in force only until the emergency hearing three days from now, and since I’m certainly not going to argue for the motion, you can expect it will be rescinded at that time. Good day, Mr. Schonberg.”
It took Adam a moment to realize that the interview was over.
Four hours later, washed and shaved and dressed in his best suit, Adam was sitting outside his father’s office waiting for Dr. Schonberg to finish with his last appointment. It was after six o’clock.
When Dr. Schonberg was finally free, he listened with some impatience to what even Adam had to admit sounded farfetched.
“I simply can’t believe this,” he told Adam. “Look, if it will make you feel better, let me call Peter Davenport of the AMA. He’s the guy who certifies the courses for CME credits. He’s been on several of the cruises himself.”
Dr. Schonberg dialed Davenport at home and jovially asked his opinion of the Arolen cruises. After listening for a few minutes, he thanked the man and hung up.
“Pete says the seminars on the Fjord are completely above board. Some of the evening entertainment was a little risqué, but otherwise the conferences were among the best he’s attended.”
“He was probably drugged like the rest of them,” said Adam.
“Adam, please,” said Dr. Schonberg. “You are being ridiculous. MTIC has been sponsoring seminars and medical conventions either under its own auspices or through Arolen Pharmaceuticals for over a decade. The cruises have been going on for five years.”
“That may be,” said Adam, losing hope of convincing even his own father, “but I swear to you they are drugging the doctors and subjecting them to rigorous behavior modification. They even operate on certain people. I saw the scars on Dr. Vandermer myself. I think they are controlling him through some kind of remote-control device.”
Dr. Schonberg rolled his eyes. “Even given the small amount of psychiatry that you’ve had, Adam, I would think you would be able to recognize how paranoid your story sounds.”
Adam abruptly stood up and started for the door.
“Wait,” called Dr. Schonberg. “Come back here for a minute.”
Adam hesitated, wondering if his father would relent.
Dr. Schonberg tilted back his chair. “Let’s say for the sake of discussion that there is something to your story.”
“That’s gracious of you,” said Adam.
“What would you have me do? I’m the director of new products for the FDA and I can’t espouse a wild theory like yours. But seeing you are so upset, perhaps I should go on one of these cruises and see for myself.”
“No,” interrupted Adam. “Don’t go on the cruise. Please.”
“Well, what would you like me to do?”
“I guess I want you to start an investigation.”
“I’ll make you a deal,” said Dr. Schonberg. “If you agree to see a psychiatrist and explore the possibility that you may be experiencing some sort of paranoid reaction, I’ll make further explorations into Arolen.”
Adam took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. If one more person suggested that he see a shrink, he’d scream.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said. “I’ll give your offer some serious thought.”
As he rode back to the airport, Adam wondered just what kind of treatment Arolen had given Pete Davenport of the AMA and how much of the medical profession was under MTIC’s control.
Adam landed at LaGuardia around nine and took a cab back to the city. The thought of returning to his empty apartment was depressing, and he was very concerned about Jennifer. Although he dreaded having to drive out to Englewood and brave the Carsons’ anger, he didn’t feel he had much choice. He had to talk to Jennifer.
There were no lights on at the Carson house when he pulled into the drive. Cautiously, he walked up the front steps and pressed the doorbell. He was surprised when the door opened almost immediately.
“Your headlights shone right into our bedroom,” Mr. Carson said angrily. “What on earth do you want at this hour?”
“I’m sorry if I woke you,” said Adam, “but I need to speak to Jennifer.”
Mr. Carson folded his sizable arms across his chest. “Well, you have some nerve. I’ll give you credit for that, but my daughter refuses to speak to you. Maybe she’ll change her mind after a few days, but for the moment…”
“I’m afraid that I must insist,” said Adam. “You see, I don’t believe she needs an abortion…”
Mr. Carson grabbed Adam’s shirt and shouted, “You will insist on nothing!” He shoved Adam back from the doorway.
Adam regained his balance, cupped his hands over his mouth, and began calling, “Jennifer! Jennifer!”