“Where do you get your material?” asked Adam, pausing by a cage of pink mice.
“Most of the research is done with animal systems,” explained Dr. Glover, “and we breed our animals right here at the center.”
“But surely you’re doing some human implants. Where do you get your tissue?” persisted Adam.
“Very good question,” said Dr. Glover. “We did run into a bit of a problem after restrictive laws were passed, but we’ve managed one way or another. Most of our material comes from the Julian Clinic.”
Adam wanted to pound the glass cases in frustration. Why couldn’t he get anyone to listen to him? Obviously, doctors like Vandermer were increasing the supply of fetal tissue by merely increasing the number of therapeutic abortions.
“Tomorrow,” continued Dr. Glover, pleased that Adam was demonstrating such interest, “we will take you into our hospital wing. We’ve had some amazing results, particularly in treating diabetics with fetal pancreatic extracts.”
“I know how interesting this is, but I think Dr. Mitchell would like to describe some of his work,” said Nachman, smiling at Glover.
“Indeed,” echoed Dr. Mitchell. “A year from now, when the sales figures are in, we’ll see whose department accounts for the biggest increases.”
Mitchell devoted the next thirty minutes to a nonstop monologue on psychotropic drugs, particularly a new brand of phenothiazine. “It’s effective for every type of psychotic condition. It’s essentially nontoxic, and it changes the most disturbed individual into an exemplary citizen. Of course, some spontaneity is sacrificed.”
Adam started to protest, but thought better of it. He was certain that “some spontaneity is sacrificed” was the company’s way of downplaying the drug’s side effects. Certainly the stewards on the Fjord and the orderlies at the Julian had lacked “spontaneity.”
“What’s the name of this new drug?” Adam asked instead.
“Scientific, generic, or trade name?” asked Dr. Mitchell, out of breath from his monologue.
“Trade name.”
“Conformin,” said Dr. Mitchell.
“Would it be possible for me to get a sample?”
“You’ll be able to get all the samples you want when the drug is released,” said Dr. Mitchell. “We’re waiting for FDA clearance.”
“Just a small amount?” asked Adam. “I’d like to see how it’s packaged. As a sales rep, I’ve learned how important that is.”
Dr. Mitchell looked at Adam strangely. “Perhaps a small amount,” he murmured.
Adam didn’t push the issue, saying, “If the drug is close to being released, then you’ve started human testing.”
“My word, yes,” said Dr. Mitchell, brightening. “We’ve been using the drug on humans for several years, on patients with intractable psychiatric problems brought in from all over the world, in fact. The drug has proved one hundred percent effective.”
“I’d like to visit the ward,” said Adam.
“Tomorrow,” said Dr. Mitchell. “Right now, I’d like to show you our main chemistry laboratory. It’s one of the most advanced in the world.”
There was no doubt in Adam’s mind that Arolen’s research facilities were superb, especially when compared with those at University Hospital, where money was so tight that every No. 2 Mongol pencil had to be included in grant requests. But after seeing so many labs, Adam became bored. He tried to look interested, but the longer the tour went on, the more difficult that became.
“I think that will be enough for tonight,” said Dr. Nachman finally. “We don’t want to exhaust Mr. Schonberg on his first evening with us.”
“I’ll second that,” said Dr. Glover. “We only spent half an hour in my department.”
“That’s because there is more to see here,” said Dr. Mitchell.
“Gentlemen!” interjected Dr. Nachman, lifting his hands.
“I’ve enjoyed all of it,” protested Adam, careful to use the past tense so as not to encourage an encore from Dr. Mitchell.
They walked down the main corridor and crossed the connecting bridge to the outer building. Adam stopped to look behind him. He could see that the bridge continued beyond the corridor to a third interior building, which was blocked off by heavy steel doors.
“What’s back there?” asked Adam.
“The clinical wards,” said Dr. Nachman. “You’ll see them tomorrow.”
That must be where the psychiatric ward is located, thought Adam. He hesitated a minute, then followed Nachman out to the main lobby where they all said good night.
It was quarter to twelve, and even though Adam had had a busy day, he was not sleepy. A dull headache was beginning behind his eyes, and he could not forget he had only two more days to come up with convincing, concrete evidence. Even if he got a sample of Conformin, it would take time to have it analyzed, and then even more time to try to convince someone like Vandermer to have himself checked to see if he’d received it. Knowing sleep was out of the question, Adam opened his door and walked the length of the corridor to the far elevator. A small Formica sign said “Bathers’ Elevator.”
Descending to the ground floor, Adam found himself outside in a dense garden of palms, bamboo, and ferns. A curving pathway led through the lush vegetation. Following it, Adam arrived at the beach.
Taking off his shoes, he stepped onto the cool sand. The full moon made the night almost as bright as day. The sand was smooth and soft as powder. A slight wind rattled the rigging of the Hobie Cats so that they sounded like Japanese wind chimes. Adam could understand why people like Bill Shelly were so enchanted with the place.
Passing the club, Adam could see into the dining room. A few of the busboys were still laying the tables for the next meal.
About a hundred yards beyond the club Adam saw the condominiums. They were designed in a pseudo-Spanish style with stuccoed walls and red tile roofs. Lights were burning in some of the residences, and Adam caught glimpses of men and women watching television or reading. The whole scene was so peaceful it was hard to believe it could be the center of some gigantic conspiracy. Yet apparently it was. All drug firms spent millions of dollars attempting to influence the purchasing behavior of doctors, but MTIC wanted more. It wanted to control the doctors. It was no wonder that Arolen was planning to reduce its sales force.
Adam turned and retreated along the beach to where he’d left his shoes, then made his way back to the main building. Halfway down the hallway, he noticed an exit sign. He tried the door, which opened onto a staircase that wound up toward the roof. After making sure that he could get back in, Adam followed the steps to a door, which was also unlocked. Turning the knob, he found himself gazing out across the top of the main building. The wind was whipping in off the sea. Adam walked over to the four-foot-high wall that marked the edge of the roof. From this vantage point, he had a clear view of the compound. The residential structures ended at a small rocky hill, beyond which was dense forest. As large as the center was, Adam realized that there could well be more buildings hidden from sight.
Turning, he looked back at the first interior building. In the bright moonlight he could clearly see its outline, and he realized that it was an excellent architectural solution for eliminating windowless offices. Looking down, Adam could see that the space between the buildings had been carefully landscaped with pools, greenery, and palm trees. Both buildings were of equal height, and there was a bridge from one to the other on each floor.
The core building, which Dr. Nachman had said housed the hospital, was not visible. Adam crossed the bridge to the second building, walked to the inner edge, and looked down. Below him was the hospital. It was only three stories, which was why Adam had been unable to see it before. Directly below him was the connecting bridge that led to the steel doors he’d seen on his way out of the lab.