Michael gave them his card and took the address of the Ocean Club in Nassau, where Daniel had made a reservation. He shook each of their hands, promised to look into the baggage issue the moment he got back to Turin, and then drove off.
Daniel and Stephanie watched the Fiat until it disappeared from sight before turning to each other.
Stephanie shook her head in amazement. “What a weird experience!”
Daniel nodded. “That’s an understatement.”
A quick, derisive laugh escaped from Stephanie’s lips. “I don’t mean to be cruel but I can’t help but remember how you gloated yesterday morning how easy it had been to get the shroud sample and how you thought it was a harbinger of things to come in terms of treating Butler. Do you want to take that back?”
“Maybe I was a little premature.” Daniel admitted. “Yet things turned out okay. We’re certainly going to lose a day or maybe two, but otherwise it should all be smooth sailing from here.”
“I can only hope,” Stephanie said. She hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. “Let’s get inside and see about connections to London. That’s going to be the first test.”
They walked into the terminal and looked up at the flight schedules displayed on a monster electronic board. Almost simultaneously, their eyes spotted a British Airways nonstop flight to London at three-fifty P.M.
“See what I mean,” Daniel said happily. “Now that could hardly be more convenient.”
fourteen
3:55 P.M., Thursday, February 28, 2002
“Holy crap!” Daniel shouted. “What the hell are you doing? You’re going to have us killed!”
Daniel was straining against his seat belt with his hand on the back of the bench front seat of the taxi, which happened to be a vintage black Cadillac. Daniel and Stephanie had just arrived on New Providence Island in the Bahamas. Passport control and customs had been a mere formality since they had no luggage. What little clothing and toiletries Stephanie and Daniel had bought on their forced thirty-six-hour stay in London had been conveniently packed in a third carry-on bag. They had been the first of the people on their flight out of the terminal and had taken the first cab in the taxi line.
“My God!” Daniel moaned as the oncoming car swept past them on the right. His head swiveled around to watch the car recede into the distance.
Alarmed by the outburst, the taxi driver was eyeing his fares in his rearview mirror. “Hey, man! What’s the matter?” he asked urgently.
Daniel swung back around to face forward, fearing more oncoming traffic. The color had drained from his face. The car that they passed had been the first they had encountered on the narrow two-lane road leading from the airport. As usual, Daniel had been nervously watching out the front window and had seen the car approach. Daniel had progressively stiffened as the driver, who had been carrying on a welcoming monologue as if he were a member of the island’s chamber of commerce, began drifting to the left. Daniel had assumed the driver would notice his error and move over to the right. But he didn’t. At the moment Daniel estimated it was too late for them to get over to the right to avoid an accident, he’d yelled in desperation.
“Daniel, calm down!” Stephanie soothed. She put a restraining hand on his tensed thigh. “Everything is okay. Obviously, they drive on the left here in Nassau.”
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Daniel demanded.
“I didn’t know, at least not until we passed the oncoming car. But it makes sense. It was a British colony for centuries.”
“Then how come the steering wheel is on the left, like normal cars?”
Stephanie could tell Daniel was in no mood to be placated. Instead, she changed the subject. “I can’t get over the color of the ocean from the plane when we flew over the Bahamas. It must be because it’s shallow. I’ve never seen such bright aquamarine or such deep sapphire.”
Daniel merely grunted. He was preoccupied with another car approaching. Stephanie switched her attention outside and rolled down the window, despite the car’s air-conditioning. Coming from the dead of winter, the silky, tropical air and the lushness of the flora was startling, particularly the brilliant scarlet and luminous purple bougainvillea that seemed to be creeping over every wall. The tiny towns and buildings they were passing seemed reminiscent of New England, except for their vibrant tropical hues set off to full effect by the relentless Bahamian sun. The people they passed, whose skin color ranged from pale white to deep mahogany brown, appeared relaxed. Even from a distance, their smiles and laughter were apparent. Stephanie sensed it was a happy place, and she hoped it was an auspicious sign of what she and Daniel were there to accomplish.
As far as their accommodations were concerned, Stephanie had no idea of what to expect, since it had not been discussed. Daniel had made all the arrangements prior to leaving for Italy, while she had seen to Butler’s fibroblast culture and had visited her family. On the twenty-second of March, exactly three weeks away, she knew where they would be staying. At that time, Ashley Butler would arrive, and she and Daniel would move with Butler to the enormous Atlantis hotel to take advantage of the reservations Butler had made. Stephanie imperceptibly shook her head at the thought of all they had to accomplish before the senator got there. She hoped his tissue culture was doing well back in Cambridge. If it wasn’t, there was no way they would make the three-week deadline to do the implant.
After a half hour of driving, they began to see some of the hotels off to their left on what the driver said was Cable Beach. Most of the structures were large high-rises and, as such, not particularly inviting to Stephanie. Next came the town of Nassau itself, which was far more bustling than Stephanie had envisioned, with a profusion of cars, trucks, buses, scooters, mopeds, and pedestrians. Yet with all its hustle and bustle, imposingly elegant banks, and colorful but official-appearing colonial buildings, there was the same sense of general happiness that Stephanie had noted earlier. Even being stuck in traffic was not only tolerated by the people she saw but seemingly enjoyed.
The taxi took them over a high, arched bridge to Paradise Island, which the driver said had been called Hog Island in colonial times. He said the original developer, Huntington Hartford, had felt the name was not an attraction. Both Stephanie and Daniel agreed. On the island side of the bridge, the driver pointed out a modern shopping plaza to the right and the gigantic Atlantis resort to the left.
“Are there clothing stores in the shopping area?” Stephanie questioned. She turned to look back. The shops appeared to be unexpectedly upscale.
“Yes, ma’am. But they’re expensive. If you’re looking for islandwear, I recommend Bay Street in town.”
After a short drive east, the taxi turned north onto what turned out to be a long, serpentine driveway lined with particularly lush, dense vegetation. At the entrance stood a sign proclaiming: PRIVATE, THE OCEAN CLUB, FOR GUESTS ONLY. What particularly impressed Stephanie was that the hotel itself could not be seen until the taxi made the final turn.
“This looks heavenly,” she commented as the taxi pulled in under the porte cochere to be met by doormen in crisp white shirts and Bermuda shorts.
“It’s supposed to be one of the best hotels,” Daniel announced.
“You got that right, man,” the driver commented.
The resort turned out to be even better than Stephanie could have hoped. It comprised low, two-story buildings scattered along a gorgeous concave stretch of beach and mostly hidden by flowering trees. Daniel had managed to reserve a ground-floor suite, from which the white-sand beach was a mere step away, across an expanse of manicured lawn. After they had put away their few clothes and arranged their toiletries in the marbled bath, Daniel turned to Stephanie. “It’s five-thirty. What do you think we should do?”