Hearing a “Come in,” Paul opened the door. Kurt had designed his own basement office complex. The main room was a combination office with a couple desks and a couple chairs, plus a small gym with a half dozen exercise machines. There was also a mat for tae kwon do sparring. In addition, there was a video room with an entire wall of monitors showing feeds from cameras sprinkled all around the complex. Down a short interior corridor were a bedroom and a bathroom. Kurt had another, larger apartment over in the laboratory building, but on occasion he would stay right there in his office for several days on end. Across from the office’s bedroom was a holding cell, complete with a sink, a head, and an iron cot.
The sharp metallic clank of weights caught Paul’s attention and directed it toward the gym section of the room. Kurt Hermann sat up from a bench press. He was dressed as usual, in a tight-fitting black T-shirt, black pants, and black cross-trainer shoes, all of which contrasted sharply with his closely cropped, dirty blond hair. At one point, Paul had casually inquired why Kurt insisted on wearing black, considering the radiant power of the Bahamian sun. Kurt’s response was only a slight shrug and an arching of his eyebrows. For the most part, he was a man of few words.
“We need to talk,” Paul said.
Kurt didn’t answer. He peeled off his Velcro wrist straps, ran a towel across his forehead, and sat down behind his desk. His bulging pectoral and triceps muscles strained the fabric of his T-shirt as he placed his forearms on the desktop. Once he was seated, he didn’t move. Paul likened him to a cat ready to pounce.
Paul took hold of one of the side chairs, positioned it in front of the desk, and sat down himself.
“The doctor and his girlfriend have arrived on the island,” Paul said.
“I know,” Kurt responded in a clipped monotone. He turned around the monitor on his desk. The image was of Daniel and Stephanie, frozen in their approach to the front entrance of the administration building. Both their faces were plainly visible, as they squinted in the morning sun.
“A good shot,” Paul commented. “It certainly shows to good effect that the woman is downright attractive.”
Kurt turned the monitor back around toward himself but didn’t respond.
“Any information about the identity of the patient since the last time we talked?” Paul asked.
Kurt shook his head.
“So a repeat visit to their apartment back in Cambridge and one to their office didn’t reveal anything?”
Kurt shook his head. “Nothing!”
“I hate to beat a dead horse,” Paul said, “but we need to know who this person is as soon as possible. The longer we have to wait, the less chance we have of maximizing our compensation. And we do need the money.”
“Things will be easier now that they are here in Nassau.”
“What’s your strategy?”
“When will they be starting their work here at the clinic?”
“Tomorrow, provided they get a FedEx package they are waiting for.”
“I need possession of their laptops and their cell phones for a few minutes,” Kurt said. “To do that, assistance from the lab people may be needed.”
“Oh?” Paul questioned. It was rare for Kurt to ask for help from anyone. “Sure! I’ll arrange for the assistance from Ms. Finnigan. What is it you’d want her to do?”
“Once they are working here, I need to know where they keep their computers, and hopefully phones, when they go over to the cafeteria.”
“Well, that should be easy,” Paul said. “Megan will surely provide them with some sort of lockable compartment for their personal effects. Why would you want their cell phones? I mean, I understand why you’d want the laptops, but why the phones?”
“To check their Caller IDs,” Kurt said. “Not that I expect to learn anything, considering how careful they’ve been up to now. Nor do I expect anything from the computers. That would be too easy. These professor types are far from stupid. What I really want to do is insert a bug in each of their phones to monitor their calls. That is what is going to give us what we want. The downside is that the monitoring has to be close, within a hundred feet or so, because of power limitations. Once the bugs have been planted, Bruno or myself will have to stay within range.”
“Now, that’s going to be a chore!” Paul exclaimed. “I hope you remember that discretion is the key here. We can’t have any type of scene over this; otherwise, Dr. Wingate will be apoplectic.”
Kurt gave one of his signature inscrutable shrugs.
“We found out they are staying at the Ocean Club on Paradise Island.”
Kurt nodded his head ever so slightly.
“We did learn something else today that might be helpful,” Paul said. “This mystery patient might be someone high up in the Catholic Church, which could work nicely in our favor, considering the church’s stand on stem cells. Maintaining the secrecy might be worth a lot of money.”
Kurt didn’t respond in the slightest.
“Well, that’s it,” Paul said. He slapped his knees before standing up. “Let me emphasize again, we need the name.”
“I’ll get it,” Kurt said. “Trust me!”
“What’s going on?” Daniel questioned, with an edge to his voice. “Are you giving me the silent treatment or what? You haven’t said boo since we left the clinic twenty-some minutes ago.”
“You haven’t said much yourself,” Stephanie responded. She was staring broodingly out the front windshield and didn’t bother to turn her head in Daniel’s direction.
“I said it was a beautiful day when we got into the car.”
“Oh, wow!” Stephanie remarked with unmistakable derision. “That’s a stimulating conversation-starter, considering what we’ve experienced this morning.”
Daniel cast Stephanie a quick, irritated glance before redirecting his attention to the road. They were driving along the north shore of the island, heading back to their hotel. “I don’t think you are being fair. In front of our hosts, you carry on like a banshee, which I don’t want you to do anymore, and now that we’re alone, you’re as quiet as a mouse. You’re acting as if I did something wrong.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t understand why you’re not outraged about what’s going on at the Wingate Clinic.”
“You mean about their supposed stem-cell therapy.”
“Even calling it therapy is a gross misnomer. It is a pure, unadulterated medical scam. Not only is it bilking desperate people out of money and appropriate treatment, it will give stem cells a bad name, because it’s not going to cure anything, except as an elaborate placebo.”
“I am outraged,” Daniel said. “Anybody would be, but I’m equally outraged about the politicians who are making it all possible and at the same time forcing us to deal with these people.”
“And what about the Wingate’s putative trade secret that enables them to supply human eggs on demand with only twelve hours notice?”
“That is equally as ethically worrisome, I have to admit.”
“Worrisome!” Stephanie repeated scornfully. “It’s a lot more than worrisome. Did you happen to see that there is an article about oocytes in the journal they gave us?” She unrolled the magazine, which she had clutched in her hand. She pointed. “Article number three’s title is ‘Our Extensive Experience with In Vitro Maturation of Human Fetal Oocytes.’ What does that suggest?”