Terminal

Avoiding the front entrance, Tom drove around and parked in a large lot next to the tennis courts. Getting out of his car he ran up the drive, slowing when he saw the red rental car parked directly in front of the entrance. Clutching the handle of the pistol in his pocket, Tom walked around the car and fell in with a group of guests and entered the hotel. He was afraid someone might try to stop him, but no one did. Nervously, he scanned the lavish foyer. He spotted Janet and Sean standing at the registration desk.

With his anger giving him courage, Tom boldly walked to the registration desk and stood next to Sean. Janet was just on the other side of him. Being so close sent a shiver down Tom’s spine.

“We’re out of nonsmoking rooms with an ocean view,” the desk person said to Sean. She was a petite woman with large eyes, golden hair, and the type of tan that made dermatologists cringe.

Sean looked at Janet and raised his eyebrows. “What do you think?” he asked.

“We can see how bad the smoking room is,” she suggested.

Sean turned back to the receptionist. “What floor is your room with the ocean view?” he asked.

“Fifth floor,” the receptionist said. “Room 501. It’s a beautiful room.”

“Okay,” Sean said. “Let’s give it a try.”

Tom moved away from the registration desk, silently mouthing “Room 501” as he headed for the elevators. He saw a heavyset man in a business suit with a small earphone in his ear. Tom avoided him. The whole time he kept his hand in his pocket, clutching his pistol.

ROBERT HARRIS stood by the piano racked by indecision. Like Tom, he’d been exhilarated early in the chase. Tom’s obvious pursuit of Janet seemed to confirm his fledgling theory. But as the procession left Miami, he’d become irritated, especially when he too thought he might run out of gas. On top of that, he was starved; his last meal had been early that morning. Now that they had made it all the way through the Everglades to the Ritz Carlton in Naples, he was having doubts as to what exactly the journey proved. It certainly was no crime to drive to Naples, and Tom could contend he hadn’t been following anybody. Sadly, Harris had to admit that as of yet, he hadn’t come up with anything conclusive. The link between Tom and the attack on Janet or the breast cancer patient deaths was tenuous at best, still made up only of hypothesis and conjecture.

Harris knew he’d have to wait for Tom to make an overtly aggressive move toward Janet, and he hoped he would. After all, Tom’s apparent interest in the nurse could be chalked up to some crazy obsession. The woman wasn’t bad. In fact she was reasonably attractive and sexy; Harris himself had appreciated that.

Feeling distinctly out of place dressed as he was in shorts and T-shirt, Harris skirted the piano as Tom Widdicomb disappeared from view down the hallway past reception. Walking quickly, Harris passed Janet and Sean, who were still busy checking in.

Up ahead, Harris could see Tom round a corner and disappear from sight. Harris was about to pick up his pace when he felt a hand grab his arm. Turning, he looked into the face of a heavyset man with an earphone stuck in his right ear. He was dressed in a dark suit, presumably to blend in with the guests. He wasn’t a guest. He was hotel security.

“Excuse me,” the security man said. “May I help you?”

Harris cast a quick glance in the direction Tom had gone, then looked back at the security man who still had hold of his arm. He knew he had to think of something quickly . . .

“WHAT ARE we going to do?” Wayne asked. He was hunched over the steering wheel. The green Mercedes was parked at the curb near the main entrance to the Ritz Carlton. Ahead of them was the limousine parked on one side of the porte cochere. No one had gotten out of the limousine although the liveried doorman had spoken with the driver, and the driver had handed him a bill, presumably a large denomination.

“I truly don’t know what to do,” Sterling said. “My intuition tells me to stay with Tanaka, but I’m concerned about Mr. Harris’s entering the hotel. I have no idea what he plans to do.”

“Uh oh!” Wayne uttered. “More complications.” Ahead they saw the front passenger-side door of the limousine open. An immaculately dressed, youthful Japanese man climbed out. He placed a portable phone on top of the car, adjusted his dark tie, and buttoned his jacket. Then he picked up the phone and went into the hotel.

“Do you think they might be considering killing Sean Murphy?” Wayne asked. “That dude looks like a professional to me.”

“I would be terribly surprised,” Sterling said. “It’s not the Japanese way. On the other hand, Tanaka is not your typical Japanese, especially with his connections to the Yakusa. And biotechnology has become an extremely big prize. I’m afraid I’m losing confidence in my ability to predict his intentions. Perhaps you’d better follow the Japanese man inside. Whatever you do, make sure he does not harm Mr. Murphy.”