Terminal by Robin Cook Page B

there?” Sean asked.
    “Most definitely.”
    “Well then, maybe I’ll come,” he said. “I haven’t worn a tux too many times. It should be entertaining.”
    “Wonderful,” Claire said. “And since you might have trouble finding Dr. Mason’s home, I don’t mind picking you up. I live in Coconut Grove just down the way. How about seven-thirty?”
    “I’ll be ready,” Sean said.
    H IROSHI G YUHAMA had been born in Yokosuka, south of Tokyo. His mother had worked in the U.S. Naval base, and from an early age Hiroshi had been interested in America and Western ways. His mother felt differently, refusing to let him take English in school. An obedient child, Hiroshi acquiesced to his mother’s wishes without question. It wasn’t until after her death when he was at the university studying biology that he was able to take English, but once he began he displayed an unusual proficiency.
    After graduation Hiroshi was hired by Sushita Industries, a huge electronics corporation that had just begun expandinginto biotechnology. When Hiroshi’s supervisors discovered how fluent he was in English, they sent him to Florida to supervise their investment in Forbes.
    Except for an initial difficulty involving two Forbes researchers who refused to cooperate, a dilemma which had been handled expeditiously by bringing them to Tokyo and then offering them enormous salaries, Hiroshi had faced no serious problems during his tenure at Forbes.
    Sean Murphy’s unexpected arrival was a different story. For Hiroshi and the Japanese in general any surprise was disturbing. Also, for them, Harvard was more of a metaphor than a specific institution. It stood for American excellence and American ingenuity. Accordingly Hiroshi worried that Sean could take some of Forbes’s developments back to Harvard where the American university might beat them to possible patents. Since Hiroshi’s future advancement at Sushita rested on his ability to protect the Forbes investment, he saw Sean as a potential threat.
    His first response had been to send a fax via his private telephone line to his Japanese supervisor. From the outset the Japanese had insisted they be able to communicate with Hiroshi without going through the Center switchboard. That had been only one of their conditions.
    Hiroshi had then called Dr. Mason’s secretary to ask if it would be possible for him to see the director. He’d been given a two o’clock appointment. Now, as he ascended the stairs to the seventh floor, it was three minutes before the hour. Hiroshi was a punctilious man who left little to chance.
    As he entered Mason’s office, the doctor leapt to his feet. Hiroshi bowed deeply in apparent respect though in reality he did not think highly of the American physician, believing Dr. Mason lacked the iron will necessary in a good manager. In Hiroshi’s estimation, Dr. Mason would be unpredictable under pressure.
    “Dr. Gyuhama, nice of you to come up,” Dr. Mason said, motioning toward the couch. “Can we get you anything? Coffee, tea, or juice?”
    “Juice, please,” Hiroshi replied with a polite smile. He didnot want any refreshment but did not care to refuse and appear ungrateful.
    Dr. Mason sat down across from Hiroshi. But he didn’t sit normally. Hiroshi noticed that he sat on the very edge of his seat and rubbed his hands together. Hiroshi could tell he was nervous, which only served to lower further Hiroshi’s estimation of the man as a manager. One should not communicate one’s feelings so openly.
    “What can I do for you?” Dr. Mason asked.
    Hiroshi smiled again, noting that no Japanese would be so direct.
    “I was introduced to a young university student today,” Hiroshi said.
    “Sean Murphy,” Dr. Mason said. “He’s a medical student at Harvard.”
    “Harvard is a very good school,” Hiroshi said.
    “One of the best,” Dr. Mason said. “Particularly in medical research.” Dr. Mason eyed Hiroshi cautiously. He knew Hiroshi avoided direct