Looking over his shoulder, he was relieved to see that neither of the two men was in pursuit. He reached the door of the far exit and tried to pull it open. The handle didn’t budge. His heart sank. The door was locked!

All he could hear was the rasping sound of his own breath and the constant drip of water. The only other way out was the ramp and he started toward it. He was almost there when he saw one of the men standing immobile at the base of the sloping driveway, his arms at his side. Percy ducked behind a parked car and tried to think what to do. Obviously the men had split up; one was watching the stairwell, the other the ramp. It was then that Percy remembered the old automobile elevator in the center.

Keeping low, he moved toward it stealthily. When he reached it, he raised the wooden gate, ducked under, then lowered it after himself. The other three walls of the elevator were enclosed with a heavy wire mesh. The only light came from a bare overhead bulb. Percy’s shaking finger pushed the button marked “ 1.”

The elevator activated with a snapping noise, followed by the high-pitched whine of an electric motor. To Percy’s relief, the platform jolted, then slowly started to rise.

The elevator moved at an agonizingly slow rate, and Percy was no more than six feet from street level when the two men materialized beneath him.

Without haste, one of them walked over to the elevator control and, to Percy’s horror, reversed its direction. Panic-stricken, Percy repeatedly pushed the button, but the elevator relentlessly continued its descent. Gradually, he realized that they had planned for him to use the elevator. That was why they had not chased him. They wanted to trap him.

“What do you want?” he shouted. “You can have my money.” Desperately, he pulled out his wallet and tossed it through the wooden lattice to the garage floor. One of the men bent and picked it up. Without looking through it, he pocketed it. The other man had pulled out what Percy first thought was a gun. But as he drew closer he realized it was a syringe.

Percy backed to the rear of the elevator, feeling like a trapped animal. As the machinery ground to a stop, one of the men reached out and raised the wooden gate. Percy screamed in terror and slid to the floor.

Just over an hour later, a blue van pulled onto the tarmac at Teterboro Airport and rolled to a stop in front of a Gulf Stream jet. Two men got out, walked to the rear of the van, and hefted out a sizable wooden crate. Silently, the cargo door on the plane slid open.

There must have been more than a hundred people in the conference room. All had come to watch their friends and relatives graduate the Arolen sales course. Arnold Wiseman, the man who’d been in charge of the course, sat in the front of the podium next to Bill Shelly. To their right was a large limp American flag.

Adam was somewhat embarrassed by the ceremony, aware that Arolen was making more of a production than the four weeks of classes deserved. Yet it was fitting, since Adam had learned that nine-tenths of what the drug rep sold was pure show.

When he thought about it, Adam was amazed at how quickly those four weeks had gone. From the first day, he had realized that his two and a half years of medical school put him ahead of everyone else. Half of the other twenty students had degrees in pharmacology, five had master’s degrees in business administration, and the rest were from various departments of Arolen Pharmaceuticals.

Adam searched the crowd for Jennifer, thinking she might have changed her mind at the last minute and come, but even as he searched he realized it was a vain hope. She’d been against his working for Arolen from the beginning, and even if she had overcome her distaste for his new job, her morning sickness had become so severe that she could rarely leave the apartment before noon. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from staring at all the dark-haired women in the audience in case by some miracle she had arrived.

Suddenly his roving gaze stopped short at a small man with dark curly hair dressed in a black raincoat. He was standing by the entrance with his hands thrust into his pockets. Plain, wire-rimmed eyeglasses rested on his aquiline nose.

Adam turned away, thinking his eyes were playing a trick on him. Then he slowly turned to look at the man again. There was no doubt. It was his father.

Adam spent the rest of the ceremony in a state of shock. When the formalities were concluded and the reception had begun, he pushed his way toward the door where the man was standing. It was his father all right.

“Dad?” said Adam.

Dr. Schonberg turned around. He was holding a shrimp on the end of a toothpick. There was no smile on his lips or in his eyes.

“What a surprise,” said Adam, unsure how to act. He was flattered that his father had come, but nervous too.

“So it is true,” said Dr. Schonberg sternly. “You’re working for Arolen Pharmaceuticals!”

Adam nodded.

“What happened to medical school?” asked Dr. Schonberg angrily. “What am I going to say to your mother? And after I went to such lengths to be sure you would be admitted!”

“I think my A average had something to do with that,” said Adam. “Besides, I’ll go back. I’ve just taken a leave of absence.”

“Why?” demanded Dr. Schonberg.

“Because we need the money,” said Adam. “We are going to have a child.”

For a moment Adam thought he saw a softening in his father’s expression. Then Dr. Schonberg was looking about the room with distaste. “So you have allied yourself with this…” He gestured at the sumptuously appointed hall. “Don’t tell me you are unaware that business interests are trying to take over the medical profession.”

“Arolen provides a public service,” said Adam defensively.

“Spare me,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I’m not interested in their propaganda. The drug houses and the holding companies that control them are out to make money like any other industry, yet they waste millions of PR dollars trying to convince the public otherwise. Well, it is a lie. And to think that my own son has become a part of it and because of that girl he married…”

“Her name is Jennifer,” snapped Adam, feeling the blood rise to his face.

“Dr. David Schonberg.” Bill Shelly had come up behind Adam, champagne glass in hand. “Welcome to Arolen. I’m sure you are as proud of your son as we are. My name is Bill Shelly.”

Dr. Schonberg ignored the hand. “I know who you are,” he said. “And to be perfectly honest, I am appalled rather than proud to see my son here. The only reason I responded to your invitation was to make certain that Arolen is not expecting any special considerations because Adam here has joined your organization.”

“Dad,” sputtered Adam.

“I’ve always appreciated honesty,” said Bill, withdrawing his hand, “and I can assure you that we did not hire Adam because his father is with the FDA.”

“I hope that is true,” said Dr. Schonberg. “I wouldn’t want you to think that Arolen will have an easier time getting new drugs approved.”

Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Schonberg tossed his shrimp into a wastebasket and pushed through the crowd toward the door.

Adam shook his head in disbelief. “I’m terribly sorry,” he said to Bill Shelly.

“There is no need to apologize,” interrupted Bill. “You’re not responsible for your father’s beliefs. He’s had lots of experience with the less honest companies in our field. I’m only sorry that he’s not had enough contact with Arolen to appreciate the difference.”

“That may be true,” said Adam, “but it still does not excuse his behavior.”

“Maybe someday we could convince your father to take one of the Arolen Conference Cruises. Have you heard of them?”

Adam nodded, remembering Percy Harmon. He had not thought about the man for over a month, but now Adam wondered why the genial rep had not kept in touch as he’d promised.