Descent from Xanadu by Harold Robbins Page A

the man said. “Everything has been sealed. Closed tight! And we are not allowed to pick up the Kleenexes. He believes that they are the only thing that keep the germs from him. Those are Mr. Hughes’ orders.”
    “Turn on some lights then,” Judd said.
    The man turned on a lamp near the door. Judd gazed at the man in the bed. He lay on his side, his face against a pillow. The eyes were closed, the breathing labored, through his open mouth. His face was unshaven; his hair lay in long gray strands, unkempt, reaching almost to his shoulders.
    Judd felt shocked disbelief. “Mr. Hughes,” he called gently.
    Hughes did not move.
    Judd called him again, more loudly.
    “He won’t answer,” his man said. “I told you, he’s sick. He’s been like that almost all week. We haven’t been able to give him anything to eat.”
    Judd gestured to Sofia. “Take a look at him.”
    Sofia went to the bed. She opened her bag and took out a stethoscope. She listened for a moment, then searched for his pulse. “He’s very weak,” she said.
    Judd watched her silently.
    She lifted the sheet and looked down at Hughes’ whole figure; she let the cover fall over him again. She leaned close to his face, lifting up one of his eyelids for a moment. Finally she straightened up. “This man should be taken to a hospital immediately.”
    “What’s the matter with him?” Judd asked.
    “I’m guessing,” she said, “but I think he’s beginning to show signs of uremic poisoning.”
    “How does something like that happen?” Judd asked.
    “Look,” she said.
    Judd followed beside her. She raised the cover. “Look,” she said. “He’s covered with needle marks. Also, look at his emaciated condition. He’s dehydrated. His bones are almost through his skin and there’s an unhealed scar on his head as if a tumor has accidentally been torn off.”
    “Is there anything you can do for him here and now?”
    Sofia shook her head. “Not without all the equipment we’d have in a hospital.”
    “A shot that could at least lessen his pain?” Judd asked.
    “I have the feeling that he’s already shot himself with enough pain killers,” she said. “Besides, looking at his eyes I’d say he’s more than slightly comatose.”
    Judd nodded, then turned to the Hughes man. He gestured to the next room. They followed the man out. “What the hell is going on here?” Judd asked.
    “I just take orders,” the man said. “And we’ve been ordered not to touch him until his own doctor comes back from the States tomorrow.”
    “Who gave those orders?”
    “The old man himself. Last week, just as he began getting sick. And no one—no one—countermands his orders.”
    Judd stared at him. “Isn’t there anyone who understands he’s no longer responsible for himself? Who can order the treatment he needs?”
    “Only his doctor,” the man said.
    “You have a telex,” Judd said crisply. “Get in touch with Hughes’ office. Someone there must have the responsibility.”
    “The telex is not connected.”
    “You have telephones.”
    “We have already called. That’s why his doctor’s coming back.”
    Judd looked at the man for a moment, then turned to the soldier. “Let’s leave,” he said.
    Sofia turned to Judd. “If we don’t help him—and quickly—he will die.”
    Judd looked at her. His eyes were cold blue ice. “That’s not my responsibility.”
    “But he’s a human being,” she said.
    “Fuck him! It’s his own choice,” Judd said coldly. “There’s nothing he can do for me and nothing I can do for him.”
    “Is that your only rule of measurement?”
    “Do you know any better?” he replied sarcastically. “If I hadn’t paid for those fucking hotels in Yugoslavia, do you think they’d even allow you to go out of the country with me?”
    She stared at him for a moment and walked from the room. He turned to Hughes’ man and placed ten one-thousand-dollar bills on the table before him. “This is to help you to