Blindfold

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Dr. Richard Fenton agrees to fly in a sealed plane to a secret redezvous to treat a patient whose identity and appearance have to remain unkown to him. Security, the General had said. This man had been a major scientist. It was important that he continue to be. He had gone off the rails; he had blown his top.
When he talked rationally, he talked treason. The General said to Dr. Fenton, "You may very well be our final hope."

Fenton was a distinguished and brilliant doctor. He knew it was an impossible assignment-how could you get at a man whom you couldn't even see? about whom you were told nothing but stark statistics? - but he consented. Patriotism? Medical dedication? Or was it that the General had said, "If you take this on, you will be in some personal danger"?

From his first moment on the plane, Dr. Fenton began to assemble clues to where the patient was hidden. He wore a blindfold, but he could count the seconds of the flight. He was led, stumbling, out of the plane, but the scent of honeysuckle was inescapable, and there was an identifiable texture to the ground on which he walked. These observations he made instinctively--he had been trained to observe with all his senses-and they became matters of life and death when, weeks later, seemingly, the case was finished. Successfully finished.

Because Dr. Fenton knew it wasn't finished. He was the only one who did know. It was up to him alone to prevent the fearful consequences. From the opening line of Blindfold, the reader is held, enthralled, in the great tradition of the novel of suspense--knowing everything, helpless to affect the issue, and pinning his hopes on the courage and wit of one resourceful man.