by Alan L. Moss
CHAPTER 25
THE TEAM
July 10, 2004
Auckland, New Zealand
After catching her breath, Joy pulled her shirt back on and walked over to the dormant assassin. She put her face close to his and raised one of his eyelids. Then, she yanked his jacket half-off and pushed up one shirtsleeve.
“Come here, Michael. See the track marks and collapsed veins on the inside of his arm? What we have here is a certified heroin addict. Given the yellow tint of his skin, I’d bet he has a pretty advanced case of liver disease.
“Not to minimize your skills in almost subduing him, but I’m surprised he had the strength to put up any kind of fight. He must have been desperate to do the job, get paid, and buy his next fix.”
Joy looked up at Michael with wide eyes.
“So, what the hell are you doing here? Do you have any kind of plan or are you just playing this by ear?”
Suddenly feeling weak, Michael sat back down on the edge of the bed. His arms ached and he could see fresh blood running down his wrists. He looked at Joy.
“Before we have an academic conversation, do you think you could help me with the wounds this half-dead addict inflicted?”
Feeling guilty, Joy rushed to Michael’s side.
“I’m sorry. Let’s see what we have.”
Michael removed his top, revealing the cuts on his forearms from the cord meant for his neck. Joy looked at Michael with sympathy transforming her usually upbeat expression.
“Hey, I’m sorry. I have a first-aid kit in the car. I’ll be right back.”
As Joy left for her car, Michael sat on the bed, not sure what his next move would be. He looked over at the prostrate young man. For the first time, Michael realized he was Samoan and couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Michael wondered if the poverty and abuse that characterized the childhood of many Samoan boys had driven him into a life of addiction and crime.
Joy returned with a white plastic box sporting a bright red cross. She cleaned and bandaged Michael’s wounds.
Michael looked at this young woman who had just saved his life.
“Joy, I just want you to know how grateful I am. You’re right. If it hadn’t been for you, by now I would be a corpse and our little friend here would be cashing in to pay for his next high. I’ll never be able to repay you.”
Joy put her arms around Michael and held him close. Then, she whispered in his ear.
“Look, I don’t know why, but I know I was meant to help you. I’ve had my leave approved and I’m going to see this thing through. My family and I, we are Kanaka Maoli, native Hawaiians. For the most part, we operate on instinct. Together, we can figure out what happened with the hearings and discover who ordered Karen’s death. Then, we can go to the authorities and get you out from under.”
With her breasts crushed against his chest and her gentle perfume filling his senses, Michael felt strangely defenseless. He could not reject her offer. They would become a team.
***
When the rain had subsided, Michael and Joy carried the Samoan executioner out through the sliding glass doors. Joy found the man’s cab and verified it had been stolen. A fake ID displayed on the dashboard covered the ID of the legitimate driver. They placed the man in the passenger seat and Michael got behind the wheel. With Joy following in her rental car, they drove to a hospital just a few miles from the airport.
Michael parked the cab in an area marked for ambulances only. He and Joy slid the body behind the wheel. They got into Joy’s car and she called the hospital on her cell phone to report the illegally parked cab. Then, she tipped the police to the location of the stolen vehicle.
Joy pulled her car down the road. They watched as hospital security staff arrived just before the police. The still unconscious driver was carried into the hospital and a police tow truck took the cab.
With a smile on her face, Joy told Michael that between New Zealand’s strict drug laws and the charges for the stolen car, their culprit would be put away for a long time.
“He’ll be behind bars when we unravel your mystery. If we find out he had a direct role in Karen’s death, we’ll know where to find him.”
***
It was quarter after four when Michael and Joy returned to the motel room. They collapsed on opposite sides of the bed. Two hours later, Joy’s watch alarm woke them and they raced to the airport to catch the flight to Christchurch.
After an hour’s drive from Christchurch to Ashburton, at ten-twenty, they checked into the Hotel Canterbury and fell asleep, each in one of the room’s twin beds. A wake-up call at one fifteen would give them time to get ready for their meeting with Health-Cell’s public relations staff.
***
Somewhat refreshed, Michael and Joy were out of bed by one-thirty and preparing for their session with Health-Cell personnel. Joy would play Michael’s photographer. She always traveled with a professional-quality digital camera and knew quite a bit about photography from her surveillance assignments.
They dressed quickly, grabbed coffee from the lobby, and walked to Joy’s car. With last night’s storm system offshore the day was bright and crisp. Joy got behind the wheel and found the route to Health-Cell’s office using a map she got at the airport. Michael sat with a notebook in his lap, scrutinizing his questions.
After a few minutes on the road, Joy gave Michael some pointers.
“Look, Michael, if these characters knew our addict-assassin was going to pay you a visit last night, they won’t be expecting you to show up today. That’s our first clue. If they’re not ready for the meeting, we know they’re in this up to their test tubes.”
“If that’s the case, they know we’re not a reporter and photographer. So, why wouldn’t they just toss us out and not give us a chance to gain any incriminating evidence? Why wouldn’t they call the police and tell them they have Michael Bloom, the U.S. citizen wanted for questioning in his wife’s murder?”
Joy pushed down the sun visor and turned to face Michael.
“First, they might see this as an opportunity to throw you off track. If they present the picture of a legitimate research firm, maybe you’ll look in other directions. Second, they could have turned you in before. My guess is they don’t want you talking to anyone. They’d prefer you dead.”
For a moment Michael turned his attention back to his written questions. Then, he looked over at Joy.
“So, unless they throw us out or worse, we go through with the charade?”
“Right. We try to find out everything we can. The most important information is how they came out of their financial crisis. Hopefully, you can get them to point to someone from the American Samoan government. Then, we’ll have a pretty good idea where to go next.”
***
After twenty minutes traveling on a two-lane country road, they spotted a gated area on their left. There must have been ten or fifteen acres of manicured fields surrounded by a six-foot-high iron fence. A blacktop road led to a building off in the distance. The Health-Cell name and a logo with human cells flowing into a test tube stood near an imposing gate that guarded the property.
Joy pulled into the visitor’s lane and stopped at a small guard station with large sliding glass windows. She lowered her car window and waited for a heavy-set guard in a gray uniform to slide his window open. The man inside checked a log book and shook his head.
“Hi, mates. Are you up the boohai?”
Michael and Joy looked at each other, unable to grasp the Kiwi slang. The man inside started again.
“Sorry, mates. Are you lost? Do you need directions to another address?”
Michael responded, talking past Joy.
“No. I have a two o’clock appointment with Ian Lucas.”
“That’s weird. I don’t have you in my book. What’s your name?”
“I’m Jim Green and this is my photographer, Joy Luahine. We’re from Stem Cell Advance magazine.”
“Hold on. I’ll call inside and
try to straighten this out.”
The man closed his window and picked up the phone that sat on the edge of his desk. He spoke heatedly with someone for close to five minutes. Then, he slid the window open again.
“They asked me to apologize. Somehow they thought your meeting had been cancelled. Ian lives just down the road, so they’re calling him. In the meantime, drive down to the building and someone will greet you there.”
The guard hit a switch that opened the gate. After they drove through, Joy turned to Michael.
“So, now we know, at the very least our medical friends knew someone was supposed to keep you from making your meeting.”
Michael looked at Joy.
“They must have purchased all this land anticipating breakthroughs would lead to big bucks and expansion. It’s hard to believe the same people working to cure diseases could get mixed up with a drug-crazed murderer.”
“It makes you wonder if their work is motivated by the good it will do or the dollars it will command,” Joy said.
Joy slowed down as they approached the Health-Cell facility. It was a five-story, curved building constructed of light-colored brick and floor-to-ceiling windows. More of the iron fencing surrounded the structure. Brick posts supported a covered portico at the main entrance attended by another guard.
Joy came to a stop in front of the portico. She lowered her window and the guard, a tall man with blond hair, walked over to the car.
“You need to park out back in a visitor’s spot. Then, walk around and I’ll let you through. A receptionist will meet you inside and escort you to the conference room.”
Five minutes later they were back at the guarded portico. The guard checked Jim Green and Joy’s passports. He led them through the portico to an oak door adorned with the Health-Cell name and logo. As soon as they entered, a friendly lady dressed in a white coat and sneakers greeted them. She had short dark hair and bright brown eyes.
“We’re so embarrassed with the mix-up. You know we work seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Sometimes we lose track. Just follow me and I’ll take you to the conference room.”
Joy took her camera out of her purse and began shooting. While the receptionist seemed a little uncomfortable, she said nothing. As they walked down the hall, they passed several laboratories busy with scientists and technicians. When they stopped in front of an elevator, Michael began his questioning.
“If you could answer my more basic questions that would speed things up with Ian.”
The lady looked at Michael with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t know if I can furnish the information you need, but I’d be glad to try.”
The elevator opened, they walked in, and their guide pushed number five.
“Well, first of all, can you tell me your name and what you do here?”
“My name is Anna Lockerby. I’m a lab assistant who doubles as a receptionist on Saturdays and Sundays.”
“So, Anna, how long have you worked for Health-Cell? Can you tell me what you think of the company?”
The elevator opened, they exited and stopped outside of an area marked “Executive Offices.” Joy stood opposite Anna and snapped her picture.
“Where is this article going to appear?” Anna asked.
“I’m writing it for a new magazine dedicated to stem cell and biotechnology developments,” Michael said. “I’ll be sure to send you a few copies for your family and friends.”
Anna blushed, thinking of those she could impress with the article.
“So, Anna, how long have you worked here and what do you think of the company?” Michael asked.
Anna focused her attention on the reporter’s inquiry.
“Let’s see. I started with Health-Cell in nineteen ninety-nine. I was recruited by Dr. John Seaton, one of the firm’s founders.”
“How did you know Dr. Seaton?”
“I worked as a technician at the laboratory his clinic used. Often, I did special jobs for him and got test results ahead of schedule. He paid me back by tipping me off to the opening and making sure I got an interview.”
Michael, jotting down notes, followed up.
“So, was this job a step up for you?”
Anna beamed.
“It sure was. Most of us here make twice what we were paid at our previous jobs. We work long hours and there’s a lot of pressure, but the pay and benefits are incredible.”
With Anna flying high, Michael hit her with his key questions.
“So, Anna, is Dr. Seaton still at Health-Cell?”
“Actually, he’s not. He and Gregory Ponsonby, our CEO, retired about a year ago. Both were geniuses. They built the company out of nothing to where it is today.”
Michael honed in.
“Why would they leave such a promising operation?”
Anna lowered her voice.
“Rumor was that Mr. Ponsonby joined the firm to see if Health-Cell could save his daughter from a serious case of juvenile diabetes. When the company had dire financial problems, Seaton and Ponsonby found new investors to get us over the hump. Once they knew we would be all right and the value of their stock skyrocketed, they cashed in and retired.”
“What about Ponsonby’s daughter? Did Health-Cell help her?”
Anna lowered her voice further.
“I’m not sure. Some say his daughter Jill was the first test case for the stem cell cure now in formal testing, but if that’s true, it was done on the sly.”
“Did they stay in Ashburton?” Michael asked.
“I think the Ponsonby’s and Dr. Seaton moved to South Af …”
Before Anna could finish her sentence, she noticed a large man dressed in a red sweater and grey slacks and a short, stocky man who looked like security moving quickly down the hall in their direction.
“I say, Anna, thanks so much,” the taller man shouted. “I’ll be glad to help our friends from the press.”
Anna’s expression transformed from willing to be the center of attention to fearing she may have gone too far.
“Sure thing, Ian.”
Anna shook hands with Michael and Joy and then she was gone without saying another word.
“Follow me and we can set up in the conference room,” Ian instructed Michael. “Joy, this is Robert Stark. He’s chief of security for Health-Cell. If you wish, he’d be glad to take you around and facilitate your shoot.”
“Of course,” Joy responded.
Although Michael believed the firm wouldn’t take the chance of harming Joy on their grounds, he had an empty feeling in his stomach as she and her escort disappeared down the hall.
Lucas escorted Michael to a large, oval table of light wood in the executive conference room. Michael sat down placing his notebook on the table.
“Thanks so much for seeing us, Mr. Lucas. We were surprised you guys work Saturdays.”
Ian Lucas assumed a benevolent pose.
“We feel an obligation to everyone living with the diseases we’re attacking. The sooner we succeed, the sooner their suffering ends.”
With Health-Cell’s spokesman somewhat relaxed, Michael worked his way through some general questions before firing his first salvo.
“Ian, is it true that informal testing of a stem cell cure for diabetes began several years ago?”
Ian didn’t flinch.
“Of course. Our scientists experimented with mice well before the formal human trials began.”
Michael followed up.
“Was there any informal testing on human subjects? For example, on young patients at great risk from the disease. Perhaps their parents agreed to take a chance?”
“No, of course not,” Ian answered with assurance. “Avoiding litigation is tough enough under the best of circumstances. No firm would jump the gun and open themselves up to lawsuits that could bankrupt the corporation.”
Referring to his written notes, Michael tried another direction.
“Okay. According to the research I’ve done on your fina
nces, Health-Cell was in financial crisis in 2000 and 2001. In the summer of 2001, the firm secured new capital and returned to stability. Can you tell me how that was accomplished?”
Lucas stiffened as though he knew he was being tested.
“Jim, we don’t concede that there was a financial crisis. It’s true we needed additional resources, but crisis is too strong a word. We found additional investors and we’ve been on sound financial footing ever since.”
Michael looked into the PR man’s eyes.
“I’ve been told the money you obtained originated in American Samoa. Is that true?”
Again, it appeared as though Ian was disguising discomfort.
“To be honest, Jim, I don’t know the location of all our investors. Some could have been in Australia, Samoa, Hawaii, or the continental U.S. I just don’t keep track of such things.”
Michael sensed he had hit a nerve.
“This information might not be too relevant for my article, but I was told a private investigator from Hawaii and a high official in the American Samoan government arranged for the funding. Is that true?”
Ian’s face flushed but he maintained his composure.
“Sounds like a load of lod cods wollop to me. The only private investigators we work with are for security purposes.”
Michael decided to return to lighter questions about Health-Cell’s activities and aspirations. After thirty minutes of rather bland fare, he brought the discussion back to sensitive areas.
Michael flipped over a page on his pad. He would be reaching but he had nothing to lose.
“I’d like to clarify two questions we discussed previously and then we’ll be through. First, I have information that Health-Cell’s former CEO, Gregory Ponsonby, and former Director of Medical Research, Dr. John Seaton, moved to South Africa, a country with no extradition treaties. Was this rather unconventional site for retirement due to a fear of prosecution for testing and financing methods that fell outside the law?”
