Blind-sided

by Monette Michaels

Scott handed over the consents. Yeah, he’d watch her behind all right, all the way to his Mama’s house in the bayou. Jeannie didn’t know it yet, but he was taking her out of the line of fire — all the way out.

  ———

  The Eye Bank, like the morgue, was a ghost town.

  Jeannie flipped on the lights and headed for the storeroom. “Scott, would you look in those cabinets over there?”

  He looked over and found gray metal storage units along the far wall.

  “Shouldn’t we be wearing gloves or something?”

  He didn’t want his or Jeannie’s fingerprints anywhere in this room.

  “Good idea.” Jeannie trotted over to some open shelving and pulled out a pair of small and a pair of large latex gloves. “Here, use these.”

  Scott pulled on the gloves. “What am I looking for?”

  “I’m not sure, but you’ll know it when you see it.”

  “Great.”

  There were three cabinets. He opened the doors to the first. Plastic containers of all sizes and shapes, lids and labels, along with preservative solutions and disposable blades filled the cabinet. The second contained blank forms and other paper products.

  The third cabinet looked more promising. It contained used, but clean, containers with their original labels still intact. They probably only used these when they ran out of new ones.

  Shoving them around he saw the SRP logo several times. Monnier wasn’t trying hard to hide things. Rutherford would be appalled that his henchman was so careless. Scott pulled a couple out from the back. The lens measurements, date of shipping, and inventory number were marked on the labels. Both of these had come in before the annual ophthalmic convention, when supposedly the Eye Bank was supplying all tissue.

  Scott took them and closed the door. He’d bet they wouldn’t be missed.

  “Scott! Come here!”

  He shoved the containers into his lab coat pocket and ran into the storage area. The room was the same size as the outer room, but it was set up more like a morgue with refrigerated units alongside one wall, a sink and cutting area with drains and waste disposal unit on another, and a small computer workstation on a third wall.

  Jeannie was examining something she’d taken from a cooler unit. Her tense body language sent a corresponding chill through his body.

  “Jeannie, what is it?” Scott hurried over to look.

  In a Styrofoam container filled with ice was a human heart — a child’s heart.

  “Shit. What’s that doing in an Eye Bank lab refrigerator?”

  “Exactly.” Jeannie looked back at him. “The paper work said it was delivered to SRP at this address at 0800 hours today by air medical courier. Look at the Customs paperwork.”

  “Customs?”

  Scott had a bad feeling about this. He reached over Jeannie and grabbed the plastic sleeve containing lab and blood work ups and the delivery papers. On top were the customs documents. He read the pertinent data. “Jesus H. Christ. This heart came from Brazil. The medical courier is listed as One World, Inc.”

  “One World, Scott.” Jeannie’s eyes filled with tears. “Dr. Rutherford has connections to One World. Now why would a child’s heart harvested by One World, labeled as shipped to SRP, come to the Eye Bank lab? I can’t believe it’s coincidence that Walter, designated tech for Rutherford’s Epi Study, also works here.”

  “Why, indeed.”

  Charles’s words at the Rock ‘N Bowl came to mind…”body mafia.” Jeannie’s fear-filled eyes indicated she’d reached the same terrifying conclusion. What everyone suspected was true. One World, SRP and all those involved were selling body parts.

  Scott took the paperwork and strode back into the outer lab where he’d seen a copier. Jeannie followed him carrying the heart.

  “Cher, put that back. Now!” he said. “We’re gonna copy these papers, then get the hell out of here before someone comes to get the heart. It’s 1000 hours. They can’t keep the heart on ice much longer. Some surgeon is gonna be coming for it, and soon. That means Monnier is gonna be hoofing it back here to make the delivery.”

  Jeannie gasped and ran from the room. She carried the heart out in front of her, as if it would explode in her face.

  When she returned, Scott smiled at her. Wanting to wipe the forlorn look off her face, he said, “Chin up, cher. We’ve got something to go to the Feds with now.”

  “We do?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been reading up on body-part trafficking since we talked about it with Charles. The Bellagio Task Force report I read said that Brazil is notorious for its hit squads. They kill homeless children, then harvest body parts. Maybe One World is horning in on the market of these hit squads. They are killing children, probably per specific orders and medical criteria, harvesting the organs, then sending them to Rutherford to fill the requests and direct the other usable organs to other doctors searching on the black market. We’ve got them now. This has to be considered illegal in the United States, even if it’s not in Brazil or wherever.”

  “How have we got them? Remember, Charles said the Customs people won’t do anything about interfering with another country’s internal laws. He said the feds were more interested in possible drug smuggling. I was listening.” Jeannie collected the papers from the machine to speed up the process. “Besides, the paperwork looks legal. The heart came through Atlanta customs, then was couriered here. No problems.”

  “Yeah, but do you see any consents?”

  “No.”

  “That’s just as illegal in Brazil and most other countries as it is here.” Scott put all the originals back into the plastic sleeve and walked into the storage room. Jeannie dogged his heels. “In Brazil, you have to opt out of donating organs, but can only do so after you reach legal driving age. Before then, the parents or natural guardians have to sign. It doesn’t often happen, because the majority of citizens are either Catholic and don’t believe in organ donation, or they are natives who believe the souls are lost by removing organs from the bodies of their loved ones.”

  He replaced the paperwork, shut the unit, then opened several of the other units where other organs lay waiting to be picked up. He whistled.

  “This is theft, plain and simple.”

  “What are we gonna do?”

  Jeannie looked at him. Her eyes were wide with fear, but her mouth had firmed. She wasn’t going to run from this. That had been a child’s heart. He knew she was thinking of Little Bits.

  “We’re gonna do what we have to, after we get Little Bits out of New Orleans and I move in with you for the duration.”

  “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

  Jeannie walked to the exit, then flipped off the lights. She cracked open the door slightly. Her gasp, then the stiffening of her body, alerted Scott.

  Someone was coming!

  He reached around a frozen Jeannie to shut the door. It snicked softly. After locking the door, Scott urged Jeannie forward.

  “Come on, we’ve got to hide.”

  She jerked at his touch, a hiccup of fright startled out of her. “There’s another door to the hall. I saw it in the storage room. It’s behind some shelving.”

  Scott pulled her from the outer area into the storage room. “That’s my girl. Let’s hope it’s not locked with a keyed dead bolt or something,” he said, closing the storage room door behind them.

  The storage room glowed red from the emergency lights mounted in the four corners of the room. A green exit light just peeked over the temporary shelving at the end of the computer workstation. Scott only hoped there was enough room behind it for them to either hide or escape.

  Using his excellent night vision, honed in the bayou for night fishing and hunting and perfected in the marines for recon missions, Scott led Jeannie to the shelving.

  There was enough room for them behind the shelving to hide, but the door had a keyed bolt. Even if he could pick it in the next few seconds, they still wouldn’t be able to get out — the door opened inward. And
there definitely wasn’t enough space to open the door.

  They were stuck.

  Jeannie’s trembling body and soft gasp indicated she’d reached the same conclusions. Scott stroked her back to reassure her, then pushed her behind the shelves as far as he could. He followed, putting his body between her and whomever entered the lab. If someone did find them, he’d do what was necessary to protect her. Uncle Sam had trained him well.

  Jeannie wriggled around to place her front against his back. Her hands grasped his shoulders. Her body was so close he could feel every wispy breath, every delicate shiver.

  He reached up with one hand and patted hers. It was the only comfort he could offer.

  The door to the storage room opened.

  Scott shut his eyes to protect his night vision. Displaying a surprising instinct for surveillance technique, Jeannie buried her face in his back to do the same.

  Whoever entered wasn’t messing around. The man walked directly to the refrigerated units. His footsteps sounded like thunder in the hushed room. The unit door opened with a whoosh, and cold air escaped into the room. The screeching noise of the Styrofoam container on the shelf caused the hairs on Scott’s arms to stand on end.

  Small movements. The man checking the contents? The paperwork? Finally, the unit door closed with a thunk. The man shut off the light and left the room.

  The breath Scott had unconsciously been holding left his body. Jeannie’s soft sigh of relief barely reached his ears.

  He edged his way from behind the shelving, then he turned and whispered, “Stay here.”

  Jeannie nodded.

  He noiselessly moved to the door, and heard voices through the frosted glass.

  “That the heart?” A deep bass voice asked.

  “Yep, this is it.” Monnier’s voice answered.

  Bingo. They were correct in their assumption that Monnier was in this up to his scrawny neck.

  “You got the money, doc?”

  The sound of a briefcase’s dual locks opening reached Scott’s ears. He could picture the stacks of money a child’s heart might bring. A wealthy parent who needed an organ for his or her child would pay anything. No questions asked.

  “You don’t mind if I count it?” Monnier chuckled.

  “It’s all there,” rasped the doctor. “Mr. Threlkeld is an honest man.”

  Threlkeld! Scott knew the name. The man owned half the gas leases in the Manchac Swamp. He was a millionaire many times over. Yeah, Scott could see someone like him paying a lot on the black market to save his child. Threlkeld might be another link to breaking open this case.

  “Looks like you’re right, doc. It’s all there.” The case closed with two snaps of the locks. “Here’s the heart. As close a match as you’re gonna get, and less then 24 hours from the body.”

  Silence. Then the scrape of the cover on the cooler as it was removed.

  “It looks perfect. Tell Lopez I need another heart. Same size, age. I’ll e-mail him the tissue and blood work-ups. Give him a heads-up — the blood type is A-negative — so he can start singling out his donors.”

  “Got it. Nice doing business with you.”

  Footsteps walking away and the sound of the outer door closing was Monnier’s only answer.

  Then he, too, moved away from Scott’s position.

  Scott waited until the lights in the outer room went out and the door shut once more. Then he waited a little while longer, to be on the safe side, before getting Jeannie.

  “Scott?” Jeannie whispered. “Was it Monnier?”

  “Shhh. We’ll talk later. I want to make sure he’s gone.”

  They stood there for another five minutes in the dark. In silence. Jeannie’s breathing calmed to pace his, until they breathed in unison.

  Finally, Scott spoke in low tones. “Let’s go. Stay close behind me. Be ready to come back in here.”

  “Okay.”

  They left the storage area. The emergency lights and the light from the frosted pane in the outer door illuminated their silent trip.

  At the doorway, Scott carefully cracked open the door. Monnier hadn’t locked it. Scott would leave it the same way.

  Opening it wider, he stuck his head out, then looked both ways. The coast was clear. Motioning Jeannie ahead of him, they left the room.

  Turning toward the door leading to the underground tunnel, Scott led them down and back the way they’d come only thirty minutes earlier.

  He couldn’t think about what he’d heard, what they’d found. His first job was to get Jeannie home and lock her in.

  After Charles brought Little Bits home, then they could sit down, assess what they knew, what they still needed to know, and formulate a battle plan.

  At least, they could until he had to go to work that evening.

  Damn.

  He hated the thought of asking Charles to stay with his girls, but with the deaths of Randolph and Sally and the discoveries he and Jeannie had made today, the stakes had gone up.

  His Jeannie had become expendable as far as Rutherford was concerned. It wasn’t a matter of if, but when he would make his move against her. He couldn’t risk leaving her alone until this was over. That meant for the time being, until he could convince Jeannie to go to his Mama, he had to trust Charles.

  Damn.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Charles sat at Jeannie’s table, his thin, aristocratic face set in lines of deep thought.

  Scott shoved the dessert he hadn’t wanted around on his plate.

  Jeannie pleated a napkin, unfolded it, then pleated it again.

  They were waiting to hear what Charles thought, afraid he would say they didn’t have anything to take to the police. Or the feds.

  “Momma?” Little Bits stood in the doorway to the small dining area off the kitchen. She clasped a large Raggedy Ann doll he’d bought her to her chest. “I can’t sleep. Read me a story, please?”

  Jeannie’s sigh sounded like one of relief. Scott knew how she felt. Reading Little Bits a story was far better than sitting and staring at a man who might tell you that the end to the fear, the chaos in their lives, was not in sight.

  Jeannie hurried from the room.

  Charles looked up from the Customs paperwork they’d copied.

  “I’m not saying your conclusions are correct, but if SRP and One World are moving body parts into the country from third world countries like Brazil illegally, then we might be able to involve the United Nations and the World Court. The Bellagio Task Force was appointed by the UN to look into the trafficking of body parts and propose ways to contain it.”

  Charles pushed his reading glasses back into position. “Of course, the UN can’t force any member country to make laws to stop this. But sanctions by other member countries or maybe even a trial in the World Court if a treaty was involved could be possible actions.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yes.” Charles sounded as exasperated as Scott felt. “Scott, let’s say Brazil had such a law on the books or had signed a treaty to such effect and still turned a blind eye toward Lopez’s and Rutherford’s operation. We don’t have enough evidence to go to anybody. If I even knew to whom to take it.”

  Scott pushed himself away from the table, got up and started to pace.

  “What do we need? I mean, exactly what kind of evidence do we need to prove they are killing people for body parts? God, Charles.” He stopped pacing, then slammed his fist against the wall. “I heard that son-of-a-bitch doctor order another child’s heart. We have to stop them. If I don’t, they’ll kill more children — and Jeannie — possibly Little Bits — or even us.”

  “I hear you, and I agree they must be stopped.”

  Charles sat staring out the opened French doors.

  After a few minutes, he turned to Scott. “We need first-hand evidence from the other end. We need to know how they obtain their body parts and document it. We have to figure out who in the host country is working with and covering for them and nullify them. An
d finally, we need to establish how they get the organs through both sets of Customs, or more likely who they are paying to look the other way.”

  “Jesus, is that all?” Scott slapped the wall. “We need a miracle to stop Rutherford is what you’re saying.”

  “No. We just need time. The good news is we can cause Rutherford enough legal trouble and bad press to keep the heat on him while we get the really damning evidence. Maybe he’ll be so busy covering his ass, he won’t be aware of what we’re doing on the other end of his operation.”

  “How?”

  Charles smiled for the first time that evening. He waved his hand over the papers spread out on the table. “We’ve got enough here. First of all, we know about the accounts with the obscenely huge amounts of money. That will get the IRS and various other departments in Treasury looking into Rutherford’s finances.”

  “That’s how they got Capone.”

  “Yeah,” Charles said. His smile turned almost wicked. “Plus, we have Threlkeld. We could turn the screws on him. Hint that we know what was done in order to get a heart for his child. We could offer him immunity for his testimony. We may never get any of the others, unless you recognized the voice of that doc ordering the heart, because I don’t imagine they issue receipts for the cash they are taking in.”

  Scott shook his head. “I didn’t recognize the man’s voice, but he had to be a cardiovascular transplant surgeon. I’ll definitely be listening.”

  “Don’t bother. He probably wouldn’t cave even if we confronted him. He has a lot more to lose than Threlkeld. We need to cut off his source for body-parts-to-order.”

  Charles picked up a file he’d brought with him. “And last, but not least, we have the paper connections between SRP and One World. That raises a big question mark. We’ll nail Lopez for sure — he is One World. What we don’t have is Rutherford on record saying to his friend, Lopez, ‘how is our body-part trafficking business going?’”

  “What about Rutherford’s ownership of SRP? Can’t we use that against him? After all, we have the shipping papers showing that One World shipped the body parts to SRP. We have SRP selling body parts to the Epi Study at inflated prices, a violation of self-interest laws.”