Quality DNA

by Beth Martin

  “Anxiety?” Angel suggested. “I’d be pretty worried if I were about to lose the family jewels.”

  “There’s much better medicine for anxiety than general anesthesia,” Florida said. “And for surgery, doctors prescribe the fun stuff.”

  “Obviously Dr. Tanaka is hiding something,” Elijah said.

  Angel stood up and paced around the front of the room. “What do you mean?”

  “If there’s no medical reason to put these guys under, there has to be some other reason. There must be some aspect of the procedure that Dr. Tanaka doesn’t want his patients to know. Maybe he has someone else doing the procedure,” Elijah said, his eyes wide.

  “Why don’t we just ask him?” Florida said.

  “I’ll give him a call,” Irene said. She knew he wouldn’t be forthcoming with answers, especially now that he was being formally investigated. However, her team needed to see her as a leader and that included leaving no stone unturned. She pulled her device from her pocket. The large handheld, if it could even be called that, was a much older, refurbished model. Her previous one had been completely destroyed.

  “I’ll do the talking,” Florida offered.

  “Cha cha cherry,” Irene said, waiting for the display to show a cherry graphic which meant the device was listening. “Call Dr. Tanaka.”

  “Holy shit, that thing is old,” Elijah said. “You find it this weekend while searching for dinosaur bones?”

  Angel hushed him as Irene tapped an icon to turn on the device’s speaker. The line rang a few times before Dr. Tanaka answered. “If it isn’t the social worker. What can I do for you today, Miss Crow?”

  “I’m here with my medical professional, Florida Hartford.”

  Florida launched in. “Dr. Tanaka, we’ve been speaking with some of your patients who had a simple bilateral orchiectomy. All of them have claimed to have been placed under general anesthesia. What was your reasoning for using general on a simple procedure like this?”

  “Pleasure meeting you Miss Hartford,” Dr. Tanaka said. “I’m sorry, but without a specific patient in mind, I’m afraid I can’t make any sweeping generalizations.”

  “Jonas Cooper,” Irene said.

  “Jonas asked to be put under,” he replied. Florida looked at Irene and raised her brow.

  “How about George Clark?” Angel asked. Florida shook her head.

  “His procedure was much more complicated,” Tanaka said.

  “Evan Gripp,” Florida said, listing a name not on the patient list.

  There was a long pause before Tanaka responded. “I’m really too busy to answer all these questions over a call. In the future, send any questions you have directly to my assistant. Good day.” The line clicked as Tanaka disconnected.

  “Who’s Evan Gripp?” Irene asked.

  “Just a guy I dated ages ago,” Florida said.

  “Then why ask about him?” Angel said.

  “Because that guy,” Florida pointed to a man who was wearing a black suit, white shirt, and black tie peering through the window in the conference room door, “came to my apartment this weekend asking about him.”

  With all four social workers looking at him, the man in the suit let himself into the conference room. “Hello,” he said, nodding his head in greeting. “I’m Agent Rick Elder with the social crimes division of the FBI.” He held up his device which displayed his credentials.

  Angel held out his hand and gave Rick a firm handshake. “I’m Angel Cole. This is Elijah Noth and Irene Crow.”

  Irene turned to look at Rick. His hair was thinning on the top of his head and his mouth was fixed in a frown. “I’m leading the task force investigating Dr. Patrick Tanaka,” she said. Irene had worked with the FBI only a couple times before. More accurately, the Bureau relieved her of those two cases, leaving her in the lurch. This one was too important for her to let go.

  “We’ve already met,” Florida said, uncrossing her legs then crossing them again with the other leg on top.

  “I’m Elijah,” Elijah said, wiping his hands clean on his shirt before holding one out. Rick reluctantly shook his hand then retrieved a wipe from his pocket and cleaned his own hands.

  “Why are you here, Agent Elder?” Irene asked, not even trying to sound courteous.

  “I thought the Social Department would be a little more welcoming. Especially after the Bureau got you your subpoena.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Irene said.

  Rick strolled around the room and sat at the other end of the table. “The FBI opened an investigation on Dr. Tanaka related to another case. We thought maybe he was recruiting patients for some illegal activity, and subpoenaed the list. When Victory requested the list, the Bureau sent it over as a gesture of goodwill. Why is the Social Department interested in him?”

  Irene briefly explained how her investigation into Rose Clark’s baby had led them to Dr. Tanaka.

  “So what about Eric Gripp?” Elijah asked.

  Rick leaned back and steepled his fingers together as he explained. “Mr. Gripp was a member of a fraternity of sorts while he was in college. A fraternity with which Dr. Tanaka was also affiliated. Mr. Gripp recalled waking up late one morning after a particularly wild party in a moderate amount of pain with an ice pack crammed in his crotch. He dismissed it as some sort of hazing ritual, and only recently found out that his left testicle had been surgically removed.”

  “Wow,” Elijah said. “How do you not notice one of your balls is missing?” He shuddered at the thought.

  Rick stood up as he continued. “Dr. Tanaka was still a resident at the time. He may or may not have been involved in the incident. But that really isn’t the FBI’s primary concern.”

  Angel sat in a chair at Rick’s end of the table. “Well, we knew Dr. Tanaka wasn’t shy about removing men’s cojones.”

  “We’re not done investigating Dr. Tanaka,” Irene said, standing up. “The FBI isn’t taking this case away from us.”

  “We’re not interested in whose balls the good doctor has removed.” Rick said.

  Elijah shook his head. “Then what is the FBI interested in?”

  Rick placed both hands palms down on the table. “The fraternity. I’m here because I need one of you to help with our investigation. Have any of you heard of a group that calls themselves AQD?”

  He was met with silence.

  Angel turned to Irene and asked, “Is that the cult Jamie wanted to join?”

  A grin spread across Rick’s face. “So you have heard of it.”

  Irene’s stomach dropped. She couldn’t be sure how much the FBI knew, but she didn’t want to get caught in a lie. “My wife and I went to a meeting.”

  Rick tapped his fingers quickly against the table before standing up. “Miss Crow, how would you like to become an asset to the FBI?

  “Do I have a choice?” Irene asked.

  “Of course, but there is a right and wrong answer.”

  Irene nodded.

  “Please, come with me.”

  ··OOO··

  Rick didn’t use navigation on his device, instead driving manually to their destination. There was nothing remarkable about the generic office building they arrived at, aside from the tall, barbed-wire-topped fence surrounding it.

  The interior, however, was a completely different story. Irene was shocked by the high level of scrutiny. Immediately inside the doors sat a security desk. A woman wearing a navy uniform stood up and greeted them. “Good afternoon, Agent Elder.”

  He pressed his hand against the top of the desk. The wood seemed to glow, light tracing his hand before the dark front of the desk illuminated green and a computerized voice said, “Welcome back, Agent Elder.”

  “Your turn,” he said to Irene. She placed her hand on the desk and felt the warm light dance over her palm and fingers. This time it glowed red.

  “Irene Crow. Access is not authorized.”

  Irene looked at Rick. “How does it know who I am?”


  “DNA isn’t the only thing collected at birth,” Rick said. He turned to the security officer and said, “She’s my guest.”

  “Limited access granted for Irene Crow, escorted by Agent Richard Elder,” the computer corrected.

  “We’ll get you clearances before you leave today,” Rick said. He pulled out his device. “She’ll need yours too,” he told Irene.

  The security officer brought up a small lead box from under the desk which had a key sticking out of a lock on the top. She opened the box and Rick dropped his device inside. Irene did the same. The officer closed the box and locked it, then handed the plastic key to Rick.

  “Thank you,” he said before strolling through the scanner. Irene followed alongside him, passing through the security office to a bank of elevators. One of them automatically opened and they got in. Without a word of instruction, the elevator went down, deep underground. Irene wasn’t sure how far down they had gone when the elevator finally stopped and they got off.

  This part of the FBI building looked like any other office building with cheap, temporary walls marking small offices. They walked through the maze of hallways until they reached a long stretch of hall with only one door. Rick placed his hand on the doorknob, and after a moment, the knob glowed green and he was able to open the door and walk inside.

  The conference room looked similar to the one at the Social Department, except that the walls were covered in smart boards. A glance around the space showed images of Dr. Tanaka and some of the patients Irene had interviewed. There were pages from medical records and handwritten notes displayed. Someone had gone in with a red marker and drawn lines between various photos and documents forming a spiderweb of connections.

  There was only one other person in the room, an older woman with her gray hair in a men’s crew cut wearing a suit similar to Rick’s, complete with a black tie. She wore heavy glasses which took over much of her face.

  “You must be Irene Crow,” she said in a low, crackly voice. She shook Irene’s hand. “I’m Josephine Jordan, the Director of Domestic Terrorism here at the Bureau. My colleagues call me Jo. Let’s all take a seat.” Irene wasn’t sure about working with ‘Domestic Terrorism.’ It didn’t sound safe. Regardless, she sat down next to Rick and across from the Jo. “Tell me, Irene, what happened to your device?”

  “How did you know…” Irene began. Jo pointed to the screen behind her where a square appeared, displaying the footage of her placing her new device in the lead box at the security desk.

  “No one uses the Cha cha Cherry model unless they have to,” Jo said. “Especially since the Social Department provides the Economy Deluxe model to employees.”

  “I tried to search for AQD on my device and it fried,” Irene said.

  Jo clasped her hands together and leaned forward, ready to listen. “How did you first learn about AQD?”

  “I was in Los Angeles, actually to interview Dr. Tanaka. I was sitting at a restaurant bar, and a man, Jarred Long, came over and sat next to me.”

  “This man?” Jo asked, turning to the wall behind her. A rectangle appeared on the board next to the square of security footage showing an image of the man who promised to help Irene get a baby.

  “Yes,” Irene said.

  “How about this man?” Jo asked, another picture appearing on the smartboard.

  Irene recognized him as well. “That’s Miguel Blanco, the man Rose Clark had an affair with.”

  “What about him?” A third, stunningly attractive portrait displayed behind her.

  “I don’t recognize him,” Irene admitted.

  “This is Michael Shark. He’s the man we believe impregnated Annette Blisburn.”

  Irene’s jaw dropped in shock. “How did you find him?”

  “His device was closest in proximity to hers during conception.” Irene knew the government was able to access some information from devices. Now she was beginning to believe they had access to all the information. “All three of these men fathered a child without biologically fathering a child. There seem to be lots of attractive men affiliated with the organization. But that’s not why we called you in for this briefing.”

  While Irene had to admit that the three men displayed on the smart board were all incredibly handsome, she recalled all the people at the meeting were pretty normal looking.

  “More important,” Rick said, “is that all three of these men are affiliated with the terrorist organization, AQD.”

  Irene shook her head. “I wouldn’t call them terrorist. Maybe misguided.”

  “So you have been to a meeting,” Jo said, a smile enveloping her face, showing her crooked teeth. “You’ll be perfect.”

  “Perfect for what?” Irene asked, cautiously glancing from Jo to Rick and back.

  “We need you to infiltrate AQD. We’ve collected information which has led us to believe that they are planning on destroying the Genome Database,” Jo said. Irene was familiar with the Genome Database, which held the DNA information for every person in the world. They interfaced with it every day in the Social Department. She imagined the physical storage of the database was housed in a huge facility filled with servers. “You can imagine if it were lost, the results would be catastrophic.”

  Having everyone’s DNA on file was how genetic abnormalities were avoided, crime rates were kept down, and genetic diversity monitored. Without it, the most valuable tool in fighting crime would be gone and there would be no balance in the human genome for the future generation. It would take a huge effort to collect all of that information again.

  “What about Dr. Tanaka?” Irene asked.

  “He’s a small player,” Rick said. “You just need to find out how they plan to destroy the Genome Database and then report back to us. The FBI will take care of shutting them down.”

  “Where is the Genome Database?” she asked.

  “It’s classified,” Rick said quickly.

  Jo pulled off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose for a moment before returning the heavy frames to her face. “If we give you that information, you may inadvertently leak it to AQD. We’re not yet sure if they know where it is held.”

  “Why me? Why not one of your agents?” Irene asked.

  With a snap, the entire smart board cleared and the whole thing became white. “I looked up your file. You’re in a unique position they would be eager to experiment with,” Jo said. “With the strange parentage cases you’ve seen and their affiliation with Dr. Tanaka, they’re undoubtedly running some sort of medical experiments. They won’t be able to resist planting an embryo in your barren womb.”

  “Hold up,” Irene said, raising her hands. “I’m not taking part in any medical experiments.”

  “Then you better find out their plan before it comes to that,” Jo said as she stood up. She turned to the smart board and all the notes and information from before faded back into view. “You’re dismissed.”

  “I’ll take you out,” Rick said. He led Irene out into the hall and back to the elevators.

  As they rode back up to ground level, he turned to her and said, “For her safety, you shouldn’t tell your wife anything more about AQD, or that you’re investigating it.” Irene couldn’t imagine hiding all this from Jamie.

  “I need to get back to my office,” she said as they exited the elevator.

  “You don’t work there anymore. AQD would never trust an active social worker. They will trust a disgruntled past employee who got fired for voicing her progressive ideas.”

  “What am I supposed to tell my wife?” she asked as they walked back through security.

  “You’ll come up with something,” he said before disappearing back into the building.

  ten

  “Don’t you need to get up for work?” Jamie said, nudging Irene who was still asleep.

  Irene grunted and rolled over. Her head was pounding. Her memory of last night was foggy at best. She didn’t recall getting home or climbing into bed, but she also didn’t remember J
amie waiting up for her, which was good.

  “Get up, babe,” Jamie said, nudging her again. “You don’t want to be late.”

  “Just let me sleep,” Irene moaned, grabbing the blanket and covering her head.

  Jamie sat up. “I’m going to make some coffee.” She got up and left the bedroom.

  Irene tried to piece together her fragmented memory of last night. She had called Jamie to tell her she had to work late. Then she went to a local bar, one with game tables and local patrons, but no dance music or open mic. After a few beers, she talked to someone on her device. She had a complete, friendly conversation, but couldn’t recall who with or what was said. There had been pool. She played pool on a cheap table with physical pool balls. Hadn’t she played with someone? While playing game after game, she kept drinking, maybe from a pitcher. Had she bought all that beer?

  More important than her memory of last evening was her need for coffee. She had to sit up slowly, her head screaming in reaction to each motion. Her stomach felt like it was full of acid. She needed to eat something.

  Her device buzzed on the side table next to her. Who would be calling her this early in the morning? When she saw the name on the display, it all came back to her.

  She answered the call, even though she didn’t really want to talk to him. “Hey.”

  “Hey, Irene. I wanted to make sure you made it home okay,” Elijah said.

  “I had my car. I woke up in my bed, so I guess I did.”

  “I just wanted to say sorry, for my part in everything,” he said. “I probably should have told you to stop.”

  Irene pressed her hand against her head, willing the pain to go away. “I’m a big girl, so you don’t need to feel responsible for me. I can make my own decisions, including how much I drink.”

  “Well, after everything that happened with work and all, I figured you wanted to drown your sorrows.”

  “I’m fine now,” Irene said. “Just don’t try to help again.” She disconnected the call before setting her device back on the table. What were the chances that her local bar was also Elijah and his group of friends’ favorite hang out?