Double Vision

by Ellie Hart

  “Where in the world did he hear that?”

  Marta sounds as flabbergasted as I feel, and even Don’s mouth is hanging open. Jinx, however, looks smug. He might as well have a neon sign above his head that says “I told you so.”

  Maxi’s conversational bombshell is massive. So massive, in fact, I’m inclined to not believe her for a moment. It seems to me anything labeled as “terrorism” in our volatile society should be plastered all over the news. Still…

  “So, Maxi, what I’m hearing you say is Rex discovered that the donor program is linked to terrorism?” Marta shakes her head slightly, a frown drawing her eyebrows together. “How come he knows this, but the program is still around? That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I agree,” I say, but my attention is focused on Don. I’m watching his face as he processes Maxi’s announcement, his journalistic instinct locked into overdrive. “Don? What’s your take?”

  He sits silently for a moment, eyes fixed on his coffee mug. I’m startled to see just how sober his expression is. Don, it seems, is taking this seriously. That alone stirs my blood, kicks my heart into high gear. This must be how it feels to be on the cusp of a breaking story, and I can almost see why Don loves his career. Almost.

  “If what you say is true, Maxi,” he begins, his voice and words solemn, “your brother might have stumbled across something that will put his life in danger, if it hasn’t already.”

  “Wait a sec. Hold up.” Jinx lifts his hands, looking between Don and Maxi. “I thought he was just kidding, all right? Rex tends to get a bit melodramatic and likes to exaggerate the details.”

  “If this terrorism angle is true, or even just partway true, it’s gonna blow the whole transplant program sky high.” Don turns in his seat to face Maxi, his eyes serious. “Think carefully, okay? Where did Rex get all this information?”

  I can’t help it. I laugh. “So very sci-fi, Don. Organ transplants for wounded soldiers? Like a rebooted robot army?”

  “Hey, I don’t make the stories, I just report them, all right? And the more we learn about this, the better chance we’ll have at finding Rex.” Don’s mouth tightens, and I can see that he’s deadly serious. My heart takes a leap and settles back under my ribs, its rhythm shaking my chest like a tympani drum.

  “So, how’s the food?”

  Our server has paused just behind me, her gaze skimming between the five of us, a fixed smile on her lips. She waits just a beat. “And here’s your bill. No rush, now. Y’all enjoy your day.” And she’s off, swishing away to deposit a dose of faux country sweetness and a bill at another table.

  “You know, Don, this whole conversation has kinda put a damper on the day.” I’m trying for light, but it falls flat. Even Marta is still silent. “Okay, then. I’ll take care of this and meet you guys at the van.” I lean over and grab the bill, pushing the chair back with my knees. No one says anything, the mood somber and heavy. I sigh theatrically, catching Maxi’s eye. “Having fun yet?”

  “Gij, that’s not necessary.” Marta’s tone is soft, but her words carry a warning to back off. I wrinkle my nose, but she ignores me.

  “Fine,” I mutter to myself, heading to the front counter. Gallows humor has always been my way of coping with stressful situations, but it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I get that. I just wish that they’d get me for once.

  Bill paid and back outside, I take in a deep breath of San Francisco air, enjoying the slight dampness that permeates everything here. On the warmer summer days, it can edge toward miserable, tropical even, but it’s perfect today. I’m feeling a little better as I join the others at Don’s van.

  To my surprise, Jinx is coming with us. He climbs into the back seat behind Don, and Maxi climbs into the middle, an ecstatic Tramp jumping into her lap and giving her a series of wet kisses. Marta takes the seat behind me and I wait until she’s buckled in, the belt adjusted across her middle, before I close her door and get into the front passenger seat. Looking over at Don, I wait to hear what the plan is.

  “I vote we head back to Rex’s apartment,” he says. Don starts the motor, and we pull out into traffic behind a giant tour bus, the space between the two vehicles a mite closer than I would prefer. Don drives like he lives and works: too close to the edge for my taste. Gritting my teeth, I hang on and say nothing.

  “Do you think he’ll show up any time soon?” Jinx leans forward, his head jutting between the front seats. “I mean, it makes more sense he’d be at a friend’s house or something, not at his place. That would make him a sitting duck, you know?”

  “If he’s really in some kind of trouble, certainly.” I turn to face him just as a motorcycle cuts down the center of the traffic, weaving his way between us and the neighboring SUV. Don lays on his horn, and the motorcycle rider gives us a one-fingered wave.

  “What about the hospital?” Marta says, her voice steady. “Do you think he might there? Jinx, what do you think?”

  Jinx leans back, shrugging. “I’ve got no clue, to be honest. I know he’s scheduled to donate monthly. Blood plasma, I mean. I’m not sure when he last donated bone marrow.”

  We’re all quiet for a moment, turning over possibilities in our minds. “Maxi, has Rex ever mentioned his donating schedule to you?” I say. What I really want to know is how the hospital deals with folks who’ve donated bone marrow. The other thing that Don mentioned, donating actual organs, I still can’t get my head around that. It’s just too Hollywood for me.

  “No, not really.” I watch her in the rearview mirror as she buries her face in Tramp’s soft fur. “Well, he did tell me once he goes to that dog park to recruit.”

  “To recruit?” I think I already know the answer, but I want everyone else to hear it as well. “Do you mean to donate bone marrow? For money?”

  Maxi nods. “Yes. Can you believe that woman even tried to rope me into it?”

  “Bev?” Marta sounds dumbfounded. “She wanted you to donate? Are you even old enough, Maxi?”

  “You only have to be eighteen and in good health. To tell you the truth, though, I’m not sure about that. I mean, how are all those junkies and winos in any shape to do that?”

  I catch Marta’s eye over the back of the seat. I know we’re both thinking the same thing.

  “So,” I ask, “if someone can only donate bone marrow once, maybe twice, in a lifetime, how does Rex make his money?”

  Maxi shrugs again, but Jinx, who has been staring out the window, speaks up.

  “They get a kickback for each person they send to the clinic. You send enough people, you can make a decent wage.”

  “Wait. How in the world can a clinic afford that?” Don asks, glancing up into the rearview mirror. “Doc, make a note of that, if you would. I need to check that out ASAP.”

  I snort but do as he asks, typing a brief note into my phone. “What am I, your glorified copy girl?”

  Behind me, Marta chuckles. “If you can get her to do anything besides worry about her precious animals, you’ve got some pull there, Don. God only knows how she’ll deal with the baby when she or he gets here.”

  “Whatever, smarty. Speaking of which, who’s going to keep Tramp until his daddy comes home?”

  “He’ll stay with me, right, Tramp?” Maxi’s voice is muffled as she buries her face into the dog’s fur. “And maybe he can come to work with me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, maybe. All we’re missing is a ferret and a turtle.”

  “Can we get back to the donation clinic scheme thing?” Don’s voice is impatient, but that might have something to do with the dense traffic around us. With the push to move to the surrounding bedroom communities such as San Leandro and Pleasanton, traffic in and out of the Bay Area can be a nightmare. “I think we need to find this Bev woman and have ourselves a little talk.”

  “Since I see her on a near-daily basis, Don, that won’t be too difficult.” Marta’s voice is gentle, and I know she’s unconsciously responding to the tension in him. “If you’d like, I can give
her a call and set up a time for her to swing by our place. If that’s okay with you, Gij.” She reaches over the seat to give my shoulder a poke.

  “Yeah, that’s fine with me,” I say, rubbing my shoulder in exaggerated pain. “Good God, woman. You need to cut those nails of yours.”

  “Just remember that next time you ask me to scratch your back,” she says, but she sounds distracted. “Don, I just thought of something. Let’s head back to our place right now. Gij, do you remember that internet issue Leif had?”

  “You mean that dark web thingy? Tor?”

  “That’s it. Let’s use my laptop and see if we can find anything about the clinic there.”

  “I’ll make an investigative reporter out of you yet,” says Don as he switches lanes and makes an abrupt left-hand turn, oblivious to the irate drivers and near misses behind us. He doesn’t let any grass grow under his feet. And he doesn’t use side mirrors, either.

  * * *

  When the five of us are settled in the living room, Tramp dozing on Maxi’s lap, Marta opens her laptop and begins searching for information.

  “Okay, I’m in,” she announces, eyes still fixed on the screen. “Any suggestions?”

  “How about ‘organs for sale’? That’s pretty straightforward.” Don looks around at the rest of us, one eyebrow lifted in question.

  “Sounds good to me. Anyone want a coffee? Or tea?”

  “Got any soda?” Jinx says. I can see the dark smudges under his eyes, proof he isn’t sleeping because he’s more worried than he’s let on. “I’m talking the real thing, not that diet crap.”

  “Sure,” I say without thinking and then glance guiltily over at Marta. She wants us to eat and drink stuff that will be a good example for the little one, but it’s turned me into a sneak, to be honest. I keep my six-pack of Pepsi tucked behind the boxed foods in the pantry.

  “Second shelf from the top, behind the gluten-free pasta,” Marta says without taking her gaze from the screen. I can see the smile peeking out from the corner of her lips. “I had to move it to make room. And I’ll take a bottle of water, please.”

  By the time I get back, everyone is watching Marta troll for any sign of an organ black market. It doesn’t take long for her to find a promising site.

  “Listen to this,” she says, and I can hear the undertone of excitement in her voice. “‘Prominent San Fran transplant hospital can procure the needed element.’” She looks up, her eyes shining with excitement. “Doesn’t that sound as though they’re saying they can get whatever you need for a transplant?”

  Across the room, Don gives a half shrug, sipping carefully from an earthenware mug I’d gotten at some long-ago street fair. “Maybe. The only connection is the hospital’s description, and it’s tenuous.” He holds up one hand, the other balancing the mug on his knee. “Just because this is from the part of the internet most folks don’t ever see doesn’t mean there’s not an element of caution in what they post.”

  Marta’s shoulders sag in disappointment. I slip an arm around her and drop a kiss on her hair.

  “Sorry, love. I’m not saying you haven’t found something already, but Don’s right. These folks aren’t going to wave their arms in the air and say ‘over here.’”

  “I know that,” Marta says, indignant. “I just thought this sounded promising, all right?”

  “I think it sounds damn good,” Jinx says suddenly, and something in his voice makes the rest of us stare at him. He takes another drink from his glass, the ice cubes clinking. “I overheard Rex talking to Bev one night, and she was saying something about how a doctor and a couple RNs had joked about using the internet to drum up more business, maybe offer bone marrow and plasma to soldiers.”

  We sit silently for a moment, digesting Jinx’s comments. Beside me Marta stirs, leaning closer to the laptop. I watch as she clicks on the link she’s discovered, and I mentally cross my fingers that this won’t send a posse of feds to our door. Maybe we should have called Leif first.

  Don is the first one to speak.

  “So, what I’m hearing you say is they suggested giving bone marrow and blood to the army?” His eyebrows are drawn close together as he thinks through this scenario. “I’m pretty sure the Red Cross handles that kind of stuff, Jinx.”

  Jinx shakes his head impatiently. “Not our army, idiot. They meant other soldiers, other armies.” When we don’t respond, he adds, “As in Syria. Get it?”

  “Okaaay,” Don says, the word drawn out, as if speaking slowly will help him gather his thoughts. He sets the mug down on the floor and leans forward, clasping his hands between his legs. “This is going to sound crazy, but just hear me out.” He waits a moment, giving his words a gravitas that sends an involuntary shiver down my spine. “What if they’re selling to terrorists?”

  I give a derisive snort, moving my arm from around Marta as I reach over and sip from a can of Pepsi. “I’d ask what you’ve been smoking, Don, but I haven’t seen any smoke so far.”

  “Just the plumes coming from his ears,” murmurs Marta, and I have to laugh.

  “I’m serious. Other countries have done the same thing, so why not the biggest capitalistic country on this planet?”

  Marta and I exchange a glance, and I can see the disbelief on her face. “Let’s say for argument’s sake you’re right, Don,” I begin, carefully placing the can of Pepsi back on the floor. “How could they—whoever they are—do this without being caught? I mean, surely someone is keeping track of donations and transplant needs and all that business, right?”

  Don nods, and I notice the tense excitement in his posture and in the way his neck is jutting forward. He’s a snapping turtle, eager to sink his teeth into something juicy.

  “Of course. This is part of a legit operation—pardon the pun—and there are specific channels that have to be gone through.”

  “So? I’m still asking you how this could be done.” I gesture to the laptop, noticing the slowly scrolling graphic at the top of the page.

  “It could happen if the transplant team was in on it,” Maxi says from her corner of the room, and I almost jump. I’d nearly forgotten she was there, and judging by the expressions on the others’ faces, they had as well.

  “Bingo, missy.” Don points a nicotine-yellowed finger in her direction, a broad smile on his face. “You’ve got it in one.”

  Maxi’s response is to snuggle closer with Tramp, who gives a yelp as she holds him a bit too tightly. The rest of us watch the pair of them, each keeping our thoughts private. I know my own mind is buzzing with Marta’s possible discovery, but I’m also aware that Maxi and Jinx have a brother missing. If for no other reason, we need to figure out what is going on here and quickly.

  “Personally,” begins Jinx, his voice hesitant, “I think we need to call the PD, let them know what we’ve found.” I hear Maxi’s derisive snort and have to smile. “I’m serious, Max. If someone has Rex, we need to get the police involved, not try to go all Nancy Drew here.” Jinx slumps back in his chair. “I’m just saying, okay?”

  “And I’m just saying that it’s hilarious coming from you, Mr.-I-Like-My-Weed. Since when are you a fan of the police?” Maxi’s eyebrows are lifted as high as they’ll go, giving her normally smooth forehead a corrugated appearance. “But as it happens, I agree with you for once.” She turns to me, and I can see the toll this morning has taken on her. “Doc, don’t you think we should call them?”

  “Actually,” Marta says in a gentle voice, “I think we need to get the bigger guns in for this one.”

  “Bigger guns?” I think I know what she means, but I want the others to hear it as well.

  Marta nods. “Since this seems to involve something potentially international, I’m suggesting we contact the local FBI office.”

  I know Don’s imagining the story going viral, his byline firmly printed above the headlines. Still, I have no desire to get on the bad side of the feebs with our digging into the dark web. Doing time in a federal prison for meddling is
n’t exactly my idea of a vacation from work. Of course, my imagination is usually bigger than the actual outcome, but I prefer life on this side of the bars, thank you very much.

  We decide Marta is the best one to make the call. And as the rest of us listen to her voice as she describes what may be happening in one of the Bay Area’s largest and most respected hospitals, a shiver trips down my spine.

  It all boils down to a dead woman floating in the bay.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I watch the three agents who show up at my house, noting each one seems to be doing something different than the others. One is asking questions of us all while the only woman in the trio, a short blonde with a blood-red manicure, taps notes into a tablet. The sound her nails make as they move across the screen is almost hypnotic, a staccato rhythm as she records our words.

  The third member of the group, the older of the two men, is simply listening to each of us speak, his expression neutral but intense. I get the feeling he will be able to repeat each statement verbatim once they leave. Marta seems to have that skill as well. She can recall and repeat any and all of the goofy things I’ve ever said, no matter how long ago it was.

  Thinking about that almost makes me smile, and I catch the eye of the agent taking notes. It’s as if my thoughts have suddenly exposed themselves in one of those comic strip bubbles. I instantly rein in my amusement and tie it down firmly. This is a serious matter.

  Satisfied I’m once again displaying the somberness equal to the situation, she turns back to the tablet. Never let it be said I don’t believe in the ability of women to read the vibes of others. I’ve lived with Marta too long to ignore it. Our kid is going to believe in it as well, once she or he hits the uncertainty of puberty. There will be no secrets, nothing hidden from Marta, and I can hardly wait to see her in action.

  I almost smile again.

  When the five of us have given up everything we’ve discovered, the three agents exchange a few looks and nods, apparently able to communicate via telepathy. I’m watching them with interest and notice Jinx is as well. Maxi’s face is once again buried in Tramp’s fur, and Don is making his own notes in a battered spiral notebook, the quintessential journalist. Marta, as usual, is sitting still, but she has an awareness about her as if she’s taking a reading from the room’s atmosphere. Maybe she is. Her training as a social worker would have taught her how to read others’ actions as clearly as if they had spoken their intentions out loud.