Breeders (2 page)

Her doctor had warned her not to go, but she was desperate, and besides, it had worked for Susannah. It cost her a flight from Portugal and twenty thousand dollars, and here she was. She was feeling excited and a bit apprehensive, but the good Dr. Nice told her everything would be OK. She chuckled. Imagine a doctor called Nice. He
was
very nice.
 

She felt a slight pinch as he stuck the needle into her back, gaining direct access to her kidneys to deliver the healing dose of stem cells that would stop all the pain and suffering.

The pretty receptionist helped him roll Imelda onto her other side, and she saw him fill the syringe with more of the thick liquid from the vial. She looked around the clinic. It was a bit run-down, but that was to be expected, Susannah had said. Happy Sunshine had funded their own stem cell research, and they were operating at a loss, according to Dr. Sukhon.

She cringed as a burning pain seared through her, just below her ribs, and she looked up at the doctor in alarm. “It hurts,” she whimpered.

Dr. Sukhon pulled the mask from his face and smiled. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Borges. That’s very normal. Within a couple weeks, your sickness will be gone.”

She swallowed and nodded then closed her eyes. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen any certificates or qualifications in the doctor’s office, and it did seem strange that he was performing the procedure wearing a T-shirt that said “Same-Same,” knee-length Bermuda shorts, and open sandals.
 

She pursed her lips, trying to ban the negative thoughts from her mind. He came highly recommended, and that was all that mattered. Don’t judge a book, she said for the hundredth time that day. Though it was weird that half a dozen pregnant girls were seated outside; she wondered what procedures they were waiting for.

“All done,” the good doctor said with a smile then pulled the mask off his face. He gestured to the cloak room. “You may get dressed now.”

Imelda nodded, heaving her bulky frame from the gurney. “When would you like me to see you for the next checkup?” Imelda asked, trying to keep her bottom covered with the flimsy cotton gown.

Dr. Sukhon chuckled then waved his hand dramatically. “No need for a checkup. Will work, no problem.”

Imelda frowned then shrugged. She was actually feeling better already. Surely the treatment couldn’t work this fast. Well, you never knew with these fancy new drugs; this was cutting-edge technology, and it had cost her an arm and a leg.

Dr. Sukhon nodded as she pulled open the curtains to the dressing room then opened the door. “Next!” he shouted and placed the mask back on his face.

Interpol Headquarters

Lyon, France

General Alain Laiveaux greeted Sergeant Neil Allen with a firm handshake then pulled Captain Alexa Guerra closer and gave her a peck on the cheek. He gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and took Alexa’s coat as she slipped out of it.

“Sergeant, Captain,” he said with a curt nod before filling three tumblers with cognac. He pushed two toward Alexa and Neil and quaffed his in a single gulp. “Are you glad to be back?”

Alexa smiled then took a sip of her drink. “Definitely, General,” she said with a shrug. “It somehow seems more . . .” she paused, trying to find the right word, “peaceful, I guess.”

General Laiveaux regarded Alexa for a while, his fingers forming a steeple in front of him. Alexa was like a daughter to him. She had been through a rough time on her previous assignment, enduring things that he wouldn’t have expected from any of his men. But she seemed OK. Her green eyes had their luster again, and a mischievous smile lingered on her lips. Neil was good for her. Laiveaux sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Not peaceful, Captain. Organized. Punctual.” He pursed his lips and said in a softer tone, “The strict military discipline necessarily leads to surety and order.”

Alexa nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right, General.” She shivered. “I wish it was warmer, though.”

The General turned toward them with a grin. He wanted to ease her into this. “I am glad you said that, because I am planning on sending you to more tropical climes.”
 

Alexa and Neil looked up at the general in surprise. They had only just arrived, and here he was dishing out assignments already. Laiveaux sighed. She would be fine. Best thing to do when you fall off a horse is to get straight back on.

The general turned to face Neil then said, “You’re familiar with Thailand, Sergeant?”

Neil nodded. “Koh Phi Phi, mostly; I never liked traveling to the bigger cities.”

The general chuckled. “Well, beggars cannot be choosers, now can they? I expect you to catch the first plane to Bangkok, then report back to me once you’ve landed.”
 

Laiveaux removed a manila envelope from his drawer and tossed it on the table. “Here’s the briefing document and some photos. Familiarize yourselves during the flight.”

Alexa took the file and shook out the contents. “What’s this all about, General?”

The general leaned back in his chair. “Corpses with strange lesions have been found in Bangkok, and the American Centers for Disease Control wants to make sure that it isn’t something that they should be concerned about.” He filled his tumbler again and held the bottle toward Neil and Alexa, who politely refused.
 

He knocked the drink back. “The CDC wants Interpol to rule out the possibility of murder; then they’ll step in if there is any risk of a possible outbreak,” the older man said as he turned to Alexa. He smiled. “Plus, this is a nice, safe mission. There is no way you could get into any trouble on a medical examination, now is there, Captain?”

Alexa shrugged, the sides of her lips turned up in a faint smile. “You never know, General,” she said with a sly glance from beneath her bangs.
 

The general pursed his lips, considering Alexa’s words. He had taught her everything he knew. Sometimes everything you knew wasn’t enough. Especially for a woman in the military. But they needed her, needed her particular set of skills. Needed her female touch on a case like this. He hoped she was ready. “Yes, very well then. You two need to get going now. The CDC has given us twenty-four hours before they move in, so find out what’s going on, and make it snappy.”

They stood up and saluted then turned to leave.

“Sergeant,” Laiveaux called, “may I have a quick word with you?”

Neil Allen snapped to attention. “General?”

Alexa glanced over her shoulder then walked out and closed the door.

Laiveaux leaned closer to Neil. “You’re the only reason she’s still alive; let’s keep her that way,” he whispered.

Neil pursed his lips then nodded curtly. “I’ll make sure, General.”

“Good luck, my boy.”

Neil regarded Laiveaux for a moment then saluted smartly. He swiveled on his heel and marched out of the office.
 

Laiveaux ambled to his desk and refilled his glass with the amber liquid. He gulped it down and grimaced as the warmth seeped down his throat and made its way to his belly. “Good luck to both of you. You’re going to need it,” he murmured softly.

Cape Town

South Africa

Chief Inspector Dawid Moolman leaned over the railing of the small fishing boat and threw up the last of his breakfast into the choppy waters below. The small vessel was being tossed around by the large waves, but the diesel inboard motor droned on, spewing dirty black smoke as it went.

He wiped his lips with the back of his hand, spat the bile in his mouth into the ocean, and looked up. “How far to go?” he shouted at the skipper, leaning unsteadily on the handrail.

The leathery-skinned man pulled his waterproof parka over his head then looked up at the grey sky and narrowed his eyes, as if calculating the distance in his head. “Another seven miles. Fifteen minutes, give or take,” he shouted into the howling wind. He pointed toward the starboard side and shouted, “Quick, Vernon, there’s another one.”

The skipper’s teenage son darted to the side of the boat and thrust a net into the water. He scooped something up then dropped it onto the deck with a soft thud.
 

Inspector Moolman lurched forward, precariously clutching on to the handrail as he uncomfortably made his way. He knelt next to the object, steadying himself with his hands. He inspected it suspiciously and picked it up, trying to hide his disgust.

He had been in the South African Police Service for more than fifteen years, the last three spent as chief inspector in Cape Town, but he had never come across anything like this before.
 

In the past month, more than a dozen of these things had washed up ashore on the west coast of the Cape, and he would soon need a larger evidence cabinet to house them all.

He peeked into the opening. The skeletal remains of a foot were still inside. He swallowed then fished a plastic bag from his pocket and tossed the shoe into it.

“We’re almost there, Inspector,” Jamie Bezuidenhout, the skipper, shouted.

Moolman stood up laboriously then held his arms up like a tightrope walker to try to keep his balance.

“Look over there,” Jamie shouted, pointing a gnarled finger to the port side of the vessel.

Moolman shuffled over the deck of the ship and made it to the other side without stumbling this time. He peered over the side of the vessel toward where Jamie had pointed then clapped his hand over his mouth.

As they came closer, small bubbles burst to the surface, followed by more of the sneakers. He felt the bile rise in his throat again, and he leaned over the side of the vessel and emptied the final contents of his stomach into the rough seas. He closed his eyes then looked back up with a shudder.

Floating on the water, as far as the eye could see, were dozens of sneakers dotting the surface of the ocean.

Royal Thai Police Headquarters

Pathumwan, Bangkok

Kanya Jandaeng, the morgue technician, unzipped the black body bag solemnly and held out a small pot of Vicks VapoRub toward Neil and Alexa. They shook their heads, and she shrugged, rubbing some of the cream beneath her nose.
 

“What was the cause of death?” Alexa asked, inspecting the body for any signs of trauma. A large Y-shaped incision had been made from the shoulders and down to the abdomen. The female corpse was an ashy white; the contents of the abdomen had been removed.
 

“We don’t know exactly,” she said hesitantly. “She died from kidney failure, but we don’t know why.”

“What could cause kidney failure?” Neil asked with a frown.

Kanya looked up. “Lots of things. High blood pressure, diabetes, cysts.” She turned to face Neil. “Mrs. Borges here suffered from lupus nephritis, a disease in which the immune system attacks the kidneys.”

“So she died from lupus?” Alexa asked.

“Not quite. According to her medical history, she still had three years to live when she came to Thailand for treatment.”

“Treatment?”

“Yes, she went for a procedure at the Happy Sunshine Clinic in Pattaya.”

Alexa frowned. “What kind of a procedure?”
 

“We don’t know the exact nature of the treatment. We’ve heard rumors that they’re operating an illegal abortion clinic,” she said with a shrug.

Alexa tapped her lip. “So what did the autopsy find?”

Kanya picked up a clipboard at the foot of the dissection table and ran her finger down the contents. “Her kidneys were injected with something. We found strange lumps and lesions at the areas of injection.” She pursed her lips then looked up. “We sent some samples of the lumps for analysis. It seems the masses were knotted mixtures of blood vessels and bone marrow cells.”

“They injected her with bone marrow? Why?” Alexa asked.

Kanya placed the clipboard back in a holder at the foot of the table. “I don’t know, Captain. I’m simply telling you what we found.”

Neil nodded. “Do you have the address to the abortion clinic?”

“Yes, I’ll print it out for you,” Kanya said as she zipped up the body bag. She turned around and strode toward the large metal doors, her high heels clicking as she walked.
 

Alexa jabbed Neil in the ribs with an elbow. “We’re in a damn morgue, Neil,” she whispered in French.

“What? A man can’t look?” he asked with a grin, tearing his eyes from Kanya’s bottom as they followed her outside.

Alexa raised her eyebrows then shook her head. “
Merde
, you men are all the same.”

Thak Wattana glanced up from the paper. The two Interpol agents strolled toward the minibus taxi that awaited them in front of the Royal Thai Police station. He popped the last piece of pork satay into his mouth and tossed his paper plate in a trash can, then he stood up from the park bench where he had been waiting.

It was a blistering day; Thak slipped off his expensive Italian jacket and threw it nonchalantly over his shoulder then punched a speed-dial number into his phone. It was answered after one ring.

“Where they heading?” Thak asked in Thai.

“Pattaya; they want to visit the Happy Sunshine Clinic.”