17
Frank Clark increased his dose of painkillers yet another time. However, all the tablets seemed to do was make him drowsy. He moved back into his own quarters, after the repairs on the Aphrodite were completed. Although the schooner was ready to sail, Frank wasn’t. During his time in Jamaica he made many new friendships; nevertheless, none of them were able to sail the schooner. Frank was determined not to make the same mistake on the night of their arrival.
Three months ago while sailing the pacific; the sky suddenly turned black. The weather report had been fairly good just 30 minutes earlier, but then things changed very rapidly. Out of the blue, the Aphrodite was caught up in a heavy storm. The waves poured their flood of water over her bow.
Her crew worked with all their might to save her. With great effort, the men folded the mainsail. A trysail was than hoisted to allow steerage without endangering the vessel. Afterwards, a storm jib was set on a stay extending from the top of the foremast to the bow. All took a tremendous amount of strength from the men. Two of his best men, Jazz and Jack Dunn, stood at the wheel. Both men tied themselves to the wheel with a rope.
“We have to keep her into the wind, if we don’t want to lose her. We have to ride the waves,” Jazz shouted to his brother.
The men worked extremely hard that night and when the storm finally calmed down, nine hours later, everyone was exhausted. Nevertheless, the Aphrodite and her crew were all right. However, the schooner was severely damaged when they maneuvered her into the harbor of Ocho Rios in the early hours of the morning.
No way could Frank get his old crew back together to help him out this time. They were tied up with other things. He was fortunate though Jazz found a couple of friends prepared to fly over from the States. Like Jazz, they learned to sail at a very young age. Although Jazz was more than 20 years his junior, Frank had developed a deep compassion for the man.
*
Narette Philips needed all her charm plus a fair bit of money to persuade Mr. Weissmuller, an undertaker from St. Bernardino, to deliver a coffin.
Darkness had already fallen when he arrived at the house in the desert. By the light of the moon and the headlights of his hearse, Narette and Weissmuller carried the coffin into the house.
“Do you care for some refreshment?” Narette asked a minute later when they stood in the kitchen. The coffin rested on an oblong table in the front room. Except for the table, the room was empty. The dusty dark brown wooden floor cracked beneath their feet. The French doors were half covered with long blue velvet curtains, which reached all the way to the floor.
“Yes, please,” the undertaker responded politely.
“Is it all right”? Narette asked handing him a glass of lemonade.
Weissmuller nodded he took a sip from the glass. His eyes narrowed and his lips formed a pout.
“It’s great like this.” He put the glass half way down the draining board. “I guess we leave the coffin open when we transport your friend.”
“Don’t you think that’s somewhat sinister, imagine if somebody sees him?” Narette didn’t condone the idea of the coffin containing Ellis being left open.
“Nobody will see him, it’s dark and when I pull the curtains in the back of the hearse, the content will be completely invisible,” Weissmuller assured.
“He’s in here,” Narette said. She showed the undertaker into Ellis’s room. Before they entered the room, she warned Weissmuller. “His face was badly burned. I had to bandage him completely.”
“He must be in a hell of a pain,” Weissmuller responded
He was taken aback when he came face to face with his first living cargo. The patient looked like a mummy from a horror film which at any time could get up and attack them. He swallowed hard.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Weissmuller managed to say after he gathered his wits.
“Yes, his injuries are too bad, he can‘t stay here any longer. I’m running myself ragged going back and forth,” Narette said.
“What about the witness protection program he is in, don’t you get any help?”
“The less people know where he is, the better. I am the only one who is caring for him right now. We’re short staffed, because of a virus that is going around,” Narette lied.
She’d made sure she packed everything for Ellis in the Mercedes. When she had given Weissmuller enough time to digest Ellis’s condition it was well after 3 a.m. If they wanted to use the cover of the night, they couldn’t wait any longer. However getting Ellis into the coffin proved a lot more difficult than Narette expected. Although she was able to lift heavy things, the ‘dead’ weight of Ellis was something else. While Weissmuller took the patient’s trunk, Narette took the lower part of his body. Weissmuller, whose eyes were fixed on the ceiling, didn’t make the job any easier.
“Are you all right?” Narette asked.
“We’ll manage, Weissmuller said.
“How do you normally do this?” Narette wanted to know.
“We use a hoist if the person is too heavy. But usually the diseased lose enough weight to be lifted manually by me and my colleague,” Weissmuller continued to study the ceiling. Shivers went down his back. It wasn’t every day he shifted a living mummy.
With Ellis finally in the coffin, both stretched and rubbed their backs.
During the journey Ellis handled his transfer to the city extremely well. With Edgar settled in Narette allowed herself some well-earned rest. About to set off on a canoe trip in Borneo her mobile rang. For a moment, she was unaware what kind of animal produced the sound. She’d never heard an animal call like that. Slowly waking up, she reached for her mobile. Why didn’t she switch off the damn thing? Someone on the other side of the line reminded her of her duties. She assured him she hadn’t forgotten.
“The first patient isn’t on until 11 a.m., so what’s all the fuss about?”
“You better hurry on doc; it’s getting towards 8 A.M, everyone is waiting for you.” A zooming sound followed a click.
Quickly Narette checked on Ellis. She emptied his urine bag and changed his nutrient and fluid bags. Then she turned him with the help of a purple sheet which she shoved under his body by pushing him on his side first. She had developed her own way of turning him. Breakfast could wait until later.
A few minutes later, Narette stepped into her Mercedes. Obviously the car refused to start. Annoyed she ran back into the house. She scrolled through her phone to call a taxi. The moment she put the phone down, she heard something. It came from the direction of Edgar’s room. She entered the room to investigate. She approached the bed to find him still unconscious. He hadn’t moved an inch. I must have been mistaken. But I could have sworn I heard a sigh. I will conduct some tests on him the moment I come back from the clinic.
The taxi finally arrived 20 minutes later. She used the time to eat a quick breakfast.
At 9.30 a.m. Narette entered the Delphi Clinic. The three-story building stood in the middle of a business area. The outside was completely made from dark blue glass.
All heads turned towards her when Narette entered the conference room on the second floor.
“I’m sorry I’m late, ladies and gentlemen.” Without further explanation, she placed her laptop on a small table. She sat down at the head of a rectangular table. A young man with shoulder length blond hair immediately got up and connected the device to the projector.
“Before we start this meeting, I like you all to watch the following presentation.” Narette switched on the laptop and a three dimensional image of a human brain appeared on the large screen. The structures of the organ were demarcated and colored.
“I hope everyone can see this.” Narette faced the screen.
The meeting took more time than Dr. Phillips planned. At 10 minutes past 11, she finally scrubbed herself for the first operation. She dried her hands and arms with paper towels and let an assistant help her to put on latex gloves and a surgical gown. With her hair and mouth covered, she was ready.
The patient, a man in his late fifties, lay peacefully on his back. A green sheet covered his body, only a small part of his head was visible. Carefully, Phillips placed a small drill on the shaved area of the man’s skull. She felled the bone crack beneath her tool. It had been quite some time since she operated last; a year to be precise. The sound of the cartilage gave her a weird sensation. While one of her assistants sucked away blood and other fluids, Narette watched her own movements on a TV screen. She had to be very cautious not to enter the man’s skull too deep. A fraction of a millimeter too far and it might be fatal. The man’s head was kept in place by an immobile titanium frame.
The moment the drill reached its destination, Doctor Phillips carefully turned the tool anti clockwise tool until it was completely out of the patient’s skull. She glanced quickly at radiologist Cody Landmaker; he gave her both thumbs up. His clear blue eyes peeked out from under his cap.
Cody Landmaker didn’t only have a degree in radiology and law, but he also a flair for computers. He had designed the prototype of the GPS devices, which they would implant into each of the patients. The tracking devices carried a build in battery lasting up to five years. Landmaker stood over six feet tall with a slender build. He wasn’t only the tallest on the team, but also the youngest He was a cheerful looking man, always ready for a joke.
Beside Dr. Phillips stood Dr. Samuel Solemovitz. He also followed every movement of the drill on the monitor, ready to take over at any time.
“Go ahead, doctor, he is all yours,” Phillips said after she inserted a 5 and a half inch long hollow stainless steel tube of four-millimeter diameter in the patient’s skull.
With great caution, Samuel Solemovitz took the GPS device between a long pair of tweezers and entered the hollow tube. The amygdala and the hippocampus in the limbic system of the patient’s brain were brightly colored on the screen. Solemovitz gently set the device between the two structures. Nothing in the brain could keep the chip in place. In order to connect it, the device had to be glued.
While Solemovitz held the chip in place, Dr. Phillips inserted a long needle into the tube. Little drops of perspiration appeared on Solemovitz forehead concentrating on his job. When she reached the chip, Dr. Phillips touched it with the needle. With the aid of a tiny drop of glue, Solemovitz carefully pushed the device against the hippocampus of the patient. Both doctors counted to 15. Carefully, they retrieved their tools from the tube. They glanced at each other and smiled.
“We’ve done it.” Solemovitz said triumphantly.
“Don’t cheer too early,” Dr. Phillips warned. “Well, are you not going to finish the job”?
Then it happened. While Solemovitz removed the stainless steel tube from the man’s skull, they heard a voice.
“Let’s all go to the new golf course.”
“Who said that?” Dr. Phillips wanted to know.
“Nobody said anything, that wasn’t any of us,” Solemovitz replied.
“What’s going on, Jackson are you sleeping again?” Dr. Phillips yelled.
“The man is waking up too early.”
“No he isn’t, he’s still asleep,” Jackson replied sheepishly. “Come and have a look for yourself if you don’t believe me.”
Quickly Dr. Phillips shone an ophthalmoscope in one of the patient’s eyes; he was indeed still unconscious. In the meantime, Solemovitz continued retrieving the tube and closing the wound.
“What on earth happened there,” Dr. Phillips asked the members of the team as soon as they were back in the conference room for the after briefing.
“Someone is trying to be funny,” Solemovitz remarked.
“It wasn’t me,” Jackson defended himself.
“We know that,” Cody Landmaker said in a friendly manner.
“So it was you, Landmaker, well I assure you you’ve gone too far this time.” Dr. Phillips rose to her feet and leaned with both hands on the table. Her eyes were dark with anger.
“It wasn’t me; it wasn’t any of us. No one in this room talks like that,” Landmaker replied
“Are you implying the man talked while unconscious?” Doctor Phillips asked. She sat down again.
“Some people do.”
“Hm, I guess you’re right. Nevertheless, we have to keep a close eye on him. Only when we know for certain he is all right will we continue with the project. Let me know when he comes around.”
Back home the news was on when Narette turned on the TV. A photo of Edgar’s face filled half of the screen while the other part was covered with his details. “Microbiologist Mr. Ellis is missing since Tuesday morning. There is a reward of $ 50,000 to anyone who can provide information about his whereabouts. Mr. Ellis is wanted for the murder of the 17 year old Rodrigo Mendez,” A female voice said.
“So that is how much you’re worth,” Narette said while she carefully peeled off the bandage from Edgar’s face. “Don’t you worry everything is going to be alright.” She knew better than Ellis was alright. We’re in a right mess. It is only a matter of time before the undertaker will blow the whistle, if he hasn’t already done so. Just because Edgar had his head in a bandage didn’t mean he wasn’t able to put one and one together. She had seen Weissmuller’s suspicious looks. The sooner I get you a bed in the clinic the better. I’ve been a fool to asking Weissmuller to come all the way to LA. I’ve got us into trouble It’s up to me alone to get us out, alive.
Two big brown eyes looked angrily at Jose. He gazed back with an expression revealing both sadness and frustration. The friction between him and his wife had never been this bad. With her elbows resting on the kitchen table, Sophia fired angry words at her anguished husband.
“You should have kept a closer eye on him. You know how teenagers are.”
Although Sophia didn’t speak in her native tongue, the children, who were supposed to be in the living room watching a DVD, heard and understood every word.
“I bet you were too busy doing other things. Do you think I am stupid? I know you have a girlfriend. If it wasn’t for your negligence, our son would have been alive today.”
Jose cradled a glass of Teacher’s Whiskey in both hands. He studied the pine wood table. His eyes clouded, “I can’t be with him 24/7. He isn’t a school boy anymore.”
“You failed as a father, Jose Mendez, and I will never forgive you. It’s your fault Rodrigo died.”
With a lump in his throat, Jose stood. Leaning his knuckles on the pine wood table, he gazed at nothing in particular. Then he looked angrily at his wife. With a white face and closed fists, Jose exclaimed,” If you’re the perfect parent why don’t you fix this on your own and leave me the fuck alone.”