Off The Grid

by Dan Kolbet

  He was flipping through another set of photographs, when he heard the whine of Loretta’s motorized wheelchair.

  “It’s not nice to stare,” Loretta said.

  “Sorry, come again?”

  “The pictures. It’s not nice to stare,” she said, parking her chair at the edge of the table. Glenda had followed her into the recreation room. She plopped herself down at a table nearby and started quietly rummaging through Blaine’s personal items.

  Loretta moved the joystick on the chair and lowered her head slightly to see what Elvin was looking at.

  “These were all inside the boxes. We pulled out the pictures for you. Thought you might like to see them.”

  “Thank you, that was very kind. I would like to take a look.”

  Elvin carefully spread out a dozen pictures on the table so Loretta could look at them as long as she wanted. He could see the flood of memories coming back to her in the expression on her face. The eyes. The eyes always told the story.

  “Tell me what you see,” Elvin said after a few minutes.

  “I see a part of my life that I’ve tried to forget. When I could walk – hell, when I could run. When I saw the world on my own terms. Old age or strapped to this chair, it really doesn’t matter, it’s a lifetime ago. There’s not much difference between me and everyone else here now. My memories are in those pictures and fading in my head.”

  She took a hard look at a picture of her and Blaine in a pineapple field. The sharp green sprouts of the plants were dark green and filled the background of the fading image. The large stem of the pineapples poked out the top of each still-ripening fruit.

  “This was taken on our honeymoon in the Caribbean on the Island of Nevis. We’d rented a motorcycle and rode it everywhere we could on the island. We were riding to a beach on the south side of the island when we saw this tiny little trailer parked on the side of the highway. It was really just a wide spot in the road, but they managed to get the trailer wedged in there against a mountainside. They cut a big window out on one side to sell cane juice with flavors and shaved ice.

  “A teenage girl and her little brother invited us into the trailer to watch them push the cane stalks into a press that extracted the cane juice. It was probably my favorite memory of our honeymoon, simple and quiet. Sugary sweet too. There was a small pineapple plantation just behind the trailer. We spent an hour walking through the rows of pineapples, enjoying the sun and the smells of the tropics.”

  “Did you ever make it to the beach?”

  “Not that day. And not the next few days either, actually.”

  “I get it. It being your honeymoon and all.”

  “No, that wasn’t it. When we rode back to the hotel, I wasn’t paying attention when I got off the back and accidentally touched my leg to the tailpipe. I spent the next four days at a medical school hospital on the other side of the island being treated for second and third-degree burns and a little sunstroke.”

  “I can see why that wasn’t your favorite memory of the honeymoon.”

  “Blaine only left my side once the whole time I was in that hospital bed. He walked into town and bought me a necklace. I still wear it.”

  Elvin gently pulled back her shirt collar and moved the necklace to the outside of the shirt. A shiny dark gray stone heart was attached to a washed out red leather cord.

  “It’s a polished rock from the island. Only Blaine, the mineral specialist, would think that giving his new bride a black heart was romantic.”

  “It felt warm when I touched it,” Elvin said.

  “Of course, I can’t feel it now, but it always had - what’s the best way to describe it? A strong presence when I wore it. I stopped wearing it completely after a few days because it wasn’t comfortable. I just kept it in a jewelry box. I put it back on after my horse riding accident.”

  “You don’t seem to have any resentment toward Blaine. I mean, you still wear the necklace he gave you on your honeymoon.”

  “I don’t know why, but he asked me to wear it. It seemed important to him, so I did. To tell you the truth, I don’t really think about it much, since I can’t see it or feel it.”

  “I can’t imagine that. You’re a strong woman and I don’t want to feel sorry for you, but I am sorry you’re in this position.”

  “It’s my own fault. You need to know your limits. Riding that horse in Montana was over the limit. In my forties I broke my elbow skiing too. Hit a rock on a black diamond. Guess I’m damned.”

  “I hate to say this to a lady in a wheelchair, but you seem pretty accident prone. Tailpipes, horses and black diamonds.”

  “You’re right, Elvin. You shouldn’t say that to the wheelchair lady,” she said. “Now show me the rest of the pictures.”

  Chapter 31

  Loretta, Elvin and Glenda left the community room when breakfast was served in the dining room. Luke and Kathryn arrived during breakfast and went right to work. The files were still where they left them and they dug in for the long hall. Luke had been going over the files in his mind all night. Kirkhorn had a laboratory in his basement where he was conducting research. Even with a second mortgage, there were limitations to the type of equipment he could afford to purchase. The costly work had to have been completed at another location – which is probably why he did some work at the Stanford lab. He could get in and out, but wasn’t required to keep his work accessible to anyone else.

  By dividing up the type of experiments he could do by location, maybe he could make a connection. The records indicated that he had a sample size of 45 items – which were described only as units. He tracked and described the conditions of the units in daily increments. One entry read, “Unit 3 shows slight reaction on exposure, but falls short on second application.” Other entries, “Case 23FF3 mirrors previous batches,” and “Case 6AD9J6 a total disaster.” The records didn’t describe the units or what they were being exposed to.

  Maybe the missing boxes had the clear answers he wanted. He wasn’t sure. Luke felt powerless. Kirkhorn was obviously creating something and testing it in batches or cases. He’d yet to bring this theory up to Kathryn. She was so keen on giving the project to another team. Her only reason for caring about his professor’s work was for her professional gain at MassEnergy. She had already booked them on a flight home the next day. She was ready to give up the search and focus her efforts elsewhere. Luke was more interested in figuring out what Kirkhorn had been involved with during his college days. He wasn’t ready to let it go to a pod team. Not yet.

  Luke thought that maybe with a little probing, Loretta could offer some insight into the search. He found her resting in her shared room with her roommate Glenda who was visibly annoyed that yet another visitor was there to see Loretta and not her. She wasn’t about to excuse herself from the room, so she flipped on the television mounted on the wall and began watching a news program. She turned the volume down low, so she could still get the gist of her roommate’s conversation.

  Luke explained his theory about the different locations for research work and experiments.

  “He had always done some work at home, but he kept it out of sight. It wasn’t something I really even wanted in my house, all those rocks and things that he got from the mines. Pure filth spilling out all over my rugs. The man had no sense of tidiness.”

  “So it was rocks and minerals that he worked on at home?”

  “Yes, at least some of it was. He kept it locked up in the basement. But like I said, I didn’t ever see any of it for very long, he knew I didn’t want that stuff all over my house.”

  “That’s OK. Did he ever refer to the rocks or minerals by name?”

  “He wasn’t a crazy person, Luke.”

  “No, I mean did he refer to their scientific names?”

  “I’m sorry, if he did, then I can’t recall it.”

  Glenda began stirring on the other side of the room, and she turned the TV up noticeably higher.

  “Maybe you should tell him your hone
ymoon story, dear,” Glenda bellowed. “That’ll bring down the house again.”

  Loretta rolled her eyes, sharing a room to save a buck was beginning to seem like a really bad idea.

  “Honeymoon story?”

  Partially to annoy Glenda, she told him the same story she’d recalled to Elvin earlier that morning, including the burns on her leg.

  “What was the name of the hospital you stayed in on Nevis?”

  “I have no idea, it was in Charlestown tough, I remember that. It’s the big city on the island.”

  “Was it the Medical College of the Caribbean?”

  “It might have been, yes, that was probably it,” she said. “The students were mostly from the U.S. Why does it matter?”

  “It might not, but I think I saw the name of that school on some return address labels.”

  “I don’t know why he’d be receiving mail from the school. We only went to the island together once. How old were these shipments, our honeymoon was decades ago.”

  “These weren’t decades old,” he said. “I’d have to go back and look, but I’m pretty sure there were several shipping labels and receipts in the files.”

  “Does that mean something?”

  “Only because he kept them.”

  ***

  Luke found six cardboard boxes that Elvin and the other residents had sorted into a trash pile. Each piece of cardboard was torn out of a larger box, but the rest of the boxes were nowhere to be found. The labels were clearly from the Medical College of the Caribbean, care of by Dr. Estevan Rigau. Two of the shipments were made before the accident. The other four were sent in the months after.

  The inside of the boxes had a thin layer of tough rubber lining.

  “I’ve seen these before. Hospitals and drug companies use these to ship medical waste or other human biohazards so they don’t leak out,” Kathryn said. “It’s not a common practice. The rate they have to pay to ship biohazard materials is outrageous, for even the most benign items. So, they sometimes put it in these lined boxes and seal them up so the carrier doesn’t know what they are transporting.”

  “Just to save money?”

  “Yeah, like I said, its not a common practice, but everybody has a budget.”

  Luke couldn’t imagine what sort of biological material Kirkhorn would be getting from a hospital in the Caribbean. He pulled up the university website on his phone. The school offered a medical degree program to United States citizens. Go to school in paradise, was the big selling point. He dialed the main switchboard of the school.

  “Yes, I’m hoping to reach the office of Estevan Rigau,” he said.

  “His office? Well, I believe he’s around here somewhere, I will track him down,” said the receptionist who answered the phone. “Please hold.”

  It was more than 10 minutes before someone came back on the line.

  “This is Estevan.”

  “Hello, my name is Luke Kincaid and I’m researching the work of Blaine Kirkhorn.”

  There was a slight pause before the man continued, “Oh, yes. Brother Blaine,” Estevan said in a thick West Indies accent. “In need of more samples, I can only assume? It’s been some time and I’ve got them all ready.”

  “Yes, that’s why I’m calling, I’d like to procure his standard samples.”

  “I was hoping for this call, but dreading it all the same,” he said, in a hushed voice. “I cannot ship the samples anymore. Our government’s port security has been strengthened and I cannot get them out through the mail.”

  “We’re really in need of the samples, is there any other way I can get them?”

  “Of course, but it will take quite an effort. Are you sure you’re up for it.”

  “It’s very important.”

  “In that case, is your passport up to date?”

  “Yes it is.”

  “Then write down this address on the island and let me know when to expect you. And give Blaine my regards.”

  Regards?

  He doesn’t know Kirkhorn died.

  Chapter 32

  Arionesti, Moldova

  Rachel’s wheeled suitcase thumped on the train car’s stairs as she stepped down onto the station’s wooden platform. She quickly admired the history of the tiny World War II relic of a station, and then damned the place for not having an airport within a reasonable distance. After a week out in the bush of the Sudan, she had high expectations that the poorest country in Europe would still have a higher standard of living than the African nation. Her first glance of Moldova wasn’t promising. She did notice the commercial-size StuTech stub attached to the train station’s roof, telling her that the towers were catching on in this small town. It remained to be seen if the rest of the region was on board for anything other than industrial use.

  The stubs were cheap, even though they were practically giving them away to residents of Arionesti. The average family in the region brought home just enough money to feed the family – on a good week. Luxuries like power, even free power, were still out of reach for many in the town. That was one of the problems her father asked her to check into. Why weren’t the people willing to pay?

  The people she visited in Bolivia and Sudan didn’t have the resources to pay at all. They got stubs free of charge, but Moldova was different. These people could taste normalcy and were comfortable with what they knew, not the promise of what could be. The people of Moldova knew of the “outside world,” whereas the other StuTech project areas, simply didn’t.

  Moldova suffered from a small, immovable economy and little natural resources. Some of its citizens weren’t too keen on following the law unless it suited them. Needless to say, kidnappings were a constant threat to foreigners.

  She was to meet a man named Reynolds at the station who was assigned as her security and translator during her visit. She knew nothing of him, other than he was a local. There was only one car waiting on the street. A man was leaning against the hood. This must be the guy, she thought.

  Reynolds flicked his cigarette to the ground. He wore a black leather jacket and dark sunglasses. His holstered weapon bulged under his arm. He didn’t hold a sign bearing her name. Calling attention to who she was could be dangerous. He recognized her picture from the detailed security packet that Lunsford’s team had sent ahead.

  “Ms. Evans, welcome to Arionesti,” he said with a French accent. “Would you like to check into your hotel and rest, or see the sights first?”

  Rachel glanced around the station and saw nothing but rolling fields of weeds and tall grass. Snaking away from the station was a narrow road, presumably leading to the town.

  “I slept a little on the train,” she said. “So by all means, show me the sights.”

  Reynolds’ black Audi screamed down the small road at a breakneck pace, but both of his hands left the wheel momentarily while he lit another cigarette.

  “Would you mind terribly, not smoking?” Rachel asked.

  He glanced at her, then back on the road. He took a long drag, rolled down his window and dropped the lit cigarette to the ground. He rolled up the window and released the gray puff of smoke, filling the car.

  “Certainly,” he said.

  They passed several cross streets that led to a smattering of abandoned homes in open fields. Windows were boarded up. The porches and walkways were empty. No children were playing in the banks of the river. It was a ghost town until they crossed the bridge.

  Arionesti had a distinct Bavarian look to it. Short, peaked buildings with decorative awnings. The city was laid out in a grid pattern that ran along a river. To Rachel’s astonishment, the streets were teeming with people who elbowed each other as they walked by busy storefronts. The business district faced the river and several street vendors called out to the Audi as they passed. Reynolds had to finally slow down to avoid hitting the mass of people who were walking in the streets. There were few cars. He honked the horn dozens of times to part the way.

  “Why are all these people here?”
Rachel asked. “Is there an event being held nearby?”

  “The real question you should be asking is why these people are crammed into this small town when hundreds of nearby homes sit empty,” he said.

  He pushed his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose to look her in the eye.

  “And why do they sleep in shifts, ten to a room?” he said.

  “I certainly don’t know,” she said.

  “Then you need to see the sights.”

  He pulled the car down a cobblestone alley and parked behind a two-story stone building. He knocked on a heavy wooden door and they were let into a large storefront filled with eight tables, each staffed by individuals wearing tan polo shirts, with an embroidered StuTech logo on the left breast pocket. One or two townspeople were in chairs at each table. A line formed out the door and into the street.

  “They want jobs at the factory,” Reynolds said. “Even though it’s not even up and running yet. There is nothing else here. The promise of a job and a livable wage was an unachievable dream for most of these people. Then StuTech started building that factory and powered the central part of town for free.”

  “What promises have they been given?”

  “None, just that StuTech will hire only citizens of the country. Men from across the region have flocked here to live and wait until the factory opens.”

  “What about their families?”

  “Some of them are here too, but certain women have come alone too. The construction work at the factory is employing about 50 men right now, who have never had a dime to spend in their lives. They are living it up in the bars, tossing around their money. They don’t have to look far for companionship each night.”

  “That’s obscene.”

  “That’s reality.”