THE PRICE SHE'LL PAY: For the secret she never knew she had...

by Cara Charles

  “Yes sir.”

  CHRIS’ BODY WAS en route to the pathology lab at UC San Francisco. Dave’s Operation Iraqi Freedom war buddy, Jimmy MacDonald, M.D. Army Colonel, trauma surgeon, retired from the Army was also a new pathologist, and a rebel who refused to accept a Reserve assignment.

  Dave and Mac had worked side by side with the 62nd Medical Brigade, 758th Forward Surgical Team, out of Ft. Lewis-McChord AFB, Washington in two wars, Operation Desert Shield/Desert Storm, Operation Iraqi Freedom II. Plus they’d volunteered for a brief assignment at Forward Operating Base Shank (FOB) to support and train new trauma surgeons and their teams, then they finished up at Bagram Airfield main trauma hospital in Afghanistan. They’d been back a year.

  With Dave, his P.A. surgical assistant, they’d trained more surgical teams and saved more young lives than they ever dreamed. After their multiple tours, Big Mac pulled strings to get Dave off the recall roles. Their duty had left many scars.

  If Mac hadn’t succeeded he knew Dave might have ended up too scarred to function. Mac loved the adrenalin, but he knew Dave was done. They’d seen the last of dying young soldiers calling for their mothers with their last breath. After a year back home, Dave was less fragile but healing. He needs someone in his life, but that special someone hadn’t appeared yet.

  They jumped right into trauma cases once back home. They never decompressed, so they took a six-month break from trauma surgery in June Lake, where Dave grew up. Mac left Dave in the mountains only a few months ago, last Fall. He wasn’t ready to return to the meat grinder but Mac was glad Dave had joined their local EMT team and their Avalanche Patrol surrounded by childhood friends and his old coach, Hal, quite the father bear. Dave seemed better now that he was productive. This tragedy could set him back to zero.

  Once back in the City, Mac couldn’t sit still. He was a classic A.D.D. type with a justice gene. He’d dabbled in pathology since Operation Desert Storm when their soldiers, young trusting guys and gals were presenting with strange symptoms and that enraged him. The more he dug and discovered, the more the truth built his rage. The lack of respect for his Vets flamed his rage to overdrive… He would not lose Davey.

  CHAPTER THREE -- BIG MAC

  OIF, OPERATION IRAQI FREEDOM soldiers’ lung ailments and chronic shortness of breath were discovered to be from the toxic smoke from tires, old computers and every kind of medical waste. The toxic garbage the disposal contractors should have hauled out had slipped by unnoticed. Someone had allowed them to burn the trash on base, instead of spend the contractor’s money to haul it out. The black smoke from the garbage burns was highly toxic. Proper disposal of toxic garbage became criminally negligent.

  Mac was determined to prove the health and lung problems of these hard suffering soldiers were connected to the burning of that trash. That was his newest mission. With Agent Orange in the back of his mind, his troops had nothing left to sacrifice now that their long-term health was also expendable. He was helping lawyers gather data for a class action suit.

  Mac had recently gotten board certified as a Pathologist. Now research and pathology were his new forte and he was brilliant at it, only a year out of the Army.

  He taught at UCSF occasionally but his heart wasn’t in it, yet. The City knew he could still be called in on a child’s trauma case, so he was never far from fixing the big messes and keeping his skills current.

  “Hey man. It’s Mac.”

  “Hey Mate? What’s shaking Mac?” buddy and fellow Vet, Iain Kincaid from Great Britain answered from Chinatown.

  “Just got sad news from Davey. I don’t want to believe it myself.”

  “I thought we were done with sad news. What the bloody hell has happened?” Iain sighed.

  “Chris… has been murdered. Drug induced M.I. It’s a hit from a big team, Dave thinks. The fuckers buried Chris on the mountain. Deedee found him. Someone took him out to create an avalanche that killed a father, his teenage daughter, and their dog and a security team.”

  “Now this is some heavy, sadistic shit Mate. Let’s look into the family. Got a name?”

  “They’re the Santa Barbara Andersens, Tom and Elise…”

  Iain didn’t hear anything else… he knew who this was.

  “…Dave’s bringing Chris’ body and lab work here. ETA is in an hour, weather permitting. Need you for back-up. Please say you’re in town.”

  “Just a few blocks away, Mate. No worries.”

  “Shit I’m so relieved. I sure as hell hope I can light up the agent. Dave saved Mango from the same drug M.I. Mango’s in their unit under protective custody. They had a firefight in the hospital, with five more dead on scene! This is a huge private war!! These fuckers need payback! We can do this!”

  “I’m in! And Geezus! Very big money is involved here.” Iain was as stunned as his gut. Something was far too familiar. He was multi-tasking, doing a Google search. ‘Why hadn’t he gotten a call from Janitor?’

  “Thanks man. Bring all your cool stuff, let’s hunt the bad guys and protect the widow.”

  “Aye. Ah yes! Here it is! Kimirov Mining and Elise Andersen, Sam Larsen. Brother and sister environmental attorneys from L.A., live in Santa Barbara. Russian company. Russian mob hit perhaps? I’ll bring the heat. Expect company. I’ll call in old favors. Be there in thirty or less.”

  “I remember that case. OK copy. Out.”

  Mac did his own search after he prepped the lab, slides, pathology kit, then read on.

  As Iain finished his calls, he checked his always ready gear bag, Iain considered calling Janitor, but Janitor should be calling him.

  Iain, who Dave and Mac had met in country years ago, was a Scot and former British Army special ops that went free-lance. After he too had grown disgusted with them and their corporate and billionaires’ agendas, Iain worked at the famous war machine invention DARPA lab annex in Maryland. Iain was an electronic and industrial engineer who had had enough of sandy countries, corrupt corporate death machines, their greed and the never-ending needless death. Iain still maintained his worldwide connections.

  When Iain got to UCSF, he’d brought pizza and soda for the team coming in from the mountains. He also switched out the plates and moved Mac’s car to the street, always having a set of keys to Mac’s cars.

  Inside Mac’s lab, he set out pizza and coke for the team, and gave Mac a scanner. Mac slapped him on the back as he chugged his drink and inhaled his pizza.

  “You always think of everything. Thanks man. The pizza is damn thoughtful call.”

  “I know you’re still a stress eater. Car’s on the street, and plates are changed.”

  “Good thinking genius. Called Shorty, he’s packing. He’s picking them up.”

  “I say they’ve got pissed off Russians and heavies for hire. Some we may know.”

  Mac nodded, his mouth full and showed Iain his arsenal.

  “Adrenalin junkie,” Iain laughed.

  Mac and Iain prepped the lab waiting for the sad reunion.

  Mac’s cell rang.

  “We’re circling. Dave and friends are in the elevator. We are eyes open, a few blocks over. We’ll get Chris home to his mother. Dave’s out of coping skills I think,” Shorty said.

  “OK. Thanks Shorty.”

  Within seconds, Dave and Chris’ patrol friends filed in, pushing his body in a body bag on a gurney. Dave and Mac embraced. Then Dave lost it. Dave had come a long way in recovering from PTSD.

  Iain hoped losing Chris didn’t set Dave back. “We’re here for ya Davey. Hi my Beauty.” Iain petted Deedee. She wagged her tail and jumped between Mac and Dave.

  “Hello Beauty! This we will defend Davey. You have my word,” Mac wiped his face of tears.

  Deedee returned to Dave’s side.

  Iain grabbed Dave and hugged him a long time. “We’ll find them, then we’ll have the biggest wake Mammoth has ever seen.”

  “Damn straight,” someone says.

  Deedee barked, happy to see them all a bit ligh
ter.

  “Iain? It’s Mavra Kimirov. She jumped me at the hospital. Her guy Carlos, I heard his name, a dark haired guy tazed me. I Googled the widow Elise Andersen after Paul gave me her name. Kimirov Mining. Paid big to Ms. Andersen’s firm last year and she paid out a huge award to each of the widows and orphans of the dead miners. I think this is payback. Chris was just necessary in their scheme collateral,” Dave said.

  ‘Carlos?’ Iain thought. ‘God help him if it’s my classmate, Carlos.’ “Yes mate. We came to the same conclusion, but revenge on this scale served up by the A-list party girl and not the old man? Bloodthirsty wench. We’ll get her. They bleed the same.”

  Dave nodded and lowered his head as the tears filled his eyes again. Iain put his arm around Dave.

  Mac shook hands with Chris’ entourage, then addressed them, “Boys? We’re all comrades, whether we are ski patrol or army unit. The wealthy may out smart us from time to time, but the love of our buddy will carry us through when we live to see justice served. This is Iain. We’ll take over now. There’s pizza and soda in the office, so take a load off and replenish. You too, Davey and Deedee.”

  The guys shook hands, one of them fed Deedee a bit of pizza and offered her water, as Mac and Iain rolled Chris into the procedure room.

  They unzipped the body bag. Chris was smiling, even in death.

  “God. Sorry Chris old man. We’ll get these bastards and kick their asses,” Iain hung his head.

  Mac rolled Chris over. Iain placed the scanner mid-back and got a huge hit.

  “Bloody, fucking hell! Everyone! Turn off your cell phones now! If they’ve tracked this, or coordinated the patrol cell phone GPSes, we’re gonna get hit any minute. Can you hurry, Mac?”

  Mac squeezed the probe right out of the fake skin covered insertion site.

  “It looks like the GPS chip I dug out of the black ops guys.”

  “Somebody with field experience gave them this idea. Those with money will enslave us completely if we don’t start fighting back,” Iain sighed, quite disgusted, ‘Had to be Carlos.’

  Dave walked in unable to relax.

  “Eat Davey. You’ve got to keep strong. Chris has a chip.”

  “Had to be those broads. Got him while he was sleeping his drunk off,” Dave said examining it.

  Mac yelled, “Boys? Got a live GPS implant here, like a Lo-jack. Chug your cokes. And run take a quick piss. I want you amped to meet these fuckers, head on! Go look out for bogies.”

  You could hear them scrambling, lids popping and loud guzzling.

  “Get your grub too boys. You too Davey, while we look at this,” Mac rinsed it off.

  “I can’t eat.” Dave shook his head.

  Dave looked up Elise Andersen on his phone. He looked at her numerous photos. She was tall, fit, naturally beautiful with sun-kissed brown hair, kind eyes, and a sincere smile. He put his phone away to think about her crushed by the same intense pain of loss.

  “She’s extraordinary Mac. Now she’s vulnerable and alone.”

  Mac and Iain examined the chip under the teaching microscope.

  “We’ll make this right Davey. Looks a bit different than the black ops chips,” Mac said.

  Iain began, “I know this. It’s a new generation. Used in Private Security to track heirs, to protect them from kidnappers. Made in South Korea. Good news is Chris has only been stationary for two minutes. I’ll get it on something that’s still moving,”

  Iain grabbed a large bore needle, syringe and a small IV bag. He took the probe and shoved it in the IV bag port. Took his lighter and resealed the port. It was an old building, so Iain opened the window and threw the IV bag onto a truck bed.

  “Good call Iain,” Dave watched Mac.

  “That should fuck with them.” Iain opened his shirt, and pulled out another mid size bag. “These are tracking shield bags. Your credit cards and phones can be tracked. Put your shit in here. I brought enough for everybody. We’d better get to the airport. Elise Andersen needs our team on her side.”

  Iain ran taking the bags down the hall to distribute. “Put your wallets and phones in these bags. One of you keep your phone on you until you’re airborne in case we have to reach you.”

  Dave’s friend Alex raised his hand.

  Iain nodded. “Davey and Mac? We’ll meet up at the regular Oakland airport, private terminal jump off. I’ve spoken to Roland.”

  “Will do,” Mac called from the exam room.

  Chris’s entourage froze, having lost their appetite. They were turning off their cell phones and bagging their stuff as Mac came in the room, and Iain left.

  “Boys? Eat! You need your strength. Who’s got a gun?”

  Nearly all raised their hands.

  “Good. We may have company, soon. Alex? Go down and be the lookout. Call us if bogies arrive. I need time to look at the blood work, get tissue samples, and a tox screen prelim. The rest of you spread out after eats, don’t want to be caught in here all together, right? Labs will take five to seven minutes, you all good with that?”

  They nodded as Alex left, and Mac ran back to the exam room.

  Dave was prepping the slides.

  “No time for the big exam Davey. Boys? When I call, come take Chris home to his Mom. Men with families decide. Are you in or out?”

  “Bring it on. I’m ready to kill a few fuckers. Yes, sir,” they said in unison, stuffing themselves with pizza and coke as ordered.

  “Let’s get to work,” Mac said to Dave as his phone rang.

  Dave answered. It was Alex checking in. All clear, so far.

  Chris and Mango’s tissue, urine, and blood samples were run through the machines. Chris’s tissues quickly examined and samples mounted.

  While the computer worked on the tox screen, Dave and Deedee rushed all samples to the cryo lab, opened the sperm freezer, and put them inside.

  The preliminary toxicology report was ready when Dave and Deedee came back.

  Mac had his answer, “Let’s send him home Dave. It’s Qat.”

  Mac and Dave lifted Chris into his body bag. They took one last look at Chris. Mac and Dave smoothed the hair on Chris’s forehead, a ritual left over from the War.

  “This we will defend Chris. Have no doubt.”

  Dave touched Chris’ cheek. A helpless sigh escaped then he zippered the bag.

  Two buddies appeared and pushed Chris to the outer office.

  Mac ran around the office, put on his overcoat, grabbed his heavy medical bag, and brief case then shoved a gun and clips in his coat pocket. Then he grabbed an old camo backpack and threw it at Dave.

  “God Mac! You kept my bag?” Dave looked in and saw fresh first aid supplies.

  “Knew we’d need it someday. Boys? Take Chris home. Be prepared for the bad guys to hit swiftly. I’m sure they kept his chip active. From a landline tell one of your families to hide, and for that wife to use her phone tree contacts to call the rest. If you can capture one of them alive, that would mean everything. Anyone have a gun for Dave?” Mac asked.

  Someone handed Dave a Glock.

  “Thanks. Let’s vamos.”

  They took off toward the elevator with Chris on the gurney.

  Someone said, “Chris is still the life of the party.”

  The elevator dinged. Then they were gone.

  “Let’s take the elevator, they’d take the stairs.” Dave said. “I should call the ICU about Mango’s chip.”

  “Call from the garage.”

  They rode the elevator down to the garage.

  Mac said, “Remember how Qat triggers high blood pressures, and upon exertion the heart rate climbs? Sample had a little Oleander, too. I’d suspect Middle Eastern origin with all their immigrant population migrating to the E.U. and its use filtering into the local population in London and Germany, any brainac with a benefactor and a lab could create this stuff. Chris knew he was dying but gave us a trail, foiling their plans. He’s quite the hero, ya know.”

  Dave nodded. He choked u
p again.

  Deedee looked up at him. Dave looked down at her and petted her. She wagged her tail slowly like she understood just how intense his sadness was.

  In the garage, Dave ran to one of the last pay phone on Earth, dropped in coins and dialed Lisa’s cell.

  Deedee sat by his side.

  Lisa picked up her cell in the ICU. “Hello?”

  “Lisa? Dave. Feel Mango’s back for a GPS chip around T3 to T4. Covered by a skin patch. Found one on Chris. I’m calling from a landline. Look up Q.A.T. Mango and Chris had a 100 times normal dose. Tell Paul and Hal. Gotta run.”

  “Qat? Know it. Will do and you keep your head down. You owe me a date and a twelve pack of Sierra Nevada!”

  “You’re on! Bye for now.”

  Dave and Deedee joined Mac near garage exit door.

  Mac said, “Iain parked us on the street. Get more change out of my ashtray. Be prepared is our motto, right Davey boy?”

  Deedee alerted as two black SUVs were positioning, blocking the exit.

  “Shit,” Mac called Shorty. “You guys haul ass, ‘cuz we got two Black SUV bogies here in the garage.”

  “Ya man. We changed into an old van and we’re about nine blocks east of your LOC heading toward SFO. No worries.”

  “Good. Watch for black SUVs. Good Luck. Out.”

  Deedee growled low in her throat.

  “Easy Deedee.”

  “If separated meet us at Oakland’s private terminal. We’ll wait for you two. This way.”

  Eight guys and Mavra Kimirov exited the SUVs, and entered the stairwell.

  Mac looked over his shoulder as he trotted toward his black Volvo C4. He opened up his car with his key.

  “The bitch is back!”

  Dave and Deedee got in Mac’s car and laid low. They sped away.

  One of the guys came to the sidewalk driven by a hunter’s instinct and put a spotting scope up to his eye, reading their plates. He spoke into his wrist phone.

  Mac saw him in his mirror, “Busted. Time to hall ass. Geezus they’re resourceful.”