Breeders

by Arno Joubert

  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.”

  “Dammit. Wait till I get my hands on Nice. I’m going to fire the idiot.”

  The female voice on the other end sighed. “How the hell did he manage to kill the poor woman so fast?”

  Thak pursed his lips and quickened his pace. He needed to get to the clinic as soon as possible, before the Interpol agents arrived. “He injected the cells straight into the kidneys instead of performing a blood transfusion to create the progenitor cells.” He spat on the ground then strode toward his Mercedes S-Class parked across the road. “He got greedy and performed a procedure tha
t he knew nothing about.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor. He’s caused us a lot of unnecessary attention.” She paused. “Attention we could rather do without at this particular moment in time.”

  “I know, Sunee, I know. Our research was going so well.” He pressed the remote and the car’s alarm beeped twice. He slipped inside, cranked the ignition, and clipped the phone into the Bluetooth car kit. “Keep me updated. I need to know anything new you find out. What was the prognosis?”

  “They haven’t figured it out yet. The stem cells morphed into blood vessels; they could have been anything as far as the coroner is concerned.”

  “So how did they get onto us so soon?”

  “The woman died in a Bangkok hospital, but she managed to spill the beans before her death. They’re interviewing her physician now. She told him everything.”

  “Everything?”

  “Everything she knew.”

  “Which was . . .?”

  “Not much. They now know about the stem cell treatment. But not much more.”

  Wattana felt the familiar boil of anger. The Voice blinked, crawled forward from his dark hiding place, then slammed the steering wheel with his palm. “Shit, I’m going to rip his goddamn head off.”

  Sunee kept quiet.

  The Voice breathed deeply then headed for the airport. “OK, keep me updated. Anything new. You know I always reward you well.”

  “Don’t worry, I will. When will I see you again?”

  The Voice smiled at the memories of their previous meeting and immediately felt a hard-on develop. Sunee had some amazing skills. She used to be a gymnast, apparently made it all the way to the Thai Olympic team. “Soon, my Lotus blossom, soon.” He disconnected the call then slammed the steering wheel again.

  Damn Nice. He was going to rip his damn head off.

  Alexa and Neil caught the early morning flight to Pattaya then took a cab to the Happy Sunshine Clinic. It was located in a mountainous area, a fifteen-minute drive from the airport along a lovely scenic route with spectacular views of the ocean. The higher up the mountain the road meandered, the more breathtaking the view became.

  “I guess I know why they call it Happy Sunshine,” Neil said, shading his eyes with his hand. He wore Bermuda shorts and a neatly pressed polo shirt. The day-old stubble on his face belied the fact that he was meticulous with his grooming, something that irked Alexa when she was in a hurry.

  He smiled his boyish grin at her. “What?”

  Alexa smiled and placed a hand on his leg. She kept thinking of what she would do without him. He had taken bullets for her. She shivered as the recollections of their previous mission played in her mind, like demons that couldn’t be exorcised. The beatings she had to endure. Neil had selflessly risked his life to save hers. “I love you, Neil. You know that, right?”

  Neil turned to her, cupping her chin with his hand. He kissed her gently, softly, his tongue probing hers. She felt her desire for him grow. He pulled back, his hand still on her chin. “I know, baby. We’ll get through this together, you’ll see.”

  She sighed, gripping his powerful arms feverishly, siphoning the strength that she needed so desperately from his confident presence. “I know, it’s just—”

  “Look,” Neil said, glancing out the window.

  As they approached the clinic, civilians congested the road, gawking over each other’s shoulders and jostling for position. The front of the clinic had been cordoned off with yellow tape, and several police vehicles and a mortuary van stood in the driveway. A dozen cops stood in front of the building, keeping the crowd at bay and talking urgently into two-way radios.

  Alexa paid the driver then followed Neil as he barged through the crowd. She waved over a policeman as they strode up to the cordon. He looked at her disinterestedly. “No entry, this is a crime scene,” he said in broken English.

  Alexa flipped open her Interpol ID badge and showed it to the man.

  He raised his eyebrows and nodded curtly. “What does Interpol want here?”

  “We’re investigating a case up in Bangkok, and some information led us to Happy Sunshine.”

  “Information?”

  “Yes, a woman who was treated here recently has died.”

  The man nodded and lifted the tape. “Follow me,” he said and marched toward the entrance. “You need to speak to Police Colonel Wakaido,” he said over his shoulder. “He’s leading the investigation.”

  They followed the cop through the doors and were ushered into a tiny office already occupied by two other men. The cop introduced Alexa to Wakaido, a portly man with a worried look on his face.

  Wakaido nodded when Alexa introduced herself and Neil. He introduced Dr. Thak Wattana, a short man with wide shoulders. He was the head of the clinic. He smiled at Alexa. He looked tired.

  “What happened here?” Neil asked.

  Wakaido turned to Neil then shrugged. “A man was murdered. Nothing of international importance.”

  “Who?”

  “His name was Mr. Nice Sukhon, Dr. Wattana’s assistant.”

  Dr. Wattana stood up from his chair to hold out a hand to Neil. “Good day, Sergeant Allen. Mr. Sukhon was my right-hand man.” He removed a pair of wire-frame glasses from his bloodshot eyes. “He will be a hard man to replace.” He turned to Alexa and shook her hand. He wore his black hair in a ponytail. He had intelligent eyes and a strong physique.

  “Is this an abortion clinic, Doctor?” Alexa asked, studying the wall of Dr. Wattana’s certificates. They were impressive. Apart from qualifying as a surgeon in the United Kingdom, he also held a fellowship at the Royal College of Surgeons.

  Wattana turned to Alexa, his brow furrowed. He shook his head vehemently. “No, no, no, absolutely not. Abortion is illegal in Thailand.” He popped his glasses back on and took a deep breath before continuing. “We perform small surgeries and general cosmetic procedures, such as Botox treatment.” He smiled. “We’re moving into a child foster care program, a project which is very dear to me,” he said with a slight British accent.

  Neil frowned. “The Bangkok police believe that you’re running an illegal abortion clinic.”

  Wattana looked up in surprise. “They do?” He sauntered to his chair, his hand on his chin. He slipped into his chair then took a pencil and tapped it on his notepad, seemingly deep in thought. After a moment he looked up at Neil. “To understand what we do here, you must understand the demographics of Pattaya. We have the highest incidence of prostitution in the world. Ladies get pregnant, and they cannot work during that time. Most of them don’t want the babies; their parents would frown upon them for birthing a child from a foreigner.”

  Alexa chuckled. “But the parents don’t mind that they work as prostitutes?”

  The doctor regarded her for a second. “A bit of a dichotomy, I agree. But the Buddhist culture teaches us not to judge. So no, the parents do not mind their daughters working as prostitutes; the average street worker cares for more than eight family members.” He leaned back in his chair. “But having a baby conceived by a non-Buddhist is not acceptable.”

  “So you deliver the babies and put them up for adoption?” Alexa asked, removing a stick of gum and popping it in her mouth. She offered one to Wattana.

  Wattana smiled, a sympathetic shake of the head. “Well, there’s a lot more to it than that, but essentially you’re right.”

  Alexa nodded, tapping her lip. “Do you know someone called Imelda Borges?”

  “I cannot say that I do. Why?”

  “She received treatment at this clinic a couple of weeks ago. She suffered from lupus nephritis, and Nice, your assistant, performed a procedure on her.”

  Wattana leaned back in his chair, shaking his head slowly. “We do not treat lupus here. We’re not qualified to do so. And Nice was my assistant; he handed me the injections and facial scrubs for the procedures that I perform.” He shrugged. “I’m the only person qualified to perform the procedures.”

  “Do you have any
record of the surgeries performed?”

  Wattana nodded then turned toward an antiquated computer on his desk. “Yes, we keep meticulous records of all our treatments.” He looked up from the screen, the green characters reflecting in his glasses. “But again, I emphasize that we do not perform any advanced surgeries.”

  Alexa popped the gum from her mouth and rolled it in her hand.

  “Find anything?” she asked.

  Neil stood behind her, peering at the screen. She leaned closer to Wattana then stuck the gum beneath his table.

  The doctor’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the screen. She noticed that he had a tattoo on his wrist: an on/off button, like the one on a computer.

  Wattana shook his head. “No, we haven’t had any patient by the name of Imelda Borges during the past year.” He glanced up at Alexa. “When was the procedure performed?”

  “Three weeks ago.”

  Dr. Wattana’s eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t here three weeks ago. I attended a seminar in Singapore from the twelfth to the twenty-seventh. I only came back this week.”

  Alexa and Neil exchanged a quick glance. “So you’re saying Sukhon performed the surgery illegally?” Neil asked.

  Dr. Wattana closed his eyes and sighed. “Nice was my right-hand man. I trusted him implicitly.”

  Alexa nodded. “All right then, do you have a business card?”

  “Yes, sure.” Wattana removed a business card from a holder, flipped it over, and scribbled something on the back. “My personal cell number. If you need any information or find out anything new, please give me a call.”

  Alexa thanked the doctor, greeted the chief inspector, and headed toward the exit.

  “You believe him?” Neil asked as they made their way through the crowd.