Simms paused, waiting to see if Hubble had any questions, even though he didn’t really expect any.
“Rosie said that you could help me with Doctor Frank Mason. He’s at Medford General. She said to tell you that he was a reluctant donor. Oh and Hubble, I want that blonde delivered untouched.”
“That will mean two trips.”
“The doctor is the priority. Now just do it.”
No response, no nothing, just dial tone.
It drove Simms crazy that Hubble was so unresponsive sometimes, but it really didn’t matter, he always got the job done.
Chapter Eleven
Frank mason was careful to make his rounds avoiding contact with other doctors and staff as much as possible. He was exhausted as he exited the last room, his last patient, and headed for the surgeon’s lounge and his locker. He glanced at the large wall clock and moaned.
“Two a.m. Jesus.”
He thought about Simms’s offer to drive up and be in another one of his movies. One more late night and he wouldn’t be able to drive home, let alone up the Oregon coast.
Wearily, Mason pulled his coat from his locker and put it on. He grabbed his keys, dropped them into the right-hand pocket and shut the locker. He was too tired to worry about bumping into any of the staff; besides, at two in the morning, the hospital was operating with a skeleton crew.
He got in his metal flake blue Fiat spider convertible at the far end of the parking lot, turned the key and the little engine roared to life. He hung a U-turn so tight that it made the tires squeal as he sped out of the lot onto the Lawrence Expressway.
Taking the Hillsboro exit, the Fiat began to climb the narrow, winding road that led into the hills and eventually to Mason’s hilltop home.
He enjoyed this part of the drive; most of the turns banked just right. He knew the road by heart, where he could straighten out a curve and where the blind spots dictated he stay in his lane.
It was while accelerating through the first set of turns that he caught a glimpse of a reddish light ahead. He cut his speed coming out of the last curve at the sight of flares and a van half on the shoulder, half in the road.
Probably just spun out of control; regardless he’d better stop.
Cupping his hands around his mouth Mason gave a shout. “Hello in the van.”
As he walked toward it, he saw it was an old ambulance. He continued walking to the front and peeked in the window but the driver and passenger seats were empty, although the keys were in the ignition. A quick look told him that the vehicle wasn’t over the edge, the front tires were clearly on the dirt shoulder and there didn’t appear to be any damage to the front grill or bumper.
“Hello,” Mason shouted again.
He came around the rear of the old ambulance, again no damage. When he reached for the door handle the rear double doors suddenly flew open and two men reached out and grabbed him by the arms and shoulders, half lifting, half dragging him into the back.
He was so surprised that he didn’t resist. Before he could speak, they slammed him onto a gurney and while one of the men strapped him down another placed a cloth over his mouth and nose, and Dr. Frank Mason’s world blurred to black.
With surgical precision, they ripped away his shirt and painted his chest with an antibiotic wash. One of the men palpated for the liver, then with a black marker drew several lines and an oval. The second man leaned over Mason’s inert form and began a series of incisions.
The anesthesia was only a local and Mason began to moan, driven to consciousness by the pain. The man paused in his cutting, picked up a syringe and drove the needle into the young doctor’s chest, penetrating the heart. He then pushed the plunger emptying its entire contents in a matter of seconds. The doctor’s body arched as his heart seized, his eyes flew open as he gasped and just for a split second, Dr. Frank Mason thought he was having a heart attack.
The first man handed over a cooler lined with ice bags and placed it on the floor across from the second man, who handed him the liver. He placed it in the cooler, gently sat a bag of ice on top of the organ and closed the top, flipping the latches that sealed it shut.
The newly harvested organ was contaminated but the new owner wouldn’t figure it out until it was too late.
The two men then ran Mason’s body, still on the gurney, out the back of the ambulance and along the road until they were next to the Fiat. They unstrapped him, placed his body behind the wheel, fastened his seat belt, started the engine, placed it in neutral and rolled the sports car over the embankment.
Chapter Twelve
It was a hollow echo of a voice that drifted up out of the depths of the well.
“I’ve found her, I’m going to need a second line.”
Paul dropped to the edge of the well and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Is she alright?”
“She seems fine, drop me that line.”
A child’s toneless humming drifted down to Claire as she watched a weighted line descend, and began to sing along.
“And if that horse and cart fall down, you’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.”
When she turned to glance at Amy, the little hand was reaching for the rope again.
Claire lurched forward. “Amy, no!” Thrusting her arm out as she shot her feet against the opposite wall, she propelled herself toward the child.
Amy’s bottom slipped to the edge of the ledge as she stretched for the rope. As if in slow motion, the ledge crumbled and the little girl seemed to hang in thin air as if waiting for Claire to rescue her.
Fingers that had thrown a thousand punches, connected to hands that had done a hundred pushups, wrapped around a pudgy little wrist and with one yank a cold and scared little six year old was pulled to Claire’s chest. With two muddy arms wrapped around her neck, Claire encircled Amy’s waist with her other hand and for just a minute they swung back and forth at the end of the rope.
“Claire, can you hear me? What’s going on?” Rye shouted.
“I have her, pull me up.”
With adrenaline born of success the two men began to pull, reeling Claire and Amy toward freedom. With inches to go, Paul fell to his stomach at the edge of the well.
“Daddy!” Two little arms shot up, fingers clenching open and closed. “Daddy!”
Paul grabbed his daughter in both arms and pulled her to him as he rolled away from the edge.
Claire reached a shaky hand up and over the edge. Rye came to her aid, grabbing her arm and reaching down for the back of the harness, then pulling her up with a grunt. The two fell to the ground.
Claire pushed up to her hands and knees and crawled away from the well, shaking and retching.
Chapter Thirteen
Rosie drove onto the film site at six the next morning; she liked to watch the production day begin. The catering truck was just arriving; the driver got out and opened the side. Climbing into the back he started the coffee and put out a dozen doughnuts along with some yogurt and orange juice chilled in ice. He noticed Rosie watching.
“Good morning, Miss Rehnquist. Get you anything?
She hired the driver as an extra once and was tempted, but thought better of it. She had other business to attend to.
She gave a friendly wave. “No thanks, Mario.”
Everything from the truck was free; it was part of Rosie’s plan to keep her actors happy.
She sat in the director’s chair and watched the cameramen set up, and then checked her watch. She still had some time before the actors started arriving.