Chapter 13

 

 

“Ben, you’ve known this child, Nathan, less than a week. And can you trust this Chief Billie? I mean, I don’t understand why he’s so involved.”

“I sense that there’s some underlying reason that the chief approached me. And frankly, Julie, I’m not sure I even want to know. Good and evil are honest-to-God real beings out here.” Ben decided against any mention of Skinwalkers.

“You know I’ll support you in whatever you decide. I just don’t want you to get tangled up in something that is maybe a little more involved than what it seems on the surface.”

“Wow, that’s politically correct. Nice way of saying you think I might get screwed.” Ben smiled.

“Ben, don’t tease. I’m not there so it’s difficult to really comment. I love you and I trust you. You know I’ll support you—whatever your decision is.”

 

* * *

 

Ben left the papers with Trini in the morning. Even Dr. Henry stopped by the office to thank him for getting involved. Yesterday evening over dinner, Ben asked Nathan for his honest opinion—would he want to stay with Zac? Maybe even go to school with Zac when he went back to the Pacific Northwest? And his answer sealed the deal—Nathan was so choked with emotion that he could only enthusiastically nod. After losing his grandmother and a place to live, Ben knew that he had just given Nathan’s life a permanence and changed his future to one of hope. Ben didn’t need any further affirmation to know that what he was doing was right.

“Dr. Pecos?” Trini’s office intercom really just demanded a loud voice. “I forgot to mention that we’re getting a good-sized shipment of PPE this afternoon. Chief Billie was hoping that you’d be around to help check it in—take inventory, make certain that the paperwork is in order. You know, that everything matches up.”

Correctly filled out paperwork would be a first, Ben thought but bit his tongue and walked out to Trini’s desk. “What’s expected?”

“I’ve marked the catalogue we ordered from—thought it would help you identify some of the stuff. You know, product numbers and descriptions. Mostly it’s gowns, gloves and masks. All government approved issue. Of course, Washington had to sign off on our list first. It’s like we can’t do anything on our own—but it is their nickel. The shipment is supposed to get here about lunch time. Not exactly timely—we needed everything yesterday. Did you see Dr. Henry this morning? He was actually wearing a garbage bag—there were no gowns. Can you believe working all morning in the OR in a black plastic bag?”

“Hard to believe the government couldn’t do any better than this. Has anyone come out to see the conditions?”

Trini rolled her eyes. “I’m not sure we really exist, to their way of thinking. Out of sight, out of mind, you know?”

“I’m pleased that IHS is being supportive.”

“To the best of their ability, being already underfunded and undermanned—and we’re thankful. By the way, our new food source has a name and they put up a sign out by the road—Two Sisters With a Pot. Guess they’re here to stay. Cute name, don’t you think? Did you try their Navajo tacos the other night?”

“Best I’ve had in a long time.”

The close-by blast of an emergency vehicle’s siren rattled the office windows, interrupting any further discussion of lunch. Trini opened the blinds to look out. “Odd. I didn’t think we were receiving any new patients this morning. Someone usually emails me a list and arrival times. Today was supposed to be spent restocking the triage tent and interviewing for overnight and weekend nurses. Oh dear, looks like the ambulance has an escort. That’s the chief’s Bronco leading the way. I wonder what happened?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Ben walked out of the office and headed toward the triage tent just as Chief Billie and two EMTs were unloading a stretcher and wheeling it in Ben’s direction. Ben quickly moved ahead to hold open the tent’s door. As the stretcher passed, Ben realized that he knew the occupant—Charley Chase—the once-in-a-while delivery guy who was shot at the last time he tried to deliver supplies. The blood-soaked tourniquet around his forehead attested to a head injury that was serious. It was difficult to see under the sheet covering him, but it looked like his right arm was in a sling.

“Gonna need your help when I finish here.” Chief Billie whispered as he pushed the stretcher past Ben and through the door. “Hope your afternoon’s free.”

Ben nodded. “Not a problem. I’ll be in the office.”

Ten minutes later Chief Billie stuck his head in Ben’s office. “Is now a good time? I want to show you something. We’re going to take a ride. I’ll meet you at the Bronco; I need to talk with Trini before we go.”

Ben nodded and walked out to the parking lot and leaned against the police SUV. He didn’t have to wait long. The chief strode across the parking lot, mouth clamped in a tight, thin line. Ben thought the chief closed the Bronco’s door a little too forcefully when he got behind the wheel. Disgusted? Frustrated? Angry? Something was eating at the man, Ben thought.

“Do we know what happened to Mr. Chase?”

“Rolled the delivery truck, just this side of the entrance to the reservation.”

“What was he driving?”

“Transport—eighteen-wheeler.”

“That’s a pretty flat area out there—you can see for miles. Was he able to tell you what happened?”

“Supposedly a Pronghorn Antelope leaped across the road in front of him.”

“You don’t sound like you believe him.”

“I’m not sure that I do. I think he might have been nudged off the road and then hit a patch of soft sand.”

“So, why lie? That seems like an honest accident.”

“Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe he fell asleep. I think the animal story is more for Mountain Transport. Lets him off the hook, insurance-wise.”

“I see what you mean.”

“And there’s another thing. I’ve shared with you that I believe there’s been an insider? Someone who alerts the thieves of what to expect and when. I’ve been meaning to take a closer look at our Mr. Chase.”

“Do we know anything about him?”

“Civil Service worker out of Denver. I suspect he was hired by the Feds to drive. However, his paycheck actually comes from Mountain Transport Inc., or so it would seem. I think he’s either a plant for the Feds or one of the bad guys. But that’s not the worst.”

“Which is?”

“You’ll see.”

The landscape flattened out as they left the reservation and followed the road east and south. The eighteen-wheeler was hard to miss—on its side, cab twisted with wheels tipped more skyward than horizontal, both back doors to the cargo area open wide with boxes strewn around and under the truck. A reservation deputy was standing by an SUV with tribal insignia motioning for them to pull in behind his vehicle.

“I would have thought there would be another truck to pick up the cargo. Has any of it been ruined?” Ben was curious. A hospital was waiting on, actually desperate for, everything in the transport.

“Come with me.” Chief Billie turned off the Bronco. “Seeing will explain more than my just talking about it.”

And Ben quickly saw what the chief meant. The first box torn along the side was filled with masks. Masks that looked like they might fit a child of six. Ben leaned down to get a better look. “Ridiculous. Who could wear these?”

“Midgets, maybe.” The chief didn’t even crack a smile. “And not one of them the correct issue for use in surgery—even if they did fit. But look here.” The chief picked up a battered box of gloves. “These are rejects. The box came this way; it wasn’t ruined in the accident. And gowns? What do you think? Did the warehouse flood?”

The chief pushed a large cardboard box toward Ben. “Looks like the storage area had a fire-sale. This is water damage.”

The box was falling apart and the gowns spilled out the split sides. All were badly stained and smelled of mold. And again, the size was x-small. The crates of gloves were all marked ‘Latex’. No polyvinyl chloride or nitrile rubber. Again, of limited use to anyone, especially in a hospital.

“Someone has gone through this mess. But I don’t think anything was taken. Gives credence to someone running him off the road to make a killer profit. Interesting, this stuff is too worthless to steal.” The chief’s mood wasn’t improving, Ben could tell.

Ben started for the front of the truck, “I’m going to check the cab for paperwork. I want to see how the contents list reads.” Ben left the chief to look through more boxes and climbed onto the cab, lowering himself through the window into the driver’s seat. Everything he needed was on a clipboard hanging from the console. Ben grabbed the paperwork and, swinging his legs back through the open drivers-side window, carefully slipped to the ground.

Ben leaned against the Bronco and flipped through the pages. “Says here the shipment was received from China. Port of entry was fourteen days ago at San Diego. Cargo signed off by an Arthur Pierson. Not sure who this Pierson is affiliated with. No mention here of IHS, but there is a post script of sorts that lists the United States Government as procurer.” Ben continued to read. “Who finds this stuff? I mean where do you go? Online? Are there catalogues? And who profits?”

“Cronies, friends with benefits—and I don’t mean sex but somebody who’s in bed with somebody in Washington. Say that someone receives ten million US dollars; eight million might be pocketed and supplies purchased with the rest. If the supplies are worthwhile, legit and not bogus, then often the same supplies can be stolen before they reach their destination and resold. That makes the entire eight million a win-win situation. There’s a healthy black market just waiting for goods. If this crap had been worth stealing, it could have ended up in South America next week, who knows? There are lots of markets out there. But when the merchandise is defective, the second group of thieves loses out. I’m surprised this kind of double-cross is being tolerated. I’ve expected to find some dead bodies.”

“Yeah, and the person delivering the bogus merchandise, such as bottles instead of test tubes, gets shot at. Do you think something like that happened here? Mr. Chase was beaten up after the shipment was inspected? Was he supposed to be one of your dead bodies?”

“Good question. Maybe the docs will have some clue as to how he sustained his injuries.”

“I guess the real question is, what now?” Ben asked.

“It’s a tough problem, but I have an idea. Maybe not the best one but it will quickly get us what we need on the Rez. I’ve got a tentative okay from both hospital systems in Albuquerque—Presbyterian and Lovelace. They can put together a shipment close to this one in size and volume in under a week. They’ll be sharing their stockpiled PPE and reordering immediately for themselves. And they’re cutting me some slack when it comes to paying for it. I’m going to bypass the normal routes of transfer. I’ll rent a twenty-foot box truck from U-Haul and keep everything under the radar. So, no telling anyone about the plan.”

“You have my word.”

“Secondly, I’d like you to be the driver.”

“Because?”

“No one knows you. The word will be that you’re picking up some of your stored furniture. I figure we’ll be ready for you to pick up the loaded truck in Albuquerque on Thursday. I’m even having it parked at a storage center out on University Blvd. The U-Stor-It center’s books will list you as renter of the unit it’s parked in front of.”

“Wow, good planning. Should throw off anyone who might hear about another potential shipment of supplies. Count me in.”

“In the meantime we need to get some pictures of this fiasco to send to Washington.”