The Recipient

Glowering with a primal intensity, he rubbed his muscular body against hers as he grasped the scalpel, dragging the flat surface of the blade down her cheek. Casey began to sob.

  The strap holding her head slipped backwards, but Fedele did not react. He was drunk in his experience. He so treasured harvests like this one: young, beautiful, alive in his arms. Saskia, Casey and countless, nameless others. He cherished his gift; to take life and to give it. And it gave him immense pleasure to savour this last, final moment.

  Casey shut her eyes as she shook uncontrollably, feeling his slick erection pressing hard against her hip, moving across her belly and coming to rest between her legs.

  And then…

  An apocalyptic explosion erupted above their heads.

  The van smashed through the window, obliterating the huge glass panel as it powered deep into the interior of Fedele’s consulting suite. It ploughed into the long leather couch, splintering it into a dozen ragged pieces and pitching the ruin into the air before it crashed down onto the glass coffee table. As Scott reacted, planting his foot on the brakes, the van smashed into Fedele’s desk, catapulting it backwards into the bookcase which exploded and opened a deep cavity in the wall panelling behind it.

  The van finally and abruptly shuddered to a stop. Lionel and Scott were flung forward in their seats. Scott yelped as his large, muscular frame struck the steering wheel while Lionel gasped as the seatbelt locked against his chest and ricocheted him back in his seat.

  As the chaos subsided, both men looked up at each other, then through the windshield at the destruction they had wrought. In the wall cavity, electrical wires flashed and sparked. A ruptured gas line erupted in flame.

  Scott’s eyes bulged as he flung his arm out at Lionel and grabbed his shoulder.

  “Duck!”

  At, that moment, a second explosion ripped through the chamber, causing it to shake violently. Fedele fumbled on top of Casey as a fireball belched from the elevator shaft and flames crawled hungrily across the ceiling above. He thrust his head back to see the doors of the elevator rip open as their electric mechanism failed. The elevator carriage itself had fallen downwards as debris fell from above.

  He lifted his head and listened to the unfolding chaos. In doing so, he extended his neck directly over Casey’s face and she found herself looking at his glistening skin and bulging veins.

  All thought left her mind in that instant.

  Except one.

  Unleashing an ear-splitting scream, Casey jerked her head up, biting hard and deep into Fedele’s flesh, locking her jaw like a vice around his neck. Fedele howled, first in shock and then in terror as he struggled against her, his arms flailing on either side. Reflexively, he dropped the scalpel from his hand where it clattered uselessly to the floor as he clawed at the sides of the bed in an effort to pull himself free.

  Casey would not let go.

  Conjuring as much hatred and fury as she could muster, Casey sank her teeth deeper, tasting blood, feeling his skin and flesh tearing. A sudden rush of maniacal exhilaration flooded through her and she smiled gleefully, shaking her head from side to side.

  Fedele was impotent, unable to free himself. His cries of anger reverberated around his evil chamber, bouncing off the concrete walls, echoing into the air vents, carrying themselves up the elevator shaft.

  Blood welled around Casey’s lips. It poured into her mouth, over her tongue. The taste was unbearable. She sensed she must be close to his jugular vein.

  Fedele began to hyperventilate, hissing between clenched teeth as the room began to spin. He felt his own blood pumping from his neck and he wailed like a stricken animal, caught in the fatal grip of a predator.

  Thrusting downwards with his palms, he searched desperately for the edge of the bed. He found it and, with a huge convulsion, he tore himself free from Casey’s grip. A chunk of flesh remained between her teeth and a huge spray of blood blossomed between them both.

  Fedele fell from the bed and crashed to the floor. Crying out in agony, he flailed uselessly as blood poured from the gaping wound. He slapped a hand to his neck in a vain effort to stop the flow. Casey spat the disgusting flesh from her mouth and craned her neck to look at Fedele’s naked form writhing on the floor. She then did something unexpected.

  She laughed out loud.

  Fedele tried to stagger to his feet in front of the elevator shaft, but he slipped on the slick floor and fell, hitting his head hard against the concrete. He lay back, adjusting his grip on his ruined neck while trying to slow his breathing. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness.

  He had to finish this.

  As he rolled onto his side, his body turned towards the ruined elevator shaft where flames continued to lick from the interior and into the room.

  Fedele grabbed at a wheeled trolley and pulled. The trolley upended, its contents crashing to the floor. The glass jar containing the diseased, worm-infested heart smashed beside Fedele, splashing liquid all over his outstretched arm. The flames from the elevator shaft touched the preserved organ and the flammable liquid and to his horror, Fedele’s hand and forearm were instantly consumed by flames.

  Fedele screamed, watching as the skin of his hand blistered and begin to melt like a wax candle. His fingers stuck together, forming an angry mass of burning flesh that resembled a macabre mitten. Shaking himself from his shock, he desperately slapped the limb on the floor over and over in a futile effort to extinguish flames that would not yield. The skin blackened and hissed as the flames licked hungrily at his arm, then jumped across his flank and abdomen as he tried to get away from the pool of liquid. Fedele continued to roll, howling as the fire threatened to consume him until, finally, he managed to smother the flames under his own body.

  Scrambling into a sitting position on the floor, he held up his arm and glared at it stupefied. His left hand been reduced to a blackened, melted stump that continued to hiss and smoke.

  Fedele shrieked at the ruined limb.

  Panting wildly, Casey peered over the sides, searching for him as she suddenly heard new noises above her head.

  “HELP ME!”

  Cradling his ruined limb, Fedele’s head lolled to one side and he blinked, spying a glint of metal on the floor across the room.

  He managed a smile.

  The scalpel.

  With great effort, he rolled over and scrabbled to his knees, pausing to steady himself before rising to his full and formidable height. He staggered to the bed, supporting himself against it. Then he lurched towards the scalpel.

  Casey watched in stunned horror as Fedele bent down, snatched up the surgical instrument in his functioning hand, then turned to face her. Blood cascaded from the wound on his neck.

  Casey blinked.

  Fedele grinned once more.

  “Oi! Fuck face!”

  A large shadow fell across Fedele. In an instant, a wooden beam held in a pair of massive, tattooed arms, swung and struck Fedele in the centre of his chest. There was a sickening crack of breaking bone as the impact lifted the surgeon off his feet and threw him back against a pair of oxygen cylinders on the wall.

  Scott lunged forward, placing himself between Casey and Fedele. The shocked surgeon looked up through bulging eyes. Flipping the length of hardwood deftly in his hand, Scott adjusted his grip then leapt forward unleashing a devastating swing that crashed into the side of Fedele’s head, snapping it sideways. He slumped to the floor unconscious.

  He turned in time to see Lionel come to Casey’s side, and Scott flung the length of timber aside and went to them, helping Lionel undo the leather straps.

  Emotion overwhelmed Casey all at once.

  She broke down in wracking sobs, wrenching her arm free and reaching out for her grandfather who embraced her tightly. He kissed her forehead tenderly.

  “It’s all right, Casey. It’s all right, it’s over now,” he repeated softly, as tears filled his eyes.

  Scott released the last of the straps then grabbed a blanket from
a shelf. He wrapped it around Casey’s shoulders as she sat up and collapsed into her grandfather’s arms, allowing the exhaustion, the grief and the relief to rush forth.

  On the floor, Fedele began to gurgle softly. His head lolled back, but none of them reacted.

  From the ruined elevator shaft, several heavily-armed tactical response officers dropped into view and fanned out into the chamber, their weapons drawn. Upon seeing the trio at the bed and the unconscious form slumped on the floor across from them, the lead officer signalled to his men to hold.

  Casey looked into the helmeted face, but she did not react. Instead, she watched as Scott stood in front of them and pointed the squad to Fedele’s inert form against the far wall.

  It was over.

  CHAPTER 36.

  A hospital bed.

  Another hospital bed.

  Her eyes were closed. A large, round pad covered her right eye, concealing the angry bruising underneath it. A dressing covered her collarbone. Her arm was immobilised in a sling.

  Lionel sat beside Casey’s bed in a reclining chair. He was dozing, snoring softly. A pair of glasses hung precariously from the edge of his nose. He hugged a newspaper to his chest. Scott was slumped on a painfully small sofa opposite, scanning his smartphone’s screen.

  A TV screen, mounted on a strut that descended from the ceiling, flashed imagery at them. Its volume was muted; the remote lay on Casey’s blankets.

  The door to the room clicked open and a young nurse stepped inside. Regarding Scott, who looked up from his phone and smiled at her, she tiptoed over to Casey’s bedside and checked the pump that was delivering IV fluids into Casey’s arm.

  Casey stirred. Her visible eye fluttered open and she glanced up. The nurse flushed pink.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I just wanted to check your pump.”

  Casey smiled weakly.

  “It’s all right,” she croaked softly. “I wasn’t asleep.”

  The nurse gave the plastic flask a jiggle then, satisfied, she turned to leave.

  Her eyes went up to the TV screen just as the mid-morning news bulletin flashed up.

  She gasped as a picture of Casey appeared on screen.

  “That’s you!”

  Casey looked up, feeling around for the remote. She pressed the volume button. The sound of the male newscaster caused Lionel to wake with a start. He jolted upright in his chair and glanced around, disoriented. Scott struggled up from the sofa and came over.

  ‘…Federal Government in Canberra is in crisis this morning following revelations of a highly sophisticated organ harvesting ring, which was uncovered by a young Melbourne woman, allegedly operating from within the Federal Department of Immigration & Border Protection.’

  Lionel lifted his glasses into position as the introduction transitioned to a female anchor while images of Simeera Fedele, Francis Arlo and a third man whom Casey did not recognise, appeared in a graphic beside her.

  “Federal and State Police Authorities have been mobilised in the wake of stunning revelations of the ring which is reported to have been operating for several years and has potentially involved hundreds of victims.”

  Casey reached out to Lionel, who took her hand in his. He squeezed it gently.

  “I don’t recognise that third man,” she remarked.

  Lionel squinted at the screen. “Someone from government perhaps?” Scott shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Authorities in Canberra have swooped in on the offices of the Parliamentary Secretary to the Federal Immigration Minister, Mr. Simon Schutz, arresting several staff including the Secretary himself as well as seizing computer hardware and documents. Here in Melbourne—in what has been described as a shocking development—world-renowned heart transplant surgeon Mr. Simeera Fedele has been reportedly taken into custody in connection with the organ harvesting ring. We take you now to a live press conference in Melbourne where the Victorian Police Commissioner, Keith Moodie, is about to make a statement.’

  The shot transitioned to a press conference. Several police personnel flanked the Police Commissioner himself, who sat down at a desk before a packed audience of journalists.

  Casey identified Farnham Whittaker on the screen, while Prishna Argawaal was in the background, standing to one side of the auditorium. She looked on as the Commissioner prepared to speak.

  “Good morning,” the Commissioner began, coughing into his closed fist. “I’ll make a short statement after which I will accept a small number of questions.”

  A murmur rippled through the audience, then silenced as the Commissioner continued.

  “This morning, Major Crime Detectives working in partnership with Australian Federal Police have made several arrests in connection with an apparent organ harvesting operation that was operating here in Melbourne. Our initial assessment, based upon evidence which has been uncovered thus far, is that it was highly organised and that the Flaxley Park Immigration Detention Facility has been identified as a hub from where…candidates were sourced.”

  The Commissioner paused as he adjusted his glasses and checked the notes in front of him.

  “Now, I can confirm that those arrests include heart transplant surgeon Mr. Simeera Fedele as well as Mr. Simon Schutz, the Federal Parliamentary Secretary to the Minister for Immigration and Border Protection.”

  The audience erupted into excited chatter while several journalists peppered the Commissioner with a barrage of questions. He raised his hand, calling for silence. Once the tumult had dropped away, he gestured to a young woman in front of him.

  “Commissioner, there is speculation that the Parliamentary Secretary was facilitating the fast-tracking of asylum seeker claims so that they could be used as organ donors for wealthy overseas clients. Further, it is being suggested that he was receiving significant financial incentives for doing so. Can you confirm this?”

  The Commissioner shifted in his seat and looked down his nose at the reporter.

  “It is too early to speculate on the exact roles of each of the suspects. I would suggest that you direct that question to my Federal counterpart,” he responded tersely.

  He gestured to another journalist who was wielding a smartphone in his outstretched hand.

  “Indonesian media sources are reporting that authorities in Jakarta have arrested and charged a prominent doctor with conspiracy in connection with this organ harvesting operation. Do you have any comment regarding that?”

  The Commissioner nodded. “Our Federal counterparts have been liaising with Indonesian authorities and yes, a person of interest has been taken into custody.”

  “What can you tell us of reports that a colleague of Mr. Fedele’s, a Francis Arlo, was found murdered last night and is there any connection between this death and the death of Ms. Josephine Catea?”

  Casey shivered at the mention of Arlo and she squeezed Lionel’s hand tighter. On the TV screen, the Commissioner nodded and glanced sideways at Whittaker, who spoke up.

  “Francis Arlo’s death, along with Ms. Catea’s, are being examined as part of our investigation,” Whittaker responded. “Mr. Fedele is cooperating with us. That is all we’re prepared to say at this time.”

  The Commissioner nodded at another reporter who looked at Whittaker.

  “What can you tell us about the reports that a patient of Mr. Fedele’s, a Miss Casey Schillinge, was the one who uncovered this apparent conspiracy?”

  Whittaker glanced sideways at the Commissioner who wove his hands together on the table in front of him. He glowered at the journalist.

  “We have no comment,” Whittaker said.

  The journalist pressed further. “Was she, in fact, responsible for the security breach at Flaxley Park?”

  “Again,” the Commissioner rumbled warningly. “No comment.”

  An aide to the Commissioner stepped up behind him and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. That is a
ll we have for you at this time.”

  The chattering rose again as the police representatives filed from the auditorium. Reporters continued to fire questions as the television switched from the press conference back to the news anchor in the studio.

  Casey pointed the remote control at the TV and switched it off. She did not want to hear anymore. Nor did she want to see anymore. She squeezed her eye shut against a burgeoning anxiety. Scott, Lionel and the nurse regarded her with concern.

  “Are you okay?”

  She nodded wearily, lifting her hand to the bandage covering her eye.

  “Yeah,” she responded with barely a whisper. “I just…need it all to stop.”

  Casey retreated within herself, pushing against the gathering adrenaline surge and the accompanying memories of the past few days. Of her confrontation with Arlo and…with him.

  She couldn’t bear to even think his name. Her stomach rolled as she fought to block his face out.

  The nurse looked to Lionel, who smiled thankfully, then she retreated from the bed. Opening the door to the room, she looked into the faces of Peter and Edie who were just about to knock.

  The nurse stepped to one side, holding the door for them as they entered the room. Opening her eye, Casey watched them both. Her expression was empty.

  Edie hesitated and dropped behind Peter while he approached Casey’s bed gingerly. He acknowledged Scott with a nod.

  A moment passed as he looked down upon her awkwardly. Casey couldn’t be sure whether her father was shocked by her appearance or whether he was simply unsure of what to say.

  All at once, Peter’s eyes glistened, his cheeks flushed red and his lip quivered.

  “I’ve got no idea what to say,” he said shakily. “This is all so…”

  “Crazy?” Casey finished for him, breaking the ice. Peter managed a laugh in spite of himself.

  “Crazy,” he echoed.

  Tears spilled down over his cheeks and he leaned down, planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his lips lingering on her skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t understand it. Accept it.”

  Casey squeezed his hand as he drew back. “I couldn’t understand it myself. I just knew. I had to follow my gut.”