CHAPTER THREE

"Lily, what's the story on this client today, hun?" asked Ghost.

"She called a few days ago and said she wanted to fly out from California to meet with all of you. She lives on the coast and has a personal, private beach space. She said that lately, there have been more and more clumps of trash floating across, and some of it is really unusual."

"Unusual? Unusual how?" asked Miller.

"She didn't get into a lot of detail, but she said it feels as though a lot more items are coming from other countries because of labels and things she sees on and in the trash. I know this feels weird for us, but she said there was something we all needed to see. She even went so far as to say that she'd called out an environmental group to take some of it away, but the rest she felt as though we needed to see it."

"We believe you," said Ian. "I just can't believe environmental groups aren't getting in on this and taking it all on. Usually, it's their battle cry, and they take to the airwaves and the oceans to get people all hyped up about it."

"I said the same thing," said Lily, "but this woman said it wasn't that simple. Her name is Debbie Goldwick. I'll bring her back when she arrives."

"Thanks, Lily," said Nine. "I'm not sure what we do about any of this." He frowned, looking at the others in the room.

"I tend to agree with you, but the woman is flying all the way from California to Louisiana. She must think it's incredibly important, and I think we owe her the courtesy of at least listening to her."

They heard the door open and close and the soft sound of Lily greeting the woman in the waiting area. A few minutes later, Lily stood in the doorway with a woman who appeared to be in her sixties in dress slacks and a simple sweater set. She looked like a schoolteacher with her glasses hanging around her neck.

"Good morning," said Ghost, standing to greet her.

"Good morning. I'm Debbie Goldwick, but please, just call me Deb."

"Alright, Deb. I'm Ghost, this is Ian, Nine, and Gaspar. As you can see, we have others in the room, but it might start to get confusing. Please, take a seat."

"Oh, I don't think it's confusing at all. At least six of you are related. Remember, I was a former teacher. I can always pick out the siblings. Anyway, thank you so much for taking my call. I know it must have seemed crazy, considering what you all usually do. I have a good friend that you helped in Arizona." They all nodded, smiling at the woman.

"We have to admit we were a bit confused," said Ian. "Trash usually isn't our issue. It's not that we don't see the importance of being environmentally conscious. It's just not usually something we investigate."

"I understand. Really, I do. Just hear me out. Are you familiar at all with the way the currents flow from Asia to the West Coast and back?" The men smiled at her giving a short nod. "Of course you do. If you'll indulge me. The currents are marvelous features of nature and help not just the ocean life, mammals, fish, plant life, but also shipping, as you well know.

"TheNorth Pacific currentflows between Asia and the West Coast of North America and is actually formed by the combination of the Kuroshio and Oyashio Currents. Kuroshio is also known as the Japan Current. It's a warm current and moves northward along the eastern coast of Asia, sort of like our Gulf Stream in the Atlantic. The Oyashio Current is a cold subarctic current that flows south and circulates counterclockwise along the western North Pacific Ocean. When the Kuroshio and Oyashio collide, it forms our North Pacific current. It then splits into the California and Alaska currents.

"There are organizations that watch these currents and their impacts on our oceans. Considering where I am in northern California, I have to believe that these objects are coming to my beach from Southeast Asia, somewhere between the East China Sea and Papua New Guinea."

They all smiled at the woman. Her explanations were spot on, and they admired her knowledge of the oceans. However, they were still confused as to how they could possibly help her.

"Deb, that was a great explanation, but we're still confused," said Ghost. She nodded, folding her hands on the table.

"The pollution and trash are just awful. I've never seen anything like it, and it's happening all of a sudden," said the woman. "I get things washing up on my beach every day. Mostly plastic water or soda bottles. I'd like to outlaw those. Sometimes old clothing, pieces of wood from a wreck, something like that."

"Ma'am, we understand how disappointing this is for you. We hate when the environment is compromised, but have you considered notifying the environmental groups, both private and government-run?" asked Ian.

"Of course I have," she said, frustrated. "They said it's just a trend and something to do with the way the currents are flowing right now. I'm telling you, that's not it! This isn't just plastic water bottles and fishing nets. I'm talking about everything from electronic components to machinery still in the crates. We even recovered two dolphins trapped in nets, and we think a human hand. We turned that into the sheriff's office."

"A human hand?" frowned Ian.

"Yes. A human hand. That's not normal pollution."

"No, it's definitely not, but it could have been a shark attack or a boating accident. I know this is frustrating for you, but we have to consider all the evidence. We're not experts in environmental issues."

The woman nodded at them, then reached inside her large tote bag and pulled out a large, clanking metal ball. She tossed it on the table, and the men stared at it, then back at her. Tied with perfectly formed, intricate knots, they all knew exactly what they were seeing. Attached to a large foam ball that appeared to have been formed by crushing together packing foam.

"Where did you get this?" asked Gaspar.

"It washed ashore with the other things," said the woman. "This isn't the only one. There are four more balls just like it. Hundreds of dog tags from American sailors and soldiers, as well as some from our allies. Some are as far back as World War II, others much more recent."

The men touched the metal as if it were magical in some way. Staring at the chains, their guts clenched.

"Now, will you listen to me?" Nine stared at the woman and nodded.

"Keep talking."

"I called Washington, and believe me, that was an act in futility. I was transferred nine times before someone finally told me just to mail them to some damn address in Maryland. Most frustrating thing in the world!"

"We understand," smirked Ghost.

"These balls were created by someone to send a message or ask for help. I don't know which. I had an older cousin who went to Vietnam and never came home. I've looked at every damn dog tag there and don't see his name, but those names belong to someone. Someone's son, husband, father, or brother. I want to know where they came from. I can afford to pay you."

"We're not worried about the pay, ma'am," said Nine. "Let us get some information from you, and we'll see what we can find out."

An hour later, she shook their hands and headed back to California. The men stared at the ball of dog tags, their guts clenched. Gaspar nodded, then stood and yelled.

"Code! I want to see every logical point where this shit could possibly have come from. Every damn place."