It began with smuggling in food past government checkpoints and was now escalating to smuggling families themselves out of the country, to some of the nearby islands.
Lopez had smiled when he told Clay he was an equal-opportunity smuggler. But the sad truth was that he couldn’t save them all. And both Lopez and his crew knew it.
For Clay and his team, Lopez had been the perfect man to transport their shipments back and forth between Trinidad.
Two days a week, without fail, Lopez and his men delivered the supplies needed by Clay and his team. All untraceable and purposefully mislabeled.
When the last line was tied and a gangplank extended between both boats, supplies quickly began to appear from hidden holds and move efficiently across to the Pathfinder’s waiting crew.
As the supplies were delivered, John Clay stood up from his wooden bench, along with Alison and Lee. Clay approached the ramp and immediately spotted Steve Caesare and Neely Lawton arriving on the other side.
When the exchange was all but finished, Caesare marched down the gangplank in heavy boots. He clasped Lopez on the shoulder as he passed. “Right on time, Tomás. Gracias por traer a nuestos amigos!”
“Es mi honor,” the young captain replied.
He turned to examine Clay, standing on his own, no longer needing even a cane. “You’re looking downright spry, Clay.”
“I was shooting for snappy.” Clay grinned and peered at him more closely. “Are you dying your hair?”
Caesare laughed and turned to Alison. “Nice to see you again, Ali. And Mr. Kenwood. Welcome to our humble abode.”
“You know we’ve actually been onboard before,” Lee said.
Caesare grinned. “Oh, I’m not talking about the Pathfinder. You ever vacation on a forty-year-old oil rig?”
When Lee’s smile disappeared, Caesare laughed again. “I’m just kidding, kid. You get to stay shipside. Lucky for you.”
Alison shook her head, rolling her eyes before reaching down to pick up her bag. She turned to Clay wistfully. “I guess this is it.”
He nodded and wrapped his arms warmly around Alison, kissing her. “I’m afraid so. But you’ll be safe here until we get back.”
“You’re going to call me, right?”
“I will. Whenever I can.”
Alison nodded and pulled him down for another, longer kiss. When she pulled back, Alison turned to Caesare. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”
He frowned. “Why doesn’t anyone ever worry about me?”
In response, Borger piped up from the edge of the Pathfinder, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Clay, don’t let anything happen to Steve!”
Clay laughed. “I’ll do my best.” He took Alison’s hand and helped her up and over the short plank, letting go once she stepped firmly aboard the Pathfinder. He then stood by as Lee crossed over with his own bag.
“Good luck, Mr. Clay.”
“Thanks, Lee. I look forward to hearing what else you’ve learned from our friends when I get back.”
“You got it.”
With that, the plank was removed. The lines of the trawler were then untied and thrown back aboard. As the swells gently pushed the unlit fishing boat away from them, Alison watched as John and Steve’s figures grew dimmer, quickly fading into the night.
It was only after she heard the trawler’s diesel engines roar back to life and the boat’s outline disappeared entirely, that she approached Neely and Borger, giving them a proper greeting.
“It’s great to see you guys,” Alison exclaimed, hugging them both.
Neely’s lips spread into a wide grin. “Welcome back.”
“Thanks,” Alison replied, her own grin matching Neely’s. She looked her friend straight in the eyes with an abrupt change in demeanor. “We need to talk.”
52
Neely stared at both Alison and Lee as they all sat beneath her lab’s bright fluorescent lights. With arms folded, she pondered what she had just been told. After a long pause, Alison spoke again.
“Is it possible?”
Neely nodded her head, slowly. “It’s possible. Yes. But what you’re talking about is bigger than just a form of communication between a few species. Which is already a big deal. What you’re talking about is much bigger. You’re talking about something that could effect dozens of species. Maybe more.”
“So, genetically speaking,” Lee asked, “how deep could this go?”
“I have no idea. As much as we currently know about genetics, it’s only the tip of the iceberg. We’re truly only scratching the surface at this point. But the idea of a communicative ability, connecting cognition and instinct is intriguing. And if it’s true, it might go even deeper than you think.”
“What do you mean?”
Neely thought for a moment. “You all know what gastric bypass surgery is, right?”
Alison, Lee, and Borger all nodded.
“Then you know that it’s a weight-loss surgery that changes the shape of the stomach, severely limiting the consumption of food, and usually a last resort for those who are truly obese. You might also know that the vast majority of patients who undergo that surgery are also diabetic. Diabetes and obesity are very closely correlated.”
Alison wrinkled her brow. “How is this related?”
“This may sound a little technical, but stay with me. What’s interesting about the gastric surgery is that while most patients undergoing the procedure are diabetic, the majority of those same patients lose their diabetes after the surgery.”
This time Lee frowned. “Why would that be surprising if they’re correlated?”
“What’s surprising is not that their diabetes disappears… it’s when it disappears.” Leaning forward in her chair, Neely continued. “It takes most patients weeks or even months for the weight to start coming off. But in many cases, the diabetes disappears almost immediately. Before they lose the weight.”
Alison studied her curiously. “Before they lose the weight?”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible?”
“That’s just it,” Neely shrugged perplexedly. “No one knows.”
“That’s… kind of bizarre.”
Neely turned to Lee. “Isn’t it? Now you’re probably wondering why this is relevant. The answer is that scientists and doctors don’t know why this happens to the gastric bypass patients, but they do have a theory, which is rooted within obesity itself.”
Neely then explained the theory to the group. “Obesity, as I’m sure you know, results in all sorts of health problems. From processing insulin to circulatory problems, heart disease, stress, even things like gout. An overabundance of fat cells can be downright insidious to our health. Which is why researchers are wondering if something else may be happening at a deeper level. At a cellular level.”
“You mean genetically?”
“No,” Neely shook her head. “More like chemically. Researchers now believe that there is some kind of chemical communication happening at a cellular level — in this case, among fat cells. And this communication may be how so many patients lose their diabetes much sooner than the weight that helped to cause it.”
“Oh my gosh. Is that true?!” Alison exclaimed.
“Yes, it is.”
All three stared at Neely in fascination. “You’re saying,” Alison began, “that there is communication happening within our cells?”
Neely smiled. “No. We’ve always known that. At least to some degree. I’m saying that there may be a lot more happening than we expect, which makes Chris’s idea of a new form of communication a real possibility. Perhaps one that has yet to be discovered.”
“And what if we evolved out of some of this cellular communication?”