God's Eye

by Scudiere, A. J.

  At her request, Light & Geryon had fed money into WeldLink. So that WeldLink could make firing pins. There was only one thing a firing pin was good for.

  The brunette had handed the program over to another reporter while Katharine sat there, her eyes glazed and her brain churning. The Tupperware still clenched tightly in her hand, Katharine jerked herself off the couch, upsetting the remote as she did. It hit the floor, jarring buttons and making the red light blink.

  The TV channel popped over to a cartoon.

  • • •

  She didn’t sleep. Hadn’t slept. Hadn’t spoken to anyone. Didn’t know what to do other than roam her own apartment aimlessly and lie in her bed, twisted up in her covers.

  She reminded herself that she hadn’t pulled the trigger.

  In general, she thought guns were okay. Her family–her father in particular–had always believed in every man’s right to bear arms. Katharine had agreed. But she was beginning to see merit where she’d never seen it before. That your guns never stayed just your guns. That maybe outlawing firearms was safer.

  The truth was, she didn’t know. She didn’t know what to think or what to do aside from being grateful that she hadn’t been visited in a while. But the creepy animals would almost be welcome at this point.

  What she did know was that she hadn’t looked any further than those blindingly beautiful profit margins. While WeldLink may or may not have been selling their guns to third world countries directly, that’s exactly where their guns were going. They were the only ones with that firing pin technology. The weapons had reached Africa with such speed that Katharine would like to point to that evidence to let herself off the hook. She desperately wanted to be able to say that Light & Geryon money hadn’t been responsible, that this had occurred before they had been involved. But the fact was that MaraxCo had opened themselves to investors. Investors who would make these massive transports possible. Light & Geryon had jumped to fill that spot. At her request.

  Her bed mirrored the pattern of her thoughts. The covers were scattered and hanging off the edge; the pillows looked abused and worn. Katharine herself looked no better. She’d swum in the haze of her own stupidity for two days. She hadn’t showered or dressed, had merely eaten and scoured the Internet for whatever she could find about MaraxCo’s guns.

  After two days, she had a lot of information.

  It was all right there at her fingertips. It had been there weeks ago, too. Only this time she didn’t limit herself. She tracked the product far and wide, and she didn’t like a single thing she saw.

  When she became too upset researching the firing pins she switched gears and tried the gem mine she had also recommended investing in.

  Her heart twisted with each new thing she found. It was just as ugly. If she had dug back a little further the first time, she would have seen articles that not only suggested, but held explicit evidence, that the mine had been discovered by an Aboriginal family that had met with a vicious accident. Katharine wanted to believe it was just that, an accident. But the more she followed the breadcrumbs, the seedier it got.

  Local families were working the mine without any benefits or health care. They were cut off if they became ill or were injured. And injuries were common. Kids were dropping out of school to cover for parents. And no one was paid the minimum wage. Sure, there were laws, but because the company was providing housing and food, legal loopholes allowed wages to be much lower.

  One reporter had followed through after a particularly nasty cave-in that resulted in the families of five dead men being kicked out of their homes–housing units that should have been condemned long ago. There were often a handful of families in only a few rooms. The food was scarce and half rotten. The outback, where the majority of the Australian mines were located, was rugged and hot. There were no buses no nearby towns, nothing in any range. And no one visited or monitored the owners. Because everything was flat and open, the few visitors they did get were spotted from miles away, giving the businesses enough time to put up appearances and make nice. Even worse, when the families were kicked out of company housing, there was literally nowhere for them to go.

  Katharine couldn’t breathe.

  She had stared at her jewelry box for an hour, wondering where her pretty baubles had come from. Wondering whether anyone had died for the emeralds her mother had cherished. The collection in the safe set into the wall held sapphires, rubies, topaz, amethysts, plenty of diamonds–and maybe a thousand lives.

  Finally, on Sunday night, she had packed herself off to bed, praying for sleep to rescue her and afraid of what she’d dream. But she hadn’t dreamed. She’d lain in bed, wide awake, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Her peripheral vision followed the arthritic sweep of the minute hand on the old wall clock, once around every hour.

  At five in the morning, the world beyond her window offered the faintest change of color, signaling the new day. She slid from bed and headed to the bathroom. Her eyes narrowed and she stopped in the doorway.

  When had she last been in here? Only a little while ago. Her research had been fueled in large part by candy and Cokes, so she’d been up and down all night.

  And the one thing that had pleased her was that she hadn’t been visited.

  But now even that was beyond her–because she had been visited.

  This time the words didn’t need steam to appear. The letters were red, like lipstick. Except she had never owned this shade. Again there were no smears or smudges to give away the writer.

  Katharine walked right up to the mirror, too tired to be anything other than stupid. She pushed her left finger into the first word and rubbed, destroying its perfection. It felt like lipstick, although there was every possibility that she had just put her hand directly into something toxic. But it didn’t burn. Her breathing was remarkably normal considering how ominous the words looked.

  daemon te venatur

  HAYSTACK

  CHAPTER 10

  Katharine decided she had a far better chance of bumping into Mary Wayne somewhere random than of finding her at work. So she didn’t go into work.

  Besides, she needed to know what the hell was on her mirror this time. So she went straight to the library. She’d go to work later, face Allistair, and attempt–yet again–to figure out what the hell was going on in any one part of her life.

  Katharine pulled up in front of the Santa Monica Public Library, as always, surprised at how busy the place was. L.A. just didn’t seem like that literary of a city. Inside, the reserved Margot sat behind her desk diligently clicking keys as though she were doing something important.

  Katharine made it to the reference section without seeing Mary Wayne. Since, apparently, she wasn’t likely to run into the payroll clerk at work either, she hadn’t really missed anything by coming here instead. Tipping the big purple dictionary off the top shelf, Katharine wound her way back to an empty study carrel and pulled out the slip of paper she had copied today’s message onto.

  Fifteen minutes later she had hoped to be getting somewhere, but the three little words had been a bit harder to decipher than she had expected. Te was easy–“you,” “thou.” Daemon –“devil.” Disturbing, yes, but not surprising.

  Venatur took more work. It wasn’t there. Vena/ venae meant “vein.” Venalis meant “for sale.” And none of that made sense. She looked everywhere, tried alternate spellings, and wracked her brain, but nothing worked.

  Soft footsteps pattered up behind her, and Katharine wasn’t sure if she should be surly or grateful for Margot’s presence.

  “Did you get another message in Latin?” The voice was as soft as her feet had been, nearly completely unobtrusive. Katharine could have ignored her, except she really couldn’t afford to.

  “Yes. I have ‘you’ and ‘devil,’ but I’m hung up on this last word.” She pointed to venatur and waited.

  Not a full minute later, Margot had showed her all the words with that base and their various endings. They were all versions of �
�hunt.” Katharine sighed. “So it says I’m hunting devils.”

  This whole thing was getting uglier by the minute. With a deep sigh Katharine thanked the librarian again and headed for the door. Margot followed. By the time she exited, Margot had talked Katharine into copying the message and leaving her cell number–just in case the librarian could figure something out. And she’d done it, not because she thought it was a good idea, but because Margot had pestered her.

  Glad she had finally shaken the librarian, Katharine slid into her car and realized that it was time to head to work. But she couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t walk in and face the man who made her rip off her clothes and pant his name when she couldn’t figure out why. She also didn’t want to have to explain to her father that she hadn’t managed to find Mary Wayne in any format other than video playback for the past three workdays. The investigation was going nowhere. Even the wonderful forensic accountant had hit a brick wall. The transfers had been made in the middle of the night and from the mainframe. Of course the surveillance showed no one was there or even logged on at that time. No, that would be too easy. And Katharine was getting absolutely nothing in the “too easy” category these days. Except maybe herself.

  She was rapidly discovering a new flexibility in her work ethic as well. So she bought a fashion magazine and made herself at home tucked into a back table at the coffee shop around the corner from the Light & Geryon building. If anyone spotted her she would claim she was … well, the excuse of waiting for Mary Wayne would only work on her father, Uncle Toran, and Allistair. God help them all if Allistair found her here.

  She managed to monopolize the little table at the Coffee Bean for a full hour and a half. She had finished the largest, most calorie-laden drink she could get and had read the magazine from front to back. She had no more plans and no excuses left. She had to get to work.

  Katharine threw out her coffee cup and left the magazine for the next person who felt the need to veg at the table. She took a few deep breaths intending to find a little steel for her spine. It was 11:00 a.m. on a Monday and she wasn’t yet in her office. She hadn’t called anyone to let them know what she was up to, or even just that she’d be late. And she didn’t care.

  She really didn’t recognize herself anymore.

  So she did what she knew to do. She forced herself to head to work and waved at the parking attendant, as usual not needing to show her badge. At least he still recognized her. She took the elevator directly to the top floor and walked into her father’s office. He glanced up at her, startled, and for the first time she saw that the streaks of gray were gaining prominence in his hair. He’d always had a slash or two the few times she’d gotten close enough to see. But these were visible from the doorway. The distance did nothing to ease the slight rocking of her world. Yet another fundamental truth–that her father was ageless–had slipped and cracked its façade.

  “Katharine!”

  She composed herself at the sound of his voice and forced a smile. She did not want to have to tell him what she’d been thinking. So instead of replying, she merely nodded.

  “Tell me this unexpected visit means you have news of Mary Wayne.”

  “No, I don’t.” Katharine settled herself into the couch even as her father’s earlier momentum carried him to his feet before his disappointment could completely register. Katharine gave her best attempt at an explanation without trying to explain anything she just couldn’t. “I haven’t been able to pin her down for a face-to-face meeting. She’s not avoiding me per se, I’m just having very bad luck meshing our schedules.” “Then you can drop in at her house.”

  Katharine thought that was a horrible idea, and possibly a dangerous one, but her father pushed. After only a token resistance she partially caved. She said she agreed it was the right thing to do–a small lie on her part–but never agreed to do it. That was only an omission, a fine distinction she was starting to not only recognize but depend on. “Actually, I came up for an entirely different reason. I screwed up the research and recommendations last week.”

  This time her father seated himself partway on the corner of his desk, one leg cocked over the edge, his hands resting, folded on his thigh. He frowned at her. “How so?”

  “We shouldn’t have bought the WeldLink stock or the shares of the Bedourie mine in Queensland.”

  “What are you talking about? We’ve already seen an increase from both those investments. The board couldn’t be happier.”

  “Dad.” Just the one word sounded ominous, even to her own ears. Katharine couldn’t remember the last time she had called her father Dad. “WeldLink makes firing pins for guns that are going to Africa.”

  “So?”

  “Do you know what’s going on over there?”

  “I have a general idea.” But he still didn’t seem concerned about it.

  “We used all our money–all our investors’ money–to fund a war. We’re funding genocide.”

  “Baby.” Her father used a tone she hadn’t heard since she was very small. He hadn’t called her “baby” in forever either. She knew what he was going to say. Still, she needed to hear the actual words. “Our money doesn’t make those people kill each other. They are going to do it no matter what we do.”

  She nodded. He was right. But for the first time in her life, her father was wrong. Didn’t he see that? Still, she knew when she was backing a losing horse. In this office, money was king. Her father was a smart enough man that he could see things his way whether it was right or not. No amount of arguing from his baby girl would sway him. Anyone who disagreed with him merely had no sense. And Katharine knew she could be added to that list in short order.

  So she left the top floor with a forced smile and pretended everything was okay. She headed to the one place she thought she would be listened to: her own office.

  By the time she stomped past Lisa, she was fueled into a righteous anger that had her shoving the door wide with a flat palm and Allistair jumping to his feet.

  He had barely closed the door behind her before she found herself engulfed in a hug of epic proportions. He whispered “Shhhh” and “Baby” over and over while he rocked her there on her own feet, in the middle of her own office.

  Her head found his shoulder, a safe place to land, and she didn’t know how long she stood there being held like an injured child and finding comfort in nonsense words and a soothing touch. Finally he lifted her face and asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Her breath sucked in and her eyes blinked, wetter than even she had known. “My TV got stuck.”

  She couldn’t finish the thought, but he didn’t look at her like she was an idiot. He just waited. Another deep breath and a near hiccup later, she managed to form words. “I saw what we put our money into.”

  When he frowned because he didn’t understand, Katharine launched into an explanation of the story she had seen on TV and her subsequent research. Still feeling safe in the circle of his arms, she grew more upset as she spoke. “And then my father didn’t even acknowledge that it wasn’t right. He says we aren’t responsible for what other people do.”

  “He’s right.”

  With that, she jerked away. Her hands pushed hard against his chest, nearly toppling him. She felt heat behind her eyes again. “He isn’t right. We shouldn’t give our money to this.”

  Allistair cocked his head to the side. “He is right. But you’re right, too. We aren’t responsible for what other people do. We can’t control it. But,” he emphasized the word as her anger with him was peaking, “we are responsible for our own parts. The question is: what’s our part?”

  “We gave them the money to do it. We funded a portion of this war.”

  He shrugged. “If it hadn’t been us, then someone else would have.” “But if we all stepped back we could keep the guns from going there.”

  He shook his head. “We help a company that makes guns. We don’t advocate killing. People get killed by … baseball bats and kitchen knives. Should
we stop the manufacture of those, too? Or better yet, cars.”

  “Allistair, those things aren’t made for killing. These guns are. They are produced without serial numbers or identifying marks just for this purpose.”

  “Maybe the right people are buying them for protection.”

  “These firing pins, they backfire. They make the gun explode in the shooter’s face.” She was pacing the office now, waving her hands in rapid gestures that punctuated her words.

  “Then maybe that’s a good thing.”

  “Allistair!” How could he not see? How did no one see? Katharine was surprised by how alone she felt suddenly and how disappointed she was. She had expected him to understand.

  “Fine then. But there’s no way everyone would pull out of this. If not us, then someone would have come along and all the same damage would have been done.” He stood looking at her, his expression unchanging.

  “But it wouldn’t be us. We would be able to sleep better at night.”

  He actually laughed at that. “I don’t think either your father or Toran Light will miss a moment’s rest over this one.”

  Her feet planted, her back straightened and she stared him in the eye, some kind of brave new Katharine. “I haven’t even started to tell you about the gem mine. So tell me you’re just playing devil’s advocate. Tell me that you understand. That it’s wrong to get rich from other people’s suffering.”

  She stayed there rooted while he smiled. Didn’t move when his arms came around her, or when his mouth neared her ear. “Of course, baby.”

  Only then did she let herself sag against him and lean on his strength.

  • • •

  “Doesn’t it seem wrong to make money off their deaths?”

  “We’re not profiting from their deaths.” Allistair protested. Though she rested within the confines of his arms, he needed to push her to see how far she would go. Her morals were finally being decided, and he needed to see where they landed and whether he could alter them. And whether Zachary could alter them.