The Devil's Eye

by Jack McDevitt

  “No. It’s a couple of thousand light-years away.”

  “Okay. I think we should dismiss it and stick to the problem at hand.”

  “It is suggestive, Chase.”

  “Of what?”

  He changed the subject: “Actually there are other Calientés. A number of schools have the name, some parks, at least one zoo, and two social clubs. There was even, at the time the monitors shut down, a comedian.”

  “Have you tried asking the AI to sort through it?”

  “We need Jacob,” he said. “This one’s okay, but he has a hard time if I can’t give him exact parameters. But the answer is yes. Nobody, and nothing, as far as the AI can see, has a direct connection with any of the Keltons, with Edward Demery, or with the prospective groom. Well, that’s not entirely true. One of them was a service technician who worked on the power at the groom’s home three years before he met Jennifer’s daughter.”

  We sat looking at each other. “Maybe it’s time for us to go home,” I said. “We’ve made a reasonable effort.”

  Those brown eyes brightened. “I’m surprised that you’d give up so easily, Chase.”

  “So easily? We’ve come a zillion light-years. We’ve traveled all over the world. Talked to half the people on the planet. Lost a skimmer. Damn near got eaten. And I know you don’t believe me, but I ran into a ghost. I say we take the hint.”

  We had the HV on, sound down. A journalist was seated at a desk marked GLOBAL NEWS. He looked excited. Alex increased the volume.

  “—Another incursion. Apparently, a Mute warship and a pair of Coalition destroyers traded shots out near Naramitsu. Preliminary reports indicate the Mute was driven off. No casualties reported. Global News will keep you updated as this story comes in.”

  “Alex, what’s really going on?”

  “I wish I knew,” he said.

  “So what’s next?”

  “Mikel Wexler owns an extensive estate.”

  “Really?”

  “And he’s accumulated over the last few years a substantial interest in two major corporations.”

  “So why do we care?”

  “Maybe we don’t. But the estate is up for sale.”

  “Okay.”

  “And he’s recently sold off his other holdings.”

  “That’s strange. Is he expecting an economic downturn?”

  “I don’t know. You may be right. Maybe we do deserve some time off. A few days of vacation.”

  “Don’t tell me. We’re talking about the Golden Isles.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Ultimately everything is math. The number of protons in a given element, the gravitational force that binds Rimway to the sun, the number of heartbeats you get. Learn to count, my boy. Therein lies wisdom.

  —Wish You Were Here

  Calienté was the principal island in a group of four in the middle of the Balin Sea. These were the Golden Isles. All had beautiful beaches, and the nightclubs and restaurants were spread equitably among the four. None of the islands measured as much as seven kilometers at its widest.

  They would have been an ideal location for Vicki. Two of the islands had occult connections. On Khyber Island, something spoke in the winds. And Calienté claimed a ghostly yacht.

  The weather was warm when we arrived. Alex went to work with the house AI while I sat out by the pool. Topless again. I told myself a little exhibitionism was good for the soul, but I don’t think I could ever get used to it.

  The yacht legend had it that two lovers, one on Calienté and the other on Khyber (though sometimes he was from Sanikaw) had been kept apart by feuding families. It was the classic situation. The boy eventually made off with the family’s yacht, determined to collect his lover and head for a more rational place. But a storm blew up during the crossing.

  The family discovered he was missing, and the boat as well. They called him, pleaded with him to return. The boy refused, and the storm overwhelmed him. Wreckage washed ashore a day or two later. The lover was never found.

  According to the story, on dark nights, when neither Callistra nor the galactic rim is visible, the yacht can be seen, still trying to get across the narrow strip of water to Khyber Island. People on Khyber claim the girl’s spirit roams the beaches at such times, waiting for him.

  It’s an intriguing tale, and I don’t think I’ve ever been to a remote place that doesn’t have one like it. It was the sort of story that would have enchanted Vicki.

  That said, we found no indication she’d ever visited the Golden Isles. There was no mention of her in the news archives. Nobody remembered her. One of the bookstores had a mystery club, and the coordinator was shocked to learn that Vicki Greene might have been in the Isles and she hadn’t been aware of it.

  Alex came out after a while. I picked up the notebook I’d brought out and laid it on my chest. Casually, of course. He sat down in the beach chair beside me and pretended nothing unusual was going on.

  I let it go for a while. Then: “Any luck?”

  “Maybe.” He glanced at the notebook. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “Good,” he said. “I think we wasted our time coming out here.”

  “I like islands.”

  “That’s the right spirit.”

  I met a couple of the local guys, one of whom was maybe the funniest character I’ve ever seen. I remember regretting that he lived so far away. When he asked about my accent—“You’re not from around here, are you?”—we both had a good laugh.

  “Not exactly,” I said. His name was Charjek. A strange name. He called himself Charger, and it fit.

  We had a good time. Next day we hit the beach. That night we went to dinner and a show. He asked whether I’d be staying on Calienté and looked genuinely unhappy when I told him we’d be going home shortly. We traded contact information, assured each other we’d get together again, and even sent each other occasional messages later. I never saw him again, though, after those few days.

  I can’t recapture it now, but nobody has ever made me laugh so much.

  Two days later I said good-bye to Charger and we returned to Moreska. We arrived on a cold, rainy morning, got off the plane, and started over to Sunlight Travel to pick up a shuttle we’d booked. Instead we picked up something else.

  A man and a woman were waiting for us. They showed us credentials identifying them as agents of the Coalition Security Service. CSS. “We have a skimmer topside,” the woman said without inflection. Her name was Krestoff. “We’d appreciate it if you’d come with us.” She was attractive, in a cold, hard way. Blond hair, brown eyes, all business.

  Alex stood his ground. “Why?”

  Her partner was big and might have been a professional bong thrower. He smiled down at Alex.

  Krestoff shook her head. “You’ve an appointment.”

  “With whom? You mind telling us what this is about?”

  “I don’t know the details, Mr. Benedict. We are here simply to provide escort. Now, I’ll need your comm links.” Alex’s notebook was clipped to a pocket. “And that, too, please.”

  “Are we under arrest?”

  “Not yet,” she said.

  NINETEEN

  The ideal death, the death to be hoped for, is one that comes swiftly, out of the night, that takes you while you’re enjoying the strawberries, and sweeps you away before you’ve had time even to know that the lights have gone out.

  —Midnight and Roses

  “Either of you have a weapon?” asked Krestoff.

  It was in my bag. She led us out onto the airfield. A white skimmer was waiting, with Coalition markings on its hull.

  Our bags appeared. They opened them, did a quick search, confiscated my scrambler, and gave me a receipt for it. Then they directed us to get on board.

  They climbed in behind us. The pilot was in a separate compartment behind a closed door. Bong pulled the hatch shut, and Krestoff told the pilot to go. He said something about overtime, and w
e lifted off in the twilight and turned south.

  “Where are we going?” Alex asked.

  “To a location where you’ll be quite safe, Mr. Benedict.”

  “I’m safe here.”

  “You’ve no reason to be worried,” she said. That of course is exactly the kind of remark that scares the hell out of me.

  “Where are we going?” asked Alex again.

  “Special place,” said Krestoff. “You’ll like it.”

  “Is it a detention center?” I asked.

  “I’d think of it more as a vacation spot.” Her tone was dismissive.

  We traveled over a wide stretch of ocean and then inland. Alex looked at me and shook his head. Sorry I got you into this.

  It got dark quickly. After a while there was nothing to see except moving lights in the sky and on the ground, and occasional clusters of illuminated buildings. After about an hour we passed over a city.

  “What’s it about?” I asked him, not bothering to keep my voice down.

  “Later,” he said.

  After a while, the occasional lights revealed that we were into a mountain range. We were gaining altitude, and snow showed up on the ground. The wind picked up, and the skimmer bucked and swayed.

  “Almost there,” said the pilot.

  The descent was, well, exciting. We got tossed around pretty good, and the pilot said that he thought we should give it up and come back later.

  “Land the goddam thing,” said Krestoff.

  “Look, Maria, don’t give me trouble.”

  “Can you take us down?”

  “Yes. If you insist.”

  “Then please do it.”

  I looked at Alex. Alex cleared his throat and took a deep breath. In the hands of idiots.

  Krestoff caught his reaction. “Don’t worry, Mr. Benedict. Squeej will manage.”

  Squeej? What kind of name was that for a pilot? But I thought it prudent not to provide another distraction.

  The wind blew us all over the sky. But we kept going down. By then it was dark, black, stygian the way no other place above ground ever is. Our navigation lamps threw beams all around us, but the only thing I could make out was snow. Closer to the mountain peaks, O Lord. I hoped Squeej knew what he was doing, and I wished he might have been more inclined to stand up to Maria. Bong said nothing. Whatever comes will come.

  Then, with no warning, we banged down. “On the ground,” said Squeej, as if it might have been possible not to notice.

  Krestoff and Bong dragged heavy jackets out of stowage and pulled them on.

  “How about us?” said Alex.

  “You won’t need them.”

  That sounded ominous.

  The pilot came back into the cabin, opened the hatch, and the wind grabbed it and almost yanked it out of his hand. Cold air invaded the cabin. “Okay, you two,” said Krestoff. “Let’s move.”

  You betcha.

  They herded us outside into minus-zero temperatures and a snow cover. I was chattering already. And I thought: They were going to kill us, after all. Just leave us to the storm. Bong opened the cargo compartment and took out our bags. Krestoff turned on a flashlight, pointed it at the luggage, and looked at Alex. “Get them,” she said.

  We did. Then we waited while she got her bearings. She flashed the light around until it hit the corner of a building. “This way.” I thought briefly about trying to jump them. There’d never be a better chance. But Bong stayed off to one side, and Krestoff, with the lamp in one hand and the scrambler in the other, kept behind us. The door in the skimmer closed, and the pilot, who was no dummy, stayed inside. Ahead, lights appeared in the storm. A postlight. And windows.

  It was a two-story house. With a deck. We climbed the steps, and Krestoff waved me off to one side. “Mr. Benedict, stand in front, please. This will be your home for the immediate future, so it needs to get to know you.”

  “I’m cold,” I said. “Can’t we do this later?”

  She ignored me. “Let’s get it done, please.”

  Alex gave the sensors a look, then stepped aside, and I took his place. When I’d finished, the front door opened. We hurried in and dropped our bags on a carpeted floor.

  I’m not sure what I expected. But there was nobody home. The temperatures were just a notch higher than outside. Krestoff looked around. Given some heat, it might have been a comfortable little place. The furniture was by no means lush, but it looked okay: a sofa, three chairs, and some tables, one with a chess set. Dark drapes, frozen at the moment, but they’d thaw. A fireplace with a stack of logs. Pictures of mountain views and seascapes on the walls. Bookshelves with four or five books, and some plastic flowers in a vase. A staircase rose to the second floor. “It’ll warm up in a little while,” said Krestoff.

  I started over to get a fire going, but she waved me away. “When we’re out of here, there’ll be plenty of time to do that. You’ve a working AI. Her name is Kellie.” She checked the time. Apparently late for an appointment. “Say hello, Kellie.”

  A female voice responded: “I am at your service, Alexander.”

  “You’ve enough supplies to last two weeks. Someone will be back before then to refurbish things. You have a refrigerator, and there’s a storage compartment in back.

  “There’s also a utility shed on the west side of the building.

  “You can’t communicate with anyone except us. If you want to talk to us, tell Kellie to put you through. If you try to manipulate the AI, or break into the comm system, it will shut down. Self-destruct, actually. And maybe take you with it. I’m not sure about that detail. So it’s probably best to stay away from it.” Another smile.

  “Do we have any jackets here?” asked Alex.

  “No. You’ve no need for them. You won’t be going anywhere. There are blankets. The temperature tonight is forty below. The wind is thirty, out of the south, so you’ll want to stay inside. You’re a long way from anybody who can help you.”

  I could feel warm air coming through the vents.

  “You have a complete range of HV reception. You can watch anything you want. You can’t interact, of course. Sorry about that.”

  “Where are we?” asked Alex.

  “You’re on the Valeria Reservation. It’s government property. No one will bother you here. But you are at a substantial altitude. Be careful if you go outside.

  “You’re probably wondering whether we have the place wired. We see no need to intrude on your privacy. You’ll probably not want to believe that, but—” She shrugged. “Do you have any questions?”

  “Yes,” said Alex. “What happens now?”

  “Someone will be here shortly to see you. Beyond that, I have no information.”

  I was still cold. “Where are the blankets?”

  “Upstairs in the master bedroom.” She graced me with a lascivious smile. Knew exactly what I wanted. “There’s a closet.” She glanced over at her partner. “Are we forgetting anything, Corel?”

  “I think that covers it.” His pronunciation was perfect. The guy looked like a thug, but I decided he was smarter than he looked.

  “When can we expect our visitor?” asked Alex.

  Krestoff did a casual shrug. “Don’t know.”

  She and Bong exchanged looks. And left. Kellie closed the door behind them. I went over to the window and watched them climb back into the skimmer. Moments later the vehicle rose into the falling snow and was quickly swallowed by the storm.

  “What’s it about?” I asked Alex.

  “Hold on a second. Let’s get warm first.” He went upstairs and, moments later, came down with an armful of blankets.

  I threw some logs and a starter into the fireplace and pushed the button. A jet ignited the starter and, moments later, the logs began to burn. We dragged two chairs close in. Alex handed me a blanket. They were cold, but that wouldn’t last long. I pulled mine over my shoulders and sank onto one of the chairs. It was hard as rock.

  “So,” I said, as we started to get
comfortable, “what’s it about?”

  “They think we found out what Vicki Greene knew.”

  “Did we?”

  “No.”

  “Maybe we should tell them we don’t know.”

  “It wouldn’t matter, Chase. We now know beyond a doubt she found out something. It’s beyond simple inference at this stage.”

  “You think they’re going to kill us?”

  “If they wanted to do that, they’d have done it already.” He adjusted his blanket. “I don’t think the heating unit’s working. Anyhow, they can’t have us turning up dead. Or even disappearing.”

  “Too much publicity?”

  “Right. The last thing they want is to attract attention.”

  “So what’s the secret?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “Ummm. I hate to mention this, Alex—”

  “Yeah?”

  “But if they can’t kill us, and they can’t have us disappear—”

  “You’re probably right, Chase.”

  “They’re going to do a lineal block.”

  “That would be my guess.”

  “It’s what happened to Vicki.”

  Alex stared into the fire, and his eyes hardened.

  TWENTY

  “Dr. Ventnor, every door opens into another room, or another corridor. There are no windows. No exit. How do we get out?”

  “You’re wrong, Howie. There is a way out. McComber made that quite clear.”

  “But McComber’s body is in the dining room. He never got out himself.”

  “Yes. I know. I wish I had an easy explanation for that.”

  —Love You to Death

  I fell asleep in the chair while the storm howled at the windows. There were two bedrooms upstairs, but I was happy near the fire. Occasionally I heard Alex moving around the room.

  Toward dawn, the storm stopped, or at least it lost its energy. Alex had apparently drawn the curtains. I padded across the floor and peeked out through them. The snow, illuminated by the light from the window, stretched away into a gray haze.