“I think you know what I mean.”
“Actually, I don’t, David.”
“Listen, Naomi, I don’t think I need to point out to you that this is a sensitive religious issue and we have to consider the reaction the public might have, might have to you writing against it.”
“What? My religion has nothing to do with this. I see this as a secular matter, as in why are rules being bent to allow a dangerous human cloning experiment to go unchecked? And since when is asking questions suddenly writing against something?”
She has one forearm across her stomach and the other aimed at David.
“So the concern here is that I might be viewed as a Yeshua-hating kike? Is that it?”
“Once again, I never said that. You need to calm down. Whether you like it or not, we are in the business of selling magazines. Nobody wants to buy a magazine that makes them feel shitty about what they want to believe is true.”
“Are you sure we are talking about our readership here, or just you?”
“Easy, Naomi, you’re stepping out of line. You may find this hard to believe but I am trying to protect you because I care about you.”
“Thanks, but I can look after myself.”
“Well, all right then, then I have to look after this magazine, and I’m not about to sink it with a story like this.”
“What if the tenor of the article ends up being positive? What if we end up discovering that they’re squeaky clean? Wouldn’t the readership just love that? An article raving about a Christosian organization that’s so wonderful, even a Jew bitch likes them?”
“Listen Naomi, enough with the sarcasm. I’m not about to be branded as the asshole boss here. You want to look into this? Then fine, go ahead. But you’re on a short leash. And I want to proof all your drafts so I can make sure you are headed in the right direction. I’ve got people leaning on me here too. Understand?”
“Fine. I’ll be an obedient Jew.”
He looks up at her.
“I just want you to be the Naomi we all love.”
She walks out of David’s office taking quick, stiff steps, head down, fighting back tears. She’s never paid much attention to her Jewish heritage and certainly wasn’t observant.
Now she wants to pin the Star of David on herself, before the Gestapo start doing it.
She sits at her desk, glad that no one’s around to see her in shambles. She puts her head in her hands and thinks. She wants to cry. But she doesn’t. She thinks she should complain to human resources, possibly the Anti-Defamation League, or someone. But she doesn’t.
Nope.
She reaches in her purse and takes out her notebook with the leather cover that Papa gave her when she was accepted into Columbia. She unsnaps it, turns to a fresh page and writes, COHC — Follow the Money.
She’s going to get the story.
First stop, the Accountant.
The Accountant is Olivia Gerwitz. She and Naomi are friends, except when Naomi submits her expense sheets.
“Hi, Olivia, you open?”
“Like an all-night deli. Come on in.”
Naomi closes the door behind her and sits down. Olivia untwists the top to her water bottle, takes a sip, and then twists it back on again.
“I swear, Olivia, you must have vodka in there.”
Olivia pushes her glasses up her nose and smiles.
“Some days, I wish. What troubles?”
“I’m working on a story that might have an accounting angle to it.”
“Finally.”
Naomi laughs, Olivia smiles and pushes up her glasses.
“But I want to go about it quietly. I think this might be big story and I don’t want David killing it with all his kvetching about bad press.”
Oy vey a Jew for an hour and I’m speaking Yiddish.
“Well, he doesn’t sound like much of a mensch.”
Olivia snickers.
“Oh, don’t worry, I can keep quiet. Spill.”
“So the story is on the Church of the Holy Cloth and their human cloning experiment. I want to look into their finances. Do you have any idea where?”
“Into an empty cupboard. They’re a church so they don’t have to have to open their cookbooks to anyone. Some churches do it voluntarily, but I doubt they’re one of them.”
“Any other way?”
“Not unless you got someone on the inside willing to help. Even then, not many are likely to have cookbook access.”
“Darn, okay. Well, I poke around on my own and see what I can find. Can I bother you some more if I find anything?”
Olivia twists open her water bottle, takes a sip, twists it back on, smiles, and pushes her glasses back up.
“Like an all-night deli.”
Naomi is at a computer terminal in New Lancashire Public Library. The man beside her is looking at porn.
Perfect.
She remembers Andron’s warning about searches being watched so she’s using her fake library card for her undercover sleuthing — Charley Finkelstein. She reaches into her purse and squeezes some hand sanitizer, then goes to work on the slimy keyboard.
An hour later and she’s nowhere. The man beside her has already been to the washroom and back. He tries hitting on her. She used to reply that she’s looking up information on pustulent skin rashes, but that hardly works.
Now she just tells them to fuck off. Well, almost. But she has mace to go with the hand sanitizer in case a stronger message is required. Mace and hand sanitizer, must-haves for lady library patrons everywhere.
So the Church doesn’t put anything out on their finances. No surprise there. Meanwhile, they built an eighty-million-dollar research facility in Las Pecado. Where the hell is the money coming from?
She writes the names of the Church’s Board, underlines Thomas O’Brian’s name and chuckles at his title — Chief Ecclesiastical Officer.
Apart from the usual junk, there’s nothing else.
Dead end.
She clicks on a few news reports covering their lawsuits. Nothing there either. Except one where an old lady from New Chausey hammered them with a defamation countersuit for a million in punitives. Of course, the Church appealed.
Ha-ha, nice but…
Wait a minute.
Punitives?
Punitive damages mean the Church must have been forced to cough up financials. She’s seen it before. If an appeal was filed, there’s usually a trial transcript to go with it.
Trial transcripts. One of her favorite fishing holes.
She looks at her watch. She should be able to make Trenton well before the appeal court admin office closes.
She pauses and then opens several more browser windows about the COHC and finances and adds library porn to them.
“Excuse me.”
“Huh? Ya.”
“Would you mind terribly sitting here and watching my computer for me while I step out for a second? I left you some fun stuff to look at.”
She winks at him as he moves over to her chair.
“Sure.”
Thanks, Charley Finkelstein.
She spends the better part of her afternoon manually copying extracts of a ten-volume appeal file. Such is the glamorous life of a journalist. She had to be selective at fifty cents a page, though, since she was paying with cash.
She leaves with three hundred pages, and no currency.
She has a litter of papers, yellow highlighting, and sticky notes spread on her floor. She’s sitting on her chaise lounge, twisting a wine glass in her hand, surveying the scene.
She puts down her glass. Rubs her hands over her pant legs. Grabs her pad and pen.
Okay.
Go.
She points at Trial Exhibits 93 to 98. Five years of financial statements.
Year one.
Revenue from all sources just over a million. Two hundred thou for research.
Year three.
Over ten million in revenue and eight million on research.
Year five.
Revenue down to just under six million and nothing for research. Zilch.
What gives?
Go to note 8 for year five. New entry for due from subsidiaries. Put down Genesis Research Inc. for a cool five mil with no fixed terms of repayment and no interest. Better than my student loan, that’s for sure.
1. Research expenses are being hidden in Genesis Research Inc.
So what else do we have? She taps her pen. Property, plant and equipment staying pat at two hundred mil. Note 7 lists artifacts and the church building in Las Pecado. No fancy eighty-mil research facility anywhere.
2. The new research facility is likely owned by Genesis Research.
What about debts? The due from category would barely cover the down payment. No big loans showing. So.
3. Genesis Research is getting money from something or someone.
Over to you, Mr. Cross-examining Attorney. She picks up the pages of transcript off the floor.
Q.Okay, so who were the major donors last year to either the Church or any of its subsidiaries?
A.The, ah, the subsidiaries, too?
Q.Yes.
A.I dunno, there was an, ah, estate gift of five hundred thousand dollars, ah, a grant from the, ah, Starlight Fund, ah, Earthen Swan Entertainment gave us a chunk, and Council of Churches made a, ah, contribution, too.
Q.Are any of those organizations affiliated with the Church in any way?
A.No.
She checks out the names. Nothing unusual. Except why would the company behind the popular video game Compton bother giving a chunk to the Church? A game so advanced it’s other-worldly.
Wait.
She stands.
Earthen?
Didn’t Andron say this Cygnus fellow was from Earth?
So Earthen = Earth.
Cygnus?
Cygnus is the name of a constellation. A constellation named after a swan.
So Cygnus = The Swan.
Okay, here we go, ladies and gentleman.
She picks up her pen and notepad. Points an arc around the scattered paper. So what you’re all saying is.
4. Earthen Swan Entertainment Inc. is likely footing the Church’s cloning bill through its subsidiary Genesis Research Inc.
5. Earthen Swan Entertainment Inc. is Cygnus. Cygnus is the mystery something or someone.
She holds up her notepad, swings her hips and takes a bow.
Um, thank you. Thank you very much.
She plops back down on her lounge chair and grabs her wine glass.
Now who’s going to clean up this mess?
She’s back in Olivia’s office.
“So if I wanted to find out who’s behind a company, how do I go about doing it?”
“You leave it with me, sugar.”
“You know how to find stuff like this out?
“No, but my brother-in-law has a skip tracing company. They have access to every corporate directory database in the country.”
“Would you or he be…”
“Yes and yes, and it will all be off the record. Which company?”
“Earthen Swan Entertainment Inc. The head honcho behind the Church, Thomas O’Brien, swears that they’re completely unrelated.”
Olivia makes some notes. Then looks up at Naomi.
“I’ll put it on the front burner.”
The next day Olivia drops a thick file on Naomi’s desk.
“You owe me.”
“Wow. That was quick. What’s in here?”
“A bake sale of corporations like Earthen Swan Genetics and numbered companies all with lawyers listed as directors and shareholders. My brother-in-law says they’re puff pastry. But all these little amuse-bouches lead to a company called Earthen Swan Global Inc., le plat principal.”
“Who are they?”
“A Kanadian company, as it turns out. My brother-in-law had to promise their Kanadian cousins plenty of poutine, but check it out.”
Naomi opens the file and sees a corporate printout for Earthen Swan Global Inc.
“Check out who’s on the board.”
Naomi scans through the list. Dr. Christian Van de Whey, a bunch of others and…
“Thomas O’Brian.”
“You’re welcome. Looks like his goose is cooked, huh?”
“Oh, my God, thanks.”
Her phone rings. It’s David.
“Okay, I’ll be right there.”
“That was David. He wants to see me.”
“Are you going tell him?”
“Not sure yet.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything else.”
“Thank you, Oliva. You’re a a real chef de cuisine when it comes to stuff like this.”
They laugh.
Naomi watches Olivia leave. She pauses before getting up to see David. Does she have enough?
She looks at the printout again and notices a few things.
Stop the presses.
Whey?
Didn’t Andron say Cygnus’ last name was Way?
And the address for Earthen Swan Global Inc. looks familiar.
It’s Andron’s law office.
Screeeech…erp…erp…erp
“Are you okay, Naomi? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry.”
She checks her nails.
“Did you find anything?”
“No, nothing much so far. A few leads that have to be checked out.”
“Well you better fasten your seatbelt because this story’s going nuclear. I just got off the phone with Murray. Everyone’s heading down to Bathsheba because rumors are flying that the mother’s going there, and people are reporting that she looks very much pregnant.”
“Christos.”
He smiles.
“You’re finally coming around.
“Anyway, I want you to leave for there this afternoon with our Channel 8 crew and photographer.”
“Okay, but I need to stop by my mother’s first, okay? She’s been away for a few weeks and I need to check on her place.”
“Yeah, sure. I’m sorry again about your father.”
“Thanks. I’ll get right on this.”
Naomi’s in her car. The keys shake out of her hand when she tries to start it. She has no idea what she’ll say to Andron when she gets there, whether she believes him, whether he’s been fucking her biblically and figuratively all along.
She makes her mother’s house in record time. She smells burning brakes when she gets out of the Mercedes. She hurries to the backdoor. She twists her the key in the deadbolt and enters.
There’s nobody home.
She searches everywhere. Her shoes echo in the halls and shake out memories of her parents and her youth, but no Andron. Everything has been put back the way it was.
There’s a note and envelope on the table.
Naomi,
I owe you my life. I am in awe at your kindness. I do not wish to put you at any greater risk than I already have. You have my story to do with what you wish. You are a beautiful, kind, intelligent and talented woman.
Should you wish to reach me, I’ll run an ad in the personals of the Jefferson Post
M seeking F. Gentleman wishes upon a star for a fresh adventure with a life-loving woman. Without forgetting the past, let’s embark upon a new path with our future before us. XXX-XXX-XXXX.
I completely understand if you do not.
Love…always and forever,
Andron
She looks in the envelope. It has twenty-five hundred dollars stuffed in it. She follows the money down to something else she recognizes in a heartbeat.
She shakes it out, holds it up and smiles. It flashes a thousand brilliant smiles back at her.
It’s the diamond-encrusted chain link necklace he gave her.
Chapter 36:
The Tiger Dream
Swaddled wit
h darkness. In the juvescence of the year
Came Christ the tiger
—T.S. Eliot, Gerontion
The real parents of Yeshua couldn’t get into an inn. Her and Joe can’t seem to get out of them. Not without permission and an escort.
Ever since those protestors showed up. After someone leaked who they were. They were taken away and have been living like royal refugees ever since.
She smiles.
Ruth chasing them away with her shovel.
Then her eyes tear.
And now she’s got nobody. Her mother’s gone. She doesn’t have any sisters. Ruth was the closest she had.
She can’t count on Joe. What to Expect the First Year sits on the nightstand and he hasn’t cracked a page. She read it. Some parts many times, but she’s got no one to actually show her how things are done. She doesn’t have a plastic baby tub to touch. To imagine. To plan.
Bathing a tiny slippery baby with his tongue sticking out and arms waving.
Joe’s watching TV. She has her back turned to him. She wipes away tears. She goes to the bathroom and wets a cloth. She comes back and wipes off the table. She wishes she had something to scrub into the wood.
“You know, Juliette, they have maids for that.”
“I don’t care. I want something to do. When are we going to be able to move into our house? Huh? I don’t think I can stand living like this much longer.”
“Honey…come here.”
Joe pats the bed beside him. Still looking at the TV.
“Sit.”
She paces her way over, tight figure eights, falls onto the bed beside him and crosses her arms and legs.
“Listen, Juliette, you really need to relax. We’ll get to our new home in good time.”
Her eyes are still darting. Deer panicky. She wants to get up.
“I…I want to see his room so I can make sure it’s clean.”
Joe rubs her back slowly. The baby kicks.
She moves her hand over her stretched stomach where the kick was. It calms her.
“He kicked again.”
“See? Even he thinks you need to relax.”
He pulls her back on the bed and kisses her cheek.
The Cygnus Virus Page 23
