“Your green pen said you were established in 1732.”
“That’s when we moved our operations to America. We’re much older than that.”
“I don’t think identity is that old a word.”
“It’s older than you think,” he said. “It comes from the Latin idem et idem, which means again and again. We’ve been using that name since well before we made the move to America.” Bob reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a badge-sized piece of gold-colored plastic. “My membership card.”
I looked at it. Again the same image: a triangle with two eyes inside, only this time I could see some detail. The eyes reminded me of Egyptian Eyes of Horus, and the triangle looked like the pyramid on the back of the US dollar bill. “What does this picture mean, Bob?”
“That, sir, sums up what I believe. It represents how the eyes are truly the portal to our souls. I wear it proudly around my neck as well.” Bob stroked a bump in his shirt high up on his chest. I saw him move his lips in a silent chant.
“So it’s like what a cross would mean to some Christians?”
He nodded.
“Did Soul Identity give you the necklace?”
“No, sir. I belong to a church in Baltimore, and our pastor gives out these pendants as gifts.” Bob sucked in his breath and cringed. “Um, sir,” he said hurriedly, “Soul Identity doesn’t know I go to this church—please don’t tell them.”
“Would they get upset?”
“It’s like this, sir. Even though Soul Identity connects souls to past and future lives, they don’t say what it all means. All they do is recruit members, collect money, and identify souls. They leave the meaning to the churches.”
“And why wouldn’t you want them to know?”
“Because I’m an employee,” he said. “To avoid conflicts of interest, we’re instructed to steer clear of the churches.” He looked at me with wide eyes. “But sir, many of us need more. Soul Identity is not just a job—it’s our whole purpose for living.”
“So you hide your church membership?”
He nodded. “It’s like a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. You won’t tell, will you?”
“Of course not,” I said. “But tell me, are there many churches like yours?”
“There used to be hundreds. They’ve been consolidating, though. Most members belong, but we employees have to be careful how active a role we take.”
And although it was interesting about the churches, I wanted to know more about what Bob did for the organization we were driving toward. “What is it that you deliver?” I asked him.
“All sorts of things, sir. Redemptions, deposits, statements, and messages. I’m also certified to take readings, but only with the electronic readers.”
I’m pretty good about getting people to talk about themselves. Everybody has a story to tell, and the easiest way for me to do my security consulting is to get people to tell me more—much more—than they intended.
Bob seemed eager to tell me things—almost too eager. I wondered whether he was being friendly, sharing his religious fervor, or trying to mislead me.
I scratched my head. “Back to your one hundred years of service. Did you work for Soul Identity in your past lives?”
Bob nodded. “Seven of my soul ancestors served for a total of ninety-four years.”
I glanced at him, then turned back to watch the road. This was going to be a weird month up north.
After a pit stop I sat in the back. Bob showed me how to bring up the GPS map. Then he pressed a button on the same control panel. “This may interest you,” he said. The back of the rear couch folded down and joined with a set of cushions behind it, producing a queen sized bed.
I could recover my missing sleep. “Just wake me up a couple hours before we arrive.” I said.
“No problem, sir.”
I woke up at eleven thirty. The GPS display showed us navigating through the messy split of Routes 95 and 91 in New Haven. Bob headed north on 91 toward Hartford.
He looked at me in the rearview mirror. “Did you sleep well, sir?”
I nodded. “The bed was great.” I grabbed the remote and tracked our path. I noticed the Manhattan section showed a detour—our limo had circled Central Park.
“What’s with the Manhattan tour?” I asked.
Bob looked at his display. “That loop you see there? I made a pickup while you were sleeping.”
“What kind of pickup?”
“One of our members was returning some items to his soul line collection.”
“Couldn’t he use an overnight delivery service?”
“He is using one. That’s my job. The items are priceless, and we cannot trust just anybody to deliver them. Only we know how to do it right.”
“You take your job pretty seriously.”
He nodded. “I am the number one driver in the Mid-Atlantic region.”
Good for Bob. “What is he returning?” I asked. “Can I see them?”
He shook his head. “Only he and the depositary clerks will ever see them. Even I don’t know what’s inside the package.”
At least Soul Identity seemed to take privacy seriously. That would make my job easier—once I found out what it was.
“Do you use SI Delivery for your own deposits?” I asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Does a driver come to your house in a limo?”
He laughed. “No, sir, I handle my own transactions.”
“What kinds of deposits do you make?”
He seemed to hesitate before answering me. “Sir, many non-believers think what we do is strange.”
He got that right.
Bob continued. “We’ve been persecuted, thrown out of our homes and towns, and even burned and drowned as witches and wizards. We’ve learned to be cautious about sharing too much with non-believers.”
“Yet you’re sharing all kinds of information with me.”
He sighed. “I am, but Mr. Morgan says you need to understand so you can do your job. And, sir, I fully expect that you’ll become a believer once you see what we’re all about.”
And though I thought Bob was over-optimistic about my impending conversion, that wasn’t where he was heading. “You’re asking me to be careful with what you tell me.”
He nodded.
“I’ll be careful.”
Bob took a deep breath. “We collect dolls.” He winced as he said this.
“Dolls?”
He nodded.
“What kind of dolls?”
“The kind that kids play with, sir.”
“Who’s ‘we’”
“We, sir?”
“As in, ‘we collect dolls.’ Does all of Soul Identity collect dolls?”
He shook his head. “’We’ means my previous selves and me. My soul line has collected thousands of dolls over the past thirteen hundred years. It’s my turn now, and then my futures selves will be adding even more.”
“You must have quite a collection.”
“We do, sir. One of my predecessors had them on display at a doll museum in London back in the nineteenth century.”
I had nothing to say.
After a few minutes of silence, Bob pointed at a billboard advertising a Chinese all-you-can-eat lunch buffet. “How’s that look?” he asked.
“It’ll do,” I said.
“So why dolls?” I asked when we returned to our table, our plates heaped with noodles, egg rolls, and General Tso’s chicken.
Bob sat down and pulled his chopsticks out of their wrapper. “My soul line founder was an eighth-century noblewoman living in Breton March, France. The Basques ambushed and killed her husband as Charlemagne’s army returned from its Spanish campaign. She made ends meet by delivering packages between Soul Identity and the royal court. Before she died, she assigned us the task of assembling a doll collection.”
It sounded like Bob had recited this story many times before. “Why is it that every time somebody talks about their past lives, nobility is involved?”
I asked. “Nobody ever seems to come from horse thieves and murderers.”
“That’s a very common question, sir, from the skeptical family of our new members.” He frowned. “Usually soul lines start with somebody who has a lot of money or status. Somebody who wants to preserve their achievements. They begin a soul line and pass down their money, lessons, and assignments to their future selves.”
That sounded reasonable. The rich and powerful have the time and interest to get these lines going. “But what about you, Bob?” I asked. “How did you get involved? Were you searching?”
Bob sucked on the end of a noodle and it wiggled its way up into his mouth. “No, Mr. Scott. Soul Identity found me.” Bob looked off into the distance, his eyes focused somewhere over my head. “I was an assistant physical therapist, working at a clinic and fitness club in Tampa.”
I waited for him to continue.
He sucked another noodle into his mouth. “One day this man came into the club and told me that a distant relative might have left me a large inheritance, but he needed to first ask me some questions. Later I learned he was a soul seeker.”
“What did he ask?”
“The usual—when and where I was born, and where I lived growing up. Then he pulled out a reader and took a picture of my eyes. He told me he would let me know about the inheritance within the week.”
I put down my chopsticks and pushed my plate aside. “I would have thought somebody was trying to con me.”
A waiter came by and cleared our plates. Once he was gone, Bob continued.
“I also thought he was conning me. But I figured there was no harm in giving him a picture of my eyes, especially if there was a potential inheritance out there with my name on it.”
“And of course he called back, or you and I wouldn’t be sitting here and talking about it.”
Bob laughed. “That’s right, sir. He did call back. And he introduced me to Soul Identity, and he started me down the path to finding the real purpose of my life.”
Which seemed to be collecting dolls and driving delivery trucks. But I kept that thought to myself.
The bill came, and Bob paid it in cash. As we walked outside to the limo, I asked, “How did you get from Tampa to Maryland?”
“Everything changed after that day,” he said. “I quit my job, packed my car, and headed to Massachusetts. I went to the depositary and looked at my soul line collection and got to know my previous selves. I joined SI Delivery once I realized we shared a common work heritage. Within a year I was assigned to the Maryland routes.” Bob stopped at the limo. “Sir, my life started again almost six years ago, and I remember that joyous feeling as if it were yesterday. I can’t wait until you also share that joy.”
I opened the back door. “Well, Bob, it’s nice to see that you’ve got your direction figured out. Just knowing where you’re going puts you ahead of most people in this world.” I climbed inside.
“Yes, sir.” Bob got into the front. “We have a couple hours before we arrive at our headquarters. Maybe you can watch the DVD Mr. Morgan sent.”
The video opened with the image of the Soul Identity logo emblazoned in gold on a dark green shield. The shield was hanging on the wall of an office. The camera panned left to a window, through which I could see a tree-lined pasture. It then zoomed in on a man sitting at a desk, his hands clasped together on an empty blotter.
The man smiled and said, “Good day, Scott. I am Archibald Morgan.”
Archie looked like he was at least in his seventies with a full head of pure white hair. He wore a light green shirt and a dark green bowtie with white polka dots. His eyebrows were long and white, and his clean-shaven face had just a few wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.
Archie continued. “During the next few weeks, it is my intent to work closely with you as you review and improve Soul Identity’s security procedures.”
I pressed pause on the remote. “Bob, are you watching this?”
“No, sir, I’m driving.”
“Can you pull over and watch this with me?”
“Yes, sir. There is a rest area coming up in a mile or so.”
I waited as he drove into the parking lot. When he didn’t move, I said, “Come on back here—I want to ask you questions about what we see.”
He climbed in back and sat next to me.
I went to the beginning and paused when the camera was at the window. “Where is this?” I asked.
Bob studied the monitor. “That’s the view out the back windows of our headquarters. We’re going there now.”
Good answer. “Let’s move forward.” I pressed play until Archie was smiling, then I paused. “Who’s this guy?”
“That is Mr. Morgan, our executive overseer.”
I pressed play. Archie introduced himself. Another pause. “Does it sound like him?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. That’s definitely Mr. Morgan.”
We continued watching the video together. Archie told us about my role as his security consultant. He gave a quick tour of the Soul Identity grounds. Then he showed us a guesthouse.
I paused the video again. “We’re not staying at a hotel?”
“No, Mr. Scott, we don’t stay in hotels when we visit headquarters. Soul Identity provides us private housing on the campus grounds.”
“What if I want a hotel room?”
“Sir, I assure you that you will be very comfortable in the Soul Identity quarters. We have much better amenities than you would find in a hotel.”
These guys were paying me twenty-four hours a day, so I figured they had the right to choose the place I slept. I nodded and hit play.
Archie resumed speaking. “George and Sue will take good care of you while you reside with us.” The camera panned to the left, and a smiling fifties-something-looking couple waved at the camera.
The video reverted to the office. Archie stood next to his desk. “You are already learning about Soul Identity. I am sure Bob has even shared his physical-therapist-to-delivery-person story with you.”
Bob sat up straight. “Mr. Morgan knows my testimony?”
Archie continued. “And I would guess that by now you have discovered some information from Madame Flora.” He sighed. “But there is something that I must share for you to understand our urgency.”
He walked behind his desk and sat down. He seemed to struggle to turn his thoughts into words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he nodded twice, as if he made up his mind.
He stared into the camera. “Soul Identity is under attack from some very bad people. I do not know if we can survive. I need your help before we are destroyed.”
The screen froze for a second, stuck on an image of Archie with a big frown on his face. Then it went blank.
Bob stared at the dark screen. He stroked the pendant under his shirt and chanted to himself.
“Are you all right?” I asked him.
“We have enemies, sir, but I didn’t know Mr. Morgan was worried.” He stared at me, and I could see he was working himself into a panic. He grabbed my arm. “Mr. Scott, Soul Identity cannot be destroyed. We need it. I need it.” He squeezed hard. “You must help us.”
As an outside security consultant, my job is limited to giving advice. I don’t implement solutions. Furthermore, my clients are very creative at coming up with reasons for not following my suggestions. But explaining this to Bob wasn’t going to help. So I said, “I’ll try.”
Bob nodded, and after a minute or two he seemed to calm down. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. I’d better get you to headquarters right away.”
I watched the New England scenery flash by outside the window. There were more evergreens up here than on the Eastern Shore, and a lot more rocks and hills. I alternated between dozing and watching until we turned off the highway.
I flipped back to the GPS and zoomed in. We had reached the town of Sterling Massachusetts. I looked out the window, and saw a metal sculpture of a lamb.
Bob pointed at it. “That’s Mary
Sawyer’s lamb, as in ‘Mary had a Little Lamb.’ The author was from Sterling.”
I filed away the trivia. “How often do you come here?” I asked.
“Oh, maybe three or four times a year, sir,” he said. “We will arrive in six minutes—would you like to put on your uniform?”
I didn’t really want to change in the car. “Is it necessary?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. Otherwise I have to bring you to the guesthouse first, and as you can see,” he held up his left arm and showed me his watch, “it’s already two forty-five. You have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. Morgan.”
I looked at the black jeans and polo shirt. “Will these clothes fit me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“How do you know my size?”
He smiled. “Madame Flora told me. She’s been pretty accurate in the past.”
Definitely wackos. I finished changing just as we rolled up to the gate.
six
Bob flashed his membership card at the guard, and the gate rolled open. We turned into a large and empty parking lot.
I couldn’t see any buildings. “Where are we?” I asked.
He got out and opened my door. “Mr. Scott, it is my privilege to welcome you to the Soul Identity Headquarters.”
“Can only true believers see it?”
He pointed behind me at two mounds covered with a carpet of lush green grass. “The main hall is right behind those hills.”
I gestured at the empty parking lot. “Are we the only people here?”
“Of course not, sir. Hundreds of employees work in this office. The limo doesn’t fit in our underground parking lot.” He took a deep breath, brushed some fuzz off his pants, and straightened out a wrinkle in his shirt.
I watched his preparations. “It looks like you’re getting ready for a date,” I said.
“Something like that.” He bent down and checked his hair in the limo’s side mirror. “While you are meeting with Mr. Morgan, I will be with membership services, planning my century award ceremony.”
“This is for the hundred years of service?”
Soul Identity Page 6
