He charged ahead without waiting for Shaw’s response. “Now, if you’re satisfied with the Process, the Foundation offers one-week refresher training sessions. Most people return at least two or three times a year.”
“What’s that cost?”
“Two thousand a week. But we offer a lifetime enrollment plan. You pay a nominal fee for expenses—a few hundred—every time you attend and you agree to leave the Foundation five percent of your estate when you die. For that, you can come back as often as you like. I’d recommend that. A number of people sign up.”
Shaw gave a scoffing laugh. “Maybe it’s something to think about. I don’t have any money. It was all I could do to scrape together the seventy-five hundred. But a will? I don’t even have one.”
“We’ll take care of that for you.”
“Well, you really want five percent of a 2006 pickup and my CD collection, be my guest. But . . . well, is there a guarantee of some kind about this Process?”
This brought a smile to Samuel’s round face. “As you’ll see, a guarantee wouldn’t really be practical. But once you go through the Process, you’ll know that it works. Depression, loneliness, anxiety . . . They’ll be things of the past.”
“I don’t want drugs. I got into trouble before.”
“None of that. What you need to cure your ills is already within you. Master Eli simply gives you the skills to fix yourself. And it works. Oh my, it works. So, Mr. Skye, I’m pleased to say that you’ve met all the criteria for the training. I do hope you’ll sign up. However, first . . .”
Samuel extracted from the top desk drawer a single sheet of paper. “You’ll have to be comfortable with the rules. Master Eli has found that the Process works best when we’re on a smooth ship. Or a tight ship. Whichever one, you get the idea.” Samuel chuckled.
Then the smile vanished, as he grew serious. “And I must tell you: infractions do have consequences.” He slid the piece of paper toward Shaw.
22.
Welcome, Companions!
The cornerstone of your training, the Process™, is a completely immersive experience. Master Eli has developed a series of simple rules to guarantee that you will get the most you possibly can from your time here. We ask that you follow them at all times.
The Rules
You cannot leave the camp for any reason during your three-week ITP (Initial Training Period). There is a medical team on-site, which can provide treatment for nearly all illnesses and accidents. If necessary, we have access to excellent local medical care.
You cannot make or receive any phone calls or emails during the ITP. You will leave your cell phone, computer and other electronic devices with the Assistance Unit. We have arrangements to get messages to you, in the event of a true emergency at home.
You will wear your provided clothing and your amulet at all times.
Provided clothing? Required jewelry? Shaw was once more wondering what he’d gotten himself into.
You will not consume alcohol or use drugs, other than prescription medications.
In the Osiris Foundation, we are not “members” or “followers.” Staff, trainers and trainees are to be referred to as “Companion.” We use given names only and precede them with the status of the Companion you’re addressing: Novice, Apprentice or Journeyman. Those in the Inner Circle should be referred to as “Journeymen.” Using these titles is in keeping with the Foundation’s philosophy of equality among genders, sexual orientation, races and nationalities.
You will not engage in relations with other Companions or staff.
You should spend your hours of Introspection meditating and reflecting in solitude, not groups.
You cannot leave your dormitory between the hours of 10 p.m. and 6 a.m. This is because of the risk presented by wild animals.
Shaw had an amusing image of a hungry wolf noting angrily that the time was 9:45 in the evening; he’d have to wait fifteen minutes for dinner.
He skipped to the end of the rules.
Once you have completed the training, you may tell others about the benefits of the Foundation but nothing about the Process™ itself or the specifics of your training. You will not post anything online regarding the Foundation, the staff or your experiences here.
You will do nothing to disparage the integrity of Master Eli, the staff, the Foundation or the Process™.
Weren’t two of the Ten Commandments about not worshiping other gods and taking the name of the Lord in vain?
Tapping the sheet, Shaw asked, “‘Companions’? What’s that about?”
“Master Eli believes the term best captures the spirit of the Foundation. It connotes camaraderie and equality.”
Didn’t people refer to their dogs as companions? Shaw’s sister, Dorion, had. He recalled another use of the word: he’d once rescued the teenage daughter of a prostitute, when the local police had little interest in finding the missing girl. In describing possible suspects, the hooker had referred to her clients as “companions.”
Shaw scanned the sheet once more.
“We can’t leave?” Frowning.
“Master Eli has found the Process works best when you’re wholly focused.”
“No phone?”
“We allow one phone call to let your loved ones know that you’ll be incommunicado for three weeks. Beyond that, Master Eli likes to say that the Foundation will be your family for the time you’re here. Besides, you’re single, have no children.” Samuel knew this without looking at his magic tablet. “Well, what do you think, sir? We’d be happy to have you on board.”
A practiced salesman, Samuel said nothing more. He knew not to oversell. He removed his glasses and cleaned the lenses with a tissue. Replacing the specs, he cocked his head and gazed at Shaw.
As if debating, Shaw studied the desktop, noting in the troubled wood an image of a lopsided Mount Fuji. His brow was furrowed. It was a smart arrangement. Applicants had already paid a nonrefundable fee. Of course they’d sign up; who’d want to flush a thousand dollars down the drain for this ten-minute spiel?
“Okay. I guess. And I’ll think about that, you know, will thing. For the future sessions.”
Samuel beamed. “Plenty of time for that. And the fee? Credit card or check?”
Shaw withdrew a second check from his wallet, made it out and handed it to the man.
The tablet revolved toward Shaw, and Samuel indicated where he should sign with his finger.
He did so, hoping the device wasn’t set up to capture fingerprints.
“Now, make that phone call. And let’s get started!” Samuel slid a card toward Shaw. “This is an answering service. Twenty-four hours. Give this number to whoever you want. If there’s an emergency, he or she can call and leave a message. Somebody from the Assistance Unit will contact you.”
Shaw placed a call to one of Mack’s burner phones, one she never picked up. The answering message was the default; it gave no name, just the number—which was helpful now, in case Hugh or someone was listening in. Shaw left a message for his “mother.” He would be away for three weeks, getting some help he needed. He’d be out of touch for that time. He gave the Foundation’s answering service number. He said he loved her.
Samuel held out a hand, took the iPhone and, after powering it off, placed it in an envelope, which he then sealed.
“Do you have any other devices? Wristwatch—smart or conventional? A tablet, computer? . . . They’ll be coming up with iToothpicks one of these days,” Samuel said with a wry laugh.
“Just my laptop. It’s in my backpack. It’s off.”
“Good.” Samuel then added, “Your luggage will remain in storage for the time you’re here. You’ll be provided everything you need.”
That they were going to dress him rankled almost as much as the
absence of communications gear.
Another envelope appeared, similar to the one his mobile had disappeared into. “You’ll need to leave your wallet, credit cards and cash too.” He tapped a red stripe seal on the envelope. “Everything will be safe in here.”
Because no one’s ever stolen a sealed envelope before.
“I can see you’re troubled, suspicious. Some of our Companions, like yourself, the independent ones, have trouble with the conformity and giving up control. Master Eli has spent hours and hours determining what’s best for all the Companions. He’s decided that anything that reminds us of our lives outside the camp is a distraction. We can’t have that. So, we’ll put all this in your backpack or gym bag.”
Shaw noted the reference to his specific pieces. And Samuel hadn’t asked for a key; he’d known they were unlocked.
“In our four years here, we haven’t had a single incident of theft. Now! Bet you’re dying to know! Let me give you an overview of what’s going on here. The ITP. You’ll be working with a trainer. For the first week, that will be me.”
Training. Speaking of dogs.
What was that part of the deprogrammer’s definition?
A cult has a mission to reform followers’ behaviors . . .
“There are three levels in the Process. You start out a Novice.” He handed Shaw an amulet, a thin blue metal infinity symbol, on the end of a black leather string. “Put this on and wear it at all times.”
Shaw had never worn a necklace. No jewelry in fact. He’d come close, once. That involved Margot. But in the end, his finger remained free of metal.
“Rule Three.” Shaw recited this without looking at the sheet.
“Ha! You’re a sharp one. Well, you start the Process as a Novice. The trainer decides when you’ll move on to the next level. That’s Apprentice. You’ll get a red amulet. Usually takes five, six days. Sometimes shorter, sometimes longer. After that, you’ll move up to the final level and become a Journeyman.
“Most of the expedited Companions like yourself consider advanced training after the ITP is over. You can move up to the next level, and become an IC—Inner Circle.” He tapped his own silver infinity symbol.
For, of course, another $7,500. Maybe more.
Samuel rose, as did Shaw. “One last matter. We don’t shake hands here. We don’t embrace.”
He moved his right hand, open, to his left shoulder. “It’s our greeting and our farewell. So much easier and more respectful, isn’t it? Do I kiss this woman, do I hug this man? Do I try a bone crusher handshake?” He now gave the gesture once more. Shaw reciprocated.
“Ah! Like you’ve been doing it all your life. Well, welcome to the Osiris Foundation, Novice Carter.”
Shaw sighed, like a reformed criminal suspicious that he was being robbed. “This better work.”
The back door opened and Adelle appeared, from where she’d apparently been waiting.
“Journeyman Adelle will show you to your dormitory.”
Why weren’t they Journeywomen?
“You can change, freshen up, relax. Dinner is served promptly from seven until eight. Attendance is mandatory.”
As he followed her out, Shaw paused, turned. “One question?”
“Yes?” Samuel asked.
“Your website doesn’t really say anything. What exactly does this Process do?”
With a dash of reverence in his voice, he said, “Nothing less than completely change your life . . . forever.”
23.
Shaw and Adelle walked through the camp, over a gravel path. The place was now making him think of an army base, though one from the nineteenth century.
He noted a dozen people on the rustic grounds, carrying notebooks: a middle-aged couple, several men by themselves, all in their forties or fifties. They appeared to be businesspeople. He spotted a cluster of three women, all in their twenties, Shaw guessed, looking like cheerleaders returning from practice, especially in their matching blue and black uniforms; their skirts were short, above the knee. There were several men too, in the gray tunics of the Assistance Unit, all solidly built.
Shaw wondered about the light blue blouses and high-neck sweaters of a matching shade. Maybe because the color would be easily spotted in the forests and fields surrounding the camp. Not as obvious as orange but helpful for pursuers, in case that became necessary. This would have been an outrageous thought . . . if not for the vicious beating he’d just witnessed.
He noted several more men and women wearing the silver amulets, then more of the tunics, who wore no necklaces. How many of the Assistance Unit, he wondered, were like Hugh and his two thugs? Maybe most people here were like Samuel, intelligent, humorous and devoted to helping those who’d signed up to battle their daily woes. Maybe they were no different from, say, some workers at the internet companies he’d met on a recent job in Silicon Valley.
Shaw corrected himself; he’d thought: Hugh and his two thugs—and another person too.
He was walking beside her at the moment.
A golf cart passed. This was the only means of mechanized travel within the grounds. He spotted several of them, driven by those with the Assistance Unit, in their tunics, or by followers in the blue and black uniforms.
“How long have you been in the Foundation?” he asked Adelle.
“A few years.”
Silence.
“So you’re like full-time.”
“I’m on staff.”
“You like it, huh?”
“Master Eli is a genius in providing the best solutions to the problems we all face. I’m proud to be a part of it.”
He was curious about her personal life. An employee, she’d be here all summer. Despite Rule Six, the full-timers must have romantic relationships or at least the occasional liaison. Some might even be married. And what of the brunette on the roadside where Adam killed himself? Was she close to anyone?
Never miss an opportunity to gather relevant facts. They’re usually better tools and weapons than hammers and guns.
“So nobody leaves? Not even to get to town for a few hours?”
Her answer: “The rules.”
Shaw studied the camp carefully, looking for entrances and exits, the number of Assistance Unit people.
And looking too for the man in the orange sunglasses, who had, possibly, seen Shaw beside the Kia near where Adam had died. Shaw now realized that he’d thought the man had two names: Jeremy Frederick. Now, he knew he’d misheard. It would’ve been Journeyman Frederick.
“Novice Carter?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re admiring the camp?”
“It’s something.”
Had he been busted doing surveillance?
Possibly not. Her face exuded pride as she said, “Master Eli designed it himself. He studied architecture, you know.”
“I didn’t.” He glanced again at the peaked roofs. “So you’re not open in the winter.”
“No. But even if we were in a warmer area, the Foundation would be closed from fall to spring. Master Eli needs that time to go to the Far East. He’s always exploring and learning and refining the Process. He says it will never be complete. He’s helped me so much. He’s the smartest and most generous man in the world. I lost my baby two years ago.”
This was an electric jolt, all the more shocking because she delivered the stunning words with a faint smile.
“Jesus. I’m like, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no, it’s all right. Master Eli made it all right. Here’s your dorm.”
Shaw, unable to think of a word to say, proceeded with her to Building C. Like all the other living quarters, it was a long, nondescript structure with a covered porch in the front, accessed by two steps up. Like the others, the style was the faux log cabin he’d noted earlier. Four teak rockers, aged to gray, sat facing outward. Shaw
followed Adelle through the unlocked front door and into a corridor, with four doors on each side. No decorations on the walls, as in the Administration hallway. Shaw’s room was the last on the left. She opened the lock—a simple one, easily picked, but this was noted merely in passing. If any staffers wanted to get in, they’d get in. As for anyone else? What did Shaw have left to steal?
Adelle handed him the key. “You’ll find your clothing inside. They assessed you for size, and they’re always right. But if something doesn’t fit, just let someone in Admin know and they’ll get it sorted out.”
They . . .
“There’s a bag for those clothes inside.” She gestured vaguely toward his torso. “You can leave all that outside the door.”
“I can’t hold on to them?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
“I’m afraid not. It’s part of the Process. Master Eli says we should leave everything in the past behind. They’ll be laundered and waiting for you when you leave.”
“Sure.”
The Beethoven notes sounded again and Shaw glanced toward the window. The woman’s voice echoed from loudspeakers again. “The time is five-thirty p.m.”
Adelle said, “They sound every quarter hour from six a.m. to ten. Master Eli feels that that’s as much time-telling as we need. He says there’s too much control by the corporations and the government. They dictate everything, even the time to the second.”
Another, though different, they . . .
The Goodbye Man Page 11
