The Goodbye Man

by Jeffery Deaver

  He said, “Those clocks sure can screw around with you.”

  Adelle didn’t reply but, after a pause, she explained how to get to the dining hall and added, “Tomorrow’s schedule will be inside on your desk.” Then her eyes turned suddenly shrewd. “It’s different here, different from what you’re used to, Novice Carter. As much as you want help, because of Minuses in your life, you resist. It’s natural. However, the sooner you let go, the sooner you’ll embrace the Process and everything will be wonderful.”

  Her words had been a gentle but unmistakable leash jerk. Shaw realized that maybe he deserved it. Perhaps he’d allowed some tone of condescension to slip into his time reference. He simply could never step out of character again.

  He gave a faint exhalation—about the only apology that street-hardened Skye was capable of. “Just, this whole thing is . . . Never done anything like it.”

  Her face softened. “You’ll do fine. Master Eli has all of our interests at heart. That includes you now.” She nodded to his amulet. She turned, paused and glanced back. “And read the rules. They do take them seriously.”

  Shaw closed the door after her and looked around his room. He had never been in prison—well, not to serve a sentence, though he’d been detained a number of times—but this room was probably what a minimum-security cell would be like, the abode of check kiters and low-seven-figure inside traders.

  There was an austere bed—a futon on a raised platform—a rickety desk and a chair. Several matching lamps, cheap ones. The bathroom was small and on the narrow shelf were the basics: soap, a sealed toothbrush, a packet of disposable razors, tubes of relevant lotions, soaps and creams. Thin towels. On a shelf sat a coffee maker, and a tray of generic brands of coffee and tea and packets of sugar and Coffee Mate. A microwave too. A basket of trail bars, cookies and nuts. A small fridge contained bottled water.

  He washed his face and hands, dried off on the limp towels and looked over the room more carefully. Shaw used surveillance equipment in the reward business occasionally and knew where to plant cameras and what to look for. There’d be none here, he was sure. A webcam video of someone traipsing back naked from the shower? That could put somebody behind bars for a long time. As for microphones, those were possible, though his search revealed none. But of course they could be embedded in the walls, invisible and, if hardwired, undetectable by scanners, even if he’d had one.

  He’d just assume everything he said here was being listened to.

  Looking over his uniform, laid out on the desk. Even underwear. The articles were in the manufacturer’s plastic wrap with size tags attached: new, not laundered. He had a ridiculous thought that he’d be allowed to keep them when he left—souvenirs of My Month in the Cult.

  Shaw dressed. The outfit was comfortable and fit perfectly. They had even gotten the shoe size right. One aspect of the clothing was curious: there were no pockets. What was the point of that?

  Shaw could see no practical reason. He assumed it was just one aspect of control the Foundation asserted over the members.

  He slipped the clothing that he’d worn here into the linen bag and set it in the corridor.

  On the desk sat four 8-by-10 spiral notebooks: on the cover of each was printed, The Process™. A half dozen pens rested next to it. He opened the book, expecting a rambling treatise or a lesson plan for the next three weeks.

  Nope. All blank pages. He’d be attending lectures, he guessed, or encouraged “to journal”—a word he simply did not accept as a verb.

  Also on the desk were three sheets of paper. One was a copy of the rules. Another read:

  Day One Schedule for Novice Carter

  8 a.m. Breakfast

  9 a.m. First Discourse by Master Eli

  10 a.m. Introspection

  11 a.m. Training Period Building 7

  12 noon Lunch

  1 p.m. Introspection

  2 p.m. Second Discourse by Master Eli

  3 p.m. Introspection

  7 p.m. Dinner

  8 p.m. Introspection

  10 p.m. Lights out and curfew

  The last was a small sheet meant to orient newbies:

  Remember, at the Osiris Foundation we are “Companions.”

  Novice (blue amulet)

  Apprentice (red)

  Journeyman (purple)

  Inner Circle—“IC” (silver)

  Those in the gray uniforms are members of the Assistance Unit—“AUs.” They are here for your help and safety.

  Always refer to Companions by their ranks and first (given) names only, never “Mr.” “Mrs.” “Ms.” “Dr.” etc.

  Shaw memorized this and set it down, looking over his schedule for tomorrow once more. He recalled that the hours devoted to Introspection were to be spent alone, according to the rules. He wondered if this was to keep members separate during the times they were not herded together and under the watchful eye of Eli and the minders.

  Control, of course.

  In any event, this was good for him. He wanted the freedom to roam the camp for his investigation.

  Which was exactly what came next on his agenda.

  24.

  In unfamiliar and potentially hostile territory:

  Never be without an escape route.

  Never be without access to a weapon.

  These were among his father’s most fundamental rules.

  The unfamiliar part was a given. Hostile? Let’s just make that assumption, thank you, Journeyman Hugh.

  Shaw’s first task was attending to the escape plan. He strolled through the grounds of the camp, as innocent as a freshman on campus, examining the place. The valley wasn’t landscaped. Dotting the grassy grounds were clusters of trees and spheres of wild foliage. The bulk of the property was field, whose grass had been chopped short by a wide stand-on mower, sitting under an open tent near the Administration building. No flower beds or decorative plantings.

  The late afternoon sky was cerulean and within it floated thick cotton clouds. The sun was well behind the cliffs to the west and the air was chill, redolent of pine, lake decay and swamp gas.

  Expecting the Assistance Unit minders to be eyeing him closely, Shaw noted that they weren’t—or at least didn’t seem to be.

  He scanned the grounds for security cameras again but saw none. This struck him as odd in this day and age. But then he considered: Why bother with expensive, hard-to-maintain equipment when your flock was fenced in, miles from other human beings. A flock, by the way, that believed—or would come to believe—that it was the gravest of sins to transgress against the deity known as Master Eli.

  Rule 14 . . .

  He reflected too that there was another reason that some organizations didn’t use security cameras. They recorded evidence that the outfits didn’t want committed to digital record. Hugh would prefer his summary punishment of intruders remain a secret.

  Shaw considered how easy it would be to get his backpack and gym bag, wallet and phone. The luggage building was closed and dark now. The front and back doors didn’t seem alarmed but he’d have to be careful if he chose to break in that way; he could be seen by anyone in front of or beside the Assistance Unit. There were windows in the luggage facility, side and back; those would be the logical points of entry.

  Now, the truck keys?

  He strolled back in the direction of the gate that read, YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW. He paused beside the Assistance Unit. Inside the well-lit building, which resembled a functional police department, he could see a lockbox. Inside were pigeonholes containing the key envelopes. The box featured thick security doors and an impressive lock. He could probably bludgeon the thing open, given a crowbar or hammer. But three Assistance Unit thugs sat at desks. He guessed that the building would be occupied all day, all night.

  Forget the pickup truck.

 
He strolled the perimeter, eyeing the buildings, taking note of every detail. There were a number of dormitories like his and other structures that seemed to be classrooms. Most were presently occupied, members—no, Companions, he reminded himself—were sitting in circles inside, jotting in notebooks like his.

  One building sat to the south of the dining hall. It was larger than the dorms and its windows were painted over and barred. A sign on the front:

  BUILDING 14

  PRIVATE

  Two gray tunicked men sat on the porch in front, unspeaking, eyeing everyone who passed. They glanced at Shaw without reaction. He kept his eyes forward and passed by without pausing. Was it a detention facility? A storeroom, containing sensitive data? Or something dangerous?

  Weapons? Nearly every wilderness outpost had a rifle, in case of animal intrusion, but was there more? Shaw continued along the sidewalk until he was out of sight of the guards, then circled back. Like the others, Building 14 had a back door and the grass leading to it was tamped down from golf carts and foot traffic—presumably staff, making deliveries. He tested the knob. Locked and there was no give. It had a simple lock that could be picked but doing so would take time.

  The windows were gridded by sturdy iron bars, fixed to the frames with screws whose heads had been filed down so screwdrivers were useless to remove them. The paint on the glass was thick; he could see nothing inside.

  Building 14 would have to remain a mystery for the time being.

  He headed for the south side of the camp, where the large residence building was situated. He noted that the majority of people he passed wore red amulets—Apprentices, the second level in the Process training. Some were Novice blue.

  Of the two dozen people he’d observed, every one of them was white. Seemed to be out of keeping with Rule 5, but it wasn’t surprising.

  Occasionally one of the Companions would send a dewy-eyed smile his way and give that odd gesture—touching their left shoulder with right palm. Shaw made sure to return the salute in kind.

  Continuing to the back of the residence, he surveyed a tall rock face soaring eighty feet into the air. The face was amply cracked and fronted with outcroppings; Shaw could easily free-climb it—the technique of using ropes to prevent falls, not to assist in the ascent. It was also conducive to free soloing—climbing without any ropes at all—if one were so inclined. Shaw was not. Free soloing was incompatible with his central philosophy of life: survival.

  So, south was not an acceptable escape route.

  Neither was west, which was another cliff: the soaring Lord of the Rings formation whose gap he’d driven through on the driveway from Harbinger Road to the Foundation’s gatehouse.

  North was the stockade fence and the parking lot, protected by the chain link. Climbing a wooden fence, even an eight-footer, isn’t impossible. However, this one was easily ten. That would be too difficult to surmount without a ladder, of which he’d seen none. And he knew the gates would be manned, maybe all of the time. North was out.

  The eastern edge of the camp was the forest leading to the high bluff, with the lake beyond. In the clearing atop the cliff to the east, benches sat every fifty feet or so, overlooking the splendid view of mountains. Two miles or so that way—east—lay a state route, Shaw knew from studying Google and his Rand McNally. Along the highway were gas stations every ten miles or so, which meant a fair amount of traffic. Hitchhiking was a possibility, or trekking to one of the service stations and calling Mack to arrange for a ride.

  But how to walk out of camp in that direction? He walked along the cliff’s edge; the face was too smooth to climb down. He stared at the sheer bone-yellow stone, and couldn’t help but think of the two people who had died by falling from such a place: Adam Harper at Hope’s Corner and, at Echo Ridge, Shaw’s father, whose death had been engineered by those he thought of as the Enemy—the woman named Braxton and Ebbitt Droon . . . And the others who worked with them. It represented too Shaw’s missions. It rankled some that he’d had to put the search for his father’s killers on hold. But there was no choice. Whatever had driven Adam to his death might imperil others. The quest to uncover the secret behind his father’s death would have to wait.

  Turning away and continuing north, toward the front of the camp, he came eventually to the eerie gate and the tall wooden fence and followed it east. Where it ended deep in the woods a six-foot-high chain-link barrier ran from the fence to a steep drop-off onto rocks far below.

  Eli sure didn’t want anybody leaving.

  Or, Shaw reflected, entering without permission.

  There was a padlocked gate in the chain link. Shaw debated. The lock was rusted, and the gate entwined with vines, the ground around it undisturbed. No one had been here for months. He found a rock and with a half-dozen blows broke off the hasp. The gate opened freely.

  He could jog to the highway in twenty minutes.

  So, he had his escape route.

  A weapon?

  Beethoven echoed through the camp. Then: “The time is six forty-five p.m. Dinner will be served in fifteen minutes.”

  Shaw returned to his dormitory, sat on the porch and sketched out a map of the compound.

  In case the notebook was examined, he added some notes about what Samuel had told him in the initial interview—to make it seem that he was taking the whole thing seriously. When he was done, Shaw scanned the map, noting the locations of his dorm, the central square and stage, the Assistance Unit, Building 14, the three-story residence. And of course, the escape path to the east.

  Shaw was going to put his book back in his room but then remembered one of the rules.

  Osiris Compound

  - Driveway to Harbinger Road

  - Parking lot

  - Wooden barricade

  - Luggage Building

  - Assistance Unit

  - Administration

  - Dorms/classrooms

  - Dining hall

  - Building 14

  - Central square

  - Stage

  - Eli’s residence

  - Path

  - Bluff/benches

  - Lake

  Keep your notebook and a pen with you at all times . . .

  He headed for the dining hall and queued, nodding to and chatting with other Companions. And keeping an eye out for Frederick, the man with orange sunglasses, who had possibly seen him at the site of Adam’s death. Trouble was, Shaw wasn’t sure he’d recognize the Companion without the eyewear and hat.

  He searched too for the brunette.

  No sign of either.

  Had she left the Foundation?

  On the one hand, that would be a setback: her reaction at Adam’s suicide suggested they had a connection. She might help him fill in the dots about his death. On the other, it would mean she was out of harm’s way.

  Another possibility. After her rejection of Hugh, had there been repercussions? Shaw recalled the man’s face contorted with anger and then his snide smile and threat of demerits as she walked away from him, and his sadistic glow as he broke the reporter’s bones. He was a man who obviously took pleasure in inflicting pain. Was she hurt? Or worse? Was Building 14 a morgue, and the brunette’s body was stashed there, after Hugh’s retribution got out of hand?

  Anywhere else, anytime else, that idea would be absurd. Not here. Reality was suspended within the web of the Osiris Foundation.

  The windowless, mysterious structure might very well be a house of the dead. Colter Shaw, though, suddenly learned that the woman was not a resident. Head down, she walked directly past Shaw and joined the end of the dining hall line. Without a word of greeting to anyone, she opened her densely filled notebook and began to write.

 
25.

  The iconic fifteen notes composed by the nearly deaf German genius sounded, echoing through the cool, dank evening.

  “The time is seven p.m. Dinner is being served. All Companions please report to the dining hall.”

  The doors opened and the crowd of about seventy shuffled into the brightly lit room that resembled any one of a thousand school cafeterias around the world. The smell was of grilled meat or fowl. The perfume of Lysol could be detected.

  Just inside the doors was a large board: a seating chart. Since everyone—all three levels of Companions: Novice, Apprentice and Journeyman—stopped to look, Shaw guessed that Eli shuffled diners around. Was there a strategy to this? Maybe helping out newcomers who could benefit from the company of mentors.

  Or keeping potential troublemakers separated.

  Or was it merely another muscle flex on Master Eli’s part?

  The majority of Companions were men in their thirties, forties and fifties, many with wives of about the same age. The next most common were young women, twenties and thirties. Shaw had expected more hippies—or hippies 2.0. At last, he noted a few Latinxs, Asian Americans and African Americans. A total of five.

  Shaw spotted his place, Table 4, near the door, the opposite end of the room from the buffet line, which was on the far wall, near the kitchen. Shaw ignored his assignment and held back, watching where the brunette was going to sit.

  She made her way to Table 7, several away from his. She sat, never looking up from her notebook. The pages were thick from the moisture of hands, humid air, ink. It seemed that she’d filled almost every page.

  The tables were segregated by rank. Most of the diners wore the red amulets of the second level. There were three tables of Journeymen, and two of Novices. The Inner Circle Companions, sporting silver amulets, were not seated but stood against one wall, chatting among themselves.