The Goodbye Man

by Jeffery Deaver

  If they knew he was a spy, then acting was irrelevant. It would be a fight. He was thinking of potential combat solutions to the situation when he noticed that the AU in the corner was holding a stun gun.

  Hugh looked up from the tablet; Shaw could not see what was on the screen. The supervisor said in a gravelly voice, “What’s Rule Fourteen?”

  “Don’t do anything to dis . . .” he stumbled on the word, “to mess with the integrity of Master Eli, other staff, the Foundation or the Process.”

  If Hugh was impressed by his memorization skills, the AU didn’t indicate it.

  “That word, ‘integrity.’ It has two meanings, you know.”

  Shaw blinked. “I don’t know . . . It means honesty or something, right? The hell’s going on here?”

  Hugh continued, “And it means structurally sound. Like the integrity of a ship’s hull.”

  “Does it?” He eyed Hugh closely.

  “Both of those apply to your behavior.”

  Damn it, use a name. Let me know who you’re talking to. Carter or Colter. Would it come to a fight? Him against the three here?

  Hugh flipped through his tablet. “What you’ve done is a crime against both types of integrity. You’ve betrayed Master Eli and you’ve jeopardized the Foundation itself.”

  “Still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “We have evidence. Witnesses.”

  “Bullshit.”

  Hugh blinked.

  Shaw leaned close and snarled, “You got it, let me see it, asshole.”

  “What?” Hugh whispered, aghast. The other AU regarded Shaw warily.

  “Now! The evidence. And the witnesses. Bring them in here.”

  “You don’t talk to us that way, Novice Carter.”

  So it seemed they didn’t have the complete dirt on him. Hugh could, however, still order him Tased and beaten for the sins committed by Carter Skye.

  Rule 14 . . .

  “Master Eli does good work here. Hundreds of people lead better lives thanks to him. And you’d endanger all that by being disloyal?” Hugh nodded to the AU, who now brandished the stun gun.

  “We want to know what your motive is, who’s the Toxic you’re working for? Or are you here on your own?”

  The AU muttered, “Maybe he’s in it for the money. He’s here to steal the Process. It’s happened before.”

  “We’ll find out.” Hugh glanced at the Taser.

  The AU hit a button and a faint red light glowed like a snake’s eye caught in a flashlight beam.

  45.

  Whatever you think I did, it’s a mistake,” Shaw said in a firm voice.

  Hugh held up his hand. The armed AU paused.

  “I came here because my life is messed up. All the issues I told Journeyman Samuel about. And when I saw what Master Eli’s done for the Companions, when I heard how he can change our lives forever, I knew I’d come to the right place. This is . . . What you’re saying is crap. You’ve got me mixed up with somebody else. I haven’t been disloyal. I never would. Master Eli is one of the most brilliant, generous people on earth.”

  Shaw rose and turned to Hugh. “I swear I haven’t done anything.” Sounding unnerved, supplicating.

  The two captors seemed to relent a bit at this.

  Which is when he spun to the right, knocked the Taser man’s hand aside and in a simple wrestling takedown, upended his opponent and slammed him to the floor.

  A curious noise came from the throat. Maybe trying to form words. Maybe just trying to breathe.

  Shaw paid no attention. In an instant he ripped the Taser from the gasping man’s grip and turned it on the other two. He eyed them calmly, as if searching for the optimal target. Equally unemotional, Hugh watched him carefully.

  Shaw muttered, “Your information is wrong. Don’t you or anybody else threaten me again. We clear on that?” He tossed the Taser to the floor near the hurting AU.

  Then behind Shaw, the clapping started—that infectious, staccato clapping, beating out the time to the “Ode to Joy.” He turned.

  The sound was coming from Eli, who stood in the doorway, his head cocked, his generous lips in a slight smile. He lowered his hands and nodded at Hugh and the gasping AU, who struggled to his feet, looking with more trepidation at Hugh than at the man who’d just decked him. He collected the Taser. Hugh was clearly not pleased that his man had been bested. But he glanced at Shaw and nodded with grudging respect. Hugh stepped from the room, his minion scurrying after, holding his chest.

  Before the door closed, Shaw glimpsed one of the bodyguards, Gray, whose lined face gave off no emotion whatsoever. Then he noted Squat and Steve appear, the latter with his ever-present notebook.

  The lock clicked and Eli and Shaw were alone.

  “Well, done, Novice Carter. You passed with flying colors.”

  Colter Shaw had in fact decided, about halfway through the kidnapping, that the incident had all the earmarks of a test. Hugh hadn’t been specific, citing only “disloyalty,” not any particular transgressions. Generic “evidence” and “witnesses.” And there’d been a stiffness about his delivery. He’d also decided that if he were to move up in the organization, and get access to the evidence he sought, he’d need to act the part of a Select.

  “This is a rite of passage, a test of loyalty. You’d be surprised by the reactions. Some break down and say, yes, yes, forgive me, father, I have impure thoughts about Journeyman Allegra or Journeyman Bill, or yes, I quote ‘borrowed’ one of the AU’s phones to call my wife because she was having a baby.

  “And some people have admitted they’d contacted other organizations to give them details on the Process. Or journalists who snuck in to write exposés.”

  Shaw wondered what their fates were. He didn’t ask.

  He pulled out his friend Carter Skye to help. “I wouldn’t do anything to screw up the Process. After my session with Journeyman Samuel and your Second Discourse? Never. That was amazing.”

  Shaw had almost said, “Gorgeous,” but decided it might be taken for mockery.

  “Oh, it is, isn’t it? Did you really like it? I’m so thrilled. I knew from the beginning that you were special. I have a good eye for people. I can size people up like nobody else. It’s a skill I was born with.”

  Raging narcissist . . .

  He opened the door and asked Steve to join them. Eli shared a look with his gofer and then turned to Shaw. He said solemnly, “It’s my pleasure to raise you to the rank of Apprentice.” He nodded to Steve, who withdrew a necklace at the end of which was a red infinity sign amulet. Eli lifted Shaw’s blue one off his neck and replaced it with the new one.

  Eli said, “I like to reward good behavior.”

  As true cults do, he recalled.

  A system of rewards and punishments . . .

  “I think you deserve a trip to the Study Room.”

  Shaw immediately saw it as an opportunity to do some espionage work.

  Eli walked closer to Shaw. “You have a choice. Anja, or me.”

  Shaw returned his gaze. “Anja.”

  “Ah. Of course.” There was no disappointment in the man’s face. He had plenty of other Companions for his own diversions.

  “Steve, take him there.”

  “Yes, Master Eli.”

  Steve gestured toward the door. “Apprentice Carter.”

  Shaw turned to follow. Eli stepped closer, laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “Enjoy your studies.”

  46.

  The opportunity for surveillance, however, didn’t materialize.

  Shaw had hoped that Steve would escort him to the front door of the residence and tell him something like: up the stairs, second door on the left. Which would have given him time to prowl. But, no, the underling apparently had orders to not let Companions go unattended here.

&
nbsp; As he was led through the halls, Shaw noted that the place was opulent, the walls hung with fine paintings, sculpture sat on the tables, the furniture was chrome and ebony and rosewood and supple leather. Nothing Egyptian about the décor here; it had a ritzy, over-the-top, Miami Beach feel. David Ellis had been, after all, a Florida businessman.

  Shaw saw no guards or CCTV cameras. This would be good for future incursions. But nor did he see any obvious offices or record storage rooms.

  Steve directed him to an unmarked door on the second floor and knocked.

  “Come in.” A woman’s voice.

  The Study Room was a love nest dominated by a huge circular bed that could hold four or five souls. It was a chamber that kept true to the Egyptian theme, hangings, murals, ankhs, bas-reliefs of Osiris or some other gods; Shaw didn’t know the pantheon of the ancient kingdom. Pungent incense burned.

  Love nest . . .

  Osiris was, after all, the god of fertility, as well as the underground.

  Steve then turned and sat on a bench in the hallway. He began flipping through a notebook that seemed to contain most of Master Eli’s life.

  A prize Shaw would love to get his hands on.

  Walking inside, Shaw closed the door behind him. Wearing a silk robe—purple, of course—Anja nodded from where she sat on the bed.

  He gave the shoulder salute. Anja smiled and did not respond but rose and walked to a cabinet. “Do you want a drink?”

  “Drink?”

  “There’re no rules in the Study Room.”

  “I’m good.”

  “You don’t mind?” she asked, lifting a penciled eyebrow.

  “Go right ahead.”

  Anja made a cocktail. Vodka was involved, it seemed, fruit juice. She hurried with the concoction and didn’t bother with ice.

  There was a couch, facing the bed, and Shaw sat on it.

  “Your name?” he asked. “Russian?”

  She seemed surprised that he’d asked about her. The protocols for the “reward” of the Study Room were probably pretty well established and didn’t involve much conversation. “Yes. It means ‘grace.’ She looked at his amulet. “An Apprentice already? My. After two days.” A soft laugh. “Are you ready for the storm?”

  He frowned.

  “It takes some people a week or more. You’ll get some scowls.”

  “I’ve been scowled at before.”

  “You’re different.”

  “Am I? I don’t know enough about everyone here to figure out what’s normal, what isn’t.”

  She sipped. “I’m sure you’ve got your problems. But you’re not needy. Everyone else here is; that’s why they come.” Now, a deeper sip. “What’re we celebrating?”

  “He wants me to be a Select.”

  “Ah, that makes sense. His own private crew. The monks, the Knights of the Round Table. He doesn’t even talk about them to me . . . Well, one more thing he doesn’t talk to me about.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Ten years.”

  “You met on, what? Some kind of spiritual thing?”

  A pause. “We met in a different life.”

  Did she mean the 1800s or five years ago at a stockbroker convention in Fort Lauderdale? This wasn’t what she was here for. Anja didn’t want to be interviewed about herself and Eli. She didn’t like being offered as a prize in a Cracker Jack box. However, Shaw’s impression was that she preferred sex to the questions.

  She rose and clicked a light off and when she sat once more, the top of her robe fell open slightly.

  “You’ve gone through the Process?” he asked, glancing at the purple amulet.

  “Of course.”

  “So you can see past lives?”

  A hesitation.

  “I’ve done the work.”

  “Why the lotuses?” Shaw asked, looking around the room at several potted plants. He believed he could smell sweat and perfume, in addition to the sandalwood. This was the conquest bed, the one in which Victoria had nearly been a victim.

  “It’s the symbol of immortality.”

  Anja lifted a black brush and stroked her hair. He recalled her doing this earlier, as she stood in the gazebo.

  She said, “I was pretty when I was younger. I was a model and a hostess at some posh clubs. That’s the world where I met . . . Master Eli.”

  Had the man’s real name, David, been about to trip into the scented atmosphere around them?

  “You’re pretty now.” This was true. “You two married?”

  “There was a ritual. Maybe it’s not official, technically. But I like to think it is. I kind of wanted the white dress thing. I still have my mother’s.”

  “Maybe in the Tomorrow.”

  “Maybe.”

  He couldn’t tell if she believed Eli’s Process. Maybe she did. You could convince yourself of almost anything if you wanted to. He himself believed that his brother, Russell, would emerge and they would resume their relationship from years ago.

  Which, curiously, Samuel had predicted earlier that evening.

  Sometimes the protector protects best by leaving those who’re in his care . . .

  She drained her drink, set the glass on a table and tugged her robe open further. Then lay back on the bed. Her body language signaled: the sooner started, the sooner finished.

  Shaw noted an infinity tattoo on the upper arch of her left breast.

  She followed his glance.

  “Aren’t I lucky? Only the Selects and a few others are inked with the sign. He’s had me marked twice. Nobody else ever got more than one.”

  Shaw rose and sat on the bed. He reached for the robe and she arched her back, eyes closed, face lifted to the ceiling. He tugged her gown back together. She looked at him, frowning, appearing mystified. And perhaps concerned—that someone had defied Eli by not taking the present he’d offered.

  “Are you more interested in Steve? He’d be available.”

  “No. I’d be interested in you. Under different circumstances.”

  She tightened the belt around the gown. “I’m such a fool.” Tears welled in the corners of her eyes.

  Shaw sometimes wondered if foolishness didn’t follow from love the way a shadow precedes us when the sun is behind. Sometimes hazy, sometimes sharp, but always present.

  Again, an image of Margot Keller’s long face appeared. Twice now, in the camp, he’d thought of the woman, who was around his age and willowy and had soft dark-blond curls. He reflected now that he’d always thought of her face as that of a Greek goddess. Ironic that he was here in a room dominated with art from the ancient world.

  “It’s late.” He rose.

  “Wait.” She gave a faint wince.

  He lifted an eyebrow.

  “He’d expect you to stay longer. He might think I . . . I didn’t do enough. Steve’ll tell him. He’d have words with me. Maybe more.” She took a tissue and wiped her cheek. The makeup had covered up a bruise. She wanted Shaw to see.

  “Sure. Say forty-five minutes?”

  “Thank you. Really, thank you.” Leaving the robe on, she climbed under the blankets. “I took a pill. I’m tired. I might just sleep.”

  “Go right ahead.”

  Anja lay back. She lifted a hand his way, an ambiguous gesture that perhaps meant thank you.

  Or: please don’t pity me.

  Shaw decided it probably meant both.

  47.

  June 17

  The next morning, forgoing breakfast, Shaw resumed his mission to invade the residence. He paused, though, on the porch of his dorm. He’d recognized the noise, so very faint at first, then louder and louder, insistent.

  A chest-pounding thud.

  Looking over the sky, he finally spotted the sleek helicopter, speeding toward the camp from the s
outhwest.

  The craft was a large one, the cabin white, the tail dark blue. On the side were the letters CHP.

  California Highway Patrol.

  The sound took the attention of all the Companions on the grounds. Those walking stopped in their tracks. Those sitting looked up from their notebooks.

  The bird made its elegant touchdown in a clearing on the north side of the camp, toward the wooden fence and the YESTERDAY, TODAY, TOMORROW gate. As the engines shut down, two men climbed out, both wearing suits. One was African American, quite large, with a shiny bald head. The man with him was white, slender. Both had gold badges on their belts.

  They oriented themselves and walked to the nearest gravel path. The men approached a woman around forty, her blond hair pinned up in a bun. Shaw didn’t recall her name but he’d met her and her husband, who was not present at the moment. The black detective displayed an ID badge and spoke to her. She appeared confused, looking around. She said a few words and pointed south, to the residence. The two officers started in that direction, looking around them. Shaw’s impression was that they weren’t sure what to make of the place.

  Shaw approached the woman, who was frowning, as she looked after the officers. He nodded and gave the shoulder salute. She absently returned it.

  “Apprentice Carter. What’s your name again?”

  “Apprentice Carole.” Her face was troubled, her eyes on the residence.

  “Were those San Francisco police?”

  “Yes.”

  The SFPD no longer had an air patrol unit; it relied on the Highway Patrol’s choppers for air transport. He noted that the pilot, a petite woman with black hair, wore a light green uniform blouse, with gray slacks. CHP colors.

  “Was one of them Detective Etoile?”

  She appeared lost in thought.

  “Apprentice Carole?”

  “I think so. Yes.”

  Shaw expected her to ask how he knew, though she didn’t. She was clearly shaken—and, spotting her husband, Carole joined him. They began speaking.