The Goodbye Man

by Jeffery Deaver

  The path ended in a dead end against a rock face. They turned around. The sky was growing overcast. A wind had come up.

  A snap of wood. Shaw held up a hand and Walter stopped. Shaw eyed rocks and branches he could use for weapons in the case of a wolf choosing to hunt in full daylight—a rarity—or a mountain lion.

  He believed he saw movement about thirty yards behind them, where they’d just come from.

  “Is it Sally?” Walter asked.

  “No, either an animal or somebody in the bushes following us.”

  “Those AUs, they don’t skulk. They just walk up and ask what you’re about.”

  Shaw picked up a sharp rock and took a few steps toward the figure.

  It seemed to recede. He dropped the weapon, and the men continued deeper into the woods, north toward the wooden wall.

  “Where would she go?” Walter muttered.

  Shaw gave it eighty-five percent that Sally would instinctively stick to a trail or creek bed. He didn’t know much about memory illnesses but it seemed to him that what failed was data on a computer disk. Survival instincts would be like the operating system burned permanently onto the motherboard. A trail meant habitation, a creek bed meant an easier trek and water for drinking.

  These became the focus of their search.

  They swept for a half mile, moving in a compass arc with Sally and Walter’s dormitory as the center point. Shaw stayed true to the course; he hadn’t gotten lost in the woods since he was a young boy.

  Ten minutes later Shaw heard a faint sound and stopped. Walter too, frowning and looking about.

  Snap. Snap.

  They turned toward the source. Shaw picked up another rock and together the men moved slowly toward the sound, navigating around a thick growth of blackberry.

  Twenty feet away Sally stood on the bank of a shallow stream. She was frowning and, curiously, snapping her fingers.

  “Honey!”

  She glanced at her husband as if not the least surprised to see him; Shaw, though, was a stranger. He introduced himself and she nodded formally. Then her face darkened into a frown. She snapped her fingers again, in the air. “Bobo’s gone. Ran off.”

  Walter said patiently, “We boarded him, remember? He’s at the vet’s. So we could come on the trip here.”

  “Oh, that’s right. Silly of me. What was I thinking?”

  Undoubtedly a pet they’d owned years ago.

  “You’re looking tired, love. How about you go for a nap.”

  “Think I wouldn’t mind that.”

  The three of them walked back to their dorm. Walter took his wife inside and returned to the porch.

  “Thank you, sir.” He warmly shook Shaw’s hand.

  The men sat in teak rockers. Shaw eased back; the furniture was more comfortable than it appeared. He gazed out over the camp as several AUs hurried past. Their faces were grim. Also making a speedy transit was Journeyman Adelle, the beautiful Intake specialist.

  I lost my baby . . .

  “Bad move, this was,” Walter said, when she was safely past them.

  “Signing on?”

  “We just came because there wasn’t anything medicine could do for her, not really. Last resort. If this Foundation advertised on Alzheimer’s websites, maybe there was something to it. I thought experimental drugs, maybe new techniques, surgery. Imagine when we got into the training and found out it was about getting a second chance the next time around—in a future life.” He gave a cynical laugh. “Sally and I’d meet again. Her brain cells wouldn’t be so jittery. Maybe I’d look like Brad Pitt and could shoot five under par at St. Andrews.”

  Lifting his arms, he muttered, “Then I realized it’s a crock of horse manure I should’ve spotted right up front. Pluses, Minuses, past lives, future lives.” He looked Shaw over. “You could report me for this.”

  “We’re all good, don’t worry.”

  “I figured.” They gazed at more AUs, clutching their tablets and moving from Administration to a building across the Square. Walter continued, “We show up on this lumpy planet, blessed with some talents, and saddled with some busted mainsprings. It’s what we do with it that’s the trick. Sally and I, we got nice kids, two of ’em better than the third but he’s not bad. My bride and me, we’ve had a good run. This”—he waved his arm—“is an insult to that. It’s saying we didn’t do it right.”

  He fished a flask from his waistband. He took a sip and handed it to Shaw, who downed some whisky and passed it back. It was plastic, impervious to the metal detector.

  “You’ve got to get out of here, Walter.”

  “Naw, we’ll sit it out. Only ten days left.”

  “You can’t wait. There’s going to be trouble.”

  The old man was looking at Shaw carefully. “You say that like a man who knows.”

  He explained about the murder of one reporter and the beating of another and the murder-suicide: the Select who burned himself and John to death.

  Walter was speechless for a moment. “Jesus. That nice fellow at our table? And the police didn’t do a thing?”

  “Eli’s lining the sheriff’s pocket. I’m working on getting proof of what he’s up to. The chopper? It was San Francisco police looking into the murder. I’m worried about what’s going to happen next. You know Jonestown?”

  “Sure, that psycho Jim Jones. Was another cult, right? Everybody killed themselves.”

  “Some journalists and government officials flew down to see what was going on. That set off the suicides and the murders.”

  “You think Eli’s got something like that in mind?”

  “I don’t know, but look at the AUs, all of them in meetings now. And Eli’s called for another Discourse. Just feels like something’s going to happen soon, and it’s not going to be good. Would you and Sally be able to hike out? Two miles?”

  Walter was considering. “That was some thick forest we were just in. Steep.”

  “Where I’d take you, it’s mostly field and light pine woods. Some rock but nothing to climb, not more than a few feet. I’ll get you out safe.”

  “Where to?”

  “A highway. I’m sure there’ll be cars or you can get to a gas station another mile north. Maybe a little more.”

  “You checked that out first, before you came?”

  “Did some homework, yes.”

  Never lose your orientation.

  Walter turned and looked Shaw over. “I knew you weren’t one of the believers the minute you sat down and looked around for the wine at the dinner table.”

  “Beer.”

  “What’s your story? You’re not law?”

  “Like a private eye.”

  “Getting out? I’m game. But our money, credit cards, phones?”

  “Those I think I can get. The luggage building isn’t that secure. I’ve checked it out. But what we need is a couple of hours where you won’t be missed. I was thinking: you said Sally liked to garden. What if you told your trainer that you both wanted to spend a couple of hours working there.”

  “Where?”

  “The garden.”

  “They don’t have one. First thing I asked about, for Sally. But we have a light day today. We could be meditating on our Minuses.” He scoffed. “Nobody’ll miss us from eleven to two or three.”

  “That’ll work.” Shaw opened his notebook and showed Walter his map. He pointed east, to the grassy bluff above the cliff, where he’d met with Victoria yesterday. “There’re some benches.”

  “I know. We sit there some.”

  “Meet me at eleven. Don’t bring anything else. They can’t guess what you’re up to.”

  “Sure.”

  “But there is one thing I need you to do.”

  “What?”

  “Take somebody with you.”

  50.r />
  Colter Shaw wasn’t surprised to see a stony-faced Select sitting in a rocker in front of the dormitory he sought. But he didn’t think it was a problem. In Shaw’s world, windows were made for admitting humans as well as light and air. Dexterous humans, at least.

  He made his way through the bushes and peeked carefully into each room before he found the one he sought. He kept searching until he located an empty room, then removed from his pocket the dinner knife and jimmied open the window. Shaw boosted himself up and inside, rolling onto the floor. Not as silently as he would have liked; his heels thunked. He paused, listening for any indication he’d been heard.

  Apparently not. Shaw then looked into the hallway and walked to the door he sought. He knocked gently. “It’s a friend. Can you open up?”

  Silence.

  “It’s important.”

  A shuffling sound. The door opened.

  Shaw looked down at the diminutive form of sixteen-year-old Abby, who blinked and said, “Oh, you.”

  * * *

  —

  She sat on the bed and he on the desk chair. He’d moved it near the door so he could hear anyone approaching.

  Her eyes were red, and she kept up the fidgeting he remembered from the dining hall. Her nails were bitten to the quick.

  He whispered, “What’s wrong, Abby?”

  She blinked. He hadn’t used her title. After a pause, she said, “This’s all so fucked up.” She controlled her soft crying.

  He waited.

  She nodded. “Journeyman Marion was going to be my trainer but Master Eli took over. In the sessions he was great. He listened and listened and helped me find my Pluses. I told him when I was a kid I went to an art museum once and it was the coolest thing ever. He said I was an artist in a former life, so I should meditate on art, and I did and I felt so good.

  “Then he told me to come to the Study Room. Everybody was like, Wow, that’s a big deal. Anyway, he said it was for special studies but you can guess what it was really about. I didn’t care. I’m not really into that anyway, not with anybody, not after some stuff that happened to me at home. So it wasn’t a big deal to me and it made him happy. He said he loved me. He said I was different, that me and him knew each other in the past. I was so happy.

  “And then . . .” She choked and cried quietly. Shaw rose, found a towel and handed it to her. Angrily she wiped her face. “I was talking to Apprentice Rose, and he told her the same thing. And Apprentice Joan. And there were a lot of the others too. That was okay. Sort of. As long as he spent time with me. As long as he loved me.

  “But today . . . he dragged me in here and said I was a lying slut. I lied about my age. I’d risked the whole Foundation. He said he’d been wrong: that I wasn’t special. That I was stupid and deserved to die in a crack house.” She sobbed into the towel for a moment. “He said if I ever said anything, Journeyman Hugh and some of the AUs would kill me. I had to stay here until they arranged for me to leave. And I couldn’t talk to anybody.”

  “Abby, you remember John?”

  “Yeah, he got sick and left.”

  “No. Eli and Hugh killed him.”

  “What?” She gasped.

  “He was a threat to them. He was going to expose them.”

  No need to suggest that Abby herself was the reason.

  “Oh God.”

  Shaw leaned close. “Listen, I’m not here for the training. I’m like a policeman. I’m investigating Eli. I think he wants to hurt you too.”

  “I told him I wouldn’t say anything.”

  “He doesn’t care. You know Walter and Sally? At our table the other night?”

  “The old couple. Yeah. They’re nice. She’s sick, right?”

  “I’m getting them out today. In a half hour. I want you to go with them.”

  “Go back home?” she muttered sourly. “Right.”

  “Let’s get you out safe first and then worry about that. They’ve agreed to let you stay with them for a while. Walter can contact some of your relatives.”

  She sighed, turning the towel over and over in her ruddy, damaged hands.

  “I kept sitting here, thinking Master Eli was just upset. He’ll change his mind about me. He didn’t mean what he said. The times we were together, he was so happy. I made him happy and that made me feel good.”

  “Abby, we have to go now.”

  “Okay but the guy at the door. The creepy one.”

  Shaw asked, “You ever climbed out a window before?”

  Earning him a small curve of smile, which said, Are you kidding me?

  51.

  Getting into the luggage building was about as easy as Shaw had originally figured.

  Since it was midweek and no new applicants were arriving or graduates leaving, the facility was closed. He was also helped by the absence of AUs. They’d be huddling with Eli and Hugh.

  Maybe working out an endgame.

  Jim Jones convinced over nine hundred followers in his Peoples Temple to murder hundreds of children and then kill themselves with poisoned fruit punch . . .

  On the rear windows was a standard latch. The place-setting knife easily did the trick. There was no alarm.

  Inside were no lockers but large, uncovered compartments for the baggage. From the claim checks, Shaw easily found Walter’s and Sally’s suitcases—four of them. They’d packed for three weeks, never knowing they wouldn’t need a single item. He found Abby’s backpack too. He rummaged through each and took changes of clothing and shoes for all three. These articles he put into a laundry bag he’d brought from his dorm room. He added the older couple’s wallet, purse and cash. Abby had a wallet too, one that she’d connect to a belt loop on a long chain. She had little money, though inside was a prepaid credit card that her “asshole of a stepfather” had grudgingly given her.

  Shaw found his own suitcase and removed a couple of hundred cash for her. He also took his own wallet, which he stuffed into his waistband, irritated once again at the absence of pockets, which, he decided, had to be one of the greatest inventions of all time.

  He put the bags back exactly where they had been.

  One disappointment: Shaw could not get their cell phones. Against the wall was a large container with a big lock on it. Shaw recognized the contraption immediately. The sides were of thick metal-oxide-coated glass. On the floor nearby were strands of pink fiberglass insulation, which, he knew, would be packed inside, around the Companions’ phones. Glass was one of the most efficient ways to block cell phone traffic. He was sure all the phones had been shut off and, if possible, the batteries removed. Newer phones would have built-in batteries that couldn’t be removed, which meant the units remained semi-powered even when they were off. This box would prevent any incoming and outgoing transmissions altogether.

  He slipped out of the building and relatched the window. In ten minutes he was at the bench overlooking the mountainous panorama.

  Shaw gazed around. No Inner Circles or AUs. They were still, he was sure, formulating plans with Eli and Hugh on responding to the homicide detectives’ visit and the re-upped investigation.

  “This way.”

  With the laundry bag over his shoulder, Shaw led them north along the high bluff until they were some distance from the camp. He stopped. “Let’s change here.” He distributed the clothing and other things he’d taken from the luggage building.

  Sally’s eyes lit up magically when her husband put her engagement and wedding rings on her finger. “My,” she said. “I thought I’d lost them. I was afraid to tell you, dear.”

  Walter kissed her cheek.

  Shaw handed Abby her clothes, her wallet and his own cash. She blinked, frowning at the two hundred dollars.

  “Take it,” Shaw said.

  “Like . . .”

  “Take it.”

  Her eyes said thank
you.

  Walter led Sally off behind a thick growth of holly to change.

  Abby simply turned her back to Shaw and stripped; he looked away.

  The couple returned. Walter was in a brown and yellow shirt and dark trousers, Sally a navy-blue blouse and dark skirt. Fortunately she’d brought flats.

  Abby was in black jeans and a Drake sweatshirt.

  He passed around the laundry bag and they placed their uniforms, amulets and slippers inside. Shaw buried it under a pile of sticks, leaves and pine needles.

  “Let’s go. This way.”

  The day was hot, the sun yellow as yolk, and insects hummed and strafed. Shaw found some wild lavender and marigold. He broke off stems and petals and passed them out. “Crush it and rub it on your skin. Especially ankles and elbows. That’s what they go for, the mosquitos.”

  The four of them did so.

  “Ain’t we a dandy-smelling crew?” Sally said, drawing smiles. She then gazed about her, eyes curious. Was she aware of the peril, or did she simply think her husband and some friends, whom she didn’t recognize, were spending a pleasant afternoon in the woods behind their Midwestern house?

  The uneventful hike was as easy as Shaw had anticipated. They passed through the rusty chain link and over the three-foot-wide path between a rocky rise and the cliff’s edge. Funny how you have no worry about falling off a sidewalk even narrower than this but introduce a deadly void on one side and you walk just a bit more breathlessly.

  Then the foursome was descending a gentle slope through the fields and quiet, needle-carpeted woods.

  Walter, holding his wife’s hand, said to Shaw, “How should we handle it, when we’re home?”

  Shaw said, “You don’t go home yet. Get to a hotel or motel nowhere near here. Stay there. Eli knows your home address. Odds that a Select’ll come after you? Not high. But you’ve got to be cautious. Wait until you know it’s safe.”