Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

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.

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: