Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

“Thank you, Novice Abby. And, Novice Carter?”

Shaw spun his fictional account of hard times, not being able to hold down work, his emotional problems. He channeled Adam Harper and Harvey Edwards, along with some of the tougher fugitives he’d pursued in his reward-seeking business. He skirted the criminal past — largely because he hadn’t written a very detailed script about that portion of Skye’s life.

Shaw stuck with the tale that Carter had a family history of depression. The drugs, the anger issues. He always started out hopeful with a girl, but then — he gave a thumbs-down — he’d hit the road and never see her again. “Trying to outrun the blues, I guess. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.”

“Good,” Quinn said. “Thank you for that.”

John, the thirty-something, had no professional issues. He was a successful coder and software designer in Los Angeles. He liked his work. He was good at it. Then his voice dropped in volume. “So, a year ago I was on PCH — Pacific Coast Highway — with my buddy. My best friend. I was hotdogging in my Porsche.” His voice caught. “We went off the road, hit a tree. He was killed. I didn’t get a scratch... Not a goddamn scratch. I’m trying to get over Dale. It’s not so easy. My trainer says I can. Master Eli too. He says I’ll be okay. Eventually. I believe them.”

“You should,” Quinn said. “He’ll take care of you. You’ll be all right.”

As Quinn looked them over, Shaw wondered: Could a human being sit up any more upright?

“Very good, everyone,” Quinn said. “You can be confident that the Process will bring you comfort. Would you like some more beverage, Novice Carter?”

He’d noted that Shaw’s iced tea was half empty.

“No. I’m good. Thank you, Journeyman Quinn.”

Conversation at the table resumed — but only momentarily. A silence descended in the room, punctuated by Companions’ whispering. Eyes had turned toward the front of the dining hall. Through the windows, Shaw detected movement along the path leading to the building. It was hard to make out anything specific in the dusk. Lamps on wooden poles lined the paths but the illumination was subdued and yellow. The lanterns added to the nineteenth-century feel.

A whisper: “Is that him? Is he coming in?”

“Sometimes he does at dinner.”

“Let’s hope.”

“Here he comes!”

Two AUs opened the door, and in walked an entourage, led by a man in a white tunic. He strode slowly into the hall. Spontaneously, the slow, rhythmic clapping of earlier broke out.

Master Eli paused, smiled and offered the shoulder salute to his flock.

Shaw knew from Mack’s research the man was forty-one. He seemed younger. Though not tall, he was in solid, sportsman’s shape, perfectly proportioned. When he walked he was perfectly upright.

His broad, handsome face was well tanned. The eyes were piercingly blue, similar to Shaw’s though lighter, ethereal, and the upper lids dipped slightly, imparting what was sometimes described as bedroom eyes. The thick black hair was carefully trimmed and parted on the side. It was a politician’s cut. He wore an infinity amulet; his was gold.

Shaw glanced at those who’d accompanied him. The two AUs who’d opened the door for him had watchful eyes and were, Shaw supposed, bodyguards. Also, there was a woman in her mid-forties with auburn hair. She too wore a white tunic, and her amulet was purple.

Entering last was a young, diminutive balding man, about Eli’s height, in the standard blue Foundation uniform. He too wore a purple amulet and carried a thick notebook — leather bound, not like the ones the Companions had been issued. Eli paused and turned to him, whispering. The man drew a pen and jotted in the opened book. He had eager rabbit eyes.

As Shaw scanned the crowd, the differences in the reactions among those present as they looked the leader’s way were intriguing. Most of the Novices were curious about the man to whom they were paying $7,500. Those with purple and red amulets gazed his way with adoring eyes and some seemed to puff up, in hopes of being seen by the man. Those with the silver necklaces, the Inner Circle, didn’t look at him at all but studied the crowd, as if gauging their reactions.

Shaw took in the bodyguards. One was broad and dark, not particularly tall. The other was angular and well over six feet and had the stern, lined face and gray crew cut of a former drill instructor. It was impossible to imagine either of them smiling. Shaw named them Squat and Gray. Like the AUs, they wore gray tunics and no amulets.

Why protection? There’d been the metal detector, the safety of the checked luggage and car searches, facial recognition. How much danger could a self-help guru be in?

Eli circulated, smiling and pausing at tables, leaning down to speak with various Companions. Once, he gave a hearty laugh. Later he picked up a woman Apprentice’s notebook and read a page, while she blushed.

He moved on. Shaw heard him say in response to a question, “I came up with that myself! No, really. It was my own idea.” Then: “Nobody else could figure out how to do it. It wasn’t easy, but I did.”

As Eli looked their way, many of the Companions offered the shoulder salute. Sometimes Eli returned it, though usually he just nodded — the way a military officer chooses to respond to an enlisted man’s salute or not. Shaw’s impression was that the dining hall was an off-duty area and there was less formality here than during the daytime.

The auburn-haired woman who accompanied Eli was attractive, with high cheekbones and carefully tended brows. She wore purple lipstick and foundation makeup. Her posture was good and her walk studied. A former model maybe.

Eli would whisper to her occasionally. She’d give a smile or offer a reply.

A voice in Shaw’s ear: Walter’s. “That’s Anja.”

“His wife?”

“Don’t know about that. Nobody gives away very much here. But whoever she is, she supposedly helped him found the place.”

“And the bald kid?”

“Journeyman Steve. Personal secretary, keeper of the details. I’ve never seen him without that notebook. Carries it around like a mother with her baby.”

Shaw would have to be careful. He felt a tendency to fall into his real identity around Walter; he liked the man. He couldn’t afford to trip up.

When Eli came to Victoria’s table, she grew nervous and animated. Her face radiated a very different self, one of adoration. She could look his way only for a few seconds without breaking eye contact, and she seemed breathless. Her face was flushed. While Shaw sensed she was taciturn by nature, now she engaged Eli in a nonstop monologue, as if — should she fall silent — he’d escape.

Steve whispered to Eli, who silenced him with a wave of the hand and continued his conversation with Victoria. She wanted to show him something she’d written; she held her notebook out. He read the passage silently, then bent close and spoke to her. She beamed and saluted; he did the same. Victoria seemed deeply moved by this. Her adoring eyes followed him as he left.

I prefer another name for brainwashing: menticide...

Then Eli moved toward Shaw’s table.

“Greetings, Novices Walter and Sally, Abby, John and Todd. And, Novices Henry and Carter — welcome on your first day here.”

Impressive. He knew them all.

They all mumbled various forms of hello. Shaw gave the shoulder salute, which brought a smile to Eli’s face. “Novice Carter, in our expedited program.”

“That’s right, Master Eli. I was surprised. I didn’t exactly excel in school. I’ll do better here. I promise.”

“When I created the Process, I decided we needed to make special arrangements for some of our Companions. I have every confidence in you.”