Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

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.

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 southwest.

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.

When he arrived in the Square, Shaw saw the Companions were talking among themselves. The ICs were clustered together. Four Selects stood, silent, looking over the crowd. Three had arms crossed over their chests. Their faces were stone.

Behind the stage, Shaw could see Etoile, the other detective and Eli disappearing into the residence.

So the detective wasn’t treating Yang’s death as used chewing gum at all.

Would this be the end of the Foundation right here and now? But no, not yet, Shaw realized. If Etoile had marshalled enough evidence to directly link Yang’s killer — Harvey Edwards — to Eli, he would have brought a full complement of tactical law enforcers, Washington State Patrol officers included. This was merely an interview. A fact-gathering mission.

Twenty minutes later, the two detectives left the residence and walked back to the helicopter. Shaw wished he could talk to the cops but of course that wouldn’t work. He wasn’t Colter Shaw; he was Carter Skye.

The engines of the craft fired up and, with the rotor noise changing pitch, dropping in tone, the chopper rose skyward and vanished back in the direction of Northern California.

What had the officers learned? And what was Eli’s reaction?

A short time later the Beethoven notes rang from the loudspeakers and the voice said, “All Companions are to report to the Square.”

No “please” this time.

The command was repeated.

Soon, with nearly everyone present, Eli and his entourage left the residence. The bodyguards remained at the foot of the stairs with Eli. Anja and Steve took their seats at the far end of the stage.

The “Ode to Joy” played twice. Then Eli climbed the stairs and strode to the front of the stage.

The ICs didn’t get a chance to lead the metric applause. The crowd just burst into frenetic clapping.

Eli raised his arms.

Cries from the ground: “We love you!” “Our Guiding Beacon!” “Master Eli!”

Finally the noise diminished.

“Good friends and Companions. My dear friends and Companions... Did you see that? Did you see what just happened? Some Toxics planted fake reports about me. Fake news!”

There were boos.

“Fake... Fake...” The simple chant lasted for a full sixty seconds.

“A sad attempt by the Toxics to bring me down. That’s what they’d like. To bring me down. And bring you down too!”

“No!”

“Hell with them!”

“We have a lot of enemies, you and me. Remember what I told you last night: the medical community hates us. Religion hates us. Politicians hate us. Because I tell the truth.”

This started a chant of “True up! True up!”

“And it scares them! But it’s the Toxics who should be afraid! I told them. I told those officers and now they understand. I’m being persecuted for my vision. I told them to arrest the Toxics who called them in the first place. It’s a crime, misuse of judicial process. And I’m suing. I have the best legal team in the country. They’re gorgeous! Nobody’s going to get away with trying to hurt you, my family!”

Then, from somewhere in the back of the sea of Companions, a disturbance. Shouts. It seemed to Shaw that someone pushed another.

The bodyguards grew alert. Steve rose. Eli walked to the edge of the stage, irritated that the spotlight had figuratively been turned away from him. He called angrily, “What’s that? What’s going on?”