Джеффри Дивер - The Goodbye Man

Murmurs from the Square rose like the sound of swelling waves.

“I replaced it myself.” Shaw looked at the inductees, staring at him frantically. “You’re fine.” He added, “And it wasn’t Steve.” His eyes took in the audience and returned to the stage. “It was your Guiding Beacon who tried to murder you.”

Shaw couldn’t join Victoria and Frederick because of what he had found on Eli’s computer — the last document he’d given them to read behind the dorm. It revealed that at least five people were going to die onstage during the induction session: Journeyman Marion and the four Companions picked for the Circle of Representatives.

Shaw decided he should have been more suspicious of the mysterious Building 14 — filled with gardening equipment and supplies... when there were no gardens, as Walter had told him.

He’d concluded earlier that the AUs on the porch were only there to keep an eye on the Square. However, what if his original theory was true? That they were there to protect what was inside?

What might that be?

Several pounds of rat and mice poison: arsenic trioxide.

Eli was going to take a lesson from Jim Jones of the Peoples Temple in Guyana. The leader, of course, had no intention of “advancing” to the Tomorrow. He was setting up a fall guy. His fiction was that Steve had been behind the killings of the journalist Yang and John and was trying to shift the blame to Eli, in an attempt to derail the Foundation and create a cult of his own.

Shaw, Victoria and Frederick had broken into Building 14 and swapped out the poison for sugar.

I was thinking we’ll find something in the kitchen.

Oh. That’s good...

But Shaw couldn’t just leave with Victoria and Frederick after the swap. Eli would simply find another way to set Steve up as a murderer.

Shaw had to expose the king and bring him down.

Somebody now shouted, “He’s got a gun!”

Screams. Companions started to turn.

Shaw called, “It’s all right. I’m working with the authorities.” This was somewhat true: in the sense he would be working with the authorities when they arrived. Soon, he hoped. Pretty damn soon.

Eli started to turn but Shaw said harshly, “No. Stand there.” Nodding to a place slightly before him on the stage. He wanted Eli where he could see him.

The man glanced toward the gun in Shaw’s hand and complied, glaring.

Shaw’s treatment of the Guiding Beacon generated a wave of murmuring and protest and gasps but the bulk of the Companions watched the stage, taking Shaw’s words under advisement.

“Let me tell you about Master Eli. Whose real name is David Aaron Ellis. And Apprentice Carole was right: fake names he’s used in the past are Artie Ellington, Hiram Lefkowitz, Donald Elroy. He’s a failed stockbroker and real estate developer. And now he’s a scam artist. He’s robbed you. And... he’s ordered murders.”

Gasps. And angry murmurs.

“He tried to kill these people onstage tonight and blame Steve because the police are investigating him for a murder in San Francisco.”

“Lie!” was the unearthly bellow from Eli. “Toxic!”

“That’s what the police helicopter was about. It wasn’t a plot to discredit him, and it wasn’t a mistake. Eli ordered the killing of a reporter writing about the Foundation. Did any of you know Harvey Edwards?”

The Companions, most of whom had been here for three weeks or less, wouldn’t know of the man. But two or three of the Inner Circle glanced toward one another, shadows of recognition on their faces. They’d suspected something about their noble leader.

“Eli told Edwards to kill the reporter and then advance. He committed suicide by shooting it out with the police.”

“Lies! He’s one of them.” Eli snapped his fingers and glanced again furiously at two tunicked AUs. Hugh gestured to them to remain where they were.

Some ICs began a chant, “Tox-ic, Tox-ic!”

The sound was anemic and soon petered out.

Shaw noted Samuel looking his way, his expression stunned. The Journeyman who had accompanied Shaw here, Timothy, also gaped.

“Kill him!” somebody yelled.

“Let him talk!”

Shaw pulled the sheaf of papers from his waistband. “This is from Master Eli’s computer.”

In disgust, Eli looked toward Anja, who couldn’t hold his gaze.

“Eli wrote this earlier today. After the police helicopter was here. But before the ceremony just now.”

Reading, he said, “‘Statement to the police. After the terrible poisoning at the Osiris Foundation camp this afternoon, my employees searched the room of Steve Rindle and found that he had planned to kill me and key members of the Foundation. Someone stopped me from drinking the poisoned wine. Others were not so lucky. Our medical staff wasn’t able to save them. From the documents we found it was clear he intended to steal my self-help techniques and start his own organization.’”

Steve was crying, shaking his head.

Eli raged, “Lies! I’ve been set up by the Toxics! Tox-ic, Tox-ic...”

Now, no one joined in.

Shaw continued, “‘We found files indicating Steve planned to incorporate in California. Steve also was responsible for having Harvey Edwards kill journalist Gary Yang in San Francisco. He was going to blame me for Yang’s death.’”

Shaw looked at the crowd, now silent. “You see? Eli knew about the poisoning ahead of time because he planned it. And the one who poisoned the wine was Journeyman Hugh and some AUs. Not Steve. Steve was his scapegoat.”

Eli muttered something to Anja. His rage was gone. Now his face revealed icy contempt.

Someone started a chant. “Lie... lie... lie.”

“Kill him!”

The vast majority of the Companions remained silent.

Somebody yelled, “Go on, Apprentice Carter.”

Shaw said, “His trips to the Far East in the winter? Not so far, really. ‘East’ is Florida, where he has two homes, worth millions, and five sports cars — thanks to all of you.”

“Stop him!” Eli was calling to two other AUs. They looked at each other uneasily and began jogging toward the stage. Shaw stopped them in their tracks simply by shifting the pistol slightly to the right. He didn’t even aim toward them.

One held his hands up, comically high. Hugh grimaced, and the stocky man lowered his arms.

Before Shaw could continue, however, a dozen Companions began whispering among themselves, mostly men. Their faces were dour, shaded with anger. They would be loyalists. They divided up and moved toward the stairs at the opposite ends of the stage, a flanking maneuver.

“Before you do anything,” Shaw shouted, “let me finish.”

Eli cried, “Stop him! Get him! If the Toxics he’s working for win, everything I’ve done for you will be wasted! The Process dies.”

The threat was enough. Ignoring the gun, the two groups rushed the stage from either side. Shaw fired one round into the ground — you never shoot into the air. That sent some Companions scurrying but the mob was undeterred. Maybe they knew he wasn’t really going to shoot any of them, or maybe they figured: I’m immortal; what’s the problem?

They plowed into Shaw from both sides.

The gun flew from his hand, and he went down hard on the stage, pinned under a ton and a half of frantic believers.

Gray limped on the stage, followed by Squat. Their restraints had been cut off.

Hugh glanced at Gray. “What good are you?” he whispered viciously.

Gray looked frantically for his Glock.

Eli called to the crowd. “He snuck in, a spy, a Toxic. I told you they’ll do anything to stop me.”