The Goodbye Man
- Автор: Дивер Джеффри
- Серия: Colter Shaw #2
- Год: 2020
- Язык: английский
- Год: G. P. Putnam’s Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-525-53597-3
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «The Goodbye Man». Краткое содержание книги:
“That’s a violation of the rules too. I know that!” Victoria’s eyes were cast down. “I was caught off guard. I was journaling...”
“It’s a minor infraction. I don’t think I need to call Journeyman Hugh in for a decision.”
“Oh, thank you, ma’am.”
Hell. Shaw realized how his little tactic here had nearly gotten her disciplined by the very person he was trying to protect her from. He resolved to be more careful.
Victoria winced. “And I won’t say ‘ma’am.’ Or ‘sir.’”
Shaw recalled the rule.
“That has been a mistake of yours in the past. Not grievous but something to watch.” Adelle’s head cocked a small degree. “And he doesn’t need to know about this either.”
The reverential emphasis told Shaw that Adelle was probably referring to Eli.
“Oh, thank you, Journeyman Adelle.”
Her breathless submissiveness galled Shaw, especially as Victoria seemed several years older than Adelle.
Victoria returned to her notebook. Her hands were tremoring.
Adelle accompanied Shaw to the seating chart. “There you are, Novice Carter. Table Four.”
“I’ll take a look at those rules again.”
With a nod, she peeled off and headed to a Journeymen’s table.
He found a place and sat. Pitchers of water and iced tea were on the table, which was set with cheap metal utensils and paper napkins. Like all the others, this table was covered with a dark purple cloth. Shaw suddenly realized that the colors of the lower-level amulets, blue and red, combined to make purple, the shade of the Journeymen’s infinity signs. Maybe purple represented something significant in ancient Egypt — he still didn’t know how Osiris figured in the scheme. Or maybe the shade was part of Eli’s personal mythology.
Shaw greeted the other Novices at his table. There was a couple in their sixties, Walter and Sally. The balding man from the Intake office earlier that day was Henry. He was fit, his grip firm — they shook hands before mutually recalling that it wasn’t allowed.
Shaw whispered, “You ever done anything like this before?”
“Never. Little bizarre. You from here, Washington?”
“No. California. Travel around a lot. I’m a surveyor. Forestry.”
“I live on the East Coast.” Henry looked around the room and his morose expression from earlier that day returned. “Hope this works.” He fell silent.
The others at Table 4 were Todd, a sullen man in his early thirties, crew cut, trim. He was inked, probably a sleeve, but Shaw couldn’t see more than an inch’s work at his wrist, disappearing under the uniform. Abby was a pretty brunette with a somber face and fidgety manner. She couldn’t’ve been older than nineteen or twenty. A tanned, curly-haired man in his late twenties sat hunched forward over the place setting. His name was John.
At 7:10 the Inner Circle Companions, equal numbers men and women, stepped away from the wall and fanned out, each sitting at a different table. Apparently they were chaperones.
Or guards.
Spies was another option, Shaw supposed.
The Inner Circle Companion assigned to Table 4 approached, striding stiffly. The mid-thirties man sported hair that was perfectly trimmed and gelled into a businessman coif. He stood erect and looked them over. He said in an oily, practiced voice, “Greetings, Novices. I am Journeyman Quinn. And I’m proud to be your table host for this evening.” His glasses were of the sort you don’t see much: wire frames with half lenses.
He touched his left shoulder with his right palm. Ignoring the absurdity he felt, Shaw did the same. He summoned a shy smile — as if proud to be part of the family, even if a newcomer.
Quinn made a show of lifting the iced tea pitcher and the water, one in each hand, and leaning close to the diners. “Preference for a beverage?”
Shaw opted for tea. Quinn poured for everyone — the other ICs were doing the same — and then he sat.
A voice from the overhead speakers announced: “Let us give thanks.” Most knew what was coming and spoke along: “For what we are about to receive, our thanks to you, Master Eli, and all that you have taught us, you are teaching us, and you will teach us. From the Yesterday, a better Today. From the Today, a perfect Tomorrow.”
Shaw and Henry mouthed along as best they could. He noted that Quinn was watching them make the effort. Then the voice from above called out, “The best is yet to come!”
Applause filled the room, though not what you’d hear at the end of a concert. Several of the Inner Circle had started a coordinated slow clapping of their cupped palms, carefully timed, one strike per second. This lasted for a very long half minute.
“Now, Journeymen may approach the buffet.”
The senior Companions did so. Only when they had filled their plates and sat down was permission granted to the Apprentices. Finally the Novices.
Control...
The food was what Shaw had expected: steam table chicken, hamburgers, vegetarian lasagna, salads and side dishes. Parker House rolls, butter. He was hungry from the effort of the trip here and his quick-march surveillance of the camp, so he piled the plate high.
As he ate, Shaw would glance at Victoria. Her brunette hair was in double braids, disappearing down her back. The ends were bound in thin red ribbons, the bows carelessly tied. Her face oval in shape. Over her blue uniform blouse she wore a blue vest. No wedding ring or other jewelry. Shaw scanned the room; no one wore any, it seemed, none that he could see. Surely some of these people were married. Maybe they’d had to check their rings, like the cell phones. Getting rid of reminders of the outside world. He couldn’t tell if Victoria was wearing makeup. Her face had the slightly ruddy shade he recalled from the other day. Maybe a tan.
Shaw looked away just as she lifted her head and started to glance his way, as if she’d felt she was being observed. He struck up a conversation with his tablemates. He and Henry were the only Novices at this table to start today. Abby had been here for ten days. John, Sally, Walter and Todd had been studying the Process for a week. Shaw noted that Walter did the talking for the couple; Sally was retiring and uncertain. Abby was constantly in fidgety motion, Todd was suspicious, John was rueful.
When they had finished the main courses and were toying with substance-less devil’s food cake for dessert, Quinn wiped his mouth and set down the napkin.
He looked over everyone with his cool lizard eyes. Finally, he said, “Now it’s time to share.”
26
“I’m Walter and this is Sally.”
Quinn tilted his head, a corrective tap.
“Ah, I meant to say, Novice Walter and Novice Sally. My apologies.”
With thin white hair and slim build and only a faint swelling of belly, Walter had the mannerisms and serenity of a successful businessman transitioned to retirement. He now explained as much: “We’re from Chicago. I owned a manufacturing company that made parts that went to Detroit and disappeared into cars. I wouldn’t’ve made ’em if the government didn’t say they had to be in your horseless carriages, so I did, and that put the kids through college, thank you very much.”
The sharing, the Inner Circle Quinn had told them, was about letting the others know why you’d come to the Foundation, what you hoped to get out of the experience. This helped “facilitate the Process.”
Walter continued, “Now, I do some consulting, which means, gettin’ paid to shoot my mouth off. And Sally’s such a good gardener that she’s got green fingers in addition to thumbs.”
Sally smiled at the mention of her name. Gray haired, a heart-shaped face, the woman was trim too, with wattles at the chin. Maybe a recent weight loss. Shaw wondered about cancer, but her skin had a healthy pallor.