“I’ll be along in a minute.”
The man said insistently, “No, no, no! I don’t want you to get in trouble. You know the Rules. A Summons, you have to get there immediately. They mark down things like that, and it delays your training if you get too many demerits. I know you’ll want to be a Journeyman as soon as you can.”
The club was just feet away. He absolutely needed it for what was coming next.
But he saw no way out of this dilemma. He sighed and joined the man.
“You have your notebook with you. Good for you. Always jot things down. That’s important.”
“Rule Nine,” Shaw recited.
“Yes, yes. I hear you’re quite the mapmaker too.”
So someone had noticed it and reported him. No surprise.
“Didn’t want to get lost on the grounds. And I’m not that talented.”
“Oh, modest man.”
“Do you draw too?”
“Me? Oh, brother, no. I drew something, you’d look at it and say, ‘What the dickens’s that?’” He seemed to blush. “But I have one talent. I can hum like an opera singer.”
“Hum?”
“I don’t do good with words but I can hum like Paverelli.”
“Pavarotti?”
The man nodded. “Off season, I’m going to try out for some choirs or choruses in Omaha. Off season, I mean the fall and winter, when the camp here’s closed. You know Master Eli travels to the Far East, meditates, studies, hones his skills? He’s the smartest and most generous man in the world. Don’t you think?”
“He is.”
Timothy looked around at the people moving toward the Square. “A Summons takes priority over everything.” He lowered his voice. “I knew a Companion here once who had an accident in his pants because that was better than showing up late for a Summons. I myself probably would’ve made a stop in the head. But I respect what he did. How’s your training going?”
“Good.”
Timothy did the shoulder salute to an AU. “Master Eli’s training me himself. We’ve found a lot of Minuses from my Yesterdays. I was on the wrong path all of my life. I’d built a city of Minuses. I told that to Master Eli and he liked it. He used it in a Discourse. A ‘City of Minuses.’ And he pointed me out.” Timothy beamed.
Shaw and the man passed Building 14, whose front door was open. There was movement inside, three or four AUs. A Select as well.
Timothy said wistfully, “I miss TV.”
“Sorry?” Shaw asked.
“Be our secret, right?” Timothy whispered, looking around. In anyone else, reluctance to admit that he liked television would be insignificant, or even played as a joke.
“Sure.”
“I wouldn’t mind watching a TV program here from time to time. When I was married we watched all sorts of fun shows. Not the news, of course. Master Eli wouldn’t allow that. But maybe sitcoms. Big Bang Theory. That was a hoot. The new Star Trek. And Kelsey Grammer. Frasier. Oh, that man made us laugh. My wife and me. When we were . . . Well, it was funny.”
“Did you talk to Master Eli about getting TVs?”
“Oh, I’m not one to make waves. He says we can’t be distracted from the Process.”
They arrived at the Square. Shaw stood at the outskirts of the crowd, gripping his notebook. He wondered if he could slip out, unseen, and retrieve the war club. No. A number of AUs and Inner Circles were herding everyone into the Square, as if guarding the perimeter. The crowd was the full complement, about a hundred people, the Novices, Apprentices and Journeymen in the middle, as usual. At stage right an AU was mounting a camera. The previous Discourses had been filmed on the ICs’ tablets; this was the first time a camera, on a tripod, had been set up since Shaw had been here.
On the stage was a table, and on it sat a bottle of red wine, the cork sitting loosely in the neck.
Eli was off the stage, talking to Journeyman Marion. She was having trouble keeping from smiling in pride. Pinned to her blouse was a small bunch of dried lavender. Maybe the herb was supposed to be the symbol of the new group. Beside them stood Steve.
Eli nodded and he and Journeyman Marion climbed the stairs, followed by the chosen Companions and unsmiling Anja. As they took their places behind the table, the applause began, shouts too, instigated, of course, by the ICs. The two men and two women—the new Circle—seemed of mixed emotions. Some were embarrassed by the attention, some were smiling proudly. They sat behind the table. Marion took her place in the center. Eli stood behind her. It was a modified Last Supper tableau.
At Eli’s gesture, Steve set down his bulging notebook, then stepped forward and filled the glasses sitting in front of each place. One for Eli too.
When the glasses were topped off, Eli stepped forward and looked over the crowd.
“Friends and Companions, it is my honor to welcome these individuals to our new group. The Circle of Representatives. There will be much work ahead of us, as we expand the Foundation throughout the country. And throughout the world. But we won’t be stopped from spreading the word that the best . . .”
“. . . is yet to come!”
Wild applause.
Eli raised his glass. “Here’s to the Process. To the Foundation . . . To the Tomorrow!”
The Circle downed the wine. As Eli lifted the glass to his lips, there came a cry from the ground. “Stop!” It was Hugh, running onto the stage. He slapped the wineglass from Eli’s hand. It crashed to the planks and shattered.
Gasps from the audience.
“It’s been poisoned! The wine! You’re going to die!”
61.
Cries rose from the Companions in the Square. The inductees leapt to their feet, dropping their glasses, horror on their faces. Everyone but Eli had drunk the wine.
“He got rat poison from Building Fourteen!” Hugh shouted. “Call the doctor! Get him here now!”
An AU pulled a walkie-talkie off his hip and radioed for help.
Eli called, “What is this? What’s going on?”
Hugh brandished a sheet of paper. “We found this. A business plan he’s drawn up. He wants to destroy the Foundation. Start his own. He’s killing those you picked for the new group, Master Eli! And trying to kill you too.”
Gasps and screams from the crowd. Several of the people onstage were gagging themselves to induce vomiting. They were disturbingly successful.
“He? Who?” Eli demanded. “Who are you talking about?”
“Him!” Hugh said, spinning around. His face was contorted with anger. He stabbed a finger at Steve.
The young man blustered, “I . . .” He looked to Eli, then back to Hugh. “No. I didn’t do anything. I wouldn’t. You know I wouldn’t.”
“Two Companions saw him in the gardening shed with the wine bottle.”
“No, I swear.” Steve’s face was crimson. “I never . . . I love you, Master Eli.”
Hugh said, “He was overheard saying he’d lived in your shadow for too long. You didn’t treat him right.”
“Treat him right?” Eli whispered. “He was like my son.”
“Toxic!” somebody cried.
“He’s a Toxic!”
“Judas!”
“Cast him out!”
“Kill him!”
“The doctor? Where’s the doctor?”
Colter Shaw glanced at the agitated crowd, the fury in their faces.
Frenzy and panic too.
Better get to it.
He walked toward the stairs leading up to the stage. He disliked hurting anyone. He did, however, need to even the odds, given Hugh’s martial arts skills and the fact he was vastly outnumbered. He walked casually past Eli’s two bodyguards. Since the attention was wholly on the stage, Gray was concentrating on the drama, and Shaw thrust a fist into his gut. The man gasped, paralyzed. Shaw executed a fast wrestl
ing takedown. The man landed flat on his back, moaning and gasping, the air blasted from his lung.
“Uhn, uhn, uhn . . .”
Shaw knew the feeling. It wasn’t pleasant.
In two seconds, the man’s gun was plucked from the holster and racked. It was a Glock 26, nicknamed a “Baby Glock,” for its small size. It had, though, a double-stack magazine; assuming it was fully loaded, Shaw would now have ten rounds to play with. He trained the weapon on Squat, who stared with wide eyes. Shaw motioned him to the ground and patted his hips. As Victoria had said, he was unarmed. “Ties. Now.”
He extracted zip ties.
“Him, then you. Fast.”
Squat complied.
Shaw searched and found he had no weapon.
A woman standing nearby glanced over and gasped. “What’re you doing?” Her voice was incredulous.
Shaw said matter-of-factly, “Be quiet.”
The woman, wearing a purple amulet, said, “You can’t tell me what to do.”
Shaw leaned toward her and growled, “Sit. Down. And be quiet.”
“Okay. Yessir. I will. I will.” She dropped onto the grass.
He climbed to the stage, the gun held at his side, away from the crowd. Eli and Hugh glanced at him once, briefly, then again. This time they noted the weapon. Eli’s face grew astonished—then red with rage. Hugh cocked his head, noted the bodyguards and remained motionless, waiting.
Two of the AUs standing at ground level gathered that something was wrong. They glanced to Hugh, who gestured them to stand down. He’d observed that Shaw knew weapons and appeared prepared to use them.
Shaw strode up to Eli and held out his hand for the lavalier microphone, pinned to his white tunic, and the transmittal.
The furious man pulled it off and slapped it hard into Shaw’s hand. The resulting thud was resounding.
Shaw returned to the center stage, scanned about him for threats. And saw none. Holding the mike to his mouth, Shaw said, “Listen to me! There wasn’t any poison. It was sugar.”
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.”
62.
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.
63.
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.”
His gut and shoulder in agony from the piling on, Shaw struggled for breath.
“Kill him!” shouted someone.
Hugh and an AU pulled Shaw to his feet. Hugh said, “Get him to the Assistance Unit.”
The Goodbye Man Page 27