Soul Identity (7 page)

Bob sucked on the end of a noodle and it wiggled its way up into his mouth. “No, Mr. Scott. Soul Identity found me.” Bob looked off into the distance, his eyes focused somewhere over my head. “I was an assistant physical therapist, working at a clinic and fitness club in
Tampa
.”

I waited for him to continue.

He sucked another noodle into his mouth. “One day this man came into the club and told me that a distant relative might have left me a large inheritance, but he needed to first ask me some questions. Later I learned he was a soul seeker.”

“What did he ask?”

“The usual—when and where I was born, and where I lived growing up. Then he pulled out a reader and took a picture of my eyes. He told me he would let me know about the inheritance within the week.”

I put down my chopsticks and pushed my plate aside. “I would have thought somebody was trying to con me.”

A waiter came by and cleared our plates. Once he was gone, Bob continued.

“I also thought he was conning me. But I figured there was no harm in giving him a picture of my eyes, especially if there was a potential inheritance out there with my name on it.”

“And of course he called back, or you and I wouldn’t be sitting here and talking about it.”

Bob laughed. “That’s right, sir. He did call back. And he introduced me to Soul Identity, and he started me down the path to finding the real purpose of my life.”

Which seemed to be collecting dolls and driving delivery trucks. But I kept that thought to myself.

The bill came, and Bob paid it in cash. As we walked outside to the limo, I asked, “How did you get from
Tampa
to
Maryland
?”

“Everything changed after that day,” he said. “I quit my job, packed my car, and headed to
Massachusetts
. I went to the depositary and looked at my soul line collection and got to know my previous selves. I joined SI Delivery once I realized we shared a common work heritage. Within a year I was assigned to the
Maryland
routes.” Bob stopped at the limo. “Sir, my life started again almost six years ago, and I remember that joyous feeling as if it were yesterday. I can’t wait until you also share that joy.”

I opened the back door. “Well, Bob, it’s nice to see that you’ve got your direction figured out. Just knowing where you’re going puts you ahead of most people in this world.” I climbed inside.

“Yes, sir.” Bob got into the front. “We have a couple hours before we arrive at our headquarters. Maybe you can watch the DVD Mr. Morgan sent.”

The video opened with the image of the Soul Identity logo emblazoned in gold on a dark green shield. The shield was hanging on the wall of an office. The camera panned left to a window, through which I could see a tree-lined pasture. It then zoomed in on a man sitting at a desk, his hands clasped together on an empty blotter.

The man smiled and said, “Good day, Scott. I am Archibald Morgan.”

Archie looked like he was at least in his seventies with a full head of pure white hair. He wore a light green shirt and a dark green bowtie with white polka dots. His eyebrows were long and white, and his clean-shaven face had just a few wrinkles around his mouth and eyes.

Archie continued. “During the next few weeks, it is my intent to work closely with you as you review and improve Soul Identity’s security procedures.”

I pressed pause on the remote. “Bob, are you watching this?”

“No, sir, I’m driving.”

“Can you pull over and watch this with me?”

“Yes, sir. There is a rest area coming up in a mile or so.”

I waited as he drove into the parking lot. When he didn’t move, I said, “Come on back here—I want to ask you questions about what we see.”

He climbed in back and sat next to me.

I went to the beginning and paused when the camera was at the window. “Where is this?” I asked.

Bob studied the monitor. “That’s the view out the back windows of our headquarters. We’re going there now.”

Good answer. “Let’s move forward.” I pressed play until Archie was smiling, then I paused. “Who’s this guy?”

“That is Mr. Morgan, our executive overseer.”

I pressed play. Archie introduced himself. Another pause. “Does it sound like him?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. That’s definitely Mr. Morgan.”

We continued watching the video together. Archie told us about my role as his security consultant. He gave a quick tour of the Soul Identity grounds. Then he showed us a guesthouse.

I paused the video again. “We’re not staying at a hotel?”

“No, Mr. Scott, we don’t stay in hotels when we visit headquarters. Soul Identity provides us private housing on the campus grounds.”

“What if I want a hotel room?”

“Sir, I assure you that you will be very comfortable in the Soul Identity quarters. We have much better amenities than you would find in a hotel.”

These guys were paying me twenty-four hours a day, so I figured they had the right to choose the place I slept. I nodded and hit play.

Archie resumed speaking. “George and Sue will take good care of you while you reside with us.” The camera panned to the left, and a smiling fifties-something-looking couple waved at the camera.

The video reverted to the office. Archie stood next to his desk. “You are already learning about Soul Identity. I am sure Bob has even shared his physical-therapist-to-delivery-person story with you.”

Bob sat up straight. “Mr. Morgan knows my testimony?”

Archie continued. “And I would guess that by now you have discovered some information from Madame Flora.” He sighed. “But there is something that I must share for you to understand our urgency.”

He walked behind his desk and sat down. He seemed to struggle to turn his thoughts into words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he nodded twice, as if he made up his mind.

He stared into the camera. “Soul Identity is under attack from some very bad people. I do not know if we can survive. I need your help before we are destroyed.”

The screen froze for a second, stuck on an image of Archie with a big frown on his face. Then it went blank.

Bob stared at the dark screen. He stroked the pendant under his shirt and chanted to himself.

“Are you all right?” I asked him.

“We have enemies, sir, but I didn’t know Mr. Morgan was worried.” He stared at me, and I could see he was working himself into a panic. He grabbed my arm. “Mr. Scott, Soul Identity cannot be destroyed. We need it. I need it.” He squeezed hard. “You must help us.”

As an outside security consultant, my job is limited to giving advice. I don’t implement solutions. Furthermore, my clients are very creative at coming up with reasons for not following my suggestions. But explaining this to Bob wasn’t going to help. So I said, “I’ll try.”

Bob nodded, and after a minute or two he seemed to calm down. “Thank you, Mr. Scott. I’d better get you to headquarters right away.”

I watched the
New England
scenery flash by outside the window. There were more evergreens up here than on the
Eastern Shore
, and a lot more rocks and hills. I alternated between dozing and watching until we turned off the highway.

I flipped back to the GPS and zoomed in. We had reached the town of
Sterling
Massachusetts
. I looked out the window, and saw a metal sculpture of a lamb.

Bob pointed at it. “That’s Mary Sawyer’s lamb, as in ‘Mary had a Little Lamb.’ The author was from
Sterling
.”

I filed away the trivia. “How often do you come here?” I asked.

“Oh, maybe three or four times a year, sir,” he said. “We will arrive in six minutes—would you like to put on your uniform?”

I didn’t really want to change in the car. “Is it necessary?” I asked.

“Yes, sir. Otherwise I have to bring you to the guesthouse first, and as you can see,” he held up his left arm and showed me his watch, “it’s already two forty-five. You have a three o’clock appointment with Mr. Morgan.”

I looked at the black jeans and polo shirt. “Will these clothes fit me?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How do you know my size?”

He smiled. “Madame Flora told me. She’s been pretty accurate in the past.”

Definitely wackos. I finished changing just as we rolled up to the gate.

Bob flashed his membership
card at the guard, and the gate rolled open. We turned into a large and empty parking lot.

I couldn’t see any buildings. “Where are we?” I asked.

He got out and opened my door. “Mr. Scott, it is my privilege to welcome you to the Soul Identity Headquarters.”

“Can only true believers see it?”

He pointed behind me at two mounds covered with a carpet of lush green grass. “The main hall is right behind those hills.”

I gestured at the empty parking lot. “Are we the only people here?”

“Of course not, sir. Hundreds of employees work in this office. The limo doesn’t fit in our underground parking lot.” He took a deep breath, brushed some fuzz off his pants, and straightened out a wrinkle in his shirt.

I watched his preparations. “It looks like you’re getting ready for a date,” I said.

“Something like that.” He bent down and checked his hair in the limo’s side mirror. “While you are meeting with Mr. Morgan, I will be with membership services, planning my century award ceremony.”

“This is for the hundred years of service?”

He nodded. “I have to make a speech.”

We drew closer, and an immense Georgian Architecture building loomed in front of us. It stood three stories tall and over a hundred feet wide. The occasional dormer window broke up the otherwise straight black roof line. White trim accented its pale yellow siding. I could see an underground garage entrance on the building’s left side.

“I feel like we’ve stumbled into an Edgar Allen Poe story,” I said.

“There’s nothing scary about our headquarters, sir.”

Bob sounded like he was trying to convince himself. He walked across the driveway and up the porch steps. “Let’s go inside,” he said.

I hurried to catch up. We entered through a tall wooden door and stood inside a large lobby. A young receptionist smiled from behind a massive oak desk across the room. “May I help you?” she called.

We walked closer, and I saw she wore a light green silk blouse and small emerald earrings. “Bob!” She jumped up from the desk and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. “I was wondering when you’d get here.” She went back to her seat, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her.

I looked at Bob. “So that’s why you fixed your hair.”

Bob’s cheeks flamed red. “
Elizabeth
, this is Mr. Scott Waverly. He’s got a meeting with Mr. Morgan.”

Elizabeth
stuck out her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Waverly. Especially since your arrival brought Bob back up north. He’s been avoiding me, I think.”

Bob looked at me with a ‘what can I do’ expression on his face. “I’m sorry,
Elizabeth
. I’ve been—”

“Busy, I know.” She held up her hands and mimed quotations. “Number one delivery person in the Mid-Atlantic region.” She threw me a wry smile. “He’s very proud of that, Mr. Waverly.”

“I’ve noticed.” I looked around the lobby. “Who are the people in all these portraits?”

Elizabeth
pointed at the walls. “The current overseers are on your right, and past overseers are on your left.” She pointed above her, and I saw a picture of a middle aged lady wearing a green scarf over a lime colored blouse. “That’s Ann Blake up there, the depositary chief. She’s also my mom.” She picked up her yellow telephone. “Excuse me while I inform Mr. Morgan of your arrival.”

I walked around and examined the portraits. Apparently there were only two current overseers: one painting was of Archie, looking forty years younger than he appeared in the video. The portrait of the other overseer was of a younger man barely out of his teens.

Elizabeth
hung up the phone. “Mr. Morgan is ready. Bob, please escort Mr. Waverly upstairs.”

As we walked through the door behind her, she called out, “And come back here after you drop him off.”

The door closed, and we stood in what appeared to be an elevator lobby. I nudged Bob with my elbow. “Somebody’s really happy you’re in town, dude.”

Bob leaned in close to my ear. “I’m scared of her mother,” he whispered. “I’m afraid to get anywhere near her daughter at the office.”

“Why, is Ann Blake an old battle axe?”

“Actually, I’m very nice, Mr. Waverly.” A live version of the lady in the portrait above
Elizabeth
’s desk stood next to me. She had a strong
Texas
drawl. Four men in spiffy dark green suits stood behind her and waited as she smiled and stuck out her hand. “Ann Blake.”

“Call me Scott.” I took her hand.

She squeezed hard and released.

“Do you know Bob?” I stepped back to get out of the line of fire.

“Of course I know him, and I like him too, whatever he may think. We wish we saw more of him around here.” She slapped him on the shoulder. “How are you, Bob?”

He stammered out a “Good afternoon, Ms. Blake.”

“You’re coming for dinner at our place tomorrow night.” She pointed at me. “Bring Scott with you. Be there at eight thirty sharp.” She strode off with her retinue.

I smiled. “That went well.”

Bob shook his head. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Is her cooking that bad?”

“No, sir. She intimidates the heck out of me.”

“She puts on her pants one leg at a time, just like you.” I smiled. “But then you put on shoes, and she puts on cowboy boots. Maybe it’s the boots that are scaring you.”

“Maybe.” He pressed the elevator call button and the doors opened. An ancient elevator attendant sat inside on a yellow stool. He was wearing green pants with suspenders, a white shirt, and a green cap.

“Third floor, James, we’re going to Mr. Morgan’s office,” Bob said.

James sat up straight. “Next stop third floor. All aboard who’s getting aboard.” He closed the doors and the elevator hummed. It stopped, and the doors opened. “Third floor, and mind the gap as you disembark.”

We got off, the elevator closed, and we stood on the marble floor of a grand foyer. “James used to be a train conductor,” Bob said. “Old habits die hard.”

“Was he a train conductor in this life, or in a previous life?” I asked.

“Of course this life, Mr. Scott. Nobody remembers anything from their previous lives. Except what you learn in there.” He pointed to the left. “The depositary is just down that hall.”

We walked to the right, made another right, and entered an open door on the left. Archie sat at the same desk, in the same pose, wearing the same smile he wore in the video. He sported a different bowtie, though: this one had green and white stripes. He stood up when we approached.

“Welcome to Soul Identity, Scott.” Archie shook my hand. “Did you have a nice trip?”

“We had a great trip.”

Archie turned. “Welcome back, Bob. Thank you for taking good care of our guest.”

Bob nodded. “You’re welcome, Mr. Morgan.” He reached into his pocket and handed me a card. “Mr. Scott, here’s my phone number. When you’re ready to go, just give me a ring.” He left.

I walked over to the window and gazed down at a green field bordered with evergreens and lined with stone walls. “This is quite a view.”

Archie stood next to me. “It reminds me of stability. The view hasn’t changed in the last thirty years.”

I looked at him. “You’ve been here for thirty years?”

“More than that, I am afraid. I came to this organization sixty-four years ago, when I was twenty-one years old.” He turned to me. “Did you watch the video?”

I nodded.

He pointed to the left corner of the room. I saw four comfortable looking leather chairs arranged around a low oak table. “We can sit there. Can I get you coffee?”

I sank into one of the chairs. “Coffee would be great. With cream and sweetener, please.”

He picked up the yellow phone on the table. “Two coffees, Brian. A fatty fake for my guest.” He hung up.

“Are you from
Seattle
?” I asked.

“My assistant spent a few years out there before coming back east. He insists I use his awkward names for the coffee.” He frowned, and his bushy white eyebrows stuck straight out. “Let us discuss why you are here.”

That sounded good to me. But then a short and slim young man walked in. “One skinny bitter and one fatty fake, as ordered.” He put the cups and saucers on the table. “I also brought some cookies for your guest. They are not for you, Mr. Morgan.” He laid a plate of two steaming chocolate chip cookies next to my coffee.

“Thank you, Brian,” Archie said. “Do you have any more bran muffins?”

“You’ve had two this afternoon. Are you sure you should?”

Archie sighed. “I suppose not. Please close the door on your way out.”

Brian smiled. “You betcha, Mr. Morgan.” He left.

I slid my plate of cookies toward Archie. “Wanna share with me?”

He leaned forward and picked up one of the cookies. He took a bite and sank back in his chair with a sigh. “He tortures me with these cookies every time I have a visitor.”

“So get a new assistant,” I said.

Archie shook his head. “Brian has made himself indispensable. And my daily ration of bran muffins is probably good for me.” He leaned forward and dropped his voice to barely above a whisper. “I told you I need our Internet applications audited, and I do. But the real reason you are here is to stop those who are destroying Soul Identity.”

“That’s what you said on the video.” I crossed my legs. “But if you know who is destroying you, why do you need me? Call the cops and let them handle it.”

“Because I cannot pin them down. Even with the signs all around us.” He held up his hand and counted on his fingers. “Unrecovered overseers, unreported members, and misplaced deposits, just for a start.”

“I’m lost.”

“Let me show you.” Archie walked over to his desk and opened a drawer. He withdrew a bulging yellow folder. Back at the coffee table, he rifled through it and pulled out a stack of papers. “This is what they are doing to us.” He handed me a sheet.

I looked at a chart labeled “Overseer Recoveries.” The line showed an early decline, then a steady rate until a precipitous drop-off on its far right. “If this was your stock price chart,” I said, “people would be jumping out the windows.”

He nodded. “As well they should. It is our overseer recovery rate. Each data point covers one century.”

The first century showed forty overseers recovered. It dropped to seven for the next century, and then hovered between nine and eleven for the remainder, until the last one. That bar had only two.

“What’s wrong with this?” I asked. “The twenty-first century is less than a decade old, and you’ve already had two, what are they?”

“Recoveries.” Archie shook his head. “We do not use your calendar. In July we completed our twenty-five hundred and ninety-second year. That last bar is only eight years short of a century. Ninety-two years, and only two overseers recovered. We’re being strangled.” He handed me another sheet.

“New deposit value over the last century,” I read. The chart showed a drastic falling off in the last three years.

“They’re keeping the money away.” Archie thrust another in my hands. “Look at our membership rates.”

This chart was labeled “New members this century,” and showed that relatively few members had joined in the last decade.

Archie gave me another sheet. “This is the last one, and it is by far the worst,” he said.

The final chart said “Depositary withdrawals this decade.” It showed a huge recent spike of activity in the last year.

“We are close to the point of insolvency,” he said in a whisper.

I cycled through the four sheets again, trying to make sense of what they meant.

After a minute I glanced up. “I have no clue what a recovered overseer is,” I said. “I don’t know the impact of no new deposits or no new members. And I’m struggling to believe that you guys have been around for almost twenty-six hundred years.”

He looked ready to interrupt, but I held up my hand.

“I do understand the threat of insolvency.” I handed him the papers. “But if you want me to help, you’ve got to get me up to speed. I’ll try really hard to suspend my disbelief.”

Archie stared at me, and I stared back. After a minute he nodded. “I shall keep reminding myself that you are neither a member nor a believer.” He drummed his fingers on his armchair, looking out the window. “But how can I explain?”

I sat waiting.

His expression brightened, and he stood up. “We shall start with the basics,” he said. “I will show you my soul line collection in the depositary.”