Storming the Kingdom

by Jeff Dixon

  Hawk led with a right cross that tagged Hall right across the jaw. The element of surprise, the wallop of the punch, and the intensity of Hawk’s charge sent Douglas sprawling backward across one of the dining cars. Landing with a thud on his back, Hawk followed him and was over top of him before he could move. Hawk’s second punch made contact before anyone else had the chance to react. As his fist found its mark, Hawk reached over and snatched his kingdom key from Hall’s hand with little effort.

  Jamming the key back into his own pocket, he felt Kiran grab him from the side and start pulling him away from Douglas. As Hawk looked over his shoulder, one of the other men threw a fist toward his face. He ducked and the punch sailed over his head. Hawk turned back into Kiran and shoved her away with one arm, as he balled up his fist and threw another roundhouse toward the man who had just missed.

  Hawk connected again, but he knew his time was running out. He was out-manned, and the numbers alone would mean this plan was not going to go far. But he didn’t have anything better, so he kept swinging. As he ducked and threw another punch, he became aware of motion surrounding him.

  From every corner of the room, cast members came streaming in. Dressed in their costumes for a normal workday, there were at least seven, if not more, men descending on the clump of people fighting around the dining cars. The man who had thrown the last punch at Hawk was swallowed up as two men grabbed him and pulled him across the room. Turning to his left, he saw another cast member locked in a wrestling struggle with one of the other men who had been working with Kiran. As he watched, Hawk saw something that each of his rescuers had in common. Protruding from the left rear pocket of each man, a red handkerchief. The Order of the Red Handkerchief had come to the rescue, just as George Colmes had promised.

  Hawk felt a hand on his shoulder, and someone spun him around. He readied himself to throw another punch but found himself looking into a face he recognized. The man’s name was Sandy. Hawk had met him years ago when he had first been given the kingdom key. He had originally thought Sandy was an enemy but had discovered that Sandy, despite a fairly abrasive personality, had been trying to help him. Years ago, he had been the first person to warn Hawk about Kiran, but Hawk had ignored him. Now he was here, rescuing Hawk, and fighting alongside of him.

  “You never learn, do you, Hawk?” Sandy surveyed the brawl taking place around them. “Still hanging out with bad company.”

  “This time not by choice,” Hawk responded. “Thanks for showing up.”

  “Of all the days to signal for help with the red handkerchief. Do you know there’s a category three hurricane on top of us?” Sandy guided Hawk away from the melee and toward the door.

  “Kind of got a storm of my own I’m battling.”

  “Then let us take care of this.” Sandy looked at him with no reservation or additional commentary. “Do what you need to do.”

  Hawk nodded to him and took one more glance over the drive-in theater. The men with Douglas and Kiran were mercenary types to be sure. But although bigger and probably stronger, they were now getting beat down by the numbers of the Order of the Red Handkerchief. Suddenly Hawk’s eyes widened.

  “Where’s Kiran?” Hawk did not see her.

  Sandy turned and surveyed the room. Indeed, Kiran had managed to slip away during the fight. Sandy understood how important it was that they not lose her. He shoved Hawk out the door.

  “I’ll find her, Hawk.” Sandy turned back into the battle, yelling over his shoulder, “You go and do what you need to do!”

  Hawk ran back outside into the stormy morning. The rain was coming down in sharp droplets and the wind was whipping around him. He covered his eyes and raced past the Writer’s Stop into the Streets of America. This unique set of streets creates the illusion of being in New York City, San Francisco, and other places using forced perspective techniques. The buildings are all facades, but depending on where you are standing and which way you are looking, you’ll spot a midtown street or a street right out of Chinatown. Normally, when you listen, you’ll hear the sounds effects of a busy city in the background. Today the storm became the background noise.

  Hawk was rolling the dice by being here and playing another hunch.

  He had been on these streets many times. He loved the detail and had been here recently when he found the subway station for the train that didn’t really exist. This time he was hoping he was right, but this was purely a guess. He ran along the street and turned to his left. He slowed and started searching the buildings surrounding him. Reading each house number, building number, building name, business name, and tenant name, he searched and made his way down the street.

  Occasionally, he glanced back down the street behind him to see if he was being followed. He was alone on the street. The clue had been clear enough: Hit the streets, find a man named David, but don’t become part of his business or you’ll never come back. He had hit the streets, and he was now looking for a man named David. Reaching the end of the street, he saw something that made him smile.

  To his right was a building with a green door and green-trimmed windows. A black iron gate displayed the address as 790. And the name plaque on the side of the building read David L. Davies, Funeral Director.

  CHAPTER FORTY - SIX

  One Day Ago

  11:45 A.M.

  Hawk knew he had guessed correctly. Hit the streets had meant the Streets of America as he had hoped. Find a man named David clearly was the reference to David L. Davies, and his job, funeral director, was the rest of the clue being unraveled: but don’t become part of his business, or you’ll never come back.

  He unfastened the gate and descended the steps toward the green door. Since these homes and buildings were all facades, you never knew what you might find. They could be nothing but walls, the doors themselves might not actually open, or you might discover a makeshift storage area where things could be stashed out of the sight line of guests in the studios. He wouldn’t know what he would find until he opened the door, but whatever it was, it was a connection to Wernher von Braun and Walt Disney.

  As expected the door was locked, so Hawk used the key he had just taken back from Douglas Hall. It slid into the keyhole. With a click, the locking mechanism released. He twisted the doorknob, and the door creaked open.

  Hawk stepped inside a tight, closet-like storage area. There wasn’t much inside. A few chairs stacked on top of one another, a few portable stanchions that were used for crowd control, and a small table about the size of nightstand that was placed so it could be seen through the window. On top of it sat a lamp that would come on in the evening to give the place a lived-in look. Tucked under the corner of the lamp was a piece of paper. Could this be it? Hawk moved in front of the table and knelt down to look at it without touching it.

  It certainly was not secret papers given to Walt Disney by the world’s premier rocket scientist. It looked like a receipt. It was out of place and odd for sure but not what he was looking for. Hawk quickly began turning over the chairs and checking underneath them for something that might be hidden. Nothing. He lay down and looked up under the table; there was nothing there. The feeling that he might have been wrong about this clue began to creep into his mind. He turned over each stanchion and looked underneath. Again, nothing. He moved the lamp to see if there was anything he missed. It seemed to be normal. The only thing that looked remotely out of place in this room was the piece of paper on the table.

  Hawk picked it up to look at it closely. Expecting a stash of papers or a journal had given him reason to dismiss it earlier, but the reality of knowing that this might not be the end of his quest but just another clue now dawned on him like the sun breaking through a cloudy morning. A sudden thudding against the window caused him to jump.

  He turned toward it to see who had made the noise, only to discover it was the rain being driven against the window by a shifting wind that had suddenly gusted. Returning his attention to the paper, he confirmed it was a receipt, yellowed
with age. He read the top line. It was dated January 21, 1966. The letterhead noted it was a receipt from the Gem & Mineral Society of Burbank, California. The words in the memo box describing the transaction had been typed, as would have been expected, by an old typewriter. The block letters read “This gift of Redstone is presented to the City of Kissimmee as a gift from Walt Disney and the Walt Disney Studios.” That was it. He reread the notation. Hawk recalled that Ollie Elsie had said that von Braun had converted a Redstone rocket and gotten it ready to launch Explorer 1 into space. So Redstone was given to the City of Kissimmee, which is right next to where Walt Disney World, by Walt and the studio in January of the year he passed away. The gift was supplied by the Gem & Mineral Society of Burbank, so it was a receipt for an actual rock.

  Hawk scratched his head. The Redstone connection couldn’t be an accident. This wasn’t the secret, it was indeed another clue. But where would he find the rock that Walt had given to the city of Kissimmee? He folded the paper up and placed it into his pocket. With difficulty, he pushed the door open against the wind. The storm must be getting closer, but he still had some time before the really bad stuff arrived. Hurricanes were terrifying; what was happening now was just the first wave of weather carried inside the feeder bands of the storm.

  Back in the Streets of America, he decided to leave in a different direction, bypassing the restaurant where the fight might still be taking place. Cutting around the back of the area, he jogged through the backstage buildings and started to wind his way back toward the front of the studios, where he had left his security car. He was going to need it again. He had not yet replaced his phone, but inside the car was a radio used by their security cast. It took longer than he had hoped, and by the time he got there, the storm was whipping around him. The wind shoved him in one direction then another, it was tough to see when the rain hit him in the face, and the gusts turned the rain to projectiles that stung him even through his clothes.

  The car was still sitting by the turnstiles, just where he and Kiran had left it. Jumping inside, he grabbed the radio and spoke into it. He was answered instantly by security dispatch. After taking a couple of moments to convince the female cast member on the other end of the radio who he was, he gave her Shep’s phone number and had her patch the radio through to his cell phone. Shep answered on the third ring.

  “Shep, are you safe?” Hawk began, still very concerned about his team.

  “Yes, I’m checking into the—”

  “Don’t tell me, I don’t want to know where you are as long as you’re safe.” Hawk stopped him from revealing his location verbally in case someone might be listening in.

  “I’m safe. Are you?”

  “Well, the weather is getting rough, but other than that, I’m fine.”

  “You’re outside in the storm?”

  “Right now, yes.”

  “Hurricane Ginger is a category 3 storm. We’re getting the first of the storm bands. It will only get worse before it gets better. The eye will pass over us tomorrow sometime—we’re in for a wet, windy, and dangerous few hours.” Concern crawled over Shep’s voice.

  “Got it.” But Hawk had no time to wait out the storm. “I need your help. Do you have access to the Internet right now?”

  “Sure…what do you need?”

  “I need to find a rock.”

  “Can you repeat that? I think the storm might be interfering with our connection. I thought you said you needed a rock.” Shep spoke louder in case Hawk couldn’t hear him.

  “You heard me right. Listen closely. Where would I find a rock that was given as a gift to the city of Kissimmee, Florida?”

  Silence fell as Shep processed what Hawk had just asked him. Hawk knew Shep would realize he was serious about the question. The situation was too urgent for Hawk to be playing a joke on his friend.

  “I don’t know, boss…give me a second to see if there’s a museum or something.”

  “Hurry.”

  “Where did the rock come from?” Shep asked over the clacking of a keyboard.

  “Walt Disney Studios in 1966.”

  “OK, 1966, that’s the year Walt died. What have you figured out, Hawk?”

  “Nothing yet. I need to find a rock.”

  “Maybe you should wait until the storm passes.”

  “No time. Did you find my rock?”

  “Besides the ones in your head…I might have something. But I have nothing to connect this to Walt Disney Studios.”

  “Give me what you found.” Hawk put the SUV into gear and pulled out from under the shelter into the storm. He switched the wipers on at full speed. They didn’t really help.

  “There’s a monument of states in downtown Kissimmee. Near or in the town square. Apparently it contains rocks from all fifty states and other places. But I can’t find anything about a rock Disney gave to the city.”

  “That gives me someplace to start. You said it’s downtown?”

  “Yes, but you aren’t going there now, are you?” Shep asked, startled.

  “I would rather not tell you what I’m doing.”

  “How are you getting around anywhere in this weather? You don’t have a car anymore. I got a call asking me if I’d heard from you and if you wanted to move some monorails back off the tracks for the duration of the storm.”

  “What did you tell them?” Hawk pulled out of the parking lot of Hollywood Studios and headed toward US 192, the main thoroughfare into Kissimmee.

  “I told them to leave things where you put them,” Shep noted. “Did you really borrow some monorails in this weather?”

  “Again, best not to tell you. Thanks, Shep.” Hawk clicked off the radio.

  The roads were empty, but the traveling was slow. The wipers fought off the rain with limited success as Hawk navigated at speeds much slower than he might normally travel. The downtown Kissimmee area was just off US 192, which had turned into a huge tourist area, much like had happened around Disneyland in California. The only difference in Florida was that Walt had vision enough to purchase a huge amount of property that would keep his Walt Disney World isolated from all of the other hotels, motels, gimmicky gift shops, roadside attractions, and other eating places that would push up against his creation. All of them were designed to make money in the shadow of Walt’s creation and most of them did quite well.

  Kissimmee had been a cow town, known more for rodeos and livestock than theme parks. Until Disney changed things. Hawk guided his vehicle through the storm toward the historic district of the city. He was looking for a monument of states and, hopefully, the Redstone given to the city by the studio years ago.

  CHAPTER FORTY - SEVEN

  One Day Ago

  3:00 P.M.

  Hawk twisted and turned through the wet streets of downtown Kissimmee. Coming around the corner into the town square, he saw a sign that pointed toward Lakefront Park. The street sign to his right indicated he had somehow managed to turn onto Monument Avenue. This has to be it, Hawk thought. The weather was less intense for the moment. That is how hurricanes tend to show themselves. The swirling nature of the storms allow slight breaks in the ferocity as the feeder bands twirl over the water and back across the land. Hawk was glad for the brief reprieve; he knew it wouldn’t last, but at least the wind was not as fierce for now.

  He arrived at Lakefront Park, on the corner of Johnston Street and East Monument Avenue. The sight that greeted him made him smile; it was one of the oddest things he had ever seen. That was saying a lot, because he had seen a lot. A structure extended at least fifty feet into the air. At the peak of the monument were sculpted the words Tourist Paradise beneath a concrete planet Earth, topped by a concrete bald eagle, over which flew an American flag. Hawk peered through the rain-spattered windshield at this massive mortared fifty-foot pyramid composed of garishly colored concrete slabs. From his vantage point, it looked as if embedded in each slab that made up the pyramid, there was a rock. He unbuckled his seat belt and made his way back into the rain. W
ithout as much wind, it was more like a heavy summer shower, and he walked unhampered to the pyramid for a closer look.

  Finding an information marker, he discovered that the Monument of States was the vision of Dr. Charles Bressler-Pettis, a local tourism booster who wanted a to create a symbol of American unity after the attack on Pearl Harbor. He wrote letters to every governor to send him local rocks. Rocks came in: blocks of native granite, chunks of quartz, small boulders, fossils, and hunks of old buildings. President Franklin D. Roosevelt sent a rock from his Hyde Park estate. By 1943, the doctor had them mortared into a fifty-foot-tall creation, and each rock slab was inscribed with the donor’s name and location. Dedicating it as the Monument of States on March 28, 1943, Dr. Pettis declared it “The World’s Most Unique Monument.” Seeing it now, Hawk agreed with him.

  Since 1943, apparently other pieces had been added, the monument had been cared for, and improvements had been made. As Hawk walked around it, on the side away from the street, he saw a separate monument. A small, boxlike creation had a place of honor at the foot of the Monument of States. White concrete, it featured a single rock on the left side of the display with a plaque on the right. Hawk smiled as he read the marker: “Presented to the City of Kissimmee, FLA.—From Walt Disney Studios—Gem & Mineral Society—Burbank, CALIF.—JAN. 21, 1966.” This was it. But what was it?

  Hawk walked around it, inspecting it closely. There was no lock mechanism on it, so it was not designed for him to use the kingdom key. It was a marker with a rock embedded in it. The stone looked as if had been painted pale white to match the rest of the marker. Hawk reached down and placed his hand on the rock. He tried to move it and felt the slightest give. He wondered if there was something underneath the rock. He knew if he started messing with it, there was a possibility he would damage it, but the stakes were high and he was willing to risk it. Moving it gently at first, then with more force, he felt it begin to give more and more. Finally it released, and he was able to pull it out of the display.