City of Sand

by Robert Kroese

  “Yeah, I’m familiar with that stuff. What’s your point, Stone?”

  “My point is that there were a lot of shady, government-funded projects going on in the forties and fifties, and GLARE was the shadiest. We don’t even know half the stuff the MKUltra guys did, because most of the documents were destroyed by the CIA. And those were the projects that were officially sanctioned by the CIA. GLARE was so sensitive that as far as I can tell, even the CIA didn’t know what the people working there were doing. I can only guess, but we know for sure that Glazier was involved, and if you read some of the things he was saying at the time… well, it wouldn’t be a surprise if GLARE was working on some pretty hair-raising stuff.”

  “Testing on civilians. Dumping chemicals in the water to see what they would do to people. You think this whole town was subject to some kind of experiment?”

  “Like I said,” Benjamin replied, “I just don’t know. But I’m convinced that Glazier had Spiegel killed to cover it up. And fifty years later, Jessica figured it out, and he had her killed too.”

  “But Cameron Payne was in on it as well, right? Why didn’t Glazier have him killed too?”

  Benjamin nodded. “I’ve been thinking about that. I think something changed the equation. Jessica may have had an attack of conscience. That would explain why she was down at the creek. She was trying to determine if the dumping was still going on. She was okay with keeping the lid on a fifty-year-old murder, but if people were still being poisoned….”

  “Yeah, okay,” said Lentz, nodding. “For one reason or another, Jessica had second thoughts.”

  “Maybe she goes to Payne, tries to convince him they need to go public.”

  “But Payne, being the asshole he is, doesn’t care. He just wants his money.”

  “Right. She goes to the creek to take a sample of the water. Maybe Payne comes with her, pretending to be sympathetic. And he kills her.”

  “And Glazier is in on it?” asked Lentz.

  “Maybe, maybe not. Seems a little sloppy for Glazier. But he’s part of the conspiracy, so he’s as guilty as Payne. Payne tells him what he’s done, and Glazier freaks out. He thought he could solve this problem on his own, the way he solves every problem—by throwing money at it. But Jessica’s murder attracts too much attention. So he calls in his old pals in Washington to bail him out. The FBI swoops in, confiscates all our evidence, and takes Cameron Payne into custody.”

  “You think it was Hill and Kassel who attacked you and took the GLARE documents?”

  Benjamin shook his head. “Again, too sloppy. That was Payne, trying to keep control of things. He’s a loose cannon. No wonder Glazier had his friends lock him up.”

  Lentz was silent for a while. “Well,” he said at last, “it’s a nice story. I’m not sure I buy it, but it certainly would explain some things. Unfortunately, if it’s anywhere close to the truth, we’ll probably never know.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Feeling tired and defeated, Benjamin returned to the motel. His cell phone rang the moment he stepped inside the room. It was Lucia.

  “Benjamin, are you busy?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “Why?”

  “Felipe is still agitated. I can’t seem to calm him down. What did you say to him?”

  “I swear, Lucia,” replied Benjamin, “I just asked him about his model. There was a discrepancy—”

  “A what?” she asked.

  “A mistake. Something in his model. A mistake I’d seen someone else make. It’s hard to explain. I thought Felipe might know something. It was stupid. I’m sorry.”

  “Know something about what?”

  “Honestly, I don’t think I could explain it if I tried. Just something I noticed about his model. Like I said, stupid.”

  “Well, something you said made an impression on him. He keeps saying your name.”

  “My name?” asked Benjamin. “I didn’t even tell him my name.”

  “He keeps saying ‘Stone, Stone, Stone.’”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence.”

  “Felipe hardly ever talks,” Lucia said. “When he does, it’s usually just mumbling about the placement of something in his model. Now suddenly he starts saying your name over and over, right after… whatever happened between you two?”

  “I don’t know what to tell you,” said Benjamin. “I tried to ask him about his model. That’s it. I’m certain I never said my name.” A long pause followed. “Is there something I can do?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lucia after a moment. “I think… I think he wants to tell you something.”

  Benjamin didn’t reply. Lucia clearly wanted his help figuring out what was wrong with Felipe, but she was trying to maintain her air of disapproval. “If you don’t think it will make things worse,” he said at last, “I could come over and try to talk to him again.”

  Another long pause. “Could you?”

  “Of course,” said Benjamin. “I’ll be right there.”

  When Benjamin arrived, Felipe was the same as he ever was. He simply stared at his model, without moving or speaking. He seemed to have no interest whatsoever in Benjamin.

  “I don’t understand it,” said Lucia, as they stood in the doorway observing him. “He was rocking, and holding his head, and kept saying ‘Stone, Stone, Stone.’ Sofia was terrified. But he stopped just before you got here.”

  Benjamin didn’t know what to say. “Should I try talking to him? I don’t want to upset him again.”

  “I think it will be okay,” said Lucia.

  Benjamin nodded. “Felipe,” he said quietly. “Did you have something to tell me?”

  But Felipe made no sign of having heard him.

  “Felipe,” Benjamin said a little louder. “Lucia said you were saying my name. You were saying ‘Stone, Stone, Stone.’ Is that because you wanted me to come here? Did you want to say something to me?”

  Felipe simply stared at the model, paying Benjamin no heed.

  Benjamin turned to Lucia and shrugged.

  “Well, at least he’s quiet now,” said Lucia. “I should check on Sofia.”

  She walked down the hall to the living room, and Benjamin followed. Sofia was curled up on the couch, clutching a pillow tightly.

  “Felipe is better, Sofia,” said Lucia. “You don’t need to worry about him.”

  Sofia didn’t respond.

  Lucia sat down next to her, putting her hand on Sofia’s knee. “Niña, qué pasa? Are you worried about Felipe?”

  Sofia shook her head. Tears began to roll down her cheeks. “I keep seeing them, mamá. When I close my eyes, I see them.”

  “See what, mi cielo?”

  “The buildings,” said Lucia. “I can’t stop seeing them.”

  Lucia sighed. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know. We’ll figure it out. The doctors will help you.”

  Sofia nodded, but didn’t seem convinced.

  “I need to make dinner, mi niña. Do you want to watch some TV?”

  She nodded again, and Lucia turned on the television. Blue’s Clues came on, and Sofia was suddenly enraptured.

  Sofia nodded to Benjamin and turned to go into the kitchen. He followed.

  “What was that about?” said Benjamin quietly, once they were in the kitchen. Sofia was oblivious to them. “She sees buildings?”

  Lucia sighed. “She’s been having nightmares. She says she sees airplanes flying into two very tall buildings. At first I thought it was just something she saw on television, but the nightmares seem to be getting more vivid, and now she’s says she’s seeing them when she’s awake.”

  So Sofia was having dreams too, thought Benjamin. Visions of some other place, some other time. Maybe just a fantasy constructed from flashes of things she saw on the news, but maybe something more.

  “When did this start?” asked Benjamin.

  “A few days ago,” said Lucia. “The first dream was the night before I met you at Mr. Glazier’s house. I didn’t think anything of it at first, b
ut they keep getting worse. I took her to the doctor this morning, but he wasn’t much help. He referred me to a child psychologist. We’re supposed to see him tomorrow.”

  Benjamin nodded. “Sofia has a vivid imagination,” he said. “Jessica was the same way. She used to get all worked up about the craziest things. The things in her head were so real, she sometimes had a hard time distinguishing them from reality. She grew out of it. I’m sure Sofia will be fine. The psychologist should be able to help.”

  “I hope so,” said Lucia. “I’ve already got my hands full with Felipe. And I’m worried Sofia….” She didn’t need to finish the thought.

  “You’re afraid Sofia is going to end up like Felipe.”

  Lucia bit her lip, but didn’t reply.

  “It’s really not my place to say,” said Benjamin, “but I think you’re borrowing trouble you don’t need. Sofia is a very bright, very sociable little girl. I honestly don’t think you have anything to worry about. There’s nothing wrong with her.” As he said it, Benjamin realized he believed it. There wasn’t anything wrong with Sofia. Most likely she just had a powerful imagination. And even if the dreams were something more, it only meant that Sofia could see things others couldn’t. That wasn’t a disability; it was a gift. But then he remembered what Sabbia had said: Being able to see the future is too much for a person to take. What did that mean, exactly? That if Sofia possessed the gift of precognition, she would ultimately become self-destructive? Or was there another path?

  “Felipe wasn’t always like that,” said Lucia.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was a perfectly normal, happy child. That’s what Papá says, anyway. He says something happened to Felipe when he was around Sofia’s age. He changed. Became very quiet and started to spend all day in his room. Wouldn’t participate in school. They took him to doctors, but no one could help. Finally they just left him alone. He’s been like that ever since. He lives in his own fantasy world.”

  “There’s no reason to think that’s going to happen to Sofia,” said Benjamin. “She’s not Felipe. And psychology has come a long way since the 1950s. The doctors will help her, I promise.”

  Lucia nodded glumly. “I hope you’re right,” she said. “Well, I should start on dinner. Papá will be home soon. You’re welcome to stay, if you like, but you have to stay out of my kitchen.” She managed a weak smile at him.

  “Do you mind if I try talking to Sofia?” he asked. “I know I don’t have a great track record….”

  “Don’t feel bad about Felipe. He just gets worked up sometimes. You didn’t know. And yes, please, talk to Sofia. She likes you.”

  Benjamin smiled and walked back to the couch. He sat down next to Sofia and watched Blues Clues with her for a while.

  “I like Steve,” said Sofia after some time. “He’s cute.”

  “Yeah, he seems like a nice guy,” said Benjamin. “Good with dogs. And salt shakers.”

  Sofia was quiet for a moment as the two of them watched Steve trying to puzzle out a clue. It reminded him of sitting on the couch with Jessica on his lap, watching Barney the dinosaur. He hated that big purple dinosaur, but he treasured those moments with Jessica.

  “Do you see the buildings too?” asked Sofia.

  “The buildings in your dream?” asked Benjamin. “I don’t think so. What do they look like?”

  Sofia shrugged. “Like buildings. Two of them. Really tall. The airplanes hit them. One of the buildings falls down. Then there’s lots of smoke, and I can’t breathe. That’s when I wake up. Except now I see them when I’m awake too.”

  “Where are you, in the dream?”

  “A big city. I’m late for my job. In the dream, I work in one of the buildings. But I never get there, because of the airplanes.”

  Benjamin shuddered, thinking about what Sabbia had said about someone projecting one’s consciousness into the body of someone in the future. It sounded uncannily like what Sofia was describing. In her dreams, it wasn’t Sofia witnessing the airplanes hitting the building. She was someone else. A woman who worked in the city.

  It was a ridiculous notion, Sofia somehow unintentionally projecting her consciousness into the future, to witness an event that hadn’t yet happened. And yet, he couldn’t help reflecting on his own dreams, which had inexplicably led him to the water bottle Jessica had dropped while fleeing her murderer. His dreams had given him insight only into the past, but they were no less unexplainable for that. How much harder was it to believe that Sofia was seeing into the future? He’d heard anecdotes about people having dreams foretelling train wrecks and other accidents. But airplanes hitting buildings?

  “How many airplanes are there?” he asked Sofia.

  “Two,” replied Lucia. “The first one hits one of the buildings. And then a little bit later, another airplane hits the other building.”

  A strange sort of accident, thought Benjamin. Maybe some sort of terrorist attack?

  Lucia’s father came home not much later, grunted a welcome, and sat down in his chair. He flipped the station to the news and Sofia went to her room. The newscaster was talking about Cameron Payne’s disappearance and the uncertain future of XKredits. He then segued into another story, about the collapse of several other high-profile startups in Silicon Valley. A talking head dismissed the string of bankruptcies as a “momentary correction” that would have little impact on the financial juggernaut of Silicon Valley, but Benjamin sensed a deep uneasiness hiding behind the man’s words. The same intuition that had seen through Glazier’s performance at the anniversary banquet was now communicating the unspoken message behind the talking head’s words: the “dot com boom” was over.

  Benjamin got up and helped Lucia set the table. She made lasagna, which was delicious. But this time there was little laughter and no talk of Sofia’s prodigious imagination.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Benjamin leaped the creek, managing this time to land without losing his footing. He kept going, pursuing the boy at top speed. The dark castle loomed in the distance.

  Getting within a few paces of the boy, he dove at his legs, throwing his arms around the boy’s ankles. The boy went sprawling on the orchard floor.

  Out of breath and shaking with adrenaline, Benjamin scrambled forward and grabbed the boy’s right wrist, twisting it behind his back. This time, he wasn’t going to get away.

  But then the boy screamed. It was the same scream he had heard at Lucia’s house, the same ear-piercing, soul-wrenching howl. More than just sound, it was like some kind of visceral vibration that threatened to tear Benjamin’s brain apart. And it just kept going, and going, and going. Benjamin realized he had no choice: he was going to have to let the boy go.

  The screaming stopped the moment he did. The boy flipped onto his back and scrabbled away from him, those familiar eyes glaring at him in anger or terror.

  “Please,” gasped Benjamin. “I’m trying to help you.”

  The boy didn’t reply. He got to his feet, trying to catch his breath.

  “What is that place?” asked Benjamin.

  The boy shook his head. “Shhh!” he hissed. With that, he turned and ran, disappearing once again into the blackness.

  The dream weighed on him more heavily this morning. In the past, it always seemed like there was a chance he could keep the boy from going into the castle, but now he realized it was impossible. Not just impossible to prevent, it was predetermined. The boy was always going to end up in the castle. That’s how the dream was always going to end.

  He didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Even if the boy in the dream was Felipe, why did the dream matter? What was the castle? What was going to happen to Felipe there? The answer had to be in the dream, but Benjamin couldn’t imagine what it was. There were no obvious clues. Just the same scene, over and over.

  While he was trying to puzzle this out over breakfast at a nearby Denny’s, Lentz called.

  “Good morning, Detective,” said Benjamin. “Any luck get
ting anything out of the FBI?”

  “None,” said Lentz. “I had my boss call them this morning. They’re stonewalling us. Now they’re claiming it’s a matter of national security.”

  “Figures,” said Benjamin. “That’s the go-to excuse for the feds when they’re covering up something embarrassing.”

  “Yeah, I gotta admit,” replied Lentz, “your wacky conspiracy theory is getting more believable all the time. That isn’t what I called to tell you, though.”

  “Yeah? Then why did you call?”

  “Chris Sandford,” said Lentz. “He’s talking.”

  “Talking? You mean he confessed?” He wouldn’t put it past Glazier or his FBI cronies to have somehow manipulated Chris Sandford into confessing to a crime he hadn’t committed. Even in jail, he doubted Sandford was completely beyond Glazier’s reach.

  “No,” said Lentz. “Actually, it might be better if you just come down here.”

  “Alright,” said Benjamin. “Be there as soon as I can.”

  Benjamin paid the bill and walked to his car. Ten minutes later he was back in the conference room, sitting across from Chris Sandford. Lentz sat next to Benjamin. Sandford seemed even more anxious than the last time Benjamin talked to him. His hair was disheveled and his eyes were bloodshot. It didn’t look like he had slept since he’d been taken into custody.

  “Why don’t you tell Mr. Stone what you were telling me,” said Lentz to Sandford.