City of Sand

by Robert Kroese

  No, that wasn’t true, Benjamin realized. The boy—Felipe—had said “Shhh.” Every time. Benjamin had assumed that the boy was afraid to talk about it, but maybe Benjamin had been misinterpreting him. Maybe Felipe was answering him.

  Benjamin grabbed a pen and notepad from the nightstand and scrawled on it:

  SHH

  Except the way Felipe said it, it was more drawn out. Three Hs, Benjamin decided.

  SHHH

  A chill crept up his spine. He scribbled below this:

  SHCH

  “Shhh,” said Benjamin. That’s how a young child, unfamiliar with abbreviations, might pronounce that string of letters, if he ran across them on a nametag or written onto a tag on his pajamas. SHCH. Sand Hill Children’s Hospital. The building that sat on the reported location of Spiegel’s fatal car accident. The intersection that didn’t exist. The dark castle of his dreams.

  Of course. Glazier had moved the hospital to a newer, larger building shortly after Spiegel’s death, supposedly to honor his friend’s memory. But what if his real motivation was to expand on the work that GLARE had begun? With Spiegel out of the way, GLARE had free rein to experiment on Sunnyview’s most vulnerable citizens: the children.

  Benjamin still didn’t understand how it was possible for Spiegel’s accident to have occurred at an intersection that didn’t exist at the time of the accident. It was like the universe had conspired to tell him something terribly wrong had happened at that place. His dreams had been telling him as well, but he had been too confused to understand. In the dreams, Felipe had vanished inside the castle. Is that what had happened to Felipe? Had he been subjected to some sort of experiments at the hands of GLARE, in the name of national security? Lucia said that he had been a normal child until something happened to him, when he was around Sofia’s age.

  Sofia. Benjamin’s heart sank. Lucia had said Sofia was scheduled for an MRI this morning. She hadn’t said where, but he had a sickening feeling he knew. Somehow the bastards at GLARE had found out about Sofia’s visions, and they were planning on capitalizing on her abilities. Benjamin couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Sofia turn out like Felipe.

  He called Lucia, and cursed himself for his denseness while the phone rang twice, three times, four times… and then Lucia picked up.

  “Hello?” she said.

  “Lucia, it’s Benjamin.”

  “Hello, Benjamin. Can this wait? I’ve got to get Sofia to her appointment. I’m already running late because she’s being difficult.”

  “That’s what I called about,” said Benjamin. “You can’t take her to that place. Sand Hill Children’s Hospital.”

  “How did you know where her appointment is? I didn’t—”

  “Lucia, you need to trust me. There’s something very wrong with that place. You can’t take Sofia there.”

  “Can we discuss this later? It was lucky that I could get Sofia in on such short notice.”

  “No!” Benjamin cried. “Please, Lucia. Reschedule the appointment. No, don’t do that. Just stay home. I’m coming over.”

  “Benjamin, you’re talking crazy. I’m not going to miss this appointment. Please do not come over.”

  “Felipe,” said Benjamin. “He was there as a child, wasn’t he?”

  Lucia didn’t reply.

  “I know he was,” said Benjamin. “He had the same thing Sofia has. Visions of another time, another place. They did something to him, made him the way he is. That’s what’s going to happen to Sofia if you take her there.”

  The line was silent for a moment. “That is a horrible thing to say,” said Lucia coldly.

  “I know, and I’m sorry,” said Benjamin. “But it doesn’t have to be that way. There’s nothing wrong with Lucia. She doesn’t need a doctor. She just has… an overactive imagination. We can help her learn how to deal with it. But you can’t take her to that place. Please, I’m begging you, for Sofia’s sake. Don’t take her there.”

  There was another long pause. Then Lucia asked, “Are you going to explain to me how you know all of this?”

  “Yes,” said Benjamin, although as he said it, he wondered if he even could explain it. “I’ll be right there. I’ll explain everything. Just don’t leave the house.”

  “Fine,” said Lucia. “Hurry up, before I change my mind.”

  Benjamin hung up, grabbed his keys and ran out the door. He got in the Buick and drove to Lucia’s house. But when he got there, Lucia’s car wasn’t out front, and a man wearing a suit was sitting on the front porch steps: Agent Hill. Benjamin parked on the street and walked toward him. “Where are they?” he demanded. “Where are Lucia and Sofia?”

  “Agent Kassel went with them to Sofia’s appointment. She said you tried to talk her out of going. We explained that you are a very dangerous, unbalanced man, and that it would be better for them not to be around when you showed up.”

  “You son of a bitch,” growled Benjamin. “Glazier put you up to this, didn’t he? What does he want with Sofia?”

  “Good question,” replied Agent Hill, getting to his feet. “Why don’t you ask him yourself.” He walked past Benjamin to his car. Benjamin stood and stared at him.

  “Well?” said Hill. “Are you coming or not?”

  Benjamin walked to the car and got in.

  Twenty minutes later, Benjamin was back on William Glazier’s back patio, sitting across from the old man. Agent Hill stood silently by the door.

  “So you’ve got FBI agents working as your personal goons now,” Benjamin observed.

  “They don’t work for me,” said Glazier flatly. “We share the same goals.”

  “Covering your ass,” said Benjamin.

  Glazier sighed. “Is that what you think this is about?” he asked. “Keeping me out of trouble? Because I assure you, Mr. Stone, I was never in any danger. I’m very well insulated against any possible harm.”

  “The twenty million dollars you gave to Cameron Payne would seem to indicate otherwise,” said Benjamin. “Seems like you were pretty anxious to keep him and Jessica quiet.”

  Glazier shrugged. “Sometimes the best tactical move is the liberal application of cash. When the situation changes, tactics have to change.”

  “Is that what the murder of my daughter was?” said Benjamin, unable to hide his rage. “A change in tactics?”

  “Not that it’s going to make you feel any better,” said Glazier, “but that was Payne acting on his own. And I assure you he won’t be making that sort of mistake again.”

  “You’re still to blame,” said Benjamin.

  “Fair enough,” replied Glazier. “I’ll be judged for my sins in time, no doubt. But everything I did was for my country and the survival of the human race.”

  “Including performing experiments on young children. That was the point of GLARE, right?”

  Glazier looked impressed. “Just how much do you know about GLARE?” he asked.

  “I know it started as a counter-intelligence program during World War II, but after that it morphed into a more general program to counter perceived threats to U.S. interests. I know that Glazier Semiconductor was dumping dangerous chemicals into Sunnyview’s water supply for years, and that either accidentally or on purpose, you triggered some sort of mutation in some of Sunnyview’s residents—children, mainly. Something that allowed them to see visions of the future. Visions that GLARE used to gather intelligence about future threats. You got on the board of Sand Hill Children’s Hospital so that you’d be in a position to identify children with this mutation, study them, and experiment on them in order to determine how to fully take advantage of their gift. Your partner, Dominick Spiegel, grew a conscience at some point and threatened to go public. You had him killed. You then donated a large sum of money to Sand Hill Children’s Hospital in order to move it to a new building to expand the program. How am I doing?”

  “Alarmingly well,” said Glazier. “Tell me, Benjamin, how did you come to learn all of this?”

  �
�Old-fashioned detective work,” said Benjamin.

  “And the occasional flash of insight,” said Glazier.

  “Hunches will only get you so far,” replied Benjamin. “It’s still going on, isn’t it? Maybe you’ve gotten more careful about how you deliver the chemicals to your subjects, but you’re still experimenting on children.”

  “Yes and no,” said Glazier. “We stopped dumping chemicals in the water supply in the seventies. But the mutation is passed down from one generation the next. We have a system in place for flagging individuals who show signs of precognitive ability. They get referred to Sand Hill, where we attempt to quantify the level of precognition. Usually it goes no further than that. But occasionally we find a child who is truly gifted. Those are the ones who can fully project their consciousness into the future.”

  “Like Sofia Sanz.”

  “I’m hearing promising reports,” said Glazier. “But I’m not much involved in the day-to-day operations anymore. I understand her visions show her a possible terrorist attack. Airplanes hitting buildings.”

  “Probably just an accident,” said Benjamin.

  “Two different planes hitting two different buildings, very close together? Unlikely. The trick is going to be to figure out where and when it happens. That’s the maddening thing about this. After fifty years, we still have very little control over what the subjects see. Some of them are projected mere days into the future, others years. We once had a subject who was able to project himself nearly fifty years ahead. But the information the subject brings back is often trivial. Usually the subject is only able to witness a few minutes of the future, and frequently there isn’t enough context to determine when or where the events occurred. We’ve had a few successes, but they’ve been few and far between. Hopefully Sofia Sanz will be one of the exceptions.”

  “What are they going to do to her?”

  “They’re not going to harm her, if that’s your concern,” said Glazier. “Sometimes they use pharmaceuticals to treat anxiety or to increase concentration. Hypnosis sometimes helps. Mostly they’ll just listen.”

  “The way they ‘listened’ to her great uncle?”

  “Felipe,” said Glazier, with a nod. “He was a tricky one. Very strong precognitive ability. Sadly, we never got any useful information out of him. But our methods were much cruder back then.”

  “You reduced him to a shell of himself. He never had a chance at a normal life.”

  “We did what we did in the interest of national security. Believe it or not, Mr. Stone, this country does have enemies. This program has done more to keep us safe than any other single government agency, and I won’t apologize for it.”

  “You keep people safe by kidnapping little girls?” said Benjamin.

  “It rarely comes to that,” said Glazier. “But if it did, I wouldn’t hesitate. Are you familiar with the term Autumn Forge?”

  “Doesn’t ring any bells,” said Benjamin.

  “Not surprising,” said Glazier. “It isn’t nearly as well-known as, say, the Cuban Missile Crisis. Some analysts—including me—believe Autumn Forge is the closest we ever came to war with the Soviet Union. ”

  “And you’re going to tell me that GLARE prevented that war?” asked Benjamin.

  “It’s impossible to know for sure,” said Glazier. “This isn’t an exact science. There are no control groups. We can never know for sure what didn’t happen as a result of what we did. But I can tell you that one of our subjects, a girl named Marina Evans, foresaw what appeared to be the aftermath of a nuclear strike in Eastern Europe in late 1983. Using the information Marina provided, we were able to work with the CIA to trace the cause of the strike to the Soviets misinterpreting NATO troop movements in Finland. At the time, the United States had underestimated Soviet paranoia regarding a nuclear first strike by the west, so we explained the situation to President Reagan. He sent a communique to Yuri Andropov reassuring him the U.S. had no intention of starting a war, and scaled back our maneuvers in Finland. As I said, it’s impossible to know for certain what might have happened if we hadn’t acted on that intelligence, but I think it’s likely we saved millions of lives.”

  “Is that why you brought me here?” Benjamin asked. “To sell me on the benefits of your wonderful program?”

  “I thought you deserved to know the truth,” said Glazier. “After all that you’ve gone through. But yes, I also hoped to help you see the big picture.”

  “All I see is you taking advantage of children,” said Benjamin.

  Glazier shrugged. “It’s the nature of our work. Our successes go unnoticed, and our sins will eventually be revealed. History can judge me.”

  Benjamin found himself laughing.

  “Did I say something funny?” asked Glazier.

  “You don’t have any intention of letting history judge you,” Benjamin said. “My daughter uncovered part of your unsavory history, and you had her killed.”

  “As I said, that was—”

  “Yeah, sure,” said Benjamin. “Cameron Payne acting alone. Convenient for you, though. And then there was that bullshit story in the Herald. I still don’t know how you pulled that off.”

  Glazier’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he said.

  “You rewrote the story about Spiegel’s death, after the fact. Somehow managed to replace every existent copy of that issue of the Sunnyview Herald with a fake story. For somebody who wants to be judged by history, you put a hell of a lot of effort into covering up what really happened to Spiegel.”

  “I’ll admit I wasn’t eager for the truth about Spiegel to come out,” said Glazier, “but only because it would have led to unwanted scrutiny of GLARE, handicapping our efforts to keep this country safe. But I never faked any news stories.”

  “Okay,” said Benjamin, unconvinced. “Well, the next time you don’t fake a news story, find someone who has a better grasp on the geography of Sunnyview in the 1950s. The intersection where Spiegel was supposedly killed? It didn’t exist in 1952.”

  Glazier regarded Benjamin, a puzzled expression on his face. “Dominick Spiegel was killed at the intersection of Fremont and Olive. Did the Herald report otherwise?”

  Benjamin studied the old man. Was Glazier playing him? Or had he simply read the erroneous report so many times it had replaced the truth in his mind?

  “Fremont and Olive is what the Herald reported,” said Benjamin. “As you well know.”

  “And you’re saying that intersection didn’t exist in 1952?”

  “Playing dumb doesn’t suit you,” said Benjamin. “You know better than anyone what was on that spot in 1952.”

  Glazier stared at him for some time, not speaking. “Yes,” he said at last. “Of course. I must have remembered the accident incorrectly.”

  “Hazard of being a pathological liar,” said Benjamin. “Are we done here?”

  Glazier nodded, studying Benjamin with an inscrutable expression. “Yes,” he said. “I believe we are.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Agent Hill drove Benjamin back to Lucia’s house to get his car. Lucia’s car was still gone. Felipe was probably inside, but Hill made it pretty clear Benjamin wasn’t going to be allowed near the family again. Sofia was too valuable to GLARE or whatever they were calling it these days to let that happen. Once again, Benjamin was stymied in his efforts to find the truth. He’d come to Sunnyview to determine what had happened to his daughter, but had run into an impenetrable wall set up by the national security apparatus. He didn’t have a chance in the face of that. And whatever thoughts he might have had about seeing more of Lucia in the future had been dashed as well. He was considering packing his suitcase and heading home when his phone rang. Lentz.

  “What is it, Lentz?” said Benjamin tiredly. “The FBI is impounding my car?”

  “I need you to get over here,” said Lentz. “Your friend Lucia and her daughter are here. Lucia is pretty upset.”

  Benjamin stood. “Where?”

&n
bsp; “At my house. Lucia called the office. She mentioned your name, so they transferred her to me. She said the FBI showed up at her house earlier, were saying you were some kind of nutcase. Agent Kassel went with her to her daughter’s appointment, supposedly to protect them from you, but she said they seemed real interested in making sure she got to that appointment. Stone, what do these people want with a little girl?”

  “She’s one of their research subjects,” said Benjamin. “Or will be, if Glazier’s people have their way. Did they make the appointment? How did they get away from Kassel?”

  “Yeah, they met some doctor at Sand Hill Children’s Hospital. Didn’t say too much about it, but they both seem a little wigged out. Somehow they managed to ditch Kassel afterward and get to a phone booth.”

  “Alright,” said Benjamin. “I’ll be right over. What’s the address?”

  Lentz gave it to him. Benjamin knew the area; it wasn’t far from downtown. Benjamin grabbed his suitcase and jogged to the car. He threw the suitcase in the trunk, got in and fired up the engine. Ten minutes later he was at the address Lentz had given him. It was an older working class neighborhood, a step or two up from the Sand Hill Creek area where Lucia lived.

  He ran to the door and knocked. Seconds later, Lentz opened the door a crack. He was holding his gun.

  “Stone, come in,” said Lentz. He was calm but clearly on edge.

  Lucia and Sofia sat on a couch in his living room. Benjamin thought he saw Lucia hug her daughter a little tighter as he approached.

  “Hey,” Benjamin said quietly. “It’s just me. Are you two okay?”

  Lucia nodded. “What is going on, Benjamin?” she asked. “That FBI agent, he said you were crazy. But he knew about Sofia’s appointment. Did you tell him?”