Kubrick's Game

  Wilson pointed to his television, which was freeze-framed on the scene from The Shining when Jack enters the office of the hotel manager. Hanging on the wall was a painting of a colorfully plumed figure that resembled the Quetzalcoatl.

  Wilson continued. “The Quetzalcoatl is right there before us. That’s our Q! Where was Q framed? He is literally ‘framed’ in a picture frame at the moment Jack enters the office for the fateful job interview to be the winter custodian of the Overlook Hotel.”

  “You better not say we have to go to the Overlook Hotel, because it’s fictional,” said Sami.

  “Not the hotel,” said Wilson, about to burst. “I kept searching Masonic websites that are open to the public. And guess what? The Order of the Quetzalcoatl has a base in Los Angeles at the Scottish Rite Temple on Wilshire Blvd. They have their monthly meeting tomorrow afternoon. And so again I present to you the massive quarry of trouble we are in should we choose to continue. I think Kubrick wants us to go into this Freemason temple, where the same people who will stop at nothing to impede us are likely based, in order to retrieve the next clue.”

  “And what of the Frozen Man?” said Shawn. “How does he fit into the answer?”

  Wilson smiled. “How much do you want to bet that when we crash this Mason meeting, we discover that the head of the Order of the Q is Jack Nicholson?”

  The following afternoon, Shawn, Wilson, and Sami stood before the Scottish Rite Masonic Lodge. A massive complex, it was by far the largest, most impressive lodge in the Los Angeles area.

  Shawn realized he had noticed it at various times in his life, but never gave it a second glance, thinking it must be an illustrious church.

  Carved into a gray stone plaque on the front wall was the familiar Masonic compass.

  The doors were locked.

  Sami reached out to press the intercom button, but Wilson grabbed her wrist.

  “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve been reading about Masonic traditions. No outsider can enter unless invited, but sometimes they’ll allow people in who are seeking membership. If we say the wrong thing, like we’re on a scavenger hunt arranged by Stanley Kubrick, we could be screwed. Leave the talking to me.”

  Wilson pressed the button.

  A voice with a distinct Scottish accent asked, “May I help you?”

  “Yes sir,” Wilson replied, “We are non-Masons, but wish to learn more about becoming members.”

  “Were you invited?”

  “Not yet, sir, but hopefully soon.”

  “Just a moment.”

  Several minutes went by with no further response.

  “I don’t think anybody’s coming,” said Sami.

  Then the doors opened, and a solemn-looking man who appeared to be in his seventies stood before them. He had white hair, a trimmed white beard, and wore a dark jacket and plaid kilt. A white apron with gold embroidery hung from his waist, adorned with symbols. Shawn recognized the symbols from Wilson’s research, including the pyramid, the shining sun, and the double-headed eagle.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen and lady,” he said with the same thick Scottish accent. “My name is Brother Owen Fletcher. If you are seeking membership, I’m afraid your timing is poor as there are several events tonight. However, I am happy to give you my contact information and we can discuss at a later date. Have a lovely evening.”

  Fletcher handed them a business card and began closing the door, but Wilson stuck out his hand and stopped him.

  “If you could just spare us five minutes,” he said. “We only have a few questions and then we’ll be on our way.”

  “If you’re one of those bloggers investigating preposterous conspiracy theories, you’re wasting your time.”

  “Not at all, sir,” said Wilson. “I can assure you our interest is genuine.”

  Fletcher sighed. “Very well, then. You may enter.”

  Wilson nodded in appreciation and they began to walk inside, but Fletcher stopped Sami.

  “I’m afraid women are only permitted inside by invitation of a brother Mason. You’ll have to wait outside.”

  “You can’t be serious,” she said, almost laughing.

  “I’m quite serious, but I can provide you with some reading material if you like.”

  The old Scot handed her a brochure titled To a New Mason’s Lady. The illustrations and text appeared as though they hadn’t been updated since the 1950s.

  Wilson turned to Sami. “Do you mind waiting here?”

  “If it means becoming a Mason’s lady, of course I will,” she replied with mock gusto.

  Shawn and Wilson entered the lodge, and the door closed behind them.

  Shawn immediately noticed the floor, laid out in a black-and-white formation like a chessboard. “What’s the purpose of this floor design?”

  “It’s a feature you will find in most Masonic lodges. The meaning is something you learn in the course of your studies.”

  “Forgive my friend,” said Wilson. “We don’t wish to pry into any of your customs. We simply seek the most basic information.”

  “If that’s the case, I suggest the internet. We don’t have any secrets here. In fact, our members, customs, and history are all public knowledge that anyone can read about.”

  The hall wasn’t as opulent as the two expected. A mural on the back wall depicted famous scenes from American history. A second-story balcony wrapped around the interior, and stacks of folding chairs littered the empty space.

  I guess that’s why they call them lodges and not temples, Shawn thought.

  “So,” said Wilson, “what would we do once we join a lodge?”

  “Oh, that’ll vary from lodge to lodge and person to person. Some lodges are geared more toward family activities. Some will lean toward research, while others might offer travel opportunities. It’s important to find the lodge that’s right for you. However, what all lodges have in common is that they are notoriously selective when it comes to new members.”

  “And are all types of people welcome?”

  “Yes, we are open to all races, creeds, and beliefs. The only requirement is that you maintain a commitment to a higher power, and a new Mason must be enthusiastic about bettering himself and society.”

  Shawn wondered where Wilson was going with his line of questioning. Was he working his charm on Fletcher so he’d be more amenable when he lowered the boom about their true intentions?

  “Me and my buddy Shawn here are in college right now, but we didn’t join any fraternities. We’re far too mature. But after we graduate, we’d like to find like-minded men devoted to faith, honor, and charity.”

  “Then we look forward to having you as one of us. And I’m afraid this is where our tour must end.”

  “Just a second.” Wilson shifted. “Is there anything else you might be able to tell us? Anything at all... special about this lodge?”

  “Think of Freemasonry as an adventure into the unknown. I’m sure you can see yourselves out.”

  Fletcher turned and walked away.

  “Wait!” Wilson called out. “I’m just going to say this. We believe that a quest has led us here and that we are supposed to meet with the Order of the Q.”

  Fletcher stopped and turned back to them. “And what sort of quest is this?”

  “One that was designed by Stanley Kubrick.”

  “Kubrick? Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place?”

  Shawn and Wilson followed Fletcher through the illuminated doorway at the base of the American history mural, and continued down a long hallway without speaking a word. The clacking of Fletcher’s Brogues on the marble floor echoed in the hall until he stopped at a heavy iron door, removed a large skeleton key from a ring attached to his belt, opened the lock, and pulled it open.

  “Make your way downstairs,” said Fletcher.

  Wilson and Shawn peered through the doorway and down a stone stairwell that led into pitch black. Shawn felt like the poor sap in every horror movie who foolishly investigated the noi
se in the basement. His body told him to turn and run, but his curiosity pushed him forward.

  “Will you be coming with us?” asked Wilson.

  “Others will take care of you from this point. However, I will need to take your cell phones.”

  “What for?” said Wilson.

  “Electronic devices are not allowed in the sacred chamber. If you choose to enter, you will respect our rules.”

  Reluctantly, Wilson and Shawn placed their phones on a tray next to the door.

  “They’ll be safe here?” asked Wilson.

  “There are only men of honor in this lodge.” Fletcher turned and walked away.

  Shawn and Wilson took a deep breath, then walked slowly down the staircase. Halfway down, they heard the door close behind them and the lock turn.

  As they inched through the darkness, only the faintest of lights shone at a point in the distance.

  Wilson put his hand on Shawn’s shoulder as they continued. “I’m with you, buddy. Don’t be scared.”

  With each step, Kubrick’s riddle ran through Shawn’s head. Was there anything in it that might help him now?

  Where was Q framed in 8, 9, and 11? The Frozen Man will reveal when.

  Eventually they came to an old wooden door. Two candles rested on sconces on each side of the doorframe, providing the only light source. A carving of the letter Q jutted from the top, circled by a wooden wreath. A knocker shaped like a closed fist hung beneath it.

  Wilson reached out and gave it a knock.

  “Who’s there?” a deep voice answered from the other side.

  “My name is Wilson.”

  “And I’m Shawn.”

  “Who are you here to see?”

  Wilson was about to answer, but Shawn stopped him and said, “We are here to see the Frozen Man.”

  Two slots opened at the middle of the door. “To gain admittance, you are required to pass a test. Place your right hands, palm up, through the openings. If you remove them, this will be the end for you.”

  They took deep breaths and each slowly slipped their hands through the slots. From the other side came sounds of a knife being sharpened.

  Shawn was the first to feel the cold blade and warm wetness on his hand. He screamed, about to pull his hand out, but Wilson, standing to his right, held his arm in place with his left hand.

  “I’m bleeding!” Shawn whispered in fright.

  “Be strong, man.”

  Then Wilson must have felt the same thing. “Dammit! What the eff?”

  “That was your first trial... by blood,” the voice said. “Do you wish to continue?”

  “Yes,” they stuttered together.

  “Very well. Turn your palms down.”

  Through the door slots, Shawn saw a flickering flame. He could smell smoke. Then came the heat, as if a torch was engulfing their palms. Shawn had never felt such searing pain in his life. He could hear sizzling, like their flesh was roasting.

  “The hell with this,” said Wilson.

  “It’s almost over,” Shawn said, gritting his teeth.

  This was just like the box of pain from Dune. It was a matter of will over instinct, reason over impulse.

  The light burned out.

  Shawn felt a wet towel gently wiping his hand.

  “You have passed the trial by fire. You may remove your hands,” the voice said.

  They pulled them out slowly.

  Shawn was afraid to look, but was surprised to see there were no cuts and no burns.

  “What the hell?” said Wilson.

  The door creaked open and they walked inside.

  An olive-skinned man stood before them in a dark suit, with graying black hair and a red Shriners hat on his head. Patches of pyramids adorned his apron.

  “My name is Brother Vargas. Welcome to the Order of the Q.”

  Shawn masked his disappointment that it wasn’t Jack Nicholson.

  Is this the frozen man?

  The room was so dimly lit, he couldn’t make out any details except for what was right in front of him.

  Vargas stepped into the shadows and disappeared from view. “Sorry about all that,” he continued. “Non-members must pass a test of courage. Courage is what the Q’s value above all else.”

  “What did you do?” asked Wilson. “I could feel the cutting and burning.”

  Vargas laughed as he lit torches on the wall. The room came to light, revealing a spacious chamber divided in half by a large red curtain. The same type of folding chairs from upstairs lined the brick walls. Vargas plopped down in one, inviting Wilson and Shawn to do the same.

  “The mind is a funny thing,” Vargas said in what Shawn guessed was an Argentinian or perhaps European Spanish accent. “Cut off from the dominant sense of sight, it uses the limited information of sound, smell, and touch to fill in the blanks and create the reality of your worst fears. The truth is, I merely caressed your palms with this blunt prop blade while applying a bit of warm water. Did you think I was burning your hand? I was holding a lit match six inches below each of your palms and shaking this rattle to mimic the sizzling of flesh. But you haven’t come here to learn about magic. I have a feeling you were sent here by my old friend.”

  “You were a friend of Kubrick’s?” asked Shawn excitedly. He’d never met anyone who could actually make that claim.

  “As much of a friend as Stanley could have, yes. We met while Stanley was researching The Shining. I am considered an expert on Aztec, Mayan, and Indian historical subjects, and he was looking to add such imagery into the film. He even borrowed one of my favorite paintings and hung it on a wall of the hotel set.”

  “The feathered god,” said Wilson.

  “That’s correct. Stanley and I would speak for many hours on the phone, but once he moved on to different projects, we lost touch. Then, a year before his death, he contacted me for a favor. He didn’t say much, only that he was working on a project, and that one day someone like yourselves would seek me out, and if they passed the tests, they were to be given something in return.”

  “There are more tests?” said Wilson.

  “Just one,” said Vargas. “I have a clue to reveal when you ask the right question.”

  The Frozen Man will reveal when... the right question is asked.

  Wilson and Shawn discussed it, and soon came to a decision.

  “Are you the Frozen Man?” asked Wilson.

  “Yes, I am,” replied Vargas. “But why would I be frozen?”

  They huddled together again. Neither had a clue.

  “I hate to do this, but I must demand an answer. My order will be showing up any moment. Only a couple of pinheads would still be here.”

  That was an odd choice of words. Only a couple of pinheads? Perhaps it was a hint of some kind. That’s when Shawn noticed the pin on Vargas’s jacket—a gold-plated double-headed eagle with the number thirty-two encased in a pyramid.

  “Your pin is beautiful, Mr. Vargas.”

  “Thank you,” said Vargas, nodding his head to indicate Shawn was on the right track.

  “The number thirty-two. Doesn’t that demonstrate that you are a 32nd degree Mason?”

  “It does,” said Vargas with a smile.

  Wilson made the connection. “You’re a 32nd degree Mason! Thirty-two degrees is the temperature of freezing. That’s why you’re frozen!”

  “Correct!” He clapped his hands and bounded up from his chair. “And now I will give you your next clue. Listen carefully.”

  “Wait, you’re just going to say it?” asked Wilson.

  “Yes. When becoming a Freemason, one must memorize long blocks of text that go on for pages. It weeds out those not intellectually up to par and trains your mind to work to its full potential. This puzzle is only two sentences long. If that’s too much for you to memorize, then you are certainly not up to the tasks that lie ahead.”

  “I’m ready,” declared Shawn.

  Vargas nodded. “HAL will solve CRM-114 for seven, thirteen, and nine.
But what made Q a dull boy?”

  Shawn repeated it back verbatim. “HAL will solve CRM-114 for seven, thirteen, and nine. But what made Q a dull boy?”

  “Quite the memory,” said Vargas.

  “You have no idea,” said Wilson, patting Shawn on the back.

  “You would make a fine Mason, should you ever actually be interested.”

  “Mr. Vargas, may I ask you one more question?” said Shawn.

  “Yes.”

  “During this game, we’ve encountered other groups who have been... well... anxious to see us fail. They’ve stolen our clues, threatened us with violence, and even held us at gunpoint. Are the Masons the ones acting against us?”

  Vargas leaned forward. “Within any large group, there will be a few bad apples. There are those I know of within our ranks who have a bit more, shall we say, fundamentalist attitude toward the vows.”

  “Are you talking about the Illuminati?” said Wilson.

  Vargas laughed. “As far as I know, the Illuminati were disbanded in the 18th century. But do secretive orders exist within the Masons today that have their own agenda? Let’s just say I would not be surprised to hear that a certain contingent remains upset at Kubrick for perceived offenses. Now, I suggest you get to work on this riddle. Others were here before you.”

  Shawn was in shock. “Really? When?”

  Vargas rose from his chair and disappeared behind the red curtain without answering.

  Shawn and Wilson stepped out into the bright sunlight outside the lodge.

  Sami was waiting for them, standing against the wall.

  “Hey, Sami, we got the next clue!” Shawn proclaimed.

  Sami kept staring straight ahead.

  They followed her line of sight.

  Across the street, Mascaro sat in a black Mercedes glaring at them. Two other men were in the car with him. As soon as Shawn noticed him, Mascaro made a signal and the car sped off down Wilshire.

  It was Saturday afternoon. Shawn had been holed up with Wilson since receiving a text message from his dorm mate the previous day.