Kubrick's Game

  “And just who are all of you?” said Wilson.

  “We are the Order of the Oath. Our directive is to ensure that secrets are kept, and to punish when oaths are broken.”

  “So that’s it? You’re just a bunch of Freemasons?” said Wilson.

  “We represent the interests of a select few. For an ambitious Mason, there is no higher honor than to serve in our order. We do what we must to protect the brotherhood.”

  Sami seethed. “It was you. You killed Kubrick!”

  “If Kubrick had become privy to certain secrets that he planned to expose, despite the fact that he was not one of us, we would have needed to take action when he didn’t heed the warnings.”

  Shawn erupted with rage. “We’ll never cooperate with you!”

  “I thought you might need added motivation,” said Greenwald. “Please look above me.”

  Lights turned on behind a glass panel in a small room overlooking the scene, the control room where the theater’s lights and sound were operated.

  Danny, the leader of the USC team, appeared in the window, his mouth taped shut. A cloaked figure held a knife to his throat.

  “Danny!” Shawn shouted. “Where are the rest of them?”

  “Their fate is up to you. Tell me what Spielberg told you, and they will survive.”

  Mascaro interjected, “Please, you have no more options.”

  “We’ve been telling the truth,” said Shawn. “We went to Spielberg, but he realized we didn’t have the puzzle solved and sent us away.”

  “Didn’t have it solved?” Greenwald scoffed. “Then how did you know to visit Spielberg in the first place?”

  “We figured out a small part of it, but jumped ahead of ourselves. The moon conceals the hand of God turned out to be an imagistic cross-reference between the films of Kubrick and Spielberg—specifically the moon and “The Creation of Adam.” On a hunch, we contacted Spielberg’s office, hoping that he would give some sort of clue to solve the rest of it when we saw him, but he turned us away.”

  “Then who sent you to the Griffith Observatory?”

  “That was me,” said Wilson. “When Spielberg didn’t pan out, I convinced them to follow me. It had nothing to do with Kubrick’s game.”

  “Why do you say that? What did Kranzler tell you?”

  Shawn looked upstairs.

  Fear blazed in Danny’s eyes as the knife pressed against his neck.

  “It’s my belief,” said Wilson, “which was confirmed by Kranzler, that Kubrick did direct the Apollo moon landing, merely as test footage, but it was broadcast to the world without his permission. Kubrick didn’t want us getting mixed up with the likes of you, who are willing to kill to cover it up.”

  Greenwald laughed. “The moon landing film is only one piece of the puzzle. What it leads to will be far more significant.”

  “What could be more significant than that?” said Shawn.

  “The only way to find out is if you beat the game. I believe what you’ve told us about not knowing the answer yet, so I will give you this one consolation.”

  Greenwald waved his scepter, and the cloaked figure in the control room released the knife from Danny’s throat.

  “However, Mr. Hagan,” Greenwald continued, “Mascaro has informed us that you’re the most talented of the trio. Allow me to give you some extra motivation.”

  Four cloaks hiding in the shadows appeared behind Wilson and Sami, taped their mouths, and pulled them away toward Greenwald.

  “No!” Shawn screamed. “I need them!”

  “Wrong, Mr. Hagan. “They need you.”

  Shawn watched helplessly as his friends struggled, trying to think of a way out of this predicament. His friends were being dragged away, the USC team was being threatened, and Shawn stood in isolation before a circle of intimidating figures in dark cloaks.

  “From now on,” said Greenwald, “you are working for and will report directly to me. Even the slightest hint of insubordination, and your friends will—”

  “Hey!” came a voice accompanied by loud pounding from just outside the main theater door. “Get out of there! We have rehearsal!”

  Greenwald scowled at Mascaro. “You said these rooms weren’t used after hours!”

  “They’re not,” said Mascaro. “This is a mistake.”

  Mascaro went to the door and shouted, “This room is in use.”

  “We reserved it!” said a voice from outside. “Unlock it, or we’re coming in.”

  “Please just give us five more minutes,” said Mascaro. He turned back to Greenwald. “We are done here, yes? We will exit through the shutter door.”

  The sound of a key opening the door filled the room.

  “Stay out!” Mascaro shouted, but it was too late.

  Twenty actors wearing Commedia dell’Arte masks poured into the room. They danced around singing and hooting, tumbling and leaping, blasting carnival music from a boom box, and swinging slapsticks.

  Raul, wearing a long-nosed Capitano mask, spun over to Shawn.

  “They’re over there,” said Shawn, pointing to the captive Sami and Wilson at the back of the room.

  Raul placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled. The troupe gathered behind him before charging toward the cloaks holding Sami and Wilson. Several actors distracted them with juggling while other actors pulled off the cloaks’ masks.

  Shawn recognized the unmasked cloaks as the same ones who had chased Sami through the sports hall of fame.

  While the goons were busy trying to get back their cloaks and masks, Sami and Wilson wriggled free. Raul quickly placed masks over their faces and pulled them into the group of dancing performers, now moving toward the exit.

  Raul waved Shawn over toward the front entrance.

  Cloaks tried to restrain him, but Shawn was able to dodge them and slip through their grasp to join his friends.

  A large cloak stood in front of the door, blocking the way out.

  With a yell, Raul’s group delivered a punishing tackle. The rest proceeded to leap over him, and fled as quickly as they had entered.

  They bolted out of MacGowan Hall and sprinted toward the sculpture garden, where they dove behind a hedge and hid out of sight.

  Shawn paused to catch his breath among the myriad of bronze and iron sculptures decorating the lush mounds of grass.

  “What about Danny?” whispered Sami. “Won’t they kill him?”

  “Highly unlikely,” said Shawn. “As long as we’re free, we can implicate Greenwald and Mascaro. We just can’t get captured.”

  “Brilliant plan,” said Raul to Wilson. “Texting me every fifteen minutes and running the friend locator apps worked perfectly.”

  Shawn peered over the hedge as the cloaks burst through the building doors into the courtyard. “We don’t have much time before they find us.”

  “Let’s split up,” Wilson suggested.

  “Gotcha,” said Raul, taking off with a portion of his troupe.

  Shawn, Sami, and Wilson were joined by three other actors as they ran toward the center of campus.

  A third group spread in the opposite direction.

  The cloaks split up in pursuit.

  Shawn looked back to see the two that had grabbed Sami and Wilson on their group’s tail, trailing fifty yards away.

  They ran through the tables of Northern Lights, down the breezeway, and into the quad at the center of campus.

  The cloaks steadily gained on them.

  “How’s our timing?” Sami huffed in full sprint.

  “We should be right on,” said Wilson.

  They descended Janss Steps, an 87-step brick stairwell that was the original entrance to the university, and as they reached the bottom, a great yell reverberated throughout campus. It was so loud and sudden, it momentarily stopped the cloaks in their tracks.

  It was the traditional “Midnight Yell,” performed by all UCLA students at the stroke of midnight each night of finals week. However, this was Wednesday night of finals
week, when something extraordinary takes place.

  Wilson led the way, shouting, “Hurry! We’re almost to Bruin Walk!”

  Shawn felt his adrenalin draining and fatigue setting in. The cloaks had cut across a grassy hill and were gaining ground on them as the trio made a right onto Bruin Walk.

  Now only a few yards away, the cloaks surged forward and grabbed the straggler of the group by the collar, turned her around, and removed her mask.

  It was Sami.

  “We have the girl!” they shouted. “Stop now!”

  Shawn stopped and turned. Behind him was the great iron bear that he had broken only weeks prior.

  The large cloak pulled out a blade and held it to Sami’s throat. “Follow us back if you want her to live.”

  Suddenly, the ground beneath their feet started shaking.

  “What the hell is going on now?” said the large cloak.

  The rumbling sound drew nearer, and turned to yelling and chanting. Then, a great mass of people rounded the corner, tens of thousands of....

  Nearly naked people!

  They tried to evade the mob, but it was too late. A mass of students wearing nothing but skivvies, chanting and singing UCLA fight songs, was upon them.

  The cloaks had no choice but to turn and run with the crowd. Caught in the melee of the quarterly Undie Run, their knives were jostled free and lost beneath thousands of stampeding feet.

  In the chaos, Sami was able to break free and struggled against the crowd, like a fish swimming upstream, to get back to her friends.

  Wilson and Shawn pushed forward.

  As they reached one another, Sami and Wilson grasped hands amidst the crowd, clutching tightly to one another and holding on for dear life.

  Shawn grabbed onto Wilson’s other hand, and together they slipped out of the mob, falling at the steps next to the student store. Shawn knew they had to hurry before the cloaks made their way back to them. He picked himself up and began running.

  They circled around Pauley Pavilion, checking behind them every few strides until no one was behind them.

  “Through here!” said Wilson, leading them past the football practice field and into the Tennis Center. They sprinted across Stadium Court, ran up the steps leading through the grandstand, and ducked into a press booth that overlooked the courts. Shawn locked the doors and peered out over the window.

  The cloaks were nowhere in sight.

  “Damn,” said Sami, feeling her pockets. “They still have our phones.”

  “I cannot afford to be blowing through phones like this,” said Wilson. “I quit!”

  Sami laughed.

  Exhausted, Sami and Wilson collapsed to the floor, drinking in oxygen.

  Shawn, still nervous, kept a lookout through the window. When he turned back to them, they were kissing feverishly.

  Shawn felt his heart fall to his stomach. “What are you doing?”

  Sami broke the kiss and looked up at Shawn with regret in her eyes.

  Wilson finally looked up and said, “Listen, dude, we wanted to tell you.”

  “Tell me what?”

  “Sami and I are... together.”

  “Together? Since when?”

  “Since New York,” said Sami.

  “New York? That was over a month ago!”

  “We didn’t want to upset you.”

  Shawn was choked with anger, making his voice staccato. “Upset me? Sami, you knew how I felt about you. And Wilson, I asked you specifically not to pursue her.”

  “That wasn’t a fair request and you know it! You don’t own her. If you guys had dated in the past, then yes, I would be crossing a line, but she never even had feelings for you. Comprende?”

  “Justify it all you want. You were doing this behind my back, making me look like a fool.”

  Wilson stood up and got in Shawn’s face. “At least I don’t tell everybody at school I’m autistic just to score sympathy points. Oh, you must love to hear them rave about how brave you are. Truth is, your father wasn’t far off. There’s nothing stopping you from fitting in except your own self-pity.”

  “You know what my father was also right about? Both of you have been using me to serve your own projects. You were never my real friends.”

  “That’s not true!” said Sami.

  “Be honest,” said Shawn. “Would you even associate with me if I wasn’t the best DP you could get?”

  “Man, you’re such a cocky little brat,” said Wilson.

  “At least I’m not a washed-up has-been whose maximum potential is to make hack Hollywood garbage.”

  “Guys, stop this!” Sami stepped in and separated them. “You’re both acting like children.”

  Shawn huffed. “Greenwald was right. Both of you are useless. I can finish the game on my own. Give me the keys.”

  “Shawn, calm down. Let’s—”

  “Give me the keys!”

  When Wilson didn’t respond, Shawn swung his fist hard into the booth’s window, cracking the glass. Blood streamed down his knuckles.

  Wilson reached into his pocket and tossed him the keys to the Hagan Volvo.

  Shawn stormed out of the booth, not even checking if the cloaks were there. At that moment, he didn’t care if they killed him.

  “Shawn, wait!” Sami called out.

  “Leave me alone!”

  He marched the perimeter of campus back to his father’s car. The whole time he was picturing black-and-white images of Sami and Shawn making love, laughing at him. He let out a bloodcurdling yell of agony.

  While driving back to his home, Shawn cursed, banged on the steering wheel, and sped faster than he ever had.

  “That’s what I get for trusting people, for being stupid enough to think anyone would be my friend. Of course they don’t really care. They tricked me just so they could use me. Well, not anymore. Let’s see how far they go without me. If anybody asks me my opinion, I’ll say what useless hacks they are.”

  He realized why they say not to drive angry; he slammed on the brakes, nearly rear-ending the car in front of him.

  When he arrived home late, the lights were on.

  Father must still be up working. Well, this ought to be interesting.

  His anger gave him a sense of fearlessness as he entered the house.

  He set the keys down on the counter.

  His father appeared from his workshop, taking off his glasses and wiping them on his coat. “I was going to report the car stolen to the police, but your mother convinced me not to. You can thank her for that.”

  “It was an emergency.”

  “It doesn’t matter, Shawn. We want you out of the house.”

  “Fine. I’ll find a job and then I’ll be out of here.”

  “We’re not waiting for that. Here’s the deal. If you leave by tomorrow, you can keep the car. We were going to trade it in anyway. There’s an envelope on the counter. In it is five thousand dollars. That’s for you to put down a security deposit and first month’s rent on an apartment, plus living expenses. If you leave by tomorrow, you get the car and the cash. If you stay any longer, you get nothing.”

  He looked his father square in the eye without blinking. “I’ll make the deal even sweeter for you. I’ll leave tonight.”

  He grabbed the envelope, packed up the old Volvo with his clothes, his movies, and his flat screen, and hit the road.

  3:33 a.m.

  “Here’s one. Why did nobody know the plot of Eyes Wide Shut in advance if it was based on a famous novel?”

  “Because Traumnovelle was out of print and Kubrick bought every single copy in existence,” replied Shawn.

  “Right again. Your turn,” said Strauss.

  “Let’s see... did you know that the lights were so bright on the hotel set of The Shining that it caused a fire that burned it down?”

  “Yes.”

  “But after the fire, they ended up rebuilding the studio thirty feet higher, which worked perfectly as the setting for what famous movie scene?”<
br />
  “Hmm. I’m going to make an educated guess and say the snake pit scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

  “That’s right!”

  After leaving his house, Shawn had gone back to the UCLA Film Archive. Strauss welcomed him, and he’d spent the last hour catching him up on the events that had transpired, then got drawn into another heated battle of Kubrick trivia.

  “So how did you get into film restoration?” asked Shawn

  “Believe it or not, I was a UCLA film student back in the seventies. The Godfather movies were coming out and I thought I was going to be the next Coppola. After all, he had graduated from the same program a few years before. I even made a mafia movie for my thesis. Poor decision. California surfer kids do not make believable gangsters. My class tore it apart, and I was devastated. Looking for inspiration, I ended up taking an internship at the film archive. The director took me under his wing, and before graduation he offered me a job as his assistant. He retired five years later, and I’ve been head honcho ever since.”

  “What about your film aspirations? Did you ever make movies?”

  “Nah. Instead of making great films, I chose to preserve them. Haven’t regretted a day.”

  Shawn yawned. “What time is it? They took my phone.”

  “Yikes. Past 3:30. Probably time to turn in.”

  “Mind if I sleep on a bench in the lobby?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Follow me.”

  Strauss led him downstairs, past a series of supply and chemical rooms, and opened a door to what looked like a nice motel room.

  “Welcome to the guest quarters,” said Strauss. “I invite you to make use of this as long as you need to.”

  “Are you sure? Wouldn’t they notice a random kid living here?”

  “About that. I could use a summer intern. You interested?”

  “I got expelled, remember? I can’t get compensated with class credits anymore.”

  “Oh, right. Well, forget the internship. How about you get paid?”

  “Really? A job here? As what?”

  “My apprentice, of course. I’ve had dozens of assistants come and go through the years, but none of them had what it takes. I see myself in you.”