The Stickmen

by Edward Lee

  “So what’s the big deal with him anyway?” Lynn inquired.

  “His name’s John Sanders,” Garrett began. “He was a field operative for the Army’s Counter-Intelligence Corp—among other things, an assassin. This guy was pulling jobs all over the world—stuff even the CIA wouldn’t sanction. Laos, Burma, Guatemala. In 1970, this guy went deep cover all the way up to Dong Hoi in North Vietnam, staked out a command post for a week, barely moving a muscle, and assassinated Ho Chi Minh’s second-highest-ranking ground-forces commander. In ‘72 he car-bombed the East German MfS liaison for KGB’s Joint Reports and Research Unit. Sanders was the guy next in line to try to kill Castro before the NSC threw in the towel.”

  “That stuff was ages ago,” Lynn pointed out. “The guy’s got to be pretty old by now.”

  “His D.O.B.’s redacted too, but based on the mission dates in some of these files, he’s probably in his late-fifties. He may be the most successful assassin the good old U.S. of A. has ever produced, and he’s obviously not over-the-hill yet because he’s already scratched two people just this week.”

  “All right,” Lynn said. “Go on.”

  “When CIC was disbanded by the Carter Administration, Sanders flew the coop, to work on his own. He was a hire-out, or a “K” as your people call it. Now he’s killing again, and it all relates to the Nellis Crash. It all has something to do with the Edgewood Arsenal. Someone stole an old defensive nuclear device from Edgewood last week, and for some reason that theft was a warning sign to—”

  “General Norton Swenson, the same man who slapped you with the bad conduct discharge from the Air Force.”

  Garrett nodded. “That’s right. He ran the Air Force Aerial Intelligence Command for nearly thirty years. He reported directly to the President about any sighting or crash that was deemed to be authentic. And there are some other people who fit into the mix.

  A former FBI agent named Urslig, a former Army officer named Farrell who used to work with the Judge Advocate General’s office and went on to be an influential federal judge. Both Urslig and Farrell have been murdered within the past few days. Those names were on a list in the suitcase.”

  “And you’re sure this runaway spook named Sanders made the hits?”

  “Of course. That’s the sole reason Swenson warned me about him.”

  Lynn frowned sharply when she took another look at Garrett’s computer screen. “Harlan, how on earth did you get access to these databanks? This is super-sensitive stuff.”

  “Let’s just say a little bird gave me the passwords.” Garrett smiled cunningly. “This is incredible, Lynn. I can get into anything with these. DOD, Justice, CIA, and every classified data warehouse in the military. You’d need a TS/SI clearance with an SAR access plus the full load of compartmentalized National Security suffixes to get into these banks. There probably aren’t twenty people in the country with these passwords.”

  “Great, Harlan. And you can brag all about it to your buddies on the cell block, when they put you in federal prison for a hundred years. They could even execute you for this if they wanted to.”

  Garrett sluffed it off with a wave of hand. “They change the primary password every forty-eight hours, and it’s blinded. There’s no way I can get caught.”

  “That’s what the Walker spies said,” Lynn reminded him “And, anyway, what possible connection can there be between the Nellis Case and Edgewood Arsenal? The Nellis Case is strictly Air Force, but Edgewood is an Army facility.”

  “I don’t know the connection, but I think I found some clues. There’s one more name on the list, Kenneth Ubel. He’s an Army redeposition officer. I can’t imagine what he’d have to do with this, but…care to guess where he works?”

  “The Edgewood Arsenal?”

  “Right. And I found something else.” Garrett raised a finger. “Watch.”

  Garrett tapped rapidly on his keyboard while Lynn continued to watch raptly over his shoulder.

  “Check this one out.”

  Lynn squinted at the next block that popped up on the screen.

  File allocation command for following security designations:

  TS

  SI

  SAR

  TEKNA

  BYMAN

  ULTIMA

  DINAR

  INTERAGENCY GROUP ACTIVITY

  BACK-PROCESSING BRANCH

  SPECIAL ACCESS REQUIRED

  FREE ROAM SEARCH OBJECT

  **** [U.S. ARMY MUNITIONS COMMAND/EDGEWOOD ARSN.] ****

  SEARCH OBJECT FOUND

  DEPARTMENT 4 SPECIAL CONTINGENCY GROUP

  RECORDS AND PROCESSING UNIT, FORT BELVOIR, VIRGINIA

  PRIMARY SEARCH GROUP: “Abductions, Reports of”

  SECONDARY SEARCH GROUP: “MUNCOM, Edgewood Arsenal, Maryland” TERTIARY SEARCH GROUP: “Vander, Daniel, D.O.B. 25 May 1990.”

  Several seconds later, an image box loaded a picture of a young boy with fox-brown hair, smiling as if for a class yearbook photo.

  “The optical computer pulled this kid’s name up when I programmed a free-roam search through Aerial Intelligence Command, using Edgewood as the find topic,” Garrett specified from his aura of cigarette smoke. “The boy’s name is Danny Vander, eight years old. Just a typical American elementary school kid like a million others…or so we might think. You know what this is, Lynn? It’s a certified abduction report.”

  Lynn’s expression drooped through a pause. “I take it you’re using the word ‘abduction’ in reference to—”

  “Yeah, an abduction by an extraterrestrial species.”

  Lynn fell silent, frustrated.

  Garrett looked up at her. “But that’s not all—actually, it’s just the beginning.”

  “How so?”

  “Danny’s father is Brigadier General Anthony Vander…who just happens to be the post commander of the Edgewood Arsenal.”

  ««—»»

  Danny had always liked Dr. Harolds; he was a nice man, and always seemed to understand. He never looked at him funny the way Danny’s father did. It was just everything else that Danny didn’t like. This building, this place. This stuffy waiting room and the sign outside that read BASE MENTAL HYGIENE UNIT. No, Danny had never liked the sound of that. It was so Army.

  This was a place for people who weren’t right in the head.

  Dr. Harolds was young, like Miss Romesch at school. He always had a smile and always wore the neat long white doctor’s coat over his Army shirt, with his captain’s bars on the lapel.

  “Here we go,” Dr. Harolds said. He had his hand on Danny’s shoulder as he showed him out of the office into the waiting room. Danny sat down in one of the hard plastic chairs. Dr. Harolds got down on one knee and smiled at him.

  “So what do you think, Danny?” the doctor asked. “I’d say we had a pretty good session today, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, Dr. Harolds.”

  “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll try some new medication for the headaches. I know you didn’t like that last stuff, but you’ll like this new stuff a lot better. It won’t upset your stomach or make you tired. It’ll be ready later this afternoon; they’ll deliver it out to the house, okay?”

  Danny nodded dejectedly.

  “And I’ll see you next week.” Dr. Harolds looked at his watch. “Looks like your father’s a little late—”

  “He’s always late,” Danny said.

  Dr. Harolds nodded. “Yeah, I know, but that’s because he’s the base commander. That’s a pretty important job, and it means he’s got lots of stuff to do. But I’m sure he’ll be around any minute to pick you up. And remember, any time you’re not feeling good or want to talk, just tell your mom or dad to call me, okay?”

  “Yes, Dr. Harolds.”

  “Good.” The doctor patted Danny on the back. “See you next time.”

  “‘Bye…”

  When Dr. Harolds went back to his office, Danny looked uncomfortably around. The same ma
gazines seemed to always be sitting in the wicker basket, and the glare of the sun through the windows always seemed to shine in his eyes at the same angle. And there was always that same poster on the wall: MEET THE CHALLENGE…BE THE ARMY!

  At least he was alone this time. Most times when he had to wait for his father to pick him up, the were other people in the room, waiting to see Dr. Harolds. Mostly men in their fatigues. They always looked unhappy or mad about something. Or sometimes there’d by other kids here waiting with their mothers, and some of these kids looked pretty messed up.

  Danny supposed he had a lot to be grateful for, even if—

  Suddenly his face twisted up and his head hurt so bad he doubled over in the seat. It was another headache coming on, and it felt like a real bad one. He hated the pain, but what he hated even more than that were the things he saw.

  It was the Stickmen.

  This was how they reminded him—

  —of what they want, what they need. He still doesn’t understand, but somehow that doesn’t seem important—

  —and he’s standing on the hill again, standing in front of the churning red and yellow light from the window—

  —then the light turns bright white in less than a second, and he hears that funny ticking sound, and then a thread-thin line of white light begins to form along the ship’s black hull right next to the trapezoidal window—

  —the line draws down from top to bottom, and that’s when the doorway opens, and the Stickman inside comes out and waves at him with his weird long two-fingered hand—

  —and—

  Just as he thought his head would break open, the pain—and the visions—stop. Puff-faced, sweating, Danny sat back upright in the waiting room seat and let out a long breath. He had just enough time to wipe the tears from his eyes when the door clicked open and his father walked in.

  General Vander seemed to be repressing a frown from the opened doorway.

  “Come on, Danny,” he said. “Time to go home.”

  ««—»»

  “Am I going to get brain damage from all those metal-detectors and x-ray machines?” Garrett asked.

  “Don’t worry about it, Harlan,” Lynn replied. “You already are brain damaged, so what difference does it make?”

  Lynn dressed smartly as usual, a nice business dress, conservative high heels. Garrett dressed sloppily. As usual. Threadbare jeans, beaten sneakers, and a black t-shirt that read IT WAS THE 2ND FLOOR OF THE DAL-TEX BUILDING.

  “Or maybe I’m the brain-damaged one,” Lynn continued. “I must be out of my mind bringing you here.”

  “Here” was the West-Southwest Spoke of an infamous fifty-six year old building in Arlington County called the Pentagon. Garrett had always dreamed of getting a gander inside this five-sided, five-story nexus of global military supremacy but, until today, such an opportunity seemed as likely as Manson getting invited to Roman Polanski’s house for dinner.

  “Wow, this is great!” Garrett exclaimed, toting along the suitcase he’d retrieved from the storage unit. He looked to and fro down the long concourse, a gleam in his eyes like a kid in Toys-R-Us. Garrett eyeballed each passing door sign in wonderment: NATIONAL INTELLIGENCE COUNCIL, OFFICE OF IMAGERY ANALYSIS, SPECIAL ASSISTANT FOR CONGRESSIONAL AFFAIRS

  “Oh, man, this is so cool…” He shot an enthused gaze at her. “Hey, is there really a giant shopping mall here?”

  “Yes,” Lynn groaned.

  “Can we go, can we go?”

  “It’s for employees only.”

  Garrett seemed disappointed. “Is there really a hot-dog stand in the center court called Ground Zero?”

  “Yes,” Lynn groaned.

  “Can we go, please? Can we go?” Garrett was nearly jumping up and down.

  “This is the Pentagon, Harlan,” Lynn snapped. “Not Disneyland. We’re not here for lunch. And I still can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

  Garrett calmed down, let the excitement of being here lower back to reality. “Well I still can’t believe you let me talk you into spending the night at my apartment. It’s a start.”

  “Yeah, it’s a start , all right. And by the way, how was the couch?”

  “Lonely.”

  “Good. And just because I’m a pushover doesn’t mean Myers is.”

  Garrett shook his head. “Don’t worry, I’d never ask him to spend the night—”

  Lynn’s annoyance couldn’t be more obvious. “Would you be serious for just one minute? Myers is a good man and a good friend, but he’s also a senior case director and a former chief-of-outpost. He’s got field guidelines, Harlan, and I don’t have to mention that he’s not exactly your greatest fan.”

  “I agree,” Garrett admitted. “He won’t believe me. But I’ll bet my subscription to Conspiracy Illustrated that he believes you.”

  “You better hope he does,” Lynn warned. “Because if Myers loses his professional respect for me because of you…”

  “Relax,” Garrett insisted. “Women. Jesus.” Just then a large window display caught his eye, and the fancy stenciled lettering: THE MAXWELL TAYLOR GIFT SHOP. Garrett stopped in his tracks. “Lynn, Lynn! Can we go in? I want that Pentagon ashtray! Pleeeeease?”

  Lynn offered him the bleakest of stares. “Harlan, you’re damn lucky I had to check my gun in at the admissions desk.”

  ««—»»

  Garrett’s faddist wonder did not abate as his very stolid ex-wife took him up the personnel elevator to the fifth floor. Next she took him into a rather drab office whose rather drab door read:

  DEFENSE INTELLIGENCE AGENCY

  PENTAGON LIAISON BRANCH

  Senior Case Director Myers had not-very-enthusiastically attended Garrett’s wedding to Lynn; that was the only time Garrett had met the man, and it was Garrett’s good fortune that looks couldn’t kill. To Myers, Garrett was a conspiracy kook at the least and probably an anarchist at the worst. Jesus, Garrett thought now, seeing the man again for the first time in years. If he was bald, he’d look just like the Chief on Get Smart.

  But Garrett minded his manners when he received the otherwise impossible opportunity to make his pitch. Lynn kept to a corner while Myers sat poker-faced behind his desk, listening to Garrett’s extraordinary claims. During his clipped discourse, Garrett showed the director the most convincing of the documents, the photographs, and the ciphers, and at the end of his first segment, Garrett felt pretty proud of himself. All in all, it was a great presentation.

  “Well?” Garrett bid after a long silence. “What do you think so far?”

  Myers’ emotionless face finally tightened into something that could be called a human expression.

  A negative human expression.

  “What do I think?” Myers answered. “I think this pile of paper here is more useless than a picnic basket full of gorilla shit. That’s what I think. Don’t you know counterfeiting government documents is a federal crime? Don’t you know that trying to pass them off as genuine to an officer of a government agency can land you in prison for fifty years? Look, Garrett, I know you’re a nut-bar, I know you’re rebellious anti-Constitutional flake, and I know you’re a criminal…but even I couldn’t imagine that you could be this stupid.”

  Garrett shuffled in place. “Gee, I guess you didn’t like my presentation, huh?”

  Myers pushed away from his desk in disdain. “You conspiracy nut-bars are all the same. When you can’t prove anything, you make the shit up to support your own ridiculous beliefs because you’ve got nothing real to do with your lives. Your whole world becomes a sewer full of your own bullshit. Jesus Christ, you idiots think the Apollo moon landings were staged and Kennedy was killed by an Oswald imposture planted by the CIA.”

  “Actually,” Garrett elucidated, “the imposture, William Seymour, was planted by Army intel, not CIA, while the real Oswald was in Russia, and Kennedy was actually killed by shooters in the Corsican Mafia recruited for Santos Trafficante by the Marseille heroin syndicate…but that’s beside the point
. Look, sir, these documents aren’t fake. This brand of photographic paper isn’t even made any more, and look at the watermarks, look at the typographical protocol, look at the ciphers. Christ, check the signatures with your graphology unit.”

  Myers was wincing so harshly he could’ve just bitten into a lemon. “This shit is fake, Garrett, and you’re the one who manufactured it. You and your nut-bar cronies. And, Lynn—” Now Myers’ glared shot to the corner. “You must have some serious flaws in your power of judgment, to actually bring this idiot here. Frankly, I’m astonished that you haven’t been able to see right through this two-bit ploy.”

  Stoop-shouldered, Lynn sighed. “Sure, boss, I can imagine how this appears to you, given Harlan’s…escapades in the past. But I don’t think my judgment is faulty. I don’t think the documents and photos are fakes. And, yes, Harlan is a bit loopy sometimes, but I do know him. I was married to him—God knows why—and one thing I can attest to beyond all doubt is that he’s not a liar. And I think that you won’t be so quick to dismiss him once you hear, and see, the rest.”

  Myers looked momentarily flabbergasted. “You mean…there’s more?”

  “Plenty more, sir,” Garret hastened to answer. “The Nellis business is just Part One. Ready for Part Two?”

  Myers simmered where he sat. “If this isn’t good, and I mean real good, I’m going to have you booked and charged. And, Lynn? I’ll make sure you never get on a promotion list again. Business is business, and our jobs are very sensitive. Just because you and I are friends doesn’t mean I won’t transfer you to our field office in Wainwright, Alaska.”

  Then Lynn did the strangest thing. “This is good, boss. If I didn’t think so, then I never would’ve brought him here in a million years.”