Kubrick's Game Read online

  “We can pay you!” said Wilson. “How about a hundred bucks for your time?”

  Greenwald laughed. “I’m sorry. Come back tomorrow.” He started to walk away.

  “This film is from Stanley Kubrick!” Sami tried.

  Greenwald stopped. “How do you know it’s from Stanley Kubrick?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Sami. “But I promise you won’t be disappointed.”

  Shawn realized that Sami had no idea if Greenwald would be disappointed or not, but made mental note that this was an appropriate time to bend the truth.

  Greenwald pushed the door open for them.

  Once they were inside, Greenwald instructed them to follow him to a projection room. The interior of the museum reminded Shawn of the space station from 2001. The floors, walls and ceiling were ultra-modern and immaculate white. Cleverly hidden digital projectors illuminated great film scenes on a variety of surfaces, and the effect was stunning.

  Several minutes later, Greenwald set up a large metal projector in a small screening room. Shawn thought it looked like a weapon from a cheesy science-fiction film.

  Greenwald used a large black flashlight to illuminate the gears as he got to work preparing the film for projection.

  “There have been whispers around town,” said Greenwald, as he delicately threaded the film around loops, over rollers and through slots. “Whispers of perhaps a lost film of Stanley Kubrick turning up. Something was found at NYU Film School recently—a curious message sent from Mr. Kubrick himself. Tell me, is this related?”

  They looked at each other, unsure how much to divulge.

  “We’re from UCLA School of Film,” Sami said, matter-of-factly.

  “UCLA? What brings you to New York?”

  “I have a feeling we’re about to find out,” she said.

  “Very well,” said Greenwald. “Let’s see what we have here.”

  The projector lit up and the film began rolling. As expected, it was darkness for the first several seconds, but then the audio kicked in—a girl’s voice singing in German.

  Shawn and Sami recognized it immediately as the voice of Stanley Kubrick’s wife, Christiane. She sang “The Faithful Hussar” from the final scene of what was considered Kubrick’s first great film, Paths of Glory.

  The singing continued over blackness for the entire duration of the song. Shawn pictured the emotional scene—a pretty young German prisoner brought in to entertain the weary French soldiers. The soldiers hooted and hollered, seeing her as an object for their entertainment. The girl wept in fear, commanded to sing for them. She sang the well-known German folk song about a soldier who had to leave his love behind to fight in a war. The universal sentiment of the toll of war silenced the room and moved many of the soldiers to tears.

  One man who must have been moved more than any other was Kubrick himself, because he knew as soon as he shot the scene that the actress would be his wife. He and Christiane remained happily married until the day Kubrick died.

  The song ended, and for a moment silence accompanied the blackness, but an image appeared on the screen a few seconds later. It was a large wooden desk covered in stacks of papers, scripts, and photographs, and at the front of the table, a simple wooden chessboard.

  A man walked into frame, sat down behind the desk, and stared straight into the camera with those famous dark eyes that emitted a soul-piercing glare beneath sharply arched eyebrows—Mr. Stanley Kubrick.

  He looked to be in his mid-to-late sixties, meaning the footage must have been shot sometime in the 1990s. His fluffy beard had grayed over his round face, but his hair remained a light salt-and-pepper brown on the sides of his head, with a wisp resting on top of his balding scalp. He wore glasses on his nose, a blue dress shirt buttoned to the top, and a black suit jacket. It was more formal than the everyday attire he usually wore in pictures.

  Realizing it was Kubrick, Sami squeezed Shawn’s hand.

  Shawn squeezed back.

  “Hello there,” said Kubrick into the camera, his Bronx accent evident immediately. “If you are watching this footage, then you have discovered my game. Some time ago, Christiane said I needed to find something fun to do so I wouldn’t become a dull boy in between projects. Sadly, my tennis game wasn’t up to snuff, so I decided to create a puzzle. Consider it a game of chess between you and me. However, this game is no mere trifle. Along the way you will encounter a series of Qs that need answering in order to unearth the prize I have waiting for you—something that could change the course of history should you find it. If you are successful, I will see you at the end. You must return this film reel and the painting to the hotel in the exact condition you found them, in order to receive your next clue. Other players must have a chance to play. I wish you luck and will send you off with one small hint: always dig deeper, and at the next checkpoint... watch out for sharks.”

  The screen went white and the film spun on the take-up reel.

  The group was speechless. Even Wilson looked amazed, a giant smile on his face.

  “Did you hear what he said?” Sami said beaming. “He said he will see us at the end. He’s alive!”

  Shawn hated to dampen her spirits, but had to say, “I don’t think so. He clearly shot the footage in the 90s and had no way of knowing he was going to die before this point.”

  “You don’t know that for sure! That could have all been part of the game. What if that’s the answer to this puzzle? What if he’s been off somewhere in the world making his final film away from prying eyes? Shawn, you feel just as deeply about Kubrick as I do. How could you not be crying?”

  Shawn turned away, not wanting to answer her. The truth was he hadn’t cried in eleven years, and had only ever cried in response to physical pain, never intense emotion.

  Sami continued, “What if Kubrick shot a secret film and this game is a beacon to find him and receive his final masterpiece?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said Shawn. “Come on, let’s take it back to the hotel and get the next clue.”

  Shawn reached for the film reel, but Greenwald stepped in front of him. At the same time, three large security guards entered through the door.

  “I’m sorry,” said Greenwald. “But this footage is going nowhere.”

  “What do you mean the footage is going nowhere?” said Wilson. “It’s ours.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Greenwald, pulling the film reel off the projector. “I can’t let you scuttle around New York City with one of the most important cinematic discoveries in decades. It belongs in a museum.”

  “It’s just a puzzle piece,” said Shawn. “Can’t you see it will lead to something even more important?”

  “This conversation can serve no purpose anymore,” said Greenwald. “Please escort them out of the museum.”

  The three security guards closed in.

  Wilson whispered into Shawn’s ear, “Grab the reel when I make my move.”

  As the lead guard approached, Wilson yelled, “Now!” He charged forward like a running back, tackling the guard, who fell backward and knocked over the two guards behind him.

  At the same time, Shawn ran at Greenwald and grabbed the film reel with both hands. Greenwald clutched the reel to his chest while Shawn tugged as hard as he could.

  “Don’t resist us!” Greenwald barked.

  Sami grabbed Greenwald’s large flashlight. She raised it high, like the ape-man with an animal bone, and slammed the battery end onto Greenwald’s head.

  Greenwald released his grip on the film reel as he fell backward. Blood oozed from a cut on his forehead.

  “Come on!” shouted Wilson.

  Shawn, with Sami and Wilson close behind, jumped over the fallen guards and ran down the hallway. Projections from black-and-white films flashed on their bodies as they ran toward the glass entry doors, but when they reached the doors, they couldn’t open them.

  “They’re all locked!” said Shawn.

  “Stand back!” cried Wilson. He picked up a
chair and, just as he was about to heave it through the glass door, he fell to the ground in convulsions.

  Shawn turned to see the lead security guard holding a Taser gun. The other two guards ran up behind him, both holding Taser guns aimed at Shawn and Sami.

  “Drop the film reel now!” shouted the lead guard.

  When they didn’t comply, fifty thousand volts shot toward them.

  Shawn woke up in a small dark room. How long had it been? Minutes? Hours?

  Wilson muttered, “Shawn? Sami?”

  Sami groaned. “I feel like I got hit by a bus.”

  “Where are we?” said Wilson.

  As Shawn’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, small details came into focus. Their hands were zip-tied behind their backs. They were in the back corner of a small office.

  “What happened?” said Wilson. “Last thing I remember was picking up a chair.”

  “You got tased,” said Shawn. “I think we all did.”

  Wilson groaned, as if reliving the shockwaves of pain. “Oh my god, that’s messed up. First call I make is to my lawyer. Gonna sue this place so hard.”

  “This move doesn’t make sense,” said Shawn. “Why would a museum curator in Astoria resort to violence? I don’t care if we had the first roll of film shot by Thomas Edison. There has to be more to it.”

  “Unless the curator is insane!” Wilson noted.

  Just then the door bolt twisted open and Greenwald stepped inside, his head bandaged and stained with blood.

  As the light came on, Shawn noticed a clock on the wall that read 12:15 a.m. They had been out for almost four hours.

  “Good. You’re awake,” he said.

  “Glad you’re still around too,” said Wilson. “Cause I can’t wait to sue you and this museum into oblivion.”

  “Oh, I don’t think you’ll be doing that,” said Greenwald.

  “Oh yeah?” said Wilson. “Why not?”

  He pulled out the film canister, then opened it to show that the reel was back inside. “Because we are on the same side. I need you to listen to me carefully. Everything depends on the next few minutes proceeding flawlessly.”

  “The guards are standing right outside the door,” Greenwald whispered. “They cannot hear what I’m about to tell you.” He cut Sami’s zip tie and handed her the sealed box. “Inside the box is the film reel exactly as it was found at the hotel. There are people on their way here who have also discovered Kubrick’s game, people far more dangerous and determined than you. They have recruited me to aid them in solving Kubrick’s puzzles. However, it is imperative that they not find the prize, because they will make sure it never sees the light of day.”

  “What are you talking about?” said Wilson. “What do they think the prize is?”

  “Nobody knows for sure, but they are desperately concerned about what it could be.”

  “What could possibly be worth what you’ve done to us?”

  “Shut up, Wilson!” Shawn and Sami blurted together. They had a clear idea of what Greenwald was referring to.

  “I’m sorry there’s no time to explain further,” the curator said. “I am under strict orders to arrange for your ‘escape’ from the museum, but you are meant to believe that you escaped on your own, so that you will continue the quest blind to the truth that you are being watched at every turn. Remember, it must look convincing for the surveillance cameras.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Shawn. “Why didn’t you just let us leave with the footage earlier?”

  “Because they are one step behind you. They don’t even know how you deciphered the clues to obtain the footage. I spent the last several hours making an exact duplicate of the film to get them up to speed. The puzzles are proving more challenging than any of them imagined. You must proceed as if I have told you none of this, but you must remember, they will not let you win under any circumstance.”

  Greenwald cut the ties binding Shawn and Wilson, who looked at one another.

  Greenwald and his cohorts must be ignorant about the other groups who were already ahead of them.

  “The guards know they are to let you escape. Wait for the signal and exit through the third door. Good luck.”

  “Why are you helping us?” said Sami. “Why risk betraying these people if they are so dangerous?”

  Greenwald smiled and let loose a soft sigh. “Because, unlike them, I believe that whatever Kubrick has left for us must see the light of day.” He turned and left the room.

  Moments later the guards opened the door. The lead guard grabbed the box and ordered the three to walk in front of them. They hadn’t walked for more than ten steps when the lights in the hallway cut out, accompanied by a shattering of glass and a cry that sounded as if it came from Greenwald.

  “Help me!”

  The guards looked at one another. One asked, “Is this part of it?”

  “Must be. Come on!” The guard dropped the box and ran toward the screams.

  Shawn and Wilson bent over at the same time to pick up the package, and Shawn held on to it.

  “That’s our cue,” said Wilson.

  As Greenwald promised, the third door was open. They ran outside, the screaming and commotion fading in the distance. Sami jumped in front of a passing taxi to stop it, and they piled inside and told the driver to rush them to the San Carlos Hotel.

  “What the hell?” Wilson huffed trying to catch his breath. “If that wasn’t real, it was damn convincing.”

  “Did you hear what Greenwald said?” Sami recalled. “He doesn’t know about the two groups ahead of us.”

  “They’re ahead of us for now,” said Shawn. “But I have a feeling as soon as we get the next clue, we could be days ahead of them. I bet they haven’t solved the Spartacus puzzle from the FDR photograph.”

  Back at the San Carlos, they handed the box to Scott the concierge.

  “I thought you were never coming back,” he said. “My shift ended two hours ago, but I had to stay until you brought it back. I’ll examine this and be back in a jiff.”

  As Scott took the box into the back room, Shawn felt a surge of panic. What if Greenwald had screwed them? What if he had given them a dummy box that would essentially end their part in the game right here? A brilliant strategy if he was part of one of the teams that was ahead of them: eliminate the competition right here.

  Scott walked back toward them with a strange look on his face. “Well, well,” he said. “You guys were exceedingly thorough. It looks even better than when you took it. Per my instructions from a very generous tipper, here’s your reward.” He reached under the desk and handed them a sealed 8x10 black envelope. On the front in white ink was the familiar phrase: Q’s Project.

  “Thanks.” Shawn took the envelope, but before he could tear it open, Wilson stopped him.

  “Excuse me, Scott,” said Wilson. “I want to thank you for your trouble.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill across the table to him.

  “It was no trouble at all. Let me know if I can be of any further assistance.”

  Wilson pulled out another twenty and pressed it to the table, holding it firmly with his index and middle fingers. “Actually, there is something. You said there were two other groups who came here before us. Anything you might remember about them?”

  “Well, since you seem so curious, I suppose I do recall a few details. One was a group of three kids, seemed to be around your ages, maybe a little younger. Before them was a couple of guys... guys who... well, let’s just say I wouldn’t want to run into them in a dark alleyway.”

  “And you’re sure that’s all you remember?” asked Wilson.

  “At the moment, that seems to be it,” said Scott indicatively, as if another twenty might jog more details.

  “I think that’s good for now. You stay cool, brother.” Wilson released his fingers from the twenty and led the group to a secluded corner of the lobby.

  Once Wilson was sure nobody was watching, his cool demeanor quickly turned to anxiety. “Man, what have
you gotten me into, Hagan? I was in this game to have fun, not get my ass tased or be messing with scary dudes in a dark alleyway. What the hell could Kubrick possibly have left behind that crazy fools might be willing to kill to get their hands on?”

  “Several possibilities have crossed my mind,” said Shawn. “It could be—”

  “Not here,” said Sami. “They might be watching us. We can discuss it tonight back at the room. Let’s just open this envelope and take it from there.”

  “Before you do,” said Wilson, “you might want to consider that once we open it, there may be no turning back. Now may be our chance to get out while we still can.”

  Shawn looked to Sami.

  She shrugged and said, “Could you really go on with your life not knowing what was in that envelope?”

  Shawn thought for a moment and said, “I trust Kubrick.”

  He opened it.

  Inside they found another photograph—a smaller version of the same Lolita portrait—but this one was cropped at the head with a bullet hole right below the eye. Just like the final image from Lolita.

  “Check the back,” said Sami.

  Stamped in red on the back of the photo was:

  PROPERTY OF UNIVERSAL STUDIOS.

  “That’s strange,” said Sami. “The stamp seems to indicate that the painting from Lolita was a Universal prop, but Lolita was made by MGM.”

  “Right,” said Shawn. “Kubrick only made one picture with Universal, which was—”

  “Spartacus!” Sami’s face lit up.

  “What are you two so excited about? What am I missing?” said Wilson.

  Shawn started putting all the clues together in his head:

  Follow me to Q’s identity

  I am Spartacus

  Property of Universal Studios

  The realization sent shivers through his body. “Guys, I think I got it. It’s—”

  Sami slammed her hand over Shawn’s mouth. “Not here!” she whispered. “Let’s head back to the apartment.”

  Once safely in a cab, Shawn picked up right where he left off. “The Spartacus clue had been bothering me this whole time, because Kubrick had disavowed the film, but then it hit me. Spartacus could be referring to something other than the film. It could be referring to the one and only set still standing from any of Kubrick’s films.”