BooksBarbecue
Back 3 a.m.
Chapters (67)
  1. :01
  2. :02
  3. :03
  4. :04
  5. :05
  6. :06
  7. :07
  8. :08
  9. :09
  10. :10
  11. :11
  12. :12
  13. :13
  14. :14
  15. :15
  16. :16
  17. :17
  18. :01
  19. :02
  20. :03
  21. :04
  22. :05
  23. :06
  24. :07
  25. :08
  26. :09
  27. :10
  28. :11
  29. :12
  30. :13
  31. :01
  32. :02
  33. :03
  34. :04
  35. :05
  36. :06
  37. :07
  38. :08
  39. :09
  40. :10
  41. :11
  42. :12
  43. :13
  44. :14
  45. :15
  46. :16
  47. :00
  48. :01
  49. :02
  50. :03
  51. :04
  52. :05
  53. :06
  54. :07
  55. :08
  56. :09
  57. :10
  58. :11
  59. :12
  60. :13
  61. :14
  62. :15
  63. :16
  64. :17
  65. :18
  66. :19
  67. 3:46 a.m.

“Oh my God!” he shouts. “S-and-Man. Sandman.”

“This is it,” I say. “This is Project Sandman.”

:12

“You think it could be?” my dad asks, unconvinced. “You think this could be the Project Sandman that Ewen was talking about?”

“Think about it,” I say. “Think about what Maggie said before we walked in, that sometimes Ewen will hear something that triggers him and that’s when he gets all loopy.”

“Yeah, so?”

I pull out my cell phone and find the recording from our sit-down. It takes me a moment to scroll to the right spot. I hit play.

Me: You don’t know of the White Room? Where it might be located?

Ewen: I haven’t spoken to Elena in over a decade. The last contact I had with her was just after 9/11. She was obsessed with something called Project Sandman.

Me: What is Project Sandman?

Ewen: [shouts] Who are you? Did Reagan send you? . . . Someone over there is tipping off the Russians and we need to find this mole before the entire war turns on its head.

Me: Mr. Ewen . . . Take a deep breath. We are in your study. It’s 2015.

Ewen: Who are you? You tell Reagan that I will do everything, will use every material we’ve created, to find the mole.

My dad: Mr. Ewen [shouts] Sidney!

I hit stop.

“You’re right,” my dad says, “Project Sandman is what set him off.”

I nod. “Sent him back to when Reagan was president.”

“Which was most of the eighties.”

“And Jennifer Nubers was killed in 1985.”

My dad inhales. “That’s the same year your mom left.”

I never made that connection.

“You’re right.”

“Jennifer Nubers was killed on January 12, 1985. The last time I saw your mother was four days after that.”

The last time I saw my mom was on my sixth birthday, which would have been nearly a month before, then she went away on a work trip.

I never saw her again.

“January 16, 1985,” my dad says. “Your mother came home, told me she was leaving and packed up those boxes. She said she would send me an address to mail them to her later, but she never did.”

“It all fits.”

His eyebrows jump.

He runs to the wall and rips off the “S and Man” entry. He skims, then reads out loud:

“I followed him from the Capitol Building. He was with a bunch of other guys in suits and there were a couple of television crews. I asked one of the guys videotaping what was going on and he said that they’d just finished inaugurating all the first-term congressmen in some ceremony. A CONGRESSMAN! He’s all right looking I guess. He kept looking over his shoulder. That’s why I followed him.”

“And then a page is missing,” he interjects. “Or maybe two. Who knows? But then it continues.”