The Distance Beacons Read Online Free Page B

man with a cleft palate.
    Cowens turned to me. "And you are not to divulge the contents of these files to anyone else. If I find that you have, I'll throw you back into the army so fast you'll think you never took the uniform off. Understood?"
    "Uh-huh."
    Cowens stared at me. "You weren't a very good soldier, were you, Sands?" he said after a moment.
    I considered. "I was a terrible soldier," I replied. He nodded, his insight confirmed, and then he walked stiffly out the door. Sergeant Hennessey locked it behind him, then turned to me. "It's all yours," he said, and he went back to reading his newspaper.
    I wandered through the rows of file cabinets, looking for the 'T's. Finally I found a cabinet labeled "Tabard to Timothy" in pencil. I slid open the bottom drawer. It was crammed full of manila folders. I thumbed through them until I found the T's, and the folder for The Second American Revolution. As Cowens had said, it was empty. So now what?
    Just for fun, I looked through the S's. Did the government snoops have a file on one Walter Sands? Why, yes they did. I took it out and opened it up, eager to see what they had on me.
    There was nothing in it but the article my friend Gwen had written for the Globe about my adventure in England. I didn't know whether to feel annoyed or relieved. On the one hand, my pride was hurt. Hadn't I done lots of other things worth their attention? Did it take Gwen's article to make them notice me? On the other hand, surely it was a good thing not to be noticed. There was no telling when they'd decide to stick you back in the army.
    As I looked at my folder, something struck me. My name had been written in pencil, and the black letters were already smudged and faded with handling, even though Gwen's article was only a few weeks old. The tab on which my name appeared was soft and wrinkled. I got out TSAR's folder again. No smudges; no fading; no wrinkles. A nice, fresh, new folder.
    I closed the drawers and returned to Sergeant Hennessey, who looked up from his paper. "Through?" he asked.
    "Well, no, I've got a couple of questions I'd like to ask you, actually."
    "General Cowens didn't say anything about answering questions," the soldier pointed out.
    I raised an eyebrow. "All right, let's get him back down here and straighten this out," I said in my too-busy-to-put-up-with-this-nonsense voice.
    Hennessey shrugged. "Ask your questions. If I don't like them, you can go get him."
    Your typical helpful Fed. "Do many people come down here to look at these files?"
    Hennessey considered. "Enough," he replied helpfully.
    "Do you keep a log of the people who look at the files?"
    He shook his head.
    "Is there a list of people who are allowed in here?" Another helpful shake of the head.
    "Then how do you know who's authorized to look at the files?"
    "I know," he said.
    "Is anyone allowed to add a new folder to the files?"
    "If you're allowed in here, you can add folders."
    I pondered. "Well, thanks a lot," I said finally. Sergeant Hennessey went back to reading his paper. I thought about going upstairs to Bolton and getting him to make this guy cooperate, but I decided I didn't have things clear enough in my mind just yet. Instead I returned to the files.
    I couldn't think of any other angles to check here on the case, so I looked up what the Feds had on my friends. Nothing much. Gwen had some of her articles clipped out; the Globe was more or less anti-government, so I wasn't surprised that the Feds would keep track of its reporters. And there were a couple of items about a guy I knew named Linc, who had hated the government and had been more than willing to say so.
    But Linc was dead. I wondered if anyone was responsible for removing folders for dead people from the file cabinets. Not enough manpower, I supposed; not enough resources. It was more important to add empty new folders.
    "Quitting time," Hennessey called to me after a while. I shut the drawer and returned to the desk. Hennessey had the door