The Book (38 page)

Moby, being the most oppressive and least recognizable, went to the door and looked through the eyehole. With the distorted viewpoint, the woman appeared very round and, at the same time, very thin. Her eyes darted back and forth and she seemed to be mumbling, as if debating with herself why she hadn’t gone home. Moby opened the door and, in quite an ordinary way, to avoid any increase in tension, greeted the woman with a gentle smile.

“You must be Rosemary.”

“Yes…yes…” she stammered, rocking in place with two nylon, department store bags held at her sides. Her gray and blonde streaked hair hung in sweaty ropes from her scalp and her thick, librarian eyeglasses hung low on her nose. Moby could tell she was impatient to push them back into place.

“Please come in. We’ve been expecting you.”

Marion looked across the room at Holden, her cropped black hair swinging over her fretful eyes as her lips folded under each other. There was no going back now. Any opportunity they’d had to turn around had vanished. Gone with the wind.

Winston couldn’t have been more thrilled to see her. He was sick of waiting around and had been looking forward to discovering what she had brought with. He hobbled out from one of the side bedrooms and, leading with his left leg, extended a hand as he approached. It took him ten steps to reach Rosemary, but she warmed in the presence of his simple temperament.

“I’m Winston. I am so,
so
overjoyed to see you,” he gleamed, releasing her hand. “We have much to talk about.”

“Quite literally…do.” Winston chuckled, stupidly. “We have no membership fees and all we ask is that you clip down that flimsy nail on your pointer finger.” Rosemary stifled a giggle at Winston’s charm and searched for a seat nearby.

“Can we get you anything to drink or eat?” Moby inquired, nervously.

“I’m fine. Thank you. If it’s alright…with you…I would like to discuss the matter and head out. It’s
not
that I am
not
behind this one hundred percent. I am.” She calmed for a moment before repeating, “I am. I simply don’t do very well under such…pressure.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Holden said, stepping around Moby to console her. With his hat, glasses and outfit removed, she recognized him instantly from the television and a sudden understanding washed over her.

“That’s why you’re wanted. Because of this. Because of The Book.” She took another look at Marion and began to nod unhurriedly. “Both of you. You aren’t involved with
The Free Thinkers
at all.”

“No,” Winston confirmed, with a curl of his nose. “An untruth that has been thrust upon them.”

Rosemary nodded and seemed to relax. Although this was another layer to the cake that unquestionably increased her level of danger, it also added an engaging certainty that she had previously been unable to grasp. That everything Winston had told her friend was entirely true and that, with her job, she had been the literal embodiment of
in the right place at the right time
.

Over coffee (and cake), they discussed the plan for the next day. How Rosemary would begin moving some of the more important books at an earlier hour and how she would leave a few specific doors unlocked for Holden. Since her position at the library was rather elevated, her access was shockingly unlimited and she chose to memorize the list they provided her of the most important books in history, the ones she needed to work the hardest at retrieving, for her own safety.

“They can’t search my mind,” she noted, timidly. “Not yet, at least.”

“I’m sure that’s something they’re working on,” Moby added.

The laugh they shared was much needed because the discussion was about to elevate. About to get serious. And dangerous. Holden needed to talk to her about the fire.

The one detail they had not been sure of was where in the library to actually ignite the blaze. From the plans he and Shane had reviewed, there were nine areas that seemed most likely to stay aflame if all of the fire protection was off. What they needed to know was which of the nine corners had a collection of books that was alright to destroy. The topic was very sensitive to all of them and they had to force themselves to remember what they were doing it for and that their mission made sense and that it was all for the greater good. Some books were sacrificing themselves to save others. The ones that would change things.

Rosemary didn’t even hesitate as she scanned the digital blueprints.

“This is the spot. Right here,” she said, pointing. “No books. Just a card catalog. That can burn.”

Holden circled it with a stylus pen and closed the log book. “Once the fire is set, there won’t be much time. This stuff is old. It’s going to light up real quick and we have to make sure the fire reaches high enough to react with the sprinkler heads. Once it does, all the sequences in the system will try to exterminate the fire, but I’ll have shut those down already. The sprinkler heads will come on. They will sputter and trail off to a dull spray that won’t be effective against the blaze. Leaving me enough time to escape,” he lied, hoping no one would catch it, “That’s when you overreact and begin all those security measures we talked about.”

“And there’s a lot to that,” she breathed, imagining the turmoil. “There’s a full team of guards and an office staffed with people that are instructed not to leave in case of a fire. They have to help save the books.”

“Well, Uncle Sam must keep up appearances,” Winston added.

“After that,” Holden continued, “when the first truck is full and sent down the street, the one with as many of the books from that list as possible, you leave the building. At that point, Marion will be standing by to call Winston and tell him that it’s left the building. Winston, you will be here at the window watching the truck with binoculars. Once the truck reaches the intersection we discussed, you will call Moby. Then Moby –”

“I take over, man. Like I said, I’ve got a group of guys on standby. All they know is that it’s a heist and that they’re well paid.”

“By that time, Marion and I meet outside and move to the hotel while the fire department takes care of the building and saves the rest of the books. We arrive in ten minutes and then the three of us check out and drive home where we’ll meet up with Moby. That’s it.” Holden looked around the room and felt the need to prepare them for what was actually going to happen. When they find themselves wondering why he hadn’t left the building. “All I want to add is that it’s very likely we may come upon a few hitches here and there. Some things might not go exactly to plan and when that happens, don’t panic. Just take a second. Regroup. And then try to develop a secondary option of what you can do in the moment. If that happens, remind yourself that we have thought out every detail and that the plan is still going to work. Alright?”

They all agreed and Holden agreed with them, knowing that it would not at all go to plan. He was going to stay behind as the fire climbed the walls and he was going to wait until the fire department arrived to make sure that nothing and no one could come and ruin it all.

After working out a few of the minor details, Rosemary took the two canvas bags that she had left near the door and brought them to a table at the center of the room. One by one, she removed the books, like a midwife removing innocent twins from a mother’s womb, and laid them out upon the crystal glass surface as gently as her muscles allowed. The four of them circled the table and admired the majestic pieces, each one from the top of their list of importance. A few times Winston stumbled in place, as if he hadn’t believed a real copy existed. Once, when Rosemary took out
The Valiance of Raphael Petitto
, he reached for Moby’s hand and gripped it tightly, pulling the man’s enormous meat cleaver to his chest to stabilize his lungs as raspy, disbelieving breaths escaped his cheeks. Not only were the books on the table some of the most precious in the world, but they were in near mint condition. Their spines. Their bindings. Their covers and pages. Perfect. The four of them had never seen a book in such condition outside of a museum and it was a shock they had not been expecting. If these were the emotions they would feel over two canvas bags, how would their group react when Moby returned to Holden’s estate with truck loads?

Rosemary folded the green, reusable canvas bags with the seal of the Library of Congress stamped onto the handles and stuffed them indifferently into the garbage. “This is all I could get…I mean…all I felt safe taking. I could have gotten more. I know I could have. I just felt so nervous.”

Holden bellowed a deep laugh and collected himself quickly. “If you even knew what you have done for our cause, you wouldn’t be saying that. Just a few of these books are worth the trip down here.”

“Just this book,” Winston stammered, reaching out for a novel that rested alone at the corner of the table. He almost didn’t want to touch it, as if the acid in his fingers would turn it to dust.

Rosemary reached for her purse and jacket. “I’m afraid I must go. We’ve talked much longer than I was comfortable with and, what with the curfew, I think I shouldn’t push my luck.”

“Curfew?” Marion questioned. “What are you talking about?”

“Right. You’re not from around here. It was the Department of Environmentalism’s idea. A way to conserve our energy resources by enacting a curfew every night from eleven o’clock until four. During that time, there’s only minimal electricity available and stoplights stay on for safety. That way it will keep people off the streets, generate less crime and the police will be able to monitor while we conserve energy at an outrageous rate.”

Winston shook his head. “It’s just like you said about The Book, Holden. Instill fear, play on guilt and suddenly people are agreeing to have their freedoms stripped away.”

“Well, looks like we should let her go then,” Moby suggested, leading her to the door. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day.”

“Yes, it is. A big, brand new day.” Rosemary shook each of their hands before leaving, outwardly more nervous than when she had arrived.

With the door closed and the smell of old paper dusting the air, Winston returned to the table to admire the books while the three of them walked in different directions. No matter how hard it was to sleep in their private, comfortable bedrooms, they needed their energy. In one swift stroke, they may begin a revolution and regain an ounce of control. Tomorrow could very well be their reckoning.

* * * * *

032-91916

Holden awoke at four o’clock in the morning. Exactly. He had left the fan on in the shower and when the curfew ended, it burst forth from its slumber to wake him from his. He sat in bed, staring at the white numbers on the face of his alarm clock. Time was an enemy today. It controlled his future and it held him in place. It would keep him impatient, perhaps as a joke. So much time had been needed for the Editors of The Book to make the world what it was. With such patience and diligence. Walking with the tiniest of steps. Holden awoke on the cusp of one large step in the opposite direction and the courage it took for him to rise from the bed, walk to the window, pull back the thick drapes and look out on the moistened monuments of a corrupted country was more than he knew he had.

After a light breakfast (once again their stomachs weren’t agreeing with them), they took their time getting ready before reviewing their plans and holding one final meeting. The four of them sat around the table beside eight small stacks of the finest literature the world had ever known to find that there wasn’t much to say. A sample of their future triumph was sharing the gloomy glow from the window, encouraging them in their success. And that was enough. For they knew they would succeed. As long as they didn’t get in their own way.

Winston raised his head slightly, calling attention to himself. “I would like to take this opportunity to thank you all for everything you’ve done these past months. Marion, what a woman you’ve become. Your courage to peel those pages from the walls of your family bar. And how you’ve woken every morning in my home, knowing it could be your last. How wonderful it’s been to have you, so often, around me. You are more similar to my mother than I think you realize. It has been such a treat to have a female presence in my home again. You have placed a new light in my heart. I look forward to us getting back and playing more chess.” She smiled and reached a hand for his. He gripped it for a moment and let it go.

“Moby. How related you are to your uncle and yet, how far you have surpassed him. Not a moment’s hesitation when I ask something of you or request your opinion. How you work constantly, with such ingenuity, knowing that being steadfast in your pursuits and running toward them may not bring you there, when you want, but that it will bring you close. Your positivism and your strong will are two things I have missed from the company I once kept. You have been a gift and I look forward to the inventiveness you will continue to bring to our mission.”

Moby bobbed his gargantuan head down for a moment and swooped it back up, again not showing emotion. They knew it was hanging out somewhere, but there was a thick layer of tough skin people had to get through to see it.

Winston turned to the end of the table and pressed his tired lips together. He removed his glasses for a moment to wipe a tear. He cleaned them off with a handkerchief from his pocket, replaced them and adjusted his bow tie, as if the words he were about to say were important enough to warrant such ceremony.