National Security

It is a common practice not to judge a book by its cover, but rather by its contents. Unless you are a criminal. The kind of person who mangles the pages to hide their valuables behind the cover, who lays them down spread open on their face to mark their place, who cuts them into sculptures to sit in a museum, never to be read. That kind of person came running through my bookstore this afternoon. I didn’t recognize him as a criminal, just the sort of person who was late for a meeting and really didn’t want to chat. I own a small bookstore, and he came through and asked directly where the notebooks were. I pointed them out and he slipped behind the shelves. Not five minutes passed by and he ran back up with a small black notebook in the plastic cover, tossed it at me and demanded that I ring it up.

“2.99, sir.” I replied.

He dug through his wallet and slid $3 at me. “Keep the change, I don’t need a bag.”

Ooh, a whole cent. Mr. Big-Spender, how generous. I thought sarcastically. I handed him the book and he disappeared as fast as he arrived.

The rest of the day passed without additional curiosities. I chose to take an extra 10 minutes after closing to dust the encyclopedia section. While dusting, I sometimes will find valuables that people lost, an earring that has fallen, or wallets left on the shelf. I do my best to return them to the owners, rather than putting them in a lost-and-found somewhere. On this occasion, I found myself reading through the J encyclopedia, getting absorbed in the information and losing track of time when I knew I ought to be cleaning.

I went home after that to eat dinner in front of the news, like always. That’s when a report caught my attention; the police had caught a man suspected of grand theft, but the stolen items were not located when they picked up the prime suspect. The police said they were not at liberty to disclose what exactly was stolen but were asking for assistance from the general public with any information regarding the case. They showed a picture of the man I had seen that afternoon offering a $20,000 reward for anyone who would come forward with pertinent information that would lead to the recovery of the items and conviction of the man. This directed me to phone the police with what I knew, informing them that he had bought a small black notebook when he rushed through. The soft-spoken operator on the phone thanked me for the information and said the police would be notified and I would be informed if anything came of it.

Having done my civic duty, I still felt like it might be a good idea to investigate that section of the bookstore the next morning.

Arriving with 20 minutes until opening, I went to the stationary section where the odd gentleman had disappeared for a moment. It didn’t take me long to notice sheets of paper behind a set of leather-bound journals. I took them out and discovered they were ragged around the edges and oddly resembling a rabbit’s head, with two fully upright ears.

Thank goodness he didn’t cut up one of the printed books. I sighed. I hate it when books are mutilated, the author's words disgraced. I sorted through the rest of the books, dusting them off and setting them right, carelessly discarding the cut out pages into the recycling bin. If the cops wanted to see them, they would have let me know. But still…I won’t take it out for a few days… call them this evening, see what they think?

I looked at the shape of the cut-out pages, wondering exactly what would have fit there. He didn’t cut them in a square shape and that particular notebook wasn’t big enough to have held a stack of bills, which means he had stolen something else, and thought that book was sufficient. Jewels maybe? A tiny Van Gogh painting? A small antique porcelain doll with gold features? Maybe collectable matchbox cars? It might be big enough for a few spools of thread. Calm down, you’re not a detective like in some novel. Let the professionals handle it.

That night, in front of the news again, they reported more information that they were now looking for a small black notebook purchased by the criminal, but not found on his person when they picked him up.

Well, well, well, maybe calling them up again wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Oh crap, I’ll have to admit that I touched the pages and that would have removed or messed up his fingerprints. Aw, come on! I’m such an idiot! I thought, irritated by my own stupidity. Again, the TV made the reward obvious, along with his picture. Again, I called them up and told them that I was the owner of the bookstore where the notebook had been purchased, and that I had found pages cut out on my bookshelf. Again, the gentle lady thanked me and said they would be in touch.

The next morning, a couple of forensic officers were hovering around my door, attracting some attention to my regularly neglected bookstore. I smiled at them and unlocked the doors, waving the men in and showed them the pages that I had so imprudently discarded into the bin, apologizing profusely. They said it happened all the time, and went to work, exchanging concerned glances before confiscating the pages. The taller one asked me where the book was sitting before the suspect bought it. I led them to the appropriate bookshelf and showed them where I had found the pages and the shelf with over 50 other books just like it. They took a lot of pictures and then left.

That night, I rushed home and switched on the news, hoping the police had found what they were looking for, and if they had enough information to convict yet. They didn’t even mention the suspect this time, just that they were looking for a little black book and the stolen items, and that it was critical for anyone with information to come forward. I had done my job already, so I just tried not to be disappointed and carried on with my life.

Several weeks went by and I lost interest in the case. People came and went and minded their own business, looking for craft projects, novels, comic books and so on. No one came in for a notebook in all that time. The cops never contacted me, and I certainly didn’t see the $20,000, so I supposed they never convicted him or found the stolen items. One afternoon, the prime suspect came back in, much less frenzied than before, smiling, calm and relaxed, offering me a friendly wave. I nodded my acknowledgment nervously, and watched him go right back to the stationary section he had visited before. This time he came up with one of our ugliest notebooks, a sort of depressed cat on the front, one that would give kids nightmares.

“$9.99, sir,” I said, taking the book from him, testing its weight for just a moment.

“Highway robbery! Ten bucks for an ugly notebook! You gotta be kidding me!” He argued.

“I’m sorry sir, if you don’t want this one, we have cheaper options in the back.”

“NO! I mean, no, that’s fine,” he grumbled.

I smiled and asked if he would like a bag. He said yes. I nodded and slid the notebook behind the counter for just a moment, using my thumb to open the pages and dropped the foreign objects into a plastic bag, and the notebook into another plastic bag. Thank goodness for all those magic books I’ve read. I handed him the bag with the notebook and he walked off, grumbling still. I waited until he was good enough gone before I closed and locked the doors and called the police.

The same nice lady answered and I told her that I had the stolen items in my possession and the criminal had just left my bookstore. I recited her the address and requested that the cops come immediately. She said they would stay on the phone with me until they arrived. While I was waiting, I looked in the bag. The stolen items looked awfully commonplace: just a couple of flash drives and a disc smaller than a CD. It was 15 minutes before the cops showed up. I unlocked the doors and let them in, showing them exactly what I had caught. They informed me that I had been very helpful and to have a nice day, as they confiscated the bag and the items within.

“Excuse me!” I called, smiling, as they turned to leave. “That will be $20,000, please.”

The cops exchanged an amused expression before asking for some receipt paper and a pen. Then a cop took them from me and on the front of the page wrote out: “I.O.U. of the police department in the amount of $20,000” and handed it to me, along with his business card and signature. I thanked the officer and waved. He nodded and left with his partner.

That night, I found out what the suspicious bagged items were that I had so successfully stolen back from the criminal. Turned out that he was an international spy for one of our most lethal enemies. He was sent here to steal the flash drives and disc from the college next to my bookstore, where a prototype of carbon nanotube encased batteries was being developed and was soon to be unveiled. He had stolen a set of flash drives - which explains the bunny ears in the cutout - and a disc the reporter said was a prototype for a new kind of carbon nanotube battery that was valued at over $3 trillion. My heart stopped for a second. I carelessly dropped $3 trillion into a simple plastic bookstore bag. The TV continued that the information on the flash drives, had they gotten into the hands of our nation’s enemies, would have spelled our destruction. My heart stopped again. And they’re only offering $20,000 for these things? I should have charged more!

Six months passed, and the Federal Prosecutors finally managed to get a conviction. The flash drives and battery returned to their rightful place. I had been waiting this entire time, business booming, because everybody knew where the thief bought the now famous notebook, and wanted one of their own, and the cops finally came through. The police chief walked in one afternoon, in uniform. He went to the stationary section and came back with a copy of the ugly cat notebook, smiling. He handed it to me and said to open the cover and that he wanted to deliver his thanks in person. There was my check for $20,000. I dug in the drawer and came up with the I.O.U. and handed it to him.

“Thank you, sir! Been a pleasure doing business with you.”