The Auction of My Life

Two days ago my life was perfect and then it imploded. But over a little black notebook? It was not supposed go this way. A simple buy and resell. Yet here I sit, locked in another grim claustrophobic lifeless grey room wreaking of sweat and fear. At least this country has a government that protects it’s citizens. A nice change. A view too. White snowflakes fell gently from the sky like fluffy kittens clouding the view of the Toronto skyline from 20 stories up.

Same old deal – let me sweat for 2 hours, panic and then I’ll give them what they want.

Not happening.

My interrogator will be here any minute for the 120th time.

I should have left town after-

The doorknob turned slowly but in a deliberate motion. Slow. Methodical. He is in no rush. Dressed all in black. Ha ha. A man in black looking for little black book and all I need to do is find a way to blackmail him.

Man in black. Black notebook. Blackmail.

Simple.

“I am Agent Smith”, he said while flashing his id. “Samantha Jones. A- freelance art dealer. You travel the world buying up historical documents, trinkets and other paraphernalia and reselling it to the highest bidder-”

“Oh my- you googled me. I am flattered,” I said.

Buttons pushed.

He stopped, then the hardness set in as he stood motionless by the door. “Your parents were killed at a dig site when you were 18 in Egypt in front of you. No living relatives. 15 friends on Facebook, 10 are fake. $3512.21 in 2 bank accounts. Your cat’s name is ‘Temple’ and sleeps in an aquarium that never had fish. Google account password is ‘Indiana_Jones’.”

A pit opened in my stomach. Damn. OK. He is good. Maybe great. “You toss my place, interrogate my contacts, lock me up and then threaten me? Does this usually work?”

Smith smiled. Eek. Vampires had sexier smiles than he did. And fewer teeth.

“Yes. 96.8%,” he said. “Your lawyer will be here any minute.”

I crossed my arms just above the lip of dented steel table. “Why?”

“To move things along.”

“Smart move.”

“Miss Jones: Your lawyer is useless. National security. We can hold you indefinitely. No lawyer, trial or escape. Ever.”

I laughed at him. I held my breath a moment, then smirked. “Four things you don’t know.”

He grunted. “Go on.”

“This is Canada, I am Canadian and I have rights. And you haven’t met my lawyer.”

His face animated for a moment, then flat lined. “This is a C.S.I.S building, operated by the Government of Canada. They work in cooperation with all US agencies. Especially when it comes to the security of Canada too.”

Prick. He has the male asshole gene turned up to 11.

“4?” he said.

He is sharp.

“You need my lawyer more than I do,” I said.

He seemed to chew on that a bit.

“All this over a black notebook I purchased at auction for $5000? Although it’s in pristine condition, it must over 70 years old. Paper, ink and binding. What secrets could it possibly hold? A faster IBM typewriter? Who shot Kennedy? The Caramilk secret?”

Vampire mode again. “Yes.”

A rapid knock at the door.

Smith opened it and gestured to a middle aged lady, done up in the latest slutty fashion to take a seat next to me. “Miss Walker.”

I love the way she dresses to use her assets.

“Attorney at law. Attorney Christine Walker,” she said.

“Do you need a moment?” he said.

“No. Miss Jones is a good client,” she said.

Somethings up. Hope it is a good something.

“Your client is required under the National Security Act to turn over the item immediately,” he said.

“No. She purchased it at auction, has receipt and witnesses to prove it. By law she legally owns it,” she said.

“Miss Walker you know better. I have read your file too. You are no idiot,” he said.

Threats and more threats.

“Who’s book is it? What is in it?” I said.

Smith relaxed. “You’ve not examined the book. Good.”

Chris looked at me and I smiled.

She smiled back and nodded her head. “Clearly this ‘item’ is valuable. Very valuable. And my client believes that it may have belonged to a relative of Oppenheimer. Robert Oppenheimer. Worked on the Manhattan Project? Atomic Bomb? Goes boom?”

Smith did not respond.

“It is for sale,” she said.

No. No.

“Chris?” I said.

She kicked me under the table. Squeezed my hand. “$100,000 and is it yours. Ah- US dollars.”

Smith smiled, chuckled then burst into laughter.

Oh God. Fangs out. He’s coming for the neck.

“Ah - Canadian humor. No thank you. I have no issues charging you too Miss Walker. Hand over the book. Now,” he said.

“Me?” she said.

“After reading your file it will not take much to add you to your client’s cell,” he said.

She guffawed. “How much more expensive do you want this to get?”

There’s a wee bit of garlic for you. Black suited gman bastard.

“Oh really?” he said.

“Media? Internet? How about a lawsuit for a few years? Should cost a few million or so?” she said.

His eyes squinted like he was chopping onions. “Poor choice. So you want to be intimidated?” He pulled out his phone, hit number one speed dial, put the phone on speaker then placed on the table in front of us. He backed away 2 steps like it would explode. After a few seconds it connected.

Oh crap. Lots of crap.

“Agent Smith here sir with Samantha Jones and her lawyer Christine Walker. You are on speaker. Case 73375,” he said.

“Good afternoon ladies. I am Director J.S. Howard. CIA. Smith has briefed you?” J.S. said.

“Walker here. Yes. National Security this. We will put a black bag over your head that. We have made an offer of monetary compensation for the black book, including pain and suffering in the amount of $100,000. It is-” she said.

“Do you think it is a joke speaking to the Director of the CIA? Save your pseudo outrage for Twitter,” J.S. said.

“Ah-Ah. No Mr err- Director Howard,” she said.

Silence.

“You have not examined the book?” J.S. said.

“My client has no knowledge of the book nor its contents. She dropped it off at my office 2 days ago,” she said.

“Price goes up if I don’t cooperate? Media? Internet? Lawsuit?” J.S. said.

“Correct,” she said.

“$20,000.” J.S. said.

Smith’s eyes flashed open then he resumed his pokerface.

Crap. Oh this is bad.

“$50,000” she said.

The auction from hell.

“$25,000” J.S. said.

“$30,000. $20,000 in compensation, $5000 auction and $5000 my fees. And,” she said.

Oh no. Bad move. What are you doing?

“Go on,” J.S. said.

“We see the first 2 pages of the book - with writing. Director,” she said.

My heart hammered. Smith’s face turned pale.

Pasty white man in black. Why is he so terrified?

I turned to her but she did not break eye contact with the Blackberry sitting on the table.

She squeezed my hand lightly then released.

“Agent Smith. The lawyer has the book. Take it, review the first page contents and advise,” J.S. said.

The room spun. Blurred. Wow. No. Wow.

Smith was visibly freaked.

“Sir? Respectfully I decline,” he said.

“Agent? Are you refusing an order?” J.S. said.

“No sir. I don’t have the clearance,” he said.

J.S. cleared his throat. “We will discuss this later. Take the book, send me a snapshot of the first pages with writing.”

Smith complied.

A minute later J.S. said, “Ladies take the $30,000. No viewing. Be smart.”

“No sale. This is the book you are looking for,” she said.

“Nice try. But if you insist on crossing this bridge there is no going back,” J.S. said.

That’s why the vampire is scared. He’d be-

“I understand,” she said.

What the hell? Me a CIA slave?

“No you don’t. Your client will be marked. Watched. Once she is on this list there is no way off it. And Miss Walker? I mean you too,” J.S. said.

His words hung in the air like foul teen language.

Damn. Why? “Chris?” I said.

“Not now,” she said. “Do we have a deal?”

“Yes. Text me your bank details. My secretary will wire you the funds asap,” J.S. said.

Too easy. It’s a con. Fake.

Christine complied.

“Agent. Open the book to the first page with writing. Hold it in front both of them for 60 seconds. No pictures, notes or contact,” J.S. said.

Smith obeyed.

The hair stood up on the back of my neck. Focus. I need to focus.

Chris’s face was blank. She squeezed my hand almost painfully.

15 seconds.

The book did not belong to Oppenheimer.

Or his relative.

At the top of the page it said: “April 11, 1942. Property of Albert Einstein, book 1 of 5,”

My breath held. 1 of…

30 seconds.

I hastily scanned the page as fast as I could but it was difficult to read his writing.

45 seconds.

In the middle of the second page: “Theory of Relativity. Revised.”

Revised?

Revised… holy crap.

The book slammed shut.

It is worth millions. Maybe billions. The find of a lifetime.

Mom. Dad. You would be so proud.

“Transfer complete,” J.S. said.

$20,000? Dammit. Fool. I am an idiot.

Chris checked her phone and opened a bank app. She gave me a thumbs up.

Albert freaking Einstein.

His unpublished works.

It could change the world.

Einstein. Einstein. Einstein.

No way I am keeping quiet. “Mr. Howard? Director? Do you have any idea how important this is? Historical? World changing? What will you do with it?”

“Miss Jones I respect your passion. We will take good care of it,” J.S. said.

Burn it. Bury it. Exploit it.

Is he going to say more?

“Director?”

He breathed deeply, clearly audible over the speaker phone. “I do. You are correct. But is the world ready? Thank you for your assistance. You are a good investigator. We will meet again. Goodbye,” J.S. said.

My hands clenched. No. No.

Chris appeared to see what I was about to do and she held me back.

She whispered, “We won.”

What?

“Agent. A plane is waiting. It will return you to Langley,” J.S. said.

Smith breathed what appeared to be a sigh of relief and retracted his fangs.

He is going to get a spanking. A real whipping.

“Yes sir. Right away sir,” Smith said.

The phone clicked off, Smith retrieved it and with the black book in hand he turned to leave the room.

“Agent Smith? You are the best I have ever had,” I said.

He broke into crooked smile, “Your pretty good too. But flattery will get you no where.” He left the room.

Good luck Smith.

The door was left open.

My cheeks heated. My turn to explode.

I stood up and recoiled from Chris’s side. “$20,000? We could’ve got millions. Why did you do that? And - I am- marked now.”

“You may need the C.I.A’s help in the future,” she said.

Full stop mid warp. “Woo… what?” I said.

“I needed him to know, we knew.” She smiled. “So when the contents ‘leak’ out, your ass would be covered.”

My heart stopped. I felt a little faint. And then all the lights came on. “Contents?”

“We have a complete copy in high resolution of every page,” she said.

I knew I loved this woman for reason.

“But you lied to him,” I said.

“No. I only talked about you,” she said as she smirked.

Lawyer speak. Crafty. Smart.

“What’s your next move?” she said.

A mission?

“I will make my parents proud. Find the other 4 books - even if it takes a lifetime,” I said.

Albert. Mr. Einstein. My dear genius you will live again.

Time to seize life.