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           “They say truth stands the test of time. I can think of no greater comfort than knowing this document failed such a test.”

                                Zampano, House of Leaves

                The police station was lit with a modern, state-of-the-art glow.  Along the pristine white halls and under the perfectly sequenced overhead lights, Alex and Til walked, leading Jin and Emma.  Dressed in their black trench coats, the four stood out against the uniformed police officers that moved about them, with little more than the subtlest acknowledgement.

                Alex turned a corner and saw the local police chief standing before a window, looking through his reflection at the city beyond his walls.  As Alex neared, the chief turned to him, a hesitant look on his face.  “<Mr. Tolkien, >” he said, shaking Alex’s hand.  “<Thank you for hurrying over. >”

                “<Whatever we could do, >” Alex said.  He glanced around at the busy police station, filled with officers and suspects.  “<I don’t mean to be rude, but you said it was an emergency. >”

                The chief turned.  “<It may well be. >”

                Through the window, the bookstore owner sat, his hands cuffed as he stared at nothing.  A nervous look clouded his eyes as his left leg fidgeted on its own.  He glanced up at random intervals, a perpetually startled look in his eyes.

                “<His name is Robert MacLean, >” the chief explained, the four Responders behind him.  “<He runs an old bookstore down in the south-side.  They deal in ancient manuscripts and stuff.  Real expensive-type things that only people with too much money bother with. >”

                “<Let me guess, >” Alex said, stepping up to the window.  “<He got caught selling a black-listed book. >”

                “<That’s not the half of it, >” the chief scoffed.  “<One of my detectives, the one in charge of the arrest, took one glance inside the book and dropped dead. >”  Jin’s jaw dropped as Emma looked astonished.  Even Til was taken off-guard.  “<Right there, >” the chief insisted, demonstrating with his hand.  “<Dropped.  Boom.  The next officer picked up the book to see what had happened, to see if he’d gotten, I don’t know, stung or something.  Glances in the book and boom.  He falls over dead too. >”

                “<Has anyone else read the book? >” Alex asked.

                The chief laughed.  “<Of course not. >”  He turned to face the glass, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes.  “<There’s something fishy so we run a background check on MacLean. Turns out, he’s wanted in three countries for, get this, desecration of national treasures. >”  The chief lit a cigarette and took a puff.  “<I can’t smoke anywhere in this building, >” he grumbled.  “<My station and at every turn, I’ve got some snot-nosed brat telling me the building’s no smoking.  Like I give a damn. >”  He turned to Alex, his cigarette burning brightly in the dim light.  “<I want to know what the deal is with that manuscript and why I’ve got two dead officers. >”

                “<What has he offered? >” Emma spoke up.

                The chief looked at her, his eyes tracing her from her ankles to her eyes.  “<Well, >” he said with a smile tainted with lust.  “<Not much. >”  He turned back to Alex.  “<He said he was involved with something big, but he refused to talk about it. >”

                “<Where’s the government weigh in? >” Alex asked.

                “<They haven’t yet, >” the chief said through another drag.  “<I called you guys first.  I call the government and I’ll have some bureaucrat telling me that the officers were actually killed by a drive-by and the witness disappears and I’m left with no answers.  And I don’t like not having answers, >” he added with an intentional look straight at Alex.

                Alex weathered the warning for a beat, then looked into the window at the bookstore owner.  “<Okay, >” he decided.  “<We’ll see what we can get out of him. >”

                The door to the interrogation room opened, making MacLean’s heart leap.  Alex walked in, Jin following behind him, carrying a folding steel chair with him.  MacLean watched them, swallowing hard as they both sat.  “<I’m only speaking French, >” he insisted quickly.

                “Why?” Alex asked in English.  “As I understand it, you’re name is Robert MacLean, born in Scotland and moved to France when you were 38.”

                “And you’re totally not Adam Cicero, who lived in Finland for three years,” Jin added.

                “Or Timothy Bapst,” Alex added, “who has been appearing in Germany and Egypt for the past six years.”  Alex interlaced his fingers as he leaned on the desktop.  “Shall we continue with who you’re not?  Because we can just keep naming names.”

                “I’m Robert MacLean,” he accepted.  “Wh-who are you?”

                “I’m called Alex and he’s called Jin, and we’re not with the French government.  All the recording devices in the room, all the wiretaps and video cameras have been turned off,” Alex explained.  “On top of that,” he continued, taking out a small black box the size of a computer mouse, “if there are any we missed, they’re being disrupted and receiving only static.”

                A visible wave of relief passed over MacLean.  “I need protection,” he insisted.  “When the coppers busted me, they’ve disrupted something big.”

                “So we were told,” Jin said, trying to sound tough.

                “You were told what I told them,” MacLean said.  “Its bigger than that.”

                “How big?” Alex asked.

                MacLean paused for a moment.  “Do you know who Allen Ivers is?”  Jin looked lost, but Alex drew back a bit.  “You have an idea,” MacLean said to Alex.  He looked at Jin.  “Allen Ivers was an Australian writer and philosopher in the 1850s who did a lot of occult research.  A lot of people have compared him to Alister Crowley.”  MacLean paused.  “Only, unlike Crowley, Ivers was able to prove, irrefutably, his findings.  I prefer to liken him to Nikoli Tesla, in that not everybody knows to be afraid of the name, but everybody who knows the name knows to be afraid.”

                Jin slowly developed an understanding look of fear.  “Ivers was the first man, and to date the only man, to create true, working grimories of magical and occult information.”

                “His books have been sought after for over a hundred and fifty years,” Alex confirmed.

                “He’s considered the leading authority on magic and the occult amongst people who really know what they’re doing,” MacLean insisted.

                “And you found one of the texts,” Alex connected.

                MacLean nodded.  “The third one.  I’ve got the fourth one coming in tomorrow night.  Maybe.  Assuming my arrest hasn’t scared off my man.”

                “Who was going to buy them?” Jin asked.

                “I don’t know,” MacLean said.  “Some guy with a Russian accent, for what that’s worth.  I’ve only spoken with him once.  All the other times, I’ve dealt with a go-between, like the guy at the bookstore when the bust happened.”

                “Where’s he?” Alex asked.

                “Extradited,” MacLean said quickly.  “The Chinese government had him out of here before I could even be officially charged.”  MacLean looked at the two of them.  “The guy I’m finding these books for is not going to take my getting arrested lightly.”

                “You’ll be lucky if you see trial,” Alex said.

                “I’ll be lucky if I see tomorrow,” MacLean said.

                Alex nodded.  He thought for a moment, then looked at the storeowner.  “Alright.  Give us your pitch.  What do you want from us?”

                “I told you,” MacLean said.  “I want protection.”

                “And what will you do for us?” Alex asked.

                MacLean stared at Alex’s eyes.  “Before you guys hide me in the deepest, darkest jungle in South America,” he paused, swallowing hard, “I’ll get you the third book.”

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