The Librarian and the Spy

by Susan Mann

  “Nope, we’re not,” she said and sipped her tea. How they made it taste so different and so wonderful, she didn’t know.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “They’re reference books. They can’t be taken out of the library. ‘Not for loan.’ Says so right there in the catalog.”

  “You librarians are a sneaky bunch, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know about sneaky. It all makes perfect sense to me.”

  “I’m glad it does to one of us,” James said and glanced at his watch. “I guess we should go.” He drained the rest of his tea, set his napkin on the table, pushed back his chair, and stood. Quinn did the same.

  After a quick trip back to their room to retrieve their coats, they left the hotel and strode off toward the nearby Underground station. When James took Quinn’s hand as he had done the evening before, she involuntarily jerked.

  James released her hand like it was a hot potato. “I thought—”

  “I’m sorry. It’s totally okay,” she said and laced her fingers with his. “It surprised me is all. I guess I’m still getting used to being Mrs. Riordan.” She hated lying to him, but there was no way she was going to tell him she was still a little jumpy from the R-rated dream she’d had about him.

  He regarded her as they walked. “You sure everything’s okay?”

  This won’t do, she thought, angry with herself that a dream had flustered her so much she couldn’t be around him without being completely distracted. Jaw set with resolve, she looked James in the eye and answered with a confident, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “Good. Because I have the feeling the real fun is about to start.”

  “What do you mean the fun is about to start?” she asked as they hurried down the steps of the Tube station. “How is learning about MARC records not fun?”

  “Never. It’s never not fun,” he answered quickly.

  “Nice save, Mr. Riordan.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Riordan.” He dipped his head.

  The train arrived and a few people disembarked before they boarded and found two seats together.

  Before long, they walked through a tall archway and into the redbrick building that was the Kensington Central Library. Once inside, Quinn was struck at how similar it was to the library she worked at, with its industrial carpet, laminate-topped tables, and rows of book stacks.

  “I know you can take us straight to the books we need to look at,” James said, “but I’d like to talk to the librarian at the desk to see if he, or any of the other librarians, remember Ben being here.”

  Quinn agreed and they waited a respectful distance behind a slightly hunched older gentleman who seemed to be hard of hearing. She felt bad for the man behind the desk. Libraries are supposed to be quiet so people can work and study without distraction. She and her colleagues had perfected their “librarian voices,” the volume at which conversation could occur without disturbing others. All that went out the window whenever she’d tried to help a patron who was hard of hearing. When she heard the older man loudly complain he couldn’t find the sports section of The Times, she stared down at her boots and dug her teeth into her lower lip.

  “What? You’re trying not to smile,” James said in her ear. The low rumble of his voice and his lips hovering near her ear set off a wave of tingles.

  She rose up on her tiptoes. James dipped his head and her lips brushed his ear when she said in a throaty whisper, “Experience tells me they should go look for the sports section in the men’s room.” She felt a sense of deep satisfaction when she noticed he had to rub his neck after she tilted her head away.

  Their tête-à-tête was interrupted when a woman in a wool skirt and tweed jacket took her place behind the reference desk. She adjusted her glasses and looked at James and Quinn with a smile. “How can I help you this fine morning?”

  “My wife and I are wondering if you had any books on manuscripts we could look at.”

  “Are you asking about how to write a book manuscript? Or do you mean you’re looking for information on medieval and illuminated manuscripts?”

  “Um, whatever they have on display in museums,” James said. “We were told we’d be seeing some manuscripts during our trip here and we wanted to have some more background on what we’ll be looking at.”

  “Is there a difference between medieval manuscripts and illuminated ones?” Quinn asked, playing along as an uninformed tourist.

  “In the strictest sense, an illuminated manuscript is one where the pages are decorated with gold or silver, giving it a luminous quality,” the librarian said, her voice taking on a professorial tone. “The term has been broadened to include any manuscript that is illustrated with miniature paintings, borders, portraits, and the like.”

  “Aren’t most medieval manuscripts illuminated?” James asked.

  “Not always, no. Those are the most interesting to look at, of course. Owning a splendid illuminated book was often a status symbol, much like owning a large house or driving an expensive car is today. Some manuscripts were beautifully adorned like a . . .” She appeared to be searching for the right words.

  “Like a Rolls-Royce?” James offered.

  “Yes! Outstanding example,” she said, the creases at the corners of her eyes deepening when she smiled. “Other manuscripts were more workaday, like legal documents which wouldn’t be ornamented. I suppose you could consider those more like a Dacia.”

  “I guess we’ll probably see some of both, don’t you think, honey?” Quinn offered.

  James nodded.

  “We’ve got some books in the reference section that should be more than adequate for your needs,” the librarian said.

  “Great! My cousin, Ben, told us this library would be able to help us,” James said.

  “Ben?” the woman asked as she came around the end of the desk and walked toward the reference section with James and Quinn in tow.

  “Yes, Ben Baker. He told us he’s been coming in here occasionally to do research for a work project. Different items of art, I think.” James’s words were spoken so casually, Quinn would have never known he was actually digging for information.

  “Oh, yes! Mr. Baker. He’s been coming in fairly regularly the last few weeks. It’s great fun to help him. I assisted him with the provenance of a jade Buddha just last week.”

  “We haven’t had a chance to see him yet, we only just arrived from the States yesterday. Maybe we’ll run into him here,” James said. “Has he been here in the last few days?”

  “He was here Thursday. I didn’t see him on Friday and I wasn’t here Saturday.”

  The librarian who had gone off to help the elderly gentleman find the sports section was heading back toward the reference desk.

  “Gareth,” the woman called out quietly. “You were here Saturday, weren’t you?”

  “I was.” The trio stopped. Gareth joined them.

  “Was Mr. Baker here, the man doing the research on the art pieces?”

  “He was. He was here with another man, a research assistant perhaps? Big bloke. I remember they were both here until five o’clock. I had to roust them out when we closed.”

  The other librarian chuckled quietly. “That sounds like Mr. Baker. Always here to the last minute.”

  Gareth nodded and moved on while James and Quinn followed the woman to the reference stacks. After pointing out a dozen or so books on illuminated manuscripts, she bustled away.

  Quinn located the specific books listed in Ben’s spreadsheet, took them off the shelf, and set them on a nearby table.

  “Are we reading for content? Looking for notations?” she asked in a whisper as they each took a seat.

  “Both, don’t you think?” James slid one of the books from the top of the pile in front of him and opened it. “I’m hoping we’ll know it when we see it.”

  “Me too.” She flipped past the first few pages of the book before her and skimmed the table of contents. “Do you know who the big guy Gareth mentioned is?”
>
  “No.”

  “Not an associate of yours?”

  “Not that I know of. If Ben was working with someone here, he would have told me.”

  “You think he was one of Fitzhugh’s men?”

  “Probably.”

  “Do you think he was suspicious of Ben and wanted to keep tabs on him?”

  “Possibly.”

  For the next hour, they scoured through their respective books.

  When Quinn came to the index, she closed the book, disappointed she hadn’t encountered a single scrap of paper, pencil scribbling, or mark in the margins.

  “I now know the difference between breviaries, books of prayer, psalters, and bestiaries, but nothing caught my eye,” she said. “Well, other than the slightly off elephant some thirteenth-century clerk painted. It’s actually kind of impressive since he probably never saw one in real life.” She rolled her shoulders, shoved the book off to one side, and slid the next one in front of her. “How’re you doing?”

  “The same.” James squeezed his eyes closed and rubbed them with his fists. When he looked at her again, the light streaming in from the windows turned his eyes a startling shade of blue. “I was reading about The Book of Kells. Do you know it?”

  “It’s an Irish Bible, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s basically the four Gospels produced by monks in the early ninth century. It’s one of the most important illustrated manuscripts of them all and I can see why. The work is incredible, but staring at the intricate details is making me go cross-eyed.” He blinked a couple of times as if to make his point. “On the plus side, I recognized a bunch of the Celtic designs and motifs we learned about when we studied Ragnar’s brooch.”

  “Ah, Ragnar’s brooch,” Quinn said with a hint of nostalgia. “The thing that started it all.”

  “Yeah. I’ll never be able to look at the queen or the Minnesota Vikings mascot ever again and not think of you.”

  “I’m pleased to be the one who linked that unlikely pair in your mind.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

  They bent their heads over their books again and after another hour passed, James said, “Both books I looked through were about specific famous manuscripts held by either libraries or museums. I wonder if one of them was stolen and Ben found it in Dobrynin’s art stash. But how could we figure out which one?”

  “I could search newspaper databases to see if anything about those manuscripts pops up. Do the books have indices of the manuscripts and which institutions own them?”

  He nodded, turned to the back of one of the books, and angled it toward her.

  She scanned the list. “What if Ben went to one of these cities?”

  James blew out a breath and slumped back in his chair. “Dublin, Paris, Baltimore, Berkeley, Harvard, Oxford, Aberdeen, Los Angeles. Which one?”

  Quinn closed her eyes and rubbed her fingertips over her temples. “We’re missing something.”

  “We are.” When James stared at her, she could almost see the gears turning in his brain. “There are still some books over there that weren’t on Ben’s list, right?” At her nod, he said, “Why don’t you go get the relevant ones and we’ll go through them? Maybe Ben was being supercareful and didn’t put the most important book on the list.”

  “At this point, I wouldn’t put it past him. He does seem to want to be as cryptic as possible.”

  “I think your idea about checking to see if any of the manuscripts have been stolen is a good one. I’ll take some quick pictures of the manuscript lists in these books.”

  “And I’ll go get the rest of the reference books.” She went to the short bookshelf, knelt, and skimmed the titles of the books on either side of the gap they’d made when they removed books earlier. When she pulled six more from the shelf, she heard a thwap. It was the unmistakable sound of a book falling flat on the shelf, which was odd since none of the books on either side of the gap had gone over.

  A book stuck behind others on a shelf was nothing new and she wondered how long the one she’d heard fall had been hidden. More than once she’d seen her coworkers rejoice like fathers at the return of a prodigal son when a previously believed lost or stolen book was found in such a way. We’re so easily pleased, she thought with a smile.

  Of course she couldn’t allow the book to languish there. She set the books in her hands on the floor, reached into the dark space, and felt the cover. Unexpectedly, her fingers touched leather. She pulled the book from its hiding place and sucked in a sharp intake of air.

  The book was old. Unbelievably old. It was about twelve inches from top to bottom, ten inches from side to side and around two inches thick. Intricate designs were tooled into the leather cover. There was no label on the spine, and when she lifted up the leather straps that held the book closed and checked the inside cover, there were no obvious markings of ownership. She turned to a random page and gazed at exactly what she’d just been studying. On the parchment were the thick black letters of handwritten medieval script, glowing gold designs, and several fanciful-looking animals in the margins.

  She closed the book and tried not to appear too suspicious as she glanced over each shoulder to see if anyone was watching her. Assured no one was paying her one iota of attention, she placed the book flat on her lap and then set the other six books on top of it. She casually carried them all back to the table and sat in her chair. The reference books went on the table, but she left the manuscript on her lap. When James finished taking a picture, she leaned back so he could see it. “Look what I found behind the books on the shelf.”

  James’s features remained neutral, but his eyes flashed with interest. “What is it?”

  She opened the book long enough for him to see the writing and illustrations. The book closed again, she pressed her rib cage against the edge of the table to hide it from anyone who might pass by.

  “Do you think Ben put it there?” she asked.

  “It would be a pretty amazing coincidence if he didn’t.”

  “It might belong to this library and was just misshelved. Or it was taken from their rare books area and not returned properly. We should show it to them.”

  “What if it doesn’t belong to the library? They’ll take it and keep it until the owner comes looking for it. If Ben left it, we have to take it. Otherwise, we’ve lost our only clue.”

  “I know, but I can’t stand the idea of stealing a book from a library. What if we get caught?” It made her queasy just thinking about it. “There are security gates at the doors. If this book has an electromagnetic strip on it, we’ll trigger the alarm.”

  “Can you tell if it has one?”

  “I might. If it’s tucked deep between two pages, I probably won’t see it. I don’t want to destroy the book finding out.”

  “Then we have to chance it.” James’s tone left no room for argument.

  “You’re right,” she sighed, resigning herself to potentially committing a most loathsome library crime. “What do we do if the alarm goes off?”

  “Honestly? Drop the book and run.”

  That elicited a quiet groan from her and she dropped her head in her hand. “I’m officially the worst librarian ever.”

  He rubbed her shoulder. “No, you’re the best. I would have never gotten this far without you. And if we were one hundred percent sure the book belonged to the library, we would leave it here.”

  “You’re right.” She looked at him and sighed. “I know I’m making too much of this. It’s not like we’re trying to smuggle heroin.”

  “No, I get it. Look, if we find out Ben had nothing to do with it being here, we’ll send it back with an anonymous note or something. I promise.” He scooted his chair closer to hers. “And to assuage your guilty conscience, I’ll carry it out. I’ll fold my coat over it so I can ditch it quick in case it sets off the alarm. Does that help?”

  “It does.” A mischievous smile formed on her face. “And if they catch us, I’ll claim I didn’t know I’d married
a reprobate.”

  He gazed at her from under hooded eyelids. “Ah, my loving wife. Ready and willing to throw me under the bus at the first opportunity.” Even as he teased, he reached over and moved the book from her lap to his. “Do you want to put the reference books back on the shelf?”

  “We should leave them in case they keep usage statistics.”

  “I guess we’re ready to go.” His gaze was steady and it imbued her with a sense of confidence. “We strolled in. Now we stroll out.”

  After the tiniest of nods in response, she steeled her nerves and stood. At the same time, James took his coat from the back of the chair next to him and draped it across the book on his forearm. It was completely hidden from view when he stood.

  Quinn folded her coat over her arm as well and after pushing in their chairs, the two ambled toward the exit. As they passed the reference desk, Gareth raised a hand in acknowledgment. She sent him a smile—or at least what she hoped was a smile, even though she was afraid she looked more nauseated than anything else—and a small wave in return. A bead of nervous perspiration trickled between her shoulder blades.

  To help her walk at James’s steady pace, she slipped her free hand into the crook of his bent elbow. He covered her hand with his, which helped steady her nerves. She held her breath as they approached the tall electronic security gates standing like sentries on either side of the exit doors. She was fully prepared to bolt at the first high-pitched whine of an alarm.

  To Quinn’s great relief, no beeps or sirens sounded as they passed through the electromagnetic crucible. No snarling pack of angry librarians chased after them as they left the library. Still, it wasn’t until they reached High Street that Quinn’s hypervigilance subsided and she finally gusted out a breath.

  James, who never broke a sweat the entire time, grinned down at her. “You did great. See? Piece of cake.”

  “I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff,” she said, her voice as shaky as her legs.