The Book Keeper Read online

  Georgia blinked at me, closed the book, and wiped a tear away.

  ‘We really must talk Cohen, but not here.’ Georgia sipped her tea, looking into my eyes.

  ‘I will organise a time and place to meet Tim. And, you should really get your eyes tested Cohen. You obviously can’t see properly.’

  I smiled at her audacity. I’ve only known her for a split second, and she is telling me what to do.

  I sipped my tea slowly and gazed at the beautiful Georgia. She looked deeply into my eyes, then closed her eyes and licked her full lips, sucking her bottom lip before opening her eyes again. Oh my……I don’t do girls, or do I?

  ‘Well, if we are done here. I will go,’ she said, as if detached from the situation, puzzling me. I laughed quietly at her.

  ‘You are the one who wanted to meet Georgia. If you say we are done, then we are done,’ I responded, and then stood when she did.

  ‘Good then. I am sure that if we had met at 3:07pm, the outcome of this meeting would have been different Cohen,’ she remarked.

  ‘Time is relative Miss Georgia. I enjoyed tea for two with you. The company was interesting, and pleasant.’ I smiled coyly at her, and nodded my head slightly.

  Her cheeks flushed as she smiled gently back at me.

  ‘Cohen,’ she breathed as she rolled her eyes at me, before she turned and left the Café. I watched her walk confidently out of the café, heads turning to admire her.

  I left almost immediately after her. I decided it was my turn to be a tracker.

  I followed Georgia from a safe distance along the street. I did not know what she did for a living. She had said that she designed, researched, created. She also said that she could not tell me what she was working on, or where she worked.

  She turned into the entrance of a medical research centre, and then was lost to my view. At least I knew the name of the medical research facility now. I would look it up to see what they did there.

  4 pm. It was still early. I did not want to return to CAI, nor to my apartment. I headed to the park to clear my head, and sat under the shade of a beautiful old oak tree, overlooking the lake. My tracker and his tracker were within my proximity. They did their best to look ‘normal’, but their odd little behaviours told me that they were working, watching me closely, reporting my behaviours, my location. I smiled to myself. What an odd occupation. It was like playing spies at school in the playtime, hiding behind trees, spying on others, pretending that you were invisible. I wonder if the tracker knew that he was being tracked? Surely he would. If you were a tracker, wouldn’t your observation of surroundings and people be astute. Surely he would know if he was being tracked?

  I relaxed and emptied my mind for a couple of hours. I was good at that. I had discovered the ability to disconnect to my surroundings when I was young. I stumbled across my own visualisation technique to take me away from the severe growing pains that I experienced in my legs at night. Even though visually in my mind I was somewhere else, my consciousness was alert enough to my real time presence to quickly bring me back to the now.

  And it was the vibration of Tim Jennings’ phone that brought me back. I felt its rhythmic pulsating vibration against my leg. It was Georgia. She was the only one with this cell phone number. But she would have to wait for my reply tonight, under the cover of darkness and under the security of my thick blanket.

  It was time to head home. I felt like giving the trackers a come on let’s go whistle. I was feeling very sarcastic. I wanted to skip over to them and give them a high five. But I had to control my impulses. Stay calm. Act naturally, like I don’t even know that they are there.

  I was wondering if I had a red hunting target painted on my back. I would have to check it out in the shower tonight.

  I varied my speed as I walked home. I thought that I would keep them on their toes, make their late afternoon more interesting and perhaps a little more challenging. At one stage, I even about turned and walked towards them. It was quite entertaining seeing them pretend not to see me, to avert their eyes away from me when I looked at them. Quite amusing in fact.

  Entry protocols into my apartment were now in place and highly predictable.

  I entered, allowing the aromatic smells from the kitchen to romance my stomach, to night it was a beef stir fry that seduced my digestive juices. I savored my dinner, cleaned up, watched sport on television before I packed it in for the night, showering in a very fogged up bathroom, and then hitting the sack in bed.

  After a while I pulled out Tim Jennings’ cell phone, and opened up the message from Georgia.

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Optometrist

  DATE: May 14 2011 17:35

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Tim,

  Did you book an appointment with the optometrist yet? I am worried about your eyesight. I would like to meet you in the park tomorrow at 3:07 pm. Have a look for four errant pages from my book please.

  Georgia #youneedtoeatmorecarrots

  Yep, bossy as. On my back about an optometrist, and there is that seven minutes past three grievance that she won’t let go of. Geez! Errant pages? What? Did she think that they removed themselves from the book and ran away like the gingerbread man? AND CARROTS – good for eye health – but don’t improve your vision!

  FROM: Tim Jennings

  SUBJECT: Carrots

  DATE: May 14 2011 23:35

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Dear Georgia,

  Orange is an interesting colour. Especially in food! I will meet you at 3:07pm in the park tomorrow, only so that you get past that ridiculous time thing! Where exactly would you like to meet?

  Tim #pumpkinandorangesareorangetooandsothusmustbegoodforeyes!

  Send……

  FROM: Georgia Harrison

  SUBJECT: Reading Books for Higher Intelligence

  DATE: May 14 2011 23:40

  TO: Tim Jennings

  Dear Tim,

  Orange smorange! Apparently no word actually rhymes with orange! How odd!

  There is a large and very old oak tree by the lake. I will wait for you there. I look forward to seeing you there at 3:07pm, with the errant book pages – four of them in all.

  Georgia #ihopethatyoulikemereadingtoyou.

  FROM: Tim Jennings

  SUBJECT: Do you think that I am illiterate?

  DATE: May 14 2011 23:45

  TO: Georgia Harrison

  Dear Georgia,

  The old oak tree is stunning. I will bring the gingerbread men if I find them.

  I will try to time my arrival for 3:07 pm. I look forward to knowing the contents of this book that you denied was yours initially.

  Tim #iwillbringmyhearingaidsandglasses.

  Send…….

  Darkness overcame me, and my unconscious brain entered the dream realm, of which secrets and life’s ponderings are explored, and the fears of consciousness are confronted and challenged, only rarely to be remembered.

  The blaring alarm clock assaulted my ears, forcing me into action. The new day had arrived. Oh…the bloody book and its errant pages and 3:07pm.

  I grabbed a broom and pretended to sweep the floor, but in reality I was looking for her four elusive errant pages. How ridiculous! I would have come across them by now if they were here somewhere. Or, my obsessive cleaner would have bought my attention to them.

  The path of the broom led me to the study room. I drove the broom head directly over to the floor beneath the window and opened the shutters so that I could see better, then about turned sweeping the wooden floor, but looking all about the study.

  My desk revealed tidied papers. Tidied papers that I had not order. It was compliments of CAI, or Mr B. Rubin at least, in his interfering, intrusive way.

  One third of the way down the pile of neatly constructed obsessive compulsive tidied loose papers, I spied the four smaller errant pages from Georgia’s bloody book.

  I quickly slid my fingers into the pile and smoothly extracted the
m, hiding them in the palm of my hand as I pushed them into my pocket. Then I continued on my super sweeping spree, ridding the floor of dust until the floor was spotless. Hmmm Perfecto! Mission accomplished! I found the gingerbread men.

  Gym was busy at 6am, and there was standing room only at the café for breakfast. So entering my secure self-absorbed office suite was heavenly, until the meeting request from Mr B. Rubin.

  9am. Great! I’m not in the mood for His Royal Rudeness.

  I stood back from the wall of ‘graffiti’ and studied my work. The eye was spectacular in its detail. My ‘graffiti’ of the brain a little less so, due to lack of definite visible structures –it truly was a miraculous organ. With all the advances in science and medicine, there was still no explanation about how the brain worked.

  And the workings of the mind? How? And the fact that we can hear our own voice whilst talking in our head? Even more intriguing!

  Backing away from the wall of ‘graffiti’ further, I stood at the drafting table. The design drawings of the Memory Reading Implant lay across it. I studied it in detail once again, going over the device thoroughly step by step.

  A sudden pang of fear hit my stomach. The MR Implant was ready for the next step in its development – discussions and conferencing with medical professors. It was time for it to become a reality.

  Somehow though, I felt terribly insecure, unsure of what I was doing. Was it because it was about to cross the realm of science fiction to reality, or was it because of the possible hideous ramifications of its use. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. Is this right or wrong? Do I continue to assign myself to it, or totally distance myself from the creation, and run for cover?

  If I run for cover, I will have no control over its destiny whatsoever. At least if I stay with it, I will have control and input into the device. Let it go and it will definitely find its way into the hands of evil. Now I had a moral obligation to it. What monster had I created? What have I done?

  I exited my room and descended one floor to the white office reception occupied by White Girl the secretary. Instantly my eyes found Mia and I nodded.

  ‘Mr Darcy, good morning,’ she squeaked unnaturally. A friendly smile widened over her face, as usual, and her big brown eyes looked up at me. A perfect cover for her naturally red hair and green eyes. ‘Mr Rubin will be available in one minute.’

  ‘Can I get you a tea of coffee while I wait Mia?’ I asked, knowing the exact line the she would respond with.

  ‘Oh no thank-you Mr Darcy, it is not my break time yet,’ she squeaked. I smiled crookedly at her, and nodded. Then the door to Mr B.Rubin’s office clicked. It was my cue to enter.

  The high back of his red leather chair faced me, as usual. Then he turned slowly to address me.

  ‘Mr Darcy, update me,’ he said, his voice low and threatening. No greetings, straight to the point.

  ‘Mr Rubin, all systems are go for intervention of medical professionals. I will need to speak to them myself so that I can make adjustments to the implant design if needed,’ I spoke confidently, clearly and assertively, my eye contact unwavering. This evil man did not intimidate me.

  He continued to look me in the eye. He was trying to dominate me. He would not win. He would not make me submissive, I abhor the man.

  He broke eye contact first.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  ‘Miss Rubin will make the appropriate arrangements. Let her know who you need. Good day Mr Darcy.’ I tried very hard to stifle my sound of shock, obviously successfully, because Mr B. Rubin did not bat an eyelid. Miss Rubin? Is Mia his daughter? He turned in his chair so that it was facing away from me again, and to the large ceiling to floor window. I exhaled my sudden astonishment, and slowly turned away and exited the office. I felt the blood drain from my face. Mia was his daughter?

  ‘Miss Rubin,’ I said in a low voice as I walked past her desk. I did not make eye contact with her. I couldn’t. I felt double crossed.

  ‘Mr Darcy,’ she called after me in her fake squeaky bubbly voice. ‘I believe that you need to make an appointment with Miss Rubin. Her office is to the right.’

  I turned to her confused, my eyes piercing hers.

  ‘She is available today at 11am. I will email you a list of medical professors who are suitable to work on the project with you. Shall I book you in to see her?’ Mia White Girl asked, her brown eyes staring back at me, her right eyebrow raised, and her head nodding ever so slightly as if she were telling me something.

  I looked to her personnel identification badge. Mia Rueben. Spelt differently. I narrowed my eyes and then looked back to her face and nodded yes.

  ‘Miss Rueben, I will return at 11am. Email the medical professors to me immediately. I will need to study their qualifications, specialties, experience and achievements of excellence.’

  My racing heartbeat and stressed voice were calmer now that I realised the orthographic difference in their names. Mia was not related to the evil man behind the door. But what would his daughter be like, and did she share his genetics of arrogance and rudeness?

  I returned to my office, and opened up my emails on the CAI server. Mia was as good as her word, and had sent the list of medical professors. But how do I read into the slight nod of her head, had she chosen these people herself, and were they working on her side. Was this a conspiracy?

  She had supplied me with a list of two ophthalmologist professors, and two neurology professors. One ophthalmologist and neurologist was in green, and the others in red. Was this a code, like choose green, and stay away from red?

  Her next email was all about traffic lights. It had attachments of you tube footage of cars running red lights and then crashing – spectacularly.

  I chose to go with the green ophthalmologist and neurologist. But should I trust Mia? I really did not know her.

  I decided that I had to take the leap of faith. It she is not technically working for Mr B. Rubin, then she must be against him. If he is evil, then she is good.

  Logical? Wasn’t it?

  The next hour was spent researching the medical specialists. It was best to be armed with knowledge.

  Two minutes to 11am saw me return to the 27th floor of CAI. At once Mia directed me to Miss Rubin’s Office.

  The high back of her hot pink leather chair faced me. A chip off the old block. I stood and waited for her to face me.

  ‘Ah, Mr Darcy,’ her voice smoothly addressed me, but still she did not face me.

  I shook my head. I could not believe that she would be so rude.

  And then, she turned her chair towards me, and stood to shake my hand.

  She was tall, very slim with her make-up applied like an artist. Her black short pencil line skirt suit hugged her beautiful figure, showing her long flawless legs. Her blonde hair was braided to the side so that it fell over her left shoulder.

  I took her hand in mine as we greeted each other, her light brown eyes to my blue. She smiled gently at me and I returned the smile, but it did not touch my eyes. We were in a game of chess. She had made her move, and I had mirrored hers. What chess piece would she move next? She was a Rubin. I was very wary of her.

  ‘Miss Rubin,’ I said, nodding my head at her, raising my eyebrows.

  ‘Please sit,’ she said, indicating for me to sit on a hot pink leather chair opposite hers at her white desk. She sat in her own head poncho chair with an amused look on her face. I narrowed my eyes at her.

  ‘So, according to Miss Rueben, you have chosen your preferred ophthalmologist and neurologist. My father has expressed his wish, no, ordered me to be present at each of your meetings with the medical professionals Mr Darcy. See it as a type of insurance policy. You have the power to talk to the medical staff about the implant, but do not have final authority over the green light to proceed with the MR device. Do you understand Mr Darcy?’ Her voice was assertive, no, more like aggressive.

  Hmm bossiness, spoiled brat personified! Does she always obey daddy dearest?


  How does she know the two medical professors that I have chosen? I did not email my preferences to Mia.

  ‘Do you understand Mr Darcy?’ her loud repetition of the comprehension question broke into my thoughts.

  ‘Just a little clarity firstly Miss Rubin. Name the two medical professors that I chose, and secondly, I would like to know your qualifications, and how they will benefit the device that CAI is about to trial and patent,’ I said in a non-threatening manner, trying to pull the power back to myself.

  She looked down at first. Yes, I had cut her confidence a little. And then she pulled up her emails, and quoted the names of the green medical professors that Mia had guided me to choose.

  ‘And my qualifications Mr Darcy, I direct you to visit my employee profile for a detailed CV on my credentials and career. You will not be disappointed I can assure you. Now, I will arrange for the good doctors to come for briefing tomorrow. I will email you the time and place. Good day Mr Darcy,’ she replied, her voice cool, perhaps threatened.

  ‘Miss Rubin, the meeting place must be in my office. It cannot take place anywhere else. I will be ready for the briefing tomorrow,’ I offered. She looked at me and smirked, annoying me.

  ‘Yes, Mr Darcy, of course. Your, hmmm, graffiti wall will be the centre of the briefing I am sure. My father spoke of your ah, style,’ she said humorously. I narrowed my eyes at her. Rude, arrogant, self-righteous come to mind immediately.

  Play the game. Play it better.

  ‘Thank-you Miss Rubin. I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow. Do be on time,’ I added, nodding my head as I stood.

  ‘I will, will you?’ she questioned me, raising her right eyebrow, mocking me.

  ‘Well, I don’t want to ruin my reputation do I?’ I shot back at her, smiling and bowing to her, before I turned and left her office.

  I glared at Mia as I headed to the elevator.