“It’s simple, really. You took something that doesn’t belong to you, and I want it back,” Xandria said and pulled down her sleeve, covering the scar. “If you do exactly as I instruct, if you follow my directions precisely to the letter, then no harm will come to your son. My father didn’t know the meaning of the word compassion. But I do.” She rebuttoned her cuff. “All I want is your hundred-million-dollar book.”

Two

two

The ornate ceiling of the Great Hall stretched like a dark sky above the heads of the twelve fifth graders. They followed their guide, resident archaeobibliologist April Adams, who gently pressed a finger to her lips, signaling to the children to remain quiet as they marveled at the illustrious paintings covering the walls of the main grotto, the Greek statuettes standing guard at each entrance, and the books—there was simply no end to the books.

The faint, musty-leather smell of them permeated the air.

April’s cell phone rang and several kids tittered. She pretended to be embarrassed—they loved that—and pulled the phone out of a lightweight messenger bag at her hip. She’d opted for a comfortable but presentable outfit in exchange for her usual business suit today because of the school tours. Two came through earlier, and this was her last. She was never more grateful than she was now for stylish athletic shoes, cotton-spandex pantsuits, and hands-free accessories.

Unless the call was from home, she wouldn’t answer. Unknown number. She silenced the ringer, tucked the phone away next to her wallet, which she never left at her desk, and used the ID badge around her neck to gain entry to an adjoining room. April ushered the class inside and lined them up in a semicircle around her. “Okay, kids. We can talk in here,” she said, adjusting her glasses.

They exhaled in unison.

April smiled. “You guys are doing great. Before we finish our tour of the Library of Congress, do any of you have any questions?”

A girl with unruly red curls raised her hand. “How many books do you have?”

“There’s over twenty-nine million,” April said. The kids looked impressed. “This is the largest library in the entire world. If you took all the bookshelves here and put them end to end, they would stretch all the way to New York City and back again.”

“That’s as far as the moon!” said a boy with a bad crew cut.

“Not quite,” April said. “But we’ve got plenty of books you could read about the moon. We’ve got books on just about everything.”

The children’s teacher piped up from behind them. “Ms. Adams, would you mind telling the children a little more about what you do?”

“Sure,” she said. “Kids, have you ever seen a really old book?”