The Geographer's Library

Jon Fasman
“What do you mean?”
“I thought that I had discovered what Jaan was actually about, if not who
he was. I was looking forward to presenting my theory to you this evening.
Now Joseph believes he has made a similar discovery. Mine hinges on the
contents of this strongbox here.” He pointed toward a small, cubical black
safe beneath Jaan’s desk. Its door hung open, and it was empty. “Joseph was
kind enough to open this for me. But look, this really is ingenious. Come here
and look.”
I bent down beneath the desk and peered into the safe. Professor Jadid
pointed to two small cylindrical protrusions at the top back corners of the
safe. “Do you know what those are?” he asked.
“No idea.”
“Gas jets. Apparently this safe is rigged to incinerate its contents should
someone try to force it open. Isn’t that wonderful? Like a spy film.”
“So how did Joe get it open?”
“Well, first he pried off the bottom panel and then the two side panels.
He withdrew both gas canisters. Then he did something extraordinary with
a stethoscope and two long flexible pieces of metal, and the door popped
open. You know, his mother always wanted him to become a doctor. And I
must say, I find the image of Joseph in a white coat inveighing against the
dangers of overconsumption with a grinder in one hand and a beer in the
other rather charming. I have the contents of the safe here.” He triumphantly
held up a black litigation box. “You don’t see anything else, do you?”
I peered inside. It looked empty. I was about to stand up and close the
door when something glinted on the bottom of the safe. “Wait. There’s
something here. Could I ask you to pass me a sheet of paper? Thanks. Here
we go.” I brushed some small shards of what looked like broken glass onto
the paper, but none of them cut me. More dust than shards, really, they
sparkled green in the office light. I held the paper out to Jadid, whose own
face glowed along with the green dust. “What is that?” I asked.
“I believe that is what my nephew might call ‘a smoking gun.’ Come on,”
he said, pulling me to my feet. “Time for supper.”
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