Obsession

I had spent over sixty years planning and writing in the little black book, and yet, it seemed as though no one would receive it before my death. Pulling the elastic down over the cover to ensure that it would not be damaged was the least of my problems. But pull it down, I did. I looked at the cover, black, but worn smooth with time. The gold lettering, once prominent on the cover, was now a distant memory. Remembered only in half dreams between wakefulness and sleep, slipping away with each waking moment.

As the seconds ticked away, never had I been more aware of my mortality, and the pressure I felt to try to get this book to its intended recipient was increasing with each moment in time.

All I needed was one name. The one person I knew would be interested enough to explore the complexity of the little black book, and not throw it away after the first glance. I first thought to leave it in a bookstore for someone to discover, piled under a haphazard of books, like a book of magic waiting to be unearthed.

That idea disappeared when I thought of the many and varied ways it could go wrong. Lost books so often ended up in the bargain bin, or, if unknown, in the actual bin before they had finished their intended lifespan.

It had all begun as a simple idea, more fun than fantastic. I hid the first lot of money in the first place I could think of. I removed the seventh brick up and the third from the right in the chimney in my house on Beckett St, placed the money in a tin, and mortared it up once more.

Over the intervening years, I hid more and more wads of cash, sometimes in tins, sometimes in bottles, always recording its whereabouts in the book.

After some time, it became an obsession. The more I hid, the more I needed to make to ensure that I could hide more. Not once did I go back to any hiding place and retrieve the contents of the book. All of the money will still be there, and it will be up to you to retrieve it all.

As you will find out, money was not an issue to me growing up. My parents made a fortune selling Steel to all sides during WWII. Most of the money I inherited had been buried or bricked up in various places around the country. The first few stashes to be found will enable someone to purchase tickets around the country and find subsequent lots. In the second listing in the book I bought and hid some rare coins. Their value has skyrocketed in the interim and as they were well preserved, they will still be in near mint condition.

As the years passed, I found that more and more of my assets were tied up and could not be easily liquified. I had to find a way to get more. The obsession had turned into a fixation which then turned into an addiction. It became a juggernaut that would not be stopped.

So I made a plan. In 1971, I conceived of a way to access the funds I needed. It was not planned, nor was it very well thought out at the time.

I was on my way from Portland to Seattle one day when a plan hit me. As I said, I did not think it out very well, but at least I had not booked in my own name. On my travels in order to allay suspicion as to where I was hiding my money, I would book flights in different names, as they never checked. This time, I was Dan Cooper.

Sitting at the back of the plane, I began to formulate a plan. Out of nowhere, I asked for a drink. When the drinks cart came past, I reached down and grabbed 8 Coke cans. When I received the drink I asked for, I also asked for a pen.

Upon the napkin, I wrote that I had a bomb in my briefcase, and asked for the attendant to sit beside me. When she did, I told her that inside the briefcase were Eight red bombs attached to wires and a battery. I spoke of this for some time, describing in detail the contents of the “bomb laden” briefcase. By the time I had finished, there was no doubt on her beautiful face that there was a bomb onboard.

Inside the briefcase, I had placed the cans of Coke, and a tin of cigarettes I had bought at the airport. I opened it a crack, just enough for her to see the cans and tin, and closed it quickly. The look of fear of her face confirmed that I had indeed convinced her that the briefcase contained a bomb.

I asked for $200,000 and four parachutes, and for more fuel at Seattle airport.

When we arrived, after a lot of circling, I found that to my astonishment, they had met all my demands. We were up in the clouds again, and I was on top of the world.

Half way through my flight, I opened a side door, grabbed my money and jumped.

The rest of the week was a blur of hiking through the forest, and finally finding my way to civilization.

I would not believe that I had made it.

That funded my habit until this day. (along with some very sensible investments along the way. )

I know the house on Beckett St, and the various places are still as they were, as , attached to this note is the deed to the house, and the several pieces of land where the money is hidden. If I decided I would hide money in a new spot, I ensured that I would purchase the land first, and then find the best spot.

As to how I ended up choosing the person to whom would receive this book, the answer has been several years in the making. I searched online for someone that would know what to do with it, and to know what the clues in the book meant. Months of searching and scouring bulletin boards, forums and other, more hidden places across the globe drove me to the same conclusion.

There is only one person I could trust the contents of the book to, and that, Dear Reader, is you.