The Inner Circle (23 page)

“Just odd, right?” Tot asks. “I started sifting through the older pull slips… seeing how far back it went. The more pull slips I looked at, the more requests from Dustin Gyrich I found: from this administration, to the one before, and before… There were eleven requests during Obama’s administration… three during George W. Bush’s… five more during Clinton’s and the previous Bush. And then I just started digging from there: Reagan, Carter, all the way back to LBJ… throughout the term of every President—except, oddly, Nixon—Dustin Gyrich came in and requested this dictionary. But the real break came when I tried to figure out if there were any other books that were pulled for him.”

“Can’t you just search by his last name?” Clementine asks.

“That’s not how it works,” I explain. “If it were today, yes, we’ve got a better computer system, but if you want to see who requested a particular document in the past, it’s like the library card in the back of an old library book—you have to go card by card, checking all the names on it.”

“And that’s when I thought of
Don Quixote
,” Tot says.

I cock my head, confused.

“Remember that list we looked at—from Mount Vernon—of all the books that were in George Washington’s possession on the day he died? Well, in his entire library, guess what single book he had more copies of than any other?”

“Other than the Bible, I’d say:
Don Quixote
?” I ask.

“Uncanny guessing by you. And did you know that in 1861, during a U.S. Circuit Court case in Missouri—whose records we happen to keep since it’s a federal trial—one of the parties presented into evidence all the personal property and baggage that was left behind by one of their passengers? Well, guess what book that passenger was carrying?”

“
Don Quixote
,” I say for the second time.

“History’s fun, isn’t it?” Tot says. “That’s now two books in our collection that were also in the collection of President Washington. Today, that copy is stored out in our Kansas City facility, but on April 14th, 1961, during the JFK administration, a man named D. Gyrich once again came in and—”

“Wait, what was that date again?” I interrupt.

“Ah, you’re seeing it now, aren’t you?”

“You said April 14th…?”

“Nineteen sixty-one,” Tot says with a grin.

Clementine looks at each of us. She’s lost.

“The Bay of Pigs,” I tell her.

“Actually, a few days before the Bay of Pigs… but that’s the tickle,” Tot says, rolling his tongue inside his cheek. “Our dear friend D. Gyrich also came into the building and asked to see that same copy of
Don Quixote
on October 3, 1957, and on May 16, 1954, and on August 6, 1945.”

My skin goes cold. It has nothing to do with the chill from the extreme air conditioning.

“What?” Clementine asks, reading my expression. “What happened on those dates?”

“October 3, 1957—that’s the day before the Russians launched Sputnik, isn’t it?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Tot says. “And May 16, 1954?”

“The day before the
Brown v. Board of Education
decision was handed down. But that last one, I forget if it’s—”

“It’s the later one,” Tot says, nodding over and over. “You got it now, don’t you?”

I nod along with him. “But to be here the day before… to always be here the day before… You think he knew?”

“No one has timing that good,” Tot says. “He
had
to know.”

“Know
what
?” Clementine begs.

I look at her, feeling the icy cold crawl and settle into the gaps of my spine. Dustin Gyrich, whoever he is, was in here days before the Bay of Pigs… Sputnik… the
Brown
decision… and August 6, 1945…

“Hiroshima,” I whisper. “He was here the day before Hiroshima.”

“He was,” Tot agrees. “And you’ll never believe where he was before that.”

39

Okay, here… go back another thirty years,” Tot says. “Nineteen fifteen… two days before the
Lusitania
was attacked…”

“That’s what brought us into World War I,” I explain to Clementine, who’s still confused.

“Then again in 1908, the week the Model T was introduced,” Tot says, flipping through a stack of photocopies, his voice filled with newfound speed. “Some dates, nothing big happened. But I even found a visit two days before they changed the U.S. penny to the Abraham Lincoln design.”

“How’d you even—?” I cut myself off. “That’s impossible. He couldn’t have come here.”

“You’re right,” Tot says.

“Huh…
why
?” Clementine asks.

“We weren’t open back then,” I tell her. “The Archives was founded in 1934. Staff didn’t start moving in until 1935.”

“But lucky us, the Library of Congress has been making books available since 1800,” Tot explains. “And when I called some of my friends there, well, considering that they’re the largest library in the world, what a shocking surprise to hear that they had their own copies of
Don Quixote
as well.”

“So even before the Archives opened…”

“… a Mr. D. Gyrich has been going in there and looking at old books that just happened to once be owned by General George Washington. Still, the real marvel is his timing: three days before the massacre at Wounded Knee… six days before the Battle of Gettysburg… They’re still searching, but we found another all the way back to July 4th, 1826, when former Presidents Jefferson and Adams both died within hours of each other on Independence Day.”

“He’s like the evil Forrest Gump,” I say.

“You say ‘he’ like he’s one person—as if there’s one guy who’s been walking around since 1826,” Tot counters. “No offense, but vampire stories are overdone.”

“So you think it’s more than one person.”

“I have no idea what it is. But do I think there’re a bunch of people who could be using that name throughout history for some unknown reason? We’re in a building dedicated to housing and preserving the government’s greatest secrets. So yes, Beecher, I very much believe that that kind of Easter Bunny can exist. The only question is—”

“They’re communicating,” Clementine blurts.

Tot and I turn. She’s sitting at the dusty desk, flipping through Tot’s stack of photocopies.

“They’re talking to each other,” she repeats. “They’re coming in here and they’re using the books. That’s how George Washington communicated with his group. It’s like my d—” She cuts herself off. “Think of what Nico said.”

“You spoke to Nico?” Tot asks me. “What’d he say? He knew something? What could he possibly know?”

Tot’s questions come fast. They’re all fair. But what catches me by surprise is the intensity in his voice.

“Beecher, tell me what he said.”

“I will, but… can I ask you one thing first?”

“You said Nico—”

“Just one thing, Tot. Please,” I insist, refusing to let him interrupt. “Yesterday… before Orlando was killed…” I take a deep breath, vomiting it all before I can change my mind. “When I was in Orlando’s office earlier, on his caller ID… Why were you calling Orlando on the day he died?”

Clementine looks up from the paperwork. Tot freezes. And then, just as quickly, he smiles, his blind eye disappearing in a playful smirk.

“Good for you, Beecher. Good for you,” he insists, doing the thing where he twirls his finger in his beard. “I told you to not trust anyone, and you’re doing just that.”

“Tot…”

“No, don’t apologize. This is
good
, Beecher. Smart for
you
for asking that. This is
exactly
what you need to be doing.”

I nod, appreciative of his appreciation, but…

“You never said why you were calling him,” Clementine blurts.

Tot’s finger slowly twirls out of his beard. “My ID,” he says. “My Archives ID is about to expire, and they told me to call Orlando to get the paperwork for a new one.”

“I thought the IG does all our investigations,” I say, referring to the Inspector General’s office.

“They do. But Orlando’s the one who takes your photo. Go look. Across from his desk, there’s one of those passport backgrounds that you pull up and stand in front of.”

I look at Clementine, then at Tot. That’s all I need. He just saved our asses from Khazei, and gave us his car, and did all this Dustin Gyrich research for no other reason than that he’s my dearest friend.

“Beecher, if you don’t want to talk about Nico, it’s fine,” he offers.

“Just listen,” I tell him. “Do you know what the Culper Ring is?”

“Y’mean, as in George Washington’s spy brigade?”

“So you’ve heard of them?”

“Beecher, I’ve been here since before Joe Kennedy had chest hair. Of course I’ve heard of—” He catches himself as it all sinks in. “Oh. So that’s what Nico—”

“What?” I ask. “That’s what Nico
what
?”

He thinks a moment, still working the details. “Beecher, do you have any idea what the Culper Ring actually did?” Tot finally asks.

“Just like you said: They were Washington’s personal spy unit. That he used civilians to move information back and forth.”

“Yeah, no—and that’s right. They moved lots of information. Washington’s top military spies kept getting caught by the British—his plans kept getting intercepted, he didn’t know who to trust—so he turned to these civilians, these regular people, who wound up being unstoppable. But what the Culper Ring is really known for, and what they’re treasured by history for, is—” He again stops. “Have you ever seen whose statue sits outside the original headquarters of the CIA?”

“Tot, I’m good, but I don’t know this stuff like you do.”

“Nathan Hale. You know him?”

“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country…”

“That’s the one. One of Washington’s earliest spies. And just to be clear, Hale never said that.”

“What?”

“He never said it, Beecher. The
one life to lose for my country
part came from a play which was popular during Revolutionary times. But do you know why our leaders lied and said Hale was such a hero? Because they knew it was better for the country to have a martyr than an incompetent spy. That’s all Hale was. A spy who got caught. He was hung by the British.”

“And this is important because…?”

“It’s important because when William Casey took over the CIA in the early eighties, it used to drive him crazy that there was a statue of Nathan Hale at headquarters. In his eyes, Nathan Hale was a spy who failed. Hale was captured. According to Casey, the statue in front of the CIA should’ve been of Robert Townsend.”

“Who’s Robert Townsend?” I ask.

“That’s exactly the point! Townsend was one of the members of the Culper Ring. But have you ever heard his name? Ever seen him mentioned in a history book? No. And why? Because for two hundred years, we didn’t even know Townsend
was part of
the Culper Ring.
For two hundred years, he kept his secret!
We only found out when someone did handwriting analysis on his old letters and they matched the ones to Washington. And that’s the real Culper Ring legacy. Sure, they moved information, but what they did better than anyone was keep their own existence a secret. Think about it: You can’t find them if you don’t know they exist.”

I look over at Clementine, who’s still flipping through the photocopied pull slips. I’m not sure what unnerves me more: the way this is going, or that Nico’s ramblings aren’t sounding as crazy as they used to.

“So this Dustin Gyrich guy—you think he’s part of…” As I say the words… as I think about Benedict Arnold… none of this makes sense. “You’re saying this Culper Ring
still exists
?”

“Beecher, at this exact moment, the only question that seems logical is, why
wouldn’t
they still exist? They were the best at what they did, right? They helped win a revolution. So you’ve got half a dozen men—”

“Hold on. That’s all there were? Half a dozen?”

“It think it was six… maybe seven… it wasn’t an army. It was Benjamin Tallmadge and Robert Townsend and I think George Washington’s personal tailor… they were a small group with loyalty directly to Washington. And if you’re George Washington, and you’re about to step into the Presidency, and you can’t trust anyone, why would you suddenly disband the one group that actually did
right
by you?”

“See, but there’s the problem,” I point out. “To assume that this Ring—whatever it really is—to assume it lasted all the way to now… No offense, but these days, even the CIA can’t keep their own spies’ real names off the front page of the newspaper. No way could this town keep a secret that big for that long.”

Tot looks at me with one of his Tot looks. “I know you have a security clearance, Beecher. Do you really think there aren’t any secrets left in our government?”