The Inner Circle (56 page)
But that wouldn’t get Clementine what she was really after.
For so long now, she had told herself this was about her father. And it was. It always was.
But it was also about her.
And so, after nearly three decades of wondering, years of searching, six months of planning, and the next few months of healing, Clementine Kaye sat back in her seat and—in a small town in Canada, under a baking heat lamp—started thinking exactly how she’d finally get the answers she wanted.
Beecher had taught her the benefits of patience.
The Culper Ring had taught her the benefits of secrecy.
But from here on in, it was no different than when she grabbed that jump rope and leapt onto Vincent Paglinni’s back in the schoolyard all those years ago.
Even the hardest fights in life become easy when you have the element of surprise.
121
Washington, D.C.
There’s a double tap of a car horn, honking from outside.
Every morning for the past week, I’ve ignored it. Just like I ignored the calls and the texts and the knocks on the door. Instead, I stared at my computer, searching through the lack of press and trying to lose myself in a few cutthroat eBay battles over photo postcards of a 1902 pub in Dublin as well as a rare collection of World War I battleships.
It doesn’t help like it used to.
Grabbing my dad’s soft leather briefcase and threading my arms into my winter coat, I head through the living room and pull open the front door.
Of course, he’s still waiting. He knew I’d eventually wear down.
To his credit, as I tug open the door of the powder blue Mustang and crawl inside, he doesn’t ask me how I am. Tot already knows.
He’s seen the President’s rising poll numbers. In fact, as the car takes off up the block, Tot doesn’t try to cheer me up, or put on the radio, or try to distract me. It’s not until we get all the way to Rock Creek Park that he says the only thing he needs to…
“I was worried about you, Beecher.”
When I don’t reply, he adds, “I heard they finally released Dallas’s and Palmiotti’s bodies.”
I nod from the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.
“And the barber’s,” he says, turning the steering wheel with just his wrists. The car rumbles its usual rumble as we veer onto Constitution Avenue. “Though there’s still no sign of Clementine.”
I nod again.
“Which I guess means you still have no proof,” Tot says.
“I’m well aware.”
“And with no proof, you got nothin’.”
“Tot, who taught you how to give a welcome-back talk? The Great Santini?”
“If it makes you feel better, while you’ve been playing hermit and answering all the FBI and Secret Service questions, I spoke to Orlando’s wife. I know it doesn’t help much… or bring him back… but—” His voice goes quiet. “They did get some closure from knowing who did this to him.”
I try to tell myself that’s true. But it’s not.
“The only thing I don’t understand is: On that night you came back from the caves, why’d he bring you to the White House, Beecher? I know you said it was to ask you to join the Plumbers, but think about it: What was the real point of that meeting with the President that night?”
“You mean besides reminding me what’ll happen to my life if I open my mouth? I gave this great macho-y speech, but the truth is, he knew how it’d play out. He was just rubbing it in.”
“Not a chance,” Tot says, asking it again. “Why’d he bring you to the White House?”
“You do realize we lost, right? So if this is you being rhetorical—”
“Ask yourself, Beecher. Why’d he bring you to the White House?”
“I have no idea! To scare me?”
“Damn right to scare you! That’s why he wanted to invite you in—that’s all it was about: to scare you,” Tot confirms, his beard swaying as he cocks his head. “And y’know the only reason why someone tries to scare you? Because he’s
worried
about you.
He’s
the one scared of
you
!”
“Then he’s a bigger moron than we thought. Because for the past week, I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of other places we can find proof, or a witness, or anything else about what happened that night. And believe me, I’ll keep trying. I’ll dig as long as it takes. But when it comes to being the Ghost of Christmas Past, it’s not as easy as you think.”
“That’s not the ghost he’s worried about.”
“Come again?”
“Think of what you just said. When that first ghost comes to visit Ebenezer Scrooge… the Ghost of Christmas Past is the one that
fails
. The Ghost of Christmas Present—he fails too. But the ghost that actually gets the job done—the one that does the most damage—that’s the Ghost from what’s Yet to Come.”
“Are you trying to make a really nice metaphor about history or the future? Because if you are—”
“Life isn’t metaphor, Beecher. History isn’t metaphor. It’s just life.”
I stare out the front of the car, looking down Constitution Avenue. The Washington Monument is all the way down, but from the angle we’re at, thanks to the trees and the lightposts on our right, it’s a completely obscured view. A horrible view. Just like that night at the Jefferson Memorial.
It’s not metaphor. It’s just a fact.
“Beecher, you’ve spent all this time fighting alone. You don’t have to. If you want, we can help you find Clementine.”
“It’s not just her, Tot. What she said… about my father… She said he didn’t die, and that maybe I have cancer. But if he’s alive…”
“What she said was complete manure designed to manipulate and take advantage of an emotionally vulnerable moment. But we can find the truth. If he’s alive, we’ll find him. Same with the cancer. We can help you find all of it. And if we do it together—and we do it right—I promise you, you’ll have the chance to make sure that every loathsome bastard—including the one in that big White House—pays for every ounce of pain they caused,” Tot says, his voice finding speed. “You thought finding that old dictionary was when history chose you. That wasn’t the moment.
This
is. The only question is—and it’s a simple question: They think they won the war with you. Are you ready to declare war back?”
“I thought your Culper Ring worked
for
the President?”
“We work for the
Presidency
. And that Presidency has now been corrupted. So. Are you ready to declare war back?”
He called it a simple question. It’s not simple. But it is easy. I look right at him. “Tot, are you asking me to join the Culper Ring?”
I wait for him to turn away and stare out the front window. He looks me right in the eye. “It’s not for everyone.”
“You’re serious? This is real?”
“Some days you get peanuts; some days you get shells. This is a peanut day.”
“And that Secret Service guy who walked me out of the White House and slipped me that note that you were waiting for me… He’s a peanut too?”
“Some people are with us. Some people owe us a favor. We’re a small group. Smaller than you think. And we’ve survived for only one reason: We pick our own replacements. I’m seventy-two years old, and… what you went through these past weeks… They know you’re ready. Though if it makes any difference, I thought you’ve been ready for years.”
With a twist of a knob, the radio hiccups to life and the car is filled with the sounds of Kenny Rogers singing “The Gambler.”
“ ‘The Gambler’?” I ask. “That’s what you had cued up? You were trying to make this a little moment, weren’t you?”
“Beecher, it’s a moment even without the music.”
I let the country twang of Kenny Rogers flow over me as a small grin lifts my cheeks. He may be right.
With a hard punch of the gas, the engine clears its throat and we cruise past the White House on our left.
“I won’t let you down, Tot.”
“I know, Beecher,” he says without looking at me. “I’m just glad you finally know too.”
Straight ahead, the morning sun is so bright I can’t see a thing in front of me. It feels fantastic.
“So where we going?” I ask as we reach 9th Street and Tot blows through the turn. He keeps heading straight on Constitution. On most mornings, he makes a left.
“Where do you think I’m going?” Tot asks as the car picks up speed and we leave the White House behind. “Now that we finally got you in the Culper Ring, well… don’t you want to meet the others?”
Table of Contents
Front Cover Image
Welcome Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
Chapter 116
Chapter 117
Chapter 118
Chapter 119
Chapter 120
Chapter 121
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