The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [113]
“It doesn’t say anything,” Nico blurts.
“Excuse me?”
“The pencil,” Nico says. “There’s no message.”
“How do you know?”
“I can see. I can—I’m good with patterns. The doctors… they’ve told me… I can see what others can’t. God gave me that gift,” he says, again glancing at the empty chair. “The marks on the pencil… the indentations… there’s nothing recurring. No repetition.”
“So the Culper Ring… back in the day… they never used old carvings as codes?” I ask.
“These aren’t carvings. These are… they’re nothing. Nothing I can see. Now tell me what you haven’t been saying. Tell me what was written in the invisible ink.”
He says the words matter-of-factly, as if there should be no argument.
Clementine and I both stand there, silent.
“I know you came here for my help,” Nico says. “You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t stuck. I can help with—”
He stops.
I know it’s a trick. Nico isn’t sly. He’s not subtle. He’s a whack job who acts like a giant child and thinks he’s the reincarnation of George Washington. So I know he’s just trying to get me to say…
“You can help me with what?” I ask, plenty annoyed, but curious enough to play along. I return to my seat.
He looks over toward the nurses’ station, once again scanning the brightly lit room. Taped to a nearby square concrete column is a laser-printed sign that says:
Please keep voices low
And spirits up
“Nico, what can you help us with?” I repeat.
“I know about the Purple Hearts,” Nico says.
“Okay, we’re done—I’ve seen this scam already,” I say as I again stand up.
“Where are you going?” Nico asks.
“This is the exact same thing you did last time—first you offer to help, then you start shoveling your whacky ghost stories.”
To my surprise, Clementine grips my wrist, keeping me in place. “What about the Purple Hearts?” she asks.
“The medals. The military medals. Do you know who created the Purple Heart?”
“George Washington,” I shoot back.
“I appreciate that. I appreciate you knowing your history,” Nico says. “Yes, George Washington created it. It was one of the first medals introduced in the United States. But he didn’t call it the Purple Heart—”
“He called it the Badge of Military Merit,” I interrupt. “It got its name from the fact that the medal itself was a purple cloth in the shape of a heart. What else do you want to know?”
“Do you know how many Purple Hearts George Washington gave out?” Nico challenges.
This time, I’m silent. I’m good, but I’m not Tot.
“Three,” Nico says. “That’s it. Three. Three men—all of them from Connecticut. As part of the honor, Washington wrote their names into a special book he called the Book of Merit. And do you know where this Book of Merit is today?”
“In that warehouse with the Ark of the Covenant?” I ask.
“No one knows where it is,” Nico says, oblivious to my joke as he flashes us a grin of excitement. Clementine looks even worse than she did yesterday. She’s not lasting much longer. “Washington’s book disappeared. Forever. In 1932, they revived the honor of the Purple Heart—it’s been given in our military ever since. But to this day, no one—not anyone—has any idea where Washington’s original Book of Merit—with the original names—actually is.”
“And this matters to us because…?”
“It matters because today, the Purple Heart goes to those who are wounded in battle. But originally, back then, Washington’s badge had nothing to do with injuries. In his own words, Washington said it was for extraordinary fidelity. Do you know what extraordinary fidelity means?”
“It means someone who’s loyal,” I say.
“It means someone who can keep a secret,” Nico counters. “I didn’t know this. I looked it up. I found it after your visit. I have a lot of time here.”
“Just get to the point.”
“I have been. You’re not listening to it. Like your predecessor—”
“Don’t compare me to a predecessor. Don’t call me Benedict Arnold. Don’t start with all that reincarnation hoo-hoo,” I warn him, still standing across from him. “If you want us to listen,