The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [154]
“Then use your brain for once instead of thinking with your scrotum!” Palmiotti begs, reaching my way. “If you want, give me the gun and I’ll—”
“Do not come near this gun,” I say, aiming the barrel at his chest. “I know who you are, Doctor. I know you tricked Dallas into thinking he was fighting for the good of the Culper Ring. And since I know you’re the top plumber in the Plumbers, I know where your loyalty lies.”
Palmiotti doesn’t move.
Across from us, Clementine doesn’t either.
“Beecher, listen to me,” Palmiotti says. “Whatever you think our mission is, we can fight about this later. But if you don’t shoot her—if you don’t protect us—she’s gonna kill both of us.”
“I know you don’t believe that,” Clementine jumps in, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Palmiotti. “Of course he wants you to shoot me, Beecher. Think of why he put that bullet in Dallas’s chest! He’s cleaning up one by one… and once I’m gone, you’re the only witness that’s left. And then… and then…” She slows herself down as the pain takes hold. “Guess how quickly you’ll be dead after that?”
“So now we’re the bad guys?” Palmiotti asks, forcing a laugh. “For what? For trying to protect the leader of the free world from a blackmailer and her crazy father?”
“No—for helping your boss bury a baseball bat in the side of someone’s head! I saw Eightball’s medical chart. Puncture wounds in the face! Shattered eye socket; broken cheekbones! And brain damage from an in-driven fragment of his skull! Lemme guess: You held Eightball down while Wallace wound up with a hammer. Did it feel good when you heard that boy’s eye socket shatter? What about all these years when you helped the President of the United States keep him in storage like a piece of old furniture—and then used all the real Culper Ring’s methods to hide it!? How’d that one feel?” Turning to me, she adds, “Pay attention, Beecher. Palmiotti wants you to think I’m the bad guy. But remember, he didn’t need you and Dallas to get the file. Once you found it, he could’ve had Dallas take you home, and he could’ve grabbed it himself. So what’s the benefit to Palmiotti of having all of us in an underground cave in the middle of nowhere…?”
“Jesus, Beecher—even if you think she’s telling the truth—make her stand up!” Palmiotti pleads.
“… because even if they smoke that hospital file, the last thing Palmiotti and the President need is you running around, bearing witness to the world,” Clementine says, as serious as I’ve ever seen her. “That’s the only reason you’re here, Beecher—that’s the big ending. Whether you shoot me now or not, you’re gonna die here. I’m gonna die here. Both of us… with what’s in our blood… don’t you see… we’re history.”
Behind her, the bird isn’t chirping. There’s only silence.
“That’s not true,” I say, still pointing my gun at her.
“You lie. And worst of all, you lie to yourself,” she tells me. “Think of everything you’ve seen: You saw him shoot Dallas. You’ve already seen what they’ll do to protect what they have in that White House. You pull that trigger on me, and I guarantee you you’ll be dead in ten minutes—and you wanna know why? Because that’s your role, Beecher. You get to play Lee Harvey Oswald… or John Hinckley… or even Nico. That’s your big part in the opera. Think of any presidential attack in history—you can’t have one without a patsy.”
“Beecher, make her stand the hell up!” Palmiotti begs, his voice cracking. His face should be a red rage. Instead, it’s bone white. The way he’s gripping his neck and using his free hand to steady himself against the wall, he’s losing blood fast.
I look back at Clementine sitting in the water. Both of her legs are straight out, like she’s coming down a waterslide. The water’s above her waist. I still can’t see if she has her gun.
“You know I’m right,” she says as she starts to breathe heavily. The pain in her leg is definitely getting worse. But as she sits there, she starts using her good leg to slowly push herself backward in the water. “This is your chance, Beecher. If we leave together… with this file… Forget