The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [159]
The President shifts his weight, his eyes still locked on me. “Be very careful of what you’re accusing me of.”
“I’m not accusing you of anything, sir. But it is a fair calculation, isn’t it? Why risk a head-on collision when you can bring me inside? I mean, now that I think about it—is that the real reason you brought me here? To keep me quiet by inviting me to be the newest member of your Plumbers?”
The President’s hands stay frozen in prayer style on the desk. If his voice was any colder, I’d be able to see it in the air. “No. That isn’t why I brought you here. At all.”
He takes another breath, all set to hide his emotions just like he does on every other day of his life. But I see his tongue as it rolls inside his mouth. As good as Wallace is, his friend is still dead. You don’t just bury that away.
“I brought you to say thank you,” he insists for the second time. “Without you, we wouldn’t know who killed that security guard.”
“His name’s Orlando,” I interrupt.
Wallace nods with a nearly invisible grin, letting me know he’s well aware of Orlando’s name. He’s anxious to be back in control—and I just gave it back to him. “Though you’ll be happy to hear, Beecher—from what I understand, the D.C. police already have Clementine’s picture up on their website. They were able to link her chemotherapy prescription to the drugs they found in Orlando’s bloodwork.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I’m just telling you what’s online. And when you think about it, that young archivist—Beecher whatshisname—who tracked her down, and looped in the President’s doctor, and even followed her all the way out to those caves—that guy’s a hero,” he adds, his eyes growing darker as they tighten on me. “Of course, some say Beecher had a hand in it—that he violated every security protocol and was the one who let Clementine inside that SCIF—and that together they planned all this, and were after the President, and they even went to visit her father, who—can you believe it?—is Nico Hadrian, who may be trying to kill again.”
He pauses a moment, looking over at the office’s only window. It has a perfect view of the South Lawn—except for the iron bars that cover it. I get the point. All he has to do is say the words and that’s my permanent view. His voice is back to the exact strength he started with. “But I don’t want to believe that about him. Beecher’s a good guy. I don’t want to see him lose everything like that.”
It’s an overdramatic speech—especially with the glance at the iron bars—and exactly the one I thought he’d give. “I still know about the two Culper Rings,” I say. “I know about your Plumbers. And for you especially… I know your personal stake in this.”
He knows I mean Minnie.
“Beecher, I think we all have a personal stake in this. Right, son?” he asks, putting all the emphasis on the word son.
I know he means my father.
It’s an empty threat. If he wanted to trade, he would’ve already offered it. But he’s done debating.
“Go tell the world, Beecher. And you find me one person who wouldn’t protect their sister in the exact same way if they saw her in trouble. If you think my poll numbers are good now, just wait until you turn me into a hero.”
“Maybe,” I say.
“Not maybe,” he says as if he’s already seen the future. He leans into the desk, his fingers still crossed in prayer. This man takes on entire countries. And wins. “The press’ll dig for a little while into what the doctor was up to, but they’ll move on to the next well—especially when they don’t strike oil. The President’s doctor is very different than the President.”
“But we all know this isn’t about the President. Even for you, it’s never been about you. It’s about her, isn’t it, sir? Forget the press… the public… forget everyone. We wouldn’t still be talking if you weren’t worried about something. And to me, that only thing you’re worried about is—if I start doing