The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [65]
I know it’s an act. But I have no idea what I’m supposed to say.
“I… I…” I glance over at Khazei.
“He’s been talking with me,” Khazei says, his voice serene, making peace rather than war. He’s definitely smarter than I thought. Khazei’s been here a few years. Tot’s outlasted eleven Presidents and every Archivist of the United States since LBJ. It’s the first rule of office politics: Never pick a fight you can’t win.
“So no problem then? They’re free to go?” Tot challenges, lumping in Clementine and leaning in so Khazei gets a good look at his milky blind eye. “I mean, I thought I heard yelling, but I’m old and creaky,” he adds. “Maybe I was just imagining it, eh?”
Khazei studies the old man. I can feel the anger rising off him. But as the two men share a far too long, far too intense look, I can’t help but think that there’s something else that’s going unsaid in their little standoff.
Khazei puffs out his chest, all set to explode, and then…
He shakes his head, annoyed. “Just get them out of my face,” he blurts, turning back to his office.
As Tot continues to hit him with the evil eye, I can’t tell if I’ve underestimated the power of seniority, or the power of Tot. But either way, we’re free to go.
“Clementine…” Tot calls out, pretending to know her.
“Yeah.”
“Give the man his walkie-talkie back.”
She hands it to Khazei. “Sorry. That’s not who I usually am.”
To my surprise, Khazei doesn’t say a thing. He grabs the walkie, slotting it back into his belt.
I go to step around him, and he stabs me with a final dark glare. “I saw you sitting at Orlando’s desk,” he says. “Got something needling at your conscience?”
“Why should I? Everyone’s saying it was a heart attack,” I shoot back. “Unless you suddenly know something different.”
“I know you were in that SCIF with him, Beecher. It’s just a matter of time until that video proves it, and when that happens, guess who everyone’ll be looking at?”
I tell myself that if it all comes out, I can point a finger at the President—but that’s when Orlando’s words replay louder than ever. No matter who you are or how right you are, no one walks away the same way from that battle.
“Beecher, if you help me with this, I promise you—I can help you.”
It almost sounds like he’s doing me a favor. But there’s still plenty of threat in his voice. Before I take him up on anything, I need to know what’s really going on.
“You want help? You should talk to Rina,” I tell him. “Y’know she called Orlando ten times on the morning he died?”
He barely moves, once again making me wonder what he’s really chasing: Orlando’s killer, or the George Washington book?
Without a word, he turns back to his office. I race to catch up to Tot and Clementine, reaching them just as they turn the corner. Before I can say anything, Tot shoots me a look to stay quiet, then motions down to the real reason he came looking for me: the thick accordion file that’s tucked under his arm. The flap says:
Gyrich, Dustin
The man who’s been checking out documents for over a hundred and fifty years.
38
How’s my car?” Tot asks.
“How’d you get Khazei to back down like that?” I challenge.
“How’s my car?”
“Tot…”
He refuses to turn around, shuffling as he leads us past dusty bookshelf after dusty bookshelf on the eighteenth floor of the stacks. He’s not fast, but he knows where he’s going. And right now, as the automatic lights flick on as we pass, he’s got me and Clementine following. “Khazei doesn’t want a fight,” he explains. “He wants what you found in the SCIF.”
“I agree, but… how do you know?”
“Why didn’t he push back? If Orlando’s death is really his top concern, why hasn’t Khazei thrown you to the FBI, who’re really in charge of this investigation… or even to the Secret Service, who by the way, have been picking apart the SCIF all morning and afternoon? You’ve got every acronym working quietly on this case, but for some reason, Khazei’s not handing over the best pieces of dynamite, namely the two of you,” Tot says as another spotlight flicks on. I search the corner of the