The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [69]
I look over at Clementine, who’s still flipping through the photocopied pull slips. I’m not sure what unnerves me more: the way this is going, or that Nico’s ramblings aren’t sounding as crazy as they used to.
“So this Dustin Gyrich guy—you think he’s part of…” As I say the words… as I think about Benedict Arnold… none of this makes sense. “You’re saying this Culper Ring still exists?”
“Beecher, at this exact moment, the only question that seems logical is, why wouldn’t they still exist? They were the best at what they did, right? They helped win a revolution. So you’ve got half a dozen men—”
“Hold on. That’s all there were? Half a dozen?”
“It think it was six… maybe seven… it wasn’t an army. It was Benjamin Tallmadge and Robert Townsend and I think George Washington’s personal tailor… they were a small group with loyalty directly to Washington. And if you’re George Washington, and you’re about to step into the Presidency, and you can’t trust anyone, why would you suddenly disband the one group that actually did right by you?”
“See, but there’s the problem,” I point out. “To assume that this Ring—whatever it really is—to assume it lasted all the way to now… No offense, but these days, even the CIA can’t keep their own spies’ real names off the front page of the newspaper. No way could this town keep a secret that big for that long.”
Tot looks at me with one of his Tot looks. “I know you have a security clearance, Beecher. Do you really think there aren’t any secrets left in our government?”
“Okay, maybe there are still a few secrets. I’m just saying, over the course of two hundred years—with each new President and each new agenda—forget about even keeping the secret… how do we possibly know this group is still doing right?”
“I assume you’re talking about what happened with Orlando?”
“Y’mean that part where Orlando suddenly shows up dead right after it looks like he’s the one who has their book? Especially when I’m the one who has their book? Yeah, call me paranoid, but that’s kinda the part I’m focusing on right now.”
Tot runs his fingers down the metal ribbons of his bolo tie. He doesn’t like the sarcasm, but he understands the pressure I’m under. Behind him, Clementine is flipping even faster through the photocopies. Like she’s looking for something.
“Clemmi, you okay?” I call out.
“Yeah. Yeah, yeah,” she insists without looking up.
“Beecher, I hear you,” Tot continues. “And yes, over the course of two hundred years, who knows if this current Culper Ring has any relation to the original Culper Ring, but to assume that they’ve turned into the evil hand of history—”
“Did you not see that list?” I interrupt. “Hiroshima, Gettysburg, the Bay of Pigs—all we’re missing is the grassy knoll and theater tickets with John Wilkes Booth!”
“That’s fine, but to say that a single small group of men are at the cause of all those singular moments—that’s just stupid to me, Beecher. Life isn’t a bad summer movie. History’s too big to be controlled by so few.”
“I agree. And I’m not saying they’re controlling it, but to be so close on all those dates… they’ve clearly got access to some major information.”
“They’re communicating,” Clementine says again, still looking down. “That’s what I said before. That’s what Nico said: To send messages to his Culper Ring, Washington used to hide stuff directly in his books. So maybe today… they put info in a book, then someone picks up that book and reads the message.”
“That’s… yeah… can’t it be that?” I say with a nod. “These guys have information—they sit close to the President, so they traffic in information