The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [85]
Palmiotti stuck his leg out from the comforter, trying to break his sweat. The drop phone would be ringing any minute.
But for the next hour and a half, nothing happened.
Palmiotti was tempted to call the medical unit. From there, the on-duty nurse could confirm that Wallace was upstairs. But Palmiotti knew he was upstairs. At this hour, where else would the President be?
By 4 a.m., the doctor was still tossing and twisting, eyeing the phone and waiting for it to ring. He knew his friend. He knew what had to be going through his head. He knew everything that was now at stake.
The phone had to ring.
But it never did. Not tonight.
And as Dr. Palmiotti stared up at his ceiling, both legs sticking out of his comforter, one hand holding Lydia, it was that merciless silence that worried him most of all.
52
Why am I in handcuffs?”
“Beecher, did you hear a word I just said?” Dallas asks.
“Why am I in handcuffs!?”
“So you wouldn’t do exactly what you’re doing right now, namely throwing a fit rather than focusing on the big picture,” Dallas shoots back. “Now. For the second time. Did you hear what I said?”
“There are two Culper Rings. I got it. But if you don’t undo these cuffs…”
“Then what? You’ll scream? Go. Scream. See what happens,” he says, motioning at the barely lived-in room.
I take another glance around, still stuck in my seat. I’m not sure I believe there’s really such a thing as a two-hundred-year-old secret spy unit. And even if I did, I’m not sure why they’d ever pick Dallas. But there’s only one way to get answers. “Where are we anyway? What is this place?”
“I’m trying to tell you, Beecher. Now I know you don’t like me. I know you’ve never liked me. But you need to understand two things: First, I want to get you out of here—the longer we keep you out of sight, the more suspicious it looks. Second, I’m on your side here. Okay? We’re all on your side.”
I’m about to unleash, but as my shoulders go numb, I stay locked on the priorities. “Undo the cuffs.”
“And then you’ll listen?”
“I can’t feel my pinkies, Dallas. Undo the cuffs.”
Squatting behind me, he pulls something from his pocket and there’re two loud snaps. As the blood flushes back to my wrists, he tosses the set of clear plasticuffs into the no-longer-empty trash can.
“Here… take this,” he says, reaching for the bookcase and handing me a square cocktail napkin. I didn’t even notice it before—an entire shelf in the bookcase is filled with a high-end selection of rum, vodka, scotch, and the rest. Whatever this room is used for, it clearly requires a good drink.
He pulls a few cubes from a silver ice bucket and drops them in my napkin. “For your chin,” he explains, looking surprised when I don’t say thanks.
“At Clementine’s… to be there,” I say as I put the ice to my chin. “How long were you following?”
“I wasn’t following. I was trying to talk to you—to get you alone. I mean, yesterday in Orlando’s office… this morning when Tot chased me away. Have you really not noticed how often I’ve been showing up?”
“So you gas and cuff me? That’s your solution? Send an email next time! Or wait… just call! It’s a lot less headache!”
Shaking his head, Dallas takes a seat on the leather sofa. “You really don’t understand how this works, do you? Face-to-face—that’s the only reason it’s lasted. The problem is, every time I get near you, you’re running off with your little group, and no offense, but… your high school first kiss? That’s who you’re trusting your life to?”
“I’m not trusting my life to her.”
“You are, Beecher. You don’t think you are, but you are. What you found in that SCIF—that was a miracle that happened—a true gift from God that you stumbled upon.” I watch him carefully as he says the words. He’s the only person besides