The Inner Circle - Brad Meltzer [93]
“Is that okay?” he adds, though I realize he’s no longer talking to me. He nods, reacting to what they’re saying in his earpiece. Wasting no time, he heads for the closet and pulls something from his laptop bag, which was tucked just out of sight.
With a flick of his wrist, he whips it like a Frisbee straight at me.
I catch it as the plastic shell nicks my chest.
A videotape.
The orange sticker on the top reads:12E1.
That’s the room… the SCIF… Is this…? This is the videotape that Orlando grabbed when we—
“How’d you get this?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “That’s your get-out-of-jail-free card, Beecher. You know what would’ve happened if Wallace or one of his Plumbers had seen you on that tape?”
He doesn’t have to say the words. I still hear Orlando: If the President finds that videotape, he’s going to declare war… on us. The war’s clearly started. Time to fight back.
From my back pocket, I pull out a folded sheet of paper and hand it to Dallas. He unfolds it, scanning the writing.
“This is a photocopy,” he says. “Where’s the original? Where’s the book?”
This time, I’m the one shaking my head.
“You hid it in the Archives, didn’t you?” he adds.
I still don’t answer.
“Good. Well done. You’re finally using your head,” he says as he rereads the revealed note we found in the dictionary:
FEBRUARY 16
26 YEARS IS A LONG TIME TO KEEP A SECRET
WRITE BACK: NC 38.548.19 OR WU 773.427
“You know those aren’t—”
“We know they’re not call numbers,” I agree. “But beyond that, we’re stuck.”
He stares at it for a few seconds more. “Unreal,” he whispers to himself. “And the ink was green when you found it?”
“Bright green—new as can be,” I tell him. “Whoever these Plumbers are, they like your formula.”
He nods, definitely annoyed that there’s someone else using their Culper Ring magic tricks. “How’d you know to look for the invisible ink?” Dallas asks. “Was that Tot?”
“It was someone else.”
“Who?”
“Are you taking me to your leader?” I ask, pointing to his earpiece. “Then I’m not taking you to mine,” I add, once again realizing just how valuable Nico’s advice has been—and how I wouldn’t even know about the invisible ink without him.
“So what do I do now?” I ask as he slides the photocopy into his briefcase. “How do I tell you what happens with the President? Do I just find you at work, or is there some secret number I should call?”
“Secret number?”
“Y’know, like if something goes wrong.”
“This isn’t Fight Club,” Dallas says. From his back pocket, he pulls out his wallet, opens it up, and hands me a Band-Aid.
“What’s this?”
“It’s a Band-Aid.”
“I can see it’s a Band-Aid. But what is it? A transmitter? A microphone?”
“It’s a Band-Aid,” he repeats. “And if there’s an emergency—if you need help—you take that Band-Aid and you tape it to the back of your chair at work. Don’t come running or calling… don’t send emails… nothing that people can intercept. You tape that Band-Aid up, and you head for the restroom at the end of our hallway. I swear to you, you’ll have help.”
“But what you said before… about my life already being over.”
“Beecher, you know history isn’t written until it’s written, so—”
“Can you please stop insulting me, Dallas. I know what happens when people take on sitting Presidents. Even if I survive this, I’m not surviving this, am I?”
He studies me, once again combing his beard with his teeth. “Beecher, remember that mad scientist convention the government had last year?”
“You’re insulting me again. I hate locker room speeches.”
“It’s not a locker room speech. It’s a fact. Last year, the army had a ‘mad scientist’ conference, bringing together the wildest thinkers to predict what the most dangerous threats will be in the year 2030. And y’know what they decided the number one threat was? The destructive and disruptive capability of a small group. That’s what they’re worried about most—not another country with a nuke—they’re terrified of a small group with a committed goal. That’s what we are, Beecher. That’s what the Culper Ring has always been. Now I know you’re worried about who