The Inner Circle

“It’s the later one,” Tot says, nodding over and over. “You got it now, don’t you?”

I nod along with him. “But to be here the day before… to always be here the day before… You think he knew?”

“No one has timing that good,” Tot says. “He had to know.”

“Know what?” Clementine begs.

I look at her, feeling the icy cold crawl and settle into the gaps of my spine. Dustin Gyrich, whoever he is, was in here days before the Bay of Pigs… Sputnik… the Brown decision… and August 6, 1945…

“Hiroshima,” I whisper. “He was here the day before Hiroshima.”

“He was,” Tot agrees. “And you’ll never believe where he was before that.”

39

'Okay, here… go back another thirty years,” Tot says. “Nineteen fifteen… two days before the Lusitania was attacked…”

“That’s what brought us into World War I,” I explain to Clementine, who’s still confused.

“Then again in 1908, the week the Model T was introduced,” Tot says, flipping through a stack of photocopies, his voice filled with newfound speed. “Some dates, nothing big happened. But I even found a visit two days before they changed the U.S. penny to the Abraham Lincoln design.”

“How’d you even-?” I cut myself off. “That’s impossible. He couldn’t have come here.”

“You’re right,” Tot says.

“Huh… why?” Clementine asks.

“We weren’t open back then,” I tell her. “The Archives was founded in 1934. Staff didn’t start moving in until 1935.”

“But lucky us, the Library of Congress has been making books available since 1800,” Tot explains. “And when I called some of my friends there, well, considering that they’re the largest library in the world, what a shocking surprise to hear that they had their own copies of Don Quixote as well.”

“So even before the Archives opened…”

“… a Mr. D. Gyrich has been going in there and looking at old books that just happened to once be owned by General George Washington. Still, the real marvel is his timing: three days before the massacre at Wounded Knee… six days before the Battle of Gettysburg… They’re still searching, but we found another all the way back to July 4th, 1826, when former Presidents Jefferson and Adams both died within hours of each other on Independence Day.”

“He’s like the evil Forrest Gump,” I say.

“You say ‘he’ like he’s one person-as if there’s one guy who’s been walking around since 1826,” Tot counters. “No offense, but vampire stories are overdone.”

“So you think it’s more than one person.”

“I have no idea what it is. But do I think there’re a bunch of people who could be using that name throughout history for some unknown reason? We’re in a building dedicated to housing and preserving the government’s greatest secrets. So yes, Beecher, I very much believe that that kind of Easter Bunny can exist. The only question is-”

“They’re communicating,” Clementine blurts.

Tot and I turn. She’s sitting at the dusty desk, flipping through Tot’s stack of photocopies.

“They’re talking to each other,” she repeats. “They’re coming in here and they’re using the books. That’s how George Washington communicated with his group. It’s like my d-” She cuts herself off. “Think of what Nico said.”

“You spoke to Nico?” Tot asks me. “What’d he say? He knew something? What could he possibly know?”

Tot’s questions come fast. They’re all fair. But what catches me by surprise is the intensity in his voice.

“Beecher, tell me what he said.”

“I will, but… can I ask you one thing first?”

“You said Nico-”

“Just one thing, Tot. Please,” I insist, refusing to let him interrupt. “Yesterday… before Orlando was killed…” I take a deep breath, vomiting it all before I can change my mind. “When I was in Orlando’s office earlier, on his caller ID… Why were you calling Orlando on the day he died?”

Clementine looks up from the paperwork. Tot freezes. And then, just as quickly, he smiles, his blind eye disappearing in a playful smirk.

“Good for you, Beecher. Good for you,” he insists, doing the thing where he twirls his finger in his beard. “I told you to not trust anyone, and you’re doing just that.”

“Tot…”

“No, don’t apologize. This is good, Beecher. Smart for you for asking that. This is exactly what you need to be doing.”

I nod, appreciative of his appreciation, but…

“You never said why you were calling him,” Clementine blurts.

Tot’s finger slowly twirls out of his beard. “My ID,” he says. “My Archives ID is about to expire, and they told me to call Orlando to get the paperwork for a new one.”

“I thought the IG does all our investigations,” I say, referring to the Inspector General’s office.

“They do. But Orlando’s the one who takes your photo. Go look. Across from his desk, there’s one of those passport backgrounds that you pull up and stand in front of.”

I look at Clementine, then at Tot. That’s all I need. He just saved our asses from Khazei, and gave us his car, and did all this Dustin Gyrich research for no other reason than that he’s my dearest friend.

“Beecher, if you don’t want to talk about Nico, it’s fine,” he offers.

“Just listen,” I tell him. “Do you know what the Culper Ring is?”

“Y’mean, as in George Washington’s spy brigade?”

“So you’ve heard of them?”

“Beecher, I’ve been here since before Joe Kennedy had chest hair. Of course I’ve heard of-” He catches himself as it all sinks in. “Oh. So that’s what Nico-”

“What?” I ask. “That’s what Nico what?”

He thinks a moment, still working the details. “Beecher, do you have any idea what the Culper Ring actually did?” Tot finally asks.

“Just like you said: They were Washington’s personal spy unit. That he used civilians to move information back and forth.”

“Yeah, no-and that’s right. They moved lots of information. Washington’s top military spies kept getting caught by the British-his plans kept getting intercepted, he didn’t know who to trust-so he turned to these civilians, these regular people, who wound up being unstoppable. But what the Culper Ring is really known for, and what they’re treasured by history for, is-” He again stops. “Have you ever seen whose statue sits outside the original headquarters of the CIA?”

“Tot, I’m good, but I don’t know this stuff like you do.”

“Nathan Hale. You know him?”

“I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country…”

“That’s the one. One of Washington’s earliest spies. And just to be clear, Hale never said that.”

“What?”

“He never said it, Beecher. The one life to lose for my country part came from a play which was popular during Revolutionary times. But do you know why our leaders lied and said Hale was such a hero? Because they knew it was better for the country to have a martyr than an incompetent spy. That’s all Hale was. A spy who got caught. He was hung by the British.”

“And this is important because…?”