The Inner Circle

“It’s important because when William Casey took over the CIA in the early eighties, it used to drive him crazy that there was a statue of Nathan Hale at headquarters. In his eyes, Nathan Hale was a spy who failed. Hale was captured. According to Casey, the statue in front of the CIA should’ve been of Robert Townsend.”

“Who’s Robert Townsend?” I ask.

“That’s exactly the point! Townsend was one of the members of the Culper Ring. But have you ever heard his name? Ever seen him mentioned in a history book? No. And why? Because for two hundred years, we didn’t even know Townsend was part of the Culper Ring. For two hundred years, he kept his secret! We only found out when someone did handwriting analysis on his old letters and they matched the ones to Washington. And that’s the real Culper Ring legacy. Sure, they moved information, but what they did better than anyone was keep their own existence a secret. Think about it: You can’t find them if you don’t know they exist.”

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-and in this case, in this book that was left in the SCIF, President Wallace has information.”

“Or someone has information for President Wallace,” Tot points out.

“Or that. That’s fine,” I say. “Either way, maybe this is how they share it.”

“Okay-that’s a theory-I can see that. But if it’s really that earth-shattering, why not just bring it directly to the President?”

“Look at the results: Dustin Gyrich comes in here, then-kaboom-World War I. Another visit, then-kaboom- Hiroshima. This isn’t small stuff. So for Gyrich to be back yesterday, there’s clearly something big that-”

“Wait. Hold on. Say that again,” Tot interrupts.

“Clearly something big?”

“Before that…”

“For Gyrich to be back yesterday?”

“We never checked, did we?” Tot asks.

“Checked what?”

“Gyrich’s visit. We know the dictionary was on hold for him yesterday, but we never checked if Gyrich actually physically came into the building…”

I see where he’s going. If Gyrich was here, if he checked in as a researcher and signed the log, we’ve got the possibility of having him on video, or at the very least fingerprints that can tell us who he really-

“Clemmi, c’mon…” I call out, already starting to run.

Clementine doesn’t move. She’s still flipping through the pull slips-the slips that every visitor has to fill out to look at a particular volume or box of documents-scanning each one like she’s reading a prescription bottle.

“Clemmi!” I call again.

Nothing.

I dart to the desk and grab at the pile of photocopies. “C’mon, we can read this after-”

Her arm springs out, desperately clutching the pages. She’s practically in tears. “Please, Beecher. I need to know.”

Within seconds, she’s back to scanning the documents.

Over her shoulder, I check the dates of the pull slips, trying to get context. July 7, July 10, July 30-all of them from ten years ago. What the hell happened in July ten y-?

Oh.

“You’re looking for Nico, aren’t you?” I ask.

She flips to another sheet.

At the NASCAR track. Ten years ago. That’s when Nico took the shots at President-

“Please tell me they didn’t know about that,” I say.

She shakes her head, unable to look up at me. There’s only so many punches this poor girl can take in one day. “They didn’t,” she says, her voice shaking as she nears the end of the pull slips.

“That’s good, right? That’s good.”

“I–I-I guess,” she says. “I don’t even know if I was hoping for it or not… but if this Culper Ring knew about all those other parts of history… I… I dunno. I just thought they might-”

“Clemmi, it’s okay,” I tell her. “Only a fool wouldn’t’ve checked. It’s completely-”

“You don’t have to say it’s normal, Beecher. Searching to see if some secret two-hundred-year-old group knew about the day your father tried to murder the President… We’re a little far from normal.”

I know she’s right, but before I can tell her, I feel the vibration of my phone in my pocket. Caller ID tells me it’s the one call I’ve been waiting for. Extension 75343. The Preservation Lab downstairs.

“You ready for it, Beecher?” Daniel the Diamond asks before I can even say hello.

“You were able to read it?” I say.