“And that makes the writing reappear,” Tot adds.
“Simple, right?
The Diamond points to the dictionary, and I can hear Nico’s words in my head.
“They used books because no one would search for messages in there,” Tot says.
“That was part of it. They also used books because they needed good-quality paper for the chemicals of the invisible ink to work best,” the Diamond points out. “Back then, the paper that was in common pocket books like old pamphlets, almanacs…”
“… and dictionaries,” Clementine says.
“…
“The one snag is, if you have a two-hundred-page dictionary, how’re you supposed to know what page to apply the reappearing chemicals to?” he adds, flipping through the blank pages that are all slightly browned, but are basically indistinguishable from each other. “No surprise, the Culper Ring had a way around that one.”
Tugging at the first piece of tissue paper, the Diamond once again reveals the book’s handwritten inscription:
“When it came to Washington’s messages,” he explains, “they knew to read between the lines.”
I look at Tot, still lost.
“I’m not being metaphorical,” the Diamond says. “That’s where we get the phrase from. Do it:
From the nearest developing tray, he pulls out a small square sponge no bigger than a matchbox. With a surgeon’s touch, he gently dabs the wet sponge onto the page.
From the paper’s textured fibers, faded light green letters rise, blooming into view and revealing the message that I’m now starting to think was intended for the President of the United States:
“Jiminy Crackers,” Clementine whispers, her voice cracking. Her face is pale.
“Curiouser and curiouser, eh?” the Diamond asks, clearly excited.
The only one silent is Tot. I see the way he’s looking at the message. He sees it too.
If these numbers are right…
We just jumped down a brand-new rabbit hole.
42
The guard at the sign-in desk studied the barber’s ID, then looked back at Laurent.
This was the moment Laurent hated. If something were to go wrong, this is when it would happen.
The guard stood there, his cheeks just starting to puff.
Laurent tried to smile, but it felt like his whole body was flattening. Like the inside of his chest was now touching the inside of his back. He wasn’t a spy. He wasn’t made for this. In fact, the only reason he agreed to do it was… Dr. Palmiotti thought it was because the President of the United States asked personally. But it wasn’t about the office.
It was about the man. A man Laurent knew since Wallace was a boy. A man who asked Laurent to move to Washington, and to whom Laurent made a promise. And while some people don’t put high priority on such things in Washington, D.C.… back in Ohio, and in so many other places… there’s something to be said about keeping your word.
“Here you go, Mr. Gyrich,” the guard with the overgrown eyebrows announced, handing back the ID and waving the barber toward the X-ray machine.
As the conveyor belt began to whirl, Laurent filled a plastic bin with his keys, his cell phone, and of course the book he was carrying:
It rolled through the machine without a hitch, and within seconds the barber was on his way. “Thanks again,” he called to the guard.
“Anytime,” the guard replied. “Welcome to the Archives. And happy hunting to you.”
43
I shake my head at her.
“That’s the date they found King Tut,” the Diamond jumps in.
“Pardon?” I ask.
“How do you even know that?” Tot challenges.
“I looked it up. Before you got here,” the Diamond explains, pointing down at the now revealed message on the front page of the dictionary:
“I couldn’t find anything noteworthy on the twenty-six years ago part, but looking at just February 16th-that’s the date the silver dollar became U.S. legal tender, and Howard Carter found Pharaoh Tutankhamen. Otherwise, it’s pretty much a quiet day in history.” Reading our reactions-and our silence-the Diamond adds, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to pry.”
“You’re not prying. Not at all,” Tot says, forcing a dash of thankfulness into his voice. “We just found this book mixed in with some old files from the early sixties, and we figured if someone scribbled in there, it might be fun to see what they were writing about.”
The Diamond stares directly at Tot, unafraid of his blind eye.
“Do you have any idea how invisible ink works?” the Diamond asks.
“You just told us how it works,” Tot shoots back.
“I did. I gave you a crash course. But if I gave you the full course, I’d also tell you that if the invisible ink sits for too long-if a few decades go by and we apply the reagent chemicals-that writing reappears in a color that’s pale
