The Inner Circle

41

"You talk me up to Rina yet?” the Diamond asks.

“You’re joking, right?” I shoot back. “How fast you think I am?”

“Plenty fast,” he says, nodding a hello to Tot and taking a quick glance at Clementine. “Kinda like I was with this invisible ink problem you got.”

He cocks both eyebrows, thinking he’s hysterical. With a pivot, he spins toward the lab, inviting us inside.

“By the way, where’s she from?” he adds, his back to us as he throws a thumb at Clementine.

“She’s… er…” I reach over to Clementine and tuck the red Visitor ID badge that Tot got her inside the lapel of her jacket. “She works in Modern Military in College Park,” I add, referring to our facility out in Maryland. “Her name’s Lucy.”

“Lucy?” Clementine mouths, making a face.

“Nice to meet you, Lucy,” the Diamond says, his back still to us. “It’s kooky though that a full-time employee would be wearing a visitor’s badge.”

I don’t say a word as we pass a bank of map cabinets and storage units. I shouldn’t be surprised. He spends every day studying the tiniest of details.

“Listen, Daniel…” Tot begins.

“Tot, I don’t care. I really don’t,” he insists. “Beecher, just make sure you put the word in with Rina. Fair trade?”

I nod. Fair trade.

“Okay, so on to your next nightmare,” he says, leading us to a square lab table in back that’s covered by an array of sky blue plastic developing trays, like you find in a darkroom. On the edge of the lab table is our copy of Entick’s Dictionary. “How much you know about invisible ink?”

“I remember fifth-grade science fair: Someone writes it in lemon juice, then you heat the paper and voila…”

As I flip the dictionary open, there’s now a sheet of see-through archival tissue paper protecting each page. But except for where it says,

Exitus

Acta

Probat

… that front inside page is otherwise still blank.

“I thought you said you found the writing,” Tot challenges, nearly as annoyed as I am.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” the Diamond begs. “Whoever put this in here-they’re not playing Little League. This is pro ball,” he explains. “The best secret inks date back thousands of years, to China and Egypt-and by the eighteenth century, they were almost universally based on some organic liquid like leeks or limes or even urine. And like you said, a little heat would reveal the writing. But as George Washington understood, it’s not much of a secret when every British soldier knows that all you have to do is wave a candle to see the magic appear.”

“Get to the part about the pro ball,” Tot tells him.

“That is the part,” the Diamond insists. “Basic invisible inks require a heating process. You heat the paper, you crack the code. But to foil the British, Washington and his Culper Ring started playing with a chemical process.”

“Wait… What was that?” Clementine asks.

“The chemical process?”

“No-before that,” she says.

“She means the Culper Ring,” I jump in. I know where she’s going. She wants to know how much of Nico’s ramblings were right. “So the Culper Ring were the ones who used this?”

“Of course,” the Diamond says. “I assume you know what the Culper Ring is, yes?”

We all nod.

“Then you know the whole purpose of the Ring was to help Washington communicate his most vital secrets. In fact, invisible ink is just the start of it: The Culper Ring had their own codes and ciphers… they made sure no one used their real name… they would only write on the back of the fifteenth sheet of paper. That’s why when William Casey took over the CIA-”

“We know the story. About the statue,” I tell him. “They’re the best spies ever. We got it.”

“I don’t think you do. As small a group as the Culpers were, they had a huge hand in winning the Revolution for us. And their best value came from the fact that all the vital documents were handwritten letters. So when Washington’s orders kept getting intercepted over and over, he asked his Culper Ring to do something about it.”

“Cue invisible ink.”

“But not just any ink,” the Diamond points out. “And this is the part that’s brilliant. Instead of using heat, they would do the writing with a chemical that would disappear, which they called the agent. And then when you were ready to read it, you’d use a completely separate chemical, which they called the reagent.”

“And that makes the writing reappear,” Tot adds.

“Simple, right? Agent and reagent,” the Diamond says. “As long as you keep the second chemical away from your enemy, they can never figure out what you’re writing. So as you surmised, Washington and the Culper Ring would put their messages right into the first few pages of common books.”

The Diamond points to the dictionary, and I can hear Nico’s words in my head. Not everything can be seen so easily.

“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.

“… and dictionaries,” the Diamond agrees, “was cheaper than good paper imported from England.” Sliding on a pair of cotton gloves, he carefully reaches over and removes the dictionary from my grip, laying it face-open on the lab table.

“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:

Exitus

Acta

Probat

“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: Read between the lines.”

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:

Exitus

FEBRUARY 16

Acta

26 YEARS IS A LONG TIME TO KEEP A SECRET

Probat

WRITE BACK: NC 38.548.19 OR WU 773.427

“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.