The Inner Circle

44

"Ping” the elevator sings in F-sharp as the doors slide open.

I race out first, darting into the hallway and heading straight toward the gray stone walls of the lobby. Behind me, Tot hobbles, trying to keep up. No surprise. He’s got nearly fifty years on me. But what is a surprise is Clementine, who starts to run and quickly loses steam. Her face is pale white like an aged porcelain doll.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Go… If he’s there… Go!” she insists.

I take the cue, picking up speed.

“He said he went into Finding Aids!” Tot calls out.

Pulling a sharp right, I cut into the mint green Finding Aids room, the same room I found Clementine in this morning, when she gave me the homemade photo of the two of us.

There’s no one at the research tables. No one at the bookshelves. For visitors, the last pull from the stacks was done hours ago. It’s too late. No one’s here.

Except for the older black man in the dark wool pea coat who’s hunched in front of the small bank of computers.

“Sir, I’m checking IDs. Can I see your ID?” I call to the man.

He doesn’t turn around.

“Sir…! Sir, I’m talking to you,” I add, now on a mad dash toward him. I reach out to grab his shoulder.

“Beecher, don’t-!” Tot shouts as he enters the room.

Too late. I tap the man hard-hard enough that he turns around and-he-

He’s a she.

“I know you didn’t just put your hands on me,” the woman barks, twisting from her seat.

“Ma’am, I–I’m sorry… I thought you were… I’m just checking IDs,” I tell her.

She flashes her badge, which says she’s a researcher from the University of Maryland. But as I scan the rest of the room, there’s no sign of… of… of anyone.

Including Dustin Gyrich.

It doesn’t make sense. The guard saw him come here. For him to move that fast… It’s like he knew we were coming. But the only ones who knew that were-

“Who’s calling you?” Tot asks.

I spin around to see Tot standing next to Clementine. In her hand, her phone is vibrating.

She looks down to check the number. “It’s my job-they probably want to know if I’m coming in tomorrow,” she explains. “Why?”

“Why aren’t you picking it up?” Tot pushes.

“Why’re you using that tone with me?”

“Why aren’t you picking it up?”

Clearly annoyed, and looking paler than ever, Clementine flips open her phone and holds it to her ear. She listens for a few seconds and then says, “I’ll call you back, okay?” Reading Tot’s reaction, she asks, “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” Tot challenges, making sure she hears that challenge in his voice.

“Just say it,” she pushes back.

He shakes his head.

“So now you don’t believe me?” she asks, holding out the phone to him. “You wanna speak to them? Here-speak to them.”

“Listen, everyone’s had a long day,” I jump in.

“And don’t give me that evil eye stare you give everyone else,” she says, still locked on Tot. He walks over to the main check-in desk. She follows right behind him. “Beecher’s been in my life long before he’s been in yours. I’ve been helping him since the moment this started-and what? — now you think I’m tipping off Gyrich or something?”

“Those are your words, not mine,” Tot says.

“But they can just as easily be applied to you,” Clementine shoots back. “Oh that’s right-I almost forgot you got that magic phone call three minutes ago that sent us racing up here. What a perfect time for Gyrich to check in and say, ‘All’s clear.’ I’m telling you now, you hurt my friend, and I’ll make sure the world knows who you are.”

I wait for Tot to explode, but instead, he stares down at a red three-ring binder that sits open on the main desk.

Of course. The binder…

“Beecher…” Tot says.

I fly to the desk.

“What?” Clementine asks. “What is it?”

Ignoring her, Tot flips back one page, then flips forward to the current one.

“Every day, this room is staffed by us-by archivists,” I explain. “We’re on call for an hour or two each day so when visitors come in, we can help them with their research. But more important, the supervisor who runs this room marks down the exact time each of us gets here, just so she knows who’s staffing the room at any particular moment.”

“And of the fifty archivists in this building, look who was the very last one who was in here today-according to this log, barely ten minutes ago,” Tot says, stabbing his crooked finger at the last name on the sheet.

4:52 p.m.-Dallas Gentry.

My coworker. And officemate. And along with Rina, the one other person staffing President Wallace yesterday when he was arriving in the SCIF.