The Inner Circle

45

Six minutes ago

When he was cutting hair, Andre Laurent put no premium on speed.

His focus was accuracy. Precision. Giving the client exactly what he wanted. Or at the very least, convincing the client that whatever he gave them was exactly what they wanted.

But this was different.

As he entered the mint green Finding Aids room on the first floor of the Archives, Laurent didn’t waste a single second.

Without question, today was very much about speed. Most of the time, the goal was to move slowly-to go to the upstairs research room, pull a cart full of documents and pamphlets and half a dozen other records, and then hide what they needed right in plain sight.

But if what it said in A Problem from Hell was true… if someone else had grabbed the dictionary…

He didn’t even want to think about it.

A quick scan of the room told him he at least picked the right time. God bless government employees. This close to five, nearly all the staff was gone.

“Can we help you?” an older employee called out as she wheeled a rolling cart filled with small boxes toward the microfilm reading room on their far left.

“I’m actually okay,” Laurent said, waving his thanks, but not moving until she was gone.

When she was out of sight, he cut past the main research desk and headed for the bookshelves that lined the walls of the room. Ignoring record group numbers, he started counting. The one… two… three… fourth-here-fourth bookshelf on the right. Like nearly every other shelf in the room, it was filled with old leather books-mostly brown and dark blue, but a few red ones as well-each volume dedicated to a different subject matter. On the top shelf was a row of black binders and some pamphlets. According to the spines, Record Group 267.

Laurent nodded. That’s the one. Glancing over his shoulder, he double-checked that the supervisor was gone.

All clear.

Reaching to the top shelf, he used two fingers to tip back one of the thick black binders. As he removed it with one hand, he placed it squarely on top of the book he was carrying-A Problem from Hell-and then, in one easy motion, slid both books onto the top shelf and headed for the door.

The theory was so simple it was elegant. Archives employees are concerned about visitors sneaking records out. But no one ever suspects someone sneaking something in.

There it sat. Just another book in the world’s biggest archive.

Thirty seconds after that, Laurent was gone.

Thirty seconds after that, he was outside, using a crowd of departing employees to keep him out of the eyespace of security.

And thirty seconds after that, he was on his phone, dialing the number that by now he knew by heart.

As it began to ring, a beat-up Toyota whizzed by. On the back was a faded presidential bumper sticker: Don’t Blame Me-I Didn’t Vote For Wallace.

In the barber’s ear, the phone stopped ringing. Someone picked up.

Laurent didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

Without a word, he shut the phone. Message sent.

Fourth bookcase. Top shelf. Fast as can be.

Just like the client wanted.