The Book of Fate

66

So you’ve been down to the stacks before?” Kara asked as the elevator doors slid open, revealing a concrete hallway with narrow windows on either side and all the charm of a prison.

“Absolutely,” Rogo replied, keeping his voice peppy and his head down as they passed the first of two security cameras attached to the wall. Two steps in front of him, next to Kara, Dreidel fidgeted with his tie and did the same.

When a President builds his library, it’s his chance to rewrite history. In LBJ’s library, there’s an exhaustive exhibit on why the U.S. had to go to Vietnam. In Manning’s, the only mention of the Cowardly Lion was down in the stacks.

“We really appreciate you pulling everything so fast,” Dreidel said.

“That’s our job,” Kara replied as they approached a steel-reinforced door that was nearly as thick as a bank vault. “I just hope you guys aren’t claustrophobic…”

“No — in fact, we hate the sunlight,” Rogo said. “Darn vitamin D pisses me off!”

Glancing over her shoulder, Kara offered another panting laugh. This time, Dreidel didn’t join in. “Just point us to the files and we’ll be gone before you know it,” he said.

Kara punched in a five-digit code just above the doorknob. “You asked for it,” she said as the thick metal door swung open, and the sweet smell of an old bookstore wafted through the air. In front of them, in a room as big as a basketball court, was row after row of gray metal storage shelves. But instead of being filled with books, they were stacked with thousands of square and rectangular acid-free storage boxes. On their far right, well past the shelves, a metal cage ran from floor to ceiling, separating them from another set of about ten metal shelves: secure storage for national security files. Just in front of the cage, a lanky Hispanic man with reading glasses sat in front of one of two computer terminals.

“If you have any problems, ask Freddy,” Kara explained, motioning to one of the library’s four research room attendants.

Freddy waved to Rogo and Dreidel. Rogo and Dreidel waved back. But the way Kara eyed Freddy, and Freddy eyed Dreidel… Even Rogo took the hint. Kara may’ve been nice enough to let them in the stacks, but there’s no way she was dumb enough to leave them unsupervised in the heart of the archives.

“So our stuff…” Dreidel asked.

“… is right here,” Kara said, pointing to the end of one of the metal stacks, where a small worktable was buried under at least forty boxes. “These small ones have already been processed through FOIA,” she explained, waving her open palm at the dozen or so narrow, vertical boxes that looked like they each held a phone book. “And these FRCs… these’re the ones from closed storage,” she added, pointing to the thirty or so square boxes that were each about the size of a milk crate.

“And this is everything Boyle had?” Rogo asked.

“If you went back in time and pulled open his desk drawers in the White House, here’s what you would’ve found — his files, his memos, his printed-out e-mails — plus you asked for his personnel file and those 12,000 pages that were requested by your other researcher…”

“Carl Stewart,” Rogo said, remembering Wes’s instructions as Kara handed him the list of every file Boyle requested under his fake name.

“You already have the crossword, right?” Kara asked.

“Right here,” Rogo said, patting the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Kara, we can’t thank you enough,” Dreidel added, anxious to send her on her way.

Taking the cue, Kara headed for the door. Never forgetting her role as protector of the archives, though, she called out, “Freddy, thanks for supervising.”

As Kara turned the corner and disappeared, Dreidel shot a smile at the attendant, then quickly turned back to Rogo. “How ’bout you take Boyle’s desk drawers, and I’ll start hunting through the list of his requests.”

“I got a better idea,” Rogo challenged. “You take the drawers, and I’ll go through the requests.”

For a moment, Dreidel was silent. “Fine,” he said, flipping open the nearest box. Behind him, Rogo did the same.

As Rogo pulled out the first file, he licked his fingers and turned to the first page. “Okay, Boyle, you sneaky son of a bitch — time to see what you were searching for.”