by James Ponti
We discussed the three suspects on our way to the Petworth Library, and Margaret explained the problem of our situation.
“There are things that make me think that each of them is guilty,” she said. “And things that make me just as certain that each of them is innocent.”
“I know,” I said. “That’s how I feel too.”
“Well, we know it’s not Lucia,” said Mom.
“How do we know that?” I asked.
“Because Marcus’s mother said so, and I believe her.”
“We still have to check her out,” I said. “And she’s the only one who checks all the boxes.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“One: She has access to the library. Two: She has a solid connection to Russia. And three: She could easily get into the basement at the Riverses’ house.”
We rode silently for a moment before Margaret added, “I hate to say it, but he’s right.”
There wasn’t any parking near the library, so my mother dropped us off while she went to look for a space. At first we thought we’d struck out because when we went upstairs to check the children’s department, another librarian was on duty. But then it turned out that Lucia was covering for somebody at the main circulation desk. We’d been in such a hurry that we’d walked right past her on the way up.
“I know you,” she said as we approached the desk. “Did you go to Gorky’s?”
“Yes, we did,” I said. “Although we didn’t end up making the piroshki. It was too difficult.”
“What’d you do instead?” she asked.
“I think we’re going to get everyone Alyonka candy,” said Margaret.
Lucia swooned. “I absolutely love Alyonka.”
“It’s ridiculously delicious,” said Margaret.
She had stacks of books in front of her and was sorting through them, putting them in different boxes.
“What’s all this?” I asked. “I thought you worked in the children’s section.”
“We all have to pitch in and help at circulation,” she said. “So right now I am sorting from the book drop.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“These were all returned here. You can return a book to any branch of the DC Public Library. But once we get it, we have to send it back to the branch where it was checked out. There are trucks that go around all the time carrying books from one branch to another. I’m putting books in the right boxes for the next delivery.”
“And how do you know which book goes to which branch?” asked Margaret.
“There’s a code,” she said conspiratorially. “Do you want to see it?”
She held up a book so we could see the back. There was a white tag on the top with a call number.
“The number at the top is the Dewey decimal number, which tells us where it goes on the shelf.”
“Right.”
“But you see those three letters on the bottom?”
“Sure,” I said. “P-E-T.”
“For Petworth,” she said. “That means this book stays here at this branch. But look at this book.”
I read the letters off the bottom. “T-E-N.”
“This book goes to the Tenley-Friendship branch.”
“That’s pretty cool,” I said.
“We’re crafty in the library business; that’s why we’d make such good spies.”
It was an odd thing to say, and I was almost wondering if she was toying with us. Then my mother walked up. “I finally found a parking spot,” she said.
“Is this your mom?” asked Lucia.
“Yes, it is,” I said. “Mom, this is Lucia Miller. Ms. Miller, this is my mom.”
Lucia’s expression changed dramatically. “How’d you know my name was Lucia?”
I panicked. We’d been calling her Lucia so much I’d forgotten that we weren’t supposed to know that.
“It’s right there on your name tag,” I said.
“Actually, my name tag says Lucretia,” she responded. “That’s my full name. But my friends and family call me Lucia.”
“Oh,” I said as I tried to cover. “I must’ve just misremembered it as Lucia. Lucky guess . . . I guess.”
She still looked at me suspiciously, but there was nothing I could do about it. Thankfully, my mother came to my rescue.
“Did you guys find the books you were looking for?” she asked.
“Not yet,” said Margaret.
“Well, you better hurry up,” she said. “We’ve got to pick up your dad in twenty minutes.”
We said quick good-byes to Lucia and hurried upstairs.
“I can’t believe I did that,” I said. “That was so stupid.”
“Forget it,” said Margaret. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing,” I told her.
“Well, there’s nothing we can do about it, so that’s that.”
We killed time upstairs so that it didn’t look suspicious, and when we came down, I was happy to see Lucia busy with a customer. We waved on the way out.
When we got home, we went down into the Underground. Mom even joined us for a while as we updated the caseboard and went through every possibility.
We wondered if Brooke and Alistair might be working together. We talked about Rose’s trips to Europe and her still unexplained vaccine scar. We even considered the fact that more than anyone Lucia had a reason to want to hurt Marcus. And Margaret was still perplexed about why, with all the books to choose from, the spy had selected Mrs. Hoover Speaks Mandarin and Other Fun Facts about the First Ladies.
Finally, we practically collapsed on the couch in total exhaustion.
“What are we missing?” I asked Margaret.
“Maybe we’re not missing anything?” she replied. “Maybe it just can’t be solved.”
I closed my eyes for a second, and then I heard my mom’s voice behind me.
“Look who I found at the front door,” she said.
We turned to see who she was with.
“Marcus!” Margaret said as she jumped up and ran to him.
She gave him a hug, and he embraced her tightly. I was hoping he’d come with a positive development, but when I saw his eyes, I realized that wasn’t the case. He looked like he was fighting back tears.
“Have you solved it?” Margaret asked hopefully. “Because we’re stumped.”
“Not exactly,” he said, moving over to sit in the chair across from the couch. “There’s something that’s about to happen, and I wanted to be the one to tell you.”
“What’s that?” Margaret asked.
He hesitated for a second and did his best to put on a brave face.
“I’ve decided to leave the FBI.”
27.
Family Matters
MARGARET AND I JUST SAT motionless on the couch for a moment before she finally asked, “What do you mean?”
“Exactly that,” said Marcus. “I’ve decided to leave the FBI.”
“When are you leaving?” I asked.
“Margaret’s parents are working on some paperwork right now,” he said. “I’d like to get it taken care of over the weekend so that I can clear out my office without a crowd watching.”
“Why would my parents do this?” Margaret asked. “Why would you do this? You’re Marcus Rivers! You just won the Director’s Award for Excellence! Why are you leaving the FBI?”
“It’s extremely complicated,” he said. “But just know that I’m doing it because it’s the best decision for everyone.”
“This isn’t happening,” she said.
“Yes it is,” he said. “And you need to accept it just like I have.”
“Can you explain any of it?” I asked.
“Everything has spun out of control,” he said. “And those things are not going to magically get better. Margaret’s parents and I sat down with Admiral Douglas, and we’ve worked out a solution that lets me leave the Bureau with my record intact and keeps me clear of any criminal charges.”
“
Well, of course you’re clear,” I said. “You didn’t break any laws.”
“True,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean that it might not look like I did. And if I let the investigation continue, my record might not look so good. Then I wouldn’t be able to get a job anywhere.”
“You already have a job,” Margaret said. “Why are you giving up?”
“Kayla taught you the WAR technique, right?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Well, I’m trying to defend myself. But they have no weakness. I’ve been anticipating their moves, and I can’t do anything to disrupt them. And they’re coming at me from all sides, so I can’t redirect their energy. My only defense is to give up.”
“I don’t want to hear this,” said Margaret as she stood. “I’m going to go talk to my parents. They promised me they’d take care of you.”
“They have,” said Marcus.
She stormed off, and I went to go after her, but Marcus stopped me. “Let her go,” he said. “She’s upset.”
“I’m upset too.”
“At me?” he asked.
“Of course not,” I said. “I’m just angry at the world.”
“That makes two of us.”
We heard the door slam as Margaret left the house, and then Marcus moved to sit next to me on the couch.
“You’ve got to bring her around,” he said. “You know why I have to make this deal, don’t you?”
I shook my head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Eventually they’d realize that I didn’t steal the books, and I’d be exonerated,” he said. “But Napoli and the organized crime team think I have some sort of connection to Nic the Knife. And if they keep poking around that, they’ll figure out that the connection is Margaret.
“Then we should just go ahead and tell Margaret. Once the secret’s out, it’s over.”
“The problem isn’t Margaret finding out,” he said. “It’s Napoli. If he finds out, he will use her to get to Nevrescu, and he’ll never stop. He won’t care how it affects her life. He’ll only care about closing cases.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because that’s what I would do,” he said.
“You know that’s not true,” I replied. “If it was, you wouldn’t be sacrificing your career to protect her.”
“Well, there was a time when it might have been true,” he said. “Nine years ago I did the stupidest thing in my life. I let the woman who I loved and wanted to spend my life with walk away from me because I put this job first. Well, I won’t make that mistake again. I love you and Margaret like you’re my family. I won’t put my career ahead of that. Ever.”
We sat there quietly for a moment.
“You really think it was the stupidest thing you ever did?” I asked. “Letting Lucia get away?”
He nodded.
“But what if she was guilty? I mean, it’s possible. She may have even been the one who set you up again.”
“No way,” he said. “There’s no way she did it.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “The evidence points that way.”
“I just know.” He got up. “I’ve got to take care of some things. I meant what I said, Florian. You’re my family. And I don’t need to be working on cases with you and the FBI to make that true.”
28.
A Knock at the Door
WHAT A DAY.
We’d been snatched out of school and taken to the FBI for questioning. My mother suddenly became a superspy and raced around town with us looking for clues. And now it had all come to a very bad ending.
Marcus was leaving the FBI, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
The house was completely quiet as I sat in the Underground and stared at the caseboard trying to make sense of it. I was hoping for some sudden revelation that never came.
My parents had gone out for a dinner date they couldn’t cancel, and my plan was to reheat some leftover rigatoni and watch Italian soccer on television.
Then the doorbell rang.
I trudged up the stairs, and when I stood on my toes to look out the peephole, I half expected it to be Dan Napoli, Nic the Knife, or someone else ready to turn my world upside down. But it was Margaret. and she was looking surprisingly glamorous.
“Hey,” I said as I opened the door. “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to apologize for the way I acted earlier,” she said. “I shouldn’t have stormed out and slammed the door. That was very uncool.”
I was still trying to make sense of what she was wearing.
“And for that you decided to do up your hair, put on makeup, and wear a fancy dress?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m dressed like this because I’m going to go to the Library of Congress, crash their fund-raising gala, and break into their computer server so I can figure out who’s setting up Marcus and solve the case. You want to come with?”
I thought about it for a moment and nodded. “Yeah. I do. Just give me a minute to change.”
29.
Trapped
WE WERE CHASING A SPY. I was wearing a tuxedo. This was my James Bond moment. Except, rather than racing a sports car along a cliffside road overlooking the Mediterranean, we were crammed onto the subway riding the Red Line toward Metro Center Station. And instead of an evil supergenius with a secret island fortress and a giant death ray, our enemy was either a librarian or a bookseller who had key card access to the Rare Books stacks of the Library of Congress. Still, when we switched trains and I saw my reflection in a window, I couldn’t help but strike a 007 pose.
“I saw that,” said Margaret, busting me.
I tried to cover. “Saw what?”
She started humming the Bond theme and said, “Just remember, I’m not Moneypenny waiting to be rescued. I’ve got skills just like you do.”
“That’s exactly what I’m counting on.”
Our goal was the library’s computer server, which kept track of anyone who entered the Rare Book and Special Collections stacks. If we could find out which of our suspects entered the area after we saw the Russian Imperial Collection on Monday but before two of the books wound up in the SCIF this morning, then we could discover who stole them and prove Marcus’s innocence.
It was only a few blocks from the Metro station to the library, and as we got closer, my pulse accelerated. This worried me, because during this case I hadn’t exactly been James Bond cool during pressure situations, a fact that had been upsetting me.
“I’m really sorry about everything,” I said. “This is all my fault.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My screwup with Andrei Morozov. If I hadn’t run into him and said something in Russian, none of this would’ve happened. You could’ve taken his picture, and the FBI would’ve identified him through facial recognition software. He never would have chased after you. Nic wouldn’t have threatened him. Marcus wouldn’t be in trouble. Everything would be better.”
Margaret stopped. “You know that’s ridiculous, don’t you?”
“No, it’s not,” I replied, trying not to sound too emotional. “Every word I just said is true.”
“I don’t accept that version of the events,” she replied. “Why did Dan Napoli start spying on us in the first place? I’m talking about at the awards reception the day before you ran into Andrei Morozov.”
I thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know.”
“Then you weren’t paying attention this morning in the SCIF,” she said. “Moretti knew that we visited Nic to ask him about kidnapping when we were trying to find Yin. How could he have known that?”
“Nic’s under FBI surveillance,” I said. “I’m sure one of their agents probably saw us.”
“Right,” she said. “And it makes sense if that agent was Napoli. He’s been here for six months, so he’d already transferred from New York. He saw two kids going in to talk to Nic the Knife, which I’m sure stuck out in his mind.”
�
�And then when he saw those same two kids show up inside FBI Headquarters . . . ,” I said, getting it.
“He was instantly suspicious.”
“That makes sense.”
She smiled. “And whose idea was it to go to Nic for help that day?”
Now I realized what she was doing. “I don’t remember.”
“Florian Bates, there isn’t anything that you don’t remember. It was my idea. We were at the Kennedy Center, and you pleaded with me not to go. So, using your way of thinking, I guess, this is all my fault.”
“You were just trying to help Yin,” I said.
“Just like you were trying to help solve this case the other day,” she said. “You can’t take one moment and turn it into something more than it is. What we do, we do. Both of us. It’s plural. So stop taking blame for things that aren’t your fault. Okay?”
“Okay,” I said weakly.
“Okay?” she said, raising her voice for emphasis.
“Okay,” I said.
“Good,” she replied. “We may not have much of a plan, but we have something more important. You know what that is?”
I nodded. “We have each other.”
“Now you’re making sense.”
This is when we reached the gala, which is where the story began. A lot’s happened since then, so I’ll recap some of the highlights to refresh your memory.
We crashed the party pretending to be two middle schoolers who were so dumb they’d gotten locked out of the building by accident. (Ironic considering an hour later we managed to get locked in the building by accident.)
During the gala Margaret and I discovered bulgogi (which we loved) and were chased by Alistair Toombs (which we hated).
We hid in a room and locked the door to keep him from coming after us, but after he left, we couldn’t open it. We also couldn’t get any cell service to call for help. We were trapped.
Margaret started typing ten thousand different codes into the keypad while I looked for a book that might help and came across one called Geek Mythology. I was confused by the call number, and Margaret explained that unlike most libraries, which use the Dewey decimal system, the Library of Congress has its own classification system.