The public face of the National Archives was one of pristine displays artfully showcasing the nation''s most famous documents. The rotunda, made cinematically famous in the blockbuster film National Treasure , showcased the US Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and a handful of other key documents in the framing and development of the fledgling nation, all wrapped in a dramatic presentation of awe, respect, and importance befitting such historic artifacts. But down here in the stacks, Jon had quickly learned not only how incredibly vast the Archives'' collection was, but also how disorganized the repository had become. Millions of documents, letters, executive orders, newspaper articles, photographs, audio recordings, newsreels, and myriad other types of media were held by the National Archives Administration, and, with countless more being added each day, it was impossible to keep up. With many of the less obviously important artifacts, the best the archivists could do for the time being was categorize them into boxes and shelve them for the mythical someday when they''d finally have time to fully catalog and organize the massive backlog. Jon''s first fifteen minutes of searching told him that Ms. Harper''s request was not among those properly cataloged. That figured.
More digging. And yet, it was in these moments, tedious though they could be, that Jon found himself distracted by the hope that in this labyrinth of poorly cataloged artifacts could be something incredible, a long-forgotten document of true historic impact. Something that could redeem him in the eyes of the academic community. A golden ticket out of his professional purgatory. Thus far, the most impressive document he had stumbled across was an official menu for Thanksgiving dinner at the White House in 1897. Apparently Mrs. McKinley was a big fan of minced lamb and pumpkin pie. Even so, he held out hope.
He had managed to get into plenty of trouble discovering lost or forgotten things with his brother, but the spark had been gone since solving Michael''s murder. Maybe it truly had died with him. In the distance, Jon heard Loretha Hayes berating one of his colleagues. At least he wasn''t the only one receiving her ire. Misery loving company and all that. Still, he had been gone for a while now, and if he didn''t find what Ms. Harper was looking for soon, Mrs. Hayes would be tearing him a new one for wasting taxpayer money and her man-hours.
The request was interesting, if unusual. A slim, pocket-sized volume of John Buchan''s The Thirty-Nine Steps and a silver Kodak film canister with a regal-looking coat of arms engraved in the screw-top lid. Both of the items had apparently been donated by the estate of the late Senator Ted Kennedy several years earlier, though Jon could find no mention of the donation. Either it didn''t exist, or the Archives'' infamous backlog was rearing its head once again. Either way, Jon would give himself a few more minutes, then head back up front. He had been on thin ice with Mrs. Hayes since the moment he got hired. He couldn''t afford to be wasting hours on a wild-goose chase.
He had been digging through boxes marked "Sen. Edward ''Ted'' Kennedy" to no avail. There were eleven boxes in total, shelved in two tall stacks in between stacks marked with his brothers'' names. Despite his importance in the national memory, John F. Kennedy only had two boxes with his name on them. Presidents, particularly ones whose life--and death--cast as large a shadow as JFK''s had, typically got moved to the top of the cataloging pile. Without doubt, the pair of boxes had also been sifted through thoroughly, resulting in nothing of particular historic import. But, with all the controversy surrounding the president''s life and death, the Archives had been reluctant to get rid of anything related to the man.
God forbid the conspiracy nuts get wind that the federal government destroyed documents related to the JFK assassination. Of course, as Jon had found, the Archives rarely got rid of anything that might be historically important to someone, somehow, at some time in the future. Hence, the millions upon millions of documents in its collection that was making Jon''s newfound career an exemplar in wasting time. Eight boxes in now, Jon had stacked the no-gos in the aisle in order to reach those on the bottom of the shelf. Mrs. Hayes would probably classify it as a fire hazard, blocking access to emergency egress points, but there really wasn''t a better option. Besides, in a few minutes he''d have everything stacked back again, with no one the wiser. As he opened the second-to-last box, he grinned.
There, half covered by a manila folder full of newspaper clippings with Ted Kennedy''s opinions scrawled in the margins, were the sought-after items. Jon retrieved them from the box with care. The film canister felt weighty, made of actual metal, unlike the modern plastic versions popularized in the ''80s. The screw top had a coat of arms custom engraved, as Ms. Harper had said, while the side of the canister sported the embossed letters "KODAK." Jon''s best guess was that it dated from sometime in the 1960s. The book, meanwhile, looked even older. Curious, he flipped it open.
According to the copyright page, the volume was printed in 1924. Ted Kennedy''s commentaries. A film canister from the 1960s. And an adventure novel dating to the Kennedy brothers'' childhood. What on earth was Ms. Harper researching? He heard footsteps approaching. His instinct told him that, crazy or not, whatever theory tied these items together could be dangerous. Against protocol, he pocketed the film canister and the book, then put the lid back on the box and braced himself as the footsteps rounded the corner behind him, heading straight for him.