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“Now, that’s some new information you kept close to the vest,” Lael said. “Another piece of advice. Being the hero is great. There are rewards. But when you tug on Superman’s cape, expect him to tug back. Oliver has resources and reach and he’s on high alert. Everything he’s worked to accomplish could unravel. He lives that rich high life now off his wife’s money. He doesn’t plan on spending the rest of his time in jail. So he’s prepared to do anything, and I mean anything. Are you?”
I didn’t answer him.
But it was a fair question.
“I saw a lot of agents in my time,” Cie said. “I became pretty good at judging them. You need to turn this over to the professionals.”
Now, that one hurt. “I can handle it.”
She chuckled and looked at Lael. “Another hotshot. How many did we know?”
“You can change history,” I said to her.
“And get myself killed in the process.”
“You have to realize something,” Lael said. “We didn’t know anything about anything at the time. I knew some, thanks to the taping I overheard. More than most, in fact. But I didn’t know it all. Cie, here, learned a lot from me, and I learned things from her. When I made contact with Foster years ago, I learned some more, as he did from me. But I never had the whole picture, and I liked it that way. I know just enough to get me either jailed or killed.”
There was nothing more to be said. These two were about to disappear. Fine. Good riddance. I had a job to do. “Go find your bus. I’m out of here.”
And they walked off.
No farewells, no handshakes, no words of comfort or encouragement, just a blunt parting of the ways.
I headed outside for the truck with the files, disgusted by the whole situation. At the time their attitude was both puzzling and annoying. But twelve years later when I left the Magellan Billet, I felt the same way. I’d done my time. Served my country.
And survived.
It was someone else’s turn.
“Rookie.”
I turned to see Lael, outside, trotting my way.
He approached and stopped. “I wanted you to find Cie for a reason. I’ve become quite the cynic in my retirement. But when you’ve done the kind of things I did for a living, for as long I did them, it’s unavoidable. Your view of the world changes. Your morals change. Your conscience changes.”
He reached into his pocket, removed a cassette tape, and handed it over.
On it was written a date.
March 31, 1968.
“I recorded that myself, in Atlanta, from inside a motel room. It’s a conversation between Jansen and Foster. The original went to Oliver as part of COINTELPRO. But I made a copy. It’s the only thing I ever copied. A few years ago I transferred it from the old reel-to-reel tape to cassette. You’ll understand everything once you listen to it. I was going to burn it, but Cie just told me that would make what we did even worse.” He paused. “She’s right.”
I could see he was bothered.
“I was like Cie. I hated blacks. I really hated King. Why? I couldn’t tell you now. So I had no problem, then, doing what I did.”
“And now?”
He shrugged. “I wonder what in the world I was thinking. I broke into people’s homes and businesses and planted bugs. I recorded what they said and listened to every private word. I thought I was doing the right thing. Protecting America. But I wasn’t.” He pointed at the cassette. “That’s the only copy that exists. Cie has kept it all these years. That’s why you and I had to come to her. It’s your problem now, rookie. Make the right call, okay?” He paused. “Cie and I have been divorced a long time. She remarried. I never did. Truth be told, she’s the only woman I ever loved and she knows it. Maybe we can have a few years together, in peace, and forgive ourselves.”
I stared at the cassette.
Over the following decade I came to learn that the second rule of the intelligence business was to always know your opponent. The first was to identify your friends.
And this man had just become the latter.
“Good luck to you,” I told him.
A small wisp of a smile formed on the corner of his lips.
He tossed me a casual salute then walked off, disappearing inside the bus station. I never saw him again, nor did I ever learn what happened to him or Cie. Hopefully, they found those few years of peace.
I climbed into the truck and noticed that the music system came with a cassette player. I was parked under the shade of some tall oaks, so why not. I laid the files on the front seat beside me. The coin was still in my pocket along with Nate’s cell phone.
I popped the tape into the machine.
And pushed PLAY.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Jansen: What happened in Memphis? That was a full-fledged riot. The police had to use Mace and nightsticks. A sixteen-year-old boy was killed, fifty more injured. Four thousand National Guardsmen had to be called out to keep order. What a mess.
Foster: The march turned uncontrollable. We were moving along, like always, then a group of militants appeared and started smashing store windows. After that, it just became worse. King wanted to stop them, but the locals were worried about his safety. They took us out of there. People are angry in Memphis. Really, really angry. They’re not interested in nonviolence anymore.
Jansen: This just proves our point. The Bishop talks that peaceful protest crap, but he can’t deliver on that anymore. The press filleted him for that riot. Finally, we’re getting somewhere with him. For the first time, a march led by Martin Luther King Jr. turned violent by the demonstrators themselves.
Foster: You need to know. There’s also a division forming within the SCLC. A meeting yesterday turned nasty. King walked out and told them all to go to hell. Most everybody wants to head off in a new direction. Jesse Jackson is probably breaking out on his own soon. Hosea Williams has been attacking King more and more. The Black Panthers are on the rise. Everything is changing.
Jansen: Did you see what LBJ said about the Memphis march? He offered no defense of King. None at all. But he did denounce what happened and laid the blame on the black leaders. LBJ isn’t King’s pal anymore.
Foster: King wants to go back to Memphis in a few days.
Jansen: Does he now?
Foster: Nobody else wants to go back. Jesse Jackson thinks Memphis is too small for King. Andy Young is ready to move on. Even Levison wants to stay away. But King told them he has no choice. He has to go back and lead another march. He says it will be his Poor People’s Campaign, planned for DC next summer, in miniature. He’ll show the country that he can lead a peaceful, nonviolent protest. No one agreed with him. He became really agitated and lost his temper. That’s unusual. Then he stormed out of the meeting.
Jansen: So he’s having problems with his own people. That’s even better to hear. He’s been on a self-destructive path for a while now.
Foster: Why don’t you stop hedging with me?
Jansen: What are you talking about?
Foster: I’m not a fool.
Jansen: I never said you were.
Foster: You just treat me like one. We’ve been at this for months now. I know what you’re doing.
Jansen: We pay you for information. What we do with it is none of your business.
Foster: I’ve watched King for years. I’ve been right there every step. Hoover’s right. He’s immoral. He’s also a liar. He tells all of us to toe the line, but he does whatever he pleases. He says money isn’t important, but he wants for nothing, while we get paid next to nothing. I’m tired of it. I don’t give a damn about this civil rights crap. Who the hell cares? I’m not interested in changing the world. I’m tired of being sprayed with fire hoses and attacked by dogs. They’re never going to give me a Nobel Prize. I. Don’t. Care. All I want is money. What do you want?
[PAUSE]
Jansen: We don’t want a martyr.
Foster: You won’t get one. You people have tape afte
r tape showing what King does with women. I heard the recordings you sent to his house. I know about all those women, along with others you don’t know about. Release those tapes and you won’t have a martyr. People will know King for the barnyard dog he really is.
Jansen: What will happen if he’s killed?
Foster: There’ll be violence of a magnitude never seen before in this country. Cities will burn.
Jansen: You really think so?
Foster: Everything is ready to explode. I just told you that the SCLC is on the verge of collapsing. Nonviolent resistance is over. America will burn, then it will all fade. If you handle it right, King will be remembered for what he is. A lying, cheating husband who can’t be trusted. And I’ll be rich.
Jansen: You’re a coldhearted bastard.
Foster: I’m just being real. I’m a black man in a country full of hate. Some of what King says makes sense. But the price to be paid to get what he wants is too much. Too many are going to be hurt or die. White people aren’t going to share their world with us. Not without a fight. I don’t want to pay that price. I don’t care about civil rights. I care about money. I figure if I get enough from you, it won’t matter that white people hate me.
Jansen: How much do you want?
Foster: A million dollars.
Jansen: You can’t be serious.
Foster: Don’t push me, or I’ll ask for two.
Jansen: And what do I get for that kind of money?
Foster: I’ll make your job real easy.
[PAUSE]
Jansen: What do you have in mind?
Foster: He’s headed back to Memphis. He’ll be at the Lorraine Motel starting the afternoon of the third.
Jansen: Why wait three days? I can have it done here in Atlanta right now.
Foster: No. Do it in the turmoil in Memphis. A white man kills Martin Luther King while he fights for the rights of black garbage workers.
Jansen: Who said anything about a white man?
Foster: If it’s not, then you’re a damn fool. It has to be a white man.
Jansen: I prefer to choose the place.
Foster: Good luck with that, since if you do I won’t be providing any information to help. Ever thought about Kennedy’s death? Oswald didn’t need informants. They published the president’s whole schedule in the newspaper, days in advance. All he had to do was show up. There’s no schedule printed for King, and things change constantly. My job is to keep up with those changes and get him where he needs to be. I’m your only source on that. I can help, or hurt you. Make a choice.
