The Bishop's Pawn (Cotton Malone #13)(69)

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.