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Ninety Days Inside The Empire: A Novel by William Appleman Williams

Afterthoughts

Page 51

Theodore Coffin considered himself a sharp, tough FBI agent who could spot a communist, subversive or other trouble-maker just walking down the sidewalk. His oral and written reports to his superiors were filled with such insights, and he expected to be promoted within a year. He prided himself on his initiative, and was keen enough to realize that Director Hoover's dress code made his job more difficult; hence he risked a bit longer haircut, now and again wore a sport coat, and even sometimes went without a tie. He also knew that these men around the table were not interested in the kind of gossip and other flim-flam he used to pad his weekly reports to the Bureau.

J. Edgar Hoover
J. Edgar Hoover
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"Sir, that's the most whites I've seen in that church, and I was surprised by how many of them were from the base...."

"How often do you attend?" asked Atwell.

"I've been stopping by every month just to keep an eye on the liberals and the leftists."

Burton squinted his eyes.

-- My God, this boy needs a guide dog. He probably thinks I'm a dangerous radical after my remark about the stupidity of the jerks who called out the National Guard about voting.

Coffin had wondered about that, and intended to do a little moonlighting on Burton; but he just smiled and continued his report.

"Some of the people from the base might be using the Negroes for cover for spying out there, but I expect the Admiral would know about that."

Breckinridge stopped his glass on its way to his mouth. He spoke very clearly, as if to a schoolboy.

"If it were true, Mr. Coffin, I would not only know about it, I would have stopped it. The Navy takes care of its own, Mr. Coffin, in both meanings of that old saying."

He paused, then chose to indulge himself in part for the benefit of Crown and Burton.

"This is a political problem, Mr. Coffin, not a case of espionage. It would be useful to know if there were any outsiders there this morning, but beyond that I assume that Mr. Crown and Mr. Burton and the others could tell you all about the important worshipers without needing any notes."

Crown's cough did not quite hide his laugh. Burton gazed out at a foursome on the 18th green, then turned back.

"No need to be too hard on the young man, Admiral. But you were on the mark." He turned to Coffin.

"Was there any imported help? You must know the locals pretty well by now."

Knocked sideways, Coffin made the mistake of trying to recover by pushing facts into guesses.

"I think maybe so, Sir. At least there were three I hadn't seen before. On of them in particular was dressed well enough to look like an eastern Communist. One of the others was a local young man, and I can't figure out why he was there."

Crown had a good idea of who that was, probably out hunting for black women to rape. He kept him on the pipeline only because he was damn good catching leaks. More seriously, he and Burton were concerned about outsiders, but communists were low on their lists. They were worried about northern C.I.O. floating investigators who could and would cause trouble if they got a hard hint of the plan to pipe gas into Mexico to make cheap steel for the auto industry. Neither of them was about to talk about any of that in public, so Crown asked Coffin his worries about communists.

"Well, Sir, I'm comin' to think that we've got a few hereabouts."

Atwell and Weston stopped worrying about Negro customers and asked for fresh drinks. Weston thought this was silly talk, and he could be marginally witty.

"What do you mean, Coffin? Are you suggesting that the Quakers have given up on God?"

"No, Sir, but I've been thinking hard about that Reverend and that lawyer Harland."