Operation Underworld (19 page)

If he were going to do something classified, especially some type of investigation, it was uncharacteristic of him to talk about it in front of anyone not involved.

“No, on second thought don’t tell them you’re DOT. Find somebody. Who do we have over there?”

“We have someone in records and also – ”

“Records, good. Go to them, get them to make the call. You be there, on another line when he makes the call.”

“Sir, I’ll need a memo or – ”

“No, no paper trail. Just do it.” Rollins was suddenly very uncomfortable. Tracking down known or even suspected subversives or enemy aliens was one thing, but investigating another legal branch? In The President’s own home turf? That was frightening.

“Next, I want a meeting with the Attorney General, tonight!”

“Sir, the Attorney General is in Baltimore until day after tomorrow.”

“What the hell is he doin’ in Baltimore?”

“Some kind of personal business I believe, sir.” Rollins shrugged in the direction of the other agents as Hoover looked around the car for an answer.

“Well, get a hold of his office as soon as we get in and tell me when and how he’s coming back.” Hoover looked out the window and saw they were approaching the Channel Lagoon.

“Take Memorial Bridge,” he ordered.

“Yes, sir.”

“Find out who the Representative is for the Frisco area and call his office. Ask him if he’s received a formal complaint yet from that Commie bastard Harry Bridges and ask him for a copy. Tell him we’d like to help. No, wait. Say, ‘offer our services to assist in the investigation’. Got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Speak only with the Rep, not the aides or secretaries.”

“Sir, we’re here,” the driver informed Hoover as they turned left and came off Constitution Avenue onto 9th Street. The car pulled up outside FBI Headquarters. Rollins fumbled to pack up his note taking material and get out of the car. He was the last one through the front door, having to struggle to get his foot in first and kick the heavy door open, as his hands were full of satchel, pad and overcoat.

Although Hoover had a secret entrance installed in back of the building, he seldom used it. It was much more appropriate for a man of his importance to make a grand entrance. And he did, whenever possible.

He ignored all the staff’s greetings which followed him and his entourage as they made their way to the elevator. On the fifth floor he dismissed the two agents who were with him and nodded for the aide to come into his office. J. Edgar continued dictating as they entered the inner sanctum . Rollins had to drop everything and fumble his pad open to catch up with his boss’s orders.

“Call the New York office in the morning and see what the subject is doing. Just ask them about the guy I told them to… No, wait. Get them on the line, then let me talk to them. Do that exactly at nine o’clock, got it?”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“Yeah, those reports come back yet from the lab on the new wire tap devices?”

“No sir, not yet. But we have an indication there may be some problems from the phone company.”

“What kind of problems?”

“Some of the higher up executives “Some of the higher up executives aren’t too happy with us developing bugging equipment to place directly into their phones. They say it creates a bad image for their product.”

“Get a hold of the lab. Tell that god-damned overpaid Professor I want a definite date for that bug by tomorrow! Tell him it better be no later than next week! Then call those pricks at the phone company and tell them we’ve decided to delay research until next year. No, till after the war.”

“Yes, sir.” Rollins held his breath, hoping that was finally it.

“Okay. That’s it. Get outta here.”

“I’ll call the Attorney General’s office and find out when he’s due back. Will you be here, sir?”

“Yeah, call me here.”

For the remainder of the evening, Hoover laid out a flimsy strategy based on what he thought he knew about the New York scenario. He did this in between phone calls to lobbyists, reporters who had in the past shown to be reliable informants and the few acquaintances he had who travelled in union circles.

The thinnest connections had always been in the union areas. His hatred towards labour organisation was well known.

Half an hour after he had left the office, Rollins rang Hoover and informed him that Attorney General Jackson was due in on the 10:45 train from Baltimore, Tuesday morning.

This planning went on late into the evening, when Hoover finally gave up and went to a place few civilian employees and none of the agents believed existed. His home.

Nikki said goodnight to Shirley and thanked her for wrapping things up at the reception station as she climbed into her heavy overcoat. Although Nikki was tall, 5’10”, she was slender and didn’t function well in the cold.

However, when she passed through the brass framed glass door into the dark winter evening and turned right to walk up Church Street, she was pleasantly surprised. It was very mild, not cold, and there was not a hint of a breeze. So, she decided to walk the twelve blocks to her apartment on Mercer.

Nikki, along with everyone else in New York, was disappointed at not having a white Christmas. ‘The White Stuff’ invoked an air of magic and beauty when it blanketed the trees in the parks and the turn-of-the-century Brownstones.

That disappointment was replaced with gratitude on January 3rd, however, when everyone went back to work and New York City still hadn’t seen its first snowfall. Sloshing through the freezing, black-and-cinnamon-coloured slush was no way to start the work week, let alone with some jerk turning a corner and spraying a rooster tail of partially melted snow, ice and muck all over your new outfit.

Of course Katie and her little friends prayed every day for snow. Not only to play in, but if it snowed enough, most of the teachers had trouble getting in from Queens where they lived, and so school would be cancelled.

Nikki’s meandering thoughts were interrupted when she had a strange sensation she was being followed as she crossed Franklin. Stepping up onto the curb, she turned to look behind her. Just the usual six o’clock crowd. She turned around and crossed back over Franklin to the produce market on the corner. Paying the clerk for the small bag of tomatoes, she resumed her journey back towards her apartment in SoHo.

Canal Street was still bustling with vendors, hawking away with every attempt to lure buyers into their stalls and through the arcades. The crowds jay-walking and playing cat and mouse with the cars in the streets were considerable, but after only one more block of wading through them, Nikki was at the corner of Mercer.

As a child, the Brownstone walk-ups with their imposing granite and red brick porches cascading down onto the side walk, reminded Nikki of gangplanks on gigantic luxury liners which would carry you away to exotic places like Coney Island, the Catskills or even the Jersey shore.

Walking up the steps, she could see through the frosted glass that there was a man in the vestibule searching the mail boxes. He held the front door open for her as she approached.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a friendly tone.

“Perhaps. I’m looking for Mr Murray’s mail box. I have to leave him something.”

“I’m sorry, there’s no Murray in this building.”

“This is 317, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s 86. 317 is two blocks north.”

“Oh, thank you very much.”

He tipped his hat made his way down the stairs and turned south.

Must be takin’ the long way around
, Nikki thought to herself, as she unlocked the inside door, went upstairs and knocked on 2C.

“Hello, Nikki!” Mrs Poluso always spoke to anyone at the door as if they had just come back from Poland specifically to visit her.

If refusing to come into Mrs Poluso’s after knocking on the front door was a venial sin, then refusing to eat something after you had entered was a mortal sin. The fact that it was less than a half an hour to supper was no excuse.

Anyone who knew anything about eating knew it was important to eat something before every meal to stretch the stomach. Mrs Poluso, of course, was expert in this domain and as a consequence was compelled to happily walk around all day with her apron strings dangling unfastened at her flanks and the worn apron draped over her bulging stomach.

Nikki knew the routine, entered and accepted a small plate of sausage and boiled potatoes, while Kate and Mrs Poluso’s two kids kissed goodbye. Watching them, she thought of the day she would tell the blonde-haired five-year-old about her Polish heritage.

The janitorial staff were allowed into the building at half past seven, and about an hour into the daily tasks of mopping and sweeping, one of the older men let himself into the office of the Director to execute his chores. The career janitor was puzzled at the door not being locked; however, when he entered the office he was startled to find Mr Hoover sitting at his desk working away.

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t know you were here.”

“What time is it?”

“Ah… it’s eight thirty-five, sir. You want me to clean up?”

“No, leave it until tomorrow.” The old man left, and Hoover buzzed Rollins’ office but there was no answer. Calling for a long distance operator, he was put through to the New York field office.

“FBI headquarters, New York field office.”

“Who is this?”

“Who the hell is this?”

“This is J. Edgar Hoover! Who the hell is this?”

“Uh… Meyer, sir. Special Agent Meyer.”

“Well, Special Agent Meyer, unless you want to be records clerk Meyer, I suggest you move your ass and get me the latest update on the Lanza file. Specifically, the latest surveillance reports. Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Questions? Comments? Snide remarks?”

“No, sir! I‘ve got them right here sir. Ah… ah… Lanza, Joseph, alias Socks, alias…”

“I know his god-damned aliases, Meyer! I want to know what he’s doing!”

“Well, sir, ah… according to this report dated last night at midnight sir… ah… subject has not left the Fulton Street Fish Market in three days, sir.”

“Three days?”

“According to the field report, Mr Hoover.”

“You make a note that I called. You tell those field agents to stay on it and call me the minute he leaves that building. You got that, Meyer?”

“Absolutely, sir!”

Hoover buzzed Rollins again and this time he was in, and five minutes later he was briefing Hoover on the day’s schedule of events.

“Sir, the Chicago agents will be in at ten o’clock, the lab says bugs are to be tested Monday and the Attorney General will see you in his office at three this afternoon.” Rollins read from his carefully prepared notes.

“Change in plan. Have my car ready at ten, I’m going to meet the AG at the station. Get back to the lab and tell them I want a preliminary report on those bugs by five o’clock Monday afternoon. I’ll speak to the Chicago agents at nine-thirty in the briefing room. What am I forgetting?”

“I have the info on the representative for San Francisco, but we won’t get anybody on the coast until eight o’clock Western Pacific. About another two hours.” Rollins began to pack up his notebook as Hoover came out from behind the desk and walked towards the door.

“You stay here and get them on the phone. I’ll call you from the train station. Also call Sacramento, see if anything came across Warren’s desk.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

Hoover was opening the door as he asked, “Did you call the New York office yet?”

“No, sir. I’ll go and do it now.”

“Forget it. I already called them.” Rollins could not understand why his boss frequently did that. It made him feel undermined and annoyed.

At ten o’clock sharp Hoover was boarding his car to go to the station in back of the building. This time he did use the secret entrance, and since Rollins was not making the twenty minute trip, and no one else was in on this, Hoover was alone in the vehicle with his driver.

“Where to, sir?”

“Union Station.”

About five minutes into the ride, Hoover’s attention was caught by the interview in progress on the car radio. He asked the driver to turn it up and listened as they drove.