“And that’s the world that really matters.”
“Ultimately, yes,” I said.
“Back to this theory of yours. So if it is Hoover, and you were to go in right now and tell him about the Timekeeper, what would happen?”
“Since the trial is still looming, and he knows I might be needed if Garvey eventually walks, he’d probably say, ‘Sidney, call this Timekeeper and set up a meeting. Then lie to him and tell him you’ve planted the evidence. When he leaves the meeting we’ll have some agents follow him and take him into custody.’ That’s what he’d probably say. They’d then pull off some fake arrest. The entire thing would just go away and I’d be back on the job.”
“You think he thinks you’d be dumb enough not to wonder about the Timekeeper’s associates, not to assume they’d still be out there ready to go to Garvey with your contract?”
“Yes, I think he thinks I’m that dumb. I think he thinks Negroes in general are that dumb.”
“So if you truly believe all this, why not just go in to headquarters?”
“Because it’s more likely that—”
“That this Timekeeper has nothing to do with the Bureau, and if you go in you’ll simply be dismissed because they can’t have an agent working for them whose cover has been blown, whose contract has been shown to Garvey. It’s that simple. They can’t risk having Garvey’s men beat you into submission, having you rat out Agent 800 and everyone else involved. The entire operation would be in jeopardy.”
“In that scenario, you’re right,” I said, looking at the front door. “There’s also another colored agent. His code name is 22X.”
“So he’d be in danger too.”
“If you say so.”
“You know, Sidney, maybe this guy’s with some radical Southern outfit.”
“Maybe. But that hardly narrows it down. How many of those are there? Too many to count. What’s the word on that former assistant district attorney, Edwin P. Kilroe?”
“I only know what you informed the Bureau of some years back, that he and Garvey had been at each other’s throats.”
“Maybe he has a hand in this,” I said.
“It’s plausible. But all of this guessing will only drive you mad, Sidney.”
“I just can’t allow this Timekeeper to get in the way of protecting Du Bois.”
“The fact that you’ve been anonymously spying for him all this time makes sense. Before I left the Bureau, something had become quite clear. Every attempt Hoover and company made at trying to get Du Bois failed. No names of potential Du Bois funders or, as Speed called them, ‘Reds,’ could be gathered. Agents could never nail him for crossing state lines with a young woman either. You protected him.”
“And I must continue.”
“You’re crazy, Sid.”
“I also sent Du Bois a picture of a letter I photographed. Garvey wrote to several senators and the attorney general asking if they’d give him the authority to lead us all back to Africa—Liberia to be specific. I don’t know if Garvey ever actually sent the letter, but still, I sent the photograph to Du Bois. I also warned Du Bois of Garvey’s plan to loan Liberia two million dollars.”
“Maybe Du Bois forwarded this information to the right person in Washington. It could explain why the State Department recently proposed giving Liberia a five-million-dollar loan. Secretary of State Hughes even has the support of President Harding. Of course, Congress will have to approve it.”
“But,” I said, “is the proposal officially on the table?”
“Yes. But I’m not sure when it’s to be voted on.”
“If they vote yes it might very well end any chance Garvey has of brokering a deal with Liberian officials. You’re right. Perhaps Harding and Hughes are doing it in exchange for Liberia’s cutting off negotiations with Garvey, further weakening his promise of Back to Africa. He doesn’t deliver on that promise, he loses credibility.”
“To think you could be behind all this, Sidney.”
“To think.”
“Now I just wish you’d get out.”
“You sure got out at the right time. How are things going at Columbia?”
“Challenging. I pray I can get through all the muck.”
“While you’re at it, pray for me and wish me good luck.”
* * *
The next day the headlines in all the colored papers read, GARVEY MEETS WITH KKK’S IMPERIAL WIZARD. The news sent shock-waves through the streets of Harlem. Even the most ardent supporters of Garvey were taken aback by this move. And as I sat in my office with James and Reverend Powell, I tried to imagine how he’d ever be able to explain it.
“I’m dumbfounded,” said Powell. “No self-respecting leader has ever pulled such a reprehensible stunt. I believe my entire congregation will find Mr. Garvey’s sit-down in Atlanta with that enemy of a man the last straw. It can’t be explained away either.”
“He’s been traveling the country for months,” James said. “And according to his telegrams, things have been going well. His visit to California was a bang, and everyone figured he’d take the South by storm as well. But this will cause a different kind of storm. To actually concoct some crazy idea of meeting with the Imperial Wizard of the Klan is a shock to the system. I couldn’t have imagined it in my wildest dreams.”
“He’s strategizing somehow,” I said. “He must have a new idea.”
“It sickens me,” James said. “I think it’s just his last attempt at convincing Washington that he’s no threat to the white man.”
“It’ll have the opposite effect,” said Powell. “Folks in Washington will be suspicious. It reeks of a he’s-up-to-something move.”
“You right,” said James. “White folks, especially those who fear Marcus, will think it’s a good ol’ case of an enemy tryin’ to get to know his opposition a little better—up close and personal, if you will. Mm, mm, mm! This just boggles the mind. My God, what an overreach. Discretion has never been Marcus’s greatest strength.”
“We’ll see how he’s received when he gets back to Harlem,” Powell said, folding one of the newspapers and standing. “You ready to get to the prayer breakfast, Brother Eason?”
“Let’s hit it.”
“I’m sorry the conversation turned from the church to Garvey,” I said as James and I stood.
“It couldn’t be avoided,” said Powell, the three of us walking to the door. “This morning, every restaurant, barbershop, and church in Harlem is filled with chatter about this news.”
We stood in the doorway, both of them with their backs to the street as I looked out.
“Speaking of the church,” said Powell, “I’m quite pleased with the progress we’re making. Thank you for all your hard work, Sidney.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Loretta doing all right?” asked James.
I heard him but the car parked across the street had my attention. In it sat the Timekeeper. He looked squarely at me and put his thumb up, obviously asking if I had done the job yet. I subtly shook my head no.
“No?” asked James. “Her spirits were sure up last time we spoke.”
I watched the Timekeeper drive away and drifted off for a second.
“Sidney?” asked James.
I just stood there.
“Everything okay?” Powell asked. “Look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“What is it?” James asked, this time grabbing my shoulder and jarring my limp body.
“Sorry, James. I was . . . I was . . . Loretta is doing just fine.”
“Good,” he said, releasing me. “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep. I’ll holler at you later this evenin’.”
“Sounds good.”
29
I WAS WALKING DOWN THE SIDEWALK TOWARD UNIA HEADQUARTERS with Professor Gold. We entered the building and walked right past several Legionnaires.
“Come in the conference room with me, Professor,” I said.
We walked in and sat down. In walked a young
woman carrying Garvey’s mango juice.
“Think I’ll have a taste of that,” said Professor Gold.
“No!” I abruptly said. “It’s for Garvey’s meeting.”
“Can I stay?” he asked.
“You’ll have to step out when they arrive.”
“I’ll leave now. I want to stop and buy some fresh tomatoes and onions for Mary and Loretta from that street vendor.”
Minutes later I sat there while Garvey held court as usual. The same group as always was his audience. But sitting at the opposite end of the long table from Garvey was W. E. B. Du Bois.
“Why can’t the two of us coexist, Dr. Du Bois?” asked Garvey, sandwiched in between Strong and Grant.
“You’re a crazy man. That’s why.”
“Africa awaits this crazy man,” said Garvey, sipping his juice.
“You’ll never set foot in Africa. You’re going to prison.”
“If I’m so crazy, why are all of your NAACP boys leaving you and joining me?”
“Because you lie better than I do,” said Du Bois. “I don’t promise what I can’t deliver. We may have to struggle for years to get what we want right here in America. No shortcuts. And that means, when it comes to you and me, one of us will have to win out.”
“Fancy talk from a fancy fool. All that matters to me is Africa. Liberia.”
“President King of Liberia and I,” said Du Bois, “are much closer than you realize, Marcus. He knows not to take your stolen money. Our country will save Liberia from bankruptcy. I want to do what’s in their best interest, you want to do what’s in the best interest of Marcus Garvey. Why else would you meet with the Klan?”
“Because I’m not afraid of the Big Bad Wolf,” said Garvey.
“The Klan hates the NAACP because of our constant public outcries against them. You made some sort of deal with them.”
“How so?”
“You probably told them you’d agree to destroy the NAACP in exchange for their allowing you to have free reign in the South. You want to continue selling worthless stocks to our most vulnerable Southern brothers and sisters, and you need the Klan to allow you to travel around freely to do so.”
“How long has this devil, Sidney, been working for you?”
“What do you mean?” asked Du Bois.
“Tell him, Sidney.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said.
“Mr. Garvey, who told you this?” asked Du Bois.
“My friend Bobby Ellington,” replied Garvey.
Garvey stood and began walking around the table. None of the men in the room said a word. He stopped right behind me.
“This devil,” he said, touching my right shoulder, “has been feeding you information about me for years. But now he’s a problem of the past. And when I’m done with him, I will watch your white blood spill all over this table too, Mr. Harvard Man.”
Garvey reached under his suit coat at the waist and grabbed the handle of a machete. He pulled it out and held it high in the air. With his eyes wide open like a man possessed, he took one violent swing at my neck.
“NO!” I yelled, sitting up in bed, my body covered in sweat.
“What is it?” asked Loretta, abruptly waking up and grabbing my arm. “What is it, Sidney?”
I sat there breathing heavily, gathering my thoughts. The nightmare had felt so real. And now that I was awake, my reality provided little comfort.
“Tell me,” she said. “You’re soaking wet.”
“It was just a dream.”
“Was it about the baby?”
“I don’t remember.”
She pulled me close. There was little left in life that felt decent or pure, so I clung to her in that moment. She felt so warm, so safe. I didn’t want to think anymore. I wanted to let go and lose myself in her, to let that virtue she possessed wash over me.
I placed my hand behind her head and gently led it to the pillow. It was the first time we’d made love since losing our son, so passionately, both of us giving of ourselves completely.
* * *
I parked on West 138th Street and walked about half a block toward the construction site. It was muggy out, the sky was gray, the sidewalks were relatively empty, and the street traffic was light.
As I approached, I tried to imagine how the new church would look sandwiched in between the two town houses in front of me, one made of yellowish brick, the other of reddish. Once complete, the property would be nearly flush against the sidewalk, so close to the street that those driving along might feel as if they could reach out and touch the front door from their cars.
I took a moment to appreciate how the work was coming along. The concrete foundation had been poured; in fact it was barely dry. Now things would really begin to take shape. I sat my bag down and took out my camera. I wanted to capture this phase of construction then continue photographing at different stages until the project was complete. It might be nice to look back on someday. I clicked the camera a few times.
“Hello there, Sidney,” said a voice I recognized.
I stopped and turned to my right. Sitting behind the wheel of a parked black Ford, smoking a cigar, was an olive-skinned man of about fifty. He had a gray mustache and was wearing a black suit, black fedora, and thick, dark-rimmed glasses. I couldn’t tell if he was Italian or colored but knew he was the Timekeeper.
“Just stand there and try not to look directly at me,” he said. “Keep your eyes on that church you’ve been working on. It’s me, your friend, in broad daylight. You didn’t think I’d disappeared now did you?”
“No.”
“Good ol’ Sidney. You think any of Garvey’s boys are watching you right now?”
“Always a possibility.”
“So you don’t have any news for me?”
“No.”
“Not good.”
“I need more time. I haven’t been able to gain access to his office yet.”
“It’s already late August. That means I’ve given you damn near eight weeks. I guess I didn’t make myself clear enough that night. Why are you waffling?”
“Aside from the fact that I’m an agent, not a criminal, it’s just what I said . . . I need more time.”
“If you’re telling me you can’t frame that son of bitch because you’re trying to hold on to your dignity, it’s a little late for that. You’re already a traitor to your race.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“You’ve already poisoned your soul. And don’t think for a minute that you’re any better than me.”
I glanced at him then refocused on the site.
“Keep your eyes on the church.”
“Why do you fear Garvey so much anyway?” I asked. “What exactly do you gain from seeing him out of power?”
“What have you gained by spying on him? Wasn’t it your job to help bring him down? He’s more powerful than ever.”
“I’m just an agent who’s been tasked to report on Garvey’s actions.”
“Then do what it takes to remain one.”
“And you’re wrong,” I said, clicking the camera. “He’s not more powerful than ever. He’s in trouble with his own people now.”
“That Klan visit won’t change a thing.”
I glanced his way again and saw him flick his cigar. “Look, the way I see it, outing me to Garvey does you no good. You need me to do a job for you. You need me to do it for you now, and you’ll need me to do it for you tomorrow, or the next day, or the next month. You need me. Garvey walks away from this trial, you’ll still need me . . . even more so.”
“You think you’re smarter than me? Think again.”
“I’m just confident about how close I am to Garvey. No agent has ever gotten in so deep. That has value. You can’t find anyone else who’s able to get into his office—to find his hidden keys and know which one unlocks which drawer. UNIA headquarters looks more like a military base these days. Anyone but me would have a better chance getting into the O
val Office.”
I knelt down, began rummaging through my bag, and took another quick look at him.
“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?” he asked, taking a drag from his cigar. “You better think about your safety.”
“I’m just asking you to let the trial take place first, that’s all. A little more time.”
“This is the last time I’m going to pay you a visit. Forget about the trial. Do the job now or face the consequences. You hear me? That nigger ain’t worth you losing any sleep over nohow.”
“Your easy use of that word puzzles me. In looking at you I’m gathering you must have some Negro blood in you. But let me guess. You’ve always been able to pass?”
“I’ve just always known my place. I’m an American who wants to keep things just the way they are, and the organization I represent intends to do everything in its power to protect real Americans.”
“I’m a real American.”
“Then prove it,” he said, throwing his cigar to the ground. “Plant the evidence and call the phone number I gave you. You’re trying my patience.”
He started the engine and drove off. I picked up my bag and headed for the site, still wondering how much longer I could get away with calling what I hoped was his bluff, not to mention how smart it was.
* * *
The next day Garvey took to the stage at Liberty Hall, fresh off his national tour. As I walked down the stairwell into the massive basement where all of the Liberty Hall gatherings took place, I saw Agent 800 standing near the bottom step with his arms folded. I joined him.
The place was packed to the rafters and everyone waited with bated breath to hear Garvey tell of his exploits. I took one look at the platform and saw that it was filled with several high-ranking UNIA officials, including Reverend Eason. And of course all of the typical grand ceremonial décor was on full display.
As Garvey stood and approached the podium, the audience erupted. He calmly waited for the cheering to die down, but sprinkled in were groans of disapproval. He held his perfumed handkerchief up to his mouth, collected his thoughts, and then began.
The Strivers' Row Spy Page 27
