*
Cam did not like Tim Tedder. He wore a safari suit and had a soldier’s short haircut. He had no sideburns, at a time when almost everyone wore sideburns. Cam felt Tedder was too gung-ho. He clearly relished everything clandestine. Cam wondered what Tedder would have said if asked to kill Jasper Murray rather than just wiretap him.
Tedder had no scruples about breaking the law, but he was used to working with the government, and within twenty-four hours he appeared in Cam’s office with a written plan and a budget.
The plan provided for three men to watch Jasper Murray’s apartment over two days to determine his routine. Then they would enter at a time they knew to be safe and plant a transmitter in his phone. They would also place a tape recorder nearby, probably on the roof of the building, in a casing marked ‘50,000 VOLTS – DO NOT TOUCH’ to discourage investigation. Then they would change the tapes once every twenty-four hours for a month, and Tedder would provide transcripts of all conversations.
The price for all this was five thousand dollars. Cam would get the money from the slush fund operated by the Committee to Re-Elect the President.
Cam took the proposal to Ehrlichman, sharply conscious that he was crossing a line. He had never done anything criminal in his life. Now he was about to become a conspirator in a burglary. It was necessary: the leaks had to be stopped, and the President had said: ‘I don’t give a damn how it’s done.’ All the same, Cameron did not feel good about it. He was jumping off a diving board in the dark, and could not see the water below.
John Erhlichman wrote ‘E’ in the approve box.
Then he added an anxious little note: ‘If done under your assurance that it is not traceable.’
Cam knew what that meant.
If it all went wrong, he was to take the blame.
*
George left his office at five-thirty and drove to Barney Circle, a low-rent residential neighbourhood east of Capitol Hill. The church was a shack on a lot surrounded by a high chicken-wire fence. Inside, the rows of hard chairs were half full. The worshippers were all black, mostly women. It was a good place for a clandestine meeting: an FBI agent in here would be as conspicuous as a turd on a tablecloth.
One of the women turned around, and George recognized Maria Summers. He sat next to her.
‘What is it?’ he whispered. ‘What’s the emergency?’
She put her finger to her lips. ‘Afterwards,’ she said.
He smiled wryly. He would have to sit through an hour of prayers. Well, it would probably do his soul good.
George was delighted to be part of this cloak-and-dagger plot with Maria. His work at Fawcett Renshaw did not satisfy his passion for justice. He was helping to advance the cause of equality for blacks, but piecemeal, and slowly. He was now thirty-six, old enough to know that youthful dreams of a better world are rarely fulfilled, but all the same he thought he ought to be able to do more than get a few extra blacks hired at Roath airport.
A robed pastor entered and began with an extempore prayer that lasted ten or fifteen minutes. Then he invited the congregation to sit in silence and hold their own conversations with God. ‘We will be glad to hear the voice of any man who feels moved by the Holy Spirit to share his prayers with the rest of us. In accordance with the teaching of the Apostle Paul, women remain silent in the church.’
George nudged Maria, knowing she would be bristling at that piece of sanctified sexism.
George’s mother adored Maria. George suspected that Jacky thought she might have been like Maria, if she had been born a generation later. She might have had a good education and a high-powered job and a black dress with a row of pearls.
During the prayers George’s thoughts wandered to Verena. She had disappeared into the Black Panthers. He would have liked to believe that she was responsible for the more humane side of their mission, such as cooking free breakfasts for inner-city schoolchildren whose mothers spent the early mornings cleaning white people’s offices. But, knowing Verena, she might just as easily be robbing banks.
The pastor closed the meeting with another long prayer. As soon as he said ‘Amen’, the members of the congregation turned to one another and began to chat. The hum of their conversations was loud, and George felt he could talk to Maria without fear of being overheard.
Maria said immediately: ‘They’re going to tap Jasper Murray’s home phone. One of Ehrlichman’s boys came over from the White House.’
‘Obviously Jasper’s last TV show triggered this.’
‘You bet your socks.’
‘And it’s not really Jasper they’re after.’
‘I know. It’s the person who’s giving him information. It’s me.’
‘I’ll see Jasper tonight and warn him to be careful what he says on his home phone.’
‘Thanks.’ She looked around. ‘We’re not as unobtrusive as I’d hoped.’
‘Why not?’
‘We’re too well dressed. We obviously don’t belong here.’
‘And my secretary now thinks I’m born again. Let’s get out of here.’
‘We can’t leave together. You go first.’
George left the little church and drove back towards the White House.
Maria was not the only insider leaking to the press, he reflected: there were many. George figured that the President’s casual disregard of the law had shocked some government workers into breaking a lifelong discretion. Nixon’s criminality was particularly horrifying in a President who had campaigned on a law-and-order ticket. George felt as if the American people were victims of a gigantic hoax.
George tried to think where would be the best place to meet Jasper. Last time he had simply gone to the office of This Day. Doing that once might not have been dangerous, but he should avoid a repeat visit. He did not want to be seen with Jasper too often by Washington insiders. On the other hand, their meeting had to seem casual, not furtive, just in case they were spotted.
He drove to the parking garage nearest to Jasper’s office. A block of spaces on the third floor was reserved for the staff of This Day. George parked nearby and went to a pay phone.
Jasper was at his desk.
George did not give his name. ‘It’s Friday night,’ he said without preamble. ‘When were you thinking of leaving the office?’
‘Soon.’
‘Now would be good.’
‘Okay.’
George hung up.
A few minutes later, Jasper came out of the elevator, a big man with a mane of fair hair, carrying a raincoat. He walked to his vehicle, a bronze Lincoln Continental with a black fabric roof.
George got into the Lincoln beside him and told him about the wiretap.
Jasper said: ‘I’ll have to take the phone to pieces, and remove the bug.’
George shook his head. ‘If you do that they’ll know, because they won’t get any transmissions.’
‘So what?’
‘So they’ll find another way to bug you, and next time we might not be so lucky as to find out about it.’
‘Shit. I take all my most important calls at home. What am I going to do?’
‘When an important source calls, say you’re busy and you’ll call back; then go out to a pay phone.’
‘I guess I’ll figure something out. Thanks for the tip. Does it come from the usual source?’
‘Yes.’
‘He’s well informed.’
‘Yes,’ said George, ‘he is.’