In the days after the bombing, the Black Muslims dismissed claims that they were trying to kill Malcolm. Muhammad Ali joined the campaign, discrediting the minister on the Irv Kupcinet show. Malcolm was no better than a criminal, he charged, “a jail bird who could neither read nor write until Muhammad educated him.” No one should trust anything Malcolm said, he maintained.29
Shortly thereafter, in the Hotel Theresa lobby, Ali ran into Betty. Scolding him, she said, “You see what you’re doing to my husband, don’t you?” Raising his hands in the air, Ali pleaded innocence, “I haven’t done anything. I’m not doing anything to him.” Yet Ali was not innocent. He had joined the chorus of violent ringleaders who raged about punishing Malcolm. As the most visible figure in the Nation, his malicious attacks echoed throughout the country, further convincing Elijah’s followers that they had to silence Malcolm. Without throwing a punch or raising a hand, Ali managed to hound the man he had once called his brother.30
Under siege, Malcolm threw a bomb of his own. On Monday evening, February 15, he held a meeting at the Audubon Ballroom. More than five hundred people gathered to hear him talk about his political agenda. Instead, he revealed another secret of Elijah Muhammad’s, one that threatened to ruin his reputation as a defender of black citizens. In December 1960, Elijah had dispatched him to Atlanta along with Minister Jeremiah X to negotiate an agreement with the Ku Klux Klan. At the time, Muhammad had wanted to purchase farmland in the South, but he’d needed assurances that if the Nation organized there, the Klan would let them live peacefully. As Muhammad’s emissary, Malcolm had made it clear that the Nation and the Klan both wanted the same thing: complete separation between blacks and whites. Malcolm regretted meeting with the Klansmen, he said, but the public had to know why it was that Muhammad never criticized or challenged the white supremacists.31
It was a risky revelation, but no more so than the insufficient security measures that he’d imposed. Earlier, Malcolm had instructed his security to cease frisking people who attended his rallies. He realized that he could not build a movement if people were too scared to attend his meetings. His lieutenants argued that he was risking his life, but he overruled them. “We don’t want people feeling uneasy,” he said. “We must create an image that makes people feel at home.”32
During his speech, a commotion between two men in the audience drew Malcolm’s security away from the rostrum, leaving him vulnerable to an attack. “Get your hand out of my pocket!” a man shouted. “Just sit down and be cool,” Malcolm implored the brothers. When a young man wearing a blue suit, white shirt, and red bow tie got up and started walking down the middle aisle, Gene Roberts, one of Malcolm’s chief security guards, approached the stranger until the man ducked into a second-row seat. Everything seemed fine, so Malcolm continued speaking, but the incident made Roberts nervous. Certain that he had witnessed “a dry run on Malcolm’s life,” he went home and wrote a description of the events. The details were essential if his real supervisors were going to do anything to protect Malcolm.33
In 1964, officials from the NYPD’s intelligence agency, the Bureau of Special Services (BOSS), had directed Roberts, a twenty-five-year-old detective, to infiltrate Malcolm’s organization and get as close to the minister as possible. Gradually, he gained Malcolm’s confidence and became one of his most trusted bodyguards. As soon as he thought that he saw the rehearsal of Malcolm’s murder, he called his superiors. In response to the growing threats against Malcolm, the police offered the minister twenty-four-hour protection, but he turned it down, insisting that his men were security enough.34
But Malcolm never had enough security. For more than a year, the Black Muslims had stalked him, following his every move. In his private moments, he could not help replaying all the times that they had tried to kill him. Morbidly, he imagined how his life would end. He had dodged death too often to live much longer. When a friend called him to meet the following Tuesday, Malcolm somberly replied, “I’ll be dead by Tuesday.”35