Jansen: You’re a coldhearted bastard.
Foster: I’m just being real. I’m a black man in a country full of hate. Some of what King says makes sense. But the price to be paid to get what he wants is too much. Too many are going to be hurt or die. White people aren’t going to share their world with us. Not without a fight. I don’t want to pay that price. I don’t care about civil rights. I care about money. I figure if I get enough from you, it won’t matter that white people hate me.
Jansen: How much do you want?
Foster: A million dollars.
Jansen: You can’t be serious.
Foster: Don’t push me, or I’ll ask for two.
Jansen: And what do I get for that kind of money?
Foster: I’ll make your job real easy.
[PAUSE]
Jansen: What do you have in mind?
Foster: He’s headed back to Memphis. He’ll be at the Lorraine Motel starting the afternoon of the third.
Jansen: Why wait three days? I can have it done here in Atlanta right now.
Foster: No. Do it in the turmoil in Memphis. A white man kills Martin Luther King while he fights for the rights of black garbage workers.
Jansen: Who said anything about a white man?
Foster: If it’s not, then you’re a damn fool. It has to be a white man.
Jansen: I prefer to choose the place.
Foster: Good luck with that, since if you do I won’t be providing any information to help. Ever thought about Kennedy’s death? Oswald didn’t need informants. They published the president’s whole schedule in the newspaper, days in advance. All he had to do was show up. There’s no schedule printed for King, and things change constantly. My job is to keep up with those changes and get him where he needs to be. I’m your only source on that. I can help, or hurt you. Make a choice.
[PAUSE]
Jansen: All right. We’ll do it your way. But you’re sure? You’re ready to send the Bishop to his death?
Foster: You don’t have to keep asking me that. It’s clear we both know what we’re doing. They’re sending lawyers to federal court on the third and fourth to try to lift the injunction preventing another march. King will stay in Memphis until they get that done. Room 306. There’ll be plenty of opportunities on the fourth to make this happen. Be ready. I’ll call and provide you the best one.
Jansen: Memphis it is then.
The tape ended.
I popped it from the machine and stared at the cassette.
A confidential source who has furnished reliable information in the past.
A fancy way to keep a trusted source’s identity secret. I’d seen similar language in many NCIS reports. No wonder Benjamin Foster didn’t want Coleen to know anything about this. He’d set Martin Luther King Jr. up to die.
All for a 1933 Double Eagle.
I looked again at the date on the cassette. March 31, 1968. Three days before the assassination. Bruce Lael had lived with that knowledge a long time. No wonder he’d made contact with Foster. I could only imagine what those talks had been like. I was truly amazed at Foster. To hear him talk, he’d been at King’s side for years. He was there in the hospital when the man died. He cast himself as some civil rights warrior.
I sat in the truck.
Something buzzed in my pocket.
Nate’s cell phone had come alive.
I removed the unit and answered.
“You ruined my clothes,” Valdez said.
Like I cared. “Stuff happens.”
“That it does. I have Reverend Foster, his daughter, and his son-in-law. I want my coin or I’ll kill them.”
“How about I just give your files back?”
“Too late for that. Reverend Foster would like to speak with you.”
A moment later Foster came on the line.
“You and I need to talk. In person,” Foster said.
I agreed. We did. “How’s that possible?”
“Valdez says he will make it happen.”
Like I was going to trust that. I stared out the windshield at the bus station. My mind raced.
“Do you have a car?” I asked.
“I did. But you took it.”
“Sorry about that. Can you get another one?”
I heard Foster speaking to Valdez.
“Yes. I can get a car,” Foster said.
“All right, here’s what I want you to do.”
Chapter Forty-three
I sat in the truck and ate a burger, still troubled by what I’d heard on the cassette. Foster had told me that it would be more than an hour before he appeared. The time was approaching 3:00 p.m., that hour about up. I’d told Foster to drive to Gainesville and find the bus station. I knew this site was secure. All I had to do was make sure it stayed that way, up to and including Foster’s arrival. The experience with the backpack had taught me a lesson. I didn’t plan on making the same mistake twice, and my caution was compounded by the fact that Valdez and Oliver were definitely working together.
That meant anything might happen.
Including the possibility that this was a trap.
I had told Foster to drive here and that a ticket would be waiting for him at the information desk inside. He was to take the designated bus when it arrived. Of course, the idea was to get him in and out of the station without attracting attention or alerting any tail that might be on him. I’d already reconnoitered the bus station, noting all of the exits, and I’d positioned the truck two addresses down from the depot in the parking lot of a strip mall busy with traffic. There was a path from here to a side exit in the bus terminal that could work as a discreet way for Foster to disappear.
Not foolproof.
But what was?
At least I was trying to stay ahead of things.
The burger had tasted great. I hadn’t eaten a meal since last night. For me, stress brought a loss of appetite. When I tried a case I’d go days without eating much of anything. Once the verdict came in, my appetite always returned, and usually with a vengeance. I was beginning to see that the same malady occurred as a field agent.
I sucked more of my lemonade through the straw.
It seemed I was now the proud owner of a relatively new Chevy pickup. But I doubted we’d be together for long. That was another thing about my new temporary career. Few physical or personal attachments ever lasted.
From where I was located I had a clear view of the depot’s main entrance and parking lot. I’d been watching everything carefully and had neither sensed nor seen nothing out of the ordinary. I kept reminding myself that Valdez was only allowing this gesture as a way to locate me.
So I’d taken even further precautions.
At a Mail ’N More I passed on the way to get the burger, I rented an onsite storage bin with a combination lock. I also bought a couple of oversized manila envelopes. The coin stayed in my pocket, since it might come in handy. It meant little to me, but everything to Valdez. So I decided to keep my options open as far as it was concerned. Cars came and went from the bus depot. Nobody seemed even remotely suspicious. Finally, a pale-yellow Camry entered and found an empty space.
Benjamin Foster emerged.
The car he was driving could definitely be tagged. After all, it came from Valdez, supplied surely by Tom Oliver. Another car entered the lot and parked on the far side beneath the trees. My eyesight was excellent and I could see two forms inside.
The tail I was expecting.
Foster disappeared inside the terminal.
Both car doors opened.
Jansen and Oliver stepped out.
I felt honored. Batman and Robin themselves had come.
There’d only be a few moments. The ticket that Foster would receive at the information booth contained a note that instructed him to leave the building through the side exit to his left.
It also told him not to be obvious or in a hurry.