The Strivers' Row Spy by Jason Overstreet Read Free Book Online Page B

night, Ellington and I walked from the hotel toward the hideout.
    â€œWhere do you think they’ll send you?” he asked.
    â€œMy hunch is New York.”
    â€œI love New York. I spent spring break there once with some buddies. Down in the Tenderloin, at a place called the Kessler, I drank ’til I passed out. Worst hangover ever.”
    As we approached the Lincoln from behind, I wondered what smartass remark Knox would have for me this night. Instead, he leaned his head out and put his right index finger to his lips, signaling for us to keep quiet. He then pointed toward the hideout.
    There was light shining through the window. Ellington and I froze for a moment and then eased our way up to opposite sides of the car, I to the passenger side. The realization that there’d actually been people in the house for fourteen days had all of us rattled. It was eerie.
    Knox turned to me and whispered, “Head back to the hotel and fetch Speed.”
    Just then, a loud explosion came from the hideout. The blast lit up the entire front of the alley house. Glass and debris flew everywhere. It took me a minute to digest the fact that the Galleanists had accidentally killed themselves. And just like that, our Baltimore assignment had come to an end.
    * * *
    A few days later I was back in Washington, ready to meet again with this important man of my age, Mr. Hoover. He sat me down in his office while I waited with bated breath to find out if I’d been hired and, if so, where I’d be working.
    â€œSidney, I’d like to familiarize you with three individuals: Max Eastman, James Weldon Johnson, and Marcus Garvey.”
    I sat and listened to him rattle off the details about the three men’s lives. One word he kept repeating was Bolshevism . He believed all three had ties to the Russian movement. And after going on and on about it, he finally finished and took out a file.
    â€œSidney, you’re to be commended for the swiftness with which you’ve mastered the variety of skills generally reserved for a military man. We’ve decided to hire you as a special agent. And as such, that makes you—officially—only the second colored agent the Bureau has ever hired, Agent Jones being the first, as he signed a contract while on assignment in Baltimore. So, Agent Temple, welcome aboard.”

5
    T IME STOOD STILL FOR A MOMENT . I FELT AN EXCITEMENT IN MY belly, a nervousness. I wanted to share the news with the world but knew I could share it with no one.
    â€œI must say,” said Hoover, still holding a file, “sounds nice and official, doesn’t it? This new title of yours: Agent Temple.”
    â€œIndeed.”
    Hoover stood and walked over to a file cabinet in the corner behind him. He removed several documents and returned.
    â€œLet’s get down to business,” he said, dropping the pages on the desk and taking his seat again. “With the growing threats toward a variety of government officials, the general increase of antiwar socialists and organized communists, Americans are starting to think we’re on the verge of Armageddon. The Bureau and the country need you now more than ever.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Hoover. I’m committed to upholding the law of the United States of America.”
    â€œThings are really heating up. We’ve had our New York office forward all information on Johnson, Garvey, and Eastman to headquarters here in Washington. These are three very smart men. We have to present something new to them—something foreign. We need colored agents for this assignment.
    â€œYour mission is to move to Harlem. Get comfortable. As you’ve already been told, you are to tell no one of your status with the Bureau, including your wife. That is critical in assuring her safety and yours—and in not compromising the mission. Many of our agents’ wives know what their husbands do, but your case is different. You’re not just an