20th April 1941
Cora had been astonished to discover that security around the plants had been tightened. Grim-faced security experts from Britain, people who could have commanded extremely high salaries in the United States, had arrived overnight on one of the transatlantic flights, settling in before anyone was aware of their presence. They’d brought with them several boxes of equipment that was for Oliver alone; no one else was allowed to go near them. Cora had asked them – they were far more respectful of a black girl than anyone else in the United States – but they’d refused to tell her what they were. Even Oliver had been tight-lipped on the subject.
Shrugging in a small fit of pique, Cora finished her main tasks for the day and logged on to the new Internet. Streams of information from Britain had been arriving each day as Roosevelt’s offer was reported and details were finalised. She’d been responsible for contracting out work for the Consortium, including the purchase of thousands of miles worth of train track. They were to be loaded onto a ship for transport to Algeria, where they would be used to develop a trans-African railroad.
She chuckled; despite claims by the state governor, there had been no major recovery of the stolen weapons, which were now lost somewhere within America. In the timeframe, they could have moved around the world, a fact that Hoover was making very clear in his weekly press statements.
“The… so-called Black Power movement is a Communist plot,” he had proclaimed at a press conference, hammering the message home. Despite considerable differences of opinion between North and South America, the theme had struck home. The reports of Soviet collusion with the Japanese – who were splitting China between them – suggested a far-reaching Communist plot to take over the world. Never mind that the history books proved that such a conspiracy had only existed in the wet dreams of the communist elite and those who had feared them; it earned him attention and aided him to regain the power he’d lost.
“The British sunk the liner and the West Virginia,” General MacArthur had proclaimed, and there were many cheers. MacArthur might have lost his position in the Philippines, but he still had a following in America, even if it were not among the army. He’d even offered to lead regiments in a search for the Black Power movement; compromise seemed impossible.
She read – again – the message from Black Power, on their website. Hoover had gone crazy when he realised that even finding the server was impossible, let alone preventing people from visiting it. The message was clear and to the point; the blacks of America were taking their rights as citizens, rights that they had been denied. If there were any attempts to prevent them from claiming the same rights as white folk, there would be bloodshed.
“Idiots,” she said, and she wasn’t certain who she meant. Some congressmen had been calling for the use of the Civil Rights Acts that had been installed in the future, conceding most of Black Power’s demands. Others, mainly from the South, had resisted; they would lose most of their power base when blacks started voting in large numbers. There was even talk of running MacArthur as the Republican candidate in the next election, three years off.
“It’ll resolve itself before then,” Oliver had said, in one of their more peaceful moments. Their relationship was growing closer, and yet there was something that was bothering the Englishman. She didn’t think that it was her colour – even though there were many men with black mistresses – but something else, something that was worrying him.
A chime at the door brought her mind back to reality. She glanced down at the security monitors, her fingers dancing over the keyboard and hiding all the evidence of her website browsing, and winced. J Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson, the FBI men, had returned. Once again, they had a car of agents escorting them, waiting outside.
She smiled wryly – not all of the people who hated Hoover were black, but men who’d been proven to have been convicted unjustly – and hit the door unlock key. It clicked open and Hoover slipped in, followed by Tolson, who gave the impression of… annoyance.
“We’re here to see your boss,” Tolson said firmly, as Hoover took a seat. He didn’t quite say ‘nigger-bitch’, but the thought was there. “This is about the meeting we arranged.”
She gave him a charming smile, just because she could. “Certainly,” she said. “I’ll let him know at once.”
“At once,” Tolson said. Cora smiled at him again – noting that he showed no response again – and picked up the telephone. Five minutes later, she waved the pair of them into Oliver’s office, and let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t know if the rumours were true, but she would have sooner been leered at by a gang of Ku Klux Klan than endure their presence for a moment longer.
Oliver allowed himself a small smile before welcoming the two FBI men. “A pleasure to see you both again,” he lied smoothly. He was genuinely grateful; some of the bureaucratic tangles he’d faced had vanished, thanks to Hoover.
“And you also,” Hoover said, with what Oliver judged was the same amount of sincerity. “Your message said that it was important.”
“What, you won’t stay for tea and biscuits?” Oliver said, waving a hand at a well-equipped bar. A tea-machine sat neatly on the table in front of him; he poured himself a cup and waited for their orders.
“Bourbon, please,” Hoover said. Oliver smiled; he had thought that Hoover didn’t drink. Tolson refused a drink. “We are having enough problems with cyber crime.”
Oliver laughed. Who would have thought that someone would have reinvented the concept of copying records – and managing to place them online as MP3s? Hoover’s explanation was stumbling; the FBI still hadn’t managed to recruit a decent computer expert.
“Can you not rid us of the damned subversive Internet… stuff?” Hoover demanded, trying to avoid the word he’d clearly had in mind. He would have been happier bullying Oliver, but Oliver had too many friends in Washington. “It’s corrupting our children!”
Oliver was wryly impressed. Hoover, at least, was showing some mental flexibility. Most people who’d objected to Internet problems had focused on one issue, such as pornography. Some actresses who were already acting had had nude pictures of themselves splashed across the Internet, and the reaction of the Conservatives to some of the less tasteful Japanese porn had been severe.
“Unfortunately, they have a wireless server,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “It’s very difficult to track one down, particularly with the dozens of similar machines running around.” He smiled at the half-lie. “In effect, it can’t be done here without equipment that we don’t have.”
Hoover’s face purpled, but his voice remained calm. “Can you not obtain that equipment for us?”
Oliver shook his head, for once telling the truth outright. “Equipment that sensitive will have already been rounded up by the government. Unlike some of the commercial-grade equipment that might as well be military-grade here, its too rare and too useful for it to be allowed outside Britain without a very good reason.”
Hoover nodded, perhaps reflecting upon the small collection of equipment that had been sent from Britain to aid the American technology development program. Oliver smiled to himself; Hoover had taken a lot of the blame when a fire had erupted within the warehouse, destroying some of the equipment.
“They don’t consider tracking down the purveyors of that… filth a serious problem?” He asked finally. “That stuff is disgusting!”
Oliver was inclined to agree, although he knew perfectly well that that wasn’t Hoover’s real concern at all. The pornographic materials, ranging from normal sex to masturbation, to rape and even to death scenes, were disgusting. Still, he had been truthful; the equipment that the United States would require was needed for the war.