Axis of Evil

Chapter Thirteen: Skulduggery At High Noon

Bracken Industries

Nr New York, USA

20^th 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.

“They have other concerns at the moment,” he said. “Now, what about the equipment I’ve obtained for you?”

Hoover brightened up considerably. He’d been looking forward to it, even sending Oliver several emails demanding to know about progress. “I’d be delighted,” he said, cheerfully. Tolson leaned forward as Oliver pulled out a small briefcase. Hoover’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a bit small, isn’t it?”

“What’s the use of a bug the size of a Smartie?” Oliver asked, and then had to explain what a Smartie was. The United States would be hearing about them soon, along with the other Cadbury products. He opened the briefcase and pulled out a small box, about the size of a matchbox. A tiny silver glint came from the centre of the box.

“That’s impossible,” Tolson declared.

Oliver smiled. “This is a Mark XXI electronic surveillance device,” he said. “In this form, its good to pick up and record conversations for up to five days continuous running, powered by a tiny microprocessor the size of an dot. It’s not very smart, but if you ping it with the correct code, it’ll burst-transmit everything its recorded to you, and then wipe itself. When no one is talking, it powers down and stores energy; it can even draw energy from solar power and heat.”

Hoover picked up the box thoughtfully. “It’s tiny,” he said. “How do you plant them?”

Oliver picked up a pair of tweezers and a magnifying glass. Tolson laughed as he held it over the box, showing them the bug in more detail. “Basically, you attach it in a hidden place – I suggest you experiment with them to discover how much use they are – and let it go to work. If you want, you can even attach them to a person, although that has a maximum of seven days as power requirements will exhaust it very quickly.”

Hoover smiled for the first time. “Tell me,” he said. “Can they be detected?”

Oliver nodded. “Yes, and no,” he said. “A powerful ELINT scan will detect them, and an ECM suite will jam them from transmitting – and they’re not bright enough to notice,” he said. “Fortunately, there is no place within the United States – except the Future Embassy – that has such capability. I assume that the British Embassy” – Lord Lothian had passed away over the winter and had been replaced by a future Briton chosen by Hanover – “has the same capability, but I don’t know for certain.”

“Blasted traitors,” Hoover muttered. “None of them will join the FBI; they would sooner stay with the nigger.”

“Converting what they have into a viable technological base for developing these devices is far far beyond what you or I could do, let alone them,” Oliver said. He’d met Ambassador King; he even liked him. “Director, the process that makes that bug so tiny is nearly six decades ahead of America.”

“And they’re useless in Britain itself,” Tolson said, to save his chief from embarrassment. “We can’t place a few in Britain to watch sympathisers.”

“No,” Oliver said sharply. “These things are commercial-grade, not military-grade. Anyone with something to hide will have some counter-measures in place… and MI5 would stop at nothing to find out who’d been trying to bug government offices. It’s not the sort of thing they’d let slip past them; they’re good, tough, and in wartime they have more authority than you do.”

“They still lost a German from the first encounter,” Hoover sneered. Oliver, who’d been a prisoner of the Germans at the time, said nothing. “They might not find my people…”

“They’ll be trying to blend into a culture they won’t understand,” Oliver said. “I strongly advise you not to try.” He closed the briefcase and picked up a second briefcase. “These are webcams,” he said. “They’re basically tiny cinema cameras; your position one somewhere where you want to know who’s going in and out, and then just set it running. Again, it has a limited lifespan, around ten days at the current power reserves.”

He put the webcam down on the table and picked up a second camera. “This is a very tiny camera,” he said. “It works on the same basic principle; you take a picture and it stores it in its memory. When you want to review them, you simply burst-transmit them to a computer – I’ve given you ten of the basic laptop design – and review them there.”

Hoover grinned savagely. “We’ll put them to very good use,” he promised. Neither man mentioned money. “How long does it take to learn how to use them?”

“I’ve attached a book of instructions to the main list,” Oliver said. He smiled; now for the bait. “The main supplies have been moved to a safe house,” he said, and passed over the address. “You can pick them up at your leisure, as no one knows about it.”

He watched Hoover’s smile and frowned inwardly. As he’d suspected, Hoover had raised no objections to the underhandedness of the trade. That was… interesting; Hoover clearly didn’t want anyone to know that he’d gotten the little collection.

“There is one final matter,” Hoover said, as Oliver began packing away the webcams. “We are under threat by subversive movements, attacking the very foundations of American life.”

Oliver nodded impatiently. Hoover’s constant speeches on the matter were unbecoming the head of the counterintelligence service, even though the FBI wasn’t exactly a counterespionage service. Hoover saw… well, reds under the bed; an expression that had really caught on online. Absently, he wondered where McCarthy was; the future senator had drawn one of the darker cards of the verdict of history.

“You have hired thousands of workers, including a number of members of certain unions,” Hoover said. “Many… Unions have relationships with communists, including the NAACP scum and other black unions. Is that safe?”

Oliver nodded. “I have to build as quickly as I can,” he said. “I have no doubts about the loyalty of my people.”

“Many of them… will be getting ideas above their station,” Hoover said, with all the tone of an English aristocrat. “There are plenty of unemployed men who would be glad of the jobs…”

“I have to keep my reputation as a good employer,” Oliver said flatly. “I cannot simply… fire people merely on the grounds of their skin colour. I could be charged under British law for that, which would ruin the company.”

“But some of them might be transmitting information to the subversives,” Hoover protested. “That… secretary of yours might be reporting my presence to anyone!”

“Given that you had an armed escort, everyone who is anyone will know that you came anyway,” Oliver said. “I’m sorry, Edgar, but I can’t do that.”

“Humph,” Hoover said. Without saying goodbye, he stalked out of the room. Oliver watched him go, concealing his real thoughts until Cora had shown the pair out, then he clicked on the laptop. He hadn’t bothered to mention some of the bugs’ other capabilities Hoover; it would only have pointed his suspicions in unprofitable directions.

“That bastard was dictating to you,” Tolson’s voice snapped, clear as a bell. The noise of their car could be heard in the background; audio-discrimination programs began to sweep the background noise out of the transmission. “Edgar, he needs to be taken down a peg or two!”

“For the moment, we need him,” Hoover’s voice said, tired. “We have few sources for advanced technology, and Ambassador King is hardly going to share the pittance he has. With MacArthur involved with us, we need supplies of advanced technology, and Oliver is the best we have.”

Oliver furrowed his brow in puzzlement. What were Hoover and MacArthur doing in bed together? One idea suggested itself and he sniggered, before returning to the transmission.

“We’ll have to put everyone in those factories under watch,” Hoover said. “With these new tools, it should be… easier than it would have been otherwise. Starting with that bitch he has guarding his office.” There was a pause. “Now that troops will be moving to Europe, to Britain, we will have less time than we really need.”

“Of course,” Tolson said. The transmission started to hiss with static as they passed out of range. “Perhaps if we…”

The transmission cut out entirely. Oliver cursed the paranoia of the designers. Detection equipment was common in 2015 Britain, but non-existent in 1941 America. His mind raced; knowing that Hoover distrusted him – or some of his staff – wasn’t unexpected, but the link with MacArthur was unexpected. Why was he involved?

“Perhaps he wants revenge on Britain,” he mused, and decided that it made sense. MacArthur’s career had been ruined beyond repair by the future revelations; no matter the legalities of the situation it had been inescapable that he had – or would have – left troops behind to face Japanese captivity. Yes, MacArthur had good reasons for joining Hoover’s new bug-hunt; hunting black freedom fighters.

I wonder if I should warn Britain, he thought, and shivered. The last thing he wanted was anything that interested the British Government – to say nothing of the intelligence services – in him. Hoover’s determination to keep his latest purchase a secret boded ill; what did J Edgar Hoover want with surveillance equipment like that? Did he have any choice, but to tip off Britain?

“Is everything all right?” Cora asked, sticking her head in through the door. Oliver realised that he’d been muttering under his breath. “How was the meeting with the gay guardian?”

“I would really not let Hoover know that you see those sites,” Oliver said, without rancour. Cora would have blushed if she could have. “It could have gone better,” he said. “He wanted to know if I watched for subversives.”

Cora’s mouth opened in shock. It was remarkably attractive. “You mean us,” she said, waving a black hand around the room. “Don’t they think that we are good Americans?”

“They don’t know,” Oliver said. He hadn’t paid much attention to the Civil Rights Era in America. He made a mental note to email one of the universities that had opened a business for companies wishing to invest in America or the rest of the Contemporary world, one that provided a briefing on the local history and culture. “They look at your colour and think that you’re unreliable, and the craziness in the south only makes it worse.”

He shook his head. “I want you to get the security staff to quietly start running ELINT scans around all of our properties,” he said. “Check your home as well, just in case.”

“I’m living in one of the flophouses,” Cora said. Oliver winced; he’d forgotten. The new flophouses for the people who wanted to move to the big city, the Big Apple, but hadn’t yet found a job.

“Perhaps you should move into Park View,” he said, meaning the estate for himself and his senior managers. “You would be allowed to live there, and its totally secure. There should be some new bungalows there.”

Cora’s face shone like the sun. “Thank you,” she breathed, and kissed him. Oliver felt his body respond, but fought it down.

“Later, perhaps,” he said, and Cora giggled. “For the moment, we have a business to run.”