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78

Their bench faced the Lincoln Memorial. Nannies and small chilthen scampered by.

Hoover said, “The woman is quite good.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“She lures King Jack into provocative traps.”

Littell smiled. “Yes, Sir. She does.”

“King Jack has mentioned my forced retirement twice. Did you tell the woman to prod him in that direction?”

“Yes, Sir. I did.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to increase your stake in the operation.”

Hoover straightened the crease in his trousers. “I see. And I cannot fault your logic.”

Littell said, “We want to convince the man to make his brother tone down his assault on my clients and their friends, and if they think you have copies of the tapes, it will go a long way toward convincing them to retain you.”

Hoover nodded. “I cannot fault your logic.”

“I would rather not go public with the tapes, Sir. I would rather see this resolved behind the scenes.”

Hoover patted his briefcase. “Is that why you asked me to return my copies temporarily?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“You don’t trust me to keep them in cold storage?”

Littell smiled. “I want you to possess absolute deniability should Robert Kennedy bring in outside agency investigators. I want all the tapes kept in a single location, so that they can be destroyed if necessary.”

Hoover smiled. “And so that, if worse comes to worse, Pete Bondurant and Fred Turentine can be portrayed as the sole perpetrators of the plot?”

Littell said, “Yes, Sir.”

Hoover shooed a perching bird away. “Who’s financing this? Is it Mr. Hoffa or Mr. Marcello?”

“I’d rather not say, Sir.”

“I see. And I cannot fault your desire for secrecy.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Suppose public exposure becomes necessary?”

“Then I would go forward in late October, right before the congressional elections.”

“Yes. That would be the optimum time.”

“Yes, Sir. But as I said, I would rather not-”

“You needn’t repeat yourself. I’m not senile.”

The sun broke out of a cloud bank. Littell broke a slight sweat.

“Yes, Sir.”

“You hate them, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.”

“You’re not alone. The THP has private taps and bugs installed in fourteen critical organized crime locales. We’ve been picking up a good deal of Kennedy resentment. I haven’t informed the Brothers, and I’m not going to.”

“I’m not surprised, Sir.”

“I’ve compiled some wonderfully vituperative outtakes. They are hilariously colloquial and profane.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Hoover smiled. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Littell smiled. “That you trust me. That you trust me because I hate them as much as you do.”

Hoover said, “You’re correct. And my God, wouldn’t Kemper be hurt if he overheard King Jack’s assessment of his character?”

“He would be. Thank God he has no idea this operation exists.”

A little girl skipped by. Hoover smiled and waved.

“Howard Hughes needs a new right-hand man. He asked me to find him someone with your qualifications, and I’ve recommended you.”

Littell grabbed the bench. “I’m honored, Sir.”

“You should be. You should also know that Howard Hughes is a very disturbed man with a rather tenuous hold on reality. He only communicates by telephone and letter, and I think there’s a fair chance that you may never meet him face-to-face.”

The bench shook. Littell folded his hands over one knee.

“Should I call him?”

“He’ll call you, and I would advise you to accept his offer. The man has a silly, if exploitable, plan to purchase Las Vegas hotel-casinos a few years from now, and I think the notion has intelligence-gathering potential. I told Howard the names of your other clients, and he was quite impressed. I think the job is yours for the asking.”

Littell said, “I want it.”

Hoover said, “Of course you do. You’ve been hungry all your life, and you’ve finally reconciled your desires with your conscience.”