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Chapter 149: Someone is going to Heaven!
The GSA Director wasn't a problem, but Supervisor Rosen followed protocol anyway, convening communication experts to evaluate Theodore's security report.
Security was always the Bureau's bread and butter. When it came to protecting America, no amount of scrutiny was excessive.
Especially when Theodore submitted the report.
The evaluation would take a week, maybe longer. Eventually, the experts would produce an assessment written in language even laymen could understand. That assessment would go to Rosen first, get refined and organized, then transfer to the Director's Office where Hoover himself would review it and decide what measures, if any, to take.
Not everyone had Theodore's particular obsession with researching completely unrelated fields just to write reports and lecture his superiors.
After submitting the communication security report, Theodore stopped thinking about it entirely.
All his energy focused on a new article he'd been conceptualizing.
He even stopped proactively requesting cases from Supervisor Rosen.
Bernie found this puzzling.
Still, it worked out. He was drowning in moving logistics. Having no active cases meant he could dedicate more time to the chaos of relocation.
Mrs. Sullivan had already lined up a buyer. Their Felton property would sell by the end of April.
Which meant Bernie had to have everything settled in Washington by May.
The renovation company had confirmed they'd finish by late April, plenty of time.
The trickier issue was Little Sullivan's school transfer.
Following proper procedure meant submitting an application to the education committee, waiting ten days to two weeks for a reply, then another three to five months before a commissioner would conduct an evaluation.
By the time the results confirmed whether the transfer was even possible, Little Sullivan would probably have graduated.
Bernie contacted an acquaintance at the education committee through a colleague at the Bureau.
The acquaintance's progress was astonishing.
Application submitted yesterday, notification to prepare evaluation materials today.
It caught Bernie completely off guard.
Little Sullivan's academic records were still in transit.
April 12th. Early morning.
In the White House, President Jack slept soundly, wife and child close.
Across America, countless people—like President Jack—lay in sweet dreams, holding wives and children.
Theodore was not among them.
He'd gone to bed early yesterday afternoon, and even advised Bernie to do the same.
Bernie had refused.
1:20 AM.
Theodore was already awake, standing by the window, looking out.
Washington was overcast tonight, with light rain falling in a steady drizzle.
The weather left him vaguely disappointed.
He returned to bed, switched on the radio, and adjusted the channel.
Static crackled, followed by voices broadcasting something an FBI agent probably shouldn't be hearing.
At that exact moment, the North American Aerospace Defense Command's Clear Radar Station in Alaska detected an abnormal rocket trajectory from the Baikonur Cosmodrome.
The radar station immediately reported to the CIA duty center, labeling it "suspected major space operation."
Ten minutes later, the National Security Advisor was jerked awake by a CIA phone call. He immediately dialed President Jack's bedroom.
"Mr. President, we have highly credible signals that the Soviet Union just launched some kind of space vehicle. Possibly manned."
President Jack sat up in bed, face ashen.
He wanted to rage but swallowed it.
He hung up, dressed, left the bedroom, and convened his staff.
2:10 AM.
Moscow's TASS news agency issued an official announcement to the world: Yuri Gagarin had successfully entered orbit.
The East Coast was still buried in deep night. Most media outlets hadn't reacted yet.
Theodore heard it on the radio.
The announcer's voice rang with excitement and joy, infectious in its triumph.
He listened silently for a moment, then switched off the radio and dialed 4132 Q Street.
Theodore waited less than a minute before the line picked up.
Hoover's voice came through. "Theodore. What is it?"
Theodore repeated the news he'd heard on the radio.
Silence on the other end.
After about ten seconds, Hoover spoke again. "Understood."
"You and The Irishman. Report to headquarters immediately."
The line went dead.
Theodore set down the phone and walked into Bernie's bedroom.
The moment he entered and took two steps, a dark figure launched from the bed and charged straight at him.
Theodore retreated fast, dodging the flying quilt, then ducked under a punch.
Bernie, who'd rushed forward, stopped his attack mid-swing. His voice was thick with confusion. "Theodore?"
He checked the time, bewilderment deepening.
Not even two o'clock yet.
Theodore nodded at him. Get dressed. Overtime.
Bernie took two steps back, eyeing Theodore with suspicion.
His brain kicked into high gear. Every wild story he'd read in last night's Star News flooded back, aliens, consciousness replacement, mind control, demonic possession—
Theodore glanced at the time. "Seven minutes ago, the Soviet Union launched a manned spacecraft. First manned space flight in history."
Bernie's eyes widened.
For some reason, the Star News article about aliens popped back into his head.
After a moment, Bernie muttered "fuck" under his breath and stumbled into the bedroom to get dressed.
America's Project Mercury had sent the chimpanzee Ham on a suborbital test flight back in January. The planned first manned flight in March had been postponed due to "technical issues."
NASA's "technical issues" remained unresolved. Meanwhile, the other side had already put a man in orbit.
In the current geopolitical order, the first manned space flight wasn't just a technological victory; it was an ideological hammer blow.
For the FBI, this was a genuine crisis.
This time, Bernie didn't fight Theodore for the car keys.
If not now, when?
4132 Q Street, Washington, D.C.
Hoover set down the phone and looked back at Tolson.
Not far away, Tolson was still on his own call.
Telephone receivers in this era had poor sound quality; anything said over the line could be heard clearly by anyone else in the room. Less than a minute after Theodore's call came in, Tolson received a report from another agent.
Both talked about the same thing.
Hoover nodded at Tolson, then turned toward the bedroom. "Notify Alex Rosen and the others. Gather at headquarters."
Tolson moved the phone away and covered the mouthpiece. "Don't we need to notify the White House?"
Hoover's voice came from the bedroom. "No need."
Tolson said nothing more. He ended his call quickly and dialed Ms. Gandy's number to relay Hoover's instructions.
Hoover didn't notify the White House. Didn't contact Congress. Didn't inform the Department of Justice Building or request an action order from the Chief Justice.
He didn't even summon the full roster of Bureau agents, ordering all FBI personnel to cancel leave and stand by.
In fact, he only summoned a handful of high-ranking officials, people like Alex Rosen.
Hoover's orders were discreet. Primary goal: verify the accuracy and authenticity of the information. Core objective: prevent potential security threats.
Under these parameters, most FBI agents stayed asleep. Only a small portion—National Security Division personnel and unnamed agents not on any official roster—were activated for covert operations.
They began round-the-clock surveillance on hundreds of targets, including NASA contractors and the Soviet Embassy.
Dozens of aerospace experts' files were pulled and re-examined.
More than a dozen universities made the investigation list.
The FBI had initiated deployment and planning for a series of major operations, but it remained silent. A shadow moving in darkness.
They seemed to be acting only internally, completely ignoring the outside world.
Under this ambiguous posture, at 3 AM, the Associated Press released the first English flash bulletin:
"Moscow announces the Soviet Union sent a spaceman into Earth orbit and he returned safely."
United Press International followed immediately:
"Man's first entry into space, Soviet spaceman Yuri Gagarin completes orbital flight."
CBS reacted instantly. The radio host interrupted regular programming for an emergency bulletin:
"We've received urgent news: The Soviet Union claims to have sent a human into space—"
Media outlets across the nation began reacting, one after another.
The news world erupted.
Countless reporters were dragged awake by their editors, barely dressed, scrambling to the White House to await interviews.
With an event this massive, the White House would have to hold a press conference.
Washington's entire upper echelon was already in chaos.
NASA headquarters had fallen into collective shock.
They couldn't believe it was real.
After recovering, engineers began re-evaluating the Mercury program timetable.
The NASA Director, still bleary-eyed, rushed into his office to draft a request for additional budget.
The Department of Defense convened a secret meeting immediately to assess Soviet rocket delivery capability and threat level. They unanimously approved accelerating preliminary feasibility studies for the Apollo Program, pushing for a moon landing as a strategic goal.
One by one, important figures and minor players were awakened. Meetings convened in different departments. Phone calls crisscrossed the city.
Only ordinary people remained asleep, oblivious.
At five in the morning, the sky began to lighten.
Rain hadn't stopped.
Pennsylvania Avenue was already bustling with traffic.
Theodore and Bernie had arrived at the Department of Justice Building before two-thirty and had been waiting ever since. No one assigned them tasks. No one questioned them.
They seemed to have been forgotten.
Bernie was already snoring, slumped over his desk.
Theodore was engrossed in a newly arrived psychology journal.
Upstairs, in the Director's office.
The lighting was dim. Deputy Director Tolson hunched over his desk, drafting an action plan.
The plan proposed expanding the FBI's surveillance scope, adopting a "monitor first, apply later" model to surveil a broader range of suspicious individuals in response to the Soviet Union's successful manned space flight.
This action plan would later be submitted to Attorney General Robert.
Director Hoover occupied another desk, sifting through intelligence summaries from various sources.
He'd just set down the last document and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
Ms. Gandy came in to report that Agent Blake had returned.
Hoover put his glasses back on. "Send him in."
A moment later, Agent Blake appeared before him, expression serious.
As soon as Theodore and Bernie arrived at headquarters, Hoover had Tolson dispatch someone to inspect Theodore's apartment.
He'd brought Theodore and Bernie to headquarters not because he had a task for them, but simply to get them out of the way during the inspection.
Agent Blake was the person Tolson had found.
Blake meticulously reported the inspection results.
No listening devices found.
No suspicious letters found.
No suspicious individuals found.
Hoover was not satisfied with this result.
He firmly believed someone was targeting Theodore.
Otherwise, how could Theodore know about the Soviet Union's successful manned space flight earlier than his own professional intelligence network?
There had to be a problem.
Someone was targeting Theodore. Which meant they were targeting him.
Hoover sat in thought, already sifting through suspects.
This kind of matter didn't require concrete evidence. Only suspicion.
First and foremost: Attorney General Robert and his brother, pretty-boy President Jack.
Last time, it had been these two idiotic brothers trying to target Theodore.
He'd transferred Theodore back to Washington, and they'd quieted down for a while. Now they were stirring up trouble again.
Hoover locked onto his targets quickly.
He was annoyed by the brothers' disregard for the bigger picture.
During this period of international tension, he'd set aside his prejudices and chosen to cooperate.
He'd thought they were doing the same.
Turned out they were only outwardly compliant, secretly making trouble behind his back.
Hoover called Ms. Gandy and instructed her to send a gift to the Kennedy brothers.
The gift contained evidence of collusion between the two brothers and the Chicago mob.
During the election, they'd promised to commute the sentence of an ally to a high-ranking Chicago gang member in exchange for union election support.
A week ago, that ally had been released from prison.
Ms. Gandy—like the most rigid nun—listened carefully to Hoover's orders, calmly accepted them, and went out to prepare.
Tolson looked up twice, then re-immersed himself in the plan.
He knew exactly what Hoover was thinking.
Still, he doubted this had anything to do with the Kennedy brothers.
He had no intention of voicing that opinion.
Given his understanding of Hoover's temper, saying anything would be pointless.
Hoover appeared in Robert Kennedy's office with the plan Tolson had drafted and personally handed it over.
Tolson had thoughtfully provided a summary on the first page outlining the plan's contents.
After reading the summary, Robert looked at Hoover. His expression became extremely colorful.
He suspected Hoover had lost his mind.
This wasn't an action plan.
This was a bill.
Once passed, the FBI would have carte blanche to act at will. Surveil anyone they wanted, wiretap anyone they wanted, without explaining themselves to anyone.
Never mind that he'd always been at odds with Hoover, even if they were allies, this bill could never pass.
Hoover looked at Robert calmly, speaking with measured eloquence. "Mr. Attorney General, we received the tip at 2:10 AM. We couldn't reach you."
"Without your authorization, we couldn't begin any work."
"Six hours have passed since we received that tip. The only thing we could do was repeatedly confirm the information's authenticity."
"In those six hours, we could have monitored suspicious targets and caught the mole who leaked classified technology."
"But because we couldn't get authorization—couldn't reach you—we couldn't do anything. We could only watch helplessly as the mole destroyed evidence."
He paused, then offered an example. "Our agents found an incompletely destroyed document in the embassy's trash. It confirmed a mole had indeed leaked classified information."
He pushed the plan further into Robert's hands. "If we had this authority, we wouldn't be so passive."
Hoover pointed toward the window. "Mr. Attorney General, you should put down your books. Step out of the White House. Step out of your office."
"Go into the streets. Take a good look and listen to what the people are saying."
"This is not child's play."
Robert's face turned green, then purple as Hoover spoke. At the same time, inexplicable confusion washed over him.
Hadn't their cooperation been going well? Why the sudden hostility?
Robert almost felt wronged.
Hoover didn't care if Robert felt wronged.
He watched Robert's expression change with cold satisfaction, then reminded him that he should go to Congress for additional budget.
The FBI reported to the Department of Justice. Robert was nominally Hoover's superior. Theoretically, the FBI's budget needed to be presented by Robert to Congress for approval.
Hoover would write the budget proposal and submit it to the Attorney General, who would then submit it to the Congressional Budget Committee for review.
This process was usually just a formality.
As long as the FBI's budget request had valid reasoning, it got approved.
Now that such a major event had occurred, all parties would certainly resubmit budget requests with increased amounts. The FBI couldn't afford to fall behind.
Robert's expression grew even uglier.
He looked at the plan Hoover had submitted and really wanted to throw it in Hoover's face.
But he held back.
He thought of the envelope he'd received that morning.
Robert pointed to the door. "Get out."
Hoover stood, gave a slight nod, and walked out of the office.
Before the door fully closed, a bang erupted from inside.
Something had been thrown against the door.
Ten in the morning.
President Jack personally held a press conference and issued a statement:
"America congratulates the Soviet Union on its achievements in manned spaceflight, which opens a new chapter for humanity's exploration of the universe."
The statement deliberately downplayed competition, demonstrating the bearing of a great nation.
The media didn't appreciate that bearing.
A reporter immediately asked, "Have we fallen behind?"
President Jack remained silent for a moment, then answered evasively. "They achieved this feat using a larger rocket engine. But we will catch up."
[End of Chapter]