The Strivers' Row Spy Read Online Free

them. And if I turned the assignment down, if indeed that was what my role was to be, there would be some other colored graduate willing to infiltrate Du Bois’s world—someone lacking my loyalty and respect for the scholar—someone willing to destroy him for the right amount of money.
    â€œNo, Mr. Palmer,” he said into the phone, “that entire outfit has been turned over to Kirkland. But I can put it back in the hands of Fennison if you feel that Kirkland could be better utilized in Santa Fe.”
    Having heard Hoover call Du Bois “dangerous” felt like a call to arms. I could, especially as a covert agent, protect him and his integration agenda from his enemies, including the government. Du Bois surviving would ensure a better America for my unborn children. And if protecting him meant I needed to get inside the beast—the impenetrable beast that had played a role throughout American history in influencing the destiny of our nation—I needed to do it. This relatively new Bureau was part of the innards of that beast.
    â€œYou have my word on it, sir,” continued Hoover.
    I began to envision the potential spy mission as a sacrifice for Du Bois that only someone with my unique pedigree, intelligence, and beliefs would be able to make. I was also confident that I could outsmart this Mr. Hoover, especially considering we were roughly the same age. Perhaps my biggest flaw was that I’d always believed I could outsmart everyone around me.
    He hung up the telephone. “Sidney, the Bureau has never hired a colored agent. Earlier today I interviewed a man by the name of James Wormley Jones, a soldier. Was stationed in France. I may hire him. Do you have any clue as to why I would even consider hiring him as the first-ever colored agent since the inception of our Bureau?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œLoyalty.”
    â€œI see.”
    â€œThe Bureau of Investigation wants men who care about what’s in the best interest of America first. Jones obviously understands this—he was willing to die in a war. And I am quite certain that you, in your eagerness to enlist back in 1917, were willing to die as well. I can only imagine the pride these men must feel today as each returns to a hero’s welcome across the country. I didn’t fight in the war. I was already employed at the Justice Department at a very young age and was exempt from the draft. I regret that.
    â€œFighting in a war,” he continued, “and surviving it, allows a man to brush aside the kinds of regrets a typical man becomes entangled in throughout life—regrets about trivial failures and whatnot. A willingness to die for this nation is the ultimate badge of honor. And I’ve examined the details of your life enough to believe that you possess such a badge.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Hoover.”
    He began jotting something down. The man had mentioned my willingness to die, and he was right. I’d do so for Du Bois. And had I gone off to war, I certainly would have made a good soldier. I would have tried to show the same bravery that American soldiers from past wars had. Men like General George Washington.
    The image of him leading America into battle on horseback was imprinted in my mind, had been ever since I was six years old and Momma had read a story to me about Washington at Valley Forge, then about his exploits throughout the rest of the Revolutionary War. The image resonated with me. I had been fascinated by him ever since.
    â€œYou love America, don’t you?” he asked, looking up from his writing.
    â€œVery much.”
    Hoover cleared his throat and suddenly took on an even more serious demeanor.
    â€œTwo months ago you were quoted in, of all things, an issue of your college newspaper, saying that you believed Marcus Garvey was, quote, ‘undermining the American Negro agenda.’ I actually have a copy of the paper right here.”
    He picked it up from