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“Did you hear about Frank?” Nate asked as Ben poured himself a cup of coffee from the snack cart. He asked it like he would ask about the upcoming weather forecast and if Ben believed the meteorologist or not.
People talked about the weather because it was the safest topic ever stumbled upon in conversation. You couldn’t offend someone with a weather opinion. No fist fights were ever started over rain nor were relationships ended because someone liked windy days. It also led to other safer topics, like vacations or activities one had planned and how the weather would affect them. Weather itself might cause deaths or have a hand in them (icy roads and car crashes, struck by lightning) but talking about weather was the safest, least controversial subject in existence.
Asking about Frank was anything but. There was only one acceptable response to allegations of homosexuality, let alone proof of it.
Ben said nothing while he added cream and sugar. He kept quiet as he took a sip and stirred his coffee. “Damn shame,” he finally said. “But not a surprise.”
Nate felt oddly comforted by Ben’s decision to go that route in the discussion. He didn’t come out right and condemn Frank – but neither did he mention McCarthy and his cronies. He also avoided giving a real emotional response. No fear, no loathing, no concern – just not a surprise. As if they were discussing a twist in the latest case or novel.
“You read the file on Townsend?” Ben asked and just like that, they were on an entirely different topic. Just like that, they were back to work.
In the car, watching Townsend go about his day, Nate turned down the music. Ben swatted his hand away and turned the music back up, “I like that song,” he remarked, not taking his eyes off their target for a second. Nate grabbed the folder and flipped through the papers. “You think this guy actually is a red?”
Ben scoffed. “Doubt it, I asked Anna to get us pay stubs for his employees. But look in the store – guy working the register? Inexpensive clothes. Our guy? Did you see his shoes? Suede – perfectly clean and the expensive kind. The most communist thing this guy’s ever done is paint the town red.”
Nate grabbed the binoculars and held them up to his eyes to get a look at the man’s shoes. Sure enough, they were exactly as Ben described. Nate himself had a pair of suede shoes, but he’d never found reason to wear them. Cleaning them would take more effort than he felt he had after the occasions he might wear them. And so they remained in their box in his closet.
“This is asinine,” Ben grumbled into his coffee dregs. “We’re wasting manpower checking for communists. If they are communists, there’s nothing in the Constitution that says they can’t be. That you have to have some kind of political predisposition towards capitalism and all that, so why aren’t we spending our times tracking down real, credible threats to America?”
“Because we’re counterespionage. We’re looking at Russian and communist ways in, commie sympathizers are ways for them to interfere with us.”
Again, Ben scoffed. “They’re red herrings, and I mean that with the pun too. The best cover for a spy, the best target for a spy, is one who doesn’t stick out.”
Nate rolled up the papers and thwacked his partner with them, a grin on his face. “Careful, you work for the FBI not the CIA. Quit thinkin’ like an analyst.”
In retaliation, Ben rolled down his window and poured Nate’s root beer out onto the pavement.
Anna Strong delivered a collection of papers to them when they returned to the office. She outlined the contents: copies of paychecks going back five years, other banking papers specifically relating to Townsend, and a few more banking papers for his family. Nate divided the contents and grabbed his pen.
“Your dentist called to remind you of your appointment,” Anna handed Ben the note with the details. Nate asked her if she had any messages for him. “Of course, Mr. Hale. As soon as someone calls you.” Nate laughed and she left.
Ben began to gather his things, handing the papers back to Nate. “Sorry to leave you with the paperwork –“
“Your teeth had better sparkle,” Nate grumbled, yanking the documents back. Ben laughed and left.
Three hours into making notes, Anna approached him with a drink. “Mr. Tallmadge said this was to make up for the one he threw out.” Nate sniffed it. Root beer.
Ben had lied to the FBI. Or rather, he’d lied to his coworkers. To his boss, he’d merely said he needed some personal time to take care of a few things. Arnold cared not for paperwork, so he’d just referred Ben to his secretary, Miss Shippen. Rumor had it that Miss Shippen would soon be Mrs. Arnold but Ben had seen the way she’d eyed an attorney, Mr. Andre, who stopped by often. Miss Shippen cared very little about your reasons for not being in work if you didn’t make a habit of it. For those who often called in sick or didn’t show up for work without an excuse, she convinced Arnold to fire them or relocate them to other departments with lower pay. Miss Shippen was not a woman Ben intended to cross.
But he regretted lying to his coworkers. He regretted lying to Nate, a man he was sure he could trust. But he wouldn’t tell anyone what he was doing at the FBI building or on FBI time.
Anna Strong knew where he was going. As one of his best friends, he’d already talked to her about it.
Ben sat down at the diner and ordered some coffee. He took out a newspaper and began to read while he waited. The waitress returned with his coffee. Ben drank, read, and waited. He people watched a bit, looking at the other patrons. Halfway through his coffee, one of the patrons got up from a table and walked over to sit at Ben’s table. “Mr. Benjamin Tallmadge? Nathaniel Sackett,” he extended a hand and Ben shook it.
Mr. Nathaniel Sackett was a short, stocky man with reddish brown curls, and thick horn rimmed glasses.
“Had I known you were already here, I would have gone to your table,” Ben apologized as he folded and put away the newspaper.
Sackett chuckled. “No need for apologies, no need. I wanted to observe you without pretenses. I find potential applicants cloying in their falsehoods – trying to prove they’re the best, the most qualified, most adept. And once they get in, they promptly drop the pretense and we’ve learned just what a mistake we’ve made.” He signaled the waitress and requested a refill on his milkshake. She asked Ben if he wanted a refill on his coffee. Ben shook his head and requested a glass of water.
“So what did you learn from observing me?”
Sackett shook his head. “Not important for you to know.” Ben resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. He kept his face as blank as possible and then realized that was exactly why Sackett had observed him beforehand. Ben was now on alert, trying to be the perfect candidate, even if this was an unofficial meeting. But it was now too late to give him that look. “Tell me, Tallmadge, why do you wish to quit the FBI?”
Ben sighed. “I want to quit because I don’t believe what I’m doing is…right. It’s not what I signed up for and it’s not what I think America needs. I want to serve my country – I want justice. This is a branch of the Justice Department and yet…we seem to serve Hoover’s whims and his paranoia.”
“Paranoia?”
Ben leaned forward. “I’ve heard Purvis was shuffled away because Hoover was jealous of him. And my boss? Benedict Arnold? I’m in counterespionage and instead of hunting down real leads, he wants us to find communists. What spy would be stupid enough to declare themselves such? In this environment, it would be like turning on a neon sign. My current case has me investigating the owner of a grocery store because there was a flyer for a book club intending to read The Communist Manifesto and discuss it.”
“And you believe that because it is so obvious it’s not worthy of note?”
“Am I to start investigations into college students reading Das Kapital because they’re economics students?” Ben countered angrily.
The waitress placed Sackett’s milkshake in front of him and Ben’s water next to his almost empty coffee mug. She offered to take it, so Ben gulped down the remnants. When she left, Sackett raised the point, “Purvis was over ten years ago. Do you have anything more recent?”
“I’m not here to spy on Hoover for you.” Ben snapped.
“No, indeed not. I don’t need you to spy on Hoover for me. I’m not interested in Mr. Hoover, merely hoping you’ve based your grievances on things that happened closer to your service than when you were a child.”
“COINTELPRO,” Ben cited.
Sackett said nothing and Ben wondered if Sackett knew anything about the program.
“Very well, you have your reasons. I’ve looked over your record. A Yale graduate, very impressive.” He went over Ben’s record and as the meeting progressed, Ben came to respect Sackett. The man might be unorthodox, but his questions struck Ben as logical. They went over his major, his extracurricular activities (drama, hockey, debate), his favorite books, his goals for his career.
At the end, Ben brought up Anna. “My secretary – well, she isn’t my secretary, she’s all of our secretary, really. You understand, if you don’t recommend me after this…you should look at her. Her name is Anna Strong and she’s far more capable than what she’s given.”
Sackett considered this. “I’ll be in touch, Mr. Tallmadge. It’s been a privilege.”
Ben hurried into work the next morning with profuse apologies. “There was an accident,” he said as an explanation for his lateness.
“Yeah, I know. I send your parents condolence cards on your birthday,” Nate quipped. It took Ben a few moments to get the joke and then he scowled at his partner. The scowl quickly faded and they laughed. Nate pulled out the papers he’d worked on the other day and went over them with Ben.
As Ben leaned down to study Nate’s notes, Nate was reminded of Thomas Paine’s line, “These are the times that try men’s souls.” Paine had written that line about the difficulties of the Revolution but Nate was willing to bet that had Paine seen Benjamin Tallmadge, he would have written the line in reference to the sheer temptation that existed when standing in close proximity to the man.
This close, Nate could identify Ben’s aftershave as Old Spice. He could see a few scars from shaving and the lightest freckles on Ben’s nose. He could see the darker flecks of blue in Ben’s pinup poster baby blue eyes. He longed to brush a strand of Ben’s hair back into place, but of course the man’s hair was just fine. He wanted to lean against Ben, to touch him.
Nate scooted away and Ben apologized. He took the papers over to his desk and continued through the notes. While he did that, Nate read through the newspaper. Ben finished reading. “Nothing of note on Townsend.”
“No, and I know you and Arnold think this is a bad idea, but the only way we may close this case might be interviewing the workers. Find out who put up the –“ Ben opened his mouth and Nate held up a hand to stop Ben from speaking. “I know, I know. We don’t want to tip them off, but I don’t see how we can solve this any other way.”
Ben said nothing. Nate thought about mentioning that otherwise, they’d just continue to waste taxpayer dollars on what seemed to be a hopeless pursuit. They could either keep working as they had been until they were finally pulled off the job (who knew how long that would take) or they could just end it with a bang.
“Let’s go,” Ben agreed.
They gathered their things and went to requisition a car. They drove down to the store, parked, and headed in. Almost as soon as they were inside, a young black woman greeted them and offered any assistance they needed. They pulled out their badges and introduced themselves. She frowned in confusion. Then she confessed she didn’t quite know what to do now. Did they want to speak with someone in particular or should she get her manager? The manager would be lovely, they told her and she escorted them to the break room where they could wait.
The break room was just like every other break room Nate had ever seen. Bleak, boring. A table - with a few chairs with some scuffs and rips in the upholstery, suggesting they’d seen better days - sat in the middle of the room. There was a bulletin board with several flyers posted. On the far side of the room was a counter with a coffee pot, some cups, an assortment of sugar and cream and other coffee accoutrements.
A man about the same age as the employee entered and introduced himself as Robert Townsend, manager. Nate recognized the name and therefore understood the reasoning for why Robert was the manager. He was Mr. Townsend’s son.
“Mr. Townsend, this is….” Ben started. Then he looked at Nate searchingly.
Nate realized he didn’t quite know how to approach this either.
“We’re here about a flyer,” Nate admitted. He felt less like a law enforcement official and more like he was trying to buy condoms and the cashier was looking at him, but Nate couldn’t tell if he was thinking “who’s the lucky lady?” or “there’s no way you’re going to use these.”
Mr. Townsend blinked. “A flyer is official FBI business?”
“It was a flyer advertising a reading discussion mail chain about The Communist Manifesto. Mr. Townsend, are you or any of your employees members of the Communist party?”
“Have either of you read The Communist Manifesto?” Townsend countered.
“No,” Nate admitted while Ben confessed that he had. Nate looked at him, shocked. Ben shrugged dismissively.
“Most people I met have not either,” Townsend explained. “And I think that’s a problem. So I posted the flyer with the intentions to actually learn what Marx proposed. So that we could have an actual conversation about what it is everyone’s so afraid of. Now tell me, is a book club a crime?”
They were silent.
“Is it a crime to explore other political theories?”
Again, they were silent.
"Then is there anything else I can do for you gentlemen?”
They said nothing for the ride back. They parked but neither of them got out of the car. Instead they sat there, Ben chewed on his thumbnail, and Nate looked around. “So….” He said, and his voice sounded like the screech of an owl inside the Oval Office it was so out of place. “Do we turn him in?”
Ben stopped chewing on his nail to slam his fist into his thigh. “Goddamn it. No.”
“So how do we clo-“ Nate started to ask. Ben got out midsentence and slammed the car door. Quickly, Nate followed him as Ben strode into the building, practically took the steps two at a time, and still marched over to Arnold’s office.
“Is he in a meeting?” Ben asked Peggy.
“No, go on in, Mr. Tallmadge,” Peggy smiled warmly at him and Nate had the impression Peggy would smile even if a tornado went through the office.
Ben entered the office and announced to Benedict Arnold, “I quit.”
Ben answered the door and let Nate in later that night. He offered Nate a beer and Nate accepted even though he didn’t actually want it. He watched Ben get the beer out of the fridge, all the while fighting the words that surged inside him. He wanted to scream at Ben, to demand why but he already knew why.
They went into Ben’s living room and sat down. This was the first time Nate had been in the living room. Most often, he waited in the kitchen or the entryway while Ben grabbed whatever he’d forgotten or needed. He noted that Ben didn’t have a TV.
Like in the car, they sat in silence. Ben opened his beer but Nate didn’t touch his. Ben took a drink and after a second sip, he asked Nate if the beer was the wrong brand. Nate opened the can and took a drink. He didn’t taste it. Then he set the can on the coffee table. Ben sighed and placed his can on the table as well. “You didn’t come here to chat, did you?”
“No.”
Again, Ben sighed. “Well, let’s hear it.”
Nate exploded. He jumped to his feet and snapped, “How could you?! I know you’ve wanted to leave but to just – without warning?! And why? Why just quit? Why not put out feelers for jobs –“
“I have,” Ben admitted.
“WHAT?” Nate yelped. “Why didn’t you tell me?! I’m the one who will have to break in a new partner – I’m the one left behind! I’ll have to explain to everyone –“
Ben rose as well. “You would rather me enslave myself in a job I cannot abide so you will be spared the awkward frustrations of getting a new partner?”
“No!”
“I hate this job, Nate. I hate what we’re doing! I hate that we have to go and investigate people for looking at other political theories! I hate that Frank lost his job because he loves another man. Is this fair? Do you think this is at all acceptable for a law enforcement? To be in someone’s private business? To be the…the – to put laws on people’s thoughts and explorations? Because if so, then – then – turn me in as a communist! Because some of their ideas are good! Go on, Nate! Turn me in!”
Ben got right up in Nate’s space as he yelled. Nate didn’t think, didn’t plan, he just grabbed Ben and kissed him.
Under his hands, he could feel Ben tense.
He let go of Ben and ended the kiss. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I’m sorry, please don’t –“
“I should have quit sooner,” Ben whispered.
“What?” Nate couldn’t believe his ears. Not only did Ben not sound horrified or affronted, he sounded…actually, Nate couldn’t tell how Ben sounded, but it wasn’t a bad sound.
“I said I should have quit sooner.”
“Is…I don’t – I don’t know what you mean.”
“I mean I’ve wanted to kiss you for a long time and now you kissed me.”
Nate was speechless. He frantically tried to think of what to say, how to say what he was thinking –
But then Ben cupped the back of Nate’s neck and pulled Nate close to kiss him.
And Nate was glad he hadn’t spoken.