The following morning, Mac arrived at the office early, ready for whatever Mr. Dulles had in store for him. In fact, his excitement was the only thing that could have made him put the thoughts of Sara to the back of his mind. He had his coffee black, looked at the morning papers on Mrs. Appleton's desk, and he gazed out of the office window wondering if it was too early to call Sara. As he lit up a Lucky Strike, he decided he would call her after his meeting.
To appear conscientious, and because he was a bit anxious about meeting the soon to be District Attorney, Mac took the elevator up to the twenty-eighth-floor office of his mentor ten minutes early. He found Mrs. Schlipp was already busy at her desk, on the telephone.
“Good morning, Mrs. Schlipp. I am a little early,” Mac whispered, as she was hanging up the telephone.
“They are already at it, Mr. Martin. I will buzz in that you are here.”
Mrs. Schlipp pressed down the intercom announcing his arrival. Mac heard Mr. Dulles tell her to give them a minute.
“You may have a seat, Mr. Martin. Mr. Dulles will be with you shortly.”
Mac took a seat on the floral print, damask sofa to the right of Mrs. Schlipp's desk. He was impressed that the Wilton carpet in Mr. Dulles office was carried out through Mrs. Schlipp's area, something he had never noticed before. The yellow carpet with little white flowers went beautifully with the dark furniture in both rooms.
Mac picked up the Wall Street Journal sitting on the mahogany coffee table and started reading the article about the President's Cash-Carry talk that he had already started down at his office. The article discussed the Senate consternation with the way Roosevelt was siding with the British without involving Congress. It was going to generate huge protest and debate on the Senate floor, it was predicted, and yet, Roosevelt claimed to be within his power as President to interact with foreign countries, without asking for permission of the Senate. Various members of the Senate were concerned that the actions of the President would involve the Country in a war that no one in America wanted. But, the article went on, the President was confident that his fellow Americans, in the end, would accept his “doing the right thing.”
Brilliant, thought Mac. The man is good.
The intercom buzzed, and Mac could hear Mr. Dulles tell Mrs. Schlipp to send him in. Mac stood up, without being formally invited; he walked to the closed office door, opened it with a knock, and walked into the office. At his desk was Dulles, drinking coffee from white bone china, while a gentleman in a grey stripped, Brooks Brothers suit sat facing the august lawyer, his back to Mac as he walked into the room.
“This is Mr. Hogan, Mac. He is our District Attorney to be, as you undoubtedly know. We will be discussing that matter of national security I had mentioned to you last week.”
“Good morning, Sir,” Mac said to the gentlemen who had now risen to shake his hand. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Good morning, Mr. Martin. Mr. Dulles has told me a lot of good things about you. It is a pleasure to meet you. I understand you speak fluent Italian?” questioned Hogan, immediately cutting to the chase.
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“Good, we will need your help with something.”
“Are you familiar with the Brooklyn Navy Yard, Mac?” asked Dulles.
“Yes sir, I know where it is, obviously. I have a view of it from my office if I crane my neck a bit.”
The two older gentlemen chuckled, Hogan clearly already charmed by the young, outgoing lawyer.
Mac was aware of the Brooklyn Navy Yard, as he had read about it in the newspapers when the USS North Carolina, a towering battleship, had been launched, only a month or two before. It comprised almost 400 acres of land, along with 72 acres of water, on the edge of Wallabout Bay, between the Manhattan Bridge and the Brooklyn Bridge, directly across the East River from Downtown Manhattan. Besides providing port facilities, and provisions for the fleet, and constructing and repairing naval vessels, the Navy Yard itself was responsible for the manufacture of many of the necessities for outfitting ships. In fact, the Brooklyn Navy Yard manufactured many items, from flags to turbine blocks.
“Well, the New York Harbor, which includes the Navy Yard is basically run by the Mafia, which controls the Unions,” continued Dulles, drawing out the “a” as non-Italians often did. “It seems that the Union's membership, and its leadership, is predominantly Italian American. They are not being particularly cooperative. They’re not thrilled with the idea of sending munitions and foodstuff to the English and the Russians, who are both presently in a conflict with their home country. The workers are not only making malingering an art form, but they are also actually telling the Italians, and thus the Germans, when and where shipments are being sent, and what each ship contains. There are spies everywhere, Mac. The dock workers open their mouths, and the Germans are using their U-boats to blow the convoys out of the water.”
“Not very patriotic,” responded Mac.
“Well, in all fairness, we are not at war with Italy or Germany, so we cannot really say they are being unpatriotic. It is just that we must get them to stop doing it, and to start being more diligent in getting these ships packed and on their way.”
“Where do I come in, sir?” asked Mac. “Do you want me to talk to the Union leadership, and try to get them to understand the situation?”
“No,” said Hogan, smiling at the young man's naiveté. “We have tried that. These guys are very arrogant, not particularly cooperative, and quite frankly, a little scary. I have gone down to talk to the leadership myself, and they just basically ignored me.”
“So, what is it you want from me?”
“Well, Mac, Mr. Hogan has an idea that might just work,” said Dulles. “He wants to try to use Charlie Luciano to convince the longshoremen that they should do the right thing. Mr. Luciano apparently still has tremendous influence over the Longshoremen Union. We need to get him to see the advantages in getting involved. That is where you come in. Do you know of Lucky Luciano, Mac?”
“Yes, sir, of course I know who he is. Isn’t Mr. Luciano in jail? Why would he help?”
“He is doing a 30-to-50-year term for prostitution, but we all know he was sentenced for his reputation more than anything. I went there myself to talk to him, up at Dannemora,” said Hogan. “He saw me but pretended that he did not speak English very well, and that he could not understand what I wanted.”
“Oh, so you want me to go up there to translate?” said Mac.
“Actually, I was hoping you could use your smarts and charm to help us get him to do it,” said Dulles. “He needs to be massaged, if you know what I mean. He is playing with us or looking to get something for his cooperation. Can’t blame him, really. He is stuck up there, away from everything, particularly far from his fellow felons.”
“Would I be going alone? Why would he listen to me?”
“Well, I will be there with you,” said Hogan. “I will be offering him some sweeteners. He hopefully will want to listen to you. He is not averse to the comforts he is not getting in prison. He calls the place Siberia, so we hear. He is just a few miles from Canada, for God's sake. He will want his sentence to be commuted, but that cannot happen. We’ll just give him some comforts, for now, anyway. We will see how cooperative he can be.”
“When are we going to do this?” asked Mac.
“Sometime this week,” indicated Dulles. “I must contact his lawyer, Moses Polakoff, and make the arrangements. Luciano does not talk to anyone without his lawyer being present. The guy just sits in the corner reading a newspaper, pretending he is not listening, but Luciano feels more comfortable having him there. We don’t care, if we get him talking. It's enough already! That trip is a killer, like eight hours, each way. I will try to get you both a flight to Plattsburg, which is just a short drive to Dannemora. That will make it more bearable. Get yourself as familiar as you can get with the Navy Yard, Mac, and you and Mr. Hogan will go together. I will leave it to the two of you to work out the details, with Mrs. Schlipp.”
“Yes, sir; I will be glad to help. I know a lot about the Navy Yard already, but I will bone up on it.
“Thank you, Martin,” said Hogan. I will work with Mrs. Schlipp, and I will have her call your secretary with the details. I will see you soon.”
Mac stood up, taking what Hogan had said as a cue that he should now leave the office. He shook Hogan's hand, and nodded to his mentor, Mr. Dulles.
“Thank you for coming up, Mac,” said Dulles. “This is a favor to me, and to your Country, one that I will not forget.”
“Yes, sir. I would do anything for my Country,” said Mac, as he opened the door to leave the room. “And for you, of course, Mr. Dulles,” Mac said chuckling as he realized his faux pas.
Mac went back to his office, where he called Sara. He knew he could not tell her what he was asked to do, both due to security, and due to her would-be concern. He tried both her office and her home, but there was no answer at either place.