That Sweet Little Old Lady

In 1914, it was enemy aliens.In 1930, it was Wobblies.In 1957, it was fellow travelers.And, in 1971...."They could be anywhere," Andrew J. Burris said, with an expressionwhich bordered on exasperated horror. "They could be all around us.Heaven only knows."He pushed his chair back from his desk and stood up--a chunky little manwith bright blue eyes and large hands. He paced to the window and lookedout at Washington, and then he came back to the desk. A persistentoffice rumor held that he had become head of the FBI purely because hehappened to have an initial _J_ in his name, but in his case the _J_stood for Jeremiah. And, at the moment, his tone expressed all thehopelessness of that Old Testament prophet's lamentations."We're helpless," he said, looking at the young man with the crisp brownhair who was sitting across the desk. "That's what it is, we'rehelpless."Kenneth Malone tried to look dependable. "Just tell me what to do," hesaid."You're a good agent, Kenneth," Burris said. "You're