"Better read it, Commodore," his assistant told Dotty.

Dotty looked up, annoyed at the tone of fiat in his assistant's voice, but picked up the note. It was handprinted in block letters. It read:

"In protest at the harassment of athletes from South Africa and Rhodesia around the world, the United States Olympic Team will be destroyed. This is no idle threat."

The note was signed "S.A.A.E." and under that was printed "Southern Africans for Athletic Equality."

"Shall we take it seriously?" the assistant asked.

30

"How the hell should I know?" Dotty said. "I can't be bothered with this stuff. There's a swimmer in Sierra Leone and I know he's stealing commercial money. We have to protect our amateurs from him."

The aide wanted to say that he doubted the Sierra Leone's swimmer's graft would pollute the Olympic swimming pools, but contented himself instead with pointing out that perhaps American athletes should be protected against this threat from the S.A.A.E.

"Have you ever heard of this group before?" Dotty asked.

"No, Commodore."

"Neither have I. Dammit, why do people have to do things like this?"

His assistant didn't answer and finally Dotty said, "Forward it to the FBI by special messenger."

"The president too?" the assistant asked.

"Of course," Dotty said. "The White House too. Let them worry about it. I've got important things on my mind. Go ahead. Send them off."

When Ms assistant left the room, Commodore R. Watson Dotty, who had been awarded his military title by a yacht club in landlocked Plainfield, New Jersey, slammed his fist down on the desk.

Let it be a crank.

"Be nice if it was a crank," the director of the FBI said.

"We can't take that chance though, can we, sir?" asked the director of Special Operations.