Prologue (43 page)

“So tell me, if you’re from the future, who will win the World Series this fall?”
Salisbury
asked mischievously.

“Dodgers,” Paul answered immediately.
“In four.”

“Sweep the Yanks?”
Salisbury
scoffed. “There is no way.”

“Way. Sandy Koufax will be Series’ MVP.
Cards in ‘64, Dodgers again in ‘65 over the Twins in seven, Orioles in ’66 over the Dodgers in four.
Sweep. Write it all down.”

“He’s a baseball fan,” Amanda offered helpfully.

“So I see,”
Salisbury
said dryly.

“And my Mets,”
Salisbury
continued suddenly. “When will they ever win more than they lose?”

“Not until 1969 when they’ll win the World Series. They will go from next to last place in 1968 to winning the World Series in 1969.”

Salisbury
laughed out loud.
“World Series?
This decade?”
He chuckled again. “There’ll be a man on the moon first.

“Look, you two seem nice enough,”
Salisbury
continued. “Your story is entertaining. When you walked up here I was afraid it was about
Birmingham
and you were southern reactionaries.
The Klan or something.

“But, I don’t believe one word of your story,”
Salisbury
continued.
“As you probably know.

“Say, wait a minute,”
Salisbury
said, his face brightening. “Now I get it. Did Joe Spinelli put you two guys up to this? He did, didn’t he?
That rascal.”
Salisbury
began laughing again.

Paul straightened up. “Amanda, it’s time to go.”

Hutch wasn’t ready to give up. She leaned forward and jabbed her finger on the table.

“What we said is true. This country is in danger.”

Salisbury
stood up off the table. “Look, if the Mets win the ‘69 Series, I’ll believe you. Come back then.”

“It’ll be too late then,” deVere said flatly. “
Cuba
is already plotting Central American adventures. By the end of this year, the
United States
will have decided to pull out of
Southeast Asia
. If you won’t listen to us, at least keep your eyes and mind open.”

Salisbury
nodded, picked up his briefcase, and took a step toward the front of the chapel. He turned back briefly.

“I will do that . . . Dr.
deVere
. Thank you both for coming.”

“You don’t have to run out, Mr. Salisbury,” Paul said. “We’re leaving.”

With a nod to Amanda he turned and strode out the rear doors to the
Syracuse
University
quad, Amanda right behind him. As the wooden doors swung shut behind them deVere heard
Salisbury
laughing softly and muttering, “The Mets in ‘69.”

“I told you,” Amanda hissed as they walked down the steps, “that he’d never believe us.”

“
You
told
me
?” he asked incredulously. He stopped and looked at her.

“I now realize,” deVere sighed, turning and continuing his descent, “that it wouldn’t have mattered who I married.”

Chapter 21

Lewis Ginter stepped into the phone booth and closed the louvered door. He dumped his pile of change onto the shelf, lifted the receiver, inserted a dime, and dialed zero. When the machine returned his coin, Lewis added it to the pile.

It had been over a month since he had left Paul and Amanda in
Manchester
and he had yet to contact them. It should be about
8:00 a.m.
in
New York
, and if they were at the Waldorf, contact should be easy.
If they weren’t there...

Lewis almost held his breath as he asked the desk clerk to connect him to Paul deVere’s room. The pause at the other end was maddening but Lewis sighed in relief when the phone began ringing. At least he’s registered there, he thought.

After eight rings, the desk clerk came back on and asked if he wished to leave a message.

He hesitated before asking, “Could you connect me to Amanda Hutch’s room please?”

After a pause the phone began ringing again. He was about to hang up when he heard her voice at the other end.

“Hello?” she said.

He sucked in his breath. “Amanda?”

“Lewis?” Her voice was crackly.

“It’s me. Where’s Paul?” he asked.

“He’s out getting the papers. We read them every morning. Lewis, where the hell have you been? Are you O.K.? Is Pamela with you?”

“I’m fine. Pamela is fine.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

He hesitated. He wished he had reached Paul. “Down south,” he said.
“Near
Dallas
.”

“
Texas
?” she asked.

“Yeah,
Dallas
,
Texas
.”

“Is Pamela still with you?” she asked.

“In a way,” he answered.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Hey, you’re the history professor,” Ginter countered. “I’m staying in a colored motel. And I don’t mean the wall decor. Pamela is staying in one for white people a few miles away. We communicate by telephone and my motel doesn’t have a phone in the room, just cockroaches.”

There was a long pause. “I’m sorry,” Amanda said. She sounded genuinely apologetic. “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry, I have been.”

Lewis looked through the booth’s windows at the surrounding parking lot and scanned the cars coming and going.
Nothing suspicious.

“Have you seen our friends?” Ginter asked, annoyed at how stilted this conversation was sounding.

“Friends?”

“Collinson or Pomeroy?
Anyone seem not right at the hotel?
Anyone following you?
Anything not feeling right?”

“Neither one of us has seen anything that seems out of the ordinary, whatever that means,” Amanda said. “But you know, Lewis, neither one of us would know if someone was tailing us, we don’t have that kind of training.
How about you?”

For a moment Lewis questioned his decision in leaving Paul and Amanda
on their own
. Maybe he should have risked circling back for them. If someone else were back here, they were sitting ducks. But whoever came back apparently didn’t want to harm them, at least not yet.

“I haven’t seen any sign of anyone, or anything suspicious.”

He told her about his efforts in
New Orleans
to discover whether Collinson or Pomeroy had been in contact with the anti-Castro faction.

“Anti-Castro?” Amanda asked. “What does that have to do with anything? I don’t remember them amounting to anything after the
Bay of Pigs
. And why were you in
New Orleans
?”

“Just a hunch,” he lied. “The anti-Castro thing is the biggest Cuban angle happening right now. And that’s in
Louisiana
. There was some sort of paramilitary camp for anti-Castro Cubans right outside of
New Orleans
that the feds raided a few weeks ago.”

Amanda seemed uninterested. “Lewis, even we weren’t planning on coming back here in 1963 so why would someone else have done that?”

The same thought had been bothering him. It all made no sense. He tried to change the subject, more from embarrassment than anything else.

“So, what are you working on?”

Amanda talked about their unsuccessful approach to Harrison Salisbury and their letter writing campaign.

“I really can’t blame him, can you?” Ginter asked. “I mean, what would you have said a year ago if someone had come up to you with this story?”

“We have another plan,” Amanda said. Ginter could sense the hesitation in her voice.

“Which is?” he demanded.

“We’re going to try to get in to see the President.”

“How?” he asked. “Even back then, I mean back now, security isn’t going to let you do that.”

“Paul and I are going to get Senator Thurmond to get us in to see the President.”

“Why would he do that?” Ginter asked.