Prologue (48 page)

Ginter pushed her back toward the bed. She reached back with her left hand and felt for the mattress. When she touched it, she dropped down while holding his kiss. She kicked her feet out on the bed and lay back. Already he was working on her blouse. She knew she had to say something, it was awkward, it was never a good time,
she
didn’t want to stop, but still...

She pushed him away gently. He sat back, bewildered.

“Lewis, I, I’m not on the pill back here. My prescription is back in 2026.”

His mouth curled into a smile and he reached back and removed his wallet from his back pants pocket. He held it up in front of her.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she laughed. She put her hand to her mouth. “When did you get them?”

“
Cambridge
,” he said. “And don’t
worry,
we’ve got a long ways to go before we worry about the expiration date.”

Paul and Amanda walked into the
Senate
Office
Building
and took the elevator straight to Senator Strom Thurmond’s office without passing through metal detectors or security checks. At every turn he expected someone to stop him, but no one did. They walked into the Senator’s reception area without an appointment and were greeted by a woman behind the desk who smiled. Behind her a door stood partially open into what Paul surmised was the Senator’s private office.

When the receptionist inquired as to their business, Amanda handed her a sealed plain white business envelope with no writing on it. “Please tell the Senator that Dr. Hutch and Dr.
deVere
are here from MIT and would like to speak with him briefly.”

The woman frowned, took the envelope, and turned it over in her hand before disappearing through the rear doorway. His heart pounding, Paul sat next to Amanda on an overstuffed couch. The woman returned and said icily, “The Senator will be with you shortly.”

Paul had stomach knots. Each time the door to the hallway opened Paul expected a trail of police to tumble in and arrest them. Twice, messengers dropped off paperwork to the receptionist who gave them the same bland smile she had offered Paul and Amanda.

Amanda appeared calm and collected. Whenever the hallway door opened, she looked straight ahead while Paul cast panic stricken looks around the room.

The phone on the receptionist’s desk buzzed. After listening for a few seconds, the receptionist informed them that the Senator would see them. She led them to the door but did not announce them. Rather, she merely closed the door behind them, leaving them alone in a large room with deep blue walls covered with photographs. A man sat behind an immense desk. He neither stood to greet them nor introduced himself.

Paul estimated him to be about 60. He spoke with an unmistakable drawl.

“I’m not accustomed to getting notes like this from unscheduled guests and I want to know the meaning,” he said.

Despite the words, the man spoke without hostility. In his hand he held the white envelope that had now been slit open across the top. The single sheet that had been inside was not in view on the desk.

Amanda sat in one of two chairs opposite the desk. She looked at the one next to her and Paul took it. He had barely settled in when she began.

“Senator, do not believe for one moment that we are here to do you harm. We are American patriots in every sense of the world. I am Dr. Amanda Hutch, and this is Dr. Paul deVere. We are both associated with MIT, although if you check, you won’t find us currently listed on the faculty list.”

The Senator placed the envelope on the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. He put his hands together in front of him with his fingertips touching, and carefully studied his visitors.

“What makes you think that anything in this letter of yours is true?” he asked cautiously.

“Senator,” Amanda answered, “that letter talks about something that happened a long, long time ago. You were what, maybe 22 years old? The girl was a domestic servant in your parents’ house, just a teenager.”

Amanda shrugged. “How we know doesn’t matter. It’s true. You know it. We know it. We have proof of it. And you don’t want it coming out. We are willing to make sure that it doesn’t.”

“You want something,” the Senator said. “What is it?”

Amanda leaned forward. “We don’t want anything for ourselves. We know about that,”-she nodded at the envelope-“and we know about other things too. What we want from you will help this country. We want you to get us in to see President Kennedy-alone.”

The Senator started. “The President?” he asked. “You want to get in to see The President?” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me why, even if I could do such a thing, why? You can’t kill
him,
you’ll be checked by the Secret Service. Are you going to try and use something on him too?” he asked with the faint crease of a smile.

“Please believe me when I say we are patriots,” Amanda reiterated.

The Senator waved one hand. “So is every other radical. Why do you want to see him?”

“Senator,” Amanda continued, “
this
country is threatened. There are foreign forces that want to take over this nation and reduce its power. They want to take our resources: oil, coal, steel. They’ll divide us up into a bunch of competing regions, set us against one another based on our religion or geography, and leave us weak and exploitable.”

The Senator nodded. “The Communists,” he said.

“What you used to call Communism,” Paul said, leaning forward. “But it’s more than that. It’s the East against the
West,
it’s their way of life versus ours.”

“Used to?” the Senator asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “What do you mean, ‘used to?”

Amanda shot Paul a malevolent look. He sat back and resolved to keep quiet. He’d let her handle this.

“What Dr.
deVere
means is that it is more than that. Yes, our way of life is threatened. Senator, in just over a month President Kennedy will decide to pull out of
Vietnam
, a huge mistake. We want the opportunity to speak with him, to convince him not to make that mistake.”

“You say that we should increase our military support to
Saigon
?” Thurmond drawled. “There are two sides to that young lady. I know a little bit about war and dying. I was at
Normandy
. I am as concerned about Communism as you are, but war is not always the way.
And not always successful.

“Besides,” he continued, “the President may or may not be making a final decision on this in the next few months. I’m not privy to that, and you sure are not either. And even if he is thinking of pulling out, why are you sure that you’re more right than the advice he’s getting from his advisors who have a lot more information than you or I?”

It was Amanda’s turn to lean forward, and when she spoke the force of her delivery startled Paul.

“Senator, Paul deVere is an astrophysicist at MIT.
One of the best.
He and anyone else who have ever taught with him will tell you that there are an infinite number of permutations in the universe.
A million things that can happen.
Some are good. Some are bad. But one of the realities is that the President of the
United States
will decide next month to pull out of
Vietnam
. And as sure as we are of that,”-Amanda pointed at the envelope on the desk-“we are sure that pulling out is the wrong decision. We need to talk to him.”

The Senator nodded. “I suppose I should ask you how you know what the President will do next month, and how you know about
that
.”

Amanda reached down and lifted her pocketbook to her lap. She opened it and extracted a copy of the itinerary that she had received in the mail from Ginter.

“Senator, this is a copy of President Kennedy’s daily log. It contains a summary of where he goes, how he gets there, and who he meets with and when, for each day from now through the end of 1964.”

Keeping her eyes on the Senator, Amanda opened the sheaf of papers and faced them toward him.

“On
Monday, January 20, 1964
he will travel to
Iowa
and meet with party leaders in
Des Moines
. He’ll arrive on Air Force One at
10:45 a.m.
and will head home at
4:50
.”

She flipped to another page. “Next June 17 he will begin a one week vacation on
Cape Cod
. He will meet with Dean Rusk, Robert McNamara, and his brother Bobby. All will be there at one point or another. He will devise his strategy for the fall election. In November he will narrowly defeat Barry Goldwater.”

When the Senator said nothing she turned the sheaf toward her and flipped back a few pages. She found what she was looking for and turned it back to him. “And here, on
Sunday, November 24, 1963
the President will meet with a circle of his closest advisors at a morning meeting at the White House. The topic will be
Vietnam
and after the meeting he will decide to pull out. By the end of 1964 the Communists will have overrun
Saigon
and control all of
Vietnam
.”

She gently placed the sheaf on the desk next to the envelope. “We are as certain of what is on those papers as we are of what was in that envelope.”

Senator Thurmond sat back in his chair and tilted his head forward. He picked up the plain white envelope and turned it over in his hand. He pointed it at Amanda.

“MIT, did you say?” he asked.

Hutch and deVere both nodded.

“O.K., so you’re not here for personal gain,” the Senator said. “Even if you’re correct about all this, how can I get you in to see the President? I’m not that powerful. Presidential meetings are few and far between, and are usually initiated by the White House. I can’t just pick up the phone and set up an appointment for a constituent.”

He chuckled. “Even assuming you were that.”

“You can try,” Amanda insisted softly. “You know how important this is to us. If you don’t try-”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. To heck with this letter here and what it all says. I will make some calls. But not because of that damn letter. I will try my best; you have my word on it. But I can’t guarantee you anything.”

Amanda stood up. Paul followed suit.

“Dr
deVere
and myself are staying at the Waldorf in
New York City
,” Amanda said. “We are there under our own names. I’ll leave our names and the phone number with your secretary.”

This time Strom Thurmond extended his hand to them both. “I wish you
both sincere luck,
” he said carefully, “in whatever it is you’re trying to do.

“And,” he added, nodding at the itinerary, “why don’t you take that bunch of papers with you? I really don’t want a copy.”

Without a word Amanda turned, grabbed the sheaf from the desk, and shoved it into her pocketbook.

Chapter 24

“Are you sure no one has been tailing you?”

A waitress brought two coffees and set them on the diner table. Oswald waited until she had left.

“Of course not.
I know what I’m doing.”

Ginter didn’t respond. It was difficult to hold his temper in the face of Oswald’s conceit.

Keep your eyes on the ball, Ginter reminded himself. It had been rather easy convincing Oswald to return to
Dallas
. His pregnant wife, Marina, was living in nearby
Irving
, and Oswald wanted to be with her.

Ginter had instructed Oswald to live normally, and not tell anyone, including
Marina
, of his new role. Ginter would be his sole contact, but the two would meet sparingly. Oswald accepted the conditions without protest.

The Soviet histories had portrayed Oswald as a brilliant strategist and intellectual party ideologue, a man ahead of his time. Even in Ginter’s anti-Soviet military training Oswald had come across as a generally capable, if not spectacular, military tactician. The blunder that had saved Guevara had been the only hint of incompetence.

On the first day back from
Mexico City
, Ginter had asked Oswald not to contact
Marina
, and to register at a YMCA to minimize his visibility. Oswald had registered as an active duty serviceman to avoid paying the fifty-cent registration fee. Ginter was furious. Registering as a serviceman invited conversation about his service, and risked exposure. This could lead to embarrassing questions. Oswald now had over six thousand dollars, supposedly from the Cuban Government, and he was trying to save fifty cents.

Ginter visited Oswald frequently at the Y, and advised him carefully on how to act. He told Oswald not to stay long in any one place. From the YMCA, Oswald had moved to a boarding house in the Oak Cliff section of
Dallas
, at
621 Marsalis Street
. He warned Oswald to avoid political talk with anyone, including his wife.

“You are just trying to find a job to support your family,” Ginter said to him in his feigned Spanish accent as he loaded his coffee with two creams and a sugar.