Prologue (49 page)

“I don’t need the money,” Oswald snarled. “And I am ready to act now. The Directorate should know that.”

“I know you’re good, Lee,” Ginter said in a kinder tone, “but it is important to maintain the cover.”

Ginter glanced casually around the diner before leaning closer. “Take that job at the depository.
Havana
says it is imperative.”

Oswald looked insulted. “I’m ready now to help the cause. That’s just a crap job.”

“You ready to order?” The waitress had returned.

“Just coffee, thank you,” Ginter said. The waitress threw him a disgusted look and stomped away. Ginter pretended not to notice.

“You must have patience,” Ginter continued in a low, flat voice. “We need you working in
Dealey
Plaza
all next month.”

Oswald grunted. “Why? I could kill
Walker
now. Next week he’s having another one of his rallies. There could be three thousand people there.”

“Forget
Walker
!” Ginter hissed. “The Directorate has bigger things in mind.”

Ginter lowered his voice even further. “There are those in the American Government who are sympathetic to our cause, and ready to act. They are arranging a certain event. We need you and your sharpshooter skills there,” he added with a knowing nod.

“
Walker
?” Oswald asked.

“This is bigger.
Much bigger than
Walker
.
You will be the hero of the century.”

Oswald accepted the accolade without reaction.

“If I’m going to shoot someone,” he said
, “
I’ll need a better rifle than the Mannlicher.
Maybe a Mauser.”

Ginter shook his head forcefully. “No, no. The Mannlicher is perfect.
Six point five millimeter?
Perfect.”

“But with a Mauser . . .”

“Forget the Mauser. The Directorate wants you to use the Mannlicher.”

Oswald hesitated. “Sometimes I miss with the Mannlicher,” he pouted. “It’s not my fault. The sight is off and it’s not accurate over one hundred yards.”

“Believe me, we’ve got it all figured out. The Mannlicher will be perfect for our purposes.”

“So you want me to accept the job at the Texas School Depository?”

Ginter nodded and sipped his coffee.

On Monday morning, November 4, 1963 Lewis Ginter walked down
North Beckley Street
in
Dallas
’ Oak Cliff neighborhood. As he passed the boarding house at 1026 he noticed that a second floor window, third from the doorway, had been left open and a book placed on the windowsill. Oswald needed to speak with him. But when Ginter joined him early that evening for a walk, he was unprepared for the latter’s agitation.

“The FBI has been around?” Ginter repeated. He thrust his hands deep into his pants and trudged on.

“Agent Hosty,” Oswald said. “He was out at the house asking
Marina
a bunch of questions last Friday. She told me when I got there.”

Ginter nodded absently. Despite Ginter’s protest, Oswald had insisted on returning to
Marina
on weekends. Ginter was uncomfortable with the arrangement. It meant he had no contact with Oswald for three days and he feared that Oswald would talk.

But now he was more than uncomfortable. He had no idea who Hosty was, or even if there were an FBI agent by that name. Since deterring Oswald from the
Mexico City
defection he was operating in virgin history.

“How’d he communicate with
Marina
?” Ginter finally asked. “Did this Hosty speak Russian?”

Oswald shook his head. “No, Ruth Paine translated.”

“The Russian language student?”
Ginter asked. “Is
Marina
still living with her and her husband?”

Oswald nodded.

“What did this Hosty want, did he say?” Ginter asked.

“Harassment.”
Oswald curled his lip and spat on the roadway.

“Harassment about what?”
Ginter asked blandly.

“The usual.
He wanted to know about my attempt to defect to
Cuba
.”

Ginter stopped and turned to his companion. Oswald also paused and the two men stared at each other.

“How’d he know about
Cuba
?” Ginter asked, keeping his voice even.

Oswald shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Ginter turned and resumed walking at what he hoped was a nonchalant pace.

“No one else knows about
Mexico City
, do they?” Ginter asked casually.

“I didn’t tell anyone.”

“It may be nothing,” Ginter said with voiced confidence. “The CIA must have our Embassy in
Mexico City
under surveillance. Your visit was reported back to
Washington
. Perhaps the FBI is doing a routine check. I’ll have to report this breach of security to my superiors.”

“If they know about me they probably know about you,” Oswald said.

Ginter nodded and swallowed. “It’s possible,” he said.

The pair walked on in silence. Ginter’s stomach was churning. If the CIA had also picked up Ginter at the Embassy they might approach Oswald or his wife with questions. What would happen then?

“Did Hosty come back?” Ginter asked.

Oswald shook his head. “Not over the weekend.”

“Call your wife every night,” Ginter advised quietly. “Ask her every night if Hosty returns. Would she tell you if he did?”

Oswald nodded.

“Tell her to find out what he wants,” Ginter said. “He may be trying to compromise me. Someone may approach you and try to give you disinformation about me. If they do, don’t be fooled. They may have bugs planted in our Embassy.”

“If they do they’re wasting them,” Oswald sneered.

The pair had come to a worn city park covered in weeds. In the gathering dust a group of boys were playing football. Ginter estimated their average age at about ten.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Some CIA agent posing as a Russian émigré was asking about me in Ruth’s class.”

Ginter was confused.
“Russian émigré?
What do you mean?”

“This weekend when I was visiting
Marina
some guy from one of Ruth’s classes told me there was a newly arrived Russian asking about other Russians in the
Dallas
area. Did he know of any other Russians who were political?
Wanted to meet them.”

“So?” Ginter asked, unconcerned as he watched a kid take a pitch-out and promptly fumble it to the other team.

“Ah c’mon, Billy,” his teammates heckled as the fumbler slowly picked himself up.

“Well, the guy said that this new Russian was told about
Marina
and said, ‘Oh, her. Yes, I know all about her. Her husband’s in
Cuba
.”

Ginter didn’t take his eyes off the football field. The boys picked themselves up and resumed playing. The other team began marching down the field with a succession of running plays. As Ginter kept his eyes riveted on them, he found that his hands had tightened on the top bar of the chain link fence in front of him. He could feel the extended strand of chain link digging into his palms.

“This new Russian,” Ginter said evenly, “did anyone say what he looked like?”

Oswald snorted. “He probably wasn’t even a Russian. He was probably FBI following me. The thing about meeting other Russians was just a way to get to
Marina
.”

“Could be,” Ginter answered. “But why would anyone think you were in
Cuba
? Wouldn’t the FBI know you hadn’t gone to
Cuba
? Isn’t that why Hosty is snooping around?”

“That’s why the capitalists will fail,” Oswald sneered. “The right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing.
Too much bureaucracy.”

“The fellow who met this Russian, did he say what he looked like?” Ginter asked before remembering that he had already asked the same question. Keep it together, Lewis.

“No, just said it was a Russian who had arrived within the last few months.”

I’ll bet he arrived within the last few months, Ginter thought. He toyed with the idea of approaching the classmate, but rejected it as too risky.

“If he mentions this Russian fellow again let me know. And if you see him ask him what this Russian looks like. Is he tall, short, bald, heavyset or whatever? I know a lot of Russians and I just might know who he is. And keep on
Marina
about Hosty. I want to know what he’s after.”