Prologue (51 page)

“What did he say?” Paul asked anxiously.

“He wants us to come to
Texas
.”

“
Texas
? Why?”

Amanda lifted both arms and dropped them. “He’s still trying to run an op with some Russian defector. He wouldn’t say much. But he’s planning something in
Texas
that involves the President and he needs our help.”

“Kennedy?” deVere asked. “Does he have a way to see Kennedy?”

Amanda shrugged. “I don’t know. He said stuff has happened and his whole plan has fallen apart and he needs us there.”

“When?” deVere asked.

Amanda consulted the itinerary in her hand and shook her head. “He said next week. Kennedy’s only trip to
Texas
before next February is a political trip to
Fort Worth
and
Dallas
on the 22
^nd
. He was, eh, is, trying to shore up political support. He and his Vice-President will visit the two cities in a one-day visit. He’ll motorcade in and out, give a speech at the Trade Mart in
Dallas
, and be back in
Washington
by night.”

DeVere grabbed a calendar off the desk. “The 22
^nd
is on a Friday,” he said, turning back to Amanda. “That’s only two days before the meeting.”

Amanda nodded. “That’s next week. I have no idea why Lewis needs us there now.

“By the way,” she asked, “what was your call?”

“What? Oh.” He told her about the calls from Thurmond and
Salisbury
. Sitting on the edge of Paul’s bed, Amanda listened intently.

“Well, Thurmond’s out,” she said. “But Salinger, that’s a real possibility. He could get us in to see Kennedy.”

“But what are we going to tell him?” Paul asked. “He’ll have the same reaction as Thurmond and
Salisbury
.”

Maybe,” Amanda mused. She snatched the calendar from Paul’s hand. “If we see Salinger on the 18
^th
we can still get to
Dallas
on Tuesday.”

She stood up and began pacing. She consulted the itinerary again. “Lewis said he’d call back tomorrow. We’ll tell him we’re seeing Salinger on the 18
^th
and we’ll get a plane to
Dallas
the next day.”

“Will the 19
^th
be too late?” deVere asked. “If Kennedy is going to meet with his advisors on the 24
^th
. . .”

“Maybe,” Amanda answered pensively.
“Maybe not.
Maybe his decision on the 24
^th
won’t be the final one this time.”

When Pierre Salinger finished his remarks the audience broke out in polite applause. A tall, thin man in his mid-forties wearing a tuxedo and horn-rimmed glasses stepped to the podium.

“Please join us in the next room for refreshments,” he announced.

Amanda was already out of her seat and edging forward. Salinger shook the hand of one of his hosts and was turning toward the hors d’oeuvre table when Amanda reached out with her arm.

“Mr. Salinger,” she gushed. “That was a great talk.”

Pierre Salinger turned. Upon seeing Dr. Hutch he broke into a broad smile.

“Thank you,
Mrs.
. .?” he asked.

Amanda let go of his arm and extended her right hand. Pierre Salinger shook it.

“Hutch, Dr. Amanda Hutch.
From MIT.
And this is Dr. Paul deVere,” she said, indicating her companion.

“I know this is unorthodox but we wanted to talk to you for one minute about President Kennedy’s meeting this Sunday,” she continued.

“Meeting?”
Salinger asked cautiously, his brow furrowing.

“Yes,” Hutch continued glibly. “We understand the President is going to meet with his advisors this Sunday and that the issue of keeping troops in
Vietnam
will be decided, eh, discussed,” she added, flashing a smile. “You see, I’m a history professor and I’d like the President to know how dangerous pulling out of
Vietnam
will be.”

All traces of a smile disappeared from Salinger’s face. His features hardened and he looked over Hutch’s shoulder at deVere who stood impassively.

“I’m sorry,” Salinger said, turning to look at her squarely. “What did you say your name was again?”

“Hutch,” she said pleasantly. “Dr. Amanda Hutch.”

“From MIT?”
Salinger asked.

Hutch nodded.

“Well, Dr. Hutch, the topics of presidential meetings
are
not something I discuss in public. What makes you think that there is one this Sunday? I mean, Sunday, of all days, and that the agenda includes the topic you mentioned?”

The others had moved off toward the food table. DeVere could see Harrison Salisbury hovering about ten feet behind Salinger.

“I’m a history professor, Mr. Salinger,” Amanda answered unflinchingly. “This is my field of study.”

“It’s not history yet, is it?” Salinger asked with a bland smile, and turned to go.

For the second time Amanda reached out and grabbed Pierre Salinger’s arm.

“Mr. Salinger, President Kennedy can not be allowed to pull out of
Vietnam
,” she whispered urgently. “This country is six days away from making the biggest mistake in its history, and President Kennedy must understand that.”

Salinger’s face turned to cold fury. He firmly removed Amanda’s grip from his arm and placed it at her side.

“With all due respect, Dr. Hutch, the President will keep his own counsel on his decisions. Thank you.” With that, Salinger turned and walked away.

Amanda wheeled and faced Paul. There was a tear in her eye.

“Forget about it,” he soothed. “Maybe history is just that.
History.
Maybe nothing can be changed.”

“That can’t be true!” she hissed.

Amanda reached over and grabbed her coat off the chair. “It can be done. I know it.” She pushed toward the rear door. “C’mon, we’ve got a plane to catch.”

Chapter 26

“Please deposit 65 cents.”

Pamela Rhodes picked the coins off the shelf and dropped them into the pay phone. After a brief silence, she heard ringing at the other end.

“Good morning.
Waldorf Astoria
,
New York
. How may I help you?”

Pamela shifted the receiver to her right hand. “Yes, could you please connect me to the room of Dr. Paul deVere?” she asked.

There was a pause before the voice answered, “I’m sorry, Dr.
deVere
is not in. He left the hotel this morning.”

Pamela frowned. “Could you connect me to the room of Dr. Amanda Hutch, please?” she asked.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. Dr. Hutch and Dr.
deVere
both checked out this morning.”

“Checked out?” Pamela asked. She swore to herself.

From the other end Pamela detected a muffled conversation. The original voice returned.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I misspoke. Dr.
deVere
and Dr. Hutch did not check out. They both left this morning with their suitcases and indicated that they would be back in a few days.”

“Did they say where they were going? I’m a friend of theirs and I really need to reach them,” she added desperately.

“I’m sorry. They didn’t say where they were going or when they’d be back. We are, of course, holding their rooms,” the clerk added in a haughty tone. “Is there a message I can take for either of them?”

“No, no thank you,” Pamela said dejectedly. “I’ll try them later.”

She hung up and stood holding the receiver before slamming it down on its cradle. Where had they gone?
And why?
She had been hoping that deVere or Hutch would know what was going on and give her some guidance. There was no one else to turn to, no one who could provide her direction.

She shoved her change purse into her pocketbook and slung the bag over her shoulder. She felt so alone. She’d just have to wing it.

Paul deVere hoisted both suitcases and carried them through the Love Field concourse. How long before they start putting wheels on these things?
he
wondered. He pushed through the crowd.

At the far side he turned and searched for Amanda. She was not by the exit. He began to turn away when she emerged from a newsstand, a newspaper under her arm.

“Taxis are out here,” he called, and pushed his way outside. In the fresh air, a skycap hailed a cab. DeVere gave the driver the address for the downtown Holiday Inn while the skycap put their bags in the trunk. When they were settled in the rear seat deVere waved his hand back and forth in front of his face.

“I can’t believe that they let you smoke like that on the plane,” he groused.

“Hey, tough, it’s the times,” Amanda said, looking out the window. “You know what they say, when in
Rome
...”