Prologue (57 page)

“Disassemble it,” she barked. “Then let’s get out of here.”

Natasha picked up her policeman’s cap, shoved her hair into a ball, and jammed the cap back on before turning and hurriedly striding to a green Nash parked a few feet from the bottom of the embankment.

DeVere hesitated, the rifle in his hands. Natasha grabbed the handle to the driver’s side door before again turning back to deVere. She stood there, looking him straight in the eyes. Paul deVere tightened his grip on the rifle’s metal stock. He could shoot her. He could try to wound her. He could kill her. He could level the rifle and hold her until the police arrived.

He did none of those things. He took a deep breath and lowered the rifle. He walked over to the Nash. Natasha nodded and ducked in the driver’s side. He yanked open the passenger door, got inside, and slammed the door shut. The Nash was already running and Natasha gunned the accelerator with a roar.

“I don’t have much experience disassembling a rifle,” he said dumbly.

Natasha ground the car into first gear and let the clutch out quickly. The car lurched forward with a squeal and almost stalled.

“I know,” she said. “Hang on.”

DeVere grabbed hold of the door handle. As the car rocked toward the exit he turned and watched a dust cloud rise behind them.

“Rear wheel drive,” he said dully. “You tossed me the rifle to get my trust, didn’t you?”

Instead of answering Natasha gunned the Nash across the parking lot past two men who stared open-mouthed. They see us and the car, deVere thought.

“And should I trust you?” he asked.

Natasha smiled thinly as she guided the car across the twisting parking lot behind the Depository and out onto
Houston Street
. “I could have killed you as you came up the hill and still made my shot.
Plenty of bullets, a silencer on the rifle, no one else around.
No one would have seen your body until after the motorcade had passed.”

DeVere sat, gripping the door handle. He still found it difficult getting used to no seatbelts. The car swayed with each turn.

“Why didn’t you?” he asked.

“If you can’t break it down, put it in the back seat,” she said.

“What? Oh.” DeVere turned and laid the rifle across the back seat.

“Cover it with the blanket,” she ordered.

Natasha removed her policeman’s cap and tossed it on top of the rifle just as deVere pulled a woolen
Hudson Bay
blanket over it.

“Did you get the shot off?” he asked.

“I did,” she answered.

“Did you get him?”

She just turned and looked at him.

“Why?” deVere asked.

“Because your plan had failed.
Kennedy can’t be allowed to pull out of
Vietnam
this Sunday. And now he won’t,” she said simply.

DeVere ignored the switch in verb tense, a pattern he had found himself using since his arrival. He nodded dumbly.

“I thought you were someone else,” he said.

“As you can see, I’m not.”

“It wasn’t Collinson or Pomeroy. You were the Russian asking about recent defectors.”

Natasha nodded.

“You followed us back to
New Hampshire
,” deVere said. “It was never them.”

Natasha didn’t answer. She reached the main street and slowed the Nash. A police cruiser sped past in the opposite direction, its siren wailing and bubble light flashing. DeVere turned and watched it head toward
Dealey
Plaza
. Natasha furtively followed it in her mirror.

“How?” deVere asked. “And why?”

“You weren’t going to convince Kennedy to invade
Cuba
, or stay in
Southeast Asia
. He had to be stopped. I told
Rostov
to bring the rifle with him to the lab. It’s a Dragunov SVD-S.
The best.
He even carried it up the stairs.”

She laughed derisively when she saw deVere’s confused expression. “He couldn’t exactly leave it in the cab now, could he? When he went in to the lab I crossed over the ceiling to your precious Accelechron you had so thoughtfully turned on for me. I had the pack with the Dragunov. I jumped in ahead of you by a couple of minutes and came back through the wormhole landing in the park with the cannons. I grabbed the pack and ran. Some children hollered at me but I cut through the woods. I hid the rifle in the brush and followed you to the hotel and tracked you from there,” she added as she downshifted and braked at a downtown red light.

Paul grimaced and turned away. “
Rostov
. That was the other Russian at the lab?”

Natasha nodded. “Igor Rostov.”

“And then you followed Ginter to
Mexico City
?” he asked.

Natasha took her eyes off the intersection and turned to deVere.

“I know nothing about
Mexico City
,” she said.

“Then how did you know Ginter came to
Dallas
?”

The light turned green and Natasha started forward at a normal speed.

“I didn’t,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road. “I came to
Dallas
on my own. Although I should have figured that Ginter would develop a plan to stop Oswald. He’s been fixated on him and Guevara from the beginning.”

Natasha slowly maneuvered the Nash out of the city. An occasional police siren wailed in the distance. He thought better than to ask where they were heading.

“Why did you come to
Dallas
?” he asked.

“For the same reason as Ginter.
But with a different intent.
Rostov
told me what day he’d be arriving in
Boston
. I knew what wormhole would be open that day. The first thing
Rostov
would do would
be to hack into Professor Hutch’s home computer. Remember, I am actually qualified for my internship.” She laughed again.

“This was Kennedy’s last top down motorcade before November 24,” she said.
“This last chance to get him.
Your original plan would never have worked. Professor Hutch has the brains but you needed Ginter. Ginter has the military training but not the historical perspective. I should have figured he’d go for Oswald, though,” she added thoughtfully.

“How did you find Ginter in
Dallas
?”

“Purely by chance.”
Natasha guided the Nash onto a highway and shifted the car into fourth gear. She swung into the outer lane and accelerated quickly, heading north.

“I needed a cover in
Dallas
, so I contacted the Russian community to tell them I had defected and my husband had died and I was alone. That’s how I found out about Oswald. I recognized the name of course, but knew he was supposed to be in
Cuba
. When I heard that he wasn’t, I figured that Ginter was involved. What I didn’t understand is why he just didn’t kill Oswald outright.”

“Did you know what was planned?”

“Not until I smoked him out.”

“What?”

“Smoked him out.
I mentioned to the Russians that Oswald was supposed to be in
Cuba
hoping that would get back to Ginter. I also mentioned something about President John Lindsay and everyone looked at me and I made a big deal out of it hoping that some of that would also get back to Oswald and then to Ginter. And I guess something did. They met and I tailed Oswald to their meeting and then tailed Ginter back to his apartment.”

“Lewis thought it was your Igor fellow.”

“He did?”

“Oswald only mentioned a Russian émigré. And the detail about
Cuba
.”

“And Ginter assumed it was a male?” Natasha scoffed.
“Of course.
Sexist pig.”

The pair traveled in silence, past the suburbs, and north through the
Texas
fall. DeVere would have turned on the car radio, but the Nash didn’t have one.

He turned to Natasha. “Are you sure?”

She nodded glumly. “In the morning we will get a newspaper but I am quite sure. That was my training at Valdavosk.
Sniper.
I had a clear shot. Right front head shot. I saw you coming but knew I had time.”

“What will happen to Oswald now?”

Natasha shrugged. “What was he supposed to do?”

“Miss.
The gun was supposed to blow up.”

Natasha laughed derisively. “And blame it on the Soviets because Oswald had once been there?
Stupid plan.
What did Ginter do, rig the cartridges?”

“Something
like
that.”

Natasha shook her head. “I would think in a day or two he’ll get arrested. Or maybe shot during arrest. Three days at most and they’ll have him behind bars.”