by Len Melvin
Christina groaned and glanced at the clock again and then at the bed. She held up ten fingers. “Okay, ten minutes. But that’s it. Let me get a water first.”
“Okay.” Simon turned the computer screen so that they both could view it.
Christina unscrewed the cap on the bottle of water. “But turn off the Zapruder film, please. It’s too much.”
Simon clicked off the video and sat back in the chair. “I’ll give you the short version. From the time I became a Secret Service agent, way before I met you, I studied assassinations. I thought it would help me be a better agent, but I was also just mesmerized by the whole thing. That a single action by a lone individual could so influence history and either lead to power or, if a failure, would probably mean death. Even if successful, you could be killed. Look at John Wilkes Booth.”
“Or Lee Harvey Oswald.”
“Or Lee Harvey Oswald. Also, more often than not, it was either a solitary act or a small group. It was different than armies going at each other and trying to wrest control of a castle or piece of land. It was personal and singular and really brave when you think about it and I kind of admired that in a way, even if it was an act of anarchy. Anyway, it started as a hobby and really became an obsession. I studied assassinations and attempted assassinations from Reagan to the Kennedys to Anwar Sadat and all the way back to the Caesars. I compiled so many materials and so much information I thought that one day I might even write a book about assassinations.”
“I never knew you did that.”
“I haven’t even looked at the materials in a long time because of how busy I’ve been, but I thought I might really try to do something with it at some point. So, the thing is, photos only go back to about the mid-eighteen hundreds, and when I was studying the assassinations that took place after that, I kept noticing a man in a lot of the photos that seemed almost like he could be the same person. Different assassinations in different eras but there was always this guy in the background that looked like it was the same person. I mean, he would be in different clothes and have different looks but still similar. My reaction was just like yours: That’s impossible.”
“It’s just a coincidence.”
“Right. That’s what I thought. Just a weird coincidence. But it seemed like every time I came upon an assassination photo, the same guy would be hanging around.”
“How many photos do you think you’ve seen him in?” Christina asked.
“A lot. Both Kennedy assassinations. Sadat.” Simon gazed upward in thought and ticked off his fingers. “In the last known photo of William McKinley three hours before the assassination there’s the same guy lurking in the background. Have you heard of a guy named Gavrilo Princip?”
“No.”
“He’s the guy who killed Prince Ferdinand.”
“Who?”
“It started World War One. Anyway, when Princip is arrested there’s a photo, and on the edge of the photo is the same guy. The photo kind’a cuts part of him out but it still looks like him. There’s even a drawing that was done after the assassination of Lincoln. He’s on his deathbed, and damned if a figure in the drawing didn’t look like all the others.”
“Okay, but like I said it’s just a coincidence.”
“Yeah, so I kind of shrugged it off but it always bothered me. I mean, in the pre-video era I could only go by stills and couldn’t see how someone moved.”
“What about the Reagan assassination attempt?”
Simon shrugged. “I didn’t see him in any of the photos there.”
“What did you name him?” Christina flashed a knowing smile.
Simon grinned. “Jonah.”
“Of course. So this Jonah is always around when assassinations occur?”
“Or attempted.”
“Can I see?”
“Yes.” Simon turned the computer more toward Christina. “Let’s do the Kennedy assassination first and work back. It’s the only time I’ve seen Jonah in motion.”
“Which one?”
“Let’s do Bobby. But you only see Jonah in stills there.” Simon typed in something on the computer. “Look. Right there. Do you see Jonah? You see the crowd in the Ambassador Hotel? Look at the guy in the crowd just to the left of the lectern.” Simon turned the screen toward her. “Right over Kennedy’s shoulder. Do you see him?”
“Yeah.”
“And here. When Bobby’s wife is leaning over him after he’s been shot. See Jonah in the background?”
Christina’s mouth twisted at one corner. “Maybe.”
“Let’s start at the early ones and come forward.”
“Okay.”
Simon clicked the keys. “See this picture of McKinley I was telling you about?”
“Yeah.”
“See Jonah?”
“Where?”
He pointed the pen at a man. “The right part of the frame. The guy in the top hat and dark clothing.”
She squinted and moved closer to the computer screen. “I don’t know, Simon.”
He clicked some more keys on the computer. “This is when Princip was arrested. You see this guy?” Simon touched the tip of his pen to a man on the fringe of the picture.
“I don’t know. It’s like you said, part of him is cut off in the photo.”
“Okay, here’s the drawing of the one of Lincoln.” Simon pulled up a black and white drawing. Lincoln lay in bed, draped in white sheets, while a group of men in dark coats looked on. He tapped his pen on one of the men.
“Yeah, I kind’a see it, but it is a drawing.”
“True. Okay, this is a photo from Anwar Sadat’s assassination.” Simon clicked on the computer keys again. “This photo was taken just after he was shot. Look just over this man in uniform’s shoulder. You see that guy?” A pen went just under the face of a man in the center of the photo.
“Hmmm,” Christina’s mouth twisted in uncertainty. “I mean there is a resemblance.”
“Okay, let’s go to John Kennedy’s assassination.”
“Those are hard for me to look at.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” She sat back in her chair. “Maybe cause of Jackie or maybe because he was so young with so much promise or maybe it’s just more personal because it happened on TV.”
“Or all three.”
“Or all three.”
“But you’ve got to look at this.” He clicked the keys on the computer and a black and white photo filled the screen. “You see them at Love Field?”
“Yeah.”
“You see the dark-headed man with the flat-top wearing a tie?”
“Yeah.”
“He has his arms crossed.”
“Okay. So?”
“Just like Malouf does.”
“Lots of people cross their arms.”
“Mannerisms are like fingerprints. Each one is different in some way.”
“How many times have you actually seen Malouf?”
“Twice.”
“And you know his mannerisms just from being around him two times?”
“Yeah. Actually, I do.”
“And you can match those with a guy who’s walking in a video for five seconds?”
“I know it’s hard to believe but they move exactly the same.” Simon sat back in his chair. “It’s the same thing we used to do with the videos in London.”
Christina sat back in her chair and rubbed her eyes again. “I mean, I kind of see a resemblance but it could be there’s just a lot of dark-headed men at the assassinations. Or it’s a coincidence. C’mon, Simon.”
“I’m telling you it’s the same guy.”
“Simon.” Christina rapped her knuckles on the table. The noise resonated through the room like a slap shot in an empty arena. “Tell me,” she demanded. “How?”
Simon stared at her for a long moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“What you’re saying is fucking impossible.”
“I know.” He turned back to the co
mputer, clicked, and another photo appeared. “But look at this. See this picture of Jackie just before the first shot? See the dark-headed guy in glasses behind her with his arms folded in front of him?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s the same guy.”
“He probably followed them from Love Field.”
He let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m telling you it’s the same guy and he’s at every assassination.”
“Simon…”
“One more. Look at the Zapruder film just one more time.”
“Simon…”
“Just one more time. Please?”
She groaned. “Just once.”
“Okay. Now this is the first time I got to see Jonah in motion. I watched Malouf from across the street the first time I met him. When he left the coffee shop, he moved just like this.” Simon waited for a response and then turned back to the video when she said nothing. “Just watch closely when the film follows the motorcade.” Christina leaned forward. “I’m going to slow it down. You see that guy? Him.” Simon tapped the figure with his pen.
“Yeah, but I don’t know.” Christina studied the video as the motorcade moved down the street in slow motion. “I haven’t seen this in a long time. So sad, so sad.” She muttered something under her breath, took a deep breath as the scene became chaotic, then suddenly surged forward in her seat. “Stop it!”
“What?” Simon turned from the computer to Christina, startled.
“Stop the film.”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“No, stop it and go back about five seconds.”
“What?”
“Just go back. I thought I saw something.” Simon backed the film up. “Right there. Stop it. Now, go forward slowly. Now.” she yelled. “Stop.” She peered at the screen, her eyes widening. She sat still, raised a shaking hand in the direction of the screen, then slowly withdrew it. She took in a big gulp of air, then sat back in her seat and a put a hand over her mouth.
“What? What is it?”
She turned to Simon. “Oh, my God,” she said slowly, her voice wavering.
“What?”
“Simon, it’s him. Oh, my God.”
“Jonah?” Simon leaned forward, studying the screen. “Where?”
“Oh, my God. Not Jonah.” She pointed a trembling finger at a man in a long-sleeved, blue shirt tucked into khaki pants, standing in the crowd along side the road. “That’s one of the guys that was sitting at the table with Malouf tonight.”
Simon gripped his gun in both hands and approached the door with caution. He waved Christina back, but she shook her head so vigorously that her blonde hair whipped in front of her face, almost obscuring it.
He rapped his knuckles on the door in sharp, measured knocks. Down the hall, Christina peered at him from around the door frame to their room. After several long seconds of complete silence, Simon knocked again. “Secret Service. Open the door.”
He waited for a moment, motioned again for Christina to get back in the room, then stepped in front of the door and kicked it open. “I’m coming in,” he called. He took a deep breath and then swung quickly into the room and to the side so as to erase his silhouette. He reached for the light switch and flipped it on.
The room was bare.
He moved through the empty space, swiveling at intervals, the gun rotating, directed at each blind space. He dipped low to the floor as he went into the bathroom his weapon scouring the room. He rose, went to the shower and flung back the curtain, then turned to the closet and opened it.
Simon exhaled, surveyed the room once more, then stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Christine hovered halfway out into the hall. “He’s gone.”
“What about the others?”
Simon went steadily to the adjoining door. “This one?”
“That’s what Beaux said when we came here last night.”
Simon pushed the door and it opened. He reached for the light, scanned the room, and turned back to Christina. “The same. They’re all gone.”
Christina ran to him, clutching the white bathrobe around her. “How can this be? What is happening?”
Simon stuck the gun back in his holster. “I don’t know.”
“Simon, let’s get out of here. Something bad is going to happen.”
“I can’t, Christina.”
“Simon, please.”
Simon sighed. “One more day.”
“Oh, my God.”
“What?”
“Beaux.”
Simon grimaced, then pulled his cellphone from his pocket. He hit her name and placed it to his ear. He waited a moment and then shut the cell phone off. “It went straight to voicemail.
◆◆◆
Beaux felt her phone vibrate and pulled it from her pocket. That’s odd. Why was Uncle Simon calling her in the middle of the night? She shoved the phone back in her pocket and ducked deeper into the shadows. Across the lot, Malouf and the androids hid in the woods, nothing but shadows against shadows now that the blue lines were gone. A momentary twinkle of gold light had caught her eye earlier, but it had been so quick, it might have been her imagination.
There were five people gathered in the lot, one pawing occasionally at the ground, but all in motion, a nervous energy that was so palpable Beaux could feel it from her vantage point on the concrete slab.
Two figures joined the others and they all huddled together. Another, an intermittent spark of red glowing near his mouth, approached in a casual manner. He was larger than the rest, had a different sense of body language and Beaux sensed annoyance on behalf of the others. One of the men met him before he reached the group. The man put a finger in the other man’s chest and Beaux heard a muffled voice rise in anger. The big man dropped something on the ground, put his foot on it and moved it back and forth. The other man walked back to the group and they all descended one by one into the ground.
The large man waited, brought something from his pocket and there was a brief glow in front of his face. He stood, even after all the others had disappeared into the ground, seemingly unconcerned, the cigarette still glowing in front of his face. There was a sudden, brief flash of a gold light and then it was gone. Beaux rubbed her eyes. The big man froze, searching the darkness.
He quickly dropped the cigarette, stepped on it and hurried down the steps into the ground.
◆◆◆
Simon and Christina lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, their hands entwined. “Simon,” Christina’s voice trembled as she broke the silence, “what is going on?”
“I don’t know.”
“How can this be? How can they have been at the Kennedy assassination in 1963?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s got to be a mistake. Maybe it’s just some doppelgängers from the past.”
“Maybe.”
“Don’t go today.” Christina turned on her side and put her hand on Simon’s chest. “Please.”
“I have to.”
“Simon, they show up for assassinations.”
“I know, but I have no choice.”
“You have a child on the way. You do have a choice.”
“Christina, I have to.”
“What will I tell our child?”
“Tell him or her that they had a father who did his duty.”
Christina lay back and stared at the ceiling again. “This must be why Beaux was so scared for you.”
“I wonder why she didn’t tell me.”
“Would you have believed her?”
Simon smiled in the dark. “Probably not.”
“Do you remember she said that he makes documentaries?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think that’s what he’s doing here? Making a documentary?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now, Christina. I’ve been lying here trying to figure it out.”
Christina turned back to Simon and put her hand back on his chest. “Simon, there’s going to be an as
sassination today.”
“Or an attempt. I know.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know that either.” Simon sat up in bed and leaned against the headboard. He clasped his hands in front of his face and rubbed them back and forth in thought. He shook his head and then put one of his hands on Christina’s head and ran it through her hair.
◆◆◆
Simon trudged in the darkness toward the university. He was early but there was a lot to do and he couldn’t sleep anyway. He stopped as the tip of the morning sun breached a rim of pine trees that ran along the edge of the field where the rally was to be held. The sky turned the color of a warm kiln and he paused, watching the morning unfold. The soft musical chirping of birds sounded and a frog jumped close by, startling him. He said a small prayer and then continued on toward the rally site.
A soldier brandished his weapon as he approached. Simon flashed his badge and the soldier relaxed. “You’re here early, sir.”
“Couldn’t sleep. Anything happening?”
“No, sir. It’s been quiet.”
Simon paced the field, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The rally began at twelve and the gates would open at ten, but even now, a line had already formed at one of the entrances and was getting longer by the moment. Figures huddled in the darkness, eager to be in the front near the podium.
That might be a mistake today, Simon thought.
He pulled out his phone to call Beaux again but his watch read just past six. All unofficial cellphone service would have been switched off at six. No one within ten miles would be able to communicate without a government-issued cellphone. He had thought briefly about telling the other agents what he had discovered but knew what their reaction would be. He had even thought about just telling them that there was going to be an assassination attempt today but how would he explain how he knew that?
He stood with his back to a tree and surveyed the field that lay out in front of the podium where, in about six hours, most of the heads of government, including the President, would be sitting. He tried to think how he would do it and how it could be done.
This was really an opportunity for someone who wanted to cripple the leadership of the country. But how and from where? He gazed up at the bell tower. That was an obvious place but the advance team had said there was no access to the top.
