Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  In late January, armies marching under the Hammer and Sickle crossed the ice-covered Bering Strait and conquered Nome. Enraged at the incursion and devastated by his wife’s murder, the president approved a nuclear drop on Leningrad. The entire city was leveled in an afternoon. Kennedy assumed he would terrorize his adversaries into retreat, but the plan backfired dramatically. The Soviets invoked revenge by nuking Los Angeles, thus incinerating millions of Americans.

  As ’64 progressed, the hostilities continued and the H-bombs volleyed back and forth. Sutherland examined a world map on his office wall, noting the red splotches that indicated wasted metropolitan centers. The US destroyed Star City to take out the Russian space program, and the USSR obliterated Cape Canaveral in kind. Next came a hit on Novgorod and the near miss of New York City, which effectively annihilated it anyway with the ensuing tidal wave. Hoping to disable the command structure, JFK sent nukes to the capital, Moscow. However, the Russians anticipated this maneuver and evacuated senior officials to a clandestine location in Minsk. They immediately evened the score by decimating Washington DC, but the Kennedy administration had wisely hauled out of the district.

  The eradication of the capitals put an end to major nuclear strikes. In the years since the ’64 Nuke War, no atomic weapons had been launched. Both sides concluded that forging ahead would doom the entire human race. Conventional warfare supplanted fusion bombs in the continuing skirmishes. The advent of Anti-Matter technology would prove the definitive weapon to the side developing it first.

  Sutherland exhaled. He couldn’t change the past. However, he could impact his own future. He sat down at his computer to begin his quest.

  2:30 PM – PDT

  Dee glanced eagerly at the team as they gathered on the cushioned wooden couches and chairs of Sam’s living room.

  Iggy stood. “I know you’re all anxious to hear about the roles I’ve assigned.”

  Dee had observed their fledgling leader’s grace as she interviewed the Team Orbis members individually to discuss their various skill sets and strengths. Despite the earlier bickering, the captain had cleverly convinced each person of which of his or her assets would benefit the mission most. She paid special attention to Sera’s opinions, understanding that although her protégé had been unreasonable about inviting Quin and Sam, she contributed valuable input.

  “So, let’s end the suspense. Quin will be our Pilot. He is a bold and skilled aviator, as evidenced by his gutsy tactics that saved us from the warden. And he has enjoyed a prolific career as a NASA astronaut and commander of numerous missions, proving his expertise in space travel. A feat he alone among us can claim.”

  Quin utterly failed at his attempt to not look smug, while Sam flicked an imaginary piece of lint off his shirt.

  “Having clearly logged the most hours in flight, Bick has agreed to be our Copilot. He thinks strategically, even in the heat of battle as he did when orchestrating the Kiffin Maneuver. His experience in dealing with covert KGB combatants during his tenure as a Naval officer and with the Secret Service will be invaluable.”

  Bick sat with a rigid spine, displaying no emotion.

  “Next we need a brilliant technical mind for our Aerospace Engineer. Sam is the ideal candidate, due to his innovative spacecraft construction methods. Coupled with the fact that he built our Tempus Orbis”—Iggy smiled at Sam—“he’s perfect for the job.”

  Sam’s chest swelled as he nodded.

  “For life support, Frank will be our Environmental Engineer. The revolutionary systems he designed for NASA are proof he is the world’s foremost inventor in the field. He will be responsible for our survival in space.”

  Frank rolled his eyes as if the accolades meant nothing.

  “Jay will be our Navigator. He will make the calculations for each jump and determine our precise location in time and space. And though he would never admit it, Jay had the inspiration to use our discovery to change history. His epiphany led us to the plan to rescue Jackie K.”

  Dee twisted her head toward Jay in surprise. All along she had thought he was a lemming, following the others; now she gazed at his embarrassed expression with approval.

  “My colleague, Sera, has been with me from the beginning and has been instrumental in Anti-Matter formation and containment. She will be our AM Specialist and my personal advisor.”

  Her confidante appeared vindicated.

  “And now, for one final important role. Acting as Trip Historian, Dee will devise the best way to prevent the assassination of Jackie K. She will be the authority on the fashions and culture of 1963 to make sure we don’t attract undue attention. In addition, the reporter in her character seems to want to chronicle our trip as we embark on this epic journey, and she is welcome to do so.”

  Dee rose and gave a half curtsey.

  “The task won’t be easy, and it could be extremely treacherous. I need you to commit to this operation of your own free will. Our sole purpose is to save Jackie K. And, we have to agree to work as a team. That means we must support, protect, and defend each other at all times to ensure triumph. To that end, I’ve asked Dee to fashion mission patches.”

  Dee pulled eight felt insignias out of her pocket and proudly spread them on the sturdy table. The light blue triangles contained a golden circle in the center, representing the ship, and the embroidered words Team above and Orbis below in black. “I apologize for the simplicity of the design. I’ll make nicer ones of real cloth when I have more time.”

  “If you choose to pledge yourself to the cause, please take a patch as a symbol of your commitment. But . . .” Iggy paused as Quin jumped up from his seat and grabbed one. She laughed. “It is strictly your choice. No one will judge you, whatever your decision may be.”

  Dee excitedly seized two, handing one to Iggy, who of course accepted. Bick followed, as did Sera and Sam.

  “I’m in.” Jay motioned to Dee. “Toss me one.”

  That left Frank.

  Everyone stared at the professor as he stalled, then slowly stood. “Although I still have misgivings about the time machine and whether we can effect any change if we do go back . . .” He lifted a patch between thumb and forefinger, like tongs. “Count me in.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s destination Dealey.”

  3:00 PM – PDT

  6:00 PM – EDT

  Following hours of intense searching, Sutherland was rewarded for his efforts on the FAA’s Governet Site. A hit! Two days ago, a tourist plane had left the small airport in Vegas, but never reached its intended airport. The pilot had filed a bogus flight plan. Hope suffused the captain. Perhaps Alaska wouldn’t be his fate after all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2013

  11:00 AM – PDT

  Mid-morning on Monday, Jay and Dee sat at the workbench in the boathouse admiring their arts and crafts project. In front of them sat a scale model diorama of Dealey Plaza, the fateful location where Jackie K. had been assassinated. Jay had painstakingly drawn gridlines on a two-foot by three-foot foam board, and then corresponded the squares to an architectural drawing from one of Dee’s reference books. They mapped out JFK’s motorcade route through the plaza from Houston Street to the sharp left on Elm, where the deadly shots killed an unintended target. Upright tissue boxes depicted the buildings lining the roads, and tiny fake trees grew from magic marker soil, accurately glued into position. Toy cars and motorcycles represented the full entourage, while miniature people observed from the curb and the Pergola—a concrete colonnade rendered in construction paper.

  As Dee snapped pictures of their handiwork, she couldn’t help but giggle about the Hobby Hut they had visited earlier. The odd assortment of wares available for purchase at such an establishment amazed the friends. The shop sold science kits, backyard rockets, die-cast soldiers, plastic horses, flying kites, model cars, and train sets. The store even housed a gaming area in the back room where pasty-faced kids raced slot cars. Dee rehashed their amusement over the proprietor. �
��The owner was a caricature. A mullet-wearing, matchbox-collecting, rocket-launching, slot-car-racing freak! I couldn’t believe it when we brought our stuff up to the counter and he asked us if we were collectors.”

  “And did you see how unfazed he was when I said, no, we’re just building a Dealey Plaza diorama in the basement? As if this behavior is normal?” Again, they erupted in mirth.

  A few moments later, Jay glanced at the television they had wheeled in to keep abreast of the latest developments. He turned up the volume and abruptly stopped laughing. “Hey, guys, listen to this news report. The president is about to make a statement.”

  The rest of the team were retrofitting the Tempus Orbis for spaceflight, but they halted work to watch.

  Jay gazed at the familiar picture of the Oval Office with the Commander in Chief resting his palms on the Resolute desk. The historic piece had been built from timbers of the British frigate HMS Resolute, and given to President Hayes by Queen Victoria in 1880. A legendary photo of the desk from the Kennedy administration showed JFK working, while his son John-John peeked out from a panel door underneath. Fortunately, the iconic furniture had been evacuated from DC prior to the Russian nuclear strike of ’64.

  In the background, an American flag and a presidential flag flanked a window overlooking the grass and trees of the White House South Lawn. In spite of the illusion that the room existed in a stately manor exactly like the former residence in Washington, most of the populace grasped that they were viewing a forgery. In reality, the scene portrayed an underground bunker in WB, with a sunny image projected onto the windowpane. Rumors flourished that the Republican leader rarely surfaced above ground. He purportedly had secret tunnels burrowing under the city with escape routes to a private airport.

  President Giuliani began his speech. “My fellow Americans, a terrible tragedy has recently befallen the Soviet Union. Our deepest sympathies are extended to the families and friends of the premier and his comrades who perished in the horrific helicopter attack of last Thursday.” He paused and took a sip of water, as if too emotional to continue.

  Jay saw through the transparent gesture. Nobody in the country mourned the deaths; they simply feared the inevitable retaliation.

  “However, since no one has come forward to claim responsibility for this violence, the USSR would have the global community believe that the US is accountable for the cowardly act. This accusation is utterly and completely false. I categorically deny that the United States had any involvement whatsoever in the heinous crime.” His tone became menacing. “Now a warning to the Soviets. Any aggression against our nation will incur a swift and decisive response of greater measure. We will not stand down. And I assure the American public we will take every precaution to protect the lives and property of all law-abiding citizens.”

  Sam walked to the TV and clicked it off, despite protests from the others. “Enough. We have plenty to accomplish without worrying about World War III.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 2013

  1:00 PM – PDT

  After lunch, Dee corralled the team around the diorama on the workbench. “First, some background for context. Let’s travel to the past to November 1963. President Kennedy has embarked on a tour of five Texas cities, including San Antonio, Houston, Fort Worth, Dallas, and Austin. Tragically, he’ll never make it to his final destination. The tour’s objective is to garner support for his ’64 reelection campaign, which is already heating up. Although JFK won the Lone Star State in 1960, his popularity as a Democrat in the South is waning. Thus, various speeches, appearances, and motorcades are planned in each location to give the incumbent maximum exposure to the population. No one could fathom the tragic outcome in Dallas.”

  Dee gestured to the foam board. “Here is our rendition of Dealey Plaza. Perhaps surprisingly, the park has not changed much in the past fifty years. If we visited in present day, we’d be hard pressed to notice the minor differences such as signs and lampposts. The map is oriented with north pointing up. Main Street runs east-west along the bottom, while Houston is on the right-hand edge going north-south. Houston is lined on the east by the Dallas County Criminal Courts Building and the Dallas County Records Building.” She touched the tissue boxes representing the structures. “At the top right, Elm Street intersects Houston. The Texas School Book Depository Building with its fabled Hertz billboard and clock on the roof sits on their northwest corner. Elm bisects the plaza in a southwesterly arc to the left, forming a triangular expanse between Main and Elm known as the infield.” Dee swiped her hand across the green area.

  “Note that we show only half of the park. A mirror image exists to the south, with Commerce Street forming the bottom of the triangle arc. The three thoroughfares—Elm, Main, and Commerce—converge to the west under a railroad trestle known as the Triple Underpass. North of Elm is a concrete structure called the Pergola, a round archway facing forward. The back wall and top are semi-enclosed, with large rectangular openings allowing sunlight to stream inside. In front are concrete columns and a few steps leading down the sloping hill known as the Grassy Knoll. A longer staircase on the left proceeds from the railroad parking lot in the northwest down to the sidewalk.” She pointed to the magic marker walkway near the flimsy construction paper half-moon.

  “Now, let’s time travel to Friday, November 22, 1963. Picture a gorgeous day with sunny skies and mild temperatures. Air Force One touches down at Love Field Airport in Dallas at 11:40 am Central Standard Time. The President and First Lady exit the plane to the cheers of the waiting crowd, while city officials present Jacqueline with a bouquet of a dozen red roses. Mr. Kennedy’s charcoal gray suit is unmemorable. However, Mrs. Kennedy is wearing a custom-made, double-breasted pink Chanel suit with matching pillbox hat. Her dark navy silk blouse dramatically contrasts with the ensemble. It’s no exaggeration to claim that spectators were as excited to see Jackie as they were to see Jack. The couple walks along a chain-link fence greeting their well-wishers. To the dismay of his Secret Service agents, JFK stops on enumerable occasions to chat and shake hands. Ten minutes later, he finally boards his limousine for the parade through the heart of downtown, with the intention of heading to the Trade Mart for a luncheon speech.”

  Dee began to place Lilliputian vehicles on Houston Street. “The motorcade consists of twenty-odd automobiles and an assortment of motorcycle police.”

  “Wait.” Jay held up an index finger. “Your grandfather was in the motorcade, right?”

  “Unfortunately, no. The detail primarily included city officers, and granddad’s beat was in the suburbs. He would have loved to be part of it, though. He had voted for Kennedy and admired him, at least up until then.” Dee gave a wry shrug before continuing.

  “Okay, so a phalanx of Dallas motorcycle cops start the procession, followed by the pilot car and four more motorcycles. Their chief purpose is to keep spectators from spilling into the road. Next is the lead car carrying police and Secret Service tasked with scanning observers and buildings for anything suspicious. Here is the presidential limousine.” She placed a replica on the board. “Imagine American and presidential flags billowing from the front quarter panels. A specially designed 1961 Lincoln convertible, it has two collapsible jump seats between the front and back seats. A narrow foothold on the bumper and two inverted U-shaped bars on the trunk allow Secret Service members to climb aboard and hold on when necessary. In the rearmost bench seat, Kennedy rides on the passenger side with his wife beside him.”

  “What the hell were they thinking?” Bick thumped his fist on the table, causing the models to quiver. “It’s inconceivable that the president was out in the open like a sitting duck. Today’s agents would never permit it.”

  “I know. It’s not like presidents hadn’t been targeted before.” Dee shook her head at the senselessness. “Anyway, passengers in the jump seats are Texas Governor John Connally Jr. in front of JFK, and his wife Nellie in front of Jackie. Secret Service Agent Willia
m Greer drives, while his colleague Roy Kellerman rides shotgun. Two motorcycle cops flank the rear of the Commander-in-Chief’s limo. The follow-up car trails behind, overflowing with Secret Service, including two each on the side running boards. The vice president’s car comes next, carrying Lyndon and Lady Bird Johnson.”

  “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute.” Quin emphasized his drawl. “How does some fancy southern belle wind up with the name Lady Bird?”

  “Nickname, to be exact. She was born Claudia Alta Taylor, after her Uncle Claud. When she was a baby, her nursemaid proclaimed her ‘purty as a ladybird’ and it stuck. No one seems to remember her birth name. Doubly unlucky for Mrs. Johnson, a ladybird is more commonly called a ladybug.”

  “Sheesh. An insect.”

  “Yeah.” Dee raised her eyebrows, proud of the depth of her knowledge. “The remainder of the caravan consists of various dignitaries, White House communications, reporters, photographers, police, and an official party bus for White House staff.”

  “Official party bus?” Sera scoffed.

  “Yes, believe it or not. I’m led to believe the designation was fairly accurate, too, with a lot of drinking and smoking going on.”

  Dee motioned to the diorama. “Back to the lay of the land. Our home movie buff, dressmaker Abraham Zapruder, is perched on a concrete abutment in front of the left side of the Pergola, with his receptionist Marilyn Sitzman standing behind him.” She pointed to the tiny figures.

  “Mr. Zapruder simply wanted to record a piece of history.” Jay scratched his head. “He had no idea his eight millimeter camera would capture the most sensational assassination of the century. We’re fortunate Dee owns a rare copy of the infamous reel.”