Frustrated, Nixon slammed the newspaper onto the bar and only then noticed his empty glass. He lifted the tumbler and shouted rude expletives at the barkeep. You would think a former VP wouldn’t have to beg for a refill. He scowled as the man poured out a measure of liquor. No tip for this jackass.
With his thirst quenched, Nixon mentally catalogued the outbursts with which the Soviet leader had proved himself notoriously unstable.
In late 1956, Khrushchev had taunted the US and its western allies with, “Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will bury you.” An obvious warning, some pundits disputed the translation, claiming it was taken out of context. How stupid could you be? A threat was a threat.
Then came the infamous shoe-banging incident at a UN Plenary Meeting in 1961. Khrushchev put forth a resolution decrying colonialism by Western Europe, and the Philippine Ambassador challenged him on his hypocrisy. After all, Russia was equally guilty of colonialism in Eastern Europe. The Soviet premier responded in a rage, taking off his right shoe and pounding it repeatedly on the desk. The crazy bastard then creatively called the Filipino a jerk, a stooge, and a lackey of imperialism.
Nixon himself had squared off with Khrushchev in 1959 during his tenure as second-in-command under Eisenhower. The pair had engaged in an impromptu exchange at the American National Exhibition in Moscow. The so-called Kitchen Debate occurred in the kitchen of a house built to showcase achievements of the American consumer market to the Soviets. The two men argued over the respective merits of the communist and capitalist systems for hours, discussing the labor-saving and recreational devices featured in the prototype home. The Russian leader denounced the items as luxuries that wouldn’t interest his comrades. Their attention focused on more important issues. The VP countered that at least the examples represented civilian innovation rather than military. In the end, Khrushchev agreed that the US and USSR needed to be more open and honest with each other. That maniac had agreed!
Nixon congratulated himself on his powers of persuasion. Of course, he’d excel at American-Soviet relations—much more than that entitled rich kid who graduated from Harvard. It wasn’t fair. Acceptance to the Ivy League school wasn’t enough; you also had to have money and prestige to attend. Possessing neither, he had ended up relegated to Whittier, the local California Quaker college instead.
And then JFK stole the presidential election from him. Aloud, Nixon muttered, “That sucker has my job.” And he swallowed the remainder of his whiskey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1963 AND 2013
3:00 AM – PDT
5:00 AM – CDT
Fledgling KGB operative Viktor Vladimirsky cringed as his superior snarled in Russian, ordering him to enter the decryption codes into the shortwave. Swarthy and compact, Dmitriy Sokolov’s Neanderthal appearance and menacing behavior stereotyped him as the ruthless killer he was. The underling hastened to comply.
Viktor fiddled with the controls, his shaking fingers causing invalid entry twice in a row. Their current mission marked the first outside of Mother Russia for the clean-cut, six-foot-two blond. Given that the organization allowed no room for failure, his reputation and future hinged on this performance. Viktor paused, wiped his hand on a trouser leg, and remembered his training. Concentrate. The world exists only in terms of the immediate task. Pulling himself together, he prevailed on the third attempt.
Dmitriy grunted in dissatisfaction, barking that Section Chief Leonid Novikov might have already initiated the two-way contact.
Fortunately for Viktor, the communication came through at 5:01 am—one minute late—on the state-of-the-art radio. Produced at the Gorizont Electronics factory in Minsk, the shortwave represented the latest Soviet technology available in 1963. While the KGB operated on a strict budget, they took advantage of the best equipment when it concerned security.
Instead of the crystal clear transmission Viktor expected, the section chief’s bulletin rasped out beneath heavy static, forcing them to lean closer to understand. The instructions themselves, however, were straightforward. The three-man cell should pick up false identities at the Russian embassy in Mexico City, head to Dallas, and set up residences as American citizens. Further direction would be provided upon arrival.
A covert operation in the US. Viktor inhaled deeply, expanding his chest. He’d make his family proud.
Unbeknownst to both agents, the Leonid imposter was listening at the other end of the shortwave. His eye twitched as he waited for acknowledgment that the message had been received. It would be the acid test of whether his evil machinations would succeed. A few moments later, the confirmation arrived, as anticipated. The masquerader smiled in victory; he’d known all along his plan would work.
5:00 AM – PDT
Quin stifled a mammoth yawn as he fixed his gaze on Sera. He felt like the zombie dead at this inhuman hour of the morning.
She gently placed an Anti-Matter container into the miniature sphere and closed its hatch. Built to resemble the Tempus Orbis in one-fifteenth scale, the basketball-sized unit was sealed and prepped. “It’s ready.”
Iggy gingerly picked up the shiny brass globe and carried it into the pre-dawn darkness. “The test warrants a bit of explanation.” She sighed, pausing until Jay intervened.
“Allow me.”
“Gladly.”
“As you know, we need to calibrate longer jumps to ensure we can hit 1963 accurately. We will send the prototype back in time ninety days. The device will land exactly here where we launch it, but at that time, the earth will be three months behind in its orbit. If the object remained stationary, it would burn up in the atmosphere as the planet approached to meet it. However, it will maintain the same momentum as the earth’s orbit, thus it will continue to track three months ahead. The radio transmitter inside broadcasts the number of seconds elapsed since launch. All we have to do is find its beacon along the trajectory of orbit. Voila!”
Iggy rested the prototype on the grass and shivered in the forty-nine degree temperature. “We chose early morning so we are on the correct side of the planet. To use the car analogy from before, we are driving the earth forward in the direction where the sphere will be located.”
Quin observed Frank and Sam unconsciously nodding in agreement, while Dee and Bick stared at the metallic ball in bewilderment. The exercise was of no consequence to Quin; he was just jazzed about heading back into space.
Dee snapped her mouth shut in resignation. “I won’t pretend I understand. I trust you guys. But something else has been puzzling me. When you time-jumped Frank’s watch, only the watch disappeared, not the whole device.”
Frank seethed at the mention.
“Simple.” Jay brightened. “Brass is the key. It contains the Anti-Time bubble. You see, when we time-jumped the watch and the coke bottle, the apparatus had a brass coating on the interior, meaning the bubble formed inside the device. Similarly, the Chamber Iggy and Sera used to escape the Gulag had a brass lining. In contrast, this sphere has a brass exterior, meaning the entire unit will be transported.”
Dee looked helplessly at Bick, and he shrugged in response.
“Listen, people.” Frank stood in front of the team and affected an aggrieved tone. “Let’s yank this charade back to reality. If your time-travel nonsense really worked, and we were about to send the object back three months, wouldn’t it be there already?”
“That’s a logical hypothesis.” Sam pointed at Frank, lending credence to his theory. “Let’s scan for the beacon first to verify.”
Quin followed the eager crew as they traipsed after Sam to the observatory. They spent the next thirty minutes under the dome checking for a radio signal of the proper frequency with Sam’s satellite dish receiver. Despite everyone’s best efforts, they found no trace.
Frank planted his hands on his hips. “That proves it. Your alleged time machine does not work.”
Sera fired back, “It does work! The sphere isn’t there be
cause we haven’t sent it yet. Cause and effect, Frank.”
“Yeah, Professor.” Quin couldn’t hide his sarcasm. “Don’t you watch any TV? It’s the cardinal rule of time travel. Nuthin’ changes till you go back and change it.”
5:30 AM – PDT
8:30 AM – EDT
In Secaucus, Captain Sutherland dedicated his off-duty hours to searching the Governet for known associates of Sera Banks, Iggy Mikos, Jay Harding, Frank Thomas, and Bickford Haycock. Someone had to be helping them. As the captain hammered on the keyboard, he lamented to himself that the overwhelming task seemed futile. But he had run out of options to find the outlaws. Inconceivably, the bogus flight plan uncovered a few days ago turned out to be one of hundreds of falsified records in Vegas. The vast deceit happening among the general population shocked Sutherland. With no way to whittle the flights down to a manageable number, he had resorted to this latest strategy. Meanwhile, he placed all hope on the likelihood that the fugitives would reveal themselves by hitting a checkpoint or using a credit card. Colonel Zimmerman had even authorized deployment of cutting-edge facial recognition software to monitor crimes picked up by surveillance tapes. After all, they could remain hidden from society for only a finite period before requiring resources and supplies.
6:00 AM – PDT
Minutes after returning to the observatory post-launch, the troop zeroed in on the prototype’s radio signal with Sam’s satellite dish receiver. Iggy confirmed three months had indeed elapsed on the internal clock, thus proving their time-jump calculations. Overcoming their weariness, Team Orbis whooped and shouted in triumph, while refraining from telling Frank, I told you so, although this required Quin to exercise monumental self-control.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 25, 1963 AND 2013
1:00 PM – PDT
Piles of clothes and shoes surrounded Dee on the boathouse floor after she had weeded out fabrics and styles that wouldn’t blend in with sixties fashions. Since most of the team had been forced to flee with scant notice, she completed her task in short order. And she’d planned ahead. The items she and Jay had purchased in Vegas were classic and timeless enough to pass without scrutiny in 1963. She wagered Sera wouldn’t be pleased with the dresses selected for her, but Dee kept that a secret. “Okay, we’re fine on wardrobe. We each have some basic jeans or skirts to tide us over until we can go shopping in Dallas.”
“Excellent.” Jay checked off the boxes on his clipboard. “Which reminds me, how is the money coming along, Iggy?”
“Give me a minute.” She tweaked the image on her computer and sent it to print. Set to highest quality, the printer took ninety seconds to churn out the two-sided document. Iggy held the heavyweight, woven sheet up to the skylight and sighed. “Nope, not ready yet.” Four perfect copies of a ten-dollar bill appeared on each side, but the front and back failed to line up properly.
Jay patted her forearm. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it. We’re just lucky Dee had some antique cash in her collection.”
Dee held up her palm. “Not that I would ordinarily condone counterfeiting.”
“Naturally. I think we’ve hit some kind of record on federal crimes as is.” Jay referred to his clipboard. “Now, we need to make sure we have enough provisions in case of emergency.” He started reeling off a laundry list. “Extra food, water, blankets, first aid kits, medicine, fire extinguishers. If our space travel takes longer than anticipated, we don’t want to be caught off guard. We need to plan for every possible contingency. In fact, I was thinking . . . we probably should have, I mean we should anticipate the need . . . but where would we get them?” Jay gazed off into the distance.
“For heaven’s sake, son, spit it out.” Bick slapped him on the back.
“Yes, right. Spacesuits. We should have spacesuits on board in the event we need an EVA. You know, an Extra Vehicular Activity.”
“We know what an EVA is!” Iggy hollered good-naturedly.
“Well, I think we need the suits in case there’s a malfunction, or something hits the ship and damages it.”
Frank paused amid his assembly of carbon dioxide scrubbers for the Tempus. “The odds of hitting an object in space are absurdly remote, particularly in 1963. Debris is relatively rare, and few human-made objects were in orbit then. Spacesuits would be a waste of storage room, not to mention impossible for us to obtain.”
“I have a couple of spacesuits.” Sam stuffed his hands into his pockets.
“What the hell”—Quin jumped down from the ship platform—“are you doing with spacesuits?”
“I have in my possession two state-of-the-art NASA prototype suits with revolutionary stabilizing mechanisms of my own creation.” Sam hitched his shoulders back defiantly. “EVAs are notoriously dangerous because any small thrust in the Zero G of space gives you velocity in that direction. My system counter-balances the velocity so the astronaut can stay in one place to complete a task.”
“Again, what the hell are you doing with spacesuits?”
“Listen, the design was so powerful that NASA planned to adapt it to weapons. Obviously, blasting munitions in space causes a severe kickback against the ship. For an orbiting vehicle like the space fort, enormous energy is required to maintain course. My method would provide a remedy. But this is not the purpose for which I intended the invention. I see no reason to make their weapons more efficient.”
Sera approached with glee. “So you stole the suits?”
“I appropriated them from NASA along with the schematics before I resigned. I didn’t want them per se, I just didn’t want the US government to have the technology.”
“Yeah, so you stole them.”
Sam glared at Sera, and then strode over to a wooden crate crammed among others along the wall. “Here. They’re in this box.” As he dislodged it, a NASA symbol became visible on the side.
With Quin’s help, Sam wrenched open the crate and began pulling out the unwieldy white suits. Plump and stiff, they held their shapes as if astronauts were inside them.
Quin grabbed an unattached helmet, lowered it over his head and slid down the gold-plated visor with a practiced flip. “I say we take ‘em along. Might come in handy.”
While Quin walked around looking like a strange bug, Dee spotted something else in the bottom of the box. She started withdrawing a number of cobalt blue jumpsuits with a NASA logo on the left pocket and an American flag on the left shoulder. “What are these doing here?”
Sera grinned. “Yeah, did you steal those, too?”
“Believe me, I had no choice. They were in the same crate and it would have been more obvious if I had removed the jumpsuits.” Sam’s tone rang out as more defensive than righteous.
Dee noticed a plastic cuff on the arm. “What’s this?”
“It’s a heart-rate monitor. We like to know if our astronauts become overexcited. Not that it’s strictly necessary.” Sam glanced at Quin.
“Really? These are fantastic.” Dee held up a jumpsuit in front of her body, modeling it for the others. She kicked up a leg to get a better view of the entire ensemble. “We can use them as flightsuits on the mission.”
Frank folded his arms. “I am not wearing that unless you remove the NASA logo.”
Dee examined the inside of the left lapel. “Can’t. It’s embroidered through the fabric itself. But I can put our Team Orbis patches on the other side.”
“That would be wonderful.” Iggy intervened to prevent Frank from complaining. “It signifies our commitment. Plus, the heart-rate monitors will be invaluable. However, we have to make sure we leave them in the ship when we arrive in 1963. We can’t bring anything modern back with us. No future garments, no advanced technology, no communications apparatus, nothing.”
“And don’t bring any electronic grooming devices such as hairdryers or shavers.” As Trip Historian, Dee wanted to ensure there would be no anachronisms. “Believe it or not, those innocuous items are vastly different from ones manufactured in th
e sixties.”
Sam plugged a spacesuit into an outlet to charge its systems. “Except we’ll bring weapons, of course.”
“Especially not weapons!” Bick sounded appalled. “We can’t allow today’s technology to fall into the wrong hands. It could turn the tide of history.”
“You’ve got to be joking, we’re already attempting—”
“Whoa, whoa, wait.” Dee interrupted Sam. “Breaking news.” As they turned to the television, she was annoyed to see Ken from the Federal News Bureau again.
“We’re coming to you live from the Kremlin in Minsk.” The reporter gestured behind him to the Red Square castle with its familiar onion-topped towers gleaming in the sun.
Dee snorted. Ken was clearly broadcasting from in-studio as it neared midnight in the Russian capital. No need for him to risk his handsome self in the field.
“Soviet leaders have announced the capture of a US spy ring operating here in the city of Minsk. Their intel allegedly points to these three men as the perpetrators of the recent deadly attack on the former premier.” Three photos of generic-looking men floated above the image of the palace. “The individuals are being held in solitary confinement, and the Russians are promising extensive interrogations followed by a swift trial. If convicted, as defendants usually are in the communist country, the penalty will be death by firing squad. The US press secretary vehemently denies the presence of any undercover agents in the USSR, and although President Giuliani has refuted US participation in the assault, he is unreachable today for comment. As the story develops, we see increasing tensions between the two nations and, in fact, our presence as American citizens is deemed hazardous. Our entourage has been assigned armed guards, and we have been advised to stay in designated press areas.” He furrowed his brow as if concerned. “The pundits predict the friction between our countries will certainly escalate, perhaps to the point of aggression. Stay tuned. Our continuing coverage continues after a short break from our sponsors.”
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 13
