Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  There was absolute silence as they waited for her answer.

  “It was awful. They were boasting about the great reward awaiting them when they return to the USSR. That they would be revered as heroes after assassinating our president.” Mrs. Paine examined her clasped hands in her lap. “That’s the other murder you were referring to, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. That’s why we’ve come all this way.” Iggy explained that the Russians at the Carousel were KGB operatives sent to kill John F. Kennedy on Friday as his Dallas motorcade passed through Dealey Plaza. And how they would end up botching the mission and slaughtering the First Lady instead. She gave a thorough history of the timeline of events, including the devastation of the ’64 Nuke War and the oppression that ensued.

  Half an hour later, Mrs. Paine and J.D. were trying to assimilate the history of the future.

  “So then the government, yes, the government must have . . .” Mrs. Paine halted, thinking of the implications.

  “Must have sent you back to change a pivotal moment.” J.D. drew the same conclusion.

  Iggy thought they deserved the truth. “Well, no, not exactly.” She surveyed the others, angling for help. “You see . . .”

  “We’re on our own.” Jay jumped in. “The government wasn’t going to do it. You have to understand the world is very different where we come from. The military runs the country and the power mongers don’t want anything to change. In fact, the very technology we used to get here was intended to build weapons of mass annihilation. When we discovered time travel, we felt a moral obligation to fix the past.” He went on to tell them about the accidental discovery of Anti-Time and how they had assembled the crew, carefully omitting the parts about being fugitives from the law.

  Mrs. Paine and J.D. asked a series of questions about the politics and technology of the next half century.

  Sam was in the middle of a protracted explanation of the scientific advances of 2013, when they heard the sound of a door opening and shutting in the hall beyond the living room. He broke off in mid-sentence. “What was that?”

  “Oh, that’s my boarder, Marina. She’s probably going to make a bottle for the baby.” Mrs. Paine got up from the couch.

  Iggy raised her eyebrows. “We didn’t realize anyone else was home.”

  “She’s been here the whole time. I’m guessing she fell asleep from exhaustion and worry over her husband. I’ll wager that her day was nearly as bad as ours. Besides, did you think I would leave the children home alone?” Mrs. Paine chortled as she entered the kitchen.

  The crew engaged in a hushed debate, trying to gauge whether the boarder might have overheard their story. Voices emanated from the kitchen.

  “Do you hear that? What are they speaking?” Jay stammered. “That’s not . . . it couldn’t be . . . Russian, could it?”

  “It most certainly is.” Bick grimaced.

  Team Orbis glowered at Dee.

  “It’s not my fault! The Paine murder was basically a footnote in the Warren Commission Report. I didn’t know her boarder spoke Russian.”

  7:30 PM – CST

  Cell leader Kon crept behind the residences along Fifth Street in Irving, keeping to the darkest shadows. He patted his jacket pocket, checking his revolver. A show of firepower and the element of surprise would be his best allies. This game with the meddlesome Americans had gone on long enough. Time to end it once and for all.

  He sneaked between lot number 2515 and its neighbor. The flashy Chevy and the gaudy Ford were parked in the street, confirming the interlopers’ presence.

  He inched along a stockade fence separating the two properties. Without warning, Sera and her friend flung open the doors of the Chevy and emerged, the man wielding a pistol. He might be a lousy shot, but a gun was still a gun. Kon made an instant decision and dove for cover behind bushes next to the house. The man fired the weapon. The bullet hit the lawn and kicked up a tuft of dirt. Kon laughed to himself. Inept. But next round, the guy might get lucky. The KGB spy scrambled to his feet and sprinted out of the backyard, pumping his powerful legs as fast as they could go.

  There would be another chance.

  7:35 PM – CST

  Enthralled, Sera watched the Russian disappear before she rounded on Quin. “What the hell was that?”

  “Don’t sweat it. I hit the grass on purpose to scare him.” Quin slid the Remington into his jeans.

  “No, you idiot. We had the perfect opportunity to capture him. You blew it!”

  “What didja expect? That I should kill him and bring his body in for questioning?”

  “Obviously not. I . . .” Sera faltered. What could he have done? They had neither authority nor evidence to arrest Kon.

  The front door opened and J.D. peered out.

  Sera hissed at Quin, “Don’t let Mrs. Paine know the KGB were here. We don’t want to frighten her.”

  “I have a brain, you know,” Quin whispered. “But how did he find us? I left them with a blowout at the Trinity River.”

  “Maybe he circled back to the Carousel and tailed us in the Ford.” Sera shrugged in bewilderment.

  In a louder voice, Quin called to the officer. “Hiya, J.D. What’s up?”

  Sensing no immediate threat, J.D. opened the door wider. “I was about to ask you the same question.”

  Sam squeezed past him, followed by the rest of the troop. “What happened? We heard what sounded like a gunshot.”

  “Nah. All clear. An old car drove by and backfired.”

  J.D. sniffed pointedly. “You sure?”

  “Absolutely, Officer Tippit. Nothing to worry about.”

  Mrs. Paine watched as J.D.’s eyes roamed around the yard. Was Quin telling the truth? Shivering, she checked Sera’s face and found it placid. Maybe she was experiencing simple paranoia after the nerve-wracking day.

  J.D. reverted to cop-speak. “Okay, people. Show’s over. Let’s all go inside, shall we?”

  7:40 PM – CST

  Leaving Sera and Quin outside, the others returned to the living room, where Bick launched a line of inquiry to Mrs. Paine. “Where did your boarder go?”

  “Marina? When we heard the commotion, I had just finished telling her that her husband was at a burlesque and it was nothing to worry about. Men sometimes do these things.” Mrs. Paine smoothed her skirt underneath her as she sat on the couch. “She was upset and retired to her bedroom to feed the baby.” She looked up and found all of them staring at her. “What?”

  “So, um . . .” Jay touched his index finger to his cheek. “She speaks Russian then?”

  “Of course she does. She’s from the Soviet Union.”

  Dee scooted forward on the ottoman. “And her husband?”

  “No, Lee’s not Russian, although he claims to speak the language. You would think he’d have a better handle on pronunciation and grammar after living in the USSR for over two years. In fact, that’s where he met and married Marina.” Mrs. Paine saw the team stealing glances at each other, and sucked in her breath. “You can’t possibly be suggesting what I think you are.”

  “Well, ma’am, do the math.” Sam ungraciously began ticking off his fingers. “He lived in Russia. He married a Russian. He was at the Carousel while the KGB were having a meeting. I’d say that makes him a suspect.”

  “Let’s not jump to any conclusions. Yes, Oswald was at the club.” J.D. recalled his inane conversation. “However, he wasn’t meeting with the KGB. I spoke with him for a while, and he seemed more interested in the entertainment than anything else. Even his own family.”

  “Inconclusive!” Iggy inadvertently barked out the word. “I mean, tell us more about him. What does he do? Where is he employed?”

  Mrs. Paine stiffened. “I hadn’t even thought to make the connection. He works at the Texas School Book Depository. In Dealey Plaza.”

  Dee whistled softly. “Maybe he is involved. I mean, in our timeline he couldn’t have been. He was detained after mistakenly being arrested for murdering Mrs. Paine. But no
w, who knows?”

  J.D. shook his head. “After talking to him, my assessment is that he’s a fool. I doubt the KGB would have anything to do with him.”

  “I agree.” Mrs. Paine sounded relieved. “He’s not a particularly capable person. He has trouble holding down a job. And he can’t even drive. I don’t think he’d pass muster as a Soviet operative.”

  J.D. gazed upward. “Still, it wouldn’t hurt to pay a visit to Mr. Lee Harvey Oswald.”

  11:00 PM – CST

  Later, as Mrs. Paine got ready for bed, she considered the day’s extraordinary events and how her life had been saved. Truly a blessing. She was grateful to Officer Tippit and the time travelers for sparing her children the agony of losing a parent. No child should have to endure such a hardship. Her thoughts wandered to Jackie Kennedy. If anything could be done to prevent the tragic assassination of the First Lady, Mrs. Paine would volunteer.

  What about Lee? Could he possibly be affiliated with the KGB? Did he have the heart to kill someone? But how would he make his escape? Laughable, really.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 19, 1963

  7:00 AM – CST

  At daybreak, sunlight flooded the two-tone Ford, and Sera was growing weary of Quin’s snoring. Bored, she punched him in the arm.

  He jolted awake. “What? What’s going on? Where are we?”

  “Nothing’s going on. We’re still parked outside of Mrs. Paine’s house.” They had guarded her home through a restless, chilly night, taking turns sleeping and keeping watch. The others had left in the Chevy after their meeting the previous evening. With luck, they would get the car’s major damage repaired today, no questions asked. “Kon never came back.”

  “Kon? Who the hell is Kon?”

  “Remember? The KGB guy from last night.” Honestly. Couldn’t he retain the basic facts? “I think he’s their leader.”

  “How do you figure?” Quin reflexively wiped his chin, wondering whether he’d slept with his mouth open.

  “I don’t know. It’s just the little things, I guess. The way the other two always let him enter rooms first. They way they never interrupt him. Stuff like that.”

  “Did you go to spy school or something? You know, for a scientist, you make a decent outlaw. Observant.” Quin yawned loudly, spreading his arms and arching his back. He kept the foghorn sound effect going a bit longer than necessary. “What’s your story? Why are you so committed to this mission anyway?”

  Sera stifled a contagious yawn. Watching him was like seeing a bear wake from hibernation. “Mostly on account of my parents.”

  “What are they? Rogue agents?”

  “You could say that.” Sera tittered. Why did he care? “They were key Reagan Revolution players who organized and led the march in San Fran. They dedicated their lives to the pursuit of freedom. But they, um, they didn’t make it.”

  “Geez, Ser. How old were you?”

  “Eight.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Quin awkwardly squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure they would be very proud of you today.”

  “It’s all right. It was a long time ago.” Sera gazed out the window and dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. What had possessed her to talk about her parents? “What about you? What’s in it for you, flyboy?”

  “Me? I’m easy.” Quin grinned. “When Frank called, I thought I was just helping a fellow fugitive. I had no illusions about being a superhero. When I found out about the plan, it seemed like a good idea at the time. And I had nothing better to do, so here I am.”

  “Come on! You’re a space junkie. You were ecstatic to get back into Zero G.”

  Quin tilted his head from side to side. “Guilty.”

  “And you were pretending to be dead. That had to be lonely.”

  “Nah. It wasn’t so bad. And it beat actually being dead.” Quin rubbed his hands over his prickly hair. “It would have been nice to see my sisters and their kids, though. Two nieces, four nephews—all of them exploding rockets of joy. But they all thought I bought the farm. There was no other way to keep them protected.” He swiped his forefinger under his nose as if he had an itch.

  Sera looked at him in surprise. “I can’t picture you with a family.” Her perception of him altered, from a pencil drawing of a lone cowboy riding a trusty horse, to a vivid watercolor of a favorite uncle playing with adoring children.

  “Well, I didn’t spontaneously generate into a man destined to save the world.” He sniffed.

  Sera tactfully redirected the conversation. “Do you really think we can do it? Change the past? Save the world?”

  “Absolutely. There’s your proof.” Quin pointed toward the lawn where Mrs. Paine was approaching with a tray. “Mrs. P., alive and well, and bringing us breakfast, I hope.”

  5:00 PM – CST

  In the early evening dusk, J.D. Tippit sat waiting in his civilian car—a 1953 Ford—at the corner of Zang Boulevard and North Beckley Avenue in the Oak Cliff section of Dallas. He could think of countless ways to spend his time in a more enjoyable manner, but that wouldn’t accomplish his purpose. He sighed.

  A city bus rumbled down the street and stopped before the intersection to discharge one lone rider, Lee Harvey Oswald.

  Oswald sauntered toward the front door of 1026 North Beckley, a brick ranch house with a red peaked roof. A white overhang supported by four latticework struts shaded the porch. According to the inside scoop Mrs. Paine had gotten from her boarder, he rented an elfin room, barely big enough for a twin bed and a chest of drawers.

  Still in uniform from his tour, J.D. hastened to intercept Oswald. “Son, we need to talk.”

  “That’s your problem.” Oswald whipped around rebelliously, about to sound off. His face betrayed recognition. “Hold on. You’re the guy from last night. You a cop?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Good for you.” Oswald resumed walking toward the boarding house.

  “Freeze!” J.D. snarled the order.

  Oswald turned and raised his hands in mock surrender. “You gonna shoot me or arrest me?”

  J.D. resisted the impulse to inquire what he had done to make him think he might be arrested. “Neither. You’re going to answer some questions. That’s all.”

  “I’ve already answered questions. Lots of them. My wife has, too.” Oswald brazenly lowered his arms. “I lived in the Soviet Union. So what? That’s not a crime. I bet the FBI put you up to this, didn’t they?”

  “No, this has nothing to do with the FBI.” J.D. wondered where the inflated ego came from. “However, I do need information regarding some Russians.”

  Oswald swayed from side to side, as if contemplating his next move. But he remained silent.

  “Russians from the Carousel Club? You know them?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  J.D. spoke bluntly. “We believe the Russians are planning a felony. We need to prevent it from happening. If you’re acquainted with them, maybe you can assist us. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll have a little chat?”

  Oswald nodded vigorously in an apparent one-eighty-degree change in demeanor. “Sure, I’ll come with you. Just let me go inside and get a jacket. It is November, after all.”

  5:05 PM – CST

  6:05 PM – EST

  Vice President Lyndon Baines Johnson settled into the overstuffed chair in the Oval Office and willed his body to relax. Finally, a spare moment to hijack the control center of the most powerful man in the free world. JFK was currently hosting a reception with the National Education Association in the State Dining Room, after having delivered a speech in the White House Flower Garden. Taking advantage of his absence, the VP reached down and pumped the lever to adjust the seat to a more suitable height for his six-foot, three-inch frame. Of course, if the office were his, he would have chosen a fabric more comfortable than stiff leather. He tipped back and crossed his ankles on top of the Resolute desk.

  Time to find out what had caused such a stir in the press yes
terday. It galled him that he had to discover after the fact what his own executive branch proselytized. Like being an outsider.

  Johnson grabbed a sheaf of papers containing a full transcript of the address Kennedy had given to the Inter-American Press Association in Miami. The group constituted a press advocacy organization representing media outlets in North America, South America, and the Caribbean. The president had been slated to discuss the Alliance for Progress, an initiative he had enacted to establish economic cooperation between North and South America. Evidently, he had strayed from the topic at hand.

  LBJ read the opening remarks:

  I am very proud to be here tonight. I am particularly interested in the fact that two of our distinguished guests this evening are former prime ministers of Peru and are now publishers of newspapers. It does suggest to those who hold office that when the time comes, as they say in the United States, “if you can’t beat them, join them.”

  Johnson snorted. Typical JFK repertoire, cracking jokes whenever he had an audience. Didn’t he understand decorum? LBJ skimmed. Blah, blah, blah. Kennedy called the news media vital to public awareness and spoke of his pride in their fight for freedom of the press. The speech continued:

  It is on the Alliance for Progress that we base our common hope for the future. That hope is for a hemisphere where every man has enough to eat and a chance to work, where every child can learn, and every family can find decent shelter.

  Of course the president would promote the Alliance. He had created it in a transparent effort to counter the emerging communist threat from Cuba. Johnson simmered. It hadn’t succeeded. The only way to deal with the commies was to be ruthless. JFK underestimated his adversaries.

  LBJ skipped forward to the explosive text:

  It is important to restate what now divides Cuba from my country and from the other countries of this hemisphere. It is the fact that a small band of conspirators has stripped the Cuban people of their freedom and handed over the independence and sovereignty of the Cuban nation to forces beyond the hemisphere.