“Seriously, Dee.” Jay pressed himself back in his seat. “Use logic. You’d have to stand right in front of the basin in order to see the monument mirrored in the water.”
“Whatever.” Dee propped an elbow on Jay’s leg and pointed with her free hand. “See that immense white dome, with like a gazillion steps leading up to the entrance? That’s the Capitol Building where Congress used to convene.”
“One has to give Iggy credit. The old District of Columbia really lives up to her description. The structures gleam.” Jay shifted, uncomfortable with Dee splayed across his thighs. He noted Bick peering at them in amusement from across the aisle. “If you had told me you preferred the window seat, I would have gladly relinquished my spot.”
“No, no, no. That’s okay. I finally learned my lesson. I get woozy if I’m too close to a window during flight.” She pushed off from him to bend forward and rummage in her bag. “Wait, let me get my camera. I want to capture this scene on film.”
Jay rolled his eyes around and rested them on Bick with a beseeching expression.
Bick reached over and tapped Dee on the knee. “I would suggest you fasten your seatbelt instead. The landing might be rough in this antique model.”
Jay touched the factory-fresh armrest and gave a small smile.
Dee sat back and buckled up. “I’m just excited. I never imagined I’d visit our nation’s former capital in its heyday. DC is the antithesis of WB.”
“That may be so. But we’re not here on a sightseeing tour.” Bick shook his head ruefully. “We have a difficult task ahead of us.”
“And we thought convincing J.D. and Mrs. Paine was tough.” Jay removed his glasses and massaged his temples. “We’ll be lucky to even get a meeting with anyone of consequence.”
“I’m a reporter.” Dee scrunched her brow in puzzlement. “It’s my job to gain access.”
Bick lowered his voice so he could barely be heard over the whining of the engines. “You were a reporter, back in ’13. Remember, you don’t have any credentials in ’63.”
“Ah, hold on a second.” Dee unclasped her seatbelt and once again angled forward to dig into her shoulder tote. “Somewhere in here . . .”
Jay and Bick exchanged weary glances.
“Ta dah!” Dee whipped out a laminated card.
Jay snatched it. “Where did you get that?” He examined an official-looking Associated Press pass bearing her name and picture.
“After J.D. asked me for credentials, I realized I might need proof. Iggy helped me fake one up.”
Jay handed it back. “What if some official tries to verify its authenticity?”
“Don’t be such a square, Jay. They’d have no reason to.” Dee pocketed the ID. “I know what I’m doing. I only hope we can stop them in time.”
1:30 PM – CST
Mrs. Paine drove her green 1955 Chevy station wagon through the residential streets of Irving on her way to the grocery store. Anxious for an update on the president, she flipped on the radio and tuned in to a local news program. After a brief weather report predicting sunny skies for Friday, the announcer outlined JFK’s activities. Air Force One had just touched down in San Antonio, where the Commander in Chief and First Lady would be joined by Vice President Johnson, Governor Connally, and their respective wives. Later in the afternoon, Kennedy would dedicate the US Air Force School of Aerospace Medicine at Brooks Air Force Base, seven miles southeast of downtown San Antone.
The station broke for a commercial—a hot dog jingle with a child’s voice singing about how he wished to be a wiener.
Mrs. Paine started to hum along with the catchy tune, and then chastised herself for disregarding the gravity of the circumstances. After her elation upon hearing of the KGB’s capture, she’d been devastated to learn of their impending release.
The broadcast continued with a correspondent in San Antonio describing the president’s motorcade route. It would wind through the business district in an open limousine, exactly as planned for each city in the Lone Star state on this whirlwind trip.
All day, the sixties housewife had experienced a feeling of dread roiling in her gut. Mrs. Paine could not relax until she knew the outcome.
Would Jacqueline Kennedy be safe in Dallas?
3:30 PM – CST
Quin coasted the turquoise Chevy to a stop in the alleyway behind the Carousel Club. “Why the heck you want to park here, anyway? The main entrance is out front.”
“I kept the key, you idiot.” Sera jangled her keychain, trying to annoy him. “Ruby won’t be too pleased to see me after I abandoned my shift Monday, so we’ll sneak in. Besides, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of paying his cover charge.”
“Yeah, screw him,” Sam concurred as they got out.
Sera climbed the stairs and led them through the rear entrance. She strode down the hallway, thrusting the swinging door open with a bang. In the muted light of the main venue, a handful of early-bird patrons were scattered about the tables and booths. Music blared, but only one scantily clad dancer practiced her craft on the carousel-horse pole.
Tending bar across the room, Ruby popped up. As Sera approached, his legendary temper flared. “Well, well, well. The prodigal waitress has returned. You can forget about getting your job back.” He sauntered around the bar to face them. “You’ve been replaced. Plenty of other girls who need work. Girls who don’t skip out.”
“Save the sanctimonious speech, Ruby. We haven’t got time for a tantrum. We have to talk. Now.”
“Before we talk about anything, pay the cover charge. And I mean all four of you.” The club owner crossed his arms. “Two dollars each.”
“It’s urgent!” Sera admonished.
Ruby raised his chin in a challenge. “And fork over the key.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Sera dug the key out of her pocket. “We’ll give you ten. Sam?”
Sam grumbled something about a two-bit shyster as he slapped a ten into Ruby’s palm.
Ruby made a show of examining the bill as if believing it might be phony. Satisfied with the results of his scrutiny, he stuffed what was actually a counterfeit note into his wallet. “What’s this about?”
Sera moved in close enough to smell his rank aftershave. “You’re being made a fool of, Jack.”
“Nobody would dare.” He patted the pistol bulging from his waistband.
“Shut up.” Sera snapped her fingers.
Quin and Sam sprang to Ruby’s sides, each grabbing an arm at the elbow like a couple of goons. They frog-marched their sputtering hostage toward the back meeting room.
“What the hell are you doing? This is my club!”
Iggy yanked a wooden chair out from the conference table, and the men shoved Ruby into it.
“Who are you people? I’ll kill you, I swear I will.”
Sera placed one hand on either arm of the chair and bent over him. He was obviously bluffing. “You want introductions? Fine. I’m Sera. I believe you’ve met Quin and Sam.” She stepped aside. “This is Iggy Mikos. She’s in charge now.”
Ruby watched them, more mystified than angry.
Iggy cleared her throat and mimicked Sera’s hardball tone. “You think you’re calling the shots, but you’re way out of your league. Do you know the caliber of the hooligans you’re associating with?”
“What are you getting at?” Ruby adjusted his narrow tie. “I run a high-class establishment.”
Iggy scoffed. “What do you truly know about the men who rent this room?”
“That’s none of your business, you nosy broad.”
“You’d better cooperate, Ruby”—Sam punched a fist into the palm of the other hand, hoping to seem threatening—“or history will remember you as a chump. This is imperative.”
Quin observed the burlesque proprietor’s blank look. “He means it’s important, dumbass.”
Sera decided to appeal to his unnatural affection for Kennedy. “The situation involves the president’s visit to Dallas. A matt
er of life or death.”
Ruby’s spine went rigid.
“Okay, now that we have your attention, we’ll start over.” Iggy sat down, relieved, but still attempting to sound tough. “Give us everything you got on these guys.”
“I know enough. They pay a bundle for the meeting room. And for use of the safe. I figured they were connected. You know. The mob.” He noticed their dumbfounded faces. “For Pete’s sake! The Mafia. Organized crime.”
“They’re not connected, Jack.” Sera swatted the top of his skull. “They’re commies.”
The cogs turned in Ruby’s brain. In hindsight, his tenants sported features that seemed more Slavic than Sicilian. Could they be Russian? He rubbed the back of his neck. Commies. JFK. Dallas. Life or death. “Red bastards!” he shouted. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“We haven’t said anything.” Iggy belied her words by nodding.
Ruby slapped his hand over his mouth. “My God. Jackie will be by his side the whole time.” Suddenly, his shocked expression turned to granite. “Why should I believe you? This could be some sort of trap.”
“If we were going to shoot you, you’d be dead.” Sera sighed. “Think about it. Even you can figure out I’m not a waitress. It was an excuse to spy on them. Remember when I bolted Monday night? My cover was blown after we tried to nail them.”
“Who are you working for? Where do you get your information?”
“If we tell you any more, we’ll have to whack you.” Sera laughed.
Quin focused on Ruby. “Point is, we need your help to find the Russians, capiche?”
“Quin is correct. You’re our best shot.” Sam squelched a shudder. How had they come to this? A small-time flesh peddler as their savior.
Flattered, Ruby stood and began to walk around the table. “I suppose if my calling is to protect my president, I can’t say no. The suspects are here every night, so it’s not a stretch to assume they’ll return. Although they never showed up last night.” Ruby glared at Sera’s smug grin. “But they did leave some stuff in the safe.”
“Like what?” Sera made a mental note to thank Quin and Sam for buttering him up.
“A shortwave radio . . . documents . . . weapons.” Ruby squinted into the distance. “Those sons of bitches will definitely be back.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE
THURSDAY, NOVEMBER 21, 1963
3:45 PM – CST
4:45 PM – EST
While Dee paced back and forth muttering, Bick and Jay sat on marble benches in the lobby at the Department of Justice building in Washington DC. At 950 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest, the trapezoidal edifice was located less than a mile from the White House. Over the echoing footsteps of cheap-suited bureaucrats, the two men brooded on their unsuccessful attempts to determine the KGB’s status.
Upon arrival in the nation’s capital, they had taxied to the Federal Bureau of Prisons at 320 First Street. Armed with her fictitious press pass, Dee had claimed she was investigating an explosive story on corruption in the military court system. Hoping to raise their hackles with the threat of an exposé, she tried to schedule a meeting with James V. Bennett, director of the Bureau of Prisons since 1937. After being held in suspense, her request was unequivocally denied. Before succumbing to defeat, Bick discreetly made inquiries to junior associates until they uncovered a crucial fact: the Manned Spacecraft Center trespassers had been handed off to the Justice Department.
Capitalizing on his triumph, the trio hightailed it to the DOJ, where they were now waiting to be seen by a low-ranking official.
Dee stopped pacing in front of Jay and barked, “What time is it?”
Jay checked his watch. “A quarter to five.”
“Where is this guy? If he doesn’t come soon, it will be too late. Everyone will be heading home.”
“Calm down, Dee. They assured us he would come.” Bick scanned the reception area. “That could be the gentleman right there.”
Dee wheeled around and broke away to intercept the approaching man. Meeting him halfway, she spoke in an exaggerated whisper.
Jay observed Bick rubbing his eyes and decided to distract him. “You know, Kennedy should be in Houston now. He’s riding in a convertible limo through the streets of the city, this being his second motorcade after San Antonio. In a little while, he’ll be giving a speech at Rice University honoring US Representative Albert Richard Thomas. He and the vice president will try to convince the congressman to run for a fifteenth term in the House. Quite persuasively, I might add.”
Bick nodded in acknowledgement.
Encouraged, Jay continued, “Fascinatingly, Thomas was instrumental in securing the location of the Manned Spacecraft Center in Houston, where we, um, visited yesterday morning. Anyway, tonight the presidential party will fly to Fort Worth, where they will stay at the Texas Hotel. And then . . .”
At the sound of Dee arguing, Bick held up a finger to silence Jay.
“You have no idea what you’ve done, you officious weasel!” As the man scurried away, Dee shouted, “You’ve just sentenced all of humanity to hell!”
In a fury, Dee stomped back to Jay and Bick. “I can’t believe these buttheads. Apparently the DOJ is too stupid to figure out that the KGB aren’t who they say they are. And now, we’ll never get the chance to rat them out as Russians.”
“Don’t be so fatalistic, Dee.” Jay lifted his eyebrows in a hopeful expression. “We’ll find someone else. We’ll convince them; you’ll see.”
“You don’t get it! We’re too late. The KGB have already been released. The imbeciles in charge decided they were engaging in a foolish prank and let them go with a warning and a fine.”
“That’s it.” Bick stood up. “Enough tomfoolery. We must consider drastic action.”
Dee collapsed into the seat Bick had vacated. “What’s the use?”
“We have to speak to a person of authority. Even if we have to barge in without an appointment.” Bick set his jaw, undeterred. “And, we have to notify the team in Dallas.”
“Well”—Dee sat upright, her stubborn optimism returning tenfold—“we have nothing to lose if we ambush the top man. Let’s do it.” She clenched a strong fist in the air. “Who is he?”
Jay gave her a sidelong glance. “The attorney general, of course, would be the highest position in the chain of command. But Bobby Kennedy is not likely to be here on any given day, although in our history this very office will be named after him. In 2001, to be precise. Nonetheless, as JFK’s closest advisor, he would typically be situated at the White House. I reckon we’d have a better chance of getting Sera to dance at the Carousel than of gaining access there.”
“Will you shut up about Bobby?” Dee grabbed him by both shoulders. “Obviously we can’t storm the White House. But the KGB could be halfway to Dallas by now. You have to go call home base and warn the others.”
Startled, Jay hurried off to find a phone booth.
“Sorry.” Dee held her face in her hands. “I couldn’t take any more tutorials.” She looked at Bick. “Okay, so not Bobby. Then who’s the head honcho in this building?”
“If I’m not mistaken, the director of the FBI would have an office here.” Bick chortled uneasily. “However, we have to think smaller scale. You can hardly expect to manufacture an audience with J. Edgar Hoover.”
“We’ll see about that.” Dee got up.
“Wait! I’m serious!”
Dee marched out to the center of the foyer and yelled as loud as her voice would carry, “J. Edgar Hoover! J. Edgar Hoover! I demand to see J. Edgar Hoover!”
5:00 PM – CST
“How much longer do we have to endure this stench?” Sam sounded muffled through the handkerchief covering his nose and mouth. “I can’t fathom a worse smell. Did something die in here?”
“Prob’ly.” From a squatting position, Quin pulled his left foot back from a bracing spot and awkwardly swapped it with his right, accidentally kicking Sera. “Whoops.”
&n
bsp; Sera grunted in the semi-darkness. After all, what difference did it make? They were surrounded by garbage. “Suck it up, Sam. It’s the only hiding place in this darn alleyway.”
“Sera’s correct. And we’ll stay here all night if we have to. It’s our best lead to catch these assassins.” Iggy took a deep breath and regretted it as her lungs filled with rotten fumes. She gagged into her hand, trying to suppress an impending retch.
“Shush!” Sera clutched Iggy’s forearm in panic. “I think I hear someone coming.”
“I got it.” Quin cautiously rose to peek out of the crack between the dumpster and the lid, where they had wedged a rolled up newspaper. “Nope. Only a couple of strippers on their way to earn a buck. They’re climbing the back stairs.”
“That’s another issue I have with this whole plan.” Sam spoke quietly, but still sounded indignant. “Are you sure the KGB will enter through the back? I mean how far can we trust Ruby? He was willing to rent his room to a bunch of thugs he thought were mobsters. What does that say about him?”
“Look, you don’t know Jack like I do. He just wants to feel like he’s part of the action. A big shot. You know, a player.” Sera swiped the perspiration from her forehead with her sleeve. “He’s got an ego, but he still knows everything that happens regarding his club. The KGB will return, and they’ll use the rear entrance.”
Sam guffawed. “Yeah, smart guy.”
“Well, obviously he didn’t know they were Russians, but how could he? I didn’t say he was a mind reader, or—”
“Button it,” Quin ordered. “Here comes a dark blue Buick. Could be our comrades now.”
5:20 PM – CST
Fifteen minutes later—sitting in the Carousel meeting room, Viktor Vladimirsky hung his head in shame. KGB section chief Leonid was chastising his underlings through the shortwave radio. Their recent failure had been inexcusable. They were screwed.
In polar contrast, Dmitriy Sokolov glared at the communication device with homicidal rage, as if by sheer force of will he could impact the man at the signal’s origin. No way would he assume culpability for the failed plan. Kon had been calling the shots then, but now he was dead. Dmitriy smiled. He was gratified to have gleaned this fact from overhearing the Americans on the way to Houston.
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 28
