I Shot JFK

by Jake Aaron

  Peggy cheerfully changes the subject, “Gunnar, the doctor thinks you’re well! Isn’t that good news? I have some regular clothes and shoes for you. At 0900, someone will be by to take you to a meeting.”

  Showered and shaved — except for the mustache, Gunnar wonders what is up. Irving takes him to their normal meeting room. He shows Gunnar to a chair on one side of the table. On the other side, are three chairs facing him. Irving asks Gunnar about his overall experiences at the hospital. Five minutes later, “Jack” comes into the room and introduces himself. Jack sits to Gunnar’s left, and Irving sits to his right. The small talk about “Harry’s” convalescence continues. The center chair remains vacant.

  “We’re waiting on the most important person, other than you, Harry,” Irving pleasantly explains.

  At 0915, an attractive woman in a Navy blue business suit opens the door and enters. She wears two-inch matching heels. She has an air of authority. Her hair is in an inverted ponytail. At first, Gunnar does not recognize her, but she is familiar.

  “Harry, I believe you have met Eileen,” Irving offers.

  “Yes,” Eileen interrupts, “we have met. Shall we get on with it?”

  With efficiency, Eileen opens the meeting. She looks at Gunnar as if he were a stranger. “Harry, you probably wonder why you are here this morning. Irving has told you how important your experience evading the enemy is. I reiterate that. Lessons from your experience will go a long way preparing our aviators and first-line ground combatants in Vietnam for survival, evasion, resistance, and escape. Thank you for your cooperation and insights.

  “As we observed you during your convalescence, you have proved yourself more than we could fondly hope. You are far above normal in intelligence, resourcefulness, and situational awareness. Subject to a routine initial polygraph, this committee extends you an offer to work for the Central Intelligence Agency. We offer you a generous starting salary with the opportunity of advancement. We believe you will find the work challenging and rewarding .”

  At that point, Gunnar reaches in his back pocket. He produces an index card, folded in half and stapled. On the outside is printed: “Witnessed stapling closed, October 6. Signed: Peggy Melrose, RN.”

  With her meticulously manicured and now red-tone fingernails, Eileen pries open the staple. She opens the folded index card. She reads Gunnar’s printing: “Eileen works for intelligence, October 6. Signed: Harry.”

  Gunnar looks for a click. Is she surprised he was onto her? Is she pleased she made the correct assessment of his skills? He cannot tell. She does not react.

  As if nothing has happened, Eileen goes on without skipping a beat, “Assuming you accept our offer, Jack will do the polygraph in this room after a short break. Then we’ll begin processing your paperwork establishing a new identity and set you up with established credit and a current bank account. You’ll work on your legend and disguises here. Irving will role-play with you. In several days, we’ll have you off to Australia for 30 days of rest and recreation before we put you to work. Play hard; work hard, Harry.

  “You certainly have a superb Army career ahead of you. Based on our observations, over the long pull, we suspect it may not provide you enough stimulation. You should also consider that, if your survival is announced, the Communist propaganda machine will invariably try to publicly mark you as a war criminal and allege all sorts of heinous acts on your part during survival in the jungle. Anyone suspected of helping you survive will be brutally killed, including their extended family. More importantly, what we do in the Company is highly levered, so you will be able to have an outsized impact on maintaining American interests.

  “I think you’ll like the role you can play in developing the interests of the United States. We have global interests and need to act accordingly. You know the psyche of the country seems to turn inward after every major conflict. The Company does not do that. We realize the Nation has an empire, whether it likes it or not. We are dedicated to national interests, as you were taught at the Academy.”

  In microseconds Gunnar processes what he is hearing. He knows from his Army training what the Communist propaganda can do. He faces years of loud disturbing false allegations by the leftist media in America and the rest of the world. He thinks he can handle the negativity. But, he asks himself, how fair that is to his family. He also has to admire how perceptive Irving and Eileen are. He flashes to an extremely disturbing moment at an evening professional development lecture at West Point by an Army major on the very structured career path that then lay ahead of him.

  He remembers that unforgettable moment as a yearling when he broke into a sweat in the cold auditorium. He had never realized that his whole career was mapped out for him. Attend graduate school here, Army Command and General Staff College there, the Army War College eventually, and don’t forget a Pentagon tour somewhere. Having his life laid out in advance had upset him so much he still recalls how repulsive that reality was. He feels a cold sweat coming on.

  Now back in the present, Gunnar remembers what his dad taught him about buying cars. One should not accept any offer too quickly. “Who speaks first, loses,” he remembers his father’s exact words.

  “So, Harry, I realize this offer may be a surprise to you. You may need more time to consider it. That’s fine. What are your initial thoughts?” Eileen asks.

  Gunnar holds his tongue. Make them sell you, he tells himself.

  Irving pours Gunnar a fresh cup of coffee and pats him on the shoulder. “Harry, we need you,” he says.

  Jack weighs in, “I haven’t said much, but, from your performance in the hospital and previous record, I have to say I would be proud to work with you in any capacity. The Agency needs men like you. I sincerely hope you will come aboard.”

  “Thanks, Jack.” Gunnar processes the offer. “You know my family situation. I will need 30 extra days off a year to make this work. I won’t take them if I don’t need them, but I need that flexibility. I definitely want to be accessible to my family. I am the sole surviving male in the Olson line.”

  Eileen does not blink. “Harry, that can be arranged. I will give you a copy of a notarized letter to that effect. I’ll put it in your file and give you a copy. Anything else?”

  Gunnar is impressed that she has the authority to commit to his counteroffer so quickly. “What career path do you have in mind for me?” He has learned about his need for some free form in a career.

  “Harry, after your R&R, we need to run you through the Farm for the basics of being a covert operator. I don’t see you necessarily being in the field initially. I anticipate you operating at a supervisory level of advisor and fixer in Southeast Asia as this theater’s needs build. You have vast expertise here already. For your information, very few people in the organization know of your existence at this point. We keep operations and unique capabilities very compartmentalized. You are familiar with the ‘need-to-know’ concept: One only learns about what he needs to know to get his job done.

  “Your career path with the Company is flexible. You won’t see the rigid career milestones with us that you would experience in the Army,” Eileen states and pauses. No click.

  Gunnar signals acceptance, “Well, let’s get on with the lie detector test.”

  Eileen’s micro-expressions show she is pleased. Only those familiar with her would know. Gunnar knows.

  R&R

  A very dark-skinned, mustachioed athletic man exits a first-class seat on a Boeing 707 jet flight from Manila to Darwin, Australia. He has enjoyed the five-hour flight. He declines a bar date with a pretty Australian stewardess tonight. He carries a well-used, multiply-stamped fake passport. He approaches the Immigration and Border Protection official with a small gym bag. The official balks at the lack of luggage. The tourist explains that the airline lost his bags flying from Hong Kong to Manila. He hopes they catch up with him.

  He rents an automatic-shift car. Wearing aviator glasses, he drives slowly around the large airport rental parking l
ot. He hasn’t driven for a long time. Mentally, he chants, “Drive on left, careful. Drive on the left, careful. Drive on the left, careful.”

  He heads into Darwin to buy suitcases and clothes. Nothing like starting over, he muses. Driving on the left side of the road, instead of the accustomed right, makes him uncomfortable. The air conditioning in the car at least mediates the 90-degree heat outside. Other than that, he has not been as carefree since his sixty days of graduation leave after West Point. He now realizes his hypervigilance has tapered off after two months of living without real or imagined threats. A little extra alertness just might be what the doctor would order for my driving Down Under, he thinks to himself.

  With his new clothes, he checks into the Hilton. Someone has left him a handwritten message inside a hotel envelope. He recognizes the writing: “Room 124.” He takes his baggage to his room, refreshes, and heads to room 124. He knocks. The figure who opens the door is familiar. She is quizzical. She does not immediately recognize the man with the mustache.

  “Sis, may I come in?”

  *****

  I, Alex, am very careful when away from Vanuatu. I smile in slow recognition of my twin brother. I give Gunnar a long bear hug when he is inside my room. He kisses my cheek. I kiss his cheek.

  “You look great, Alex!” he volunteers.

  “You look like someone else, Gunnar. And you’re too skinny!”

  “It’s all that partying I’ve done for the last year or so,” he jokes.

  I direct us more toward business, “As you know, Aunt Cece helped get me here. She is a clever one. We have to catch up, but first help me to understand some things. Here’s what I understand. You’re traveling under an alias. Any chance you were followed? I have to be careful. I’ll explain.”

  “Yes, Alex, I am traveling under an alias. I trust you completely, so I have no issue telling you my survival is still officially a secret. I’m still a little hypervigilant after my vacation in the rainforest. I’m not the pie-in-the-sky nerd you knew in high school or the obedient engineering student you visited at West Point. And, no, I didn’t notice anyone following me.”

  “Gunnar, Aunt Cece and I correspond. She set up a meeting in Honolulu for her and me. I could only get a couple days off. Same with her. She wanted to tell me in person that you are alive. She swore me to complete secrecy. I have not and will not tell anyone else about you.”

  “Alex, why Honolulu?”

  “Gunnar, that’s a long story. Before I get to that, let me get room service to bring us champagne on ice and strawberries. Anything else you’d like?”

  While we wait on refreshments, I think out loud: “So, basically no one knows about you. You’ve been cocooned off for two months after you came out of the jungle. I’m here under an alias, and no one followed me.” I mentally flip coins over what to tell Gunnar about my situation: on the run from the mob or …

  “Gunnar, when you came out of the hot, stifling jungle, you must have been shocked to learn we have a new president. What were your thoughts?”

  “I was in total disbelief, Alex. Assassination of our president? Not in my country, you don’t. I couldn’t believe we have sunk so low as a civilization to have a crime like that perpetrated on our top leader. Shooting that bullet was a despicable, cowardly act. I think Oswald got what was coming to him, although prolonged torture before his death might have been more appropriate. I stand against everything that senseless act represented. May he burn in hell!”

  A waiter knocks on the door with the Cristal and strawberries. Gunnar jumps a little at the waiter’s pop of the cork. The waiter pours a generous amount of champagne in each flute. He wishes us well and firmly declines a tip.

  “These strawberries are sensational!” Gunnar clanks his glass against mine. He initiates a series of toasts. “To my wonderful, beautiful sister!”

  I tear up. “To the best brother in the world! May he live long and prosper!”

  Gunnar tears up, too. “To Aunt Cece! And may I say you have impeccable taste in brut champagne.”

  I brighten, “You deserve it, war hero. I would say big brother, but you are so thin. I know, I said that already. To Uncle Walt!”

  Gunnar: “To Mom and Dad!”

  I wilt a bit, “How could I forget? It has been so long since I have thought of them.”

  “Alex, they would not want us dwelling on the past. Dad once told me that every time he witnessed an actual nuclear explosion, it convinced him more and more to live in the present. Here’s to living in the present!”

  “I’ll drink to that. Here’s to brothers who help their sisters win science fairs!”

  “Here’s to modest sisters who deservedly win!” Gunnar pronounces.

  I do not need to flip the virtual coin anymore. I call on my almost-photographic memory and recite what I told Aunt Cece, “Gunnar, I apologize for being so secretive. I had to leave medical school suddenly. I made the mistake of being too helpful. I was eating at an Italian restaurant when a man was shot. I ran over to stop the bleeding. The son of the man saw that I knew what I was doing and thought I was a doctor. I could not convince him otherwise, nor could I sell the idea of going to a hospital. At gunpoint, I left with an entourage to a safe house. There was a very credible threat that, if the dad died, so would I.

  “The power of the group was amazing. Anything reasonable that I needed for medical care, I got within half an hour. I managed to keep the man alive for several days by staying up and working without sleep. I established a little rapport with one of my watchers who sent me outside to get some air. I escaped and have not looked back since.

  “I did not go back to my apartment. I got my papers and cash from my bank deposit box. This is not fiction. It is a real threat. I would like to wish the situation away, but we cannot. The man died.”

  I omit the part where I told Aunt Cece about the obituary. Gunnar would thresh that out. He would prove the negative. He was relentless in protecting family or investigating facts.

  “I hide out in Vanuatu working as a doctor in a rural clinic under an alias. Being pursued is just a fact of life I have learned to live with. My pursuers, of course, know about Uncle Walt and Aunt Cece from public records. Aunt Cece recognized one of them following her on the plane flight from Alamogordo to Sydney, where she and Uncle Walt met me. I had told her in advance how to shake him.

  “I have adjusted to my new life. If nothing else, I got to begin my practice as a physician sooner than I expected,” I observe with sincerity. I take another swallow of champagne. At this momentous reunion, I could not risk the likely wrath of my brother over firing that bullet in Dallas. I wonder whether the lie I told to Aunt Cece plus the same lie told to Gunnar add up to some kind of truth. I am honest with myself: I am lying to Gunnar because I can’t handle the pain of losing my brother again.

  “I am so happy to have you in my life, Alex. I cannot tell you how much you mean to me. When I lived moment to moment, trying to survive in that hostile jungle environment for months, I thought of you often. This reunion with you is the peak event in my life. Being lost was ,indeed, worth the coming home!”

  I mentally pat myself on the back. I did the right thing in not telling Gunnar about Dallas. His heart for family is as big as ever, but his heart for country has grown, if that is possible.

  Gunnar pumps his right fist in anger. “Alex, I wish I’d been there for you — before you felt you had to leave medical school. Hank and I would have gone in there at night and destroyed every member of that gang family …”

  “I know you would have, Gunnar, but it’s okay. As I’ve said, I’m in a good place — physically and mentally.”

  Gunnar keeps the conversational ball up in the air by bringing up fond memories. He wants to avoid discussing the months of survival. I sense he still harbors some secret like a good soldier. There is something he is not telling me. Is he avoiding upsetting me? I know he feels he has to handle me with kid gloves. I will not force the issue.

  We twins
stare into each other’s eyes. We communicate without words. I know Gunnar can see the maturity in my eyes. My beautiful, piercing gray eyes used to sparkle more. Is that lost gleam a dimming of my spirit, a marker of aging, or both? Gunnar’s similarly beautiful gray eyes — now slightly dimmed — reflect the stress of West Point, Airborne School, Ranger School, and his Vietnam experience.

  “I think we need more champagne,” Gunnar bursts out. “And I have a hankering for pizza, kind of a new dish to me back in New York my last year at the Point. I bet we have to settle for fish and chips from the room service chef.”

  “I could use a Baca’s taco now and a Lotaburger,” I erupt enthusiastically. “Throw in a Creamland chocolate milk shake and some Lionel’s fries.”

  “Good luck with that! Now I am really nostalgic for Albuquerque, Alex. You know every time I grip a rifle stock it connects me with you in Rifle Club back in the Duke City. Do you still shoot?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic?” I respond. I hate trite expressions, especially from me.

  Gunnar roars. Even worn-out jokes are funny after a few glasses of bubbly. “Let me call room service.” He makes the call and listens to me.

  “Seriously, I have a French rifle on the island. I shoot regularly. The rifle has the best feel since…” I do not complete my thought. Even buzzed on alcohol, I know where I cannot go.

  Distracted while calling room service, Gunnar misses the uncompleted sentence. He has all the food charges put against his room and completes the order. He rises from his chair and walks to me. He leans and gives me another hug. I return it from my reclined position on the couch. No words are necessary. We hold the strained position until room service arrives again.

  “I think the fish and chips are just what the doctor ordered, eh, Alex?”

  I laugh out loud at his joke. “Who would guess that champagne complements them? I missed you, Gunnar.”

  “Here’s what I don’t get, Alex. I find it a wonder that we were ever close. Competing with a genius like you never made me resentful. I never felt any of that. You were always a formidable competitor in everything we did. Most of my friends resented their very talented siblings. I never was angry at life that I didn’t have your fine motor skills either.”