“Bud, you and Lou haven’t been forgotten either. You will be joining LJ and Rocky on Pegasus’s return trip. Your job will be to ‘borrow’ a car also and get over to Lee Harvey Oswald’s rooming house and follow his every move. We need to know whom he sees and to whom he talks.”
The events now taken as fact were: around one to two p.m., right after the Kennedy shooting, Tippit was driving his police patrol car on East 10th Street in Oak Cliff. Oak Cliff is just a few blocks from downtown Dallas. He had gone about 100 feet past the intersection of 10th Street and Patton Avenue and saw Lee Harvey Oswald. Oswald was reported to be walking in the same direction. Tippit, reportedly, pulled up beside Oswald because he matched the description of the man the police were looking for in the Kennedy shooting. Oswald walked over to the car and talked with Tippit through the open window. Tippit stepped out of the patrol car on the left side and started to walk around the front of his car. As Officer Tippit approached the front fender on the driver's side, Lee Harvey Oswald pulled a .38 revolver and fired off four shots in rapid succession. Three bullets hit Tippit in the chest. Oswald, then walked up to where Tippit lay mortally wounded and shot him directly in the head, killing him. “LJ and Rocky see if you can verify this. Prove or disprove whether Oswald actually shot J. D. Tippit. Follow him to the Texas Theatre; see if he tries to meet someone there. You will be given a briefing package before you leave. This package will detail all this information and anything else considered relevant.”
“Mike, I believe Forrest and Olive Marie will head to Clinton Murdock’s estate at 45 Ash Hill Lane in north Dallas. Johnson’s so called ‘girlfriend’ reported Vice President Johnson and a number of high-ranking government officials attended a party at the Murdock house the night before John Kennedy’s assassination. The girlfriend said they talked about the assassination, which was to take place the next day. That begs two questions: how did the ‘special’ guests know an assassination of the president was to take place the next day, and who, exactly, were those guests?
If Forrest and Olive Marie made it to Texas, I believe they, somehow, figured a way to get into the Murdock party, so the Murdock estate is where I am going to begin looking. Second, in case they are not at Murdock’s place, or if something happened on the trip from Celina to his place. I want you to program Pegasus to leave the Texas School Book building at 11:45 Saturday morning, November 23, 1963. Sent it to my cow pasture close to Celina.”
“Okay, sounds crazy Captain, but you know what you are doing. When do you want me to return Pegasus from the cow pasture back to the launch facility here in the laboratory?”
“How about noon Saturday, November 23, 1963. That should give us all plenty of time to accomplish our objectives and assemble at the cow pasture.
“I forgot to mention to the rest of you – Mike has installed a receiver/transmitter in Pegasus. This device will allow you to use your cellphones, but you have to stay within five miles of the time machine to talk to each other. Be discreet, remember it is 1963, please do not let anyone see you talking on the cellphones! If you want to communicate back to Mike here at SCAR you will need to use the transmitter within Pegasus itself. Anyone got a question?”
“Only one,” asked LJ. “What about weapons? Are we allowed to carry any?”
“No, not normally, it is too dangerous to take a chance on our modern weaponry design to accidentally stumble into 1963. It easily could fall into the wrong hands; however, I violated my own rule. I carried a semi-automatic .45 caliber and three full clips of ammo with me on my first trip. Since the weapon was built during World War II there was no danger of technology transfer if this gun were discovered. The gun was already twenty years old in 1963. I hid the weapon in a hole in a tree close to the old barn in the cow pasture. The tree had a squirrel hole about chest high, the pistol and ammo was in a waterproof bag inside the hole; however, since I am returning to a different Parallel Universe this pistol will not be there when I arrive. I am going to take two more 1911s with me – one I will keep with me and the other I will hide in the same squirrel hole in the same tree in the cow pasture – just remember, only use it if you deem it absolutely necessary.
“If need be, I will use all force necessary to find and return Forrest and Olive Marie – and that means the use of firearms if it comes to that.
“Each of you will have a map to the cow pasture. You must be there before noon Saturday. I stress, do not be late or you will left behind!! As you well know, if you get stranded I cannot guarantee I will be able to send Pegasus back to get you.
“Roger, we copy that.”
“Anything else? Speak up, anyone have a question? Okay, let’s get ready to go. Oh, almost forgot one pertinent fact – guys we will be going back to a different Parallel Universe. We will remain in that Universe unless we do something monumental to change it to another Universe. In this Universe, President Kennedy, we believe will get murdered. The Universe we are leaving is not the one to whom Pegasus will return, I just hope we get through all the events so the scenario will play itself out through the assassination without our interference. If we don’t mess up, we should return to a world that is exactly like this one.
“Everyone going to Dallas listen up... go down to our Historical Artifacts office and draw appropriate clothing for the time period, and most of all get some 1963 cash!! I found out the hard way 2012 currency will not spend very well in 1963.” At this remark, they all had a good chuckle.
“Okay, everyone set? Mike, go downstairs and prepare Pegasus... I blast off at 1500 hours today.” Smiling, the Captain turned to the group, “Mickey has one hand pointing to the 12 and the other to the 3.” Spook laughing gave him a thumbs up sign. “Mike will fill you in on your departure time when you all get to the lab.
“Safe journey to all, and Godspeed.”
As the meeting broke up, Lonnie Joe and Rocky had their heads together planning their strategy in Dallas. Lou and Bud were doing likewise on the other side of the room.
STRATEGY
“What do you think Rocky? How do you want to handle it when we get to Dallas?” Lonnie Joe said to Rocky as the others were leaving the room.
“Haven’t had time to give it much thought but just on the surface I think the easiest would be to get in Ruby’s place before the thugs arrive and place a ‘bug’ somewhere around the table. We can then record every word they say down in the parking garage. If you have anything better, I’m all ears.”
“No Rocky, sounds like Occam's Razor to me.”
“Oakkum’s what? What does a razor have to do with this?”
“No Rocky, Occam’s Razor states: ‘simpler explanations are, other things being equal, generally better than more complex ones’.
“LJ, what in the heck are you talking about?”
“It is a principle suggesting a person should select among competing hypotheses the one which makes the least assumptions and thereby offers the simplest explanation of the effect.”
“What?”
“Oh, forget it...your idea is the simplest and in Mr. Occam’s and my opinion the best idea. I suggest we go with it.”
“Ooookay...,” Rocky said, not understanding a word, but frowning, he cocked his head, and replied, “ I guess that means my idea sounds good – then we’ll go downstairs to central supply and get the necessary bugging devices.”
Captain Scarburg earlier mentioned the Mafia guys were sitting at the Carousel Club talking with Jack Ruby at a table with a single incandescent light fixture hanging over it. Rocky explained how he was thinking they could get into the club, replace the light bulb with SCAR’s own AU115 microphone and transmitter concealed in an ordinary looking light bulb. He and Lonnie Joe could put a RE230 receiver in their car and record every word spoken. Looking at Lonnie Joe, “Think those will do the trick?”
“Yeah, sounds good, what about getting some pictures? Got any ideas for video?”
“How about using one of the miniature video cameras that look like a wall hook fo
r a hanging picture? Once we get inside Ruby’s meeting room we can quickly remove a painting and replace its hanger with our camera. They will never notice the microphone or the camera, and meantime we will be recording every word and picture. The RE230 will capture all the audio and video.”
BUD AND LOU
“I’ve been running some plans through my head Lou. We need to leave the rooftop, ‘requisition’ a car and drive over to Oswald’s place. One thing bothers me tho’, we will be arriving on Thursday, and Oswald doesn’t get really involved until Friday. What are we going to do in the meantime?”
“I don’t know Bud... for now let’s just plan on ‘getting’ our car, drive out to his rooming house, at 1026 North Beckley Avenue, over in Oak Cliff and check out the situation.”
“Say Lou, I’ve got an idea. What about seeing if Mrs. Earlene Roberts has an empty room she might rent us. That way we would be right there in the same rooming house as Oswald.”
“Darn you Bud, you can come up with some wild-eyed ideas, but you know, I like this one. We’ll give it a try.”
The time was 10:30 a.m., Friday, December 7, 2012.
Chapter Forty-Three
THE CHAUFFEUR AND THE MAID
Around 6:45 p.m., Thursday, November 21, 1963, Olive Marie and Forrest had decided they had waited long enough. Olive Marie pulled the old truck into Clint Murdock’s long tree lined driveway, and slowly the tires crunched through the snow toward the main house off in the distance.
As they had sat earlier waiting at the entrance, they observed a number of shiny, black Cadillac limos turn into the driveway. Approaching the last limousine in the long line of cars parked along side the drive in front of the house Forrest said to Olive Marie, “Stop behind the last Cadillac. I will walk up to the house and join the other chauffeurs. You go on around and pull into the parking place behind the house and get into your maid’s uniform.”
Forrest got out of the truck, quietly shut the door, and began walking up the sidewalk past all the identical black, Cadillac limousines, but something did not seem right, what was wrong? The drivers? Where were the drivers? There were no chauffeurs in the cars and there were none milling around outside. He could easily see why they were not outside – don’t let anyone tell you different, it gets cold in Texas in the winter.
Walking around the side of the house, Forrest noticed a large building, which evidently had once been the carriage house during the horse and buggy days. It had been thoroughly remodeled, and for all intents and purposes was probably now being used as a guesthouse. It was sitting to the left rear of the main house. He could see lights shining from the windows that illuminated the snow outside, and he could hear muffled laughter.
Over to the entrance door he ventured. Slowly, he opened the door, not knowing what to expect, and stepped into a warm, brightly lit room. It was crowded with at least a dozen other chauffeurs, and cigarette smoke so thickly permeated the air one could barely see across the smoke filled room. All were dressed exactly alike allowing Clem’s chauffeur’s uniform to blend in like a pea in a pod.
“Hello,” the chauffeur closest to the door said. “Come in out of the cold and get warm, I’m Senator Harold L. Hunter, this guy,” he said motioning with his arm, “this is Senator Charles Tomlin. State Senator John Masters and the ex-Vice President Richard Nixon are playing cards at the table with J. Edgar Hoover and Lobbyist Wink Gullion. The rest are drivers for the other guests.” It was then Forrest realized the persons in the room were not merely just chauffeurs or drivers; they had lost their individual identity and had assumed the persona of their passengers. As he pondered this amusing development, Senator Hunter turned to Forrest and asked, “And you are?”
This caught Forrest by surprise; he had not anticipated this turn of events, and did not have a fake passenger identity to assume. Hesitating for a fleeting moment to organize his thoughts he blurted out, “I’m...I’m... Robert Scarburg... Robert Scarburg, Junior... pleased to meet you both,” he said sticking out his hand.
Quizzically looking at each other, Senator Hunter turned to Forrest and asked, “Robert Scarburg? Who is Robert Scarburg, Junior?” Placing an emphasis on Junior as tho’ it were a bad four-letter word. “I don’t believe we have had the honor.”
“Oh,” said Forrest, “he’s some Washington bigwig. I should have said “Captain” Robert Scarburg, Junior. He is head of some hush-hush group called SCAR.”
“SCAR, what in the devil is SCAR?” One of them asked.
“I told you, it was hush-hush. We’re not even supposed to be talking about it.” Forrest said, pressing his index and middle fingers to his lips.
“Sorry my good man, mums the word. Come on in and get something to drink. That will warm you up. We have hard spirits and coffee, what’s your pleasure.”
“I believe for now, I’ll just warm up with the hot coffee.”
Forrest had to admit, even though a tad on the snobbish side, they all seemed rather amicable. For the remainder of the evening, they sat around playing cards, smoking and drinking. Forrest sipping his coffee, the others were drinking about anything available in the liquor cabinet.
Around 9 p.m., the door opened with a flourish. In stepped a large ogre dressed in a chauffeur’s uniform that seemed a size or two small for his massive size. Through the dense haze of cigarette smoke Forrest could see he had a square cut jaw with piercing grey eyes - steel grey eyes that seemed to look right through a person. Forrest thought, there is something strange about his eyes! Forrest stared at the newcomer; I know now, he thought, those eyes – the eyes of a wolf. After removing his cap Forrest could not help but notice the brute’s blonde hair with its meticulously trimmed G.I. flattop. A flattop so flat one could measure it with a carpenter’s level. Following closely on his heels were two more bruisers dressed in dark business suits. The scowl on all three of their faces appeared as if they had been born with them.
Senator Hunter leaned over and whispered into Forrest’s ear, “Vice President Johnson and two of his Secret Service strong-arms. He is an uppity sort, never cared much for him. He thinks driving for JOHNSON,” (inflecting his voice on the name Johnson,) “makes him better than the rest of us lowly, mere, despicable chauffeurs.”
Without as much as an acknowledgement to the rest of the drivers in the room the three walked straight to the liquor cabinet, lifted a bottle of Cutty Sark they poured themselves a hearty two fingers of scotch. They did not engage in conversation with anyone in the room, they talked among themselves – their elitist attitude suggested the other drivers were too loathsome to have anything of importance to contribute.
Forrest thought, Goldmine... I have struck a goldmine, and didn’t even have to do anything to obtain my information. In this room were all the drivers of the men Ms. Margaret White had spoken about. At least Forrest now knew Lyndon Johnson attended a party at the estate of Clint Murdock November 21, 1963, the night before the Kennedy assassination. Maybe Olive Marie will find out more information, he thought.
It must have been around 11:30 p.m. when one of the Secret Service guys pulled out a two-way radio from his coat pocket and carried on a short conversation with someone on the other end. Putting the radio back into his pocket, he summoned the chauffeur Senator Hunter with the motion of his finger.
Senator Hunter’s driver walked quickly across to the three-man group. One of the agents leaned forward and whispered something in the Senator’s ear. Forrest could see Senator Hunter shake his head and then he nodded. Forrest wondered what THAT conversation was all about. Finishing the tête-à-tête, Senator Hunter donned his chauffeur’s cap and left the room. The first agent removed his radio from his pocket, stole a glance in Forrest’s direction, and made a couple of whisper-like statements into it. Turning from his radio, he spoke something unintelligible to the second of the two Secret Service agents who then immediately walked into the middle of the room and announced the party was over. All drivers were to return to their respective limousines.
&nbs
p; Forrest had been sitting, and fortunately winning, at the table playing penny ante poker, listening to Vice President Nixon complain about his run of lousy cards, when all along Forrest thought he was winning due to his artful skill with the deck. “Darn,” Forrest said pushing back his chair, “I was nearly a quarter ahead!” He began to walk toward the door when, suddenly, his arm was grabbed by one of the Secret Service guys. “What the...hey”, he said, “what’s the big idea?”
“You need to come with us,” one of the big dudes said. Before he had a chance to protest Beefy Brute and his partner Burly Brute, physically dragged him toward a side door. Across the snow Forrest stumbled, and was pushed harshly down four concrete steps that led into the basement of the main house. The first agent opened the door, and unceremoniously shoved Forrest into the dark, dankness of a cold cellar. The only light in the room came from the door they just entered, but it was night outside and overcast, not much light was available to illuminate the interior of his basement dungeon. Off to one side Forrest could hear someone or something emitting muffled, grunting sounds. The noise was akin to a human or... or... a bear. Forrest thought, I sure hope it isn’t the bear.
In the darkness, he could not recognize who or what it was. He heard someone rip fabric, or it sounded like someone tearing tape. It was – duct tape. The piece was securely stuck over his mouth. Now he was making the same grunting sounds he heard when he first entered the basement. In a way, he was glad, he knew the sound he heard surely wasn’t an animal it had to be human – a human with their mouth also duct taped.
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