“In spite of her focus on appearances, she had very traditional values. When asked about her role as the wife of the Commander in Chief, Mrs. Kennedy replied that the major role of the First Lady was to take care of the president so he could better serve the people.”
Sera snorted and then tried to cover it up with a cough.
Dee added scornful to impatient on her list of Sera’s personality traits. “You may think it’s funny, but this constituted life in the sixties. The majority of women classified themselves as housewives whose primary function was to care for their husbands and children. Most felt a sense of pride in a job well done.” She sighed. No one understood the vast societal differences of half a century ago. “In addition to being caretaker, Jackie K. had another ambitious agenda. She thought the White House lacked the majesty befitting the epicenter of government. Therefore, she committed herself to introducing culture and history to the home of the president. In her words, ‘I just feel that everything in the White House should be the best.’ She planned numerous social events to which—alongside politicians, dignitaries, and diplomats—she invited scientists, musicians, artists, writers, and poets. An educated woman fluent in French, Spanish, and Italian, Jackie herself mingled with ease at these functions. Honored guests joked that they were more excited to meet her than JFK.”
Dee took a deep breath. “She also initiated the first full-scale renovation of the White House in over a hundred years. During an early tour of the famed building, the condition dismayed her. Few antiques or artifacts remained, as previous administrations tended to ransack the interior for souvenirs of their service. She fostered a congressional bill stipulating that White House furnishings would become the property of the Smithsonian Institution moving forward. She organized the redecoration project with surprising managerial skills”—Dee glared at Sera—“for a homemaker. In the final contribution to her legacy, she replanted both the Rose Garden and East Garden. The latter was renamed the Jacqueline Kennedy Garden after her shocking assassination. Ultimately, it wasn’t her accomplishments as the wife of John Fitzgerald Kennedy that catapulted her to mythological status, but her untimely death.” She paused out of respect for the slain mother and wife.
“That’s what we want to hear about. Tell us about the assassination.” Sera could contain herself no longer.
The odd question startled Dee. “Well, my grandfather was a Dallas police officer at the time of the murder, and he collected volumes of information on the sensational crime. I have heaps of newspaper and magazine articles along with official documents and books. Obviously, my granddad’s storytelling sparked my interest, as the incident happened a quarter century before I was born.” She appraised Sera suspiciously.
Iggy adopted a gentler tone. “Can you chronicle the movements of the KGB leading up to November 22, 1963?”
“Yes, it’s in the records.” Dee’s own feisty impatience started to simmer. “Why would a few scientists and a university professor want to know about a senseless killing that happened nearly fifty years ago? What are you guys up to? What are you planning? I don’t think I want to answer your questions if you’re orchestrating a murder.” She folded her arms and clamped her mouth shut.
The waitress chose that moment to arrive, gaily plunking down frosty beer mugs and menus in front of each customer. Frank immediately clutched the menu and started perusing.
As soon as the server left, Jay placed his palms down. “Dee, no, of course not. Nothing like that. I would never . . . I mean we would never be involved in hurting anyone. We want to help people. We are not murderers!”
“I’m not saying another word about Jackie K. until you tell me precisely what’s going on.”
“No,” Sera growled. “Not an option.”
“Whoa. Dee is my friend. I know we can trust her.” Jay leaned in toward Dee. “I’m really sorry about this.”
Iggy intervened in a measured voice. “We need this information, and our best source is sitting with us. I suggest we cooperate with Miss Doherty.”
“Fine. Whatever.” Sera slumped back in defeat.
“Great.” Jay relaxed his posture. “We can tell you the whole deal, but not here. We need to find someplace more private.”
“That’s more like it.” Dee beamed. “If you want my help, you have to tell me your secrets first. We can go to my place after we finish our drinks.”
Frank gazed wistfully at his menu, a gesture not lost on Dee.
“We’ll order pizza for goodness’ sake. Now get your stories straight. I’m visiting the rest room.” She grabbed her shoulder bag and locked eyes with Iggy. “Thank you. And please, call me Dee.”
7:00 PM – EDT
A man at the bar observed Dee as she flounced her strawberry locks around the corner to make a pit stop. With neatly cropped, receding white hair, the fifty-year-old swung his gym-muscular legs off the barstool, crammed his ramrod straight back into a worn motorcycle jacket, and slapped some bills onto the counter.
He strode after the young woman, his features expressionless, as if he, too, were going to the head before leaving. His unadorned riding boots thumped across the hardwood floor as he gained ground. Suddenly, she whirled around to face him.
“Bick, you didn’t have to come here to spy on me. I can take care of myself.”
Bickford Haycock smiled. “Why are you too stubborn to let a friend help you?”
“It’s not that, really. I think I’m more annoyed because you were right. They’re definitely up to something.”
“I told you. People from your past don’t show up without a good reason. Either they want money, or they’re in some kind of trouble. More likely both.”
“I can’t imagine Jay mixed up in anything illegal or underhanded. He was always a well-behaved kid.”
“But he works for the government. You know how they operate. What have they told you so far?”
“Nothing. They asked a lot of questions about the Jackie K. assassination.”
Bick gave an involuntary jump.
“I know. It’s weird. But don’t worry, I convinced them to tell me everything when we get back to my apartment.”
“You invited these strangers to your home? This is exactly what I’m talking about, Dee. You trust people more than they deserve.”
She jutted her chin. “I know Jay, and it will be perfectly safe.”
“I still don’t like it. Give me their names and I’ll check them out.”
Dee hurriedly imparted their names and disciplines.
Bick scribbled down notes, amazed as always at her ability to memorize details. “Do not move from your apartment. You’ll hear from me.”
“I’ll be fine.” Dee placed her hand on his leather-clad arm. “Have faith.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2013
7:30 PM – EDT
Jay settled into a squishy armchair in Dee’s garden apartment while their hostess fluttered about proffering herbal teas, cold sodas, and salty snacks. He took in the ambiance of the living room, admiring the lush greenery of several potted plants. Warm lighting and muted earth tones were interspersed with bright peach and teal accents in the form of plump pillows and decorative candleholders. Bookshelves lining two walls were bursting with hardcovers and paperbacks ranging from thrillers and mysteries to reference tomes and research periodicals. The dustless table surfaces were cluttered with notepads, binders, and files—all current works in progress. A space well lived-in and well utilized, Jay realized it suited Dee perfectly.
She sat down on the edge of the couch, smiling expectantly at the four of them. “Okay, food is on the way. Now, tell me your story.”
Jay perched his elbows on his knees. “You know as well as we do that the assassination of Jackie Kennedy was a pivotal moment in world history. That single event, that pull of a trigger, enraged America and launched us into the ’64 Nuke War with Russia, and the combat has continued for fifty years through the Stale War.”
; Dee had almost forgotten his loquacious nature, but kept up an encouraging expression out of respect.
“And the populace, which of course includes us, has suffered tremendously. Millions dead on both sides and major cities leveled, all due to a lone bullet that struck the First Lady in 1963, albeit mistakenly.”
“Everything became different after that.” Iggy’s eyes focused beyond the room. “I remember how happy we all were before the unending strife. The skies were blue and clear, with no pollution, no fallout. And, we were free.”
Jay noticed Frank slouching on the outskirts of the conversation with a bored, detached demeanor. The professor was scanning the mantelpiece over the brick fireplace, and almost spilled his green tea with a start. Jay followed his line of sight to a framed photo of Jackie K. jumping her horse over a fence, hair flying in the breeze. It rested next to a picture of a handsome police officer in an old-fashioned uniform and various prints of Dee beaming among relatives and friends, as if Jackie had been a beloved member of the family.
Jay stifled a chuckle. “To continue, the government subjugated the nation. One by one our civil rights have been stripped away. Do you realize that the Department of State monitors every citizen? I mean, there is a file on each one of us here in this gated city. What I’m trying to say is, it’s pretty obvious that Eisenhower was on the mark in his 1961 farewell speech when he warned us of the power of the military-industrial complex.”
Dee frowned as if struggling to remember.
“Before President Eisenhower’s term ended in January and he handed the reins to JFK, he gave a final address on radio and TV. In it, he admonished, and I quote.” Jay cleared his throat and spoke in an authoritative, metered voice. “‘In the councils of government, we must guard against the acquisition of unwarranted influence, whether sought or unsought, by the military-industrial complex. The potential for the disastrous rise of misplaced power exists and will persist.’”
Iggy nodded, impressed. “Companies like MacDowell-Douggan and Locklier profit from congressional contracts for building munitions, meaning they are highly motivated to keep the conflict raging. And the politicians need to keep these corporations content, since they bankroll election campaigns.”
“They even have a stranglehold on academia.” Sera grimaced. “They only award grants to research projects that provide applications for the armed forces. They’re touted as government grants, but no one is fooled.”
“Get on with it!” Frank barked from the corner. “As a reporter in WB, if she doesn’t know defense companies pull the strings of the marionettes in office, she’d better find a new career.”
“I’m not an idiot, if that’s what you’re implying.” Dee glowered at Frank. What was his problem? “But what can anyone possibly do about it?”
Frank rolled his eyes.
Jay nonchalantly sipped his Coke. “We’re going to stop it from happening.”
7:40 PM – EDT
Bickford Haycock had blazed away from Elmer Sudds on his 1987 Harley-Davidson Sportster, and now sat at the computer station in his sparse townhouse on the other side of the city. He hacked into the Governet by dialing into a remote node in South Florida, grateful that a former Secret Service colleague had given him passcodes and means for access. At least he had retained a parting gift from that stage in his life.
While he searched for information on Dee’s shady guests, he mused over the desultory path that had led him to his current occupation as a sole proprietor.
Bick had joined the Navy as a young man, donning the same uniform of a father who instilled patriotism and integrity in his capable son. Trained as a Naval pilot, he achieved Ace status for shooting down five enemy aircraft, believing his feats would help the nation win the interminable war. After an honorable discharge, he entered the Secret Service, banding with the legendary men in black. He protected President Colin Powell from 2009 to 2011, but working in the heart of the administration finally pulverized his illusions about fighting and dying for a country that had no conscience. Today, he ran a motorcycle repair and restoration business, the older the bike the better. He didn’t need the money, but enjoyed it. Each cycle represented a wounded, dying animal. Methodically, step-by-step, Bick healed the beast, perfecting and polishing until it breathed again. His job satisfaction had increased tenfold.
Bick straightened the orderly objects on the desk—pens here, papers there. His monitor pinged, announcing results of the first search.
Time to find out about Mr. Jay Harding.
7:50 PM – EDT
“So,” Jay put down a half-eaten slice of pizza, “that’s how we broke Iggy and Sera out of the Gulag. We used Anti-Time. As I explained, they were wrongfully imprisoned. You with me?”
Dee bobbed her head in agreement.
“Then we had the difficult task of getting them over the border into Pennsylvania. I ended up taking them to Lambertville, where we used a clamp and rope system so they could hang under the bridge and traverse across to New Hope. You see, the bridge is constructed of—”
“Got it. I’ve been there, Jay. My grandparents had a home there, but they sold it when the neighborhood deteriorated.”
“Oh.” He became distracted. “You mean the Dallas cop grandfather?”
“No, no. On my dad’s side. Please continue about time travel. I want to understand how it works.” Dee shunted aside the urge to scream at him to move on.
“Well, Anti-Time actually started as a by-product of Anti-Matter. Sera?”
“Right.” Sera watched as Dee relaxed her shoulders. But the subject wouldn’t be easy to understand regardless of who outlined it. “Simply put, Anti-Matter is a fundamental particle of regular matter with its electrical charge reversed. The common proton has an AM counterpart that’s called an antiproton, which has the same mass, but an opposite charge. The electron’s counterpart is called a positron.”
Dee waited for the pay-off.
“AM can be created in ultra-high-speed collisions, but the process is unwieldy and impractical. You need an enormous particle accelerator, which is a circular tube miles in circumference. Alternatively, AM can be made by the decay of radioactive material. Building upon research completed by Iggy and her husband, we use Gadolinium-146 to make ours.”
“Okay, but how does that make Anti-Time?”
Sera saw Jay’s glance darting back and forth between them. She abdicated the floor to him with a swish of her hand.
Jay took a deep breath before beginning his lengthy explanation.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2013
8:00 PM – EDT
Bick swiftly unlocked the front entrance with an emergency key he knew was hidden behind the window shutter. He flung the door open, slamming it against the opposite wall, and burst into the living room wielding a Colt .45. “All of you, in the corner now, hands in the air.”
Five faces froze in shock at the sudden intrusion. Sera’s plate slipped from her grasp and clattered to the floor.
Dee leapt up. “Bick, what are you doing?”
“You actually know this guy?” Frank stared.
“Shut up and move!” Bick motioned with his gun as they stood and inched their way to the side, hands raised. “Dee, get behind me. You’re safe now.”
“Wait!” She tried to insert herself between Bick and the others, but he deftly sidestepped her.
Sera dropped her arms in indignation. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“Quiet,” Iggy warned.
Bick turned to Dee. “These people are outlaws. They are putting your life in jeopardy and I will not stand for that.” He trained his eyes on the four fugitives. “Why are you here? What do you want with Dee? What are you planning? Answer me right now, or I’m calling the cops.”
Iggy straightened to her full five-foot, four-inch height. “Sir, we would be happy to explain if we could just sit down and discuss this like civilized people.”
“Please put the gun down.” Dee g
ripped his sleeve. “You don’t understand. It’s not what you think.”
“Oh, yeah? I understand that these two criminals”—he gestured to Iggy and Sera—“are supposed to be in a maximum-security lock-up. These other fools must have helped them break out.”
“Look, I know all about it because they already confessed everything. Yes, they were imprisoned, but they were steamrolled. And they have a noble reason for escaping. Let’s talk about this.”
Jay examined the revolver. “I agree. Let’s talk. No gun. Talking is, um, good.” He trailed off as Bick glared at him.
The newcomer assessed the situation. None of them seemed threatening, and none concealed a weapon. The scene he had interrupted resembled a tea party more than a sinister act. “Out of respect for Dee, I will listen.” He reluctantly slid his Colt into his jacket pocket and sat down.
Dee chose a chair next to him, while the rest filed onto the oversized couch.
Remembering her manners, Dee began introductions. “Bickford Haycock, I’d like you to meet, well, I guess you already know who they are.” She faltered, startled that she sounded like Jay. “Um, Jay, Sera, Iggy, and Frank.”
“Okay, let’s hear it.”
Sera was outraged by this presumptuous man. “Hold on a minute. We don’t know this Barney. How can we trust him? Besides, we can’t keep telling strangers about our mission. Eventually, someone will leak it to the authorities and then we’re dead.”
Bick bared his teeth in a false smile. “Then you’d better have some handy justifications, because you have no choice.” He patted the bulk in his jacket. “No one is leaving until you tell me what this mission is all about.”
As Sera sputtered, Iggy placed a restraining palm on her arm. “It’ll be okay.”
“You can trust Bick. He’s my friend. Let me tell you more about him to put you at ease.” Dee proceeded to give them an overview of Bick’s three disparate careers and then homed in on how she had met him as a Secret Service agent. At that juncture, President Colin Powell was trying to institute sweeping reforms in the government to give more freedom to citizens. Through frequent contact and candid discussions, Powell learned that Bick supported the program wholeheartedly. At an impasse, since his cabinet members could betray him, the president turned to his Secret Service confidante to help spread the word and gain popular approval for the movement. Bick studied the news coverage and backgrounds of WB reporters. He chose Dee as someone bold enough and radical enough to champion the scoop of the decade. He would spirit her away on his Harley to clandestine meetings where Bick parceled out relevant data and they bonded over shared ideals. But before the story hit the airwaves, Powell was forced to resign by the defense contractors and their lackeys in Congress. They wouldn’t permit a rogue Commander in Chief, albeit a Republican one, to stay in office. Although the incident had happened a couple of years ago, Bick and Dee remained close. He continued to watch out for her, as evidenced this evening.
Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy Page 6