Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  She headed to the fitting room, but at the last second darted to the stockroom. Bingo, a rear door. Before opening it, she peered around boxes and racks, but unfortunately, there were no windows. She had no idea what she would be walking into. It could be a blind alley, or worse yet, the man who resembled Sutherland could be lurking outside.

  Sera doubled back to the plate glass storefront and again examined the street for the loiterer. He had disappeared. Now or never. She donned her jumbo sunglasses and yanked her baseball cap low over her forehead. She exited, speed-walking toward Sam’s Ford Explorer SUV. Only a guilty person would run. Straining her ears for a pursuer, she heard only the chattering conversations and sedentary footfalls of other shoppers. Maybe the guy with Sutherland’s physique had simply been waiting for someone. Whew, her adrenaline pumped. Turning down a side street, she grinned as she approached the car. She hit the remote unlock, opened the door, and threw her package inside. Jumping in, she started the ignition, hell-bent on fleeing. She was reaching out to shift into drive when the passenger door flew open and Captain Drew Sutherland popped up from a crouch, aiming a gun.

  “Hello, Sera.” He climbed in. “Turn off the ignition; you’re not going anywhere.”

  2:05 PM – PST

  5:05 PM – EST

  In his Fifth Avenue New York City apartment, Richard Nixon was pouring liquor over the ice in his cocktail shaker when the phone rang, jolting him into spilling. Dammit! Who had the audacity to call on a Sunday afternoon? With no intention of answering, he sat down to enjoy his drink. But the caller was persistent. After the fifteenth ring, the former vice president begrudgingly grabbed the receiver with a bark. “Yes?”

  Mudge, a partner from his law firm, prattled on about a meeting.

  “There’s a what? A reception? Hang on.” Nixon cursed under his breath as he searched for a pen and paper. “Okay, shoot. Pepsi clients. Uh huh. Dallas?” He slammed the pen down. “Why do I have to drag my ass to Texas? Why can’t they come to New York like civilized people?”

  Mudge rapidly explained the client’s request.

  “They want a political celebrity, you say?” Nixon picked up the pen and tapped it on the page. He began to thaw toward the idea. “Date? Uh huh, November 21, 8:00 pm. Got it. Address?” He jotted more notes and then banged the phone down without saying good-bye.

  Nixon referred to the notepad. November 21 in Texas. During the Kennedy tour. Well, well, well. Wasn’t that a kick in the head?

  2:07 PM – PST

  For several minutes, Sera remained hostage to Sutherland while he gloated about his skillful detective work and how he had tracked down the fugitives. This guy wasn’t as dumb as he looked. And he knew their hideout.

  Sera affected a bored stance, weary of his boasting but convinced he wasn’t going to shoot her. She finally cut him off. “Sutherland. Sutherland!”

  He stopped in mid-sentence and proffered a goofy smile. “Please, call me Drew.”

  The man with the pistol wanted to be on a first-name basis. Whatever. “Okay, Drew. Here’s where we stand. I’m a federal criminal. You have a revolver. What happens now?”

  “You don’t have much choice.” The captain sighed. “You have to surrender and come back with me, or you’re dead.”

  “Come back with you? Are you crazy? The colonel already tried to kill us in the Catacombs.”

  “Catacombs? Is that what they call those tunnels at Lehigh?”

  “Drew, focus!”

  “Zimmerman wasn’t trying to kill you.” Sutherland shrugged. “Of course, Jay and the professor were expendable.”

  “Yeah, right. What do you want from me?”

  “I haven’t told Zimmerman I found you. And, he hasn’t reported your escape to our superiors because he can’t afford to tarnish his record.” Sutherland observed her shocked expression. “The colonel must produce an Anti-Matter weapon or his career is history. He needs you and Iggy back in Secaucus to finish the device and then, well, then you’re expendable.”

  “See?”

  “Wait! Yes, he would have you killed in a staged breakout attempt. But, I have a solution.” Sutherland clasped his fingers together. “I can make you a deal.”

  “What kind of deal? Spend the rest of our lives in jail instead of being executed for treason? Thanks, but no thanks.” He may have been clever enough to find them, but Sera questioned Sutherland’s common sense.

  “No, no, not at all.” The captain sliced his hands back and forth. “But before we agree to the terms of this offer, I need to know what you’re up to.”

  Sera stared forward, her arms folded.

  “I watched you at the ranch yesterday. I heard Iggy mention Gadolinium-146, and I know that’s a component used to make Anti-Matter.” He tried to read Sera’s face, but her features were impassive. “She also mentioned a vessel, and I’m well aware of Sam and his submersibles.” Sutherland took a deep breath before reaching his dramatic conclusion. “I’ll wager you’re making an AM bomb and constructing a submarine to attack Russia with it. Am I right?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.” Sera glared at him. “We’re not submarining to Russia. Are you insane?”

  “Aha! But you are making a weapon, aren’t you?”

  Sera considered this demented theory and had an inkling she might be able to use it for leverage. “Okay, you got me. We’re creating an Anti-Matter weapon. It’s our only asset.”

  “I knew it! So as I said, the military is demanding the AM device. You give it to me, and I’ll use it to negotiate your freedom. Everyone wins. The government gets their war-ending Anti-Matter bomb and you get amnesty.”

  Sera paused as if contemplating. “Fine. We’ll surrender to you, but we need two weeks to complete the weapon. And it’s gotta be the same deal for the whole team.”

  Sutherland slowly shook his head. “I can’t wait that long. I have to report back to Zimmerman.”

  “Oh, come on, Drew. He’s gonna kill me.” Sera wanted to smack him. They needed more time. It would be impossible to relocate the operation.

  “I’ll give you one week. It’s my best offer.”

  Sera slumped in relief.

  “Next week you give yourselves up to me and hand over the AM device. I’ll bargain for your release. And who knows?” Sutherland gazed into her eyes. “If you met me on a personal level when you got out, you might look at me in a different way.”

  Sera highly doubted it. “See you in a week.”

  Sutherland exited the car and waved until she drove out of sight.

  11:40 PM – PST

  In the dark evening almost ten hours later, Sera flung herself into the passenger seat of Sam’s Explorer. The day was just getting better and better.

  Quin shoved a heavy box into the backseat and dove in behind it.

  Bick hopped in the driver’s side, floored the accelerator, and peeled out of the parking lot of the University of Northern California Bioresearch lab in Santa Rosa.

  The argument started as soon as they hit Highway 101 North toward Eureka.

  Quin leaned forward to shout in Sera’s ear, “What the hell were you thinking back there?”

  “I was thinking that a night watchman showed up out of nowhere and aimed a gun at you. Naturally, I jumped him. To save your worthless hide, I might add.”

  “Oh, please. I had everything under control.” Quin dismissed her with a swish of his hand. “Do you realize I was carrying a lead-lined crate of radioactive material? All I needed was for the guard to get a few steps closer, then whammo! Right in the noggin.”

  Sera whirled furiously toward him. “What if he shot you in the meantime, ace? Then what?”

  Bick glanced at the odometer and sighed. Over two hundred miles to go. He didn’t think he could put up with the squabbling for the next several hours. “Look, we got the Gadolinium-146 we came for and we got away. Successful mission, right?” Iggy had nailed it when she said these two required supervision.

  Quin was undeterred. “No way. When s
he attacked the rent-a-cop, he pulled off her ski mask. You saw the security cameras. By morning, her picture could be plastered all over the Governet.”

  “Fine. Next time I’ll let them shoot you.” Sera pressed her mouth into a hard line. “Besides, none of this matters anymore. We have to leave for ’63 as soon as possible.”

  Quin started to rebuff her, but Bick interrupted. “Don’t make me pull over, you two.”

  They rode the rest of the way home in silence.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  MONDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1963 AND 2013

  8:00 AM – PST

  6:00 PM – EET

  In the godforsaken wastelands of Siberia, an arctic wind roared over the clandestine Russian military base, several hundred miles from the Trans-Siberian Railway. Only the highest echelon of politicians and KGB members knew this facility existed. Outside, the temperature dropped significantly after the early sunset in the northern clime. Inside, energy levels palpably increased as workers made final preparations for a top-secret mission.

  The Soviet operative impotently allowed himself to be harnessed into a spine-dislocating bucket seat next to two equally unfortunate comrades. As the technician tightened the straps on his restraint, the spy reminisced about his claustrophobic submarine voyage back from New York. At least he’d been able to get up and stretch his legs. In hindsight, he wondered why he’d complained.

  As leader, he instructed his team to initiate their prelaunch check sequence, and mentally reminded himself not to hyperventilate in the recirculated air. The crew flipped levers and pushed buttons while tiny indicator lights flashed green and yellow. The command deck gave a thumbs-up for all systems go, but the operative was not reassured by the advanced technology. Close proximity to Anti-Matter drove him to the verge of panic.

  He had attempted every thinkable avenue to get out of this dreaded assignment, to no avail. The premier insisted the spy was the best man for the job.

  He vowed to use every resource in his arsenal to make it back home from this Mission of Honor.

  The final countdown began.

  1:00 PM – PST

  Shortly after lunch, Jay burst into the boathouse. “Guys!”

  Startled, Iggy nearly misaligned a laser for the Anti-Matter container. “Jay, are you trying to kill us?”

  He skidded to a halt. “No, of course not. I’m . . .” He shook himself. “It’s happening. I heard a news report in the house. It’s really, really happening. You’re not going to believe this. They’ve done it and . . . and . . . so have we. It’s awful, just awful. You can’t comprehend the enormity of such a thing.”

  “Snap out of it, Jay.” Sera clicked her fingers in front of him. “Exactly what has happened?”

  “It’s gone. WB is gone. Completely obliterated by the Russians.” Jay sank into a chair. “We hit Minsk in retaliation. No one is sure if it was nukes or something more powerful . . .” His voice trailed off. “You know, AM.” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “And that’s not all. They took out Secaucus, too.”

  Bick turned on the television. Images of devastated US cities flickered by in a montage of ruins.

  The color drained from Frank’s face as he swayed back and forth.

  Dee called out, “Frank!”

  Frank’s knees buckled under him, and he hit the floor in dead faint.

  Quin mildly observed Frank sprawled out in front of him. “Secaucus you say? So much for that warden of yours.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1963 AND 2013

  7:30 AM – PST

  As he washed the breakfast dishes, Quin cheerfully whistled the tune of “Surfin’ USA.” Dee had shared the harmonious Beach Boys’ guitar hit as part of her 1963 cultural lessons. He used the melody to drown out the bickering between Sera and Frank.

  As a measure of unity, each team member had refrained from mentioning Frank’s fainting episode the previous day, acting like nothing had happened.

  “You’re missing my point entirely, Frank.” Sera gestured to a diagram she’d drawn. “If the timeline splits fifty years ago . . .”

  Crash! The noise emanated from outside.

  “Not now.” Frank held up his index finger. “Something is happening out there.”

  “I hardly see what that has to do with—”

  “Zip it!” Quin cocked his head to one side, listening.

  As Sera took in a breath to deliver a scathing rejoinder, they heard the unmistakable sounds of shouting. Alarmed, all three made the same decision at the same moment and raced out the back door into the crisp morning air.

  Iggy, Jay, Dee, Bick, and Sam were sprinting across the hill rise. In the distance, two figures pursued, the heftier bald man in the lead brandishing a gun.

  Sera’s mouth hung open. “Dammit! Zimmerman and Sutherland.”

  “Isn’t Zimmerman your warden guy?” Quin shrugged. “So much for the Secaucus nuke.”

  Frank spun and grabbed Sera by the shoulders. “Sutherland sold us out. You said we could trust him.” He shook her. “We’re doomed!”

  “Easy there, fella.” Quin disengaged Frank. “If the warden wanted to kill them with that Locklier H2 2011, they’d be toast by now. What we need is some sort of diversion so we can mount a rescue.”

  Sera watched impatiently as the five fugitives headed toward the boathouse. “But there’s no way to get past those Nazis without getting caught.”

  Frank straightened and set his jaw. “Not all of us. Just me.” Before he realized what he was doing, he felt his feet pounding across the lawn, gaining speed as he flew straight toward Zimmerman. He was sick of living as an outlaw, sick of hiding out, sick of being cooped up with these lunatics. This had to end. When he got close, he took a flying leap and was surprised to hear himself screaming as he catapulted onto the colonel’s back, tackling him from behind.

  Riveted in place, Quin and Sera observed Sutherland join the melee, attempting to free Zimmerman.

  Regaining his composure, Quin clutched Sera’s arm. “Come on!” They pelted past the junk in Sam’s yard toward the boathouse.

  Entering from a side door, Quin latched it shut.

  “Where are they?” Sera’s eyes darted back and forth.

  Iggy cautiously poked her head up from inside the Tempus Orbis. “In here.”

  “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Quin congratulated her. “Power up that baby and get us out of here.”

  “Go?” Iggy stared in disbelief. “But we haven’t tested the reinforced hull yet.”

  A bullet exploded through the wall inches from where Sera stood. She jumped back in surprise. “I hate to say it, but he’s right. There’s no other way out.”

  “Okay, agreed.” Iggy leaned down inside the ship and then popped back up. “Jay says to grab the scuba tanks. Over there.” She motioned to the corner. “Say, where is Frank?”

  Sera sped over to the gear. “He’s, uh, stalling them. He attacked the warden.”

  “What? Really?”

  Sera lugged the tanks onto the Tempus Orbis platform, and Quin heaved them over the hatch to Iggy.

  Smash! Captain Sutherland kicked open the door and entered. Frank followed with his hands raised in surrender. Zimmerman marched in next, prodding Frank with the weapon.

  “You betrayed me, Sutherland.” Sera stopped halfway through the hatch. “You son of a bitch!”

  Sutherland pushed both palms forward. “No, Sera, it wasn’t me. I can explain.” He grimaced as she dropped out of sight. “Wait, Serendipity!”

  “Quin, go!” Frank whirled around and kicked Zimmerman in the groin. The colonel crumpled in agony.

  Quin clambered up and threw himself into the Tempus headfirst, falling to the floor with a thud. He rolled over and eyed Sera. “Serendipity? That’s your name? You’ve got to be joking.”

  “Shut up!” she roared.

  In the boathouse, Zimmerman recovered from the blow and brought Frank to his knees with his hands clasped behind
his head. He aimed his gun at the professor. “Order them out of that ship now, or you’re a dead man.”

  A blinding flash of light incapacitated Frank, Zimmerman, and Sutherland as a thunderous boom reverberated around the boathouse.

  “Ship?” Frank blinked at the colonel several times. “What ship?”

  1963

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  TUESDAY, NOVEMBER 12, 1963

  8:15 AM – PST

  9:15 AM – CST

  Quin woke up with a pounding skull, and avoided opening his eyes to the intense light. Man, this was some hangover. Funny he didn’t remember getting drunk. But despite the pressure in his brain, the rest of his body felt extraordinarily buoyant.

  A semi-yielding object suddenly squished against his head and then moved away. What the heck? He felt a smack in the face and snapped his lids open.

  “Get off me!” Sera yelled.

  Now he got it. They were in the zero gravity of space. Awesome! He must have floated into Sera’s midsection. “Gee whiz, just an accident.” Quin winked at her upside-down glare. He grabbed purchase on a ceiling handhold, kicked off, and glided toward the pilot’s station.

  Sera kept flailing her arms, trying to swim in one direction, but only succeeded in tumbling haphazardly. She hissed an inaudible expletive.

  “Anchor yourself, babe. Find a grip and move slowly.” Quin strapped himself into his bucket seat.

  Sera bristled at the sexist remark, yet heeded his advice.

  Bick’s consciousness catapulted back into his cranium like a freight train. He felt the horrible sensation of plummeting after stepping off a cliff in a dream. He opened his eyes in alarm to discover his body pushing against restraints. “What happened?”

  “Time-jump.” Iggy rubbed the back of her neck. “It knocks you out. Remember?”

  “Yeah.” Bick pressed his eyes shut again. Other than feeling like an awakening coma victim, something else seemed wrong. He listened intently for several seconds and heard nothing. The silence in the ship embraced him like a cocoon. He had never noticed the ambient cacophony of life until it was gone. “This isn’t what I expected. It’s peaceful, despite the migraine. How long were we out?”