Destination Dealey: Countdown to the Kennedy Conspiracy

by L. D. C. Fitzgerald

  Quin whispered, “No. You know, nailing Kennedy. We’re responsible.”

  “Sure, sport.” Frank spoke in a conspiratorial tone. “Good job landing here at Kennedy Space Center.”

  Quin observed the marshy terrain. “Huh? I thought this was Cape Canaveral.”

  Frank flinched. Was he joking? “Anyway, I meant how you rescued Cosmonaut Kon and his team.”

  Kon tottered back. “Team?”

  “Iggy, Sera, and Jay. Remember?” Alarmed, Frank studied the astronauts. If they were space-lagged, he might need to jog their memories. “You were conducting science experiments on the International Space Station when an oxygen tank blew.” Frank relived the harrowing details. Not only had they lost reserve O2, but the blast had punched a gaping hole in the hull. “Cosmonaut Kon saved the crew by herding everyone into a storage module. He sealed it off to conserve dwindling resources. Meanwhile, Quin and Bick mounted a rescue effort in the Orbis. If not for their EVA, you’d all be dead.”

  Jay lifted his chin. “Told you we needed those space suits for an Extra Vehicular Activity.”

  “Okay.” Frank frowned in concern. “I think it’s obvious I need to get you people to your medical evaluation. Standard procedure, of course. But first”—he gestured beyond Sera—“here’s someone who wants to congratulate you in person.”

  Sera turned and found herself face-to-face with the unmistakable brawn of Drew Sutherland—the officious traitor who had betrayed her in Eureka. She heaved her elbow back and socked him in the chops. Sutherland wobbled in surprise and fell backward. Whump!

  Frank flailed his arms. “Are you out of your mind? Why on earth did you slug the director of NASA?”

  8:00 AM – EST

  After daybreak, the physicians discharged Bick from his medical exams first. Melancholy and exhausted, he was ushered into NASA’s executive dining room for a welcome-back reception. Not knowing what to do, or who would be welcoming him back, he clung to the wall. High-ranking officials milled about, eating breakfast hors d’oeuvres and sipping drinks. A fully recovered Sutherland chatted with colleagues at a linen-covered banquet table. Bick overheard snippets of their conversation. Luckily, they had chalked up Sera’s assault to Space Adaptation Syndrome. Nobody seemed to be aware of the true purpose of their mission or the horrific casualties they’d encountered.

  When a uniformed waiter drifted nearby with bubbly mimosas, Bick grabbed one. Now what?

  Bick saw Jay enter, the next one released from medical bay. He blinked at the subdued lighting as if trying to figure out what to do. Without warning, a middle-aged couple wearing business casual clothing and NASA employee badges rushed over to him. With tears in her eyes, the woman smothered Jay in hugs and kisses. Ah, Jay’s parents. They must work here. Good for him.

  Shortly after, Quin sauntered in. When he hooked his thumbs in his belt loops, Bick realized he’d probably been the guest of honor at these parties before. Within seconds, a gaggle of children sprinted across the floor and pounced. Quin bent down on one knee as they climbed him like a tree, giggling. His nieces and nephews obviously hero-worshipped their uncle. Chuckling, he stood up and dangled the youngest boy by his ankles. At that moment, their moms—presumably Quin’s sisters—arrived and administered a mock lecture. Then the happy family embraced.

  Bick sat down and examined his shoes.

  Sera banged through the reception door next. She spotted Sutherland and hustled over to the opposite side of the room to inspect the buffet. A couple in their fifties followed her movements in bewilderment. Both clad in faded jeans and fleece jerseys, the woman had chin-length hair streaked silver and black, while the man had buzz-cut hair complemented by a salt-and-pepper beard. They dashed over to Sera and tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around and staggered back, bumping into the table. The woman brushed Sera’s bangs aside and gave her a motherly hug. Oh, my God. Sera’s parents were alive.

  Bick checked the door to see who would be next. Iggy plodded in, canvassing the various reunions in progress. She wistfully observed Sera’s good fortune. Suddenly, a gangly teen in a hooded sweatshirt loped toward her. He had black razor-cut hair styled haphazardly with gel. The kid yelled, “Mom!” and reached out. Iggy snuggled him to her chest, swaying back and forth. Looking past his messy head, she spied a bespectacled man with a thick, wavy mane. He beamed. Iggy broke down and cried as he joined them. Wow, her husband, Nick, also alive in this timeline.

  Bick slumped as he witnessed another, similar homecoming. When Kon emerged, a younger boy, maybe ten, zoomed across the parquet floor. “Papa!” Lagging by several paces came a slim woman with a coiffed updo and a designer dress. Kon’s wife.

  Bick drained his glass. Perhaps he should consider eating some grub. The aroma of those bite-sized sausage-and-egg muffins made his stomach growl. As he rose, a woman in her late forties entered. She tossed her coat onto a chair, revealing green hospital scrubs. Rooted in place, Bick watched as she galloped toward him. Naturally beautiful, the woman had a dark blonde ponytail gathered at the nape of her neck. She seemed familiar. As she catapulted herself at Bick, a name hovered at the edge of his consciousness. Julie. What the? She barreled into him as her joyous laughter pealed out. On autopilot, Bick swung her around. He marveled at her emerald eyes as she planted a kiss on his lips. “I missed you!” When she drew back and cupped his hands, he saw the diamond ring. Holy smokes! Was he married?

  CHAPTER EIGHTY-FIVE

  SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 30, 2013

  12:00 PM – EST

  One week later—in New Hope, Pennsylvania, Iggy bounded up the front steps of the Logan Inn. It stung to leave her husband and son home for the afternoon, but at least they were together again as a family.

  She entered the vestibule to wait for Sera, Jay, Bick, and Quin. In her timeline, only a couple of months had elapsed since her last visit to the inn. However, the revision in history had changed the venue. The décor boasted colonial paintings in the lobby and heavy draperies on the windows. At the heart of the lodge and saloon, original stone walls surrounded polished wooden floors, making for a quaint weekend destination. She made a mental note to ask Jay if he’d spotted the metal cutout sculpture of the Indian chief still standing outside.

  Within a few minutes, her friends began to arrive. Although only a week had passed since they’d returned to 2013, they greeted each other like long-lost relatives.

  After being seated for lunch, Iggy took a deep breath.

  Before she could speak, Jay blurted out, “Did you notice the sculpture of Chief Logan outside? It was like a familiar face welcoming us from the past.”

  Iggy suppressed a smile.

  “That’s your opening?” Sera spread her arms theatrically. “After all we’ve been through, that’s the best you can come up with for our team reunion?”

  Jay propped his chin on his palm. “Well, I still can’t get over the fact that I’m an astronaut. I mean, me!”

  “I can’t quite believe it, either.” Quin widened his eyes.

  Jay tittered. “I feel really lucky.”

  “Me, too.” Quin draped an elbow across the back of his chair. “Ahhh.” He winked at a passing waitress. “No longer playing possum.”

  “I know what you mean. I’m lucky my parents are alive.” Sera frowned. “But I also feel guilty.”

  Quin clasped her hand. “Come on! Let yourself be happy, for crying out loud. Enjoy it. Your mom and dad are proud of you.”

  “No, I agree with Sera. My happiness came at the expense of others.” Iggy sighed. “I didn’t realize until I saw him that I’d been hoping my husband Nick would be alive.”

  “Bizarre.” Bick tilted his head. “We screwed up royally, but we each got everything we ever wanted.”

  “Even you, Bick.” Iggy flashed her brows.

  “Yeah, my wife, Julie. It’s weird. I’m a bachelor, but I’m also a husband. I remember history both ways.”

  “I remember both ways, too. And I’m liking this version”—Quin g
ave Sera a sidelong glance—“a lot better.”

  From a slouch, Iggy sat up and drew her shoulders back. “Regardless of our personal gains, we must return to 1963 to fix the past. No matter what the risk.”

  12:10 PM – EST

  After the server plunked down their beverages, Jay held up his glass of River Horse Hop Hazard Pale Ale. In the previous timeline, the brewery owner had been a helluva guy to help them escape Lehigh University in his delivery truck. “Did you know this beer is now what they call a high-end microbrew? I stopped by their facility across the bridge in Lambertville this morning.” He had enjoyed the sunny day by strolling through the riverside towns along the Delaware and noting differences from his previous visit. “I also stopped at an antique shop—‘A Stage in Time.’ They sell Mission furniture.” Jay caught his own error. “I mean Arts and Crafts, just like Sam had back in Eureka.”

  Bick bowed his head. “In the end, Sam found redemption when he sacrificed himself to save us.”

  No one spoke.

  After a respectful moment of silence, Jay pulled a magazine out of a shopping bag. “I bought this vintage Life magazine at the same place. It’s the issue chronicling the assassination.” The cover depicted a grieving Jackie Kennedy and her children waiting for JFK’s funeral procession. “I wanted to let you know they didn’t ignore J.D.; there’s a story on his funeral as well.” He opened the brittle pages to show them a picture of the officer’s widow and children in mourning.

  Iggy sniffed. “It’s so sad.”

  “Those sons of bitches!” Bick jabbed the magazine. “They have a photo of the Oswald funeral on the opposite page.” He peered closely. “Whoa, they combined one article on both of them: ‘In Texas, a Policeman and an Assassin are Laid to Rest, Too.’ What a colossal insult to J.D.’s memory.”

  “Now, don’t get me wrong here. I mean Oswald was rat dung.” Quin snorted. “He deserved to die. But why the heck did Ruby go and kill him anyway? That doofus waltzed into police headquarters and blew Oswald away in front of live TV cameras.”

  “Officially?” Sera shrugged. “I read he wanted to spare Jackie K. from the trauma of testifying at Oswald’s trial. But we know Ruby was just a hothead. He was pissed that Oswald tied him up. Frankly, I’m surprised he held out two full days before shooting him.”

  “What irks me”—Bick wagged his finger—“is that the real mastermind got away scot-free. Hoover kept his director position with Tolson by his side until his dying day. There was no justice.”

  “Polls consistently show that two-thirds of Americans believe in a conspiracy.” Jay whipped off his glasses. “That Oswald did not act alone. And they’re correct, but nobody can ever prove it.”

  “The people”—Sera swished her hand—“deserve to know the truth.”

  “The point is moot.” Iggy glowered at her companions. “The people won’t need to know the truth after we go back and fix the past.”

  Jay contemplated the ceiling. “But should we? That is to say, should we go back and fix the past?”

  Bick gasped. “How can you say such a thing? My God, we have to rescue Dee. And J.D. and Kennedy. Even Sam. It’s our fault they died.”

  “I know, I know. I sound like a heartless bastard. But look at the outcome.” Jay began counting on his fingers. “No ’64 Nuke War. Our cities are intact. The capital is in DC. We’re friends with Russia. JFK is regularly voted one of the greatest American presidents, in league with Washington, Lincoln, and FDR. I mean, Idlewild Airport was renamed after him. It’s the busiest international airport in the country. Cape Canaveral is now Kennedy Space Center. And hundreds of schools and streets in towns across the nation bear his name. I read it on the Governet.” He shook his head. “I mean the Internet.”

  “A legacy in death”—Iggy raised one shoulder—“he probably didn’t earn in life.”

  2:00 PM – EST

  After lunch, Jay rang the doorbell at 295 North Main Street in New Hope. Covered in weathered cedar shingles, the house stood on stilts on the bank of the Delaware River. A two-story addition hung out near the water’s edge with floor-to-ceiling windows on three sides.

  Quin shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m dang sick and tired of these interviews.”

  “That’s a hoot.” Bick feigned shock. “Aren’t you supposed to be a media hound?”

  Sera snickered.

  “It’s a bore-fest.” Quin pantomimed a yawn. “Same questions, over and over.”

  Iggy sighed. “Last one. Let’s just get this over with.”

  As the door opened, Jay consulted a scrap of paper. “We’re looking for a reporter. A Mrs. O’Neill.”

  A seventy-five-year-old woman with volumes of curly white hair beamed at them. “I’ve waited a long time to see all of you again.”

  “No!” Bick scrutinized her comfortably wrinkled face. “It can’t be. Can it?”

  She nodded.

  Bick gathered her in a fierce clinch. He began to sob.

  Jay gaped. “What? What’s going on?”

  The stranger released Bick and held out her arms. “It’s me! Dee.”

  “Oh, my God.” Jay dazedly embraced her.

  In seconds, the entire team was crying as they took turns hugging her.

  Five minutes later, Jay settled into a squishy armchair in Dee’s living room. He took in the ambiance, 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 mirrored Dee’s old garden apartment perfectly. He grinned at her. “How did you survive? We thought you were, you know, history.”

  “Simple. You dropped the flashlight in the Gulf. The water’s shallow enough that I could see it shining on the floor of the ocean. And the scuba equipment was sinking with the raft. I dove down to get the regulator and tank. Then, I waited out Hoover. He left right after you time-jumped.”

  Bick couldn’t stop staring. “And now you’re older than me.”

  “Don’t forget wiser, young man.” Dee smirked.

  “So tell us, Dee.” Jay perched forward. “What’s it been like for the past fifty years? What have you been up to? Wait a minute.” He touched his temple. “I guess you’re a reporter. Unless you concocted that story as a ruse to get us here.”

  “No.” Dee laughed. “I am a reporter. I even got to interview Jackie.” She gestured to the mantelpiece over the brick fireplace, where they saw a framed photo of Jackie K. with her arm around a young Dee. Next to it was the shot of the former First Lady jumping her horse over a fence, hair flying in the breeze. On the other side rested a picture of a handsome police officer in an old-fashioned uniform—J.D. “I married and had two children. My husband has since passed on, but I’ve had a good life.” A contented expression crossed her features. “And I’m sure you know that our actions altered the timeline. We never went to war with Russia.”

  “We were just discussing that. Remembering both timelines.” Bick swiped his bald scalp. “To be honest, the whole episode is fading from memory. I was starting to think it hadn’t happened.”

  “It happened all right. And I have the proof.” Still spry, Dee leaned down and rummaged under the sofa. “See?” She brandished a hefty scrapbook.

  They clustered around Dee to ooh and aah as she leafed through the weathered snapshots and yellowed news clippings from their mission. When they got to the pictures of the vehicles, Quin clutched his gut like someone had stabbed him. “Sheesh, I miss the cars. Especially the Chevy.”

  Sera rolled her eyes.

  They continued recapping their adventure, each trying to surpass the others with stories and anecdotes.

  When they
’d finished, Iggy stood. “Now that we’ve completed our dress rehearsal”—she motioned to the scrapbook—“we can go back and do it right the second time.”

  “I don’t think so.” Dee crossed her arms. “Unlike you, I’ve had fifty years to think about the mission. I’ve come to the conclusion that you shouldn’t go back. I am absolving you of the responsibility because I alone have the authority to make that decision.”

  Iggy sagged into a chair. “People died because of us.”

  “Millions more would have died if we’d gone to war with the Soviets. Humanity isn’t teetering on the edge of destruction. The world is in a better place. Besides, no one will ever know. Mrs. Paine and I never told anyone the truth.”

  “What about J.D.?” Bick hesitated. “And your mom?”

  Tears welled in Dee’s eyes. “I believe J.D. and my mom would have made the same choice.”

  Iggy weighed the pros and cons. She pictured intact metropolitan centers and pollution-free skies versus urban wastelands and millions of tombstones. Dee was right. As the burden of guilt washed away, Iggy nodded.

  “It’s settled then.” Dee rose. “Now, I have something else to show you.”

  2:15 PM – EST

  Dee led them out to the driveway, where a tarp covered a boxy, lumpy shape. “Jay, will you do the honors?”

  He puzzled his brows together and yanked the tarp like a magician doing the tablecloth trick. The weight of the material cascaded down in rippling folds as it showered onto the macadam.

  The violently turquoise ’58 Chevy Impala with shiny chrome accents proudly posed in the driveway. Freshly polished, the sleek, angular auto glittered in the sun.

  “Woo hoo!” Quin leapt up and punched a fist in the air. “You kept my car. Awesome!”

  Dee lobbed him the keys.

  Quin grabbed Dee around both arms in a tight bear hug, picked her up, and spun her three-sixty. “Yee-Ha!”

  She giggled, sounding exactly like the Dee they knew.

  Smiling, he gingerly placed her on the ground. “Hey, where’s the Ford?”