by Lis Wiehl
“That’s Gwendolyn Hubert, Stanley Blackstone’s daughter,” Lisa said, motioning to the woman talking to an FBI agent with her arms wrapped protectively around her chest.
“Yes, she’s been tracking her father since before she started running for office. Her cousin called about Blackstone’s intentions, and she informed the police.”
Gwendolyn met Lisa’s eyes. Lisa walked toward the woman, who stepped away from the agent to meet her.
“You’re Lisa Waldren?” she asked.
“Yes. And you are Gwendolyn Hubert.”
The woman nodded.
“They said he’s dead.” She stared toward the entrance of the church.
“Yes, he is.”
“I didn’t want that,” Gwendolyn whispered.
Lisa wasn’t sure how to respond.
“He’s done so many bad things. I’ve known that since I was a little girl. But he loved me in his own way.”
“And he was your father,” Lisa said softly, turning to look at Dad. Molly had been engulfed in a group of people Lisa assumed were church members, and Dad was shaking hands with several FBI agents.
“I want to go see him. They said that I can, after they’re finished gathering evidence.” Gwendolyn stared at the church.
“You might not want to do that,” Lisa said.
“I have to,” Gwendolyn said with a shrug.
“I probably would as well,” Lisa admitted, placing her hand on the woman’s arm for a moment.
A single line of tears rolled down Gwendolyn’s cheek, but she quickly brushed it away.
“Since I was young, I wanted to make the world a better place. My father and his father and those before, they’d done so many terrible things. I wanted to right our wrongs, I guess. That’s why I went into politics. A ridiculous idealist.”
“You’d make a great senator,” Lisa said, wishing for better words to say. “We need more people like you.”
“More people who betray their families? My father’s last thoughts were that his only child betrayed him. I doubt that I’ll continue the campaign,” she muttered.
“You saved our lives today,” Lisa said.
Gwendolyn met Lisa’s eyes and gave a wan smile. “I’m just glad you’re all okay. If he had hurt any of you …”
An officer approached them. “Ms. Hubert, we’re ready for you now.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Lisa asked.
Gwendolyn gave her a grateful look. “Thank you, but I need to do this alone. It’s sad to say, but today I did make the world a better place.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Washington, DC
The Capitol Mall
The early morning had dawned fresh and blue. The Washington, DC, Mall never ceased to amaze Lisa when she visited. Most of her trips to the nation’s capital were work related, large federal cases, with little time to explore the many museums, memorials, and monuments. Later in the day the walkways and streets would be packed with visitors, but at this hour the area was sparsely populated, dotted with runners and cyclists.
“Are we ready for this?” she asked Dad and Molly as they walked up a sidewalk toward an unimpressive gray building. Its modern façade appeared plain compared to the castle-like buildings of the Smithsonian that rose grandly up against the early morning sky a hundred yards away.
“It’s been a long time coming.” Dad paused for a moment.
The three of them had been together at the civil rights parade, and now they were together for what Lisa hoped was the final answer to the questions that had begun that day.
“It’s pretty unassuming,” Lisa said, staring at the edifice before them.
“I guess that’s the point. But somewhere inside are hidden chambers holding untold numbers of US secrets. Few have ever entered where we are going,” Dad said.
“But hopefully all have exited.” Molly gave them a half grin.
Even with the key, it had taken days and lots of paperwork and legwork to gain access to the obscure vault that stored national artifacts. Leonard’s execution date weighed heavy on all of their minds. But the key had to be authenticated, and even with their pushing and calling in favors, Lisa wasn’t sure how many departments they contacted before permission was granted.
Lisa wished Drew had come with them this morning. He’d been such a part of this, and since her return to Boston, they’d been mostly inseparable. A strange and intoxicating change for both of them. Now he waited for the news, and hopefully they’d celebrate the revealing in just a few hours.
The trio had been told to come early, hours before the museum complex and Capitol opened for the day. Around the side of the building, they found the plain entrance that said Employees Only on the door.
“Let’s go on in,” Dad said.
Before he tried the handle, a security guard opened the door. Inside, they showed their IDs and were directed down a hallway where they met with two other guards. They went through X-ray and put their thumbs onto a screen that scanned their fingerprints. Lisa and Molly turned over their purses for inspection.
“This is more extensive than the Texas State Penitentiary,” Molly whispered to Lisa.
After security, a tall man wearing a navy blue suit that contrasted with his pale skin and pale eyes met the trio and welcomed them formally.
“My name is Horace Kratz, and I am the curator of the archival vaults. I will escort you to your specific location, and you will be given as much time as necessary to examine the contents. Beforehand, we will review the instructions. This way, please.”
The curator escorted them to a small chamber that reminded Lisa of an interrogation room, where they were given a fifteen-minute instruction of rules and regulations.
“No photography of any kind. Your activity will be closely recorded, so photography is unnecessary. If you’d like a copy of the recording or individual frames printed out, we can provide that service as long as permission is granted by my supervisors upstairs.”
Horace pressed the fingers of one hand against his other fingers as he spoke in a deeply serious tone.
“Do not touch anything other than what is in your designated object. Do not explore or examine any other artifact besides the one you’ve been granted access to. I have set up a worktable near your artifact for your use, as well as a ladder. There is a box of gloves that you are required to wear if touching the object or anything within its contents. Anything you wish to remove must be cataloged before your departure from the facility today and again be met with supervisory approval. They will be loaned to Ms. Lisa Waldren as a representative of the United States government and must be returned to the archive within thirty days. Any questions so far?”
Molly’s mischievous expression nearly made Lisa laugh, but she bit her lip as the man continued in his dry monotone.
“There are personal facilities near the entrance if needed, and emergency exits with lighted paths will guide you to a secure location should there be an emergency.”
Horace pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and retrieved a box from another room. “Here is the key. We have verified its authenticity.”
“Thank you,” Dad said. Lisa knew it had been hard for her father to release the key into the care of the archive, but it was required to grant their entrance. Dad feared it would become “lost” like so many other national secrets.
“Gloves, please,” Horace said, pulling the box away from Dad’s reach.
“It’s been in an attic for the past forty years,” Dad grumbled as he pulled on a pair of plastic gloves and then picked up the box with the key.
“The key opens one drawer and one drawer only. Do you know which one?” Horace studied Dad.
Lisa glanced at her father as he shrugged.
“No. How would I know that?”
This seemed to satisfy the curator. “This way, please.”
They went to an obscure service elevator after passing a more public-looking one. This elevator opened on both sides and was tripl
e the size of a usual one.
The curator pushed the button for B5, and the elevator descended five stories. Lisa knew Washington had a secret underground, but this was a surprising depth.
“Be careful in your attempts to open the lock. Each key was especially designed for the individual drawers, as I believe you understand. We know of only one other similar cabinet made by this builder and with the same design. It was located in England; now we believe it is somewhere in India or the Middle East.”
The elevator doors opened, and they followed Horace into an empty hallway lit by fluorescent lights. The curator went forward and unlocked two double doors. He pushed a button on a remote he carried, and a small row of lights illuminated a path straight ahead. Though Lisa couldn’t see far, the room felt vast, with a sense that the walls were far beyond view. Lisa could tell it was climate controlled. It reminded her of a crypt with its cool temperature and cement-like smell.
They followed Horace down the lighted center, passing rows and rows of tall shelves that disappeared into the darkness. Several rows were stacked with sealed boxes with numbers written across the front. Another row had sculptures from what Lisa guessed was the Roman era.
Down one aisle Lisa saw numerous vehicles, including a Model T Ford riddled with bullet holes, a sleek sports car that reminded her of something 007 would have driven, and something tractor-like but with pontoons.
Horace looked back at them, and Lisa felt caught doing something wrong, but every row held something of intrigue she wished to explore.
Finally, the curator turned down a row. He touched a remote in his hand, and a single spotlight down the aisle lit up, revealing an enormous rectangular cabinet the size of several wooden wardrobes.
“There is your artifact,” Horace said. “The worktable is there, and the hanging ladder. Be sure the ladder does not touch the object. It is attached above and can be moved by the rollers as instructed earlier.”
“Thank you,” Lisa said.
Dad was already moving toward it.
“When you are ready to leave the facility, return to the elevator and I will meet you there. Now I will leave you,” Horace said, turning and walking silently away.
The antique cabinet was not what Lisa expected. She had pictured a chest of drawers the size of her bedroom dresser. This cabinet was about ten feet tall and fifteen feet long. There were three sets of double doors on hinges closing off the inner sections of the cabinet. Each door was carved in an intricate design.
“I wonder who the cabinetmaker was. This is amazing,” Molly said, looking at the carvings closely. Each panel had a unique design of animals, trees, or mountains with border designs cut in a unique pattern that Lisa had never seen before.
Lisa was anxious to open the drawer and discover its contents, but she knew this was their one chance to really see the Kennedy cabinet.
Dad set the box with the key on the worktable, pulled up his gloves, and investigated the cabinet closely. He pulled the handles on one set of doors and swung them open, revealing two lines of drawers. He opened each of the three sets of hinged doors to find matching rows of drawers.
“This might take awhile,” Molly said, gazing up at the cabinet.
“I guess we just try each one,” Dad said, retrieving the brass key from the box. “Who would like to start?”
“You do it,” Lisa said.
“Are you sure? One of you could—”
Molly shook her head. “This one belongs to you.”
Dad began at the bottom right drawer.
Lisa held her breath as he placed the key in the first lock. It didn’t seem to connect with anything at all. Her father moved up to the next drawer. That lock didn’t allow the key inside. He continued up the first row, using the ladder that was suspended a few feet out from the cabinet, until he reached the top and worked his way down the next row of drawers.
About ten minutes into it, they heard a discernible click. The drawer was toward the bottom of one of the middle rows. Dad turned to look at them.
“This is it,” he said.
Lisa felt her heart racing as she and Molly moved closer.
He turned the key further, and the drawer popped open a few inches.
“It’s heavy,” Dad said as he pulled the drawer and it slowly opened.
They looked inside and saw a folded newspaper.
“So the last person to open this drawer was Robert Kennedy?” Molly asked in awe.
“That’s right. The cabinet was stored down here soon after his death.”
“Don’t forget the gloves,” Dad said.
“Yes, Mr. Igor might be watching,” Molly said, looking around for the unseen camera. Lisa and Molly pulled out gloves from a box on the table and returned to the drawer.
“Let’s be sure that our actions are recorded so that we have proof that each item we bring out with us was actually retrieved from this drawer.”
Her father nodded and kept some distance as he pulled out the newspaper from the top of the drawer and carefully set it on the table. As he unwrapped the paper, a packet was revealed.
“Look at the date,” Lisa said, pointing to the headline of the Fort Worth, Texas, newspaper. April 14, 1965.
Lisa saw her father’s hands tremble as he opened the package.
“These are the missing pictures and negatives from Peter’s roll of film,” he said. He lined them up along the table.
“Look at that,” Lisa said, pointing to one of the photographs. It clearly showed a man in his twenties who looked like a young Stanley Blackstone with a gun pointed at Benjamin Gray. The others showed Stanley in the crowd but from a distance.
“That’s Leonard’s ticket to freedom, right? I’ve been praying we’d get something definitive for him.”
Lisa leaned in closely, picking up the photograph. Benjamin Gray’s face had a shocked expression, and Lisa knew that was the last moment of his life. Peter must have taken this last picture, then he’d pulled his gun. Dad now believed his old friend had shot Stanley Blackstone immediately after taking the photos, either as a way to protect Lisa and her father or to stop Blackstone from escaping, or both. They’d never know for sure.
“I don’t think we’d find a court who would refute this, especially with the newspaper dating it and the fact that it’s been locked in here all of these years.”
“They can also match the type of gun shown in Blackstone’s hand to the bullets found at the scene,” Dad said.
“What else is in the drawer?” Molly asked.
Dad brought out a thick document of several hundred pages fastened together. The outside read Top Secret and had the presidential seal marking the cover. The date was 1962.
“This was compiled before JFK was killed,” her father said.
“So it’s one of the documents that President Kennedy’s brother didn’t want found when Kennedy was assassinated.”
“It could be,” Dad said.
He turned the covered page and read the subject of the secret file.
The Blackstone File
Red Wolf Plantation
Lisa pulled up chairs as they flipped through the pages.
Some of the first pages showed copies of photographs. It was easy to identify John F. Kennedy in several of them. The caption at the bottom gave dates and names, including Redmond Blackstone, Stanley’s father. In another that appeared to be a private dinner, the caption read, Redmond Blackstone, Stanley Blackstone, John Kennedy, Robert Kennedy, Lyndon Johnson, and other names Lisa didn’t recognize.
“It looks like they were all friends,” Molly said with a tone of disgust.
“That’s why this report was compiled,” Dad said. “Once we read through this, I think we’ll have the full facts. But it appears to me as if the Blackstones were strong Southern supporters of JFK at first—the dates show 1959 and 1960. However, then Bobby or someone started putting together this report and found out who the Blackstones really were.”
Dad flipped through the pages, skimm
ing them as he spoke.
“Look, here are reports of KKK activity by Redmond Blackstone, and here, suspected of being part of the lynching of two black men in Alexandria as well as the disappearance of several others back in 1956.”
Lisa and Molly leaned in closer as they pored over different elements of the file. There were financial reports and also a report on campaign funding.
“This looks like the Kennedys returned the Blackstones’ campaign money and supported a civil rights law that the Blackstones were furious about,” Lisa said.
“So John Kennedy turned his back on the Blackstones before he was even elected president?” Molly asked, studying a page of threatening letters sent to Senator John Kennedy by Redmond Blackstone.
Dad leaned away from the file, nodding in thought.
“Yes, but even still, the early campaign support, photos, and appearance that they were friends would’ve provided a Kennedy rival, or someone like my old boss Hoover, a huge advantage. It could’ve turned the election. This appears to connect the Kennedys and Lyndon Johnson to a KKK family, giving the appearance that JFK supported the anti–civil rights movement and a Southern racist mentality. It would’ve been explosive to the campaign. It could have been used against Robert Kennedy’s campaigns for Senate and the presidency, as well as Lyndon Johnson’s.”
“So that’s why Hoover wanted this file.”
“Yes. O’Ryan believes that Evelyn Lincoln, JFK’s longtime assistant, gave Peter the key after Robert Kennedy was assassinated in 1968,” Dad added.
“But when Peter wouldn’t help Hoover, he exposed Peter as a disloyal agent.” Lisa explained to Molly how the former head of the FBI compiled scandalous information to blackmail and threaten politicians, world leaders, wealthy Americans, and even US presidents, among them President Kennedy and his successor, Lyndon B. Johnson.
“Bobby Kennedy probably put all of this evidence in here to keep it from Hoover and any of their other enemies.”
“But it also was part of convicting Leonard Dubois instead of Stanley Blackstone. Robert Kennedy had to know that,” Molly said.
“We don’t know for sure, never will,” Dad said gravely. “Maybe Bobby would’ve released this and gotten Leonard free. He was killed in 1968, not long after Leonard’s conviction and just as he was running for president. It was expected that he’d win. Perhaps he was waiting until the election was over.”