by Greg Ahlgren
Ginter waved his hand impatiently, interrupting her. “Screw Vietnam and Southeast Asia,” he said forcefully. “The answer lies in what Ché Guevara and Cuba will do to this country. Once Ché takes Bolivia, Chile comes under Allende, and the Sandinistas take control in Nicaragua. Most of South America, and all of Central America, falls. This country will be so pre-occupied with that, the Malay Peninsula will be the last thing we care about. After we see what Russian chemical and biological weapons will do in China, and the chemical weapons and dirty bomb here...”
His voice trailed off. There was no reason to continue really, everyone in the room knew the history.
He extended his arms, palms upward. “Really, what choice did the U.S. have?” he asked rhetorically.
“And some would say it was a good trade,” Ginter continued softly. “The U.S. gets rid of its weapons of mass destruction, all nuclear material and research plans surrendered. The national military gets disbanded in return for peace, and prosperity for some. The threat of global destruction is gone. Who can argue with that when we have Beijing as a comparison?”
“What’s your plan?” Amanda asked coolly.
Ginter leaned forward and stabbed his finger on the table. “Ché Guevara must be stopped. Cuba must be stopped. Guevara would have been dead in Bolivia except for that defector. And now I’ve stopped him from defecting to Cuba.”
“Oswald?” Hutch asked.
DeVere looked perplexed. Amanda turned to him. “Lee,” she finished. “O.H. Lee. Oswald was his real name.” She turned back to Ginter.
“What are you talking about, Lewis? Isn’t he in Cuba?”
“Supposed to be.” Ginter leaned back in his chair, grinning. “But he’s not. He’s here, in Dallas. Using his original name, Oswald.”
“How can this be?” deVere asked.
“Didn’t Oswald defect in ‘63?” Hutch asked.
Ginter nodded. “He did. It was late September and history says that he really ought to be back in Cuba. Except, he’s not. History is changed. I stopped him in Mexico City and got him to come back here where he’s now employed at the Texas School Book Depository.”
A look of astonishment came over Hutch’s face. “You, you mean you changed something? We didn’t know if it was possible. My God, Lewis, in New York Paul and I have been unable to change anything.”
Ginter grew serious. “Don’t be so sure about that. None of us know what the effects are of what we’re doing. All I know is this. Lee Harvey Oswald did not defect to Cuba in September of 1963 and will not be there to save Ché Guevara in Bolivia.”
Amanda sat up abruptly. “How do you know he still won’t defect?” she asked suddenly. “O.K., so he didn’t go to Cuba in September, but if he goes next month, or next year, he may still end up on that road.”
Ginter put up his hand, palm outwards. “Convincing Oswald to come back was only part one. He thinks he’s working for me and that I’m with Cuban Intelligence. The guy is an egomaniac. I got us both jobs at the Book Depository because of your Kennedy itinerary,” he said, nodding toward Amanda. “Kennedy will pass by the Depository this Friday on his motorcade to the Trade Mart.”
“And?” Amanda asked cautiously.
Ginter shrugged. “Oswald fancies himself an assassin. He tried to kill General Walker this past April. He thinks he is going to kill Kennedy this Friday as the motorcade passes by.”
“Are you crazy?” deVere almost shouted. “Lewis, we can’t kill anyone, especially the President! Especially you! If you get involved in a plot to shoot the President just think what that would do for race relations in this country for the next 50 years! My God, Lewis!”
“Not to worry,” Ginter said calmly. “This tragic assassination attempt will fail. President saved. Life goes on.”
“And what does that do?” Hutch asked.
Lewis shrugged and turned to Amanda. “Paul’s right. If I were to shoot the President of the United States public opinion would swing horribly against blacks. It would swing against any group that produced such a monster. Anyone who did that would be hated. His cause would be hated. So, we need a patsy. Someone people will hate afterwards. Someone who will galvanize public opinion.”
“You’re not going to shoot him?” deVere asked doubtfully.
“I’m not the shooter.”
“But Lewis, you can’t have Oswald shoot the President,” deVere argued. “And why do you need us here?”
Paul blanched. “Oh no, Lewis, no, you don’t expect us to do this?”
Ginter motioned toward Professor Hutch. “Back in Cambridge we talked about the theory of infinite realities. We know there’s a world where the Soviets succeeded. We’ve lived it. There is now a world where Ché Guevara is not saved by the American traitor. Think of a world where in 1963 a Cuban spy, on direct orders from Castro himself, attempts to murder President Kennedy. Suppose that those orders are found. Think what this country’s reaction will be.” Ginter leaned back to let the effect of his words register.
“Invasion,” deVere whispered.
“Bay of Pigs all over again with American air support,” Hutch added dully. “And American troops this time.”
Amanda shook her head. “But Kennedy’s made a deal with Khrushchev. Part of the missile deal was that he’d leave Cuba alone.”
“He did,” Ginter countered. “In October, 1962, Kennedy made that deal. What do you think Kennedy will think of that deal when he finds out that thirteen months after making that deal Castro tried to have him killed? We’ll be vacationing again under the Havana moon by ‘66.”
“How?” Hutch asked, her voice a croak.
“Simple.” Ginter opened his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers and drawings and scanned through them. “On Friday, November 22, 1963 Lee Harvey Oswald, who believes that he is working for Cuban intelligence, and acting under Cuban orders, will go to his menial job at the Texas School Book Depository. Kennedy’s 1963 reception in Texas helped turn around this state’s support and helped his narrow re-election in 1964 against Barry Goldwater.”
“But Oswald is going to shoot at him?” deVere asked.
“Yup, right from the fifth floor window.”
“What if he hits Kennedy?”
Ginter laughed again. “Impossible. Oswald will have a World War II era bolt-action rifle that couldn’t hit a damn thing, let alone a moving target. I’ve gone shooting with him. The sight is off. Also, I’m giving Oswald six cartridges and loading the clip myself. Do you know what a lufrag is?”
Hutch and deVere shook their heads in unison.
“It’s simple really. Oswald’s first cartridge will have a basically papier-mâché bullet painted black that looks and feels like a bullet when it’s in the jacket but when fired, explodes into nothingness. Inside the jacket is a water-based solvent that will coat the rifling converting any subsequent shots into essentially musket balls. The solvent will evaporate within twenty to thirty minutes leaving no trace. Any subsequent bullets out of the barrel would tumble harmlessly at slow speed to the pavement. If Oswald fires two shots the authorities will later find two cartridges and no bullets will have hit anything.”
“Why not just make all the bullets blank?” deVere asked.
Ginter smiled. “Too risky. If all the cartridges are blanks the cops will ask questions when they find them. I’m giving him six in the clip. Real bullets have to be found in the unused jackets. So only the first cartridge will be a lufrag.”
“Don’t we still have a problem?” deVere asked. “Aren’t there going to be questions asked about a bullet that is never found?”
Ginter shook his head. “Everyone will hear the shots. The authorities will have to explain away the missing bullet with some theory. Someone will think of something. They always do. It’ll either be that the bullet hit a curbstone and disintegrated or embedded itself in a passing car and was never found or some such. Someone someplace will claim they found “bullet fragments” and the cops will latch on to it. Don’
t underestimate the power of cognitive dissonance. Once the cops get their theory of a certain number of bullets they’ll make the facts fit.”
“What about the gun barrel?” deVere asked. “Won’t the whatever be discovered?”
Ginter shook his head. “The paper will be expelled out of the barrel in sizes no bigger than atoms. Only the minutest trace of solvent will be in the rifling within minutes of it being fired. By the time the cops examine it the solvent will have evaporated.”
“And what if something goes wrong?” deVere argued. “What if Oswald fires real bullets first? What if he shoots Kennedy?”
Ginter shook his head again. “I’m going to load his clip myself. Lufrag first, five bullets after.”
“And if something still goes wrong?” deVere queried.
Ginter smiled. “Paul, don’t you trust me? What the hell do you think I was doing in Greece back in ‘04? Even if I get a heart attack before loading the rifle, the President is safe. Oswald’s Mannlicher can’t hit anything. The scope is an old Ordinance one.”
Ginter drew a deep breath and his face hardened. “Let me absolutely guarantee you that Lee Harvey Oswald is not going to kill the President.”
There was a moment of silence while deVere pondered his next question.
“What about Oswald?” Hutch asked instead. “What happens to him?”
“Good question,” Ginter answered. “My first inclination was to come up behind him after his last shot and kill him. Dump all the incriminating stuff-instructions from Havana, travel plans, tickets-into his pocket and wait for the cops to find him. No one to refute the paper trail. Plus, apparently the CIA had some sort of surveillance on the Cuban Embassy in Mexico City so he’ll show up on tape there which further ties him to Havana.”
“But that’s no longer your plan?” deVere asked warily.
“No,” Ginter answered. “There were good and bad reasons for it. The good was that Oswald couldn’t talk and refute anything. It also assured that he doesn’t somehow show up in Bolivia through some other temporal avenue. If Oswald ends up dead it will be easy to write ‘case closed’ on this one.”
“But you rejected the plan?” Hutch asked. “Why?”
“The cons outweigh the pros. For one thing I then become a player. You know, ‘the man who killed the assassin.’ I become the Boston Corbett of the twentieth century.”
“He shot Booth,” Hutch explained in an exasperated tone when she saw deVere’s puzzled expression.
“Anyway,” Ginter continued, “me as hero is good. I get my fifteen minutes of fame and maybe I get enough good feeling generated for ‘us colored folk’ that King doesn’t have to organize all those marches.
“But then I become part of the problem,” Ginter continued. “What if some journalist does a background story on me? My roots here are a little sketchy, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked wryly.
“And there’s also the problem of the surveillance in Mexico City. The CIA may have Oswald going in and out of the Cuban Embassy. If so, they may also have me on film. I met Oswald there. Some civilian walked in and saw Oswald and me together. He was South American, maybe a Nicaraguan. If I kill Oswald and my face is all over the media, someone may put us together and then we have that problem.”
Ginter sighed deeply. “So, I can’t kill him.”
“Is that why you brought us to Dallas?” deVere asked incredulously. “You want us to kill Oswald?”
Ginter snorted. “God no, Paul. With all due respect, I’d never trust something like that to you or Amanda.
“Six cartridges for the Mannlicher,” Ginter continued. “All six I’ll pack myself. I’ll load the clip. The first will explode into nothing. Oswald will have a limited target window and will immediately crank in the next round and fire away. The second cartridge will be double packed. Gunpowder behind a C-4 concoction I’ve dummied up myself. When the Mannlicher’s firing pin hits the cap-kaboom!”
Ginter paused again and waited. When neither of his hosts spoke he continued. “The cheap barrel explodes in his face, maybe killing him, maybe not. Maybe it just rips his face off leaving him writhing on the floor where the cops find him. And when they do he’ll either be dead, or half dead, with the busted up Mannlicher and all the other stuff I’ll plant before I beat it down the stairs.”
“Such as?” Hutch whispered.
Ginter chuckled. “Airline tickets from Dallas to Mexico City to Havana, a complete plan in English since he speaks no Spanish, a map of his escape route, and some basic propaganda, all forged and prepared by Cuban Intelligence which planned this whole thing.”
“You think that’s enough for Kennedy to go to war with Cuba?” Hutch asked.
Ginter shrugged. “I’d say so. Once they start digging on Oswald, the press will have a field day. There’s a previous defection to the Soviet Union, a renunciation of his American citizenship, his Fair Play for Cuba activities in New Orleans, his attempt to kill a retired general, his trip to the Cuban Embassy in Mexico City, his meeting with a shadowy black man at the Cuban Embassy who handed him a briefcase with cash, followed by his return to Dallas, the assassination attempt on Kennedy ordered by Castro himself, and his escape route to Havana, all arranged by Fidel.
“If nothing else,” Ginter added, “I don’t think Kennedy will be deciding this Sunday to pull out of Vietnam. And if we get the reprieve on that, coupled with stopping Guevara in Bolivia…well, we’ve got a chance.”
“It’s crazy,” deVere stated.
“Really?” Ginter asked, annoyed. “Why don’t you tell me how your Harrison Salisbury-New York Times plan is progressing? Having a lot of luck, are we?”
Hutch ignored the rebuke. “What happens to Oswald if he survives?” she asked. “What if he’s able to make a run for it down the stairs?”
Ginter shrugged. “I’ll be there when the Mannlicher rips open. After dumping the incriminating evidence next to the rifle, I follow Oswald out of the building and finger him to a Dallas cop. ‘Officer, I believe that’s the man from Dealey Plaza you’re looking for,’ or some such. It won’t take much. The police will move in. Once he’s in custody, it’s all over. Everyone who worked at the Depository will have seen him in the building. Someone will remember seeing him on the fifth floor. His prints will show up on his rifle-remember the picture of him holding it in all the bios? Someone will have seen him bringing it in Friday all wrapped up, heck even in 1963 paraffin tests will show that our ‘Hero of Acapulco’ fired a weapon. He’s cooked. Life in prison.”
“What if he talks?” Hutch asked.
“Let him,” Ginter countered quickly. “If he yacks, perfect. He’ll shoot his mouth off about Communism, Capitalism, the Cuban Revolution, Fidel, how he was recruited by Cuban Intelligence in Mexico, the list goes on. The more he talks the better off we are. The anger against Cuba will mount. Ché won’t even make it to Bolivia.”
“And if he doesn’t talk?” deVere asked.
“There will be nothing to refute the anti-Communist hysteria that will run rampant,” Ginter said. “The link to Cuba and Cuban Intelligence will still be there. I’d say if he does not talk, Kennedy invades Cuba in the spring. Russia does nothing to stop Kennedy-how can they?-still no navy in ‘63 to challenge the good old U.S. of A. Guevara dies on a Cuban beach trying to stop The One as it hits the sand. United Fruit has an office in Havana by ‘65. Kennedy establishes a red white and blue line across Southeast Asia, and the Balkans remain free for tin horn dictators.”
“So,” deVere asked, taking a deep breath, “where do we come in? That is, if we’re not to shoot the President?”
Ginter stood up and moved to the window. He looked down at the main street before turning back to face his hosts.
“Someone from CA is back here,” he said flatly.
“Pardon?” Hutch asked.
“Someone. An agent. Not Collinson or Pomeroy but someone else. A Russian. He followed us through another wormhole. He followed us to New Hampshire. It was him that sicce
d the local cops on us on the hill at that park. And now he’s somehow tracked me to Dallas.”
Several moments paused before anyone spoke.
“That’s impossible,” deVere croaked.
“How?” Hutch asked.
Ginter shrugged. “I’ve gone over the possibilities.”
“But no one else knows how to operate an Accelechron,” deVere protested. “We never wrote down directions. And who could build one? They don’t know how.”
“Maybe not in 2026,” Ginter corrected. “But there are other possibilities. Suppose they had several years to figure it out? Given seven or ten years the Soviet’s best scientists could probably figure it out. Maybe they figured out where we went, and why, and came back to stop us.”