Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir (15 page)

“Prime Minister and Mrs. Karamanlis are here to greet you, along with a representative from King Paul and Queen Frederika,” I said. “We have a car waiting to take you and the Radziwills to the villa in Kavouri.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she said. “I’m looking forward to some relaxation.”

When we arrived at the villa, Mrs. Kennedy was upbeat and excited. The villa had a beautiful view of the Mediterranean, and on this summer evening, the water was calm and the color of azure.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Mrs. Kennedy remarked to her sister as she looked out to the sea.

Prince Radziwill approached me, reached out his hand, and said, “I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Stash, Mrs. Kennedy’s brother-in-law.”

“I’m Special Agent Clint Hill, sir,” I replied as I shook his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Prince Radziwill.”

“Please, call me Stash,” he said with a smile. Stash Radziwill was about five foot ten, had short dark brown hair, and a well-trimmed mustache that accentuated his smile. He spoke with a slight British accent, and although he was quite distinguished, he was very informal. I liked him immediately.

I turned to Lee and said, “It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Radziwill.”

She nodded and smiled.

Mrs. Kennedy walked over to me and said, “It was so nice to arrive in Athens without all the press around.” She glanced at Agent Jeffries and said, “It was awful in Rome. There were photographers everywhere and all I could hear was”—she changed to a higher-pitched voice with an Italian accent—“‘Jack-ie, smile! Over here Jackie! Smile!’”

I could tell the incident bothered her, and the indication was that Jeffries hadn’t done enough to protect her from the overzealous paparazzi.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Kennedy. We’ve made the Greek officials aware that this is meant to be a private visit for you, and we’ll do our best to keep the press at bay.”

“Thank you, Mr. Hill. I do appreciate that.”

I proceeded to another area of the villa to confer with Agent Jeffries about the incident, and to give Mrs. Kennedy and her guests some privacy. Jeffries explained the incident, much as Mrs. Kennedy had, without making any excuses. Mrs. Kennedy was unharmed, and that’s what mattered.

I walked outside to the front of the villa, and ran into Ken Giannoules.

“Clint, you won’t believe what just happened.” He had a look of bewilderment on his face.

“What? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine,” Ken said. “I was standing in the doorway when Mrs. Kennedy came up to me and asked, ‘Mr. Giannoules, is the lorry coming soon?’ I assumed she meant the truck bringing the luggage so I said, ‘Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, the luggage is on its way and will be here shortly.’”

“Did she seem upset that it was taking too long?” I asked.

Ken laughed. “No, not at all. She was just questioning. What I don’t understand, and can’t believe, is that she knew who I was, and she called me by name, and pronounced it perfectly. I’ve never met her before.”

“I think I may have mentioned to her that I would be assisted on the advance in Greece by an agent named Ken Giannoules whose family came from Greece,” I said. “But that was before I left for Paris. It is rather remarkable that she would remember.”

That really made an impression on Ken, and from that moment on, he had a newfound respect for Mrs. Kennedy.

Agent Jeffries remained at the estate, along with another agent who stood post overnight, while Giannoules and I returned to our hotel in Athens.

We got up early the next morning and drove back to the villa. The sun was just rising, but as we got to a point where we could see the bay below Nomikos’s villa, I could hardly believe my eyes.

“Oh crap,” I said. “What the hell is going on?”

The
Northwind
was anchored just offshore, and surrounding it were dozens of fishing boats, small sailboats, and other small craft. The boats were filled with tourists and press, eager to snap a photograph of Mrs. Kennedy. Fortunately, the Greek navy was well aware of the situation.

The navy boats were patrolling the area, forcing the tourist boats farther and farther away from shore. We could hear them yelling, “Not stop here! Not stop here! Mrs. Kennedy!” I was pleased that they were doing their best to deny access to the boats, but dismayed that, by announcing Mrs. Kennedy’s name, they were confirming that she was indeed in the residence at the time.

At one point, one of the boats containing members of the press tried to ignore the navy’s orders and the navy boat responded by ramming into the press boat. Later, members of the press complained to me about the “excessive aggressive behavior” by the Greek security forces.

I was pleased with the way the Greek navy had handled the situation and responded to the press, “Don’t try to enter areas in which you are not wanted, and you won’t have any more problems.”

They were not so pleased with my response.

By the time Mrs. Kennedy awakened, the navy had pushed the intruding boats a mile away from shore. She and her guests were able to relax at the villa, sunbathing and swimming in privacy, before it was time to board the
Northwind.

The 130-foot
Northwind
was a magnificent motor yacht with polished teak decks and five staterooms for its onboard guests. Ten crew members took care of the yacht and the needs of the guests. Agent Jeffries would remain aboard the yacht with Mrs. Kennedy, while Giannoules and I would travel on the mainland by car on this portion of the trip to ensure the security of the area to be visited.

The first stop was Epidaurus, on the Peloponnesus, and which had the best-preserved open-air theater in Greece, dating back to the fifth century
B.C
. Epidaurus was just thirty-five nautical miles from Kavouri, but by car it was close to one hundred miles, along windy, seaside roads. It was a beautiful drive, but both Giannoules and I would have much rather been on the yacht.

We arrived at the harbor to find the mayor of Epidaurus and the entire village waiting for Mrs. Kennedy’s arrival. Even though Mrs. Kennedy would only be in Epidaurus for a few hours, the villagers had whitewashed all the buildings and had strewn flowers throughout the streets to welcome her.

A special rehearsal of a Greek tragedy had been arranged for her and her guests. We were just a few small figures in the enormous amphitheater, which could hold more than fourteen thousand people. Mrs. Kennedy seemed awestruck as she sat on the 2,400-year-old stone bench absorbed in the play, while I sat nearby, not understanding a word that was being said.

Later, as we walked back to the yacht, Mrs. Kennedy said, “What did you think of the play, Mr. Hill?”

“Well,” I laughed, “I must say I didn’t understand one word, Mrs. Kennedy. Did you enjoy it?”

She laughed and said, “Oh, I loved it. I couldn’t understand a word, either, but I’m familiar with the play, and just being able to see it in that ancient theater, of which I’ve read about since I was a girl, was just so special.”

“That’s what matters, then,” I said. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Agent Jeffries and I boarded the
Northwind
with Mrs. Kennedy and the Radziwills, and we prepared to depart Epidaurus. Ken would now have some free time, while we were on the yacht with Mrs. Kennedy for the rest of the trip.
Ken’s grandmother had recently died, so he was able to attend her fortieth day memorial service. The Greek government was so willing to do anything to help us, that they provided Ken with a Renault convertible with royal license plates to attend the service.

We had mapped out an itinerary prior to Mrs. Kennedy’s arrival, but she had her own ideas. I got the feeling that she and Jeffries were often at odds, largely due to the difference in their personalities. He was a rigid, play-by-the-rules fellow, and she was free-spirited and spontaneous.

She came to me and said, “Agent Hill, you told me that the job of the Secret Service is to allow me to do the things I want to do.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kennedy, that is correct.”

“Well, not everyone seems to understand that.”

I knew what she was trying to tell me, yet it wasn’t my place to tell a supervising agent how to do his job.

“Mrs. Kennedy,” I said, “as long as you let us know what you want to do, we will make sure you are safe. If you want to change your plans, we will adjust.”

“I’d like to go water-skiing.”

“Then, Mrs. Kennedy, if you want to go water-skiing, you will go water-skiing.”

And that is what she did. For nearly an hour, Mrs. Kennedy water-skied off the back of a small motorboat, expertly weaving back and forth across the wake on a single ski, while I sat in the back of the boat, hoping I didn’t have to go in after her. Having learned how to swim by being thrown into the Missouri River at the age of six, I had never water-skied in my life, nor had I seen anyone do it up close.

The Greek navy ships managed to keep the press boats far enough away so she was able to water-ski in relative privacy, with no photos.

She had a constant smile on her face, her eyes squinting from the sun and spray, and when she finally had had enough, she simply let go of the rope and slowly sunk into the water. The Greek crew member that was driving the small craft steered the boat around quickly and pulled alongside her.

She was slightly out of breath, and dripping wet, as I helped her into the boat and handed her a dry towel.

“Thank you! That was so much fun!” she exclaimed as she wiped her face with the towel. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement as she added, “Mr. Hill, why don’t you have a go?”

I laughed. “No, thank you, Mrs. Kennedy. I’d need a few lessons before I could compete with you.”

She laughed and we sped around, back to the
Northwind,
where Stash and Lee had been watching from the deck. Mrs. Kennedy seemed so relaxed, and I was happy we had been able to accommodate her desires to water-ski in the Aegean Sea.

Despite Ken Giannoules’s concern that his formal Greek wasn’t up to par, the Greek government couldn’t have been more cooperative, even going so far as closing off to tourists the tiny island of Delos, where according to Greek mythology, Apollo was born, so Mrs. Kennedy could wander the ruins in privacy. We sailed to the charming island of Poros, and on to Hydra, where enthusiastic crowds waved and church bells rang as the yacht entered the quaint harbor.

We had planned to sail from Hydra to Mykonos at 6:00
P.M.
, but Mrs. Kennedy and Prince and Princess Radziwill were having such a good time at a local
taverna
that they decided they wanted to stay. Jeffries and I sat at a table nearby, trying to remain as unobtrusive as possible.

A group of locals in native costume were singing folk songs and the entire restaurant was clapping and singing along, Mrs. Kennedy included. As they started to dance the
kalamatianos
, Mrs. Kennedy jumped out of her seat and joined the circle, laughing, and singing and dancing. We finally left Hydra at midnight, bound for Mykonos.

The next morning, we awoke at anchor in the picturesque harbor of Mykonos, where the turquoise sea and the cloudless azure sky framed the freshly whitewashed buildings stacked on the hillside like an exquisite painting. Mrs. Kennedy was enchanted. Finally, the yacht and the small flotilla of navy ships returned to the villa in Kavouri.

After four days on the yacht, Mrs. Kennedy was eager to see the sights for which Athens was so well-known—the Parthenon and the Acropolis. With the prime minister’s wife, Mrs. Karamanlis, as her tour guide, Mrs. Kennedy walked up the rugged rocks and steps that led to the Parthenon, the classic Greek temple that was built in honor of the goddess Athena. As the late afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the Doric columns, Mrs. Kennedy smiled graciously for the tourists and press who snapped photographs constantly during her hourlong visit. I followed closely behind her, barely noticing the historic ruins as I scanned the swarm of people, looking for anybody or anything unusual. When somebody would get just a bit too close, I’d reach out my arm as a barrier, ready to
push someone if needed, but fortunately, the people were friendly and we had no problems at all.

“I hope these sights are retained forever,” Mrs. Kennedy remarked to Mrs. Karamanlis. I could tell that she was sincerely impressed, and despite the curious onlookers, she had truly enjoyed herself.

On Tuesday, June 13, Mrs. Kennedy and Prince and Princess Radziwill went to the Tatoi Palace for a private luncheon hosted by King Paul and Queen Frederika. The ten-thousand-acre royal summer residence was located just outside of Athens. After an exchange of gifts, we were preparing to leave the estate when Prince Constantine, the twenty-one-year-old heir to the Greek throne, drove up in his brand-new, dark blue convertible Mercedes sports car.

“Would you like to go for a ride, Mrs. Kennedy?” he asked.

“I’d love to!” she said. She glanced quickly at me, and without saying anything, hopped into the car, and the prince sped off.

Oh God.

Ken Giannoules had rejoined us for the mainland security portion of the trip and was waiting near the follow-up car. “Get in the car,” I said calmly to Giannoules, as I strode to the car. Nick Damigos was already in the driver’s seat with the engine running, so I jumped in the passenger seat, while Giannoules climbed into the back.