Prologue (34 page)

“You O.K.?”
Paul asked Pamela kindly.

She nodded solemnly, brushing at her eye. “I guess I’ll have a salad too.”

“Born in 1908?”

Paul deVere stared at the
New York
State
paper driver’s license that bore his name–and a birth date of
October 2, 1908
. He leaned back in his chair in Room 237 of the Carpenter Hotel–Lewis’ room.

“Why’d you ever make me born in 1908?”

Lewis Ginter didn’t look up from the Manchester Union Leader he had bought at Pete’s Variety Store and which now
lay
spread across the room’s only bed.

“Do the math,” he said simply. “We were supposed to come back in 1962, remember? You’re 53 years old. For that to work you would have had to have been born in 1908.”

DeVere leaned back and closed his eyes. “But Lewis,” he began, “we’re in much better shape than these people. Look at them. Fifty-three isn’t that old in 2026 but back here…” His voice trailed off. “Couldn’t you have made me 43?”

Ginter checked his watch. “How long have they been gone?”

“Hey, shopping, you know how it is. It must be a culture shock. You sure it was O.K. to let them go by themselves?”

“Less risky,” Ginter answered. He pointed at the open page before him.

“They have it right here on pages four and five. The place is called Leavitt’s. Women’s
clothes,
and just a couple of blocks away. When they get back we’ll go to that Easler’s place.”

DeVere sighed and sat up. “What do you find so interesting in that damn paper?”

Ginter flipped to another page.
“Just trying to get the lay of the land.”

He reached under the paper and pulled out the sheaf of papers Amanda had brought with her. He tossed them on the nightstand.

“Other than one copy of Kennedy’s itinerary none of our records made it back,” Ginter said. “And we can’t rely on Amanda’s recollection for the day to day stuff. We’re going to live this in real time.”

“And what is the lay of the land?” deVere asked, indicating the newspaper.

“Well,” Ginter said, turning another page. “Sox lost again.
Seven to five to the Washington Senators.
Wilbur Wood got beat.”

“That’s it?
Sox news?”

“No, that’s not it.
Plenty of good movies playing.
Mutiny on the Bounty
,
The
Great Escape
, and
‘Bye Bye Birdie
. Hey, and speaking of Kennedy as a war hero,
P.T. 109
opens Wednesday at The State Theater.”

“
Great Escape
?” deVere mused. “Does that have Jim Brown in it?”

Lewis Ginter shook his head. “You’re thinking of
The Dirty Dozen
. This one had Steve McQueen and no brothers. I’ve seen them both zillions of times.”

DeVere nodded.
“Anything else?”

Ginter frowned.
“Three headlines on the front page.
Two on the struggle against Communism: the nuclear treaty with the Soviets and
Britain
and a skirmish at the DMZ in
Korea
. Conservatives are up in arms.
Opinion pieces galore.”

DeVere waved his hand. “That paper was a right wing rag. You forget I grew up here.”

“I didn’t forget,” Gunter said quietly. “But there are wire stories about groups forming to oppose JFK. The Republicans have formed several groups to attack him. One is called the Critical Issues Council. Another is the Business Industry Policy Action Committee. Ike’s brother is heading up one of them.” He pointed down.
“All in today’s paper.”

“Ike’s brother?”

“Former President Eisenhower’s brother, Milton.
Two headlines out of three.
Opposition groups forming.
An article on the back page details the courage of some local who stood up to the Reds.
Cartoons about the folly of trusting the Commies.”

“Sounds like good advice.”

Ginter folded the newspaper. “This is a divided nation.
Very much so.”

The room grew quiet. DeVere turned to Ginter.

“Do you really believe someone else came back?” he asked.

“I think so. I wish I had paid more attention to Eckleburg in
Newton
. I was followed from that meeting but assumed it was just a standard tail. I can’t figure out Eckleburg’s concern, but whatever it was, I guess it wasn’t really about money. Damn!”

“So, what was it about?” deVere asked.

Ginter shook his head. “No scenario makes any sense. Is someone trying to help us or hurt us? I just don’t know.”

DeVere smiled. “And now we’ve missed our target by a year. Did that cause us to already fail?”

“Do you trust her?” Ginter asked suddenly.

“Huh? Geez, Lewis, we’ve been over this already.”

“Paul, I didn’t trust her before. Maybe this screw-up was not so accidental.”

“We’ve had this talk,” Paul protested.

“There’s something else,” Lewis said. “Something I didn’t know last week. The reason she came to
Cambridge
. I thought her showing up was a bit too coincidental.”

“Lewis, she has a kid. Her ex has custody. She wanted to be closer to spend more time with him.”

“I have friends,” Lewis said.
“All over the country.
After our talk last Saturday I called down to
North Carolina
.”

“Yeah, so?” deVere asked warily.

“Amanda got divorced when she was teaching down there. I had my source pull her divorce file. Public record, you know. He
overnighted
me a copy. It came this morning.”

“Lewis, how is this any of our business?” Paul asked, agitated.

“She
lied
, Paul. There’s no kid in
Braintree
. The divorce decree says that they were married just over four years. No children.”

“Maybe it’s a mistake,” Paul argued. “How do you know the paperwork’s not wrong?”

“She was married to a guy named Gunther, William Gunther. My source checked him out. He was in real estate in
Chapel Hill
. Still is. There’s no William or Bill Gunther in
Braintree
. And after her divorce she went back to
Leipzig
again.
Voluntarily.”

“Oh for Christ sakes, Lewis, you think all women lie. You don’t believe stories about freaking tires. There are a hundred possibilities. Maybe your friend is wrong. Maybe the records are wrong. Maybe the squishers are screwing with us. Did you ever think of that? How do you know they didn’t doctor up her file to make us suspect her? Why would she make up a story about a kid in
Braintree
? Vodkaville would have come up with a better one than that, and then planted documentation.”

Paul stood and began pacing. “Look, if Amanda wanted to screw us up, if she were Agency, heck if she and our Natasha friend and that Russkie dude were all best buddies, all she had to do was have a hit man take us out!”

Paul made a gun with his hand and thumb and pointed it at Ginter.
“Pow.
Pow
.
Pow
.
All over.
Why screw around with putting us one year too late? That’s not Vodkaville’s style. You know that as well as anyone.”

Ginter tossed the folded paper aside and threw himself back on the bed.

“Maybe you’re right. But Eckleburg sending that
Rhodes
girl makes no sense. She knows nada about bomb making. Eckleburg should have known better.”

“Or Maddox?”

Ginter shrugged. “Either way, Eckleburg should have seen through it.
Even if Maddox is dirty.”

“So, you got any ideas?” deVere asked.

Ginter sat back up, reopened the paper, and smiled.

“I’ve got one.” He pointed to an advertisement. “Moreau’s hardware, they should have automobile tools.”

“Huh?”

Ginter flipped to another page.

“I wonder how far it is to
1569 Elm
Street
?
Resnik Motors.”

“Motors?”
Paul asked. “What are you talking about?”

Ginter pointed to another ad.
“A used 1961 Corvette for $2,995.00.
And I’ve got the cash and a
New York
State
’s driver’s license.”

DeVere snatched the paper from his friend and stared at it.

“What are you going to do with a used Corvette?”

Ginter smirked. “First off, find a place to get these copied so we can all have a set,” he said, indicating the itinerary.

“And second,” he added, “buy a gun.”

Chapter 16

Lewis Ginter turned on to the
Amoskeag
Bridge
and guided the 1961 Corvette east across the iron cage structure that spanned the
Merrimack River
at
Manchester
’s northern edge. To his right stretched the city. Even though it was now mid-afternoon the temperature had only reached the upper seventies. The convertible’s top was down and beside him Pamela Rhodes reclined in the passenger seat, eyes closed, soaking in the sun.