Prologue (54 page)

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!”