“He is not in today, may I help you?” The man’s eyes remained riveted.
“Do you speak English?” Ginter asked.
“No, I am sorry, I do not,” the Cuban responded.
Perfect, Ginter thought.
“I wanted to talk to Consular Azcue about some life insurance policies and plans which he might find interesting. A man like Consular Azcue, with a family, could always use life insurance, I believe.”
“Consular Azcue is not in. You would have to make an appointment through his secretary, Señorita Duran. She does speak English,” the man added.
“However, Consular Azcue is not interested in life insurance since he has no need for such.”
Ginter heard the main doors to the Embassy open and close behind him. He breathed an inward sigh of relief that his mark had finally arrived. It was time to play this out.
“All right then,” Ginter said resignedly. “I will call tomorrow.”
Ginter turned to leave. The balding Cuban walked slightly behind him as he walked back to the foyer. When they reached the end of the hallway, Ginter stopped short. It was not Oswald who had entered the Embassy, but rather a dark skinned man who now stood just inside the main doors.
Damn! How long did the idiot spend standing at the corner making sure he was not followed? And who is this?
Ginter wheeled on the Cuban, a third plan already forming. “Perhaps a man like yourself might need life insurance.”
Ginter held out the small black briefcase. “Let me show you a policy.”
Ginter placed his briefcase on an end table and fumbled with the latch.
The Cuban picked up the briefcase and shoved it roughly into Ginter’s hands as the embassy door opened and closed again.
“I have neither time nor interest,” the Cuban said in Spanish. “You really must go. I have important business to attend.”
Ginter took the briefcase and turned back to where Lee Harvey Oswald now stood just inside the front doors next to the dark skinned man.
Good thing the weasel speaks no Spanish.
He walked across the foyer, past the first man and leaned in to Oswald. “These diplomats,” Ginter said in broken English. “You would think it was their own six thousand five hundred dollars. I could kill the man.”
Oswald looked past Ginter at the Cuban and his lips formed a tight smile. “You’re not man enough to kill him. I can do it.”
Ginter laughed and clapped Oswald on the shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere where we can talk,” Ginter said.
Oswald followed Ginter’s gaze and nodded. The pair strolled out through the doors. The oppressive heat of the last week had broken. Ginter stepped into a bright sun showing through a light Mexico City smog. As Ginter proceeded along the walkway with Oswald right behind him, he thought to himself, Eat lead, Ché Guevara. History has been changed.
Chapter 23
The train ride from New York City to Washington was taking longer than expected. Something had sidelined the six coaches 45 minutes from D.C.
“Be about a 30 minute delay,” the conductor had announced, walking quickly through the car. “Something’s on the tracks up ahead and it’ll need to be cleared.”
“What time’s our appointment again?” deVere asked nervously.
Amanda shrugged. “I told you. We don’t have one. All we know is that he’s in D.C. and is supposed to be in his office.”
Paul deVere reached to retrieve the New York Times from the seat pocket in front of him before deciding otherwise. He craned around to confirm that their only company was still the older gentlemen dozing in the last row of the car.
He lowered his voice. “What Lewis said about being careful makes some sense. Are you sure that, you know, blackmail is the way to do this?”
Amanda dropped the copy of Cosmopolitan on her lap and turned. “All we’re doing is using information we have to try to get in to see the President.”
“What if we get arrested for blackmail?” deVere asked.
“I don’t believe you!” She frowned at him. “Before we left, you said this might be a suicide mission, that we could all end up floating around in space somewhere. Yet you were willing to risk that to undo Soviet America. Now you’re afraid of getting nabbed for blackmail?”
DeVere took a deep breath. “How sure are you of the facts?”
“Well, this is not something that was important. We’re talking about historical footnote stuff, so I didn’t commit any of this to memory. If I had my computer I could look this up and get exact dates and names. But I’m pretty sure it’s true.”
“And what do we say to Kennedy if we get in to see him?” deVere persisted. “We know you have a girlfriend and you better not pull out of Southeast Asia or else we’ll go to, to”—Paul pointed at Amanda’s magazine—“Cosmopolitan?”
“No, we say that we’re time travelers and use the girlfriend fact to prove our credentials.”
Paul deVere put his head in his hands and sighed. He shook his head, and looked at her begrudgingly with a grin.
“Just out of curiosity, Amanda, what ever happened to your marriage?”
“Which one?” she asked.
“Well, start with the first. Not to be nosy or anything.”
“You’re not being nosy. The weird thing is that I probably married Will because he was so unlike you.”
“Was I that bad?” Paul asked, aghast.
Amanda laughed. “I didn’t mean it like that. In Ithaca you were focused on your work, not on what was going on around you. You were aware that I was there, but that was it. When we talked about your field, it was your work that was important, not sharing it with me. With Will it was just the opposite. He was very much into me, which is what I thought I wanted. Later I realized that he had no real interest, no drive. Do you know what I mean?”
“I guess so,” Paul answered uncertainly. “Maybe you needed a cross between the two of us.”
“Maybe I’m insatiable.”
Paul didn’t make the obvious joke. He had thought of Amanda often over the years. Still, he was amazed that so much had happened in the short time since she had reappeared.
“What about you?” she asked. “What happened?”
“Me? I’m still married,” he protested.
“Not so happily,” she countered, tilting her head to the side.
“Why do you say that? I am very content,” he argued.
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.” She waved her arm indicating the interior of the coach. “You’re here. If you were so happy why put so much energy into changing history?”
“That’s different,” he retorted. He reddened and knew he sounded angry. He lowered his voice.
“History is not just my personal life,” he said. “Just because I’m happy personally doesn’t mean I’m happy with the way things are politically. The whole country got messed up. I can be happy in one area of my life and still want to change another.”
She gazed at him intently. He focused on the outside scenery.
“Things change in every married couple’s life,” he added to break the silence.
“What changed in yours?” she asked kindly. “And I’m not being critical. God knows I’ve been the architect of zillions of my own mistakes.”
Paul shifted in his seat. In all the years of friendship with Lewis, they had never discussed his marriage, nor had he with anyone else. With a start he realized that he really didn’t have any friends outside the department. He had never been to a psychologist or counselor, not that he would have put any stock in what they might have said. To Paul they were just people with failed lives taking money from others who believed they were failing in their own. He was sitting next to the last true friend in whom he would have confided.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “When I met Val, well, she also was different than you.”