Amanda leaned forward. “We don’t want anything for ourselves. We know about that,”—she nodded at the envelope—“and we know about other things too. What we want from you will help this country. We want you to get us in to see President Kennedy—alone.”
The Senator started. “The President?” he asked. “You want to get in to see The President?” His eyes narrowed. “Tell me why, even if I could do such a thing, why? You can’t kill him, you’ll be checked by the Secret Service. Are you going to try and use something on him too?” he asked with the faint crease of a smile.
“Please believe me when I say we are patriots,” Amanda reiterated.
The Senator waved one hand. “So is every other radical. Why do you want to see him?”
“Senator,” Amanda continued, “this country is threatened. There are foreign forces that want to take over this nation and reduce its power. They want to take our resources: oil, coal, steel. They’ll divide us up into a bunch of competing regions, set us against one another based on our religion or geography, and leave us weak and exploitable.”
The Senator nodded. “The Communists,” he said.
“What you used to call Communism,” Paul said, leaning forward. “But it’s more than that. It’s the East against the West, it’s their way of life versus ours.”
“Used to?” the Senator asked, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “What do you mean, ‘used to?”
Amanda shot Paul a malevolent look. He sat back and resolved to keep quiet. He’d let her handle this.
“What Dr. deVere means is that it is more than that. Yes, our way of life is threatened. Senator, in just over a month President Kennedy will decide to pull out of Vietnam, a huge mistake. We want the opportunity to speak with him, to convince him not to make that mistake.”
“You say that we should increase our military support to Saigon?” Thurmond drawled. “There are two sides to that young lady. I know a little bit about war and dying. I was at Normandy. I am as concerned about Communism as you are, but war is not always the way. And not always successful.
“Besides,” he continued, “the President may or may not be making a final decision on this in the next few months. I’m not privy to that, and you sure are not either. And even if he is thinking of pulling out, why are you sure that you’re more right than the advice he’s getting from his advisors who have a lot more information than you or I?”
It was Amanda’s turn to lean forward, and when she spoke the force of her delivery startled Paul.
“Senator, Paul deVere is an astrophysicist at MIT. One of the best. He and anyone else who have ever taught with him will tell you that there are an infinite number of permutations in the universe. A million things that can happen. Some are good. Some are bad. But one of the realities is that the President of the United States will decide next month to pull out of Vietnam. And as sure as we are of that,”—Amanda pointed at the envelope on the desk—“we are sure that pulling out is the wrong decision. We need to talk to him.”
The Senator nodded. “I suppose I should ask you how you know what the President will do next month, and how you know about that.”
Amanda reached down and lifted her pocketbook to her lap. She opened it and extracted a copy of the itinerary that she had received in the mail from Ginter.
“Senator, this is a copy of President Kennedy’s daily log. It contains a summary of where he goes, how he gets there, and who he meets with and when, for each day from now through the end of 1964.”
Keeping her eyes on the Senator, Amanda opened the sheaf of papers and faced them toward him.
“On Monday, January 20, 1964 he will travel to Iowa and meet with party leaders in Des Moines. He’ll arrive on Air Force One at 10:45 a.m. and will head home at 4:50.”
She flipped to another page. “Next June 17 he will begin a one week vacation on Cape Cod. He will meet with Dean Rusk, Robert McNamara, and his brother Bobby. All will be there at one point or another. He will devise his strategy for the fall election. In November he will narrowly defeat Barry Goldwater.”
When the Senator said nothing she turned the sheaf toward her and flipped back a few pages. She found what she was looking for and turned it back to him. “And here, on Sunday, November 24, 1963 the President will meet with a circle of his closest advisors at a morning meeting at the White House. The topic will be Vietnam and after the meeting he will decide to pull out. By the end of 1964 the Communists will have overrun Saigon and control all of Vietnam.”
She gently placed the sheaf on the desk next to the envelope. “We are as certain of what is on those papers as we are of what was in that envelope.”
Senator Thurmond sat back in his chair and tilted his head forward. He picked up the plain white envelope and turned it over in his hand. He pointed it at Amanda.
“MIT, did you say?” he asked.
Hutch and deVere both nodded.
“O.K., so you’re not here for personal gain,” the Senator said. “Even if you’re correct about all this, how can I get you in to see the President? I’m not that powerful. Presidential meetings are few and far between, and are usually initiated by the White House. I can’t just pick up the phone and set up an appointment for a constituent.”
He chuckled. “Even assuming you were that.”
“You can try,” Amanda insisted softly. “You know how important this is to us. If you don’t try—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Yes, yes, I know. To heck with this letter here and what it all says. I will make some calls. But not because of that damn letter. I will try my best; you have my word on it. But I can’t guarantee you anything.”
Amanda stood up. Paul followed suit.
“Dr deVere and myself are staying at the Waldorf in New York City,” Amanda said. “We are there under our own names. I’ll leave our names and the phone number with your secretary.”
This time Strom Thurmond extended his hand to them both. “I wish you both sincere luck,” he said carefully, “in whatever it is you’re trying to do.
“And,” he added, nodding at the itinerary, “why don’t you take that bunch of papers with you? I really don’t want a copy.”
Without a word Amanda turned, grabbed the sheaf from the desk, and shoved it into her pocketbook.
Chapter 24
“Are you sure no one has been tailing you?”
A waitress brought two coffees and set them on the diner table. Oswald waited until she had left.
“Of course not. I know what I’m doing.”
Ginter didn’t respond. It was difficult to hold his temper in the face of Oswald’s conceit.
Keep your eyes on the ball, Ginter reminded himself. It had been rather easy convincing Oswald to return to Dallas. His pregnant wife, Marina, was living in nearby Irving, and Oswald wanted to be with her.
Ginter had instructed Oswald to live normally, and not tell anyone, including Marina, of his new role. Ginter would be his sole contact, but the two would meet sparingly. Oswald accepted the conditions without protest.
The Soviet histories had portrayed Oswald as a brilliant strategist and intellectual party ideologue, a man ahead of his time. Even in Ginter’s anti-Soviet military training Oswald had come across as a generally capable, if not spectacular, military tactician. The blunder that had saved Guevara had been the only hint of incompetence.
On the first day back from Mexico City, Ginter had asked Oswald not to contact Marina, and to register at a YMCA to minimize his visibility. Oswald had registered as an active duty serviceman to avoid paying the fifty-cent registration fee. Ginter was furious. Registering as a serviceman invited conversation about his service, and risked exposure. This could lead to embarrassing questions. Oswald now had over six thousand dollars, supposedly from the Cuban Government, and he was trying to save fifty cents.