DeVere scanned the newspaper. “I don’t know. There is going to be a motorcade from Love Field to the Trade Mart where he’ll talk.”
“It will have to be at the Trade Mart then,” Amanda answered. “I guess Lewis will have us rushing up to Jack Kennedy with open arms and empty hands yelling, ‘Watch out for Communism in South and Central America and don’t pull out of Southeast Asia.”
DeVere glanced at his watch. “Lewis said he’d be gone all day but would be here about 5:15 or so. What do you say we head down for a late lunch?”
As the pair stood up they were surprised by a knock at the door. Paul hesitated while Amanda reached out and flung it open. It was Lewis Ginter.
Chapter 27
Lewis Ginter stepped inside and closed the door.
“Jesus, Lewis, how the hell have you been?” deVere asked.
Ginter pulled out a chair and sat down. “Busy. You might as well sit down. This could take awhile. Hey, how’s New York? Been watching Joe Willie throw the football?”
“He’s still in college,” deVere answered, sitting down on the bed. Hutch followed suit.
Ginter nodded. “So, how was your flight? Uneventful, I hope?”
Hutch and deVere exchanged glances but didn’t answer.
Ginter changed the subject. “Any luck with Salinger last night?”
DeVere shook his head. “We’ve come up with zip, Lewis.” He recounted their efforts in New York, and the results of their approaches to Salisbury, Thurmond and Salinger. Ginter nodded at all the appropriate junctures but appeared to be only half listening.
When Paul finished Amanda spoke up. “O.K., Lewis. We’re five days away from decision day. What do you have?”
“I’ve got something going,” he said. “Something I started putting together back at the Carpenter Hotel.” Lewis took a deep breath and exhaled.
“You kept saying that the key is Sunday’s decision to pull out of Vietnam,” he said, turning to Amanda. “You said we should work on Southeast Asia. Stay in Vietnam and the United States draws the proverbial line in the sand that lets the East know that the West will fight. Once stopped, the East begins to slowly crumble from within.”
Amanda nodded. “I believe that. There are computer models—”
Ginter waved his hand impatiently, interrupting her. “Screw Vietnam and Southeast Asia,” he said forcefully. “The answer lies in what Ché Guevara and Cuba will do to this country. Once Ché takes Bolivia, Chile comes under Allende, and the Sandinistas take control in Nicaragua. Most of South America, and all of Central America, falls. This country will be so pre-occupied with that, the Malay Peninsula will be the last thing we care about. After we see what Russian chemical and biological weapons will do in China, and the chemical weapons and dirty bomb here…”
His voice trailed off. There was no reason to continue really, everyone in the room knew the history.
He extended his arms, palms upward. “Really, what choice did the U.S. have?” he asked rhetorically.
“And some would say it was a good trade,” Ginter continued softly. “The U.S. gets rid of its weapons of mass destruction, all nuclear material and research plans surrendered. The national military gets disbanded in return for peace, and prosperity for some. The threat of global destruction is gone. Who can argue with that when we have Beijing as a comparison?”
“What’s your plan?” Amanda asked coolly.
Ginter leaned forward and stabbed his finger on the table. “Ché Guevara must be stopped. Cuba must be stopped. Guevara would have been dead in Bolivia except for that defector. And now I’ve stopped him from defecting to Cuba.”
“Oswald?” Hutch asked.
DeVere looked perplexed. Amanda turned to him. “Lee,” she finished. “O.H. Lee. Oswald was his real name.” She turned back to Ginter.
“What are you talking about, Lewis? Isn’t he in Cuba?”
“Supposed to be.” Ginter leaned back in his chair, grinning. “But he’s not. He’s here, in Dallas. Using his original name, Oswald.”
“How can this be?” deVere asked.
“Didn’t Oswald defect in ‘63?” Hutch asked.
Ginter nodded. “He did. It was late September and history says that he really ought to be back in Cuba. Except, he’s not. History is changed. I stopped him in Mexico City and got him to come back here where he’s now employed at the Texas School Book Depository.”
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.”