“Paul, can you hear me?” Ginter asked urgently. To his relief deVere answered.
“I’m here.”
“Can you get to the overpass? Keep your eye on the overpass. Amanda, are you there? Over.”
When there was no response Ginter cursed again. He could no longer see Rhodes. Ginter surmised that she had continued around the far end of the Depository. He couldn’t see Hutch either. She must have spotted Rhodes and was following her around the building. If so, with the building now between them, the 1963 walkie-talkies would be useless.
“Paul, I’m on my way.” Ginter stood and turned to Oswald. “I’m going to take out the cop. He will be trying to circle around to the overpass to get a shot off at you to prevent you from shooting Kennedy. No matter what, complete your mission. I’ll meet up with you at the rear door to the building as we planned. If I’m late wait for me in the lunchroom.”
“If they know what I’m doing, why don’t they just run up here now?” Oswald asked suspiciously.
“We’ve got the government with us. It’s the reactionary renegades who are here,” Ginter answered. “Comrade, complete your mission!”
Ginter turned and walked briskly across the warehouse floor to the stairwell. He raced down the steps two at a time. At the ground level he turned and stepped outside, still clutching the walkie-talkie.
“Anything?” Ginter barked.
“No,” deVere answered. “I don’t see anyone now. The policeman was on the knoll. I can’t raise Amanda. I didn’t catch all of what you said.”
Standing next to Ginter, a man with an umbrella turned and gave an inquisitive look. Heart pounding, Ginter turned away. “Keep looking for the cop,” he barked back.
What are they up to? Could a Soviet agent have tailed him there without any plan? Not if the guy had a rifle. Whoever it was had to be stopped. If the agent knew Ginter and his plan, he would know that Ginter’s priority would be to protect Oswald. That meant Ginter would return upstairs.
Or, the fake policeman might be a lure to get Ginter out of the building away from the approaching motorcade, while all the while circling back around the building. Another thought struck him. Maybe he has Hutch already and that’s why she’s not answering.
“Amanda, are you there?” Ginter barked. His brain raced. If an agent already knows from history what I did, he knows we all have radios. He’ll have one and be listening in. Perhaps it’s time to change the change in history.
Ginter studied the overpass. From there, one would have a clear, but angled, shot at Oswald’s sixth floor window. When Oswald leaned out to fire, a shooter on the overpass could take him out.
There was no response from the walkie-talkie. To Ginter’s right, a man held a small movie camera like those Ginter had seen in old movies. Ginter abruptly turned left, away from the overpass and brushed past the man with the umbrella. He quickened his pace and shifted the walkie-talkie to his left hand. They can’t know I’m outside. He raised the walkie-talkie for one last transmission. “I’m heading back inside the building,” he said, even as he raced away from the door. “Everyone complete their mission.”
Ginter switched off his walkie-talkie before jamming it back into his left pants pocket. As he rounded the Depository’s corner, he reached in to his right pocket and tightened his fingers around the Colt.
From across the street, Paul deVere saw Lewis Ginter emerge from the Texas School Book Depository, speak into his walkie-talkie, and heard him say that he was going back inside even as he turned left. DeVere was confused. He looked at the triple overpass, but saw no one on it.
At the top of the Depository, the large clock read 12:25.
DeVere’s radio crackled. It was Hutch.
“Lewis, can you hear me? I saw the man Paul saw. I think it’s O.K., he’s a policeman. Do you want me to follow him?”
Paul jumped in. “Amanda, this is Paul. Lewis said he was going back inside but he went around the building. I don’t understand what’s going on. The cop I saw was the other way. Where are you? Do you see him?”
There was more static before he heard Amanda answer, “…railroad yard behind the hill.”
DeVere looked back to his right. Ginter had disappeared from view and any transmission to him would now be blocked.
“Lewis, are you there?” Hutch pleaded.
Paul raised his radio. “Amanda, Lewis has gone around the building. He told me to watch the overpass.” DeVere looked back at the still empty structure.
“I’m coming,” he spoke into his handheld unit. DeVere saw the clock change to 12:26 as he stepped into the street. To his right he could sense the crowd begin to stir.
“Where’s he now?” deVere asked on the run. “Can you catch up with him?” But all he heard was more static.
Across the street a grassy slope extended to deVere’s left, past the Depository, up to the fence where he had last seen the police officer. As the crowd’s excitement grew, deVere stepped over the far curb and began striding up the hill.
At the crest was a stark wooden fence. He moved toward a break fifty feet away. When he reached it and turned to go behind the fence he heard what sounded like a firecracker coming from behind him and to his right. A gunshot? He instinctively turned and looked back down the hill. The front of the police escort was approaching the overpass. One of the motorcycle officers turned and looked back over his right shoulder.
As deVere crossed behind the fence, he saw a Dallas police officer in full uniform, standing on a tree limb, holding a rifle. It extended across the top of the barricade. DeVere recognized it as out of place in 1963: a laser scoped sniper rifle.
A second shot rang out, sounding like yet another firecracker. DeVere was confused as to why there was no explosion. To his right he saw an open black Cadillac begin to slow.
Even as deVere’s brain urged him forward, the officer took careful aim. DeVere stumbled over twisted tree roots. The officer remained steadfast, face against the stock, staring down the sight.
DeVere concentrated on the shooter’s trigger finger as he launched himself. He cringed for the rifle blast but heard only a dull whoosh, and, for an exhilarating moment as he and the officer tumbled down the back of the hill, he thought that the rifle had jammed.
At the bottom deVere scampered to his feet, but the officer was up before him.
“My God,” deVere gasped. The officer’s cap had come off and Natasha Nikitin’s long brown hair tumbled around her shoulders.
“Surprised to see me?” she asked, tossing back her head.
“I… I…” deVere stammered.
“There’s no time,” Nikitin answered, looking back behind her across the railroad yard. “We’ve got to get out of here. Quick. We can’t be found.”
Natasha turned away and then hesitated. She turned back and tossed the rifle to deVere who surprised himself by catching it.
“Disassemble it,” she barked. “Then let’s get out of here.”
Natasha picked up her policeman’s cap, shoved her hair into a ball, and jammed the cap back on before turning and hurriedly striding to a green Nash parked a few feet from the bottom of the embankment.
DeVere hesitated, the rifle in his hands. Natasha grabbed the handle to the driver’s side door before again turning back to deVere. She stood there, looking him straight in the eyes. Paul deVere tightened his grip on the rifle’s metal stock. He could shoot her. He could try to wound her. He could kill her. He could level the rifle and hold her until the police arrived.
He did none of those things. He took a deep breath and lowered the rifle. He walked over to the Nash. Natasha nodded and ducked in the driver’s side. He yanked open the passenger door, got inside, and slammed the door shut. The Nash was already running and Natasha gunned the accelerator with a roar.