Thompson’s response was unchanging: “I’m just doing my job, sir.”
They reached the home of President McCluer, who made the introductions of the various local officials, and the group sat down to lunch. Thompson arranged for Churchill to have a bedroom available for his usual nap after lunch then went off to inspect the site of the speech.
Crowds had already begun to assemble outside the gymnasium, and many people milled around the campus. The weather was sunny and mild. There were numerous uniformed policemen brought from the surrounding towns, some armed National Guardsman, and the men from the Secret Service checking out the security arrangements.
Properly identified by his credentials, he entered the gymnasium by the front door and surveyed the rows of seats. He knew how many the gym would hold. Rows upon rows of metal chairs faced a platform from which Churchill and Truman would speak. Along the sides of the gym were wooden bleacher seats. The interior was festooned with bunting in the colors of the two national flags.
Behind the two-tiered rostrum were a number of rows of metal chairs reserved for distinguished guests. Thompson walked around the entire perimeter of the gymnasium, trying to discern any place that might offer a special vantage for an armed assassin. Almost everywhere he looked suggested vulnerability. A wooden platform to the rear of the gym was obviously reserved for the press, still cameramen, and a newsreel camera operator.
“Tight as a drum,” said one of the Secret Service men in the president’s detail who recognized Thompson. “We’ve covered it all. Your man should be quite safe.”
“I appreciate that,” he replied, politely.
“Should go off without a hitch.”
“I’m sure,” replied Thompson, wondering if any death threats had been received regarding Truman.
They were, he knew from their previous meetings, a common occurrence, especially during the war. This situation was different. He was dealing with speculation and instinct triggered by an overheard remark reported secondhand. In wartime, the enemy was far more clearly defined.
He continued his surveillance tour, checking all possible entrances and exits. He made note of the scorecard openings above the gym and found their entrances in the boys’ and girls’ locker rooms. A bank of lockers pushed against the door, obviously impossible to penetrate, sealed the door in the girls’ locker room. There was no way for anyone to get at it. He tested the weight of the lockers. They were sturdy, impossible to move.
The boys’ locker room had been designated as a first aid station, and he noted that a few nurses and doctors were already on duty and two ambulances were parked outside. He was satisfied that that contingency had been met. The attack of angina that Churchill had experienced during a visit to the White House a couple of years before was a worry, although it was apparently under medical control. His bad health habits, his weight, his drinking, his smoking ten cigars a day, his rich diet, his lack of a rigid exercise program, were a perpetual source of friction between Churchill and his family and doctor. The presence of a medical team was reassuring.
He sought out the doctor in charge, introduced himself, and learned that there was a well-equipped hospital nearby.
“We are ready for all contingencies,” the doctor assured him.
Thompson noted that two policemen manned the exit to the locker room — all seemed in order. He explored the area further.
The door to the scorecard area in the boys’ locker room was accessible. The banks of lockers were not jammed against the wall as in the girls’ locker room. The door was secured with a lock that joined a chain that passed through prongs on either side of the narrow door. Satisfied that the door was locked, he continued to inspect the area and found that all logical security needs had been met.
Then why, he wondered, did he continue to feel a premonition of danger? Perhaps he was exaggerating his own prescience.
After he had completed his inspection, he stood on the platform behind the rostrum, at the exact place Churchill would stand to make his speech. He bent his knees to approximate Churchill’s five-foot-six height and surveyed the area. A keen shot could easily find its mark if an assassin were so motivated.
He closed his eyes for a moment, as if he were attempting to divine the scenario of an attempt on Churchill’s life. He tried to put his own mind into that of a potential assassin’s. Why here? What would be gained if such an attempt would occur in the midst of Churchill’s speech? To whom would Churchill’s blunt warning offer the greatest threat? The answer seemed obvious. Again he determined that, although a motive might have relevance after the fact, it had little importance to the victim before the fact.
Again, he surveyed the gymnasium. The press people were beginning to gather. A newsreel crew was assembling on the press platform. Churchill had barred television cameras, fearing that the hot lights would inhibit his speech. Some reporters were slowly moving through the entrance. Volunteer ushers were being instructed on procedures. A beat of expectation was beginning to take hold.
He was certain that the Secret Service would keep the president well guarded on the platform. But as his eyes roamed the area, he realized that the only real vantage point for a sniper assassination was in the openings near the manual scoreboard, and he was currently satisfied that they had been secured.
He left the rostrum and picked the spot where he would sit during the speech. He asked one of the Secret Service men who had been observing him to please reserve him the chair he had chosen. It afforded the most complete view of the area available.
Finally, he ended his inspection. He had gone over in his mind all dire possibilities. Still he dismissed them as inadequate.
He was sure he had missed something.
Chapter 24
Dimitrov was exhausted. He had barely slept during the past three days. He had been transported by air to and from the United States not only on Russian aircraft but also by American military transport, a profound irony.
Now he was back in Beria’s office, reporting on his interview with his activated mole. Churchill would be speaking in a few hours. Dimitrov reported in depth on his conversation with Mueller.
“Are you satisfied that your man is up to the assignment?”
“Absolutely.”
“What was his reaction?”
“Exhilaration, comrade. He is enormously motivated. He hates Churchill with a passion. I stoked his fires. The man is a Nazi through and through. Hate runs in his blood, exactly as I had expected. I promised him a reprieve if the job goes well. He is skeptical of that and, of course, he is correct.”
“Stalin will be pleased. He would like to see our adventure succeed. In my opinion, if we miss this moment, we will not try again. It will be too late.”
“Then let us pray we do not miss the moment,” Dimitrov said, flattered to be in Beria’s confidence.
He felt certain that for his efforts, his friend and mentor, Lavrentiy Pavlovich, would reward him handsomely, especially if the Churchill assassination was successful. He was hoping that he might be made his deputy, now that Beria was deep into the mission of securing the atomic bomb for the Soviet Union.
Although that mission was top secret, Beria had confided that the operation was proceeding better than expected and had held open the hope that one day Dimitrov would join him. This was Dimitrov’s most fervent wish.