The Warren Omissions (5 page)

“An FBI document from a polygraph test.”

“Still trying to solve who was behind JFK’s assassination, are we?”

“How did you know?”

Natalie chuckled. “When it comes to asking me for favors, that’s the only subject that ever pops up with you. Are you ever going to give this up?”

Flynn sighed. “You know my obsession all too well. And since it’s an obsession, I probably never will—at least until I find out who was behind it all.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Natalie said. “I’ve got some free time this afternoon and I’ll be happy to take a look at it for you. Just bring it on down.”

“Is a copy fine?”

“If all you’ve got is a copy, why don’t you just email it to me?”

“Are you crazy? My email connected to your government account with a top secret document leading to who was behind the JFK assassination? I don’t want you to be found floating in the Potomac River next week.”

Natalie laughed. “How chivalrous of you. OK, fine. Bring it down on your phone or computer or whatever. We’ll look at it without linking my account to yours so I don’t end up as fish food.”

Flynn was relieved. He knew more than a half-dozen reporters who died of strange circumstances when they began digging into JFK’s assassination. He wasn’t about to put Natalie—or himself—at risk. Not when something potentially as big as this found its way into his hands.

***

STAYING DOWNTOWN WASHIINGTON at The Liaison, Flynn made the short one-mile walk to the National Archives. He didn’t sit down to eat lunch, instead grabbing a hot dog from a street vendor as he walked. Natalie consumed his thoughts, so much so that he passed on the onions, which was his favorite garnishment. He couldn’t wait to see her again, though he knew his stomach would knot up. He often wondered how anyone could have such a physiological effect on him. Pushing those thoughts aside, Flynn went over a few one-liners he heard in the movies that earned a laugh from the ladies in the audience. He picked one out that he liked before beginning to wonder if they were laughing because it was absurd or because they thought it was charming. Undecided, Flynn decided to ditch the charm and compliment her on her clothes or hair before jumping into business.

Upon reaching the downtown branch of the National Archives, Flynn waited five minutes for the hourly shuttle that transported researchers to the archives branch in Annapolis. While the downtown building was iconic, serious researchers knew the juiciest information sat in a 2-million-square-foot facility forty-five minutes away.

Flynn slumped into his seat but not before surveying his surroundings and eyeing the fellow passengers. He surmised that at least two other passengers were CIA and expected them to disappear to the archives’ back entrance once they arrived. The rest looked harmless enough: an elderly lady and her husband; a school teacher; a few doctoral students, undoubtedly heading out to do research. Flynn couldn’t place the last man, but concluded he was a novelist. Five minutes into the trip, Flynn’s assessments proved to be spot-on, based off their conversations with one another. The two CIA agents said nothing, all but confirming Flynn’s hunch.

He settled in for the ride, thumbing through his phone. Emails. Voicemails. News. Flynn had been so consumed with the events of the past 24 hours that he was way behind on responding to emails and phone calls. Once he responded to the urgent ones, he went straight for the news.

“More Russian Saber Rattling?” read the headline. The report detailed how the Russians were erecting new missile silos in Siberia, causing great angst in Washington. U.S. diplomats voiced concern over this move, while the Russians said it was necessary to deter any threats against their soil. Flynn rolled his eyes.
 
It never ends, does it?

He decided he’d had enough world politics for today and sought out his favorite sports app to catch up on the latest NFL happenings. It was enough to occupy his time until the shuttle arrived at its destination. He watched everyone unload and head for the front entrance—except for the two men he suspected as CIA agents. They turned a corner, disappearing from view.

Once inside, Flynn put away his belongings in the lockers downstairs, taking only his burner phone with him upstairs. He went to the microfilm archive floor and called Natalie. Five minutes later, she appeared. Her piercing blue eyes and long shapely legs gave Flynn an eyeful. She tossed her thick brown hair over her shoulder as she walked toward him.

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve thought you were gawking at me,” Natalie said.

She gave him a friendly side hug before Flynn could even speak.

“It’s good to see you, Natalie,” he stammered.

“You, too.”

“So, we can make small talk tonight over dinner. Whatcha got for me?”

In a hushed tone, Flynn started to divulge his protocol for passing sensitive documents over email before Natalie stopped him.

“Just air drop me the file and I’ll look at it, OK?”

Flynn then relaxed and smiled. He had almost forgotten Natalie’s genius idea to air drop sensitive information since it couldn’t be traced back to him. He quickly uploaded the documents to her phone.

“Be back in a few minutes.”

A few minutes turned into a half an hour before Natalie appeared again, this time without the bounce in her step or a smile on her face. Her face expressed a look of consternation.

“Where did you get this?” Natalie demanded.

“I told you someone gave it to me.” He paused. “Is it real?”

“As far as I can tell, it is. But I’m very confused. I oversaw the JFK collection for a few years and I remember seeing that same polygraph test—with different results. Now I want to know why we have two conflicting documents.”

Flynn smiled. “Good. It’s always fun to have a partner in these investigations.”

Natalie shook her head. “I still can’t believe we have a fake document in our collection.”

CHAPTER 6

SANDFORD USUALLY LOOKED FORWARD to cabinet meetings. It was his chance to give President Briggs his input, input that was normally valued. But not today. He suspected that boxing gloves—or a shiv—might be more appropriate to bring to the cabinet meeting set to begin in five minutes. Hawks on the right, doves on the left. The room would be divided along ideological party lines. President Briggs wanted to create a sense of unity by inviting leaders from both sides of the political aisle to advise him on various issues. It was one of his strengths. But when divisive issues were on the table like today, it made for a contentious meeting.

Staring at the meeting schedule on his desk, Sandford couldn’t help but wonder who sent him that note. Was it a test? Was it talking about some day in the future? At first, he thought that was the case, but as he mulled it over, the message was too cryptic for such a nuanced question. It had to mean
 
now
 
. But why? The questions pinged around Sandford’s brain but left him no closer to an answer. He still hadn’t told a soul.

As expected, tension ruled the room during the cabinet meeting—and for good reason. The Russians had built twelve missile silos in Siberia like they were fast food chains. A once rather barren area was now being dotted by launch pads. The recent oil boom in Siberia invigorated the region known mostly for its frozen tundra, fishing industry, and prison camps. According to the Russian government, it needed to protect its precious new assets—rich oil fields. Many foreign affairs experts opined how Russia appeared to be making a play to regain its position as a world super power. Now independent from the Middle East for oil, Russia began rebuilding its army—not for protection as it claimed—but to prepare for attack. Other pundits refused to believe that Russia was stable enough to start a war with the United States. The Middle East had become a powder keg, ready to explode into war across the region. Yet defense experts never saw any of those countries as a serious threat to the United States. But Russia? The Cold War may have ended a couple of decades ago, but it wasn’t a Cold War that many in the defense department now feared. They feared a real war with Russia, one looking more imminent as the country regained her footing as a global power player behind some no-nonsense leadership.

On the table in today’s meeting was a proposal to build a new defense system that could handle a large volley of Russian missiles. The views of those in attendance were split evenly.

General Marshall Matthews outlined the Department of Defense’s proposed missile system. The presentation included holographic images of how the system would be able to eliminate a large number of incoming missiles aimed at U.S. soil. It was quite a show and appeared to be a no-brainer to Sandford.
 
Just find the money in the budget and build the stupid thing. Why are we even talking about this like we might do it?
 
What made sense in his head apparently didn’t make so much sense to everyone in the room.

Once Gen. Matthews sat down, the room erupted in furious debate. Some cabinet members were concerned about where the money would come from to build the $2-trillion system. Others posed questions about how this would look to the international community. Then there were others who thought like Sandford. The Secretary of Homeland Defense wanted it built yesterday—and he carried a significant amount of weight with the President. Despite the furor, Sandford thought there was no way President Briggs wouldn’t sign off on the project.

But he didn’t.

“Thank you for the presentation, General Matthews, but based on the wide variety of opinion in this room, I don’t think we can go wrong either way,” President Briggs said. “For now, let’s table this idea and possibly revisit it if things get more heated with Russia.”

Sandford perfected the art of holding his tongue in these meetings. He was the ultimate “yes man,” which was likely why he was here. But there was a time to cast off all restraint—and that time was now.

“With all due respect, Mr. President, I think that would be a mistake,” Sandford said.

President Briggs cocked his head and furrowed his brow. Such dissent wasn’t welcomed at this point in the meeting, particularly when everyone had a turn to speak. But Sandford didn’t care, refusing to stop with a polite interruption.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but Russia isn’t building missile silos to protect their oil fields—they’re building them so they can bomb us,” Sandford said. “While we’ve sent our troops—and our money—all over the Middle East to secure oil, they’ve been building an oil reserve that surpasses anything we’ve ever done. We’ve got a few weeks of oil reserves. They’ve got a few
 
years
 
. They are poised to attack and we’ve got to make the gutsy call to do whatever it takes to make sure this never happens. We need a leader who has the guts to protect his people, politics be damned!”

The rare flare of emotion out of Sandford caught the entire room off guard. His impassioned plea forced several cabinet members to nod in agreement. One dissenter even muttered, “Maybe he’s right.”

President Briggs just glared at Sandford before restoring order to the murmuring about the room.

“I think we’ve heard enough from you for today. Why don’t you have a seat?” President Briggs said. Nothing in his tone suggested he was about to take Sandford’s advice.

And with that, the meeting moved along to the next agenda item: President Briggs’ speech at the U.N. later in the week to address the hunger crisis in Central Africa.

Sandford slumped in his chair, seething over the public dressing down—and the way his advice was ignored.
 
Why couldn’t the President see things his way? It’s plain as day what is going on here. Doesn’t he care about the American people?
 
Sandford couldn’t care less about the President’s speech being discussed at the moment.
 
They can feed all the people in Africa, but it won’t matter much to the American people once missiles start flying.

The cabinet members bantered back and forth about different ideas, but Sandford ignored them all. He started wondering—and hoping—that the note he received in his office earlier that day was prophetic for sooner rather than later. America needed his leadership at this moment, not in a few years.

CHAPTER 7

AS MUCH AS FLYNN HATED how technology ruled his life, he appreciated how much it saved him time. But it was days like today that he loathed it. He grumbled to no one but himself that the hassle of getting a new personal phone almost wasn’t worth it.
 
Maybe next time I won’t place the phone next to the sink on the counter while I’m shaving.
 
It was a thought that should have occurred before he knocked it into the plugged sink. The process of getting a new one dominated his entire afternoon. He wasn’t even sure it was set up right until his phone blinged with a new message.

Flynn stared at the text message on his phone and pondered his response. He hated to turn down live interviews on cable news shows, especially during prime time. His publicist would go ballistic if he found out that he opted out over dinner with a woman. But it wasn’t just any woman. It was Natalie, a woman Flynn often thought would be worth laying down his demanding career for in exchange for a more normal life.
 
No use dreaming about the future when all I can grab is today
 
. He texted Natalie and asked if they could push their dinner back to 8 p.m. since he had a short interview on live television from 7:15 to 7:30. He added a frowny face on the text just to let her know he wasn’t happy about the change. Seconds later she wrote back:
No problem
 
.