The Warren Omissions (6 page)

Maybe I can have the best of both worlds
 
. He called back the
 
Newsmakers
 
show producer and agreed to go on the show. The truth is Flynn loved his job, and while snagging a catch like Natalie might be worth giving up what he got to do every day, he’d rather not. He stopped dreaming when he realized what he was doing. He hated getting ahead of himself.
 
Got to actually start dating first.

As much as Flynn detested going on live television, those appearances enabled him to pursue big stories without running out of favor with his editor. Other reporters were insanely jealous of him, but he didn’t care. He’d endured more than his share of snide comments while working at the agency. When fellow agents learned that Flynn’s uncle worked for the agency, he became a constant subject of ridicule. All the other agents believed their hard work earned them a spot at the agency while Flynn exercised nepotism. Perhaps they were right. It was impossible to separate the two now. But sneers and snubs from co-workers were nothing new to Flynn. It only motivated him more to be better than them.

By 6 p.m., Flynn made his way to the studio to get prepped by wardrobe and makeup before getting briefed by the show’s producers. The topic
 
Newsmakers’
 
producers wanted to discuss with Flynn was that of a claim from an elderly woman living in Florida. In her new book,
 
The Secrets That We Keep: A memoir of a Cold War house cleaning spy
 
, Petra Pfeiffer
 
divulged that she worked with the CIA in a secret program named “Catomic” to spy on what U.S. officials believed were KGB operatives working out of the Russian embassy in Bonn, Germany in the 1960s. She earned $600 per month cleaning houses—and $1,500 per month by making herself available to the CIA. As the house cleaner for several KGB operatives, Pfeiffer claimed to take pictures of official documents, plant bugs, and participate in operations that granted U.S. agents access to Russian homes.

While the story gained plenty of traction in the U.S.,
 
Newsmakers
 
wanted to debunk the idea that her story could be true since the CIA denied any kind of operations in Bonn during the time when Pfeiffer was supposedly an agency asset. Oddly enough to Flynn,
 
Newsmakers
 
had put Pfeiffer on the show the night before, launching her book into the top ten of bestselling books on Amazon overnight. Now,
 
Newsmakers
 
wanted to set the record straight. It’s what the show did best: build up a story and then tear it down. It was the journalist equivalent of digging a ditch only to refill it. His sound bytes were sure to fill the cable news cycle for the next twenty-four hours once he outed Pfeiffer as a fraud.

Flynn told the producers that she was lying since he had firsthand knowledge that Catomic didn’t start until the early 1970s. It was exactly what they wanted to hear and immediately wrote teasers for the hosts of
 
Page One
 
—the show that aired before
 
Newsmakers
 
—to read before commercial breaks in the final thirty minutes of the program.

Standing in the shadows off camera as
 
Newsmakers
 
began, Flynn looked satisfied. He detested lying, but sometimes it was necessary. And right now was one of those times. He knew all about Catomic and how the operation involved scores of civilians, both German and Americans working in Germany. Agents studied it to learn how to turn opposing agents and how to vet civilians uniquely placed to gain access to vital information. The operation qualified as espionage art form, something Flynn marveled at. And despite being expelled from the agency, he wasn’t about to let Pfeiffer’s loose lips hasten her demise. If he told America she was an old kook just looking for a buck after her IRA imploded, people would leave her alone. If he verified her story, she might not even live long enough to collect a royalty check.

***

AT PRECISELY 8 P.M., Flynn found a parking spot near McPherson Square and hustled across the street to his favorite restaurant, Georgia Brown’s on 15th Street. As he drew nearer, the savory smells of Low Country cuisine enraptured Flynn’s senses. It reminded him of home. Brunswick stew, slow-cooked pulled pork, and mustard-based barbecue sauce. The flavors nearly whisked Flynn off his feet. He hadn’t lived in Charleston for a long time, but he had never forgotten the rich culture of his childhood in a place where time stood still.

As soon as Flynn opened the door, he noticed Natalie sitting in the waiting area. Draped in a stunning silvery dress, Natalie immediately gave off the impression that this was more than dinner between two friends. Her hair swirled up in a bun and her ears sporting diamond earrings, her vibe emboldened Flynn.

“Wow! Don’t you look nice!” Flynn said.

Natalie feigned embarrassment before saying, “Thank you, Flynn. You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Flynn didn’t near to hear that, but it was nice—especially as he was overly conscious of the television makeup still smeared all over his face.

The hostess seated the couple and retreated back to her post.

“You did a great job on
 
Newsmakers
 
tonight,” Natalie said.

“Oh, thanks. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“So, tell me the truth: Was she really a spy?”

Flynn furrowed his brow and cocked his head. “Aren’t you the curious one tonight?”

“Oh, stop it, James. You know I’m always curious. But I think you were lying tonight.”

“How could you tell?”

“So you were lying? I knew it!”
 
Natalie pumped her fist in excitement.

“I didn’t say I was lying.”

“You didn’t have to. It was all over your face.”

“How could you tell?”

“I may not be a trained CIA operative, but I’m trained at reading men. It lets me know if I’m an object of their affection or just an object.”

“How cleverly insightful. Now I’m scared to speak.”

“You’ve got nothing to be scared of—as long as you tell the truth.”

Natalie gave Flynn a coy smile as Flynn shifted in his chair. He picked up the menu and began inspecting it closely.

“Am I making you nervous?” Natalie asked, cutting through the awkward silence.

“No. Why?”

“Don’t lie to me, James,” she said, giggling.

“OK, maybe a little nervous. Why do you ask?”

“Because you never need to look at the Georgia Brown’s menu. You know it by heart as much as you come here. I bet you’ve already been here since you arrived in Washington.”

He actually hadn’t, but only because he was forced to go talk with detectives about Emma Taylor’s death. Otherwise, lunch would have been eaten here earlier in the day.

Then Flynn’s phone began buzzing. He glanced at the unknown number appearing on the screen as the phone began vibrating across the table.

“Saved by the phone.” Natalie smiled. “Go ahead, answer it. I still need a minute to decide what I want to eat.”

Flynn picked up his phone and answered it.

“Hello?”

“Is this James Flynn?”

“Yes, it is. May I ask who’s calling?”

“My name is Sam Golden, sir. I live in Dallas, Texas, and I’ve got something you need to see.”

“If I had a dollar for every time somebody said that to me ...” Flynn’s voice trailed off, but his cynical comment didn’t deter the caller.

“Look, I’m sure you get plenty of whackos calling you, but what I’ve got is something that warrants a trip out here.”

“OK, I’m listening. What is it?”

“I just found an eight millimeter camera my father placed in a box years ago and it’s got footage of JFK’s assassination.”

“I believe they confiscated all the cameras that were rolling in the area immediately after President Kennedy was shot.”

“Well, they didn’t get this one. And I think you’ll be amazed at what’s on it.”

Flynn continued his conversation in a hushed voice. He grabbed a pen from his coat pocket and began scratching down contact information on his drink napkin before hanging up.

“So, what was that all about?” Natalie asked, apparently ready to order.

“I’ve got to go to Dallas tomorrow,” he said. “A man just found footage of the JFK assassination that the FBI never confiscated. Apparently, it’s big.”

CHAPTER 8

EARLY WEDNESDAY MORNING in New York City, Ivan pressed the last wrinkle out of his white dress shirt and slipped on his coat. Security was ridiculously tight around the U.N. building every day. It became almost impenetrable when the President was scheduled to address the general assembly. Ivan looked smugly at himself in the mirror.
 
That’s why real anarchists plot their revenge over years. You’re never gonna see me coming.
 
He tucked his shirt in and glanced at himself once more before heading out the door.

His phone rang.

“How’s our little operation coming along?” asked the voice on the other end once Ivan answered.

“Like clockwork.”

“What about Flynn? Is he preoccupied?”

“Yes. His bug went dead yesterday afternoon, but I listened to everything he said. All indications were that he was moving on to other things. He especially liked the lead that we gave him with the Bay of Pigs.”

“Good. We don’t need him poking around any more. At least, not until we’re done executing this plan on Friday.”

“I understand.”

Ivan hung up and reveled in his skills. Some people might label him a terrorist. It was a label Ivan found belittling. To him, the term “terrorists” represented radical ideologues. They had no purpose but to kill and destroy, all done in the name of vengeance—or, in some twisted way, God. It didn’t even matter which god. Everybody seemed to follow a god that encouraged people to murder and plunder in his name. No matter the religion, some variation of God’s name was invoked as a basis for an attack on other innocent people. It was disgusting really. Vengeance always proved to be such a vain pursuit. That’s why Ivan loathed hearing media reports about attacks he led termed as “terrorist attacks.” He wasn’t exacting revenge; he had purpose to his actions. Ivan saw meaning in what he did, attempting to create a better society for everyone. So maybe there was a little collateral damage. And maybe even innocent civilians got hurt or died. What he did was for the benefit of all people—they just didn’t know it yet. One day, perhaps. But certainly not now.

Twenty minutes later, Ivan arrived at Elite Catering, set to accompany his cousin, Andrei. His name meant “warrior”—and he was. Prior to moving to the United States, Andrei served in the Russian Federation army as a major. He loved his country more than anything, which is why Ivan admired him so much for leaving the motherland behind to work a thankless job in a country he loathed. Ivan realized it’s what a true warrior would do.

Andrei and his deadbeat co-worker, Nelson, were scheduled to make a delivery to the U.N. A luncheon about the efforts of drought on the world’s food supply necessitated Elite Catering’s services. Ivan gawked at the invoice sitting next to some of the trays of food in the delivery truck before crawling beneath one of the wheeled carts. He clearly wondered how these pompous diplomats couldn’t realize the irony in what they were doing. The bill was so high that it could have fed an entire village for a month.
 
Another reason we do what we do.

The plan was simple: drop off the food and get Ivan in the building. Ivan handled every detail with precision. A week ago, Andrei worked with Ivan to develop a replica of the U.N.’s security clearance card as well as an ID badge for Elite Catering. The gun Ivan would be using was secured beneath the bottom of one of the carts. Since the carts always set off the metal detectors, no guard would perform a thorough search. Once inside the elevator, Andrei would allow Nelson to exit with his cart first while Andrei lingered just long enough to allow Ivan to crawl out and conceal his disassembled rifle. Ivan would continue up several floors to gain access to the balcony overlooking the general assembly and wait there until Friday.

It was a long time to wait, but it would be worth it. Nothing to do but hide and wait. Anarchy would come soon enough—and then his organization would take control.

CHAPTER 9

FLYNN GAZED OUT THE WINDOW of the DC-9 jet descending toward the Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport runway. He struggled to settle his thoughts as he had so many interesting things to think about. His burgeoning romance with Natalie. The newly discovered polygraph cover-up. And now, possible never-before-seen footage of JFK’s assassination? If the latter was true, his mind might spin endlessly for days on end. It was enough to excite him about the possibility that he might be the one to discover the truth behind JFK’s death. Fifty years had passed since Lee Harvey Oswald allegedly shot America’s most popular President and the public was no closer to knowing the truth about what really happened. Or were they?

After Flynn secured his rental car, he headed for the address that Sam Golden gave him over the phone. He didn’t make a practice of meeting people at their home, especially with all the kooks out there today. But Mr. Golden seemed harmless enough—and due to the nature of his evidence, it wasn’t exactly something they could discuss and view in a public coffee shop.