The Warren Omissions (9 page)

And while Flynn may have dreaded staying there any longer and possibly facing the wrath of a sober Alexei de Mohrenschildt, it was an important meeting with tremendous potential.

When Flynn called Alexei the night before, she gave him a different address than the one he had in his contact list. She had recently moved to a much larger home. Flynn found that odd since Alexei was a widowed woman in her mid-60s.
 
Why would she need a bigger home?
 
Then Flynn dismissed the thought, concurring that
 
everything really is bigger in Texas
 
. The two-story brick home sat inside a gated community. More pristine manicured yards. For the few driveways that held cars, it looked like a luxury used car lot—with Mercedes, BMW, and Lexus well represented.
 
She’s moving up in the world. Not bad for a drunk.

Flynn pressed the doorbell and waited for Alexei to answer. She never took her husband’s last name, proud of her past and her father—no matter what people thought about him. When Flynn saw her, he was taken aback by her appearance. Instead of unkempt hair and a bathrobe, Alexei wore a tight-fitting black leather skirt and a white blouse. Her brown hair looked much healthier, cropped tightly around her shoulders. It was almost as if she were a different person.

She welcomed him into her home and led him to a solarium just off the main entryway inside the house.

“It’s good to see you, Ms. de Mohrenschildt,” Flynn said. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I came here today to ask you a few questions and to show you something.”

“What do you want to show me?”

“I have a DVD of a CIA operative admitting on his deathbed that the government used a cocktail of drugs to coerce your father to shoot himself.”

Flynn eyed her cautiously, unsure of how she might react. Surprisingly, she remained cold.

“I’ll save us both some time and pass on watching it, Mr. Flynn. I knew that a long time ago.”

“Really?”

“Well, I figured the U.S. government didn’t give our family large sums of money each month just because my dad was a good person. What did you think? That I bought this house on my good looks?” She paused briefly before speaking again. “Don’t answer that last question.”

Flynn smiled. He enjoyed the sober Alexei. Her wit was sharp, something absent in their last meeting. Maybe this time she could remember something of value.

“So what did you want to ask me?” she said.

“Do you remember going on any trips with your father and him meeting any suspicious people?”

“Everyone who met with my father was suspicious. When you work with spies and thieves, nobody shows up wearing a frock, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, it’s come to light that the CIA used your father to help orchestrate JFK’s assassination. But based on some other information I’ve found, I have a theory that he used the CIA as a cover and worked with some other organizations first. Would you be able to help me with any information here?”

Alexei tilted her head and pursed her lips before finally speaking.

“Trying to single one out is next to impossible. My father would’ve sold his soul to both Jesus and the Devil if he could’ve figured out a way to swindle both of them into buying it at the same time.”

“Do you remember where the people were from?”

“Haiti, Germany, France, Yugoslavia, Cuba, Mexico—you name it, my father was meeting officials from all these countries.”

“What about the Russians?”

“Oh, yes, he met with several Russians—” Alexei then paused. “But they weren’t with the Russian government. It was a funny Russian name. Oh, what was it?”

Flynn sat there helpless, praying that of all the brain cells Alexei killed while drinking for years that she hadn’t killed the ones carrying that name.

“I can’t remember. Something like Cuckoo Clocks or Kooky Cods. No, that’s no it.”

Flynn patiently awaited the answer to find its way to Alexei’s tongue.

“Kuklovod! That’s it—the Kuklovod. He was always meeting with them. Especially when we lived in Haiti. I only remember that because he would say their name in Russian since we didn’t speak it. But I just always started giggling whenever I heard it.”

She smiled at the fond memory, unaware of its implications.

“Do you know anything else about them?”

“Not much—but I do know they left us a lot of money. And I mean a
 
lot
 
of money.”

“Did your father ever talk about what it was for?”

“No. He never spoke of them at all once we left Haiti and returned to the states.”

Flynn asked Alexei a few more questions, but it didn’t go anywhere. And within ten minutes, Flynn concluded there was no more information to extract from his gracious host. She showed him to the door.

Once inside his car, Flynn dialed one of his few remaining friends at the CIA, Todd Osborne. They spent a few minutes catching up on personal life details before Flynn finally got around to the nature of his call.

“So, I’ve got a question for you. Have you ever heard of the Kuklovod?”

Osborne said nothing.

“Osborne? Are you there?”

More silence.

“Osborne?”

Finally, Osborne spoke. “Yeah, I’m here. I’m just in shock, that’s all.”

“About what? What can you tell me about the Kuklovod?”

“Honestly, I can’t tell you much—but I can tell you that they were once one of the most formidable terrorist groups in the world. Their operatives were better than ours, if truth be told.”

“Is that all?”

“One last thing: if you’re following a lead on a story that points to them, stop right now. You don’t want to get mixed up with them.”

Flynn thanked Osborne for the information and hung up.

He pumped his fist in the car as he drove toward the airport. He wasn’t about to stop now, no matter how dangerous Osborne claimed they were. No journalist stops this short of the finish line. He was prepared, no matter what the cost.

Yet Flynn had no idea just how costly it could be.

CHAPTER 13

IVAN LOOKED AT HIS WATCH. It was noon on Thursday.
 
Just over 24 hours down and just over 24 hours to go. By two o’clock tomorrow, it will all be over.
 
He smiled at the thought.

Believing in a cause—doing something that mattered with his life—meant doing unpleasant things at times. This was one of those times. His back ached from sitting in a cramped position. After spending months studying the schematics of the U.N.’s general assembly hall, he knew there was only one place he could hide and not be seen by the Secret Service’s obligatory sweep of the building. For years, his organization—the Kuklovod—knew the President’s Secret Service created a false sense of security. They served more as a deterrent for undisciplined terrorists than a true line of defense. While imposing, the Secret Service was far from infallible, a point he was going to prove very soon when the President addressed the U.N.

The worst part of his hiding spot high above the general assembly meeting hall was that he could only move minimally for just over two days. With a couple of bottles of water jammed into his coat pockets, Ivan felt even more restricted by the Elite Catering uniform. A dark jacket, white dress shirt and black slacks propagated the idea that he was there to serve food and nothing else. It was uncomfortable but necessary for when impending chaos reigned in the building. He would walk out and disappear into the turbulent city streets.

With his phone in one coat pocket and his Bluetooth earpiece securely fastened, Ivan placed a call. He wanted to check in to let everyone know the plan was running smoothly.

“What’s Flynn up to?” the man on the other end of the line asked.

“As far as we can tell, nothing that would derail us from our plan. We haven’t been able to listen in on his calls, but I got a report that he flew to Dallas earlier this week and is still there.”

“And that doesn’t concern you?”

“No. Should it?”

“Dallas is home to many secrets.”

“And most of them are buried now.”

“Don’t be so confident. I’ll dispatch another operative to track him. We don’t want to get surprised by anything he does.”

“Just relax. You’ll get what you want soon enough.”

“Do what you’re supposed to do and get out of there. We have plenty of work to do here yet.”

Ivan knew he was right. Removing President Briggs solved nothing in and of itself. Starting a world war wasn’t easy. The fuse needed to be set ever so delicately. The reward needed to outweigh the risk. The players needed to have sufficient motivation to cast off all restraint.

The poor little people of the United States, thinking they live in such a safe place. They’ll never see us coming.

For the plan to be a guaranteed success, Ivan needed to kill President Briggs. It was worth the momentary discomfort. It would all be over soon enough.

CHAPTER 14

FLYNN CHECKED HIS VOICE MESSAGES on the way to the airport. Theresa left a message telling Flynn she needed him in New York City on Friday to cover the President’s speech at the U.N. about the growing famine crisis in Central Africa. Apparently not one but two staff writers had come down with a nasty illness that required the change. Theresa sounded apologetic in her message, but it didn’t change the fact that Flynn would have to put his investigation on hold and reroute his flight.
 
Oh, boy, I get to partake in the joys of airline customer service!

There was also a message from Natalie. She said she found something very interesting that might make for a good story. In an attempt to stimulate Flynn’s interest, Natalie didn’t reveal any of the details or the nature of her findings. She knew a cryptic message would garner a return phone call. Flynn laughed as he deleted her message. He knew she just wanted to talk and wondered if she’d even found anything at all.

Still twenty minutes out from the airport, Flynn tuned into one of Dallas’ 24-hour news radio stations to catch up on what was happening in the present. Spending all your time living in the past can lead to an unhealthy view on life. So can spending all your time investigating conspiracy theories. Both practices took their toll on Flynn. If his mother were still alive, Flynn doubted he would trust her. She would’ve probably been some double-agent spy grooming him to gather some highly sensitive intel so she could sell it to the highest bidder. Somehow he doubted she would’ve been making him peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and taking him to school every day.

Yet it was his cynicism and suspicion that made him a rock star in his field. No story was too unbelievable, nor was it ever believable on its surface. Lies weave the tapestry of a world people
 
want
 
to live in, not a world they
 
actually
 
live in. Sometimes lies are told to them; other times people lie to themselves. Ultimately, the truth ends up hidden in a dense fog of deceit. Just understanding the level of dishonesty in the world was enough to make any man cynical. But it was that understanding that also drove Flynn to relentlessly pursue the truth until he’d exposed every lie. His cynicism served him well, yet he hoped it wouldn’t destroy him either. He wanted to believe every word out of Natalie’s mouth, but he just knew better. People rarely say what they mean—that’s what he learned in his CIA training on understanding body language and the art of deciphering the truth. It was a class that served as the foundation for gathering intelligence and determining its usefulness, not to mention its authenticity. As difficult as it might be to gather enough plausible evidence to reveal the truth about who ordered the assassination of JFK and why, Flynn possessed the resolve necessary to bring it to light
 
.

Flynn turned his attention back to the radio, listening intently to a report about the growing tensions between the U.S. and Russia.
 
What year is this? 1984?
 
He struggled to believe that after all the goodwill engendered between the two super powers over the past twenty years that suddenly they would go right back to saber rattling with threatening rhetoric.

Russia scared Flynn like no other country could. While serving as a CIA operative, Flynn went behind the curtain to learn about the terrible atrocities being committed by ruthless leaders all over the world. Some of the tyrants in Africa even possessed chemical weapons. But the CIA ignored them, knowing Africa had more to lose by using a chemical weapon against the U.S.—if they even had a delivery method. The CIA didn’t hesitate to turn a blind eye to such activity. They wanted plausible deniability if somehow one of these leaders ever figured out a way to deploy a chemical weapon in the U.S. But that was not the case for Russia. Threats emanating out of Russia were taken seriously. It’s one thing to dismiss a threatening country with a disorganized, untrained, and ill-equipped army and no air or naval support. But Russia is in far better shape to carry through on a threat. What the CIA—and everyone in the Department of Defense—feared were the ideological leaders within the Russian government. If Russian leaders ever felt they could unequivocally launch an attack on the U.S. leading to its demise and conquer, they would do it. And that’s why Flynn shuddered when he heard the news reports
 
.