The Willard (27 page)

“No, he hasn’t left yet to the best of my knowledge. He’s planning to leave tomorrow afternoon, but that gives you enough time to get a message to him if you want to. Mr. Chase will arrange to have it delivered.”

Victoria looked torn. Her head and heart were fighting for dominance. She felt she barely knew her own mind and recognized there was so much more for her to learn and to see and do. She was already fighting her parents for the right to do it. Did she really want to take up a fight with a man she barely knew? What right did he have to a say in her life?

On the other hand, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had met the man she would one day marry when he screeched to a halt at the corner. He had come to the hotel with no idea what to say to her but at least he had made the effort. Wasn’t it up to her now to make an effort of her own or let him leave and accept that she would likely never see him again?

“I don’t know what to do, Olivia. And I have a terrible headache. I think I’ll go to my room and lie down if you don’t mind.”

Olivia walked her to the door and gave her a warm hug. “I’ll support whatever you decide. Just don’t wait too long. You know they say lightning never strikes the same place twice.”

Victoria thanked her and left. On the way to her room she thought how appropriate Olivia’s words had been.

I feel like I’m in the midst of a storm and calamity is on the horizon
.

C
HAPTER 63

CATHERINE PARKER

1865

Catherine arrived at Ford’s before the official opening of the doors for the audience. As Laura’s guest she was allowed entry and shown to the star’s dressing room where she found her new friend in costume and makeup and astonishingly nervous in spite of her familiarity with the role.

Laura wasn’t just the star of the show. She had bought the rights to the play a few years before and she was also a theatre owner herself so she took a great deal of responsibility on her shoulders knowing the combination of this being the 1000
^th
performance and having the president in the audience would bring added attention to the stage tonight. Catherine wished her well and left the dressing room to find her seat.

When an usher showed her to the house she was virtually alone in the great space, as the audience had still not been allowed inside. There were a few ushers milling about and some last-minute work going on onstage, but Catherine’s attention was captured by the now decorated state box. She had been seen in the company of Ms. Keene over the past couple of days so no one stopped her as she made her way to the private box. Once again she entered through the unlocked doors and found herself standing where the president would stand to acknowledge the crowd in just a short while. She ran her hand along the deep red upholstery of the chair where he would take his ease for the final time and she looked around the box contemplating the horror
that was to take place there. Absentmindedly she reached forward and touched the flag that was gathered into bunting on the front of the box. She ran her hand along it, feeling the folds and noticing the texture under her fingers. Without thinking, she straightened the framed portrait of George Washington and continued to smooth and straighten the fabric of the draped and upright flags. She wanted to them to be perfect and found herself lost in the act like a mother fussing over a daughter’s wedding dress and veil. It kept her busy for a moment and gave her a purpose—something good that she could do in a situation so terrible.

Finally, she knew she had to leave the box and she did, closing each door carefully behind her. The house doors were now open and the audience was filing in to find their seats. She returned to orchestra level and made her way to the left of the house where Laura had reserved a place for her. Soon the theatre was filled, announcements were made and the entertainment began. Catherine found she couldn’t focus on what was happening onstage. She kept looking up to the state box, but she wasn’t the only one. Everyone kept monitoring the area as though the president might sneak in there unnoticed. A few patrons were getting visibly antsy that the president had not arrived as the play progressed until suddenly Laura Keene noticed action in the balcony and improvised a line to draw the audience’s attention to the entrance of the president. The orchestra struck up “Hail to the Chief” as the group made their way into the state box and suddenly there he was. Though she had accepted this moment would come, Catherine was unprepared for her reaction to seeing it with her own eyes. There, standing at the edge of the box where she had smoothed the flag not an hour before, was Abraham Lincoln. He held his signature stovepipe hat in his hand as he acknowledged the crowd with a smile, something not seen in photographs of the great man. Catherine could see his wife, Mary, beside him and
two other people taking their seats in the box. Major Rathbone and Clara Harris took their places on the settee as the president continued to thrill the crowd with his acknowledgment before taking his own seat so the performance could resume. Catherine was amazed. She felt like she had been on a merry-go-round that was spinning too fast. The man revered for preserving the union and freeing the slaves, the one in the giant sculpture at the Lincoln Memorial, was sitting less than the length of a football field from her. He was there in the flesh, alive and well.

Alive
. Catherine’s earlier nausea returned and she fidgeted in her seat.

The audience was once again attentive to the action onstage though there were many stolen glances at the state box. Everything was normal for a little while. Intermission came and went and with it went the only security guard Lincoln had between him and an assassin. The derelict guard abandoned his post and went drinking at the tavern next door.

As the play continued its second act Catherine kept stealing glances at the box and the area leading to it. When her nerves were almost beyond frayed she saw him, a figure in black approaching an usher and handing him a card. The usher allowed him to pass and John Wilkes Booth reached for the handle of the outer door to the state box. Before he entered, he looked around to see if anyone was watching and as he glanced back his eyes swept the orchestra level. He did a double take and locked eyes with the lovely young woman in the deep blue dress sitting house left a few rows from the stage. Catherine felt her breath catch in her throat. His eyes were black and soulless. They reflected the gaslights like onyx and she felt he could see through her, that he knew that she knew. She sat paralyzed like a statue as he turned the knob and passed through the outer door.

A fan. The women always find me, even in the dark. Especially in the dark
, Booth almost chuckled to himself. He knew his fame was about to grow exponentially.

As Booth was carefully opening the inner door and slipping silently into the back of the box Catherine was coming apart in her seat downstairs. The man to her right noticed her distress.

“Are you quite all right, Miss?” he inquired.

“I’m not feeling well.” She stood abruptly and everyone in her row adjusted to allow her to pass to the aisle. It was apparent she needed to get out of the room. She walked quickly up the aisle and into the lobby. Laura did not see her retreat. The actor on stage was gearing up for a well-known line using some of the play’s folksy language. Catherine ignored the ushers who inquired about her condition and flew up the stairs to the dress circle. She topped the stairs and started around the outer wall toward the box, determined now to stop the would-be assassin.

"Don't know the manners of good society, eh? Well, I guess I know enough to turn you inside out, old gal—you sockdologizing old man-trap," came the line from the stage, followed by an eruption of laughter from the audience and a sound that didn’t fit the scene. It was a gunshot. Catherine stopped in her tracks and sank down against the wall, just steps away from the door to the state box.

C
HAPTER 64

TOM KELLY

1962

What I would give for Google and e-mail right now
, Tom thought as he slogged his way through messages from both the “official” clandestine pipeline and from Back Channel. He had to find out who was sending these rogue demands. Each member of the ExComm had issued a lockdown on his own staff and the number of people who were involved in the negotiations was cut to bare bones. Virtually no one outside of the president’s trusted circle was in the know now, but the messages continued.
Kill Castro. Take him out or the president will move the ships in closer to Cuba and prepare for a ground invasion
. None of it made sense. If this person had a death wish it looked like he might just get his way.

Volkov kept sending translated cables and Tom began to compare the time stamps against the messages the United States government was getting from their own contacts. Something about the timing of the messages bothered Tom. Rather than waiting for a response from the Soviets as one would expect when a demand is made, reiterations of the demand were coming fast and furiously. This wasn’t the work of a seasoned diplomat. Tom wasn’t one either, but he could tell from the timing of the government messages that they were very careful to allow enough time for consideration and response. Nobody wanted to increase the pressure that could result in a tragic outcome. But these rogue messages were relentless in their aggressiveness.
Whoever was sending these seemed to know he wouldn’t stay hidden for long and he was pushing hard to get the Soviet premier to buckle under his frequent demands.

For all the initial mistrust between Director McCone and himself, Tom had recognized quickly that the CIA leader was a thoughtful and reasonable man with a strong grasp on the Soviet mindset. Anyone working in lockstep with him would not be pursuing an agenda in this way. Tom mentally crossed the CIA off the list of possible leaks and moved on to the National Security Director’s staff. No matter how much he dug or how cynically he viewed high-level government agencies, he just couldn’t pin the action to a probable group.

There had to be a third party involved, someone outside the president’s sphere of influence. But how did someone get in at this level? The thought struck him as ironic as he had been the outsider who infiltrated Back Channel. That had to be it. There was a government outsider injecting himself into these proceedings with the potential for dangerous consequences. Who was he and would there be time to find him before the damage was done?

Tom whipped open his hotel room door and summoned Ethan York from the hallway. He wrote a quick note to Robert Kennedy with his latest hypothesis and suggested they were looking for someone on the fringe of the agencies of the ExComm. It had to be someone with either past access or enough insider knowledge to know how to get into the pipeline. When he was finished he sealed the note inside an envelope and wrote the word “confidential” across the seam of the seal.

“Take this directly to the attorney general,” he told the young intern. “Don’t give it to anyone else under any circumstances.”

Ethan was nodding his head eagerly, but Tom wasn’t finished admonishing him.

“I’m serious, Ethan. If the Secretary of Defense, National Security Advisor, president’s secretary,
and
the Secret Service tell you to hand this over you smile politely and refuse to hand it to anyone but Robert Kennedy himself. You put this into his hands. Do you understand?”

“I understand, Mr. Kelly. I will give this envelope to no one except AG Kennedy, even if I have to eat it to protect it. I won’t let you down,” Ethan answered.

Before Tom had left the White House for the Willard, the two Kennedys had determined that Tom would send messages hand-delivered by Ethan York and that only Robert Kennedy would be allowed to receive them. The president indicated he would not ask for the messages so there would be no conflict as to chain of command. This would allow for a direct line between Tom and Robert Kennedy and nobody could try to pull rank by saying “the president said to give it to me.” Both Kennedys were prepared to back the intern if it turned into a showdown between him and half the cabinet. There could be no more leaks.

Ethan put the envelope in his coat pocket and walked quickly to the White House. His pass allowed him to come and go quickly from the West Wing and within moments he was standing by, waiting for Robert Kennedy to pen his response to Tom, which would be sealed in the same manner. Once he had it, he returned to the Willard and put the return envelope into Tom’s hands. He had been gone for less than thirty minutes total. Tom sent Ethan back into the hallway and read the message.

Understood. Will have personnel records for the past five years examined for possibilities. We can’t discount the possibility this could be a Soviet spy trying to create the illusion that we have a rogue agent. Official messages will continue to reassure Khrushchev that the Castro demand is not coming from us. Report back ASAP
.

Tom thought about the possibility of a Soviet spy trying to make it look like the United States was demanding action on Castro. He just couldn’t figure out what the end game would be for that kind of demand from their standpoint. He knew he was in way over his head. The only thing he knew to do was to put on his writer’s hat and try and imagine what scenarios might exist. If he was going to write the story, who would this character be and what did he stand to gain? It was a long shot with no viable possibility of success, but it was all he had. He kept digging and over the next few hours sent Ethan back and forth to the White House several times. Against all protocol he eventually invited the young man into his suite and started to bounce theories off him. Pretty soon Tom realized that being top of his class at Fort Mill High School was a bigger deal than he had thought. Ethan was smart and highly versed in history and government. He was also very deliberate in his thought process and some of the questions he asked sent Tom down a different path than he had considered before. It was a path he desperately wanted to avoid because if this line of thinking was correct then everything they were doing could be playing right into the hands of a madman.