A Death In Dallas

Chapters 5 & 6 of The Reluctant Traveler

Chapter Five
Mark Wakes Again

         “Welcome back Mark.”

         “Where have I been?”

         “That’s what you’re supposed to tell me.”

         “Tell you? What do you mean, I’m supposed to tell you? Who are you?”

         “I’m someone who cares for you right now. We are working together on a special project.”

         “Special project? Wait a minute, where am I?”

         “Where you have been for a little while now.”

         “Hold on a sec. Start over please. Why am I lying here like this? And again, who are you?”

         “You may call me Ishmael.” As he said this, he fought hard to hide a smile. Moby Dick had always been a favorite book, he found he related well to that character.

         “Ishmael huh. Nice. But you didn’t answer my question Ishmael.”

         “Mark, there’s a goal we’re working towards, something we want to do. It can’t be done without you. You are not a guinea pig for us, this is entirely voluntarily on your part.”

         “You mean I can leave when I want?”

         “Yes Mark, of course.”

         “Suppose I wanted to leave now?”

         “Then I’d have no choice but to let you go. After you tell me where you were.”

         As Ishmael said this, Mark’s mind seemed to shift to a new plane, or new level. He started to recall where he was before he woke. Ishmael could see the change in his demeanor, a light flush coming to his gaunt cheeks once again. Mark looked at his surroundings some, his gaze coming to rest on his reflection in the mirror. He knew that man in the mirror, hair starting to gray around the temples, curly locks atop his head. “At least I’m not going bald anytime soon.” he thought. With that thought in mind, he lay back on his pillow, and for the first time noticed the soft sounds in the room. There was the soft beeping of machines that he couldn’t see, the quiet whirring of fans nearby, both mixed with myriad other noises he couldn’t identify.

         As he lay back, his mind started to recall the recent events. As he was about to speak, the quiet solitude of the room was broken by the entrance of a young lady. Mark thought she looked very nice in her attire. She wore pale yellow casual slacks, white top tied at the waist with a yellow sash. Her yellow sneakers made no sound as she walked around the room checking the equipment.

         “Can I get either of you something?”

         “I think we’re fine Michelle, at least I am. I’m not so sure about Mark here.”

         At the mention of her name, Mark couldn’t help himself, and said, “Michelle, my Belle.”

         Michelle laughed when he said this, and said, “Mark, you are such a ham. I love that song! I might be much younger than you, but the Beatles are one of my all-time favorite groups!”

         Mark smiled at her and said, “I’ve always been a ham Michelle. Don’t know how to be anything else.”

         “Well, I like you just the way you are. Then again, do I know the real you?”

         “I could say the same about you Michelle, do I really know you? Do we know each other well?”

         “I think we know each other well enough. I know some of your background though, have to you know….” At that, Michelle stopped as she contemplated what she had just said. She couldn’t give away how much she knew about Mark. Knowing him well was part of her job after all.

         Michelle and Mark chatted a little more before she excused herself, announcing there was plenty of work to do that wasn’t getting done by itself.

         Ishmael coughed softly and said, “Well, where were you this time?”

         Mark found that his talk with Michelle had cleared the cobwebs from his mind. As he thought back to the recent events, his eyes softened, gazing at the tiled ceiling overhead. He spoke slowly and softly. His voice was low, unemotional as he related his recent adventure.

Chapter Six
Death In Dallas

         Arthur was relaxing at his favorite outdoor café near Dealey Plaza, Dallas, Texas. He was here for a couple of reasons today. The first was the café itself. Arthur had found it during one of his treks to downtown Dallas from his home in Fort Worth. He made it a point to dine there whenever he was in Dallas. The second reason, and really more important, was that President John F. Kennedy’s motorcade would be coming by in about an hour.

         “Good morning sir! What can I get for you today?”

         Arthur looked up to see a young woman who would be his waiter. She was dressed in jeans, and an off white T-shirt with the café’s logo emblazoned on the front. Having dined there many times, he found he loved the logo of a cowboy hat wearing waiter with their slogan, “The best darned breakfast in Texas!” Asking for iced tea, he smiled as she walked away, the slogan on the back of her shirt proudly saying, “And lunch too!”

         Arthur knew this would be a day that the world would long remember. He had listened to Kennedy’s speech in Fort Worth for the Chamber of Commerce this morning. Being a close friend to important people had its benefits. Attending a meeting meant for Chamber of Commerce personnel only was a result of that. It hadn’t been easy, but it was worthwhile. The president’s speech had been worth listening to, and only served to make Arthur even more positive of the future.

         As Arthur relaxed in the sun of the November morning, a mature woman approached him and sat beside him. She was wearing a tan colored overcoat with a pale yellow scarf wrapped around her light brown hair. “Hello Arthur, how was the speech?”

         “It was everything we thought it would be and more. You’re looking good today, as always. And, I see you’re wearing yellow also.”

         “Yellow is my trademark Arthur, you know that. There were no problems with you attending his speech?”

         “I told you I would be attending it Marta. Jerry is a good man, he has connections. Without his help, we wouldn’t be here talking right now after all.”

         “You know me, I worry about everything. I have to when it comes to our job here. Everything has to go like clockwork today.”

         “Quit worrying, I have it all under control. You know, dressed in that long coat and scarf, you look a little like a Russian grandmother, not the lovely Italian lady I am so attracted to. If I didn’t know you were thirty two, I’d put your age at fifty five or so.”

         “Arthur, you know the look is intentional. I don’t have time for idle chit-chat, I want to be on the knoll when the President’s motorcade drives by. I intend to snap a few pictures to commemorate today. I assume Lee is ready and in place?”

         “Like I told you, everything is set up. The world will be changing after today. I just hope it changes the way we want it to. Try to get some good shots, the looks on people’s faces will be priceless.”

         “Let’s hope it goes as well as we think it will. Crawford’s plan is solid. I’m positive I will get some good shots. I’m a trained professional after all. Can’t wait to get in the lab and develop them.”

         Arthur felt a little rebuffed her lack of response to his small romantic repartee. He felt a strong attraction to her, but she had never reciprocated. However, he remained determined that the two of them would connect.

         He was momentarily distracted by a man loudly demanding service a few tables away. When he looked up again, Marta had disappeared among the crowd gathering to see the presidential motorcade pass-by.

         Arthur’s meal arrived and he dined slowly, enjoying his ice cold tea. Afterwards he relaxed a few minutes, enjoying the late morning. As he lit a cigarette, he heard two or three pops in the distance. Someone nearby mutters, “Fireworks already?”

         A couple of minutes later the people in the café clamored to the television screen in the corner of the room. One of them shouted, “Kennedy’s been shot!” Arthur tried to show shock and surprise, and turned to see what was happening on the TV. There was no live coverage of the motorcade, just a news report. Reports came in sporadically about the shooting, but nothing that shed any light on the recent happenings. After a few moments he sat down at his table, as did most everyone else. He contemplated what had just happened, thinking of the changes that would now occur in the world.

         About a half hour later, a tap on his shoulder brought Arthur out of his reverie. “Hey Arthur, I’m sorry man, but I think I failed you today.”

         “Lee, what are you doing here? Don’t you have a ticket for the Mexico City bus?”

         “I do, but things didn’t go as planned today.”

         “What are you talking about? I heard two or three shots, so what could have gone wrong?”

         “I never got one shot off! That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t know who it was doing the shooting, didn’t even know Kennedy had been assassinated until I heard it on the radio.”

         “Why didn’t you get a shot off?”

         “The janitor came in. He’s a man I befriended while working there. He never saw the rifle, it was still hidden. He kept talking, asking questions, not being too nosy, but just being there. So I never got the rifle out. I was shocked when I heard gun fire. I’d lost track of time with him there. I had no idea it was late, then the janitor ran out to see what was going on. He came back in breathless a few minutes later blabbering about a shooting going on.”

         About that time the television screen went blank momentarily, then an obviously upset announcer came on the air. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have extremely sad news to relate to you. As you might know by now, President Kennedy was shot while in his motorcade shortly after noon. I was just informed a few minutes ago that he has succumbed to his injuries. President Kennedy is dead!” With that, the announcer dropped his microphone and sobbed in front of the camera.

         Arthur looked at Oswald and said, “Well, if you didn’t shoot anyone, who was the shooter?”

         “I don’t know.”

         “You mean to tell me Kennedy’s dead, and you didn’t get a shot off? Lee, something’s going on. This is not how it was supposed to go! Why was the janitor there in the first place? Wasn’t today a sort of holiday due to Kennedy’s Motorcade?”

         “I know this isn’t how it was supposed to go. And I don’t know why the janitor was there, I was very surprised to see him. But I had no idea why he appeared when he did, and couldn’t get him to leave.”

         “Well, you can’t stay here. You’ve been with me too long now as it is. Keep to the plan, we’ll talk later.”

         Lee and Arthur parted ways, Lee heading down the street in a general southwesterly direction. Arthur slowly found his way back to his hotel, and sat in his room. He listened to the radio to hear the details of the day’s events. Kennedy was dead, Johnson the new President, and Arthur had no idea who the president’s assassin was.

         About two hours later Arthur was lying on the bed in his room, listening to the announcer reiterate for what seemed to be the hundredth time the timeline of the president’s assassination. Suddenly he heard an excited voice break in on the airwaves. “They have caught the president’s killer! Lee Harvey Oswald, an employee at the Texas Book Repository has been arrested in connection with the assassination of President Kennedy this afternoon. Details to follow.”

         As the day went on, there was more news about the president’s killing. Oswald’s high powered rifle had been found on the sixth floor of the Texas Book Repository. Arthur gasped and sat up straight when he heard the announcer state, “Ballistics has a perfect match between bullets found in the presidential limousine and this rifle. There can be little doubt as to who the president’s assassin is.”

         This news caused Arthur to grunt in surprise, and he muttered to himself, “There’s no way Oswald killed the president. We’re being set up. And here we were, thinking we ourselves had things set up perfectly.”

         Arthur was tense for some time after. The next day he had trouble focusing on work, but nothing seemed to matter anymore. As was previously arranged, he drove to Marta’s house to meet her for a final time. As he was parking across the street, he saw two men in dark suits leaving her house. When Marta answered the door after his knock, the first thing he said was, “Who were those men?”

         “They said they were from the FBI.”

         “What did they want?”

         “Apparently I was seen in the crowd yesterday, and they’ve been looking for me. Someone labeled me the Babushka Lady. They’ve been asking anyone who has photos of the shooting to turn them in for evidence.”

         “You didn’t give them your film, did you?”

         “Of course not! But when I tried telling them I had no pictures, they searched the house while one kept me in the kitchen. I tried to stop them from taking the camera and film, but they told me it was now the property of the government.”

         “So your film’s gone….” Arthur’s statement had a note of finality to it, and a look of desperation came over his slim features. “Marta’, we need to…” He never finished his statement as Marta interrupted him.

         “I know, I know. But what was I supposed to do? They took my camera too Arthur. My camera!”

         “Marta, did they show you any ID? Did you get a look at their badges or perhaps the names on their ID’s?”

         “Arthur, I’m sorry. I never thought to ask. I know I should have known better, but I didn’t even think of it.”

         “We have a major problem here. Oswald didn’t kill Kennedy yesterday. He came by the café, told me he never got a shot off.”

         “What. Were you seen with Oswald?”

         “Probably. But people were focusing on Kennedy being shot, not on the two of us.”

         “You know everyone is going to be questioned. We need to change our plans, now!”

         “I know. But first, Oswald told me he didn’t kill Kennedy. The janitor came in as he was setting up and started talking to him.”

         “Janitor? There was to be no one upstairs with him, I gave everyone the day off to see the president!”

         “I knew you had, or were going to. Apparently this was a man Lee knew well.”

         “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

         “Yes, we have been set up, and may be in danger ourselves. This janitor was no janitor at all, he was there watching Lee, and us, all along. They killed the president, and will pin it on Lee. And ultimately, us also.”

         “Well, you know I have to leave, I am expected in the homeland tomorrow. You better disappear too. You do have your fake ID’s and passport, right?”

         “Yes, I’m heading down to Brazil. It might be best to stay out of America for a while.”

         As they were discussing their new plans, the radio could still be heard in the next room. “Ladies and gentlemen, Oswald is being led from the city jail. He will be taken to the county jail and await his fate there.”

         Suddenly shots were heard on the radio, with sounds of a struggle nearby. “My God, he’s been shot! Lee Harvey Oswald has been shot ladies and gentlemen! The man who killed President Kennedy has been shot while being led from the city jail!”

         Arthur and Marta looked at one another, fear flashing in their eyes. “I will see you when I can Marta. Take care of yourself, travel safe.”

         With that, the couple left the house going their separate ways. Arthur drove to his hotel and packed his few belongings quickly. As he exited the room, he saw two men in black suits walking down the hallway towards him. Wearing dark sunglasses and fedoras, their faces were impassive. Arthur found their overall look a bit disconcerting, but it didn’t take him long to put two and two together. He turned and ran down the hallway, his mind recalling Marta’s visit by men dressed exactly the same way. As he ran, he dropped his suitcase, its contents spilling over the floor. Reaching the stairs he bounded down them, jumping over the rail as he turned corners. Reaching the first floor, he slammed into the exit door. As he ran through the door, he was roughly grabbed by two men dressed exactly as the others. Not a word was said as the men hustled Arthur to a black van idling nearby.

         Arthur tried to say something to the man on his right, but before he could get a word out, his face was covered by a damp rag. He tried to hold his breath, but to no avail. He could feel fumes entering his sinus’s as he held his breath. Eventually he had to breathe in, when he did, he knew what had dampened the rag, and quickly passed out.

         When he came to, his instincts took over and he flailed about wildly, trying to escape any way he could. His flailing around was for naught, was bound securely to a chair. Bright lights were shining in his eyes making them water. He attempted to look around, but his head was held as securely as the rest of his body. He couldn’t see anything other than the light in his eyes. Suddenly the light was blocked as a figure moved in front of it.

         “Well, hello there sleepy head. Good to see you have finally woken from your slumber.” The speaker spoke slowly, enunciating each word carefully. There was no accent to his speech, no tell-tale giveaway as to where the speaker was from.

         “Who the hell are you?”

         “Who I am is none of your concern. We want to know a few things though. First and foremost, why did you and your accomplices kill the president?”

         Arthur remained silent, glaring into the darkness now that the light was blocked. “Look Mr., Dowling, your gunman is dead. Your female accomplice will be apprehended soon. Things will be better if you cooperate.”

         Arthur’s heart jumped at the news that Marta was not a captive also. He was glad at least one of them was free, maybe there was some hope yet. This hope was quickly dashed by the man’s next statement.

         “We will find her, rest assured we will find her. In the meantime, I have a few questions you should answer. Again, why did you kill the president?”

         Arthur sighed, his head sagging against its restraints. His eyes darted to the left, then right as he tried to focus on something. He could still see nothing at all, and realized he was probably doomed. “We didn’t assassinate the president! We may have had proof of who did it, but some of your people took the camera and film yesterday.” Arthur replied.

         "Arthur, if we had that film, we wouldn't have you here. There is no camera or film, so stop lying."

         "I'm telling you, she took pictures of the motorcade! Men dressed just as you came by her apartment yesterday and took it as evidence."

         Arthur saw movement to his left, then his head was jarred to the right as the blow landed. “That is not the correct answer Arthur! We know your team killed the president, ballistics prove it.”

         “Your ballistics my ass. We’ve been set up, Oswald told me he never got a shot off.” Once again movement to his left before Arthur’s head was rocked by an even more vicious blow.

         “You really shouldn’t lie to me Arthur, this will only get worse with more lies.”

         “I have no reason to lie about what Oswald told me.”

         Arthur cringed inwardly, knowing another blow was likely coming. Instead, his senses were assaulted by the smell of bad breath and body odor. Arthur’s eyes watered from the stench, his stomach almost retching at the awful smell that seemed to surround him.

         With his foul mouth inches from Arthur’s face, his interrogator said, “He was lying to you. There’s no doubt he killed the president. We have his gun, it is a perfect match for the bullets we’ve removed from the limousine, and the president.”

         “Oswald would not lie to me.”

         “Mr. Dowling, if we don’t get better answers from you, we will have no choice but to resort to stronger tactics. Ones that I’m sure you don’t want us to use. Now if you’ll cooperate with us, I’ll see to it that Randy here doesn’t hit you again.” This was a new voice, one off to Arthur’s right. While this voice was quite a bit deeper than the first one, Arthur was surprised to realize it held the same flat, carefully spoken speech. It was then that Arthur knew he was in the hands of true professionals. Men who had been trained to speak with that flat Mid-Western accent so you couldn’t quite tell where they hailed from. Men who would kill him as easily as he would kill a spider. He knew he would talk, and soon at that.

         Arthur looked straight ahead and said, “Give me a minute, I’ll tell you what I know. But as I’ve already said, Lee didn’t kill the president. He could not lie to me.”

         There was silence in the room as Arthur said this, and feeling that he was a little safe for the moment, he continued, “Why couldn’t he lie to me? I knew that when he lied, his nose would twitch as if it itched. I don’t think anyone else ever noticed that. When we first met, he lied to me about meeting a woman on an assignment. I saw his nose twitch and knew he was lying. So I told him I knew he was lying, and that I’d have him killed if he ever lied to me again.”

         “Assignment, so you’re a KGB agent.” This was said as a blunt statement, not a question.

         “No, I’m not an agent. I was, or am, an analyst. We were here on our own, not on a KGB assignment.”

         “So you admit Oswald and you were working together. With that woman,,,”

         “Yes, three of us.” Arthur silently prayed that his looks did not give away the fourth person involved.

         “So, you’re a Russian KGB, uh,,, employee. Working here on your own, not on KGB assignment. How did you know that Oswald’s nose twitched when he lied?”

         “It was part of my job, I studied him like no one has. I knew his every movement. His nose did not twitch when he told me he didn’t kill the president.”

         The man with the deeper voice leaned closer to him and said softly, “How do we know everything you’ve said is not a lie itself?”

         “I’m in no position to lie to you. You can kill me at any moment, telling the truth might save my life.”

         “I really thought you KGB agents were tougher than this. Yes agent, you’re not an analyst. We’ve had you, and several others under surveillance since Oswald met you in Russia.”

         Arthur’s hopes vanished into thin air as he heard the man say this. A moment later, any remaining hope he may have had was dashed when the unknown man continued, “Now, why don’t you quit lying to me, and tell me who the fourth person is who’s been working with you?”

         Arthur’s spirits soared a little on hearing this. His secret assistant was still safe! He knew he was likely doomed, but also knew his assistant would continue to work to erode America from within.

         Once again the first man moved towards Arthur and said, “I think it’s time to end this boss. Randy, go ahead, see if you can make him tell us a bit more. Truth that is.”

         Arthur knew this was rapidly getting out of hand, and once again struggled wildly to free himself. His efforts only served to elicit a couple of chuckles from his captors. His restraints were very secure, keeping him confined in the chair, making him feel like a fly trapped on flypaper. This realization hit him hard, and his head sagged against its restraints. As it did, he felt a wave of vertigo sweep over him, and he passed out.


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         Mark said, “And that’s when I woke up and saw you. How long was I gone?”

         Ishmael replied, “You were gone maybe thirty seconds. Less perhaps.”

         “It’s amazing how time seems to move slower when I’m there. For me, it was a few days, yet here it was only a few seconds.”