Chapter 14: Target - Bobby

I’m about to reveal yet another state secret. A retired mailman tried to kill John F. Kennedy on 11 December 1960 in Palm Beach, Florida. Palm Beach was south and east of Orlando, and north of Miami. I needed a few things before I could case the joint.

“Don’t,” my telephonic contact advised. “The president has a summer house down there. You’ll compromise your mission.”

“Thank you, sir,” I responded. “I’ll keep my distance. I don’t like being in proximity to famous people.”

After getting the new number I hung up the pay phone and walked back to Billie’s panel truck. I felt strange wearing clothing. It was only 63 degrees outside, but my clothes felt stifling. I was dressed as a little girl with something called Mary Janes on my feet, knee socks, a skirt that came just above the knee, a blouse with a jacket and a ducky little brimmed hat. Any moment, I expected a truant officer would grab me. Along the way I conducted my countersurveillance routine out of habit. I walked past Billie’s panel vacant panel truck to the drug store where Billie was supposed to meet me in ten minutes. I bought a newspaper and ordered a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich at the counter along with a cherry vanilla cola. I saw Billie shortly after I ordered and watched her as she stood next to the door watching the street. Billie briefly spoke to a large man in a black suit and hat—I’d have to ask her later, someplace more private. Billie walked up to the counter and ordered a chocolate malt just as my beverage arrived.

“I want you to eat half of my BLT, sister mine,” I told Billie as she passed me a matchbook.’

“What are you drinking?”

“Taste it,” I offered Billy my glass. “You might want your own.”

“Are you two twins?” the soda jerk asked.

“Yes,” we chorused.

“Do you share everything?”

“Yes.”

“I get off at eight. How about a date?”

“Sure. Where do you want us to meet you?” I asked.

“The employee’s entrance,” the soda jerk said. “You can drive me home.”

I glanced at the matchbook. It said CALL BLAKE NOW. That was a bit strange. I didn’t like the circumstances, but I excused myself to use the ladies room. Next to the bathrooms was a phone booth. First, I did use the facilities. That gave me time to assess how many people were watching me. A quick call with a preface that indicated my phone wasn’t secure, and Major Blake cut me off.

“Be at the Gator Theater in ten minutes. Tell Billie to cover you from the street. Be armed.”

The Gator Theater was about three minutes away on foot. I let Billie know and paid my bill, gulped my drink, wrapped half the sandwich in a napkin and walked out. I picked up a tail immediately. It was that large man. The Gator Theater was open and showing “The Manchurian Candidate.” I bought a ticket, then bought popcorn and a cup of Seven Up, allowing me to see who was following me. The movie hadn’t started yet.

“Use the cry box,” the woman at the counter said as she handed me my refreshments. The large man entered, nodded at me, beaconed for me to follow him. In a moment, I was alone in the cry box as the movie began. I used that time to have dinner. When the door opened, I had it covered with a .22 pistol hidden in a newspaper.

“I told you to come armed,” Major Blake complained. I showed him my Ruger, then covered the gun again. “I have a revolver for you.”

It was a Colt Cobra with a hammer shroud. I checked the loads—US military issue full metal jacket, but I couldn’t tell if it was 130 grain or 158 grain—headstamp was ten years ago. I stashed the revolver in my purse and returned the Ruger to a holster under my jacket.

“Why?” I asked.

“The FBI just arrested several people,” Major Blake claimed. “The only details I can share is that they were near us and their target was Bobby Kennedy. One last detail—they were bailed out of jail and we lost them immediately.”

“It is going to be difficult for me to find them without a clue to their identity.”

“That’s it—their arrest records were purged. The arresting agents have vanished. I can’t even find out which town that death squad was arrested in.”

I silently counted to thirty before asking what I needed to know and what Major Blake expected me to do.

“The men were arrested based on your reports,” he said. “Hoover jumped the gun. It’s not the first time his grandstanding has fucked things up.”

“But other than that, you can’t tell me anything,” I added. Major Blake nodded. “If I find them, are they supposed to survive meeting me?”

“I can’t give you orders like that stateside.”

Little known is that World War Two isn’t over—yet. There is a ceasefire, German forces surrendered and were disbanded, a new German military established, but the treaties haven’t been finalized and Germany is still occupied by Soviet, American, British and French forces. Some wartime measures are still in force, but those measures aren’t made public. That’s how US Army Counter Intelligence Corps Special Agent Don Knight got away with murder. At first it was Nazis. Then it was Soviet assassins. Both US and USSR were getting out of the killing game but continued using proxies. I was assigned to ‘neutralize’ a few “freedom fighters” who had been designated as communist terrorists. When, where and how I ‘neutralized’ them is top secret! It was surprising that I got non-orders to do the same in CONUS (CONtinental United States). Obviously, we were not at peace.