Open Writing

Reality 1187

The corridors were strangely deserted as Arnold and Julia followed Dennis Crafter through the basement hallways of the hotel, following the plan they had seen on the wall as they entered, heading for the hotel kitchen. Dennis had expected to have to deal with at least a few people on their way, but so far they had seen no one. When Arnold commented on it, Dennis replied that it was normal when something planned was occurring, like a hit on a political figure; everyone not essential made themselves scarce.

They walked along the dim corridors, alert for any sound or movement. Ahead was a set of double swinging doors with windows, and Dennis turned to the others. “That should be the kitchen. We need to go through and out the other side. That’ll be the pantry, and as best as I can remember, that’s where Kennedy was shot.” He looked at the others. “From here on, we have to be very careful. If this goes down, there’s likely to be some shooting. If there is, I want you two to hit the deck and stay down, no matter what happens.”

“Dennis, give me a gun,” said Arnold. “I can help.”

Dennis shook his head. “Arnie, we’ve been through this already. You’ve got no experience with firearms. No offense, but the last thing I need is an amateur waving a gun around in what will already be a volatile situation.” He smiled to soften his words. “Thanks anyway, but I’d better handle it.”

Arnold looked like he wanted to insist, but Julia elbowed his ribs.

“Arnold! Listen to Dennis. God knows, I don’t want anyone to start shooting, but if they must, then Dennis is the professional. You just do as he says.”

Chastened, Arnold subsided, and Dennis led them to the doors. He pushed them open cautiously and saw two of the kitchen staff finishing cleaning up. They looked at Dennis, Arnold, and Julia as they passed through the kitchen, but didn’t say or do anything to stop them.

At the doors on the other side of the kitchen, Dennis drew his weapon and turned to the others. “This is where it might get hairy. Stay close to me and remember what I said if it all goes pear-shaped.” He pushed open one of the doors and looked into the passage beyond.

* * * *

“Make sure the car is warmed up and ready to go, Jim. I want to get to back to Washington tonight.”

The aide nodded, one step behind John Kennedy and flanked by the two security guards as they descended the stairs. “Don’t worry, Senator. The chopper is waiting at Alameda. It’s only a short hop from there to Hamilton, and your plane’s ready to go.”

Kennedy nodded, and turned left at the bottom of the stairs. They passed a large icemaker, and were about to turn toward the doors leading to the basement garage when a man stepped out in front of them.

Kennedy looked at the man, who had a definite Middle-Eastern look, then at his aides. In a split-second, he summed up the situation, and he knew he had been set up when he saw his security guards reaching for the weapons beneath their jackets. The aide looked bewildered; it was clear he was not a part of what was going on, and Kennedy felt a flash of gratitude for his loyalty. Then he turned to the man in front of him. If he was going to die, the assassin would have to do it face to face. Not from behind, he thought, not like they did Bobby.

The man reached into his jacket pocket and drew an odd-looking weapon. Looks like a starter’s gun, thought the senator, confused. What the hell…?
Then he felt something tug at his jacket; at the same time, he heard the sharp report of a shot, coming from the rear of his small entourage. No! he thought. They’ve gotten behind me after all. Bobby…

Then double doors opposite burst open, and a man, followed by another man and a woman, emerged. Things moved very quickly after that.
Dennis burst through the doors as the first shot was fired, which entered Kennedy’s open jacket and exited harmlessly, burying itself in the doorjamb.

“Down!” he shouted, and brought his gun to bear, not on Sirhan Sirhan, who was standing in front of the senator, looking alarmed, but on the two security guards who were standing behind him, guns drawn. Kennedy took one look at Dennis and dropped to the floor. The two guards looked at him in confusion, and Dennis shouted at them, his gun trained at a spot exactly between the two.

“FBI! Drop your weapons!”

The two men looked at him in confusion, then one of them began to raise his gun. Dennis fired twice and the man went down. Beside him, the other man dropped his gun and raised his hands. Sirhan, his swarthy face ashen, also raised his hands over his head, and Dennis approached the group, his own gun held out before him in both hands.

“Senator,” he said, not taking his eyes off the men, “are you hit?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jack Kennedy replied from the floor.

“Okay,” said Dennis. “Arnold, Julia? You both Okay?” he asked over his shoulder. They answered that they were fine, and Dennis said, to Kennedy, “All right, Senator, you can get up now.” He moved quickly between Kennedy and would-be assassins and kicked their weapons away under the icemaker, then backed off. He turned to Kennedy’s aide.

“Can he trust you?”

The man nodded, his face white but his expression determined. “Y-yes, he can. My God, I had nothing to do with…”

“It’s all right,” said Dennis, “I don’t think you did, either.” Then he returned his attention to the two guards and Sirhan. “You three, go out those doors. Now!”

Herding them before him, Dennis, Kennedy, his aide, Arnold and Julia walked out the doors. As they emerged, a bright light hit them, and a bullhorn-amplified voice rang out.

“DROP YOUR WEAPONS! THIS IS THE SFPD! I REPEAT, DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR!”

Kennedy stepped forward, his hands in the air. “I am Senator John Kennedy, former Attorney-General of this country. We are all right. The man on my left,” he indicated Dennis, “has just saved my life from an assassination attempt. The three in front are those responsible. As a United States Senator, I am ordering you to arrest them.”

Silence greeted this dramatic announcement and the police, who were crouched behind several prowl cars, looked at each other in confusion. Then the one holding the bullhorn stood and called out.

“I am District Commander MacAllan. Are you all right, Senator?”

Kennedy nodded. “Yes, I am. Please tell your men to stand down, Commander. The situation is in hand.”

A moment later, the light went out, and uniformed officers came forward and handcuffed the two guards and Sirhan. As they were taken away, Dennis holstered his weapon and turned to Kennedy. “You might want to question that Egyptian-looking bloke, Senator. Someone paid him to be there, although you’ll find his gun was just a prop. It was the guards who were hired to kill you.”

Kennedy stared at Dennis. “You seem to know more about this than is healthy, my friend,” he said. “Who are you? And don’t give me FBI.”

Dennis smiled. “It was all I could think of at such short notice, Senator. But maybe we’d better get somewhere a little safer before we conduct any post-mortems.”

Kennedy nodded. “I agree. Will you and your companions accompany me back to Washington? I suspect you’ve got quite a tale to tell.”

“Of course, Senator, we’d be happy to.” Kennedy turned away, then back again as Dennis touched his arm. “One more thing, Senator. You might want to ponder just how the cops knew something was going down so fast.”

Kennedy gave the assembled police a hard look, then turned to his aide and issued quiet instructions. The aide spoke into a walkie-talkie, and a car appeared a few moments later. Quickly, they got in, the aide in front, while Dennis, Arnold and Julia got in the back with Kennedy. They settled back into the seats as the car moved off, and the senator turned to Dennis.

“So, my British rescuer. Just who the hell are you people, and where did you come from? More to the point,” he continued shrewdly, “how did you know they were going to hit me?”

As the car continued across San Francisco, heading for the Golden Gate Bridge that would take them to Alameda Naval Air Station, Dennis began to de-brief the future President of the United States.

* * * *

Six hours later, they were seated in the Senator’s private rooms in the West Wing of the White House on Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, D.C. During the six-hour flight from Hamilton Air Force Base in San Francisco to Andrews outside Washington, Dennis, Arnold and Julia had explained to John Kennedy just what had happened at the hotel. The Senator from Massachusetts had listened with growing incredulity to what they said, but in the end, he believed them. They knew too much that was classified not to be genuine. Now, he sat back in his favorite rocking chair and looked at them.

“You know, if events didn’t bear out your story, I’d have you all locked up in the booby hatch.”

Arnold smiled. “Senator, we don’t blame you for being skeptical. Hell, even we have a hard time believing some of the things that have happened to us lately.”

Kennedy took another sip of his scotch. “Still, you’ve got to admit, it’s a lot to swallow. Time traveling, alternate universes; it’s a little far fetched.”

“It’s more than far fetched,” remarked Dennis, “it’s downright loony.”

“But true, nevertheless,” finished Julia. Kennedy had taken a shine to Arnold’s wife, and was turning his considerable charm on her. Then he turned serious.

“So, what do we do now?”

Arnold thought for a moment. “Well, obviously, you’ve got to denounce the plotters and bring them to justice. That’s the first thing.”

Kennedy nodded. “That’s in hand. When I told Lyndon what had happened, he went ballistic.” He smiled at the memory of his half hour meeting with the incumbent President. “What else? Or, rather, how can I help you? The President has put the resources of the nation at your disposal.”

Arnold smiled. “That would be a great help to us, Senator.”

They sat quietly for a few moments, then Kennedy said, “I have something I want to tell you. It’s been gnawing at me ever since…well, for a long time now, and I think it’s time I came clean. I’ll be making an announcement to the nation in the not too distant future, but I want to tell you people. You saved my life tonight, and you deserve me to be straight with you.”

The three looked at him, and Kennedy went on. “I was involved in my brother’s assassination, five years ago, in Dallas.”

A shocked silence greeted this statement, and Kennedy waited for someone to say something. Finally, Arnold spoke up.

“Why don’t you tell us about it, Senator.”

Taking a deep breath, and occasionally blinking back tears of regret, John Kennedy told of how he had stood by while his younger brother, Robert Francis Kennedy, was gunned down in Dealey Plaza, Dallas, on November 22nd, 1963.

Arnold listened while Kennedy poured out his soul and his guilt, then said, quietly, “I don’t know whether this will help or not, but in our universe, Senator, it was you who was killed in Dallas, and Robert at the Ambassador.”

Kennedy stared at him in shock, and Arnold went on. “By our actions here tonight, we’ve managed to redress some of that great wrong, although our universe was never the same again. Now, you have a chance, sir. Am I correct in assuming you plan to reveal your part in the assassination after you are elected President?”

Kennedy nodded. “If I am elected, yes.”

Arnold nodded; he had expected this. “Senator, I beg you to reconsider that.” Kennedy looked at him enquiringly, and Arnold continued. “It won’t bring your brother back, Senator. All it will achieve will be for your opponents to call for your resignation. And you’ll have to give in to them, and probably face criminal charges, along with the plotters.”

Kennedy nodded; he knew this, but his voice was resolute. “I’m aware of that, Professor Katzmeyer. Nevertheless, I must atone for Bobby.”

“I understand, sir. But there are other ways to do that without committing political suicide. In our universe, everyone knew that you would do great things for America. When first you, then your brother, then Martin Luther King were shot, we despaired for our country. It seemed the black hats had won. Personally, I don’t believe the country ever recovered from that triple blow. It was the end of a dream.

“Everyone knew that no one could stand against those in power who were behind the killings. But,” he said, leaning forward, “if we could do something to get back at them, to bring them down now without your sacrifice, that would be better for the nation as a whole. If we can do that, then you can throw yourself on the people’s mercy later, after you’ve brought the guilty ones to justice.”

Kennedy looked at him. “What could you do?”

“Who do you think was behind your brother’s death, Senator?” Dennis asked.

“There is only one person whom, as President, I can’t get eventually. The others I can remove from their positions of power quietly and expose later; this one, however, is the mastermind behind a whole raft of wrongdoing, aimed at weakening the United States while advancing himself.”

As he paused, Dennis spoke. “Hoover.”

Surprised, Kennedy nodded, and Dennis smiled. “Trust me, Senator. We can provide you with something that will destroy him completely.”

Kennedy looked from one to the other, but Arnold just said, “You’re going to have to trust us.”

Kennedy nodded. “Well, I’ve trusted you with my life tonight, and you’ve given it back to me. I think I can trust you a little further. What do you want?”

The three travelers looked at each other, then back at the Senator. Arnold was about to say something when a corner of the room began to shimmer. Kennedy noticed it from the corner of his eye, and half-rose out of his seat, but Arnold waved him back.

“It’s all right, Senator. If this is what I think it is, then it may be the answer to all our problems.”

Expectantly, they watched and waited. A moment later, the shimmering resolved itself into a portal, and Arnold smiled at the first person through it.

“Jonathan, what a pleasant surprise. We were wondering how to connect with you. When we get a moment, you must tell me all about where you’ve been, and what you’ve been up to. Right now, however, we’ve got something very important to do.”

He turned to include in his remarks the Senator, who was staring wide-eyed at the portal, and the others who were stepping through it.

“By the way,” he said, “may I introduce Senator John Fitzgerald Kennedy?”