Philip Kerr - The Shot

That same Thursday evening, Alex Goldman flew in from New York and, after a late dinner, they went straight to bed.

The following morning, just about the first thing he and Tom did was to check the classified section of the Globe , in search of the coded message that would tell them whether or not their mission was finally on, or off. Goldman scanned the pages carefully until he found an advertisement containing the operational G2 code for Jack Kennedy, which was ‘Submarine Shop’. Finally he found what he was looking for: ‘Due to illness sacrifice Submarine Shop within seven days. MI 3-5042.’ The Boston telephone number was fake, just to make the ad look slightly less suspicious.

‘That’s it,’ said Goldman. ‘We’ve got the go.’

Tom nodded. ‘I didn’t figure it any other way. Not after what happened on Tuesday.’

‘It sure doesn’t look good, does it?’ agreed Goldman. ‘Still, the weather’s improving. I think those boys are going to have some — very good skiing this weekend.’

‘They’d better enjoy themselves,’ remarked Tom. ‘In a couple of months, those two boys could be drafted into the army, and at war.’

At lunchtime Edith and her friend, Anne, arrived from New York. Anne was younger than Edith, and even more beautiful. She was also a member of G2, the Cuban Intelligence Service. Tom went through their instructions with them, while Goldman listened.

‘Are the boys ready to go?’

‘Chub called me last night,’ said Edith. ‘To say that they are both looking forward to it would be the understatement of the year.’

‘When you get to Franconia, call us,’ said Tom. ‘We don’t plan on entering their room until the early hours of Sunday morning. After that, I’m afraid you won’t be able to contact us short of coming into Harvard Yard and staring up at our window.’

‘They’re not telling their parents, so there won’t be any messages that might take them away from us,’ said Edith. ‘Officially, the plan is that we will be leaving Franconia at around eight o’clock Monday morning. Except that the car won’t start.’

‘How are you planning to disable the car?’

‘I’ll leave the lights on all night. The car is garaged, so I don’t expect anyone will notice. But I’ll also remove the rotor arm, just in case.’

‘Either of them know anything about cars?’

‘Chub can’t drive. Torbert has a car. But Chub says he doesn’t even know how to change a spark plug.’

‘Good girl. Whatever you do, it’s imperative that they are not back in Cambridge before one o’clock on Monday afternoon. Have you got that?’

Edith nodded.

‘So make sure you give them both a good time. Anne? Are you comfortable with that? You’ll have to sleep with Torbert.’

‘Yes sir,’ said Anne. ‘Edith has told me what has to be done.’

‘I don’t want any arguments, lovers’ tiffs and such like. One of these kids gets on a bus back to Boston, and we’re in deep shit. I want all your feminine charms brought into play. And if necessary, slip them a mickey.’

Edith nodded again.

‘When you get back to Cambridge,’ said Tom, ‘you can rest a while and then Alex’ll drive all three of you to Logan. You’ll all fly down to Miami and then go your separate ways from there.’

‘Be my pleasure,’ said Goldman.

‘What about you?’ asked Edith.

‘I’ll get the train back to New York, and then on to Mexico City. It’s best we don’t travel together. Good luck to you both.’

‘And to you,’ said the two women.

Tom escorted them out to their car, and kissed Edith goodbye. It was not much of a parting, but then it had not been much of a relationship. Just an arrangement occasionally involving sex. In that respect it was probably no different to a lot of marriages.

‘If you get a chance,’ said Edith, ‘come and see me in Nicaragua.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Tom.

‘And Tom? Please be careful.’

‘You too, Edith.’

‘Lucky boys,’ said Goldman, after Edith and Anne had driven away to collect the boys from Hollis. ‘I kind of wish I was going along myself.’

‘Me too,’ admitted Tom. ‘I like skiing.’

It was seven o’clock when the telephone rang in the Cambridge apartment, around the same time that Kennedy was boarding the Caroline in Palm Beach, to fly up to Washington. It was Edith, to say that they had all arrived safely in Franconia.

‘Any problems?’ asked Goldman. ‘How’s Torbert getting along with Anne?’

‘No problems at all. I don’t think I ever saw a boy fall in love so quickly.’

‘That’s how it is when you’re eighteen,’ chuckled Goldman. ‘You fall in love just as fast as you can drink a Coke, or blow up bubblegum. Don’t last a hell of a lot more than that, either. You call me if there are any teenage dilemma situations you need advice on. Otherwise I’ll speak to you the same time tomorrow night. Oh, and enjoy the skiing.’

‘I will if I get half a chance. I think Chub has other activities in mind.’

Saturday morning came and it was warmer, with the temperatures in the low fifties — more like a spring day than mid-winter. The snow in Cambridge began to melt, and by the end of the morning you could see the grass again. It was, observed Tom, perfect weather for a presidential walkabout.

‘Let’s hope it’s like this on Monday,’ agreed Goldman.

The Boston Globe published the details of Jack Kennedy’s visit to Boston. Tom and Goldman studied the article closely in case there was anything they had overlooked. The Globe reported that Secret Service agents had inspected the State House for security purposes the previous night: ‘Every step Kennedy will take, from the time he enters the State House until he leaves, has been carefully charted by the Secret Service agents.’ But, almost as if Harvard was considered a safer place than Beacon Hill, the paper reported only a modest level of security precautions being taken on campus: ‘His safety will be left to the Secret Service. But university police have already begun planning for the protection of students who, among other restrictions, will not be allowed to stand on the statue of John Harvard outside the entrance to University Hall.’

‘For the protection of students?’ Alex Goldman was scornful. ‘What the hell are they thinking about? Do they really think that stopping a few kids from climbing on a lousy statue is going to stop Kennedy from getting shot? Jesus, those guys must be crazy. I would have thought he would be safer in the State House than anywhere else. I mean, the guy is going to walk around in the open air, for Christ’s sake.’

Meanwhile, neither man failed to notice, in the same edition, a report from Havana describing how Cuban troops, anti-tank guns, and four-barrelled Czech anti-aircraft guns were being deployed all along the capital’s seafront, on Maleçon Drive.

‘What do you think of that?’ Goldman asked Tom.

‘I think that Monday can’t come quick enough.’

During Saturday afternoon Tom and Goldman took their cameras and, posing as tourists, took a stroll around Harvard Yard, keeping a careful eye on Massachusetts Hall where, a late edition of the paper reported, federal agents would meet with the Cambridge police chief and the head of the Harvard University police to co-ordinate the security measures for this part of the President-elect’s visit — Kennedy’s first to his home city since winning the presidency back in November. But of uniformed police or anyone who looked like a Secret Service agent, there was no sign.

‘I’m glad they’re not protecting me,’ said Tom. ‘Dumb bastards.’

Neither man ate much that day. Since they planned to spend almost thirty-six hours holed up in Hollis Fifteen without the facility of a lavatory, they wanted to empty their stomachs as much as possible. For most of the evening they watched television, aware of Jack Kennedy coming nearer to them now, flying from Washington to New York aboard his private plane. In less than twenty-four hours the same plane would land at Logan airport, in Boston, and a motorcade would drive the President-elect to his Beacon Hill apartment at 122 Bowdoin Street.