The Assassination File

By Gordon Mack

Military Police Sergeant Ryan Quinn's transfer from 1971 Vietnam to a small obscure Dept. of Defense base in Virginia was a perfect way to ride out his term of enlistment. Or so he thought. When a dead body shows up, followed by a shady underworld type and two ex-Secret Service agents looking for a politically dangerous file, things get complicated. Quinn and his squad of three find themselves in a political plot with far-reaching implications that started from the aftermath of the Kennedy assassination. Now twenty years later they find themselves being hunted. Instead of running, they go on their own offensive and their travels take them to the Bahamas, Key West, and finally to the D.C. suburbs and the source of their problems - a presidential candidate. Getting help from unlikely sources, a mobster and a former KGB operative, they devise an outrageous plan to take down the candidate once and for all.
"4 Out Of 4 Stars"; topdan30 of the OnlineBookClub.org.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gordon Mack
• Release date: May 9, 2015
• ISBN: 9781310853838

Book preview

Book 1

Part I

Chapter 1

Spring, 1963 – Aboard the yacht CHRISTINA O.

She laid back in the overstuffed chaise lounge, more comfortable than she'd allowed herself to be for the past several weeks. A cabin boy approached with her favorite drink, trying not to be too obvious in admiring the slender body in the green bikini. Behind the oversized sunglasses, she watched his reaction and secretly smiled. She knew she had lost the pregnancy fat from her most recent miscarriage – which had been emotionally hard on her. But her sister had insisted that a trip like this was just what she needed. And she had to admit that she was right.

She accepted the drink and smiled at the tanned youngster, which was all the tip he needed. As First Lady, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy could never be seen in such a luxurious or self-indulgent environment as this. But here in the Greek Islands aboard Aristotle Onassis' magnificent 325 foot yacht, without the persistent photographers – what did they call them, the paparazzi? -around, she could do what she wanted. Lee Radziwill, Jackie's younger sister, was right about this trip. She had arranged this through mutual interests. Lee was, by marriage and inheritably, rich but had a crush on the ship's fabulously rich owner. She knew him from previous dinner parties with her husband's business contacts. Not that Aristotle Onassis was the Hollywood type – far from it. Short and stocky, he wouldn't rate a second glance from a streetwalker anywhere in the world. But in the high-flying world of finance, he was high in demand. And Lee had her own plans, many of which included Jackie. After all, Jackie was married to the most powerful man in the world. It wouldn't hurt to merge the two and, between them, they would be the toast of Europe.

It didn't take much convincing on Lee's part to get Jackie to accompany her on the trip. JFK was, as is inherent with the office of the President, perpetually busy. After her miscarriage, he was as devastated as she but simply could not deviate from the daily business of the presidency for more than a short time.

Jackie had to admit that she needed this diversion. Caroline and John-John (as the media called him) would be well taken care of. She needed some Jackie time. Secretly, she loved the pampering. She was born to this. Being the First Lady was exciting at first, but it was getting stale. Always having to show a frugal but elegant face was getting tiresome. She was born to elegance in the Bouvier family. A new election was coming up, and she would have to go back to being subservient to her philandering husband for another four years. It was no secret that Jack had his own agenda when it came to women, and the news media took it in stride – wallowing in that Camelot mode that the masses soaked up. Sometimes it made her gag. What self-respecting wife would put up with a husband who openly flirted with every skirted female that interested him? She quickly came to realize that it wasn't just for the votes. Enough! But what could she do? She truly loved America, or so she thought. She could not bring herself to consider a divorce. First, the Catholic Church would intervene and second, it might bring down a Presidency. She had no desire to be the reason for that. The future did not look too bright for her.

Aristotle Onassis walked up and sat down on a lounge chair across from Jackie, a broad grin across his tanned and lined face. My dear – you look lovely! Is my staff treating you to your satisfaction?

Jackie slowly lowered her sunglasses. Looking up. She said, Mr. Onassis, I am completely enchanted by the total hospitality you and your staff have offered to myself and Lee. Thank you so much.

Mr. Onassis? Please! Out here I am Ari. Except to the crew, of course! he laughed.

And I am Jackie – at all times to you, Ari. as she offered her hand. He grasped her hand gently and in true Continental fashion raised it to his lips. Unfortunately, I have some unfinished business to attend to, but I hope you will join my table for dinner tonight?

Lee and I will be delighted.

Onassis smiled and bowed his head, inwardly thinking – (yes, you AND Lee – THAT is unfortunate. But maybe soon... that could be rectified.) He had already secretly listened in on the supposedly private conversations between her and Lee, and how she had opened up about her growing displeasure with her husband's indiscretions.

At first, she took the infidelity in stride, almost inwardly gloating that no matter what he did, he always ended up in HER bed. But more and more, as his popularity grew and he became more brazen about the press looking the other way, she – by way of her own internal spy network – became aware of his secret trysts. She inwardly seethed when that slut Monroe cooed Happy Birthday to him for all the world to see. And that jackass Peter Lawford always making sure that he arranged the best parties with that awful Rat Pack crowd and their floozies.

Onassis was surprised, but exhilarated, when he heard her admit that she wished she could turn the tables on her husband but knew that it would be mutually disastrous if the press found out. Jack was the star. She was the supporting cast, and she knew it and resented it.

As he went back to his office, Onassis came to his decision. A plan had been set in place more than a year ago but he had been reluctant to set it in motion – until today. The deciding factor had been the actual social meeting with Jackie Kennedy. He had admired her from afar for many months, but getting this far had been difficult for political reasons. Lee Radziwill had been the perfect go-between, even though she didn't know her role. After meeting Jackie face-to-face, he had been smitten. He had always been a man used to getting what he wanted. This would be a little more challenging, but he knew in his heart that he would prevail.

As he entered his office he dialed up his second in command. Nickolas – come to my office immediately.

Aye, sir – on my way. Nickolas Constantine was a former member of the Greek Special Forces unit who also acted as Onassis' occasional bodyguard. He had extensive experience in working behind the scenes on his boss's behalf – performing some open but mostly clandestine operations that needed to stay out of the limelight.

Nickolas, Onassis greeted his trusted friend, We need to re-visit an old plan.

The Russian? he asked.

The Russian. Get him on the secure phone. If things go well, I'll need you to go to Moscow to oversee the completion of the mission on his end. I need him, but do not trust him.

That is wise, Mr. O. I found him to be useful, but unreliable until he is paid. I will bring the secure satellite phone when we have contact.

Chapter 2

Moscow

Yuri Gregorovich Pushkin sat in his spartan apartment across from the Lubyanka – the former, but still somewhat useful and utilized, state prison facility in Moscow. He was miserable. He has been that way for over a year now after being recalled from his sweet, cushy position as rezident bureau chief for the KGB in the Mediterranean. His superiors apparently didn't buy into his reasoning for his capitalistic ways while abroad – buying and spending lavishly under the pretense of gathering undercover information. It made for a good excuse, but in reality they were right. He simply enjoyed that lifestyle – smoking good cigars, buying better vodka than he could get in Moscow, watching real women on the beaches. He might have pulled it off if he had only been able to produce some reliable intelligence against the west that could have justified his expenses and lifestyle. Unfortunately, that wasn't about to happen. So now, he languished in a 1 bedroom, 1 bathroom 3rd floor walk-up (not even an elevator!) with questionable radiator heating in the winter and no air conditioning in the summer.

For all of his capitalistic faults, he was extremely good at one thing – recruitment. He was a smallish, slightly overweight man in his early thirties with bushy eyebrows but with intense blue-gray eyes and a demeanor that exuded extreme confidence. Everyone believed that whatever he said, it was the truth. He had made his reputation within the ranks of the KGB by recruiting the most reliable assets of any handler in the bureau. Now, however, his reputation was sinking.

The phone rang. It was Saturday. Even in Mother Russia he didn't usually work Saturdays. He considered letting it ring, but he was in enough trouble with his superiors as it was. If it was one of those ladder climbers, he would be further disgraced so he picked up the receiver.

"Da?" He had no desire to be polite on his official day off, no matter who it was.

Mr. Pushkin, this is Nickolai, please call me. The caller hung up.

Pushkin knew the drill, although it had been a while since he had been in touch with this former contact. Get to a secure line, call back with a secure code number and name, and wait for new contact information.

Chapter 3

This is Pushkin, who is this?

Mr. Pushkin, how nice to hear your voice. This is Nickolas – aka Nickolai as you requested, if you don't remember. Mr. Onassis' employee?

Suddenly Pushkin's spirits picked up.

Onassis? Of course, I remember, he lied. He didn't necessarily remember Nickolas, but he certainly remembered Onassis. During his time in the Mediterranean, he had met with Onassis on several occasions as they tried to make some kind of an agreement on monitoring the shipping movements of foreign vessels in and around the Greek islands. Unfortunately, he was recalled before that could be solidified.

Mr. Onassis has expressed an interest in resurrecting a business transaction that had been discussed previously.

He had to think back, but guessed. Are you talking about the ex-patriate from America?

The same.

And what do you want with him? He's a deadbeat and a pain in our ass. He may have been useful when he got here but has proven to be more trouble than anything else. This Lee Oswald person had been assigned to Pushkin to be his handler, and Pushkin didn't like the assignment one bit.

Nickolas chose his words carefully.

Be that as it may, my employer has a job for which he would be uniquely qualified. Naturally, you would be well compensated for your assistance.

Well compensated. Music to his ears. He could move away from the stench of Lubyanka. But how to explain that to his superiors? Well, he'd figure that out later.

"I'll need to know something about this job of yours, and what kind of compensation he can expect. He's an idiot, but won't leave unless he has a good reason."

Nickolas explained, "I cannot go into the exact details, but he can expect a very large compensation upon successful completion of the job at hand. It is something he has some experience in, so there will not be any extensive additional training. We will supply all of the equipment and material. We know he is not happy with his rash decision to move to Russia and wants to return to the US. We also know that he is having difficulty in obtaining visas for his family to make that happen. We will make that happen for him, immediately upon his agreement on the mission – for which he will be briefed before departure."

Pushkin considered his thoughts. All right, I can make contact with him. But, what's in it for me compensation-wise? And I don't need any cryptic messages. Get to the point, or don't waste our collective time.

Nickolas smiled, knowing this was coming. "My employer has extensive contacts within your politburo and can get you your rezident status again at a post of your choice. That is IF the contact completes his mission."

Pushkin considered this and said, How is his success or failure tied to me? I am merely his handler on this end.

You must find a way to convince him that his mission's success is directly tied to his future, and the future of his family. Once that is done, your work is done. Simple.

Simple? Pushkin thought. This Greek didn't know this American like I do. He's sporadic in his thinking – prone to delusions. Completely anti-government, which is why he wasn't fitting in here. He thought Russia's communistic ideology would suit him, but it didn't. Lee Harvey Oswald was a deluded, if not delusional, person. Yuri Gregorovich Pushkin came to realize this within a matter of weeks after becoming his internal handler and trying to recruit him into the local political scene. But, truth be told, he would gladly be rid of him by giving him to the Greeks. Let them pay for his expenses and who-knows-what clandestine plans they had for him, and good riddance. It would be especially sweet to gain a profit from this asshole by getting a plum assignment as promised. He would make the call in the morning. Afterwards, he needed to make sure a particular style of rifle would be available to this American once he was back in his homeland. This was important to the plan, according to Nickolas. That rifle would be the key to keeping himself and his benefactor, Aristotle Onassis, out of any future investigations.

Da. I can do this. You make sure the transaction is complete as usual.

As usual, my friend.

Pushkin hung up and began making his plans to visit the Oswald's. The sooner he was rid of them, the better.

Nickolas disconnected the secure line and went back to Onassis’ office.

The Russian is again in our employ, sir. He will contact us for further instructions shortly.

Well done, Nickolas. Now – please get our mutual friend the Senator on the line as soon as he is available. I hesitate to get him involved but I fear we will need his resources in dealing with the State Department.

Chapter 4

Within a matter of a few weeks, Lee Harvey Oswald, his wife Marina, and their children were settling in to their new lifestyles in a small town in southern America. As usual, he had trouble fitting in. He didn't know the people who had made the arrangements to get him back to America. While he was grateful, he hated living in this small backwater town where everyone knew everyone else's business. He made it known during a rare phone contact and was assured that he would be leaving soon. Exiting the cramped glassed-in phone booth, he couldn't wait to get home and tell Marina the good news. They would be moving to a larger city. After a few short stays in small towns, out of necessity to obscure their tracks, they would eventually settle in Dallas, Texas.

Part II

Chapter 1

November 22, 1963

Dealey Plaza Dallas, Texas

The man in the gray fedora and horn-rimmed glasses smoked his cigarette and leaned casually against the tree. Even though he was dressed in a gray suit with a slim black tie, he didn't look out of place in the setting. After all, many people of many walks of life were gathered for this event.

There was the lunch-box crowd with their soiled coveralls who had punched out early, nannies with their pacifier-sucking charges, office managers and their secretaries, and even retail store owners who hung out their Closed signs earlier than usual.

Camelot was coming to this little portion of Dallas, and the proud Texans were going to make sure that they let the world know that they were staunchly behind their own Arthur and Guinevere, aka Jack and Jackie.

As the motorcade approached Dealey Plaza, the fedora man casually tossed his cigarette and stepped on it, twisting his foot to properly extinguish