Nazis were clearly the future, and he’d fought on the losing side of the Spanish War. After capture and escapefrom prison, he could easily have left war-torn Europe by going west into Portugal, then on to anywhere in the world. Instead, he went east, somehow making his way through German-occupied territories in order to volunteer for duty against the fatherland when it looked like he was choosing the losing side yet again. Whatever else he was, the Colonel wasn’t an opportunist, and not the kind of man who’d be wasting his time on something as silly as this.
And there was still that nagging question—why me? As Powell had pointed out, even if the East Germans did uncover a conspiracy, it was unlikely that the one person on the planet they’d feel the need to tell would be Jack Teller. But it was just as weird—maybe weirder—that they’d bring me all the way from Florida so they could run a disinformation campaign through me. In fact, it was ridiculous, since they were sure to know that I didn’t exactly have the agency’s ear anymore. I’d have to make that point to Sam.
On the other hand, my two days in Berlin hadn’t exactly been a picnic in the park. Hell, why not go quietly back to my sunny beach, make myself a pitcher of margaritas, and leave the whole sorry world to itself? If the Colonel was on the level, somebody else would have to deal with it. And if they didn’t… Well, there’d be a big flash of light in the sky and it’d be over before you knew it.
Johnson was right about the bed—it was like floating on air. It was too damn comfortable, in fact.
I got up, went into the living room, and flicked the set on just in time to see Kennedy being treated to a wild ride into Cologne, his second stop in Germany. The route was jammed with fans straining to get a glimpse of that Kennedy magic. They loved the good looks, the boyish charm, the easy intellect. It was easy to love.
Of course, he wasn’t what he seemed to be. In fact, he was pretty much the opposite. The devoted family man wasactually a sex-crazed maniac who needed to screw every halfway decent-looking female that came along. The tough cold warrior who stood eye to eye with Khrushchev and made him blink was really an egotistical dilettante who let the Soviet leader scare the shit out of him in their first meeting, tempting the premier to place nuclear weapons ninety miles off our shore, bringing us to the brink of war. And the idealistic crusader for justice was, in fact, a cynical cheat who stole the White House with the help of his crooked father and some Chicago gangsters. He was magic all right, but as any good witch doctor will tell you, magic is all based on misdirection.
Don’t get me wrong—I liked Kennedy a lot. He had roused the country from a ten-year coma and had excited the world with his energy, his ideas, and his eloquence. He made America look like the future. And, most important, he made me laugh. I was sold when he told an audience on the campaign trail that he’d just received a telegram from his father: “’Dear Jack,‘” he quoted from it, “’Don’t buy a single vote more than necessary. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay for a landslide.’” That comment got him my vote.
So what if he screwed every skirt in sight? If Jackie didn’t mind, why should I? And maybe he was a bit green when he first faced Khrushchev in Vienna, but he’d stood up to him when it counted. And as for politicians stealing elections—wake up if you think Nixon wasn’t trying to steal the same votes in 1960. Kennedy just did it better. In spite of the fact that he was a complete fraud and an expert con man, I thought the president was a breath of fresh air.
There were plenty of people who would strongly disagree, of course. Walk down Main Street in Montgomery, Alabama, with a JFK button on your lapel and you’d find out. You’d be lucky if you were just tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail. Yeah, there were
And there was still that nagging question—why me? As Powell had pointed out, even if the East Germans did uncover a conspiracy, it was unlikely that the one person on the planet they’d feel the need to tell would be Jack Teller. But it was just as weird—maybe weirder—that they’d bring me all the way from Florida so they could run a disinformation campaign through me. In fact, it was ridiculous, since they were sure to know that I didn’t exactly have the agency’s ear anymore. I’d have to make that point to Sam.
On the other hand, my two days in Berlin hadn’t exactly been a picnic in the park. Hell, why not go quietly back to my sunny beach, make myself a pitcher of margaritas, and leave the whole sorry world to itself? If the Colonel was on the level, somebody else would have to deal with it. And if they didn’t… Well, there’d be a big flash of light in the sky and it’d be over before you knew it.
Johnson was right about the bed—it was like floating on air. It was too damn comfortable, in fact.
I got up, went into the living room, and flicked the set on just in time to see Kennedy being treated to a wild ride into Cologne, his second stop in Germany. The route was jammed with fans straining to get a glimpse of that Kennedy magic. They loved the good looks, the boyish charm, the easy intellect. It was easy to love.
Of course, he wasn’t what he seemed to be. In fact, he was pretty much the opposite. The devoted family man wasactually a sex-crazed maniac who needed to screw every halfway decent-looking female that came along. The tough cold warrior who stood eye to eye with Khrushchev and made him blink was really an egotistical dilettante who let the Soviet leader scare the shit out of him in their first meeting, tempting the premier to place nuclear weapons ninety miles off our shore, bringing us to the brink of war. And the idealistic crusader for justice was, in fact, a cynical cheat who stole the White House with the help of his crooked father and some Chicago gangsters. He was magic all right, but as any good witch doctor will tell you, magic is all based on misdirection.
Don’t get me wrong—I liked Kennedy a lot. He had roused the country from a ten-year coma and had excited the world with his energy, his ideas, and his eloquence. He made America look like the future. And, most important, he made me laugh. I was sold when he told an audience on the campaign trail that he’d just received a telegram from his father: “’Dear Jack,‘” he quoted from it, “’Don’t buy a single vote more than necessary. I’ll be damned if I’m going to pay for a landslide.’” That comment got him my vote.
So what if he screwed every skirt in sight? If Jackie didn’t mind, why should I? And maybe he was a bit green when he first faced Khrushchev in Vienna, but he’d stood up to him when it counted. And as for politicians stealing elections—wake up if you think Nixon wasn’t trying to steal the same votes in 1960. Kennedy just did it better. In spite of the fact that he was a complete fraud and an expert con man, I thought the president was a breath of fresh air.
There were plenty of people who would strongly disagree, of course. Walk down Main Street in Montgomery, Alabama, with a JFK button on your lapel and you’d find out. You’d be lucky if you were just tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail. Yeah, there were
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