sons of bitches was what they were. Sometimes they were a little too cautious of his safety. Like the way they had tried to stop that poor sonofabitch Joe Murphy from coming inside the flat to cook his fucking breakfast. How much of a threat could you pose to the future President of the United States with two hard-boiled eggs?
He stood up from his chair, went on to automatic handshake, and allowed two agents to gently steer him towards the faculty room door. Glancing around, smiling, always smiling, he caught sight of the portrait of Longfellow, and for no reason he could think of, except that he had considered stealing something from The Psalm of Life for his speech to the State Legislature, he found himself remembering one particular verse: Lives of great men all remind us / We can make our lives sublime, / And, departing, leave behind us / Footprints on the sands of time.' He liked that verse a lot.
They were going down the stairs now. Pusey was saying something about training more Harvard men for policy-making responsibility, and he himself was replying that it had certainly done him no harm. Then the front door of University Hall opened and Kennedy stepped outside into the icy blast. Momentarily dazzled by the midday sun above the rooftops of Hollis and Stoughton, and the enthusiastic roar of the crowd now assembled, he blinked furiously and moved uncertainly down the steps.
Using the window shutter as cover, Tom Jefferson lay stretched out on the desk of Hollis Fifteen and, with the barrel of his rifle supported by one of Chub Farrell's pillows, took aim at the figure emerging from the front door of University Hall. In the space of a few seconds he pressed the butt of the rifle firmly against his shoulder and, tensing the muscles in his upper arm, curled his forefinger lightly on the trigger.
The scope picture was clear, with Kennedy's handsome, smiling, tanned face almost filling the eyepiece. Tom made a deeper inhalation and exhalation, the way he always did, and saw the reticle moving slightly on the bridge of Kennedy's nose. Taking the slack out of the trigger now. Pulling back just to the edge of release. Keeping his whole body absolutely still. The cross-hairs exactly on target. Holding his inhalation as, straight and clean, he pulled the trigger, all the time trying to ignore the curious whirring noise that tickled the air in the room, like the sound of a large mechanical cricket.
The firing pin of the Winchester rifle clicked harmlessly. Tom was only momentarily surprised not to feel the usual recoil that presaged his victim's death. Calmly, he worked the bolt again for a second shot, and said, One of us had better be loaded. I'd hate to be wasting my time here.'
I'll tell you when to stop,' said Alex Goldman. He held the Bolex Rex sixteen-mill cine camera steady on Tom's body for a second longer as once again the marksman squeezed his trigger on an empty rifle.
Whatever you say, Mister De Mille,' murmured Tom, working the bolt again. Just try not to get me in close- up. You're not on my best side, there.'
Goldman thumbed the switch to work the Bolex's powerful zoom, smoothly catapulting his camera view across Tom's head, the barrel of the rifle, and the heads of almost three thousand students as, yelling, shouting, and pushing, they broke through the police line and shoved their enthusiastic way to the future President.
Beautiful,' murmured Goldman. What a great shot. This is real cinema.'
He had an excellent shot of the bemused look on the young Senator's face. And the look of real alarm on the faces of the Secret Service agents who were trying to elbow a path through the crowd for Kennedy. Such was the scene of near pandemonium that Goldman could see through his viewfinder that it was almost as if Tom had fired a real shot into Kennedy's head.
The rifle clicked harmlessly a third time.
That's three times, plumb centre of his forehead,' reported Tom. If this rifle was loaded, Jack Kennedy would now be as dead as swing, for sure. Pity it isn't.'
Goldman zoomed back off Kennedy and through the window of Hollis Fifteen, coming around Tom's side to take account of Kennedy's progress through the Yard. He stopped filming, and turned the clockwork mechanism of the Bolex quickly. Fully wound, it allowed a shot of between twenty and thirty seconds' duration.
Move your head out of the way of the scope a second,' he directed. Tom did as he was told, and let Goldman take a shot of the view through the Unertl scope. Okay, now work the bolt.' Tom worked the bolt. Goldman shot a close-up of the trigger as Tom squeezed it again. You'd have done it too, wouldn't you?' he chuckled. You really would have shot him, wouldn't you? Crazy sonofabitch.'
Well, you know what they say. In for a penny. 'Sides, he fucked my wife, didn't he? If that's not a good reason to kill a man, I don't know what is. How long do I have to keep doing this? I'm beginning to feel stupid.
Who's directing this picture? Me or you? One more shot, okay?' Goldman wound the camera again.
Tom worked the rifle bolt a fourth time, and aimed at the tip of Kennedy's ear for a second, then at the knot of his blue woollen tie. He doesn't know how lucky he is,' said Tom, squeezing the trigger again. Yes, Mister Kennedy, today you were one lucky sonofabitch.'
Okay, that's enough,' said Goldman. I think I must have two or three minutes' worth of film by now.'
Tom placed the rifle on the floor, and rolled off the desk, letting out an exhausted groan. Jesus,' he exclaimed. I think that's actually worse than doing it for real. I feel kind of vulnerable doing this job without ammunition. Naked almost.'
Not having any bullets is our only guarantee that we won't get the chair if we're caught,' said Goldman, leaning across the desk now to get a last shot of the back of Jack Kennedy's head, as the Secret Service escorted him through a side entrance of Massachusetts Hall opposite, to escape the students in a dramatic change of plan. Look at that mess,' he said contemptuously. Another Secret Service foul-up.'
Tom was already replacing the rifle behind the closet, and, once again, he checked that it could not be seen.
First time I got paid not to blow someone's head off,' he remarked.
You're forgetting Castro,' said Goldman. You took Giancana's money to do that job. Anyway, I think you should be proud of yourself.'
How do you make that out? This might be bad for my reputation.'
If this plan works, we could stop a war.' Goldman finished shooting and put the big Bolex back in its leather carrying case. Come on, let's tidy up as quickly as possible and get out of here while there's still a crowd outside.'
He lifted up the floorboards to put away the radio, while Tom dragged the desk away from the window, and replaced the books and papers that had been lying on it. Goldman screwed down the floorboards and replaced the rug. Then they made the beds they had slept on. Finally the two men stood in the doorway and inspected Hollis Fifteen.
The shutters,' said Goldman, and went to close them. Outside, the student body was grouped in front of Massachusetts, chanting, We want Jack. We want Jack.'
Looks the same as it did when we came in,' pronounced Tom. Spartan.'
I think so, too,' said Goldman, and opened the door.
Outside, in Harvard Yard, chaos still reigned. While the students chanted over and over again for Kennedy to come out and make a speech, Secret Service agents were driving three cars up on the grass in front of Massachusetts Hall, and across the cement walk to the front door.
Goldman took out the Bolex once again, wound it up, checked his exposure and speed, and pushed his way through the crowd to try and get a final shot of Kennedy's exit. Tom followed, yelling, What are you doing? Come on, let's get the hell out of here.'
Now, two vehicles took flanking positions on either side of Kennedy's limousine, which was parked immediately beside the door to the hall. A triple line of police began to surround the cars.
What am I doing?' said Alex, finding a good shot of the crowd and the cars and the police in his viewfinder. I'm making a movie, for Christ's sake. To do that well, you have to build your movie around a storyline. You've gotta maintain interest in your picture by mixing long and short scenes. To get that Lubitsch touch, you gotta lead people up to your central idea. You gotta use a whole variety of shots to build suspense. To bring along your audience.'
There was a huge cheer and Goldman zoomed in on the front door as Kennedy and his agents dashed from the building, and into the waiting cars. That's my boy,' grinned Goldman. He held the shot and then followed with the zoom as, a moment or two later, all four cars drove out of Johnson Gate, on to Massachusetts Avenue. Finally, the Kennedy party was on its way to the Loeb Drama Center on Brattle Street. Goldman glanced at his watch. It was one o'clock.
Yes sir,' he said. Everything you shoot has got to be tied into your plot. The trouble with most home movies
