“Bring me up to date, but I don’t want all the medical stuff. Just the practicalities.”
Symons nodded. “He’s ready, Ziggy. There’s been no problems. He’ll do what we want whenever we tell him to.”
“What about the back-tracking operation?”
Symons smiled. “They’d never unravel it, Ziggy. Not in a million years. We’ve covered all the Mexican bit. The Cuban Embassy, the Soviet Embassy. We’ve tied up New Orleans so that one lot will say he was pro-Castro and the others that he was rabidly anti-Castro.” Symons smiled a self-satisfied smile. “It’s like a million-piece jig-saw and none of it fits.”
“What about our own cover?”
“Almost nothing they could discover unless some idiot’s not destroyed what we’ve told them to destroy. We’ve wiped it all out and fed in some confusion as well. There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Maybe you’ve covered too well and that could make them suspicious.”
“The Mafia connection alone will keep any investigators happy for years.”
“How many of the mob are involved?”
“Five.”
“Who are they?”
“Trafficante, Marcello, Hoffa, Roselli and Giancana.”
“You’re satisfied that they are secure?”
“Absolutely. They know what would happen if they even looked like leaking.”
“Are both of you giving him the final instructions?”
“No. Just me. Pete has played no part in this particular operation.”
Grabowski looked across at Petersen.
“How about your man?”
“He’s under control but I haven’t activated him yet.”
Grabowski nodded. “OK, Petersen. No need for you to hang on here.”
When Petersen had left, Grabowski sat on the edge of the operating table making himself comfortable before he looked back at Symons.
“He hasn’t been told about the real target?”
“No. It’s still Castro as far as he’s concerned. The current target has never been discussed. Not even mentioned.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Is there any way they could connect him with you?”
“I’ve never met him in a public place. Except under hypnosis by me he would neither recognize me nor know me.”
“What if somebody else hypnotized him?”
“If they tried they’d fail. I’ve given him a solid block against hypnosis by anyone else. I’ve tested it and he wouldn’t go under. He couldn’t without my key-word.”
“What’s the key-word?”
“It’s better you don’t know, Ziggy. I’m not being cagey but it’s safer this way.”
“So we come back to you, Tony. How secure are you?”
“You’d better spell it out, Ziggy.”
“You’ll be the only person who knows the whole scenario. Somebody could think it would be safer not to have you around.”
Symons shook his head. “If anybody thought that, and did anything about it, the whole story would be with the media in a matter of hours. The CIA would be sunk without trace inside a month. And a lot of heads would get chopped. I’m not worried, Ziggy.”
“What if you have an accident or die from natural causes?”
Symons laughed softly. “Let’s just say that it would be embarrassing all round.”
“How long does it take to activate him?”
“Say fifteen seconds.”
“Does it have to be face to face?”
“No. He just has to hear the key.”
“You’d better move down tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“Dallas.”
Symons smiled. “At least it’ll be warm.”
“It’ll be warm all right, in more ways than one.”
“I’d like to ask you just one question, Ziggy. Would you answer it truthfully?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Try me.”
“How far up the line to Langley does this thing go? Is it official or private enterprise?”
Grabowski folded his arms across his big chest and the psychiatrist noted the defensive action. Grabowski was looking down to where his right foot was swinging slowly, and it seemed a long time before he looked up at Symons. His pale blue eyes looked strangely haunted.
“You wanted the truth so I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t know the answer to your question. Obviously it isn’t official, but it ain’t unofficial either. Let’s just say that what started as private enterprise and the mob, has changed course and had a blind eye turned towards it.”
“And a helping hand?”
“Yep. And a helping hand. Several helping hands.”
“Why, Ziggy?”
“Why do you think?”
“Because a lot of people hate him and are scared of what he’s doing to their interests.”
“Who’ve you got in mind?”
“The FBI, the CIA, the mob, Castro, the KGB, the John Birches and all the other nutters.”
“You told me once that nutters was a word I shouldn’t use.”
Symons shrugged. “OK. All the other psychopaths.”
“How do you define a psychopath, Tony?”
“You may not like the definition, Ziggy.”
“I’m a big boy, Tony.”
“A psychopath is someone with a defective conscience. With aggressive and irresponsible conduct, and a complete lack of regard for others. They seldom respond to medical treatment. They frequently pretend to regret what they have done, but in fact they are incapable of regret for their own behaviour.”
“Sounds like you and me.”
“Self-diagnosis can be dangerous.” Symons smiled. “I don’t recommend it for intelligence agents.”
Grabowski eased his backside off the table and hitched up his trousers, his eyes still on Symons’ face. He said quietly, “The day after tomorrow, the twenty-second.”
Symons nodded and smiled, but Grabowski saw the tension around the young man’s mouth.
Governor Connolly of Texas was as handsome as any Hollywood actor, and his wife was handsome too. As the huge crowd in Dealey Plaza cheered and waved she turned in her seat to smile at the President as she said, “Mr. Kennedy, you can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you.”
Seconds later the shots rang out in rapid succession and the President lurched in his seat, both hands grasping frantically at his throat and he said, “My God, I’m hit.” His voice seemed to rise in surprise rather than fear or pain, and then there were more
