but it was too late to do anything about it.”
“The motorcade came into view and everything slowed down. That’s how it is. You see things clearly because you’re prepared. It’s a first for everyone but you, so it moves quickly for everyone else. Your peripheral vision expands and you take in everything around you, then your tunnel vision kicks in, and you only see spots on your target.”
“I was told the top would be off of the President’s car, turning his limo into a convertible.” Charlie swallowed hard.
“I fired at the President twice. My first shot hit him in the neck and the spotter called it out. A quizzical look came across the President’s face and he clenched his hands up near his throat, elbows pushed out to the sides. An automatic nervous reaction.” Charlie demonstrated.
“The reports I’ve read say that shot came from the back,” said Robert.
“Behind the President.”
“I know what they said, Mr. Veil. I’m telling you I hit him in the throat. The reports also say the doctors widened the throat wound during surgery. No one could tell it was an entry wound.”
“A sharpshooter could’ve hit him anywhere,” said Thorne. “Why the throat? Why not just go for the head shot right away?” Charlie winced. “Instructions. Edward Rothschild wanted him to suffer. He wanted the President to know he was about to die.” Charlie lowered his head and took a deep noisy breath.
“About this time I became aware of gunshots other than mine. I didn’t know there would be another shooter. It didn’t surprise me, not on a mission like this. Rothschild and the others wanted to be sure Kennedy didn’t make it out alive.”
“There were two men posted near the curb where the motorcade passed. One opened an umbrella. The other waved as Kennedy rode by, my signal for the final shot. Governor Connally turned around, as though trying to look at the President, now slumped toward the First Lady. She looked at Connally, then at her husband, now almost in her lap. I’d received specific instructions not to harm her. They said the country would get over the assassination of the President, but not the killing of its Queen.”
“I trained my site, squeezed the trigger, and watched the President’s head explode in a shower of blood and brain. He was gone. No one ever survives a direct head shot.”
Charlie dabbed at his eyes. “I quickly slipped my rifle back into the bag. A low murmur from the crowd turned into full-blown panic and confusion, like it always does. First the crowd is too stunned to react. A few moments later, it sinks in and the commotion starts. The perfect cover for escape. Everyone will say they saw the same thing, but they’ll all see it differently. A hundred people, a hundred different versions.”
“And that’s when they played the double-cross,” said Robert.
“Yes,” answered Charlie. “I started for the car and spotted one of the men taking pictures of me. Obviously not part of the plan. We chose the area to avoid being seen or photographed. Yes, it was a set-up, a double- cross.”
“One of the men rushed me with a large jagged knife, and slashed at my throat. He missed. I grabbed his arm, rammed the knife below his rib cage, and forced the blade up into his heart. By the time he hit the ground one of the others snatched me from behind, while another rushed forward.”
“I wiggled free, broke one guy’s neck, and kicked the man rushing me to the ground. He scrambled to his feet and ran out of the yard. I picked up the camera and bag and tossed them in the car. I could hear people running and screaming.”
“A policeman, gun drawn, ran into the yard in my direction, ordering me to raise my hands. I shouted for him to calm down, identified myself as Secret Service, then showed him my credentials. He looked a little inexperienced, you know, a rookie. I pointed to the guys on the ground and told him to go get a few officers and come back to secure the scene.
When he left, I jumped inside the station wagon, pulled out of the yard, and disappeared in the commotion. The police stopped me several times.
I just flashed my identification and kept moving.”
“Where did you go after that?” asked Robert.
“Up to that point things happened so fast I didn’t have time to think about what I’d done. I concentrated on staying alive. I took a chance and tried to contact my CIA handler, Vernon Campbell.” Robert’s eyebrows rose. “You mean the Director of the CIA?”
“Yes, he recruited me in the first place.”
“When I couldn’t get in touch with Vernon, I called Jack Ruby, our failsafe in case something went wrong. I couldn’t find him either. Then came Oswald. I’d met him twice at Ruby’s club, but we never talked. He just sat at the table with his drink, and occasionally whispered to Ruby.” Charlie took another deep breath. “After his arrest, Oswald said I’m just a patsy. That’s how it’s done. We learned it from the Germans.
First assassinate, then immediately accuse someone. It draws attention away from the facts, and when the accused is killed or silently stored away, the door is closed. All that’s left are rumors, accusations, and conspiracy theories. Even if someone discovers the truth, no one will believe it. The truth and the lie look the same.”
“The next few weeks flashed by. I contacted my wife and directed her to take our daughter to my safehouse in Kentucky. Samantha was eight years old, but her mother and I married a few months before Dallas.
No one knew they existed.”
Charlie broke down and wept like a child. Robert took a few steps, but Charlie waved him away.
“Rothschild paid me a million dollars up front. I established identities for the three of us, and a plan to disappear.” Charlie’s voice cracked. “I never saw them again.”
“I managed to slip back into Washington. I hid among the crowds flocking to President Kennedy’s funeral. I rode the train part of the way and hitchhiked the rest. The whole thing began to unnerve me, and for the first time I had regrets. I’d killed here in the states, but someone usually deserved it, like a gangster, a terrorist, or a radical. This time, traveling through town after town, I saw devastation in the eyes of almost everyone. I wasn’t so sure Kennedy deserved to die.” Charlie’s eyes pleaded with Robert and Thorne for forgiveness. He didn’t get it. Robert swelled with disgust and anger. He believed Charlie deserved to die for what he did, no matter how sorry or beat down he felt.
“I tried to make contact with several of my associates in the Agency.
Nobody responded. When the White House and Senate organized the Warren Commission, I knew I didn’t have much time. They’d work me in as a suspect, and the manhunt would begin. I knew they had the film Abraham Zapruder shot. It clearly showed my final shot hitting the President in the head, dead on. Not to mention the eyewitness accounts.
So I took a big chance.”
Charlie stopped to stretch his legs and asked for another break.
Thorne declined before Robert could speak, ordering the old man to sit his ass down and finish. He looked at Robert who shrugged his shoulders. Charlie reluctantly sat back down.
“I dressed up in Navy officer digs, acquired the proper papers, and marched into the Bethesda Naval Hospital where President Kennedy’s autopsy took place. It wasn’t the first time I’d been in the hospital covertly, so I knew its security procedures and schedules. I slipped into an area called “cold storage,” where the hospital kept sensitive information. I knew any files concerning the President would be there. I killed the guard at the door, dragged him inside, took everything I could find, and left. Autopsy photos, detailed recordings from the coroner on the bullet wounds, projected trajectory angles, and every medical note.
In a large brown enveloped stamped FBI, I found the bullet fragments. In a large tin cylinder sitting in a freezer, I found President Kennedy’s brain, mangled and sliced open. I took it all, combined it with the rifle, notes, and everything else, then hid it all where no one would look.”
“I sent a message to Rothschild. Vernon Campbell and several others met me in the basement of Old Ebbits Grill. Things didn’t go well.
They roughed me up, and tried to make me tell where I’d hid the evidence. When I wouldn’t, Rothschild showed up. I still didn’t talk. If I did, I’d be dead. I told Edward I’d made arrangements for the evidence to go to the Washington Post if they killed me. They backed off and let me go.”
“They trailed me night and day. The next thing I know, one year turned into almost forty. I could’ve played hardball and blackmailed Rothschild, but the whole thing took its toll. I just wanted to be left alone. The next thing I knew, Robert Kennedy, King, and so many others, died. All the markings of a coup, and I’d started it all.” Charlie
