The Legacy (11 page)

No, Cole admitted dejectedly. So who were they?

Smith pushed his tongue into the gap formed by the missing lower front tooth. God, it all makes so much sense now.

What makes sense? Dammit, I want answers.

I know, and you deserve them. Smith looked to his left as the eagle Cole had disturbed yesterday screeched from across Big Lake. Im going to tell you a story. I probably shouldnt, but I will. He shook his head. Bastards, he muttered.

Come on, Cole urged.

Smith rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Your father and I were Dallas police officers and roommates in 1963. We were twenty years old and had only been on the force about a year at the time. On November twenty-second we went to Dealey Plaza to see the president on his way from Love Field to his Trade Mart luncheon. We had both worked late the night before, until around four in the morning, I believe. We were tired, but we wanted to see Kennedy. Christ, everyone did.

We parked in the lot behind the grassy knoll well before the motorcade was to pass by, then walked up the railroad tracks to the triple underpass and stood on top of the bridge, on the west side of the plaza. That vantage point provided a perfect view. Smith swallowed hard, as if this was bringing back unpleasant memories. The motorcade came up Main Street, turned right onto Houston, then left on Elm in front of the Depository. The limousine was just beginning to accelerate after making the sharp turn onto Elm when everything went nuts. Smith cleared his throat. Your father and I heard the first shot very distinctly, but from our position there wasnt any way to pinpoint where it had come from. There were buildings all around the plaza and the echo was tremendous. A faraway expression came to Smiths face. I still remember your father yelling, Did you hear that? I answered affirmatively. I also remember that we didnt look at each other while we were talking. We were too busy searching the plaza for gunmen. Our training kicked in automatically.

What happened after that? Cole was riveted to Smiths words, visually aware of nothing but the mans face.

The second shot came, louder than the first.

The magic bullet, Cole prompted.

I think of it as the pristine bullet, Smith said. After supposedly being fired from the Depositorys sixth floor, traveling through Kennedy, smashing Governor Connallys rib and his wrist, then lodging in his thigh, the bullet they found on Connallys stretcher at Parkland Hospital looked as if it had never been fired. It had lost less than three percent of its original weight, less than three grains. Ive fired a lot of bullets from a lot of different guns in my time, and I can tell you that doesnt happen, not after smashing through two bones, anyway. That bullet should have looked like a piece of chewed gum. Smith paused.

Go on, Cole urged.

Mmm. Smith rubbed his chin again. Well, then the killing shot came. It tore the top of President Kennedys head right off, at least thats what it looked like from where we were. It was really more to the side, but it was awful, regardless.

Cole felt his stomach churn. The Dealey Tape had graphically illustrated how awful that moment was. And then?

Your father and I decided immediately to assist. We werent on duty, so we were dressed in street clothes. We realized that not being in uniform could create a problem because the in-uniform people wouldnt recognize us as law officers, but we didnt care. We had to help. It was instinct.

Your father ran south on the tracks, then down onto Commerce Street and into the plaza. I went north back toward the train yard. As I got to the other side of the bridge, I saw a man running away from the fence behind the grassy knoll. He was carrying what looked like a tool box. I chased him, but I couldnt catch him. He had too much of a lead. Smith shook his head. I guess I was that damn close to making history.

Me too, Cole murmured, remembering the man with the scar smiling smugly as he snatched the Dealey Tape. Then my father must have taken the film away from someone as he ran across Dealey Plaza.

Smith nodded. Not just someone, son, he took it away from your mother. Smith saw shock register on Coles face. A young woman named Andrea Sage.

Here was the answer to another of those long-unanswered questions. Coles aunt and uncle had claimed all these years not to know his mothers name or anything about her except that, according to his father, she had died when Cole was a year old. They said they had never met her, and explained that his father had fallen out of touch with everyone in the family after a secret wedding to a mysterious woman. Then he had brought one-year-old Cole to live with them, and disappeared again.

So my mothers maiden name was Sage, Cole said quietly.

Yes, Smith confirmed. Thats why I asked you to identify yourself with your middle name on the phone. Your middle name was her maiden name. Your father said he never told anyone that except me. I wanted to make certain the person who picked up the phone on the trading floor was the person I was looking for. I couldnt take a chance that the wrong person got hold of that envelope. I waited in the reception area until I saw that you had it.

So his aunt and uncle hadnt been lying all these years. They really hadnt known anything about his parents. He had always suspected that they might be withholding information because his parents were criminals and his aunt and uncle didnt want him to know the truth.

Why wasnt Andrea Sage up with the two of you on the railroad overpass?

She wasnt Jims wife at that point. In fact, he had no idea who she was. They met for the first time in Dealey Plaza seconds after President Kennedy was shot, though they didnt really have much of a chance to introduce themselves properly. Smith smiled. God, it really all fits together now.

What fits together? Cole asked impatiently.

Smith pried a splinter from the tabletop, inspected it briefly, then flicked it away. One morning a few days after the killing a very pretty young woman walked into the Dallas police headquarters and announced that she had recorded the Kennedy assassination on a Bell & Howell spring-wound movie camera. Andrea Sage was that pretty young woman, and she said she was certain the film could shed light on what had happened, except for one small problem. Someone had forcibly ripped the movie camera away from her only moments after the shooting. Then she dropped the real bombshell. The person who had confiscated the camera and the film was a Dallas policeman. An officer named Jim Egan.

What? That made no sense to Cole. She wouldnt have known he was a cop. You said my father wasnt in uniform that day.

Thats right, I did.

Did he identify himself when he took the film away from her?

No, he didnt. Andrea identified him later on her own. She watched Jack Ruby shoot Lee Harvey Oswald on television and saw your father in the background. He was in uniform when they were bringing Oswald out. Andrea recognized his face after she had seen the killing replayed a few times on television. She said she waited after recognizing him before she came forward because she was certain he must have passed the film on to the proper people. However, when nothing came out about the film in the press, she decided to follow up.

But in all the books and accounts of that day you never hear about this, Cole pointed out. I mean, theres the airman on leave from Alaska who claimed to have a camera confiscated and

And several others, Smith interrupted. I know. But this story remained under wraps, primarily because no one believed Andrea, not even the few reporters who heard about it. Your father adamantly denied her accusation about taking the camera, and she was acting mysterious. She gave her permanent address as a Dallas hotel, and she wasnt willing to produce any identification proving who she was. It was a simple case of believing a man who had a good, though brief, reputation as a law officer over a woman who seemed to be trying to generate her fifteen minutes of fame.

But she wasnt lying, Cole said defiantly.

Smith pressed his tongue in the gap between his teeth again, then smacked his lips. Apparently not. A strange expression came over his face. But how did you know your father confiscated the film from someone? He could have gotten it any number of ways.

Cole was hesitant to reveal too much. But Bennett Smith was providing answers to questions he had wondered about for many years and he didnt want the information flow to stop. At the end of the Dealey Tape

Thats what you call it? Smith interrupted again.

Cole nodded.

Incredible. Smith shook his head, reached across the table and slapped Cole on the shoulder.

Cole grinned. What?

Your father was always naming things too. He named his gun, his badge, his boots. It didnt matter what it was. He named everything. Smith sat back down on the bench seat still chuckling. Go ahead, I interrupted you. I apologize.

Suddenly Cole liked Bennett Smith even though the man was a self-described professional assassina claim Cole did not doubt for a moment. While he took actions many would not approve of, the man gave the impression he could convince anyone that honorable men had to commit unsavory acts to ensure the security of a republic. Smith indeed had killed the woman on Thirty-ninth Street in cold blood, but she had been about to pull a trigger herself. Smith had saved his life and that was reason enough to like him.

Its okay, Cole said. At the end of the Dealey Tape, after the limousine takes off and my mother Cole swallowed the words. My mother. It sounded strange now that he was beginning to get to know her, even if she was dead and the familiarity was coming through a conduit. Sorry. He glanced at Smith.

Its all right. Smith wasnt a sentimental man, but he could understand what Cole was going through.

Cole coughed, then continued. As I was saying, the tape goes black for a second, then my fathers face appears. Its fuzzy, but its obviously him. Then the tape goes black again. I guess his face appears because hes about to take the camera from my mother.

Smith whistled through his missing tooth. Jim really had the tape all these years. You know, that was another one of his traits. He could keep information to himself and tell no one, not even his best friend. Smith performed his reconnaissance once more, then looked back at Cole. But you said what was in the safe-deposit box was a tape, not a film.

Yes. I played it on a VCR at Gilchrist right after I picked it up from the Chase branch.

Then at some point your father must have made a copy, film to tape, and probably enhanced it in the process.

He must have, Cole agreed.

Smiths eyes narrowed. That means the original film could still be out there.

I guess. Cole wasnt interested in a film he had zero likelihood of recovering, and he didnt want Smith distracted from the revelations he was yielding. What happened to my mother after that?

Smith seemed to be still pondering the fate of the original film.

Hey. Cole banged the table with his hand.

Huh? Oh, sorry. Smith rubbed his eyes for a moment. It was the strangest thing. She went to a few reporters to try to stir up interest in her story, but they had already written her off as a fraud, as someone trying to cash in on what had happened. She kind of faded from the picture pretty quickly. And initially your father claimed to hate her. He said she was a rumormonger and a liar. I actually believed him, and why wouldnt I? Smith laughed. Then about two weeks later I found out that Jim and Andrea were dating. A week after that they were married. The first I knew was when he left our apartment and explained that he was moving in with Andrea. I thought I was going to have to pay the rent myself, but even though he moved out, he kept paying it. Of course, that was your father. If he made a deal, he kept his side of the bargain no matter what. He always said that all you really had in life was your reputation. And he was right.

My father married Andrea Sage even after she had gone to the police and said he had taken the film from her? Cole asked.

Yes.

Thats bizarre.

It is, and it gets even stranger.

How?

I really shouldnt tell you this.

Come on, Cole urged.

Still Smith hesitated.

Please, Bennett. It was the first time Cole had addressed Smith by his first name. I need to know.

I know you do, he said, glancing toward the Lassiter. The sun was well above the horizon and its bright rays were setting the rivers surface ablaze. What say we get going? Id appreciate the chance to paddle downstream with you. We can keep talking on the river.

Cole nodded slowly. Okay.

The Colombian boy was only twelve years old. He was thin, with a thick mop of straight blue-black hair, and wore nothing but a filthy pair of ragged shorts and muddy Nike basketball shoes. But his skin was a deep brown, so the strong tropical sun didnt burn his chest or back.

Commander Magee broke into a slow trot as the boy darted ahead of him on the narrow jungle path. They had been hiking for more than two hours and Magee was beginning to wonder if the thirty dollars he had pressed into the boys grimy palm were going to bear fruit. How much farther? Magee yelled in Spanish to his young guide. Magee was fluent in Spanish, French, German and Russian.

No too long way to there, the boy replied in broken English. He smiled back at the gringo. It was the first time he had used the mans native tongue.