Читать книгу The Day John Fitzgerald Kennedy Past - Welby Thomas Cox Jr. - Страница 7

Darian Welch is in a room surrounded by books, the room of documents, the room of theories and dreams. He is in the fourth of five extended contract periods, each lasting for five years. He knows his way around and he often wonders if he is becoming moribund. Age is creeping in, his memory is failing him and there is an issue with his right hand, the hand that is so creative...is it carpal tunnel or something more serious. It is, he believes, an insidious function of his job.

A job that will not permit him to file for disability, even though, he can no longer concentrate on the research and must return often to plowed ground. He wonders over these tended fields that give reason to speculation and compromise on solutions.

Naps become essential... on a sofa, in a chair, even standing at a book shelf. This "safe house" where he has grown old, only the books, only the walls know that his career is over.

But Welch knows where most everything is in the system; any file on any of the shelves is within his reach. The place is a tornado to the uninformed, cassette tapes, yellow pads are to be found on every shelf. The books for research cover all but one wall, all the tables and even the floor is a solid mass of research. There are confidential documents in file cabinets which go back to the beginning of time for the agency. Fire is a major concern. There is no formal system except for the design of the curator; Merwin Hamilton wakes with a jolt, wondering if he is at home...and if not where is he?

He is terrified now by the enormity of the job...this mill of dynamic aggression has him by the throat and he is chocking in despair. He lies in the research...and the casualty of all of the lives that have been impacted by it.

Welch knows the importance of the curator, his man Merwin Hamilton, whom he calls Bob Crachet...fills his orders. Hamilton, though he is just thirty something has been with the company straight out of college, for about eight years and a lot goes down in that time.

Welch has found that this is a unique man who never forgets and lives for the agency. He is not only dependable but is reconciled over his dedication to returning the precise research request... a man like this makes you look good and Welch knew it.

It wasn't just the proper documents... nor even an obtuse remark or opinion by a marked suspect. The Curator brings him the confidential research that no one outside the company at Langley...research that is so sensitive, including the results of internal investigations and files from the Agencies own Office of Security.

Welch lays back in his Italian leather recliner...the senior analyst for the Central Intelligence Agency reflecting on his extended contract which requires him to write the secret history of the assassination of President John Fitzgerald Kennedy on November 22, 1963.

In just six point nine seconds of the heat and light from three shots from an ancient weapon (call a meeting to analyze the blur) or devote Agency lives to understanding the moment, separating the elements of each crowded second and in the sequence the frame by frame photo of the lives of those in Dilley Plaza on that fateful day.

The team will build theories that gleam like stainless steel from the overpass on Elm, intriguing systems of assumptions. They will follow the bullet trajectories backwards to the lives that occupy the shadows, actual people who moan in their dreams. Elm Street, a woman is crying and wondering why she is sitting on the grass with brains and blood-spray on her new blouse. Tenth Street, a witness leaves her shoes on the hood of a bleeding police officer's car. Strangeness, Welch believes, that is solemn cry of the day.

There is much here that is divine, an aberration in the midst of reality...let us get a hold on this moment in history...Welch knows that his Merwin will make him look good.

He enters a date on his computer, one the agency has provided for the sake of convenience and security and the ease of tracking. The names appear at once with all pertinent detail.

The skies are endless, and the sun provides shade along the street of stately homes caressed by giant oaks. Welch knows that his bonus provided by the company’s primary benefactor, known only by his code name "Skipper" will serve him well in early retirement.