The One Who Shouldn't Be Alive

Chapter Five: Unyielding

"Surely you understand, Mister Kennedy that I, as the leader of the good people of Cuba, cannot allow such a state of economic hardship to continue on without end," Fidel Castro grumbled from his point at the table some several hours later. He had gotten to his feet, lighting a new cigar. Kennedy stood as well, and I followed suit along with the two previously seated members of our security detail. "Your proposition is not only ill-conceived but also ill-considered. At the moment, although Mister Khruschev has withdrawn much of our pre-agreed-upon assistance, he has not withdrawn entirely. What you are offering benefits the United States and only the United States, and this is very obvious to myself and my advisors alike."

It was sudden, but when found myself caught in the harsh, calculating gaze of the foreign dictator, an instinctive feeling of dread settled into the pit of my stomach. I resisted the urge to cling to the tall man beside me for the second time during the meeting, crossing my arms over my chest instead. Fidel dropped my gaze at last and looked back to Kennedy.

"Yet, still you press onward, Mister Kennedy, convinced that what you say is true and that my deductions are false. It is no secret that your country seeks a strategic position within mine, and that such a position would be held in an attempt to intimidate the Soviets. You are as blinded by your desire to overtake Cuba and to remove me from power as is the female impostor at your side to the fact that her hastily concocted attempt on my life was discovered nearly two hours ago."

In a flurry of motion and sound, the four Secret Service agents had made a barricade around myself and the President, guns drawn and pointing threateningly at Castro and his own guards. Nobody fired, a fact for which I was grateful, but I sensed it wouldn't take much to change the tides. Castro, shoving through his guards to stand before them, the cigar still poking from his lips, laughed.

"I'll take this as an admission of guilt," he chuckled coldly, and then, before anyone could have hoped to change the outcome, four shots were fired.

Four men fell dead.

John Kennedy and myself stood in the center of the circle of our agents' bodies as, from behind us, three more men entered the room. My gut wrenched and my heart skipped several beats as I recognized the one unarmed man who stood between the others who bore semi-automatic rifles the likes of which I had not yet seen in 1964.

It was George de Mohrenschildt.

Inwardly, I considered what it would take for me to retrieve the tiny, nearly insignificant pistol I had been permitted to keep on my person in the case of an emergency such as this. I knew the President possessed one as well, hidden in the confines of his expensive suit. As de Mohrenschildt and Castro exchanged greetings, I slipped my hand lower with the intent to pull the weapon.

A cold, clammy hand gripped the crook of my elbow and I froze as John Kennedy stilled my movements and whispered imperceptibly into my ear, "Don't."

My eyes darted in his direction though I could not see him from my vantage point. I cried out when one of the burly men who had entered with de Mohrenschildt grabbed me from behind in a bear hug while one of Castro's men bound and gagged me. I kicked and managed to land one foot in the sensitive area between the Cuban guard's legs, but he recovered quickly. President Kennedy received a similar treatment when they tied his hands behind his back, minus the kick to the groin, though he took their actions almost graciously. I was uncertain whether it was training or experience that allowed him to stay so calm but, regardless, I didn't like it one bit.

The burly man, evidently not desiring to be kicked as had the Cuban guard, picked me up and draped me over his shoulder while the other guards took Kennedy by the upper arms and directed him out the door in front of us. A man stayed behind him with a pistol held behind his head. In my chest, my heart was beating erratically. I wanted to scream, but it was impossible with the cloth shoved between my teeth. Kennedy's life was at risk again. Again.