"A man who doesn't look or sound like an assassin is what was needed that day. But then, a very good assassin is rarely a person who sticks out like a sore thumb, is he?" Heller said.

Chapter 9

He'd been living in a state of constant anxiety for the last few months waiting for today to arrive, and his guts told him just how tense he felt right now, whether he wanted to believe it or not. He was funny like that, his guts always gave away if he was nervous, no matter how icy cold he looked on the outside.

Everything had been planned with military precision, but there was still the chance something would go wrong. If this blew up in his face, he'd be lucky to get a firing squad. If today didn't work out, then a lot of people were going to be named, shamed, and thrown in prison for the rest of their days if they were lucky. If they were unlucky, they’d face a firing squad or a hangman’s noose. That just added to the ball of anxiety building up in his stomach right now. He felt like he wanted to puke, but there was no way he could break away from the timetable he was on. He swallowed the anxiety and the vomit down. No time to be scared. There was only time to move and get in position, nothing else.

The plaza had been sealed off to traffic for hours beforehand, so he'd made his way along the railway tracks nearby. Even if he had met anyone near the old tracks, the hobo clothes he was wearing would make damned sure no one got too close to figure out what he looked like. The promise of the smell of stale urine was enough to keep all but the nosiest sonofabitch well away from him.

There was a strong police presence here, but the vast majority of them had been bought or were co-conspirators just dressed as cops. The rest of the real boys in blue had been positioned well away from where the action was going to take place; far enough away to make sure they couldn't do anything, or change what was about to happen.

He scanned the area around him for any potential witnesses but no one stood out. Not that it mattered anyway, there were already plans in place to discredit anyone who saw anything they weren't meant to. If discrediting them didn't work, then there were other messier solutions available.

He checked his watch, it was just gone midday. Time to get ready. He picked up the pace just a touch - no point in missing the big day, eh?

Rounding a rusting freight car sitting on the tracks, he almost walked through his "handler". A brief glance later and his automatic rifle was passed to him in a soft case. He let the case swing down by his side as casually as he could. Big movements attract attention, so he made everything he did as mundane as possible. The Savage automatic rifle was a good choice, or at least the ZR Rifle guys seemed to love them, so he figured that made them as good a choice as any.

The Savage didn't take much assembly, and the scope had already been zeroed in. He gave it a quick check to be certain, but he also knew there were other shooters out there that day. No need for a silencer they told him, although he still wasn't crazy about that idea. People in this part of the world weren't stupid, and he was pretty sure someone was going to see the smoke, if they didn't see the muzzle flash.

12:28pm. No more waiting.

He carefully rested the rifle on top of the fence in front of him, hiding as much of the barrel as he could. He noticed then that everyone was facing away from him, looking to where Kennedy would be showing up, so he could have been pointing a bazooka over the fence and he doubted anyone would have noticed it.

12.29pm. The motorcade was very close now, he could hear the police escort bikes.

He buried the butt of the rifle in his shoulder, leveled his eye with the sight, and waited.

Kennedy's car came into view, slowing as it turned the corner into the plaza. This was a turkey shoot. He couldn't miss if he tried.

William Heller inhaled slowly, focusing all his attention on his target. He aimed for the upper center mass on Kennedy's body.

He exhaled slowly and gently pulled the trigger. What feeling goes through a sniper when they hit their target? Recoil. That’s about it though. It’s an emotionless exercise. It could be shooting tin targets at a fair for all that it’s worth in terms of emotional response.

A split second later, he fired his second round, and while everyone was still screaming and running around, he'd already handed his weapon to his handler, changed jackets, and was leaving Dealey Plaza behind him.

He knew he’s changed history today, but he hoped he'd changed it for the better.

Chapter 10

The car engine idled. Jason realized that the indicators were still clicking away in the background. He'd lost track of how long he'd been sitting like this, but the pain in his back and neck assured him it had been a lot longer than he might have thought. He turned around and sat back down in the driver's seat, staring out at the rain spattering on the road and pavement outside.

He realized that there was nothing actually going on his head right at that point in time. It was like someone had kicked his mind into neutral, and it was going to take another kick to get it started again. He felt Heller quietly watching him, analyzing every single twitch. What exactly do you say to a man like Heller? At first, listening to the old man's tale had been more about morbid curiosity than anything else, but his story rang truer the longer he listened to it. He described everything in such detail, but then, most crazy people did. Didn’t they?

He figured this was probably what severe mental shock feels like. It was unpleasant because you feel frozen to the spot, numbed to anything around you. He’d felt like that once before in his life, and it wasn’t a feeling he wanted to experience again anytime soon. It made you feel less than human.

He turned around to get a look at Heller. "I'll be honest that I don't know what to say at this point. I think I'll just get you to where you want to be, if that’s okay with you.” Jason wasn’t asking a question as much as telling the old man how this was going down, and Heller didn't respond except with a curt nod, which basically said, "Do whatever the hell you want."

Jason turned around, plopped himself back down in his seat with a sigh, pulled away from the curb, and drove on into the night. He was hoping Brinkley Clinic was a lot closer than he remembered. He also hoped he'd be able to forget pretty much everything this old man had just told him. Hearing stuff like this was what got you buried in the woods way out past Terlingua. The easiest way not to get buried in an unmarked grave is to keep your ears closed to anything people in power don’t want you to hear.

The rain outside was easing a little bit, but not enough to make a huge difference. Jason noticed that at least he could see a few meters ahead of him now, so he was able to relax a little bit. He didn’t want to think about anything his passenger had just told him, but he couldn’t help it. There was still every chance the old man was crazy and everything he said was a lie. There was also the chance that he was actually dying, that he had killed Kennedy, and now, Jason had the kind of insider knowledge that would put his life in danger if anyone ever found out. After all, as Heller had said, if they can kill a president, then some dumbass taxi driver wasn’t going to matter more to them any more than if they stood on an ant.

Jason was still lost in thoughts that were a mixture of wonder and panic when he heard the old man suddenly pipe up. "Stop the car please, driver.” Jason paid no attention. The old man raised his voice a little more. “Stop just here. STOP!"

The last "Stop!" was just a little south of an outright yell, so it caught Jason's attention big time. There was urgency behind it, and he knew it.