11/22/63

“You bet. I knew it was important, because as soon as I heard, I knew you’d be under suspicion.”

“I think I’ll be all right,” I said, “but you need to open my briefcase and… do you have an incinerator?”

“Yes, behind the garage.”

“There’s a blue notebook in the briefcase. Put it in the incinerator and burn it. Will you do that for me?” And for Sadie. We’re both depending on you.

“Yes. I will. Jake, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“And I’m sorry for yours. Yours and Miz Ellie’s.”

“It’s not a fair trade!” he burst out. “I don’t care if he is the president, it’s not a fair trade!”

“No,” I said. “It’s not. But Deke… it wasn’t just about the president. It’s about all the bad stuff that would have happened if he had died.”

“I guess I have to take your word for that. But it’s hard.”

“I know.”

Would they have a memorial assembly for Sadie at the high school, as they had for Miz Mimi? Of course they would. The networks would send camera crews, and there wouldn’t be a dry eye in America. But when the show was over, Sadie would still be dead.

Unless I changed it. It would mean going through everything again, but for Sadie I’d do that. Even if she took one look at me at the party where I’d met her and decided I was too old for her (although I would do my best to change her mind about that). There was even an upside: now that I knew Lee really had been the lone gunman, I wouldn’t have to wait so long to dispatch his sorry ass.

“Jake? Are you still there?”

“Yes. And remember to call me George when you talk about me, okay?”

“No fear there. I may be old, but my brains still work pretty well. Am I going to see you again?”

Not if Agent Hosty tells me what I want to hear, I thought.

“If you don’t, it’s because things are working out for the best.”

“All right. Jake… George… did she… did she say anything at the end?”

I wasn’t going to tell him what her final words had been, that was private, but I could give him something. He would pass it on to Ellie, and Ellie would pass it on to all Sadie’s friends in Jodie. She’d had many.

“She asked if the president was safe. When I told her he was, she closed her eyes and slipped away.”

Deke began to cry again. My face was throbbing. Tears would have been a relief, but my eyes were as dry as stones.

“Goodbye,” I said. “Goodbye, old friend.”

I hung up gently and sat still for quite some time, watching the light of a Dallas sunset fall red through the window. Red sky at night, sailor’s delight, the old saying has it… but I heard another rumble of thunder. Five minutes later, when I had myself under control, I picked up my debugged phone and once again dialed 0. I told Marie I was going to lie down, and asked for an eight-o’clock wake-up call. I also asked her to put a do-not-disturb on the phone until then.

“Oh, that’s already taken care of,” she said excitedly. “No incoming calls to your room, orders from the police chief.” Her voice dropped a register. “Was he crazy, Mr. Amberson? I mean, he must have been, but did he look it?”

I remembered the cheated eyes and daemonic snarl. “Oh, yes,” I said. “He certainly did. Eight o’clock, Marie. Nothing until then.”

I hung up before she could say anything else. Then I took off my shoes (getting free of the left one was a slow and painful process), lay down on the bed, and put my arm over my eyes. I saw Sadie dancing the Madison. I saw Sadie telling me to come in, kind sir, did I like poundcake? I saw her in my arms, her bright dying eyes turned up to my face.

I thought about the rabbit-hole, and how every time you used it there was a complete reset.

At last I slept.

9

Hosty’s knock came promptly at nine. I opened up and he ambled in. He carried a briefcase in one hand (but not my briefcase, so that was still all right). In the other was a bottle of champagne, the good stuff, Moët et Chandon, with a red, white, and blue bow tied around the neck. He looked very tired.

“Amberson,” he said.

“Hosty,” I responded.

He closed the door, then pointed to the phone. I took the bug from my pocket and displayed it. He nodded.

“There are no others?” I asked.

“No. That bug is DPD’s, and this is now our case. Orders straight from Hoover. If anyone asks about the phone bug, you found it yourself.”

“Okay.”

He held up the champagne. “Compliments of the management. They insisted I bring it up. Would you care to toast the President of the United States?”

Considering that my beautiful Sadie now lay on a slab in the county morgue, I had no interest in toasting anything. I had succeeded, and success tasted like ashes in my mouth.

“No.”

“Me, either, but I’m glad as hell he’s alive. Want to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I voted for him. I may be the only agent in the whole Bureau who did.”

I said nothing.