Saving Camelot Part Nine!

I just realized the last two parts I posted were in black font. That has been corrected and you can go read those parts now!

We both stare at each other from across the kitchen table. Neither of us have spoken a single word since my arrival to his apartment almost ten-or was it 20-minutes ago.

It is funny how this chaotic mess Victoria and I have found ourselves in has brought me right back to square one.

At least he has yet to launch into his usual tirade about me being a Soviet Spy. We are making some progress here.

"Jarrod called," he finally said, breaking the tense silence between the two of us.

"Oh," I say casually. I want him to be the one leading the conversation if there is any chance of me gaining his help for the next part of this mission.

"He said nothing other than to listen to what you have to say, and that you are telling the truth about whatever you are about to tell me".

Great, this won't be easy then.

Another long, pregnant pause follows as we both continue to stare at each other. The vintage (or not, considering where I am) clock ticks the seconds in an almost annoying loud fashion.

"Well, say your peace, or get out," the man says gruffly across from me. I can't help but smile at his usual attitude coming through.

"I am from the future," no response there. Not even a raised eyebrow. I take that as a sign that I should continue.

"We were recruited by the American government, not the Soviets, to stop the assassination of JFK that is supposed to take place when he visits Dallas for a campaign stop around four months from now".

Another pregnat pause. I wish he would have more of a readable expression. A rock would have more life than Nick Barkley.

"Sooo," he finally says, letting out the 'so' like a breath of oxygen. "You are a spy, just not for the Commies".

The tiniest of smiles flash across my face, relieved that I am apparently getting through to him and pushing aside all forms of question as to why he should be believing me in the first place. I mean, the fact of me being a spy for the Soviets would be easier to believe than the fact I was sent from the future to stop the JFK assassination.

"Kind, or, well actually yes. I have gathered intel though that suggest the Kremlin will possibly be the ones behind the assassination".

"The Kremlin, eh," for as loud and boisterous as Nick was when I first met him, he is being awfully quiet now, lost in thought I suppose.

"Being an investigative journalist, your brothers say you will be able to help me spy and gather intel on the people involved".

"Sure, sure, anything to take a crack at the Kremlin".

The silence that follows kills me and my impatience begins to show. What comes out of my mouth next though has  nothing to do with the case I am working.

"Why do you believe me? After going for so many days of thinking I was a Soviet spy!? Why bother? I would not believe myself?"

I mentally kick myself. Me and my big, snippy mouth.

He finally looks at me, his expression serious. "Cause the government kinda, shall we say abducted my brothers and I from the past. About 97 years from the past to be exact".

The manor of which he says this is so non-coincidental, almost casual and nonchalant that I have to believe him.

What is the government trying to do?

Saving Camelot Part Eight

“It is the real bona fide deal all right. With all the potential for terms to be negotiated for both sides that would easily be passed here at home and agreeable to the Soviet officials”.

Heath finally chimes in. “Why now? What do the Russians want that make them want to propose peace with the United States?”

“You have the KGB too,” I add. “How could it be in their best interests to agree with something like this?”

“What if it is not?” Tory ponders aloud. “What if this really is just an elaborate scheme to incapacitate the President?”

I nod along with her. “That would make the most sense”.

“Where do we go to prove this though?” Jarrod asks, looking directly at me. “You are basically doubly undercover right now. That will complicate things when it comes to keeping an eye on both Johnson and Hoover at once”.

“That Is why I want Heath to tail Hoover. You have more access to places he is liable to be found at,” Heath merely nods his head in acquiescence in Agent’s direction.

“You Jasmine will keep an eye on Johnson, while Tory will stay at the White Hose as much as possible in order to keep an eye on the president and his safety”.

I bite my lip, earning yet another disapproving glare from Tory. I swear she is more like a mother and less like a big sister at times. As much as I hate to admit it, this new plan by Agent is good. The only question is whether we can gather enough intelligence quickly enough to stop the assassination from happening in November. That put us in a bit of a crunch for time, but it is not like Tory and I have done more difficult tasks and succeeded in the 21st century.

I finally nodded. “Okay, let’s do this. There is only one thing..”

“Nick?” both Heath and Jarrod say. Victoria only smirks.

“We were thinking we may actually recruit him on this one, though it may be hard to believe, with his background he could be useful,” Agent said.

Jarrod nodded, but was quick to add “Only if absolutely necessary”.

“You seriously think he will believe the truth?” I almost roll my eyes at the thought.

“Now we have tied the Soviets to this, quite possibly,” Heath mused. “Though it still will take a lot”.

I sigh, not wanting to even think about the prospect of Mr. Paranoid helping me out with this case. Taking a last handful of golden brown, utterly delicious French fries, I stand and make my move to leave.

“Gentlemen, it has been a pleasure, but as it has been a long day and will be bound to be a equally lengthy one tomorrow, I believe I will go to get some rest”.

The men around the table nod and say their goodnights. Tory stands to embrace me, whispering a promise to find somewhere quiet to talk soon.

I then make my way out of the hazy bar and out into the night street. Bur, as I make my way to my apartment, I cannot help but wondering if this whole assignment really is futile.

After all, can one really change the past?

Saving Camelot Part Seven

Later that night, I found myself in a smoky back room of a place I would never in a million years think of frequenting had I actually been born in this era. But, it’s the only place we can actually meet discreetly without drawing too much attention to ourselves here in the city.

“This does not make any sense,” Jarrod the attorney had joined us and was currently pacing back and forth, puffing at a cigarette like a man trying to make sense of facts that quite frankly did not make sense to begin with.

“Kennedy will have to have the support of the Senate if any kind of treaty is to be ratified between the US and the Russians. With Johnson figuratively the leader of the senate, he could very easily stir up opposition to this movement if he and Hoover were so against it in the meeting”.

“Would that not run a high likelihood of Jack Kennedy giving Johnson the boot on the ’64 ticket if that were the case?” Tory comments dryly, her feet kicked up on a blue upholstered chair that has frankly looked like it has seen better days. She looks more than tired. There is something in her features that give a worn down, almost sad air to her. Since this whole mess has begun I had not really had the chance to have a private talk with her. I wanted to see how she was holding up working like a dog as housekeeper, what she thought of our mission, and most importantly, how was she holding up to the racist strongholds of the era. But, it was because of these strongholds that I almost could not meet with her without the risk of being caught. Even in Washington there were harsh laws enforced for crossing the lines of segregation. How anyone in America back in this time could be so hateful is beyond me.

“You know Kennedy needs Johnson if he has a fat chance in Texas in ’64,” Heath chimed in, munching on a basket of crispy (and surprisingly good) deep fried wedges.

“But what if he has another running mate up his sleeve, like, say, his brother?” I wonder aloud, taking another handful of golden brown wedges from the basket.

“Then how do you suppose the re-election to be really in the bank for the President with the country almost equally divided in proportion to those who both love and hate the Kennedy brothers?” Jarrod counters, sparing me a glance.

Heath still has yet to say a word about any of this, merely following the conversation while picking up another handful of fries.

“Sorry I am late,” the grey haired man who calls himself agent enters the room. The air of seeming significance he gives off around his person irritates the heck out of me. I have come to like both Jarrod and Heath (nosey middle brother of theirs aside) but I simply cannot stand this guy.

I can tell that Tory has been reading my mind with the look she sends me, almost reapproaching and warning me not to go off with my sarcastic mouth as I usually do. I just can’t help myself though. It is too much ingrained in my personality.

“Oh, nice to see you care so much about this break that you leave us waiting in a nicotine enhanced barroom”.

Tory glares. Jarrod raises an eyebrow. Heath Almost smirks.

Agent does not seem affected by my remark. I think he has gotten used to me to the point where he is willing to let my remarks slide. Kind of a wonder when you consider the gender stereotypes of this time.

“I wanted to check out the credibility of this offer form Krusev with informants I have inside the Soviet government”.

“And?” both Jarrod and Tory say at once, Jarrod stopping his pacing and Tory sitting up a little straighter as they both lean in to face Agent.

Saving Camelot Part Six

A/N: "I will keep up with this blog, "bangs head on table". Anyway, Kennedy is finished! Here is part six. Very short I know but it has Nick in it for all your BV fans. By the way, happy NaNoWriMo! Who all is doing NaNoWriMo and what are your projects? A Christian romance/drama is mine!
It’s easy enough to blend into my surroundings. Pennsylvania avenue, the street where the White House is located, is a buzz of activity. Literally no one on this street works regular 9-5 hours, as most work for the executive office in some fashion. It makes my job more easy as I tail Johnson and Hoover, being sure to keep just enough distance so that they do not notice me, and prepare to round the corner they have only recently disappeared on when..

“Dang!” I run head first into none other than Mr. Paranoid himself.

“Just where do you think you are going?” his voice booms, making me cringe.

“Home,” I respond, trying not to let his tone rile me as I glance around the corner. Too late for anything now.

“Well you seem to be in an awful hurry for someone just heading home after a day of work,” Nick crosses his muscular arms in front of him. I briefly wonder how he was able to get in the shape he is in for only being an investigative reporter, but I immediately push that thought aside.

“Look, can you please just let me pass, I had to work late and I am hungry,” a little white lie mixed with a truth, but what could it hurt?

“Not until you tell me what the FBI chief and Vice President were doing acting all chummy coming out of the White House just now. I know my brother’s set you up with a job there. Tell me what you know”.

Now it is my turn to narrow my eyes at him. “You are an investigative journalist! Find out yourself!”

“Maybe I will! I can always wheedle information out of Heath over a game of pool and a few beers,” he leans in closer to me, jabbing a finger into my face. “I am still watching you.”

“Yea, I’ll bet,” I mutter under my breath as Nick disappears around the corner where Johnson and Hoover turned. I chew my lower lip, and then make a beeline in the opposite direction toward my apartment. There is nothing more I can do tonight since I lost the two men. May as well go home and get some rest.

Saving Camelot Part Five

I glance absently around the oval office, unconsciously tugging at my skirt. I have always hated wearing skirts, and the fact that they practically a fashion staple in the 1960s makes my undercover work just that much more uncomfortable.

A pad and pen are both carefully balanced on my knee, as I anxiously wait for the president, his brother, and Lyndon B. Johnson and J. Edgar Hoover to enter.

Focus, I tell myself. I will never pick up on everything if I am distracted as I am.

The doorknob turns, and four gentleman, all of whom hold significant power in the country, enter the office that contained so much of our nation's history.

"I am telling you, Jack, this new initiative will do all the more to help push your re-election next year," I hear Bobby Kennedy, the Attorney General, say.

"Mr. President, if I may object, tracking down major crime lords and members of the Mafia will only put an additional burden on the precinct captains in districts you need to carry in order to be able to win in 64," Hoover objects.

"Gentleman," the president turns to the three other men. "Let's have a seat and a cup of coffee before we start to discuss the issues here".

The three other men eye each other, then somewhat grudgingly sit down in the semi-circle of couches. The president himself gradually lowers himself into his rocker, tailor-made especially for his many back issues.

As if on que, Tory enters the room, carrying a steaming pot of coffee along with five mugs. As she serves us, I notice Johnson acutely studying my sister in a way that makes me feel uncomfortable.

"Miss," he speaks up in his southern drawl. "What is your name".

"Victoria Thompson, sir," Victoria answers smoothly, not at all phased as she continues to pour the coffee.

"Victoria, what is your view on the Civil Rights movement?" Johnson prompts as he accepts a cup of coffee from her.

"Well, I suppose it would be nice for people of my kind to gain equal rights to vote and such, but all in good time," Tory hands me a cup of coffee, and quickly takes her place at the back of the room, near where the President is sitting.

"You see, Mr. President," Lyndon turned back toward Jack, "Maybe we should be focusing our   efforts in the Civil Rights movement and not tracking down members of the mafia as your brother here has proposed".

The President is thoughtful. Bobby is scowling in Lyndon's direction and Hoover is smirking in an eerie display of glee.

 "Jack, as much as I would like to see the civil rights movement achieve some success, you will  lose most of the southern states in the election with or without Johnson here on the ticket if you make the push too soon," his brother counters.

Johnson glares in the Attorney General's direction. Lyndon has an active dislike for both of the Kennedy brothers. Yet if it is one thing I have learned so far here is that both Bobby and Lyndon have it out for each other. One would probably not hesitate to arrange to kill the other, if they could make it untraceable that is.

"Gentlemen," a very distinct Bostonian accent breaks in. "Like it or not the issue with the crime lords is not why I requested your presence here this evening".

Bobby's eyebrows shoot up, and Hoover and Johnson immediately shut up. Obviously this is bound to be something new for all three of them.

Kennedy slowly withdraws a letter from his suit jacket. I resist the urge to look over at the address, knowing I would be too obvious. It is with some relief that I note Tory happens to have positioned herself within reading distance of the envelope, without seeming to be suspicious. On glance is all I need to tell me that her eyes are indeed skimming the front.

"This here is from Mr. Khrushchev himself, with a personal offer of peace beginning with each of our respective sides de-mobilizing".

Bobby has immediately snatched the letter from his brother's outstretched hand, not bothering to wait for him to finish.

"If we can negotiate a treaty with the Soviets, we can end these brewing hostilities between our two great countries, along with the threat of potential total annihilation of mankind itself with nuclear warheads".

"We don't need peace with communists!" Hoover vehemently interjects. "Mr. President I have intelligence units located here in our very country stationed to take down spies that want to ruin our way of life!"

"Mr. President," Lyndon has leaned forward in his seat in a much more rationally calm manor, eerie considering his personality. "You must remember that the Senate will never approve any type of treaty leading to a mutual surrender in this arms race we have locked ourselves in. The only way anything will pass the Senate is if it results for greater losses of arsenal for the USSR than for ourselves. You remember good and well the Cuban missile crisis. We cannot trust the Soviets to do a dang thing when it comes to disarmament".

I had been furiously writing notes for the whole exchange, yet still trying to keep an eye out for body language and mannerisms at the same time. The quick glances I have managed to snatch in between my note-taking have told me that the President is not paying much attention at all to Johnson. Instead he is acutely studying his younger brother reading the letter, waiting for some sort of response.

Bobby finally glanced up, making eye contact with his big brother. "I think this is worth pursuing, providing we can arrange for terms that can assure a mutual disbarment".

"Son, you have got to be insane!"

Now there is the LBJ I have seen, I think as I try to contain a smirk.

"Not so much insane as you are to think a lopsided treaty is something the Soviets will really go for!"

 Bobby retorts, jumping from the sofa and flaunting the letter at Lyndon's face. Lyndon snatched the letter from his hands with a huff, sitting down next to Hoover to read the letter with Hoover looking over his shoulder.

A side glance at the President causes me to have to hide my amusement, as Kennedy has been casually sipping at his coffee for the whole exchange. I get why he had to choose Johnson as a running mate, but you had to have thick skin and a decent sense of humor set aside as well in order to be able to work with Johnson to begin with.

As Johnson and hoover finish pursuing the letter, the President finally speaks up, setting his mug of coffee down on an oak side table.

"I also agree with my brother that this is certainly something worth pursuing, regardless of the current terms. That is why I have invited Khrushchev here on a White House visit at the beginning of next month".

Johnson and Hoover both state at the President with looks of disbelief written on their faces, while Bobby is smirking at them in triumph.

"Well," Hoover stands, tossing the letter back to the president. "I do not see why Lyndon and I were so desperately needed here if all you were planning to do was this to begin with".

"Do what you want, Jack," Johnson adds with a snarl as he makes to join Hoover. "Just don't come crying when you lose the election in '64 for your mistake".

As the two men storm out of the room, Tory finally makes a move to clean up the discarded coffee cups while I stand and make my way out to the hall.

"Wait, Ms. Thompson," the president interjects, following me out into the hall.

"Yes, sir?" I turn abruptly, turning too abruptly, and almost send us both crashing to the floor. He settles his hand on my arm, and I try my best to ignore what implications the touch could have and do my best to not cringe away.

"I want you to follow them," his voice drops at a whisper. "I do not and cannot trust the either of them. Report back to me with any suspicious activity they may be involved in".

I nod quickly in understanding, and quickly make a move towards the White House exit. I will need to hurry to catch up least the two men get too far ahead of me.

Saving Camelot Part Four

A/N: So this part was close to 3,000 words originally. As I thought it was a little bit too big for a SINGLE blog post, I decided to split it up into multiple parts. So, the bad news is expect a cliffhanger of sorts. The good news is actually expect regular updates once a week on this story. ;)

Please keep in mind this part is more of a branch to really set this story in motion, though we do get introduced to a few more important key figures in this story.

For those of you who need some facts on the 1960s, it was of course a time of rampant racism and the height of the Civil Rights Movement. Lyndon B. Johnson, or LBJ for short, was Kennedy's Vice President while J. Edgar Hoover was the directer of the FBI.

Facts aside, enjoy the story and be sure to comment at the end!

I never thought going undercover as a secretary could be so, well, boring. All it has been so far is answering the telephone, dictating for the president, screening visitors, and organizing paperwork. You think I would discover some sort of lead behind the president's killer by now but no, nothing has turned up so far.

Despite the boring mundane nature of this undercover work so far, Victoria has had it worse than me. Being African-American, she has to investigate this case while dealing with the rampant racism that was still present in America during this era, or is STILL present in America during this era. Yet, this has also assisted her in getting a seemingly menial job that just so happens to make it very easy and convenient for her to eavesdrop. She is supposed to be in the background, no one will ever suspect her of anything.

I glance up at the clock as it chimes 5:00. Another day gone by, and we still are somewhat haplessly searching for a lead to who is behind the Kennedy assassination. I stand up, stretching, just when the door to the oval office opens.

"Mr. President!" I say, snapping to attention. I will consent to one thing, he has to be more handsome than all the photographs depict. Though he is just as much, if not more of a womanizer than all the books in the 21st century say, which makes me feel all the more sorry for Jackie.

"Relax, Ms. Wilson," he tells me with a smile. "I just came to ask if you would not mind staying to take notes on a meeting between my brother, Johnson, Hoover, and myself".

I blink once, this may be the breakthrough Victoria and I were waiting for. I have to hide my excitement as I answer the President. "Of course sir. I would be more than happy to stay".

"Great," he says with a small smile. "Go get yourself something to eat and be back by 6:30".

"Yes, sir," I say, heading off into the kitchen hoping to run into my sister on the way. I find Victoria sitting in the servants’ dining room next to the kitchen, sipping a hot cup of fragrant tea.

"Tory!" I hiss. "The president has asked me to stay to take notes on a meeting."

Her eyes meet mine over the teacup, waiting for me to continue.

"The meeting is between two people who probably hate the Kennedy brothers more than the Russians".

"LBJ and Hoover?" I can see that I now have finally caught Tory's interest.

"Yes."

Tory sets her teacup down on her saucer with a clank. "You have to listen for subtext Jaz. Listen and watch for body language. Follow those two men after the meeting if you can. This may be the biggest chance we have to find a lead".

I nod, time was ticking. It may be in fact the middle of July, 1963, but each and every day that passed without a lead brought us closer to the fateful day in November.

"I will try to see if I can serve at the meeting. It would be good to have two sets of ears at the meeting".

"Good luck," I tell her, knowing it has not been easy for her so far. She has faced nothing but grief from the white chief of household staff, all because she was black. On top of everything, she still has not quite bought the fact that we have really been thrown back in time as I have.

It would all be easier if we actually remembered what had happened to us right before we were thrown back in time. Apparently, according to Heath, the memory loss is all just a side effect of time travel. I wanted to question how he could possibly know this having been born in the past, but I decided that some things are better left unsaid at this point.

"What's cooking?" I ask her.

"Rosemary chicken and wild rice," Victoria tells me bluntly. "Do me a favor and bring me a plate too".

I nod, standing and heading for the kitchen. The black cook is an older women in her mid-fifties. She has a kind, grandmotherly like demeanor about her, and does not question Victoria and me frequently associating with each other.

"Hello, Miss Jasmine," she greets me with a smile.

"Claudia," I greet her with a smile and nod in return. "Tell me, what does one have to do to get a couple plates of your legendary chicken?"

Claudia smiles. "That kind of flattery will get you a taste of my cooking anytime, Miss Jasmine," she tells me with a smile, grabbing a couple of plates and dishing up our food.

I take the plates back to the servant's dining room with a smile, comforted by the fact that there are still a few kind people in what has turned out to be a harsh and cruel decade to be alive in.

Saving Camelot Part Three

I sigh as I am finally released from my confinement. I spent long enough in that interrogation room as it is. I scan the precinct bullpen, mildly noting that there were only technological differences that made it different from the 21^st century, with the clickity-clack of  a series of consecutive typewriters replacing the hums and clicks of computers. I wonder how they kept all the info, such as rap sheets and what not, on file back then.

I really need to stop thinking that I don’t belong here. It will not get me anywhere when it comes to tracing down Kennedy’s supposed killer. I am going to need to blend in with this old fashioned society to be able to work successfully.

Unfortunately, the first person I happen to lay eyes on is Mr. Paranoid himself. He glares at me, and I unflinchingly meet his gaze, trying not to smirk at the one small victory I achieved today.

“I cannot believe my brothers were stupid enough to let you go!” His voice booms through the precinct, causing more than a few heads to turn from their work.

“Look, we kind of got off on the wrong foot…” I begin

“Breaking into someone else’s apartment will.” He interrupts.

I sigh, frustrated and impatient by his loud, boisterous tone that tells me I will get nowhere by making amends.

“Look Nick,” the blond detective breaks in. “We told you that it was all a misunderstanding. We hired her to do some work for us and we gave her the wrong apartment number is all”.

“Work,” Nick scoffs, “You mean work by infiltrating the NYPD and taking all its secrets and weaknesses back to her motherland.”

Now this claim is so ridiculous, so preposterous, that I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing outright. Part of me wants to like this man called Nick. A very small part of me. The same small part of me that wants to like a certain writer who follows certain members of the NYPD around back in the century I belong.

“We showed you her birth certificate!” Jarrod interjects coming in from behind me. She was born right here in New York the same as you, Heath and I.

“Well we will just see about that,” Nick responds, his voice calmer but still angry. “Ya don’t have to be from Russia to be a spy.”

He approaches me, jabbing a finger in my face. “I’m going to prove what you’re up to lady, you can be sure of that”.

As he walks away I feel my facial muscles stretch into a grin. It’s been a long time since I have met someone truly this entertaining.

The blonde detective, apparently named Heath, smiles back at me. “Well now, if you can handle my brother’s shenanigans then I don’t think you will have much trouble with the job ahead,” he tells me vaguely.

“How do you..?”

“Not here,” he stops me. “Wait till I take you to the sight, there at least some of your questions will be answered”.

"We will meet each other again, Detective. For now, you just follow my brother's lead," Jarrod says, gazing at me in a way of respect I have never quite seen.

I nod, once again making the choice to trust these strange men. “Lead the way.”

He escorts me down the precinct’s back stairwell, until we arrive at the parking lot down below the building.

“Unit three,” he tells me. I try not to totally geek out at the 1960s police cruiser, I must do my best to make sure I appear to be calm and professional.

I wordlessly slide into the passenger side, and as soon as he sleds in and makes himself comfortable we are off. We drive in silence, as I make a note of all the buildings and surroundings, noting the discrepancies between 1960s NYC and 2015 NYC.

After what seems like ages, we stop at what seems like the most obvious of locations, the Empire State Building.

“Quite the discreet location,” I remark, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.

“Sometimes it’s just better to hide in plain sight,” is all he responds with as he opens the driver's side door.

We enter the skyscraper, a monumental testament of progress for the city during the time it was created. I note Heath’s body language in the crowd and how he appears to be none too concerned, but his gaze is flirting to and fro looking for any sign of disturbance. I decide to fall back on my training and do the same for now, even though I really don’t know what I am looking for. 

I cannot help but feel a general sense of foreboding as the elevator begins to ascend the skyscraper. It is not as if I have not traced down countless number of killers by now. It's just, the very act of tracking down a killer of a murder that technically has, yet has not happened yet leaves me feeling uneasy, like there should be some sort of law against it somehow, someway.

The doors finally slide open with a ding to deposit us at an unknown floor, as I have not really cared to pay attention to the numbers as we ascended. The blonde detective, Heath is apparently his name, says not a word to be but gestures for me to follow him down a whitewashed hallway, past abandoned office after abandoned office. I wonder to myself about why they were going to such lengths to keep things secret. After all, would not making things just a little more public deter whomever may be planning to kill the president?

My thoughts grind to a halt however, as Heath opens one particular door to an abandoned office to let me in. I am immediately filled with relief as soon as I enter.

"Thank God you're ok!" Victoria exclaims, rushing to embrace me in one of her rare bone-crushing embraces. "As soon as I woke up this morning and did not know where you were or where I have been taken I..."

"Tory. Can’t...breathe!"

"Oh, sorry," she somewhat sheepishly lets me go. "We have a problem".

 "Of course we have a problem, we have to stop JFK's killer".

"That is not the problem".

 "Of course that is the problem! Within a few months..."

"Jasmine..."

  "...the president will be in Dallas and.."

 "Jasmine..."

 "....Lee Harvey Oswald will be the one to fire the shot and, well..."

 "Jasmine!"

 "What!"

"Do you not comprehend the fact that we don't belong in this decade!?"

 "Well?"

"We have bigger problems than stopping the murder of a president who has already been dead for fifty years! We have to..."

 "Not to worry, Captain, Detective," a familiar voice breaks in from behind us. "As soon as the work here is done you both will be sent back to the same moment as when you left in the year of 2015".

 "Now why should we bother to help you?" Victoria asked as she spun around to face the man who obviously was the voice on the phone earlier.

 "For the good of the country, that’s why," the man replied evenly, not in the slightest bit phased by Victoria’s tone.

"Now we don't know your name, how do you expect us to trust you?" I ask cynically.

"You shouldn’t," Heath, who has been silent for this whole exchange, tells us. "With the nature of the work you two are about to undertake you should not take the risk of trusting anyone, not even us".

 The grey-haired man smiled. "What Heath is trying to say is that in this investigation, anyone and everyone is a suspect. As for my name, you can just address me as agent".

Now it was my turn to be infuriated. "Agent!" I exclaim. "What are you, some sort of masochistic..."

"Hardly, Detective Wilson," agent responds, raising an eyebrow. "I respect both sexes equally for what they each are capable of".

 "And that is..."

 "Okay enough!" Victoria snaps, sending me a scathing look. "Now is not the time to argue about the roles of men and women. We need to get back to business here".

I glance back at Heath, who is suppressing a smirk. That blonde detective has been too quiet so far for my liking, and I don't trust anyone that quiet.

 "Okay," I say with a sigh, resigned to the work ahead. "So the obvious place to start with is Lee Harvey Oswald".

"We already brought him in thanks to his suspicious soviet ties and questioned him," Heath counters. "We have every reason to believe he is innocent".

"Well, Detective!" I snap. "Who do you think is behind this?"

"We suspect either LBJ, the Soviet Union, perhaps a combination of both," the grey-haired man answers for him.

I  immediately fall silent, chewing my lip as I process this information. There are a lot of conspiracies floating around out there on Kennedy's murder. If we don't know for sure who killed Kennedy, and we only have three months to work, then I suppose...

Victoria looks at me, drawing the same conclusion as I have just come to. "Looks like we are about to get intimate with the most powerful family in the nation".

Yup, this investigation is only gonna get weirder.