Destroyer 98 - Target of Opportunity by Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir

Author:Warren Murphy & Richard Sapir
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

In her office at ANC News Washington headquarters, Pepsie Dobbins was reviewing video of the past twenty-four hours of the network's Presidential coverage.

There was a lot of it. Virtually every step of the President's travels from the White House to the JFK Library in Boston was covered in excruciatingly boring detail. And that was only ANC footage.

The reason was simple. Ever since Dallas, the networks were determined to capture the next Presidential assassination on tape or film. One confiscable Zapruder film was enough. So whenever the President traveled, the press filmed every mile and rest stop. It was called "the body watch."

Thus, Pepsie had a virtually unbroken chain of film up until the chaos at the JFK Library, after which the press had become the frightened tail of a very desperate comet, and all footage after that consisted of white-faced reporters asking breathless questions of off-camera anchors and vice versa.

A full morning of reviewing footage revealed nothing significant.

"So why does the Director want footage?" she muttered to herself.

Buck Featherstone poked his head into the office and whispered, "There's some guy named Smith here wanting to see those tapes you're looking at."

"Did you say Smith?"

"I did."

"Did he say who he was with?"

"He flashed a Secret Service badge."

Pepsie frowned. "Probably not that Smith."

"Couldn't hurt to ask. He's coming this way."

Pepsie grabbed her minicassette recorder off her desk, thumbed the Record button and dropped it into a desk drawer, which she did not close.

A gaunt-faced man with white hair stepped in and said, "Ms. Dobbins?"

"Of course," said Pepsie, wondering what kind of a stiff wouldn't recognize her famous face.

"Smith. Secret Service."

"I never reveal my sours, so you can forget it," Pepsie snapped. "My lips are sealed."

"I am here to review the tapes of yesterday's Presidential coverage," Smith said stiffly. "Your news director has given his permission."

"Oh," said Pepsie, sounding vaguely disappointed.

"I would like privacy."

"Then you're going to have to wait until I'm through."

"This is a national-security matter. I must ask you to leave."

"Suit Yourself," said Pepsie, half closing the drawer and exiting the room. "Feel free to use the telephone if you need to."

"Thank you," said Smith, dropping his lanky frame into Pepsie's chair.

Harold Smith frowned at the stack of half-inch videocassettes. It was criminal how much tape the networks consumed and wasted on trivia. Examining the labels, he sorted the death-watch footage from those of the assassination attempt itself.

Smith popped the tape marked JFK Shooting into the deck, his mouth thinning over the irony of the label.

The footage was raw and unedited. Of course, only the gruesome head shot had been aired, which was the main reason Smith had been making the rounds of the networks all morning. Perhaps some clue could be gleaned from the unaired tape stock.

Smith watched the decoy Secret Service agent step out of the Presidential limousine six times before he spotted something strange in the upper right-hand corner of the screen.

Rewinding the tape, he hit the Pause button. Instantly the picture froze, wiggling in the middle as if the tape stubbornly resented being freeze-framed.

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