"Then Oswald tried to kill me?"
"Not necessarily. The rifle is identical, but it is a replica. The actual Oswald rifle is still with the national archives, where it has been since the 1960s. This suggests that the assassin may also have been a replica."
"What if it was the real Oswald, or the real Hidell?"
"Remotely possible, sir. But consider. Every human element of this bizarre web of events has been a replica. A replica Oswald. A replica Gingold. Even a replica Socks the cat."
"Then the same people that killed Kennedy aren't out to get me?"
"It's too early to say so with confidence. But consider, while this Hidell seems to have aged as much as the real Oswald would, his killer, the Jack Ruby replica the Boston office has identified as a bartender named Bud Coggins, is younger than Ruby was in 1963."
"I don't follow your thinking," the President said slowly.
"The Ruby replica-Coggins-was seen driving to the University of Massachusetts wearing a virtual-reality headset. He was wearing it when he shot Hidell. The Boston office reports that a miniature camera mounted on the helmet actually transmitted whatever the man was looking at-or would have been looking at if the helmet hadn't been blocking his vision-to the so-called eyephones in the helmet. In other words, he was seeing reality, but thought he was in virtual reality."
"Sounds like hooey to me," said the President.
"On the contrary, it was very clever. There was a letter of invitation found in the dead man's pocket inviting him to an exclusive virtual-reality game demonstration. No return address. Just a telephone number. He obviously called this number and was given the helmet and the van found in the UMass parking garage. The name of the company was Jaunt Systems. There is no such company on record, Mr. President. And the telephone number is a blind cellular number."
"I'm still not sure I follow."
"According to the invitation, the name of the game Bud Coggins thought he was playing was Ruby."
"My God!"
"Bud Coggins was a dupe. A well-known player of electronic games, no family, few friends, he was tricked into covering up the trail back to the assassination conspirators by gunning down Alek James Hidell, chosen as much for his game skill as his resemblance to Jack Ruby. Had there been an older Ruby who could have done the job, no doubt that one would have been contacted instead. But Bud Coggins had the greatest chance of success."
"But he gunned down several crack Secret Service agents."
"He thought he was playing a game. That and his superior reflexes gave him an edge the Secret Service did not have. They could not shoot unless they were certain of their target. Coggins shot first and asked no questions. Thinking he was in a game, there was no lethal penalty for minor failures encountered along the way."
The President digested this in silence.
"We now know that the replica Gila Gingold was found to have a surgical scar-a burr hole-in his head identical to the replica Socks the cat. That links those two incidents, but not the Boston shooting. Nevertheless, I believe they are linked."
"Linked how?"
"By the clever employment of replicas."
"Makes sense," said Remo.
"But who is trying to get me?"
"I submit to you, Mr. President, that none of these attempts were serious."
"What!"
"This is a well-planned and orchestrated operation. If we can call it that. Yet anyone willing to research Secret Service procedure-and I submit the mastermind behind this has done his homework-would know that you never step out of the Presidential limousine first, but only after a special agent has. Further, the likelihood of the replica Socks getting to you was not high. And the replica Gingold likewise was unlikely to cause you fatal injury."
"You mean no one's actually trying to kill me?"
"No one is trying to kill you yet. They are certainly trying to frighten you or discredit you."
"But who?"
"The only clue, and it has obviously been planted, was found on the shell casing of the bullet that killed Special Agent Crandall."
"Crandall?"
"The man who took the bullet for you in Boston."
"That's the first time I've heard his name," the President said slowly.
Harold Smith picked a Lucite container from the desktop and handed it to the President. "Examine the initials on the ejected shell," he suggested.
The President tilted the box until the brass casing rolled the scratched letters into view. "RX?" he muttered. "Who is RX?"
"The initials mean nothing to you?"
"No."
"Perhaps they are not initials," mused Smith.
"What could they be?"
"On the face of it, RX is shorthand for prescription."
The President looked odd. "The medical community?"
"A warning from someone wishing you to think they are the medical community. Consider, Mr. President. You were in Boston at the John F. Kennedy Library to talk about health care when the first attempt was made. The shell casing was left at the sniper's perch deliberately, along with the rifle. You are a great admirer of President Kennedy. It is very clear that a great deal of money and effort has gone into sending you a message."
"Back off health care, or join Kennedy in Arlington National Cemetery?" ventured the President.
"That is how I interpret it, Mr. President."
"Well, I'm not backing off."
"I do not expect you to. But you must realize that the mind behind these outrageous attacks may be prepared to escalate his tactics."
"Escalate to what? He's already tried to kill me three times."
"Escalate to the point of succeeding," said Harold Smith.
The President swallowed.
Someone began pounding on the door, and a shrill female voice demanded, "What's going on in there? So help me, if you're with another woman, you'll get more than a lamp thrown at you this time."