Tainted Legacy

William Mara fidgeted with the key in his hand, half listening to his father’s lawyer. All he could think about was what might be in the safety deposit box that the key would open, and why his father had kept it secret for so long.

“You say this firm has had this key for over 50 years,” William finally said. “How is that even possible?”

The attorney smiled. “Actually, that’s the third key we’ve had. The first bank closed, so we moved the contents to another bank. The second bank upgraded security at some point, so that’s the third key. But in all that time, no one, not even your father, has looked in that box”

“I can’t believe my father had a secret that he kept for so long,” William said. “He wasn’t that kind of person.”

“I understand,” said the attorney. “But I’ve been doing this for a long time, and you aren’t the first person to be surprised that a family member had a secret. Most secrets are pretty innocent. One client had old love letters that she only wanted her daughter to see. Your dad was in the service, right?”

William nodded. “Vietnam. He never talked about it much.”

“Well, there’s a good chance there’s a medal or some other mementos from his time in the military,” the attorney said. “Sometimes people can’t let go of things even if the memories are painful.”

“Maybe,” William replied, not really convinced. His father had been an emotionally closed man, but he never seemed to be secretive.

“Well, Mr. Mara, the bank is just three blocks from here. There are a few things you need to sign and then you can head over there.” The attorney started arranging papers for William’s signature. “My bet is you’ll end up finding a pleasant surprise.”

It was a blustery day, but William didn’t mind the walk to the bank. The last time he had been to the city was six years earlier when his wife had a arranged a 50th birthday party for him. His father had come. As usual, he had been nice, but distant. Six months after that party William’s wife had asked for a divorce. William had ended up a lonely man before the age of 60.

The bank was in a big, old-fashioned building. It had the look of permanence and importance, not like the strip-mall financial institutions William was used to. There was a reception desk where he waited while someone was summoned to assist him. The pleasant woman who came to meet him examined the attorney’s letter explaining that arrangements had been made for William to have access to the safety deposit box. After verifying the information, the bank employee escorted William to the vault. For reasons he couldn’t quite understand, he felt nervous.

William was handed the box and brought to a small room where he could inspect the contents. He closed the door, took off his jacket, and sat down. He hesitated for a moment, but after a few seconds, he flipped open the metal lid.

If he had expected to find jewels or gold bars, he would have been disappointed. There was only a bulky manilla envelope, remarkably preserved considering its age. William removed the envelope and unsealed it. There were two items inside. On top was an envelope with “William” handwritten by his father. Beneath that was a black, leather notebook.

When he opened the envelope with his name on it, he found a bundled stack of hundred-dollar bills and a folded letter. The letterhead immediately caught his attention. It was from the Central Intelligence Agency. Below this, his father had written the date: July 27, 1966.

William,

As I write this you are only two years old. When you read this, I will be gone and I am hopeful you will be a very old man who has lived a happy life. I am trusting you with this because right now you are my only child, and you will always be my oldest son. What I am going to tell you isn’t pleasant, but I think it’s important for you to know.

I was recruited by the CIA right out of college. I spent six months training at the FARM with an additional three months devoted to marksmanship. I was sent to Viet Nam in 1962 with the rank of Army lieutenant, but I was working for the CIA. I had two qualities they valued greatly: I was extremely patriotic and I was an exceptional marksman.

I was partnered with a young captain and CIA operative named Ted Malone. Together we assassinated over a dozen Viet Cong officers and officials. Our efforts helped escalate the war, and I’m hopeful that when it’s over, Communism will be eliminated in the region. Our work in Vietnam caught the attention of some higher-ups at the Agency so they brought us back to the States for a special assignment in September 1963.

Malone met with the Deputy Director of the Agency. We were tasked with taking care of a domestic situation. A second team was also assigned, but we had no contact with them. Our job was to assassinate President Kennedy before the end of the year

When Malone briefed me on our assignment, I wasn’t happy about it, but when he told me the reasons that the Director had decided to act, they were compelling. On many levels, Kennedy was a risk to national security, and some recent, particularly ill-advised philandering on the part of the president had sealed his fate. They decided to make it happen when the president was in Dallas.

We got to Dallas a few days before the president. We scouted locations and settled on the grassy knoll off of Dealy Plaza. The other team had gotten Oswald a job in a building overlooking the plaza. On November 22, as the motorcade passed, Oswald took the first shot and botched it. Malone was next to me behind the fence and was furious when he saw that. He immediately ordered me to fire. One shot, direct hit. We packed up and got in a waiting car. Oswald would end up taking the fall for the operation. He wasn’t well liked at the Agency, so they made him the patsy.

Afterward, Malone and I were given jobs in the D.C. office, probably to keep an eye on us. They also gave me $20,000 in cash as a bonus. Everything has been fine except when there is talk of investigations of the shooting, or someone writes an article about suspicious circumstances of the assassination. When that happens, Malone gets nervous, which makes me nervous. Lately, I’ve been worrying that they might make me disappear, along with you and your mother. So, I’ve decided to resign as soon as this package is secured. Your mother wants to move near family in New York anyway.

The notebook in the package is Malone’s from the operation. I managed to sneak it out of his office one evening and when I resign, I’ll let him know I have it. It would be very incriminating to him and the agency if it ever got out. As long as I have it, I don’t think we’ll be in danger. I’m also putting away the bonus money they gave me. I am a professional and a patriot. The things I did were for the sake of the nation. I didn’t like being paid like some contract killer. You can do what you like with the money.

Don’t judge me too harshly for the things I have done. I love my country and did what was necessary. Hopefully by the time you read this, you will understand.

Your father,

John Mara

William read the letter twice more. He flipped through the pages of the black notebook. It had names, dates, crude sketches of Dealy Plaza. William held in his hands a confession and compelling evidence for the Kennedy assassination.

Nothing made sense anymore. William’s father had worked in commercial real estate. He belonged to the Elks Lodge. He never dated after William’s mother had died. He was an ordinary, suburban American. Yet this letter, barely two pages long, told William more about his father than he had ever known or wanted to know. How was it possible that the man who had raised him, who William had loved on some level, had been an assassin and committed one of the worst crimes in American history? William wanted to believe that it was a mistake, but he knew it wasn’t. His heart was racing and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. He realized he had to get out of that little room.

William put everything back in the large envelope. He left the bank and considered going straight to a newspaper with the evidence, but wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with all the publicity that would bring him. He walked to the parking garage and unlocked his car as he approached it. He was about the open the door when someone came up behind him. The attacker reached around William’s chest and stabbed him with a long blade. With his other hand, the assailant held William’s mouth so he couldn’t scream. After a minute or two, he released William, letting him slip to the ground. William’s life drained away as he felt the man take his wallet and the envelope. He saw the man as he ran away. As he died William’s last thought was, “well, it’s your problem now.”

The assassin walked to his car a few blocks away. He checked the contents of the envelope once he was safely in the car. He briefly looked at the letter. It didn’t interest him, so he crumpled it and tossed it out the window. The black book his client wanted was there, but also some cash. There had been no mention of the money so he considered it a bonus for himself and put it in his jacket pocket. Then he called his client.

At his home in Virginia, former Director of the CIA, Ted Malone, waited for a call. The consultant had already contacted him to say that Mara’s son had gone into a bank. He said he’d call again if there were any developments. Malone had an almost giddy sense of anticipation. After over 50 years, he might finally have closure. It had always haunted him that he hadn’t been more careful. How often over the years had he thought that he should have just gotten rid of Mara right after the job like they did with Oswald. Instead, the damn book had haunted him for most of his life.

The phone rang and the old man practically jumped out of his chair. It was the consultant. “Very good,” Malone said. “Was there anything else besides the black book?” The consultant told him there wasn’t. He explained that the whole thing would look like a robbery. “Bring the book directly to me. I’ll expect to see you by this evening and you will receive your payment.”

Malone had enjoyed a distinguished military career, served over 40 years with the Agency, authored best-selling books, but that notebook had always threatened to taint his legacy. Now he felt a lightness that had eluded him for decades. He got himself his best Cuban cigar. As he smoked, he made a call. “Hello, the matter I discussed with you is on for tonight. The target should be here from New York by 6 pm. When he leaves my home, follow him and eliminate him. Your target will be carrying the $50 thousand we agreed upon. Contact me when the job is complete.” Malone hung up and smiled. Finally, there would be no loose ends. That night, he slept better than he had in a very long time.