First Chapter

Prologue
Palm Beach, Florida
December 11, 1960

No one notices the car.
It’s been there for a while, parked on one side of a quiet residential street. The morning is bright, with the sun shining through the tall, leafy trees that line the roadside.

If anyone were to look in the car’s direction, nothing about it would seem unusual. It’s a 1950 Buick sedan— not a fancy or noteworthy vehicle. And if anyone happened to glimpse the man sitting behind the wheel, they wouldn’t think anything unusual about him either. He’s an older man, with short white hair and a wide face. His dress and appearance are typical— he looks like many other motorists in South Florida or, for that matter, anywhere else in the United States.

Across the street from the parked car, a scene is unfolding that isn’t so typical. A small group of men stand or pace just outside the entrance gate of a walled-off private estate. They’re dressed professionally and wear sunglasses, sometimes whispering to one another. They seem to be waiting for something or someone to appear from inside the grounds. Soon enough, someone does appear. A tall, trim man in his early forties, wearing a suit, with perfect posture and short, carefully parted reddish-brown hair. He’s flanked by a few other men, who greet or nod at those who are waiting outside the property’s gates.

The man’s face is memorable, with tanned skin and a bright smile. It’s not just any face. Unlike the motorist, he’s got one of the most recognized faces in the country. Soon, he’ll be one of the most recognized in the world. This is John Fitzgerald Kennedy, who, a month earlier, was elected to be the thirty-fifth President of the United States. Six weeks from now, he’ll take the oath of office and occupy the White House.

John F. Kennedy’s election was one of the closest and most bitterly fought in American history. He won the popular vote over his opponent, Vice President Richard M. Nixon of California, by the smallest margin in the twentieth century. When it came to the electoral college, several states had razor-thin margins that could’ve swung the victory in the other direction. It was the first election in U.S. history to be fully televised, drawing unprecedented scrutiny and a media frenzy greater than any the country had ever experienced.

It was also a divisive election at a divisive time. In the 1960s, the nation was entering a new decade that would be as turbulent and full of social upheaval as any other in the nation’s past. The defining domestic issue of the day —  the struggle for civil rights for Black Americans —  has led to a furious and violent backlash that has put the country at a perilous crossroads.

Kennedy’s victory was greeted, especially by younger voters, with unprecedented fervor and devotion. At a time when the nation is bitterly torn, a new generation has placed its hopes and ideals with this young President to move the country forward in a direction they believe in.

Equally fervent, however, are those on the other side of the divide. Many Americans reject the changes and upheaval the younger generation are pushing. For these voters, Kennedy embodies everything they believe is wrong with the country and where it’s heading. And Kennedy’s enemies don’t just disagree with his policies — they despise him. In their minds, he’s a tool of dangerous radicals, or a foreign interloper with motives to undermine the nation.

Before the President-elect gets in the car waiting for him, he stops and turns around to greet someone else — a woman who has emerged from inside the grounds. She’s medium-tall with dark hair and, like him, carries herself with perfect posture. Walking near her is a child, barely three years old. The woman’s face would be recognizable to most Americans as the President-elect’s wife, Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy.

Like her husband, since the campaign, she’s become the focus of intense public fascination and media scrutiny. The girl walking beside her is their daughter, Caroline Kennedy. Along with Caroline’s younger brother, two-week-old John Jr., they’re the soon-to-be First Family of the United States.

Across the street, the man in the parked car is still watching, taking in the scene. Most important, while his 1950 Buick may be nondescript on the outside . . . on the inside, there’s a secret.

Hidden in the trunk, tucked under blankets and mixed with assorted junk and tools, are seven sticks of dynamite. Affixed to that dynamite is a wire that runs from the trunk into the body of the vehicle, toward a small trigger mechanism. All the man has to do is activate this small trigger to blow up the vehicle — and everything around it. According to one expert, if detonated, the amount of dynamite is powerful enough to a "blow up a mountain."  And right now, the man’s hand is moving toward the ignition.

Across the street, President-elect John F. Kennedy takes a few steps toward the sleek black sedan parked by the side of the road. A few of the men in dark suits guide him to it. The sedan has been waiting for him, ready to drive him to somewhere most unusual for an American President: Sunday Mass. For Kennedy is, as almost every American knows, the first person of Catholic faith ever elected to the highest office.

For the man behind the wheel of the Buick, this is the moment he’s been waiting for. It’s why he’s here in South Florida: to be on this street, on this day, with seven sticks of dynamite hidden in the trunk of his car.

It’s a simple plan. Turn the key in the ignition. Put your foot on the gas. And turn the steering wheel just enough to
slam the Buick into that sleek black sedan. That’s all it’ll take to turn this quiet, leafy, sunny Florida street into a scene of horrors beyond imagining— and at this dawn of a new decade, to thrust the nation into unspeakable darkness.

How’s that for an opener? Buy The JFK Conspiracy here.