Washington, D.C., February, 1965.

hen I arrived in Washington, it was a cold, bright morning. General Johnson met me at National Airport in a government car—the standard army green with “For Official Use Only” stenciled in black paint on both doors. He greeted me warmly with a handshake and a hug, then tossed me a Marine field jacket with a fleece liner in it. This helped to take the chill out my bones.

I felt like his son, coming home from college or a long trip. We headed out of the city toward the northwest, toward what I thought were the hills of Maryland and the presidential retreat at Camp David. I don’t know why, but I was under the impression I was going to be debriefed by the President himself. After about an hour of idle chatter and family talk, the car slowed and proceeded to turn off the two-lane highway into a small gravel parking lot that overlooked a river. There was a lone car with its engine running; I could see it was empty.

Bobby Kennedy approached from the riverbank. He was wearing a black ski jacket with the hood loose about his head and was holding a cup of warm cider in his outstretched hand, offering it to me. Smiling he asked, “How was your trip home? How did it go?” Then growing serious, he followed with the real question, “Thomas, how many have you found of the six you told us about?”

“Sir, I found three of the six, Sir.”

“Please tell me their names, Thomas. Do you think they suspect we know of them? Are there any others in the South Vietnamese government who may have sold us out?”

“Sir—”

“Thomas, my name is Bobby!”

I was uneasy with what I was about to tell him. Had I made a mistake about my unwritten orders from the President? “Bobby, the three I found are now dead.”

“How in the world! No, go on. Tell me how and where. Tell me their names first, and how do you know they’re dead? Did you kill them? Come with me; let’s walk along the river. Tell me what happened to them.” He pointed toward the east, toward the ocean.

It took me a minute to organize my thoughts and to go back into myself to straighten out the year I had been away. There were some things even he didn’t need to hear. Not looking at Bobby until I was ready to talk, he walked on ahead until I took his elbow. Pain was reflected in his eyes when I told him about the three and how they died; I was glad his need for revenge had not overridden his basic humanity. As we completed our walk, I finished with the story about Tram and his relationship with his mother’s brother, the Chief of Staff. We had walked, and I had talked non-stop for almost three hours. The Angel or the blood mark on my head was not part of the story. Just thinking of the mark bothered me, I still didn’t know what it was or what it would mean to me.

He listened intently, only asking a question or two. When I concluded, he asked, “So, do you think you may find this other man, the fourth of the six?” Without waiting for my answer, he reached into his coat pocket and handed me a three-by-five card. “Thomas, this is a number where you may reach help, if we can give it to you. When, and if, you go to see the President, I am concerned that he will pull you away from the rest of this hunt. If he thinks these men are in this country, he may involve Hoover and the FBI; and Hoover is not a man I trust.”

“Would you like it if I remained quiet about this latest information?”

General Johnson walked a couple of steps behind me. Looking back at it now, I realize he was giving up his spot as the close friend to the Attorney General. As it were; his time had come and gone; and he was not thrilled with the story I was telling. He was not all too sure about the way the Attorney General was looking as I spoke. He said later that the President sent me and the President had to be told. If the President did not want to hear it from me, then Bobby or he should go to him, with the whole kit and caboodle.

Bobby stopped, turned, and looked at both of us. “I really don’t know what would be best. If you don’t tell him everything, he may think you’re not honest. Tell him what you like, what he asks you. If you don’t, he may send you back to Vietnam to lose you, as it were.”

“He would send me back to lose me?” my voice echoed.

The General slowly nodded and looked down at the snowy spring ground.

“Kings and leaders have done that as far back as the Bible’s King David, Thomas,” Bobby said. “He may have had you followed all this time and may know what you know, already. Do you trust these two men who were with you?”

“Yes, Sir, I do with my life.”

“That is good enough for me, then.”

“By the way, Sir—Bobby, do you have enough influence to grant me a favor for one of those men?”

“What is it, Thomas?”

I was remembering what my dad had said to me the last time we had seen each other—‘If you want friends, you have to be a friend.’ It’s a friend. His name is Boggs, Sir, Corporal Hankly Boggs. He was my Number Two in Vietnam. Could you have him brought back from Saigon and reassigned to the White House Marine detail?”

“Why the White House?”

“Sir, he has always wanted to be stationed there.”

Bobby turned to General Johnson and, with an archaic smile, asked, “Do you still have access to the good-old-boy network, General?”

The General looked at both of us, and with a sudden jerk of his head, replied, “We can do this . . . if Corporal Boggs can pass a top-secret investigation check by the Secret Service. I surely don’t want him to have to go through an FBI check and expose his relationship to Thomas.”

“General, I am sure he could,” I said. “Since he was assigned to the American Embassy a year or so ago, he would have had to be checked out before. Are you sure the Secret Service will be the agency to do the identification and clearance check on him and not the FBI?”

“Thomas, the Secret Service has the responsibility to guard the President, and the Marines guard the White House and the Secret Service. They may ask for files from the FBI, but the leg work and interviews will be handled by Secret Service and the people at Treasury.”

Bobby then added to the conversation, “And we know how good the Secret Service is, don’t we? See to it then if you can, General.”

“It can be done. Thomas, just how much does Corporal Boggs know?”

Bobby looked worriedly back and forth between the General and I, as I concluded, “Only that I was looking for some men that may have killed the French Captain Signa and that he had a connection to an American traitor. He knows nothing about my relationship with your brother’s murderers, you, nor the President. He came on station after the General, Bill Standard, and I came home in November of ’63. Sir, if I may, there is one other thing. Is it possible to see my mother and dad for a week or so on my way to El Toro?”

“That’s not a problem.”

“Sir, my enlistment will be up soon; and I would like to be discharged from El Toro in California.”

“Then what do you have in mind? How would you like to work for the Kennedys?”

“First I would like to visit Orange, California. I’ve heard it is nice there, warm this time of the year. A friend told me about the town.” I surprised myself by the lack of information I was giving the two of them, but I was disappointed that my assignment was being curtailed. Though Bobby had asked if I thought I could find the fourth man, he had immediately dropped it and not sought an answer. I had no idea whether I was to proceed to find the other three—officially, that is—for I knew that I would continue whether assigned to do it or not.

The General reached into the right breast-pocket of his coat. He handed me an envelope that contained a handful of one-hundred-dollar bills. Then he said to Bobby that he thought the government was going to offer me work. I immediately handed him the $1,000 bill. He pushed it back at me and nodded at Bobby.

“You never spent the money, Thomas?” Bobby asked with surprise.

“It didn’t seem mine to spend, Sir.”

He reached out his hand as he had done the first time we met in November of 1963, shaking my hand with his right hand while he held my right wrist. He looked me in the eyes with a cheerless face and said, “Thank you, Thomas ,for what you have done for me and my brother Jack. However I can help, let me know.”

Things had changed in the year I had been away. This time, Bobby Kennedy, the ex-Attorney General of the United States, was driving himself. What a road he had traveled to get to where he was now! Stopping at the highway, he stared both ways, maybe trying to make up his mind which way to go. The rear wheels spun up some loose gravel, and he was gone, heading back to Washington, back to the Capital, back to the seat of American power, on to the road of his destination. He may have been heading the wrong way.

The General and I sat in the “For Official Use Only” car and watched him go. I knew the General was waiting to see if anyone was following Bobby. Evening was approaching faster than I had expected. Patches of pink, gray, dark black, and some brown were spattered across the western sky. Aeoius, the Greek god of wind, blew a snow shower between the foothills of the Maryland mountains right at us. The wind and snow tried to reach inside the warm coat the General had given me. But I was well-protected, and while I knew I was the General’s second son, I was also glad to be going home to see my own dad.

“General, what have you heard about Bill Standard?” This was more than a question about Bill’s health. I knew he was out of the hospital.

“Well, Bill came to see me about seven months ago and asked if I could help get him into the field operations section of the CIA. I called Colby and, of course, he remembered Bill. He said he was willing to go anywhere, so I introduced him to a Deputy Chief. With his record, that was all it took. They would have liked him back in Vietnam, but, for some reason of which I’m unaware, he was assigned to Africa, instead. I think he went into the Congo or somewhere, very hush-hush. Haven’t you heard from him?”

“No, Sir, I haven’t.”

“That seems odd, as close as you two were.”

“Yes, Sir. We were almost too close.”

Riding back into Washington, the General told me I was not going to see President Johnson about my mission, not yet anyway. The Warren Commission was gathering all the evidence it could to support the lone-assassin theory. Their findings were going to indicate that Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone shooter. The FBI’s reports were, of course, the main source for their beliefs. To put it simply, Hoover wanted Oswald to have been the assassin who was himself assassinated. Did President Johnson believe Hoover and Judge Earl Warren and his Commission; or did he believe me, a twenty-one-year-old, soon-to-be ex-Marine, the kind he was sending off by the thousands to Vietnam? The General just said he didn’t have time for me now. To say the least, I was upset by that remark.

The General’s orders were for me to remain alert and to keep my secret; I was not to actively hunt for anyone. The President would send for me at a later date.

I asked the General if he still believed me. He replied, “Thomas, not only do I believe you, so does Bobby. But, we know Hoover is unloading on the President. Hoover has something on him, and the President is going to lay low on this matter, at least until he’s well into this term and sure of his next one.”

“Does the FBI know about me?” Although I wanted not to be concerned about Dallas and my run-in with Everet, I was. The General could see that.

“Thomas, they know you’re one of 350,000 Marines. That’s all, I assure you. From what I could tell, no one, but no one, except Bill Standard and myself, knows what you saw and heard the day the Diems were killed.”

While I didn’t want to disagree with the General, there were also Bobby Kennedy, President Johnson, and the men in Vietnam who had ordered the murders! What would William A. Standard, III, trade for his knowledge? Would he tell Bill Colby for a favor at CIA? Would he tell, especially now that he was sure I knew his secret?

I was getting sick thinking about it all. I had to get home. The General dropped me at Union Station, and I caught the train to Ohio.