The next day the Washington Times is pushed through bars of my cell. I look at the headline and read I have been convicted of high treason, espionage, and conspiracy to assassinate the president at the prosecutor has recommended the death penalty! I am so screwed! I hope this ‘Tree’s’ time-travel B.S. might have some legs.
The picture has me dressed rather demurely….
…but what it doesn’t show is that I was wearing only a blouse. My ‘official’ mug shot is a tad more revealing!
I go to Camp David and meet with Colonel Hangher. He seems perturbed I am that I even there. He says “You know we have irrefutable evidence that Miss Moore is guilty as hell.”
“You faked them all. She is a US citizen and should be tried by a jury of her peers” I say.
He passes me document and smugly says “I think you should see this.”
I look at the paper that is birth certificate that states Barbara Moore was born in Moscow as Barbara Morzivick. I look at the document and say “Your spooks should buy better glue… Your ‘cut and paste’ curled on the right side. Do you see the shadow?”
I toss him an envelope and say “Try these.”
Colonel Hangher looks at the documents and breaks into a sweat. He looks at me as he even feels the papers then asks “How did you do this?”
The papers show the colonel has not only spied for the USSR but he was born there! Tree smiles and says “It’s called ‘Photoshop’ and then I put the papers in a toaster-oven to age them.”
“What do want? You know I can’t acquit her. I’d be dead before the month is out!” Colonel Hangher says.
“I know that. I want four things. First she is only to be executed by hanging” I say.
“That’s not a problem. That was what we planned.”
“She is not hanged before 12:01 AM, Friday, November 2 (1962, remember) and not a second before.”
“OK, what else?”
“She weighs 115 pounds I hear.”
“She did a couple days ago. She’s not eating much so by then she might weigh only 110 at most.”
“Good. I don’t want her to be dropped more than four feet and you use this noose” I say as I hand him a duffle bag with a noose inside it.
He looks at the noose and tests the slip of the noose. With a raised eyebrow he notes “It’s thicker than necessary and it doesn’t slip very easily. I don’t care. We’ll use this. The drop length is problematic. Military guidelines require a person of her weight to be dropped eight feet nine inches. I could get…”
“They are
guidelines- not rules. All you will get is a letter of reprimand at worst. You might get a medal for have this spy slowly strangle. Do we have a deal or do I send those documents to the
New York Times, the Associated Press, the UPI, and the
Crux Chronicle?”
“I hope she isn’t paying you much. I wouldn’t want you as my defense attorney” he says. He hands the envelope of faked documents to me and says “Alright, we’ll do it your way. I don’t get why you want your client to suffer when a long drop would kill her instantly.”
“Let’s say I hate commies more than I care about Miss Moore. And you can keep those; I have a better copy. Just remember you’ll be spending the rest of your life in the federal prison in Leavenworth, Kansas if you renege on any of it” I say as I get up and leave.
Later that afternoon Barbara Moore is handcuffed and brought before the tribunal.
“What’s going on?” I ask as my wrists are cuffed behind my tight little.
“You have been convicted of treason, conspiracy to assassinate the president, and high treason. You’re going to your sentencing” The matron says to me.
“Um… don’t I get to wear something?” I protest “I have rights!”
“You lost your rights when you were convicted.”
I don’t feel any better when I get to the courtroom. Hanging on the wall is an old lithograph that has a brass plaque says ‘Confederate spy hanged’. I am put behind a half wall of bars unable to cover myself at all due to my wrists cuffed behind me. My attorney T. H. Tree walks up to me and says “I ain’t going to try to paint a pretty picture. There is no appeal of the tribunal’s conviction. You will be executed a week from Friday.”
My legs feel weak and I say “I just hope they can shoot straight.”
“You don’t have to worry about a firing squad. You are going to be hanged. The only hope you have is that can transport you back to 2016 before you die” he says to me.
“Look, if you have all this technology why can’t to just call and beam us out of here now?” I hiss in whisper. “That’s what they did in “Star Trek”!
“Barb, first that was fiction and second “Star Trek” won’t be on TV for four more years. Explain to me how you ‘remember’ something you couldn’t have seen in 1962!”
“I… can’t… really.”
“Trust me” he says “and accept your sentence. They know you have a sister. Bad things will happen to her.”
“She wasn’t born in 1962! What can they do to her?” I whisper.
“Unfortunately your genetics are so close she was transported back with you. J. Edgar is pissed the CIA scoped the FBI on you and are ready to arrest her as an accomplice of yours” I tell here.
“Christ, Tree, how do you make this up?” I ask. Before he can answer the tribunal is announced and Tree takes his seat at the defense table. Colonel Hangher sits in the middle and says “Miss Barbara Moore, you choose on your own free will not to participate in your court martial. I trust your attorney, Mr. T. H. Tree has informed you we have found guilty of all three charges- any one alone would demand the death penalty.”
“He has” I reply while struggling to keep my composure.
“Miss Moore It pains me to tell you that have been sentenced to death and will be executed at 12:01 AM, Friday, November 2, 1962. You will be hanged by the neck until dead and at the president’s request at the presidential retreat at Camp David, Maryland. Do you understand your sentence?”
“Yes sir I do and accept without protest” I reply as I struggle to keep my knees from buckling.
I certainly do understand- I am to be legally murdered for having an affair with the president and I can’t say a damn thing or my sister could be killed too! I am brought back to my cell where I have time to contemplate what just happened to me. I studied judicial executions at the University of the Virgin Martyrs while working on my PhD. Oh, God was Tree telling the truth about time travel?
-the condemned Miss Barbara Moore
Tree