The Warren Omissions Read Free Page A

had so for the past four years. She had recently graduated from George Washington University and decided to stay in America’s power city. Flynn guessed she was about twenty-eight years old, based on her graduation date, her time spent at the museum and her stint in Jordan with the Peace Corps.
    As captivating as her life might be, Flynn was really only interested in seeing if this document was worth the money he plunked down for the ticket to D.C.
    “So, tell me about this document, Ms. Taylor,” Flynn began.
    “Please, call me Emma,” she said.
    “Okay, Emma. What’s the story? Why call me?”
    Emma picked up a manilla folder and her hands began to tremble.
    “I called you because I didn’t know who else to call. After living in D.C. for about eight years now, I’ve learned to trust no one in this town.”
    “I understand. I’m sure your grandfather felt the same way,” Flynn added, trying to sound reassuring.
    “I also followed the story about you in the news several years ago—and I knew you could handle this information better than anyone else.”
    Flynn studied Emma’s eyes as they scanned the room nervously. Before the trip, Flynn had a good feeling about this evidence. Now, his hopes were sky high that this secret document that Emma held in her hand truly was something big and well worth the trip.
    “So, what is this?” Flynn asked, gesturing toward the folder.
    “This is something my grandfather left my father, but my father never opened it. In fact, this folder had been sitting in a safety deposit box for more than 35 years until I retrieved it recently. My father said that any secrets his dad had were the kind that get you killed—but I think that’s ridiculous. His dad worked for the CIA, so I guess it’s easy to understand why he was so easily spooked.”
    “Does anyone know about these files?”
    “Nobody but me and you. At least, I haven’t told anyone else about them.”
    Flynn was getting tired of waiting.
    “So, let’s take a peek. What are we looking at here?”
    Emma flipped open the folder, exposing a handful of CIA documents. The papers were dated 1963 and 1964, and the frayed edges and smeared ink confirmed that these documents were produced in the bygone era of carbon copies—stray marks on the page, arcane correction methods.
    Flynn couldn’t read fast enough, but he wanted an immediate summary. It didn’t take long for Emma to blurt it out.
    “These are papers from the CIA’s investigation in the JFK assassination.”
    Flynn’s heart sunk. He had spent weeks at the archives and had combed through thousands of documents in the JFK assassination collection—FBI files, CIA documents, reports from the House Select Committee on Assassinations. Most of the pieces seemed to be there, but there were always a few key pieces missing. Everyone who proposed they knew who the mastermind conspirator was behind JFK’s death always failed to definitively prove their theory. Some powerful person in the government was like the kid who hides two or three pieces of a puzzle so he can put the last pieces on the board—except these people never had any intention of letting anyone complete the puzzle. He expected this to lead nowhere.
    Flynn said nothing as he sifted through the files, trying to determine if this was just another expensive trip he wouldn’t be able to justify to his editor.
    “There’s this one strange graph in the back… I have no idea what it means,” she said, grabbing the last few sheets at the bottom of the pile of papers.
    She shoved them in front of Flynn. He instantly recognized the form. It was a polygraph test.
    At the top of the file was a handwritten name: “Gilberto Alvarado Ugarte.”
    Flynn knew all about Ugarte and his allegations in Mexico City in the days following the assassination of JFK. He began explaining to Emma how Ugarte claimed to have seen a man matching the description of Lee Harvey Oswald in Mexico City with a man in possession of a