He reached the five-hundred-mile point in late afternoon. Taking advantage of the waning light, he drove along country roads looking for an area that appeared deserted and infrequently used. He found what he was looking for just as darkness descended. In the pitch-black of the moonless night, he dragged the body into a copse surrounded by trees and dug a hole deep enough to contain her remains.
The effort exacerbated his leg pain, which he partly assuaged with aspirin. The drug seemed to be having less and less effect. He was well aware that once his mission was over, he would have to seek medical care. Obviously, he had removed the cast before his leg had fully healed.
Working diligently, he dug until he was satisfied with the length and depth of the hole. Then he rolled the nude body into it, covered it with the removed soil, and patted it down so that it would be level with the ground, returned the spade to the trunk, and headed back to the main road.
This done, he wiped the event from his mind. He likened it to burying garbage. Like the people he had killed in battle — those whom he had personally executed and the men he had killed in the German prison cell — he felt nothing for them. He was now free to concentrate fully on his mission.
He reached Fulton on March 3, two days before the speech was scheduled. The small town of eight thousand was clearly buzzing with anticipation. Crossed flags, the Union Jack, and the Stars and Stripes were posted along most of the streets. Posters with Harry Truman and Winston Churchill’s pictures were plastered on every available storefront. His first action was to buy a Fulton newspaper.
The paper contained articles on every aspect of the event, which was expected to draw twenty-five thousand people, including a large press contingent and dignitaries that would tax every facility in the town.
The event was to be held in the college gymnasium, the largest building on the campus, which could accommodate approximately twenty-eight hundred people. It seemed to Miller a paltry number, considering the people involved.
An overflow would be able to listen via loudspeaker at the Swope Chapel on the campus, which could hold an additional nine hundred people. According to the newspaper, nine voluntary committees had been established to plan and monitor the event.
Miller could now understand part of the reasoning behind the Russians’ insistence that the deed be done during the speech, when the ears and eyes of the world would be focused on it, an event in which he, of all people, would have the most significant role. It was also obvious that the Russians needed to pin the deed on a disgruntled Nazi and deflect any suspicion from themselves, hence their obvious indifference to whether or not he was caught. The placement of the rifle and the note would offer clues to enhance the motive. He was well aware of the strategy, but he was determined, come what may, to survive.
That the town would be jammed was a point of optimism for Miller; the more crowded the better. He imagined doing the deed and getting lost in the swelter of people. Still, what was planned was a far cry from the huge Hitler rallies he had attended, giant spectacles that brought huge crowds together to honor the Führer and hear his immortal words. Even now, his pulse quickened with the memory of the Führer’s voice and the great rolling cry of “Sieg Heil!” as if one voice had risen to reach the heavens.
According to the articles in the newspaper, this little Presbyterian college of not more than two hundred twenty male students had seized the attention of the world. He noted the weather report: sunny and warm.
The articles contained every detail of the event and saved Miller the trouble of inquiring further. Timing of the event, rules of admission, and other specific details and explanations were well covered. Also published was a detailed map of the gymnasium building, complete with the numbered layout of all entrances and exits, the seating plan, and other details, including the locations of bathrooms and the first aid station. Studying the map in depth, he carefully tore it from the paper, folded it, and placed it in his pocket.
He inspected the town, pondering his exit strategy if he were lucky enough to make it after the initial impact of the deed. Then he drove to the Westminster College campus. The area was filled with activity, which centered on a flat-roofed building, obviously the gymnasium in which the event would be held. He found a parking space not far from the building.
In front of the gymnasium, people were unloading metal folding chairs and bringing them into the building.
“Can I help?” he asked one of the adult men who carried the chairs to the gymnasium.
“Of course,” the man said. “We’re all volunteers.”
He couldn’t believe his good fortune. Lining up behind those who were receiving metals chairs from the truck, he took two in each hand and moved to the gymnasium. His leg ached, but he managed the process. It was essential that he inspect the interior of the building.
Carpenters were constructing a two-tiered wooden platform. Electricians were stringing up a public address system. Rows of metal seats stretched from the front of the platform and were building toward the rear. Along the sides of the gymnasium were rows of wooden bleachers. It would be a tight fit for what was going to seriously tax the facility’s space.
Following directions, he placed the chairs where he was told and roamed through the premises. Few paid him any attention. Workmen were also building a platform behind the rostrum, presumably for important officials. A smaller platform was being built in the rear. A man supervised the construction and occasionally glanced at a blueprint.
“What are you building?” Miller asked innocently.
“Platform for news photographers and others from the press,” the man said, without looking up from his blueprint.
He noted two high, double-door entrances at the front of the gymnasium and two single-door entries at the sides of the gym and two entrances at the rear behind what was obviously to be the speaker’s platform. Consulting his map, he noted that the narrow doors were locker rooms, one for girls, one for boys. The boys’ locker room had been designated a first aid station. He supposed that the gymnasium was sometimes used for events for a nearby girls’ college.
Above the floor and not designated on the map was a scoreboard that he noted was not electrified but apparently relied on large cardboard signs that were inserted into frames to reflect the scores of basketball games. Above one of the frames was a sign indicating that the home team was called the Blue Jays. He noted the backboards and hoops at either end of the gym, partially hidden by bunting. The scoreboard piqued his curiosity. How did one get there to change the numbers? There had to be a space up there for someone to insert the scorecards.
Amid all the carpenters banging away and the various workpeople and volunteers, no one paid any attention to him, and he was able to walk through every door without anyone stopping him. If they did, he could always feign ignorance. Everyone seemed absorbed in his or her own work.
He explored both locker rooms and discovered that there was an inner door in each that opened to the back of the gymnasium, leading to a parking lot. Intrigued by the scoreboards on either side of the gymnasium, which seemed a perfect sniper’s perch, he decided that there must be some entranceway that permitted someone to get up there. There were no visible doorways from the floor. It took him a while to figure out that there must be an access stairway somewhere in the locker rooms on either side of the gymnasium.
Entering the boys’ locker room first, he noted a narrow doorway concealed behind a bank of lockers. On either side of the door were two metal rings that had obviously at one time been used as loops for a chain to be held together by a lock. There was no lock in place at the moment. He opened the door, which led to a winding metal staircase.