Of all Flynn’s personal conspiracy theories regarding the JFK assassination, the idea that George de Mohrenschildt was pulling the strings was among the most intriguing, and quite plausible. The CIA even arranged a meeting between him and Lee Harvey Oswald when the Oswalds moved to Dallas. And the iconic picture of Oswald holding a rifle? It was de Mohrenschildt behind the camera that day. Could this guy have played the CIA? Or was this the CIA’s plan all along? What was once a far-fetched idea seemed entirely plausible in light of J. Walton Moore’s deathbed confession. But without de Mohrenschildt to confirm or deny anything, it was still just a theory, one that still needed more legs to stand on. It was just like the CIA wanted it.
Several years before, Flynn wrote a story about de Mohrenschildt for The National. It looked at his life and his role in some of the most significant moments in world history as a supposed innocent bystander. Yet Flynn contended that was far from the truth. He painted de Mohrenschildt as a slimy mercenary on the open espionage market, ready to flip for whoever was willing to pay for it. He remembered de Mohrenschildt’s daughter, Alexei, wasn’t very happy about it. Fortunately, she was a drunk and likely didn’t remember the piece. In hindsight, Flynn realized he didn’t have to be so harsh in the stance he took against his favorite alleged conspirator. Hopefully, Alexei had forgiven him — or was too drunk to remember who he was.
He needed to pay her a visit.
Flynn woke up Thursday morning in his hotel room with one surprising thing on his mind: Natalie. He couldn’t wait to escape Dallas and get back to Washington to see her. While in the gaudy Texas metropolis, Flynn had seen enough bleached blonde hair to last him another five years or so. And if he saw another obnoxious car commercial with a guy wearing a big white hat and shouting at him at the top of his lungs, he just might take a flying leap out of his hotel room. The fact that his room was on the first floor of the Hilton downtown meant it would only be a symbolic gesture. Just hang in there for a few more hours and you’ll get to see Natalie soon enough. That thought alone gave Flynn the desire to endure what might be a disastrous morning meeting.
And while Flynn may have dreaded staying there any longer and possibly facing the wrath of a sober Alexei de Mohrenschildt, it was an important meeting with tremendous potential.
When Flynn called Alexei the night before, she gave him a different address than the one he had in his contact list. She had recently moved to a much larger home. Flynn found that odd since Alexei was a widowed woman in her mid-60s. Why would she need a bigger home? Then Flynn dismissed the thought, concurring that everything really is bigger in Texas. The two-story brick home sat inside a gated community. More pristine manicured yards. For the few driveways that held cars, it looked like a luxury used car lot — with Mercedes, BMW, and Lexus well represented. She’s moving up in the world. Not bad for a drunk.
Flynn pressed the doorbell and waited for Alexei to answer. She never took her husband’s last name, proud of her past and her father — no matter what people thought about him. When Flynn saw her, he was taken aback by her appearance. Instead of unkempt hair and a bathrobe, Alexei wore a tight-fitting black leather skirt and a white blouse. Her brown hair looked much healthier, cropped tightly around her shoulders. It was almost as if she were a different person.
She welcomed him into her home and led him to a solarium just off the main entryway inside the house.
“It’s good to see you, Ms. de Mohrenschildt,” Flynn said. “Thank you for taking the time to talk with me.”
“My pleasure,” she said. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I came here today to ask you a few questions and to show you something.”
“What do you want to show me?”
“I have a DVD of a CIA operative admitting on his deathbed that the government used a cocktail of drugs to coerce your father to shoot himself.”
Flynn eyed her cautiously, unsure of how she might react. Surprisingly, she remained cold.
“I’ll save us both some time and pass on watching it, Mr. Flynn. I knew that a long time ago.”
“Really?”
“Well, I figured the U.S. government didn’t give our family large sums of money each month just because my dad was a good person. What did you think? That I bought this house on my good looks?” She paused briefly before speaking again. “Don’t answer that last question.”
Flynn smiled. He enjoyed the sober Alexei. Her wit was sharp, something absent in their last meeting. Maybe this time she could remember something of value.
“So what did you want to ask me?” she said.
“Do you remember going on any trips with your father and him meeting any suspicious people?”
“Everyone who met with my father was suspicious. When you work with spies and thieves, nobody shows up wearing a frock, if you know what I mean.”
“Well, it’s come to light that the CIA used your father to help orchestrate JFK’s assassination. But based on some other information I’ve found, I have a theory that he used the CIA as a cover and worked with some other organizations first. Would you be able to help me with any information here?”
Alexei tilted her head and pursed her lips before finally speaking.
“Trying to single one out is next to impossible. My father would’ve sold his soul to both Jesus and the Devil if he could’ve figured out a way to swindle both of them into buying it at the same time.”
“Do you remember where the people were from?”
“Haiti, Germany, France, Yugoslavia, Cuba, Mexico — you name it, my father was meeting officials from all these countries.”
“What about the Russians?”
“Oh, yes, he met with several Russians—” Alexei then paused. “But they weren’t with the Russian government. It was a funny Russian name. Oh, what was it?”
Flynn sat there helpless, praying that of all the brain cells Alexei killed while drinking for years that she hadn’t killed the ones carrying that name.
“I can’t remember. Something like Cuckoo Clocks or Kooky Cods. No, that’s no it.”
Flynn patiently awaited the answer to find its way to Alexei’s tongue.
“Kuklovod! That’s it — the Kuklovod. He was always meeting with them. Especially when we lived in Haiti. I only remember that because he would say their name in Russian since we didn’t speak it. But I just always started giggling whenever I heard it.”
She smiled at the fond memory, unaware of its implications.
“Do you know anything else about them?”
“Not much — but I do know they left us a lot of money. And I mean a lot of money.”
“Did your father ever talk about what it was for?”
“No. He never spoke of them at all once we left Haiti and returned to the states.”
Flynn asked Alexei a few more questions, but it didn’t go anywhere. And within ten minutes, Flynn concluded there was no more information to extract from his gracious host. She showed him to the door.
Once inside his car, Flynn dialed one of his few remaining friends at the CIA, Todd Osborne. They spent a few minutes catching up on personal life details before Flynn finally got around to the nature of his call.
“So, I’ve got a question for you. Have you ever heard of the Kuklovod?”
Osborne said nothing.
“Osborne? Are you there?”
More silence.