Mrs. Kennedy and Me: An Intimate Memoir by Clint Hil (love letters to the dead TXT) 📗

to the bar itself are tiny ship models, which, at the flick of a switch, move on a lighted relief of the sea.

There is a library, and more lounge area, complete with a grand piano. Need to leave in a hurry? Lower the helicopter to the proper position and have a pleasant flight. And just to make sure you have absolutely everything you need or want, a seaplane is available to act as a courier bringing the latest newspapers, mail, and any provisions needed for the cruise. It also acts as a taxi, ferrying people leaving or joining the cruise. But beware, the standard trick is to fly over the Christina upside down after taking off, leaving the passenger somewhat ill, as Prince Radziwill would find out upon his early departure.

Paul and I were led to the cabin he and I would share. Located in the bowels of the yacht, as part of the crew area, it was small and somewhat cramped, but we each had a bunk and our own head. Not bad for two government employees.

“What do you think, Paul?” I asked as we stood on deck looking back at the shore. “Think you can handle this for the next two weeks?”

“It is unreal,” he said. “I think you could live on this yacht and never have to get off.”

It was true. The Christina even had its own laundry and dry cleaning facility. I had been given a copy of the manifest, which listed the names, nationalities, and passport numbers for everybody aboard the ship. Thirteen passengers, and a crew of forty-eight, which included hairdressers, chefs, electricians, and engineers. From a security standpoint, it was ideal—a self-contained city with very few people to deal with.

The crew weighed anchor and the Christina began to move away from the Greek mainland toward the coast of Turkey, slicing through the water with hardly an indication on deck that we were moving. Paul remained in proximity to Mrs. Kennedy while I went to the bridge to check with the captain and obtain as much information as possible about the immediate itinerary.

We were on our way to Istanbul, Turkey. But the captain didn’t know what, if any, activities were planned upon arrival.

I found Mrs. Kennedy coming out of her stateroom. She had changed into a pair of lightweight trousers and a thin blouse. Her hair was pulled back with a scarf, and she had a pair of oversized sunglasses propped on top of her head.

“So, Mr. Hill, what do you think of the Christina?”

“It’s a very nice yacht,” I said as my mouth curled into a smile. “Not bad.”

She laughed. It was wonderful to see her laughing again.

“Mrs. Kennedy, can you tell me what your plans are for the rest of the day, and what you think you might do tomorrow?”

“Oh Mr. Hill,” she said as she grabbed my hands. “Will you please stop worrying about me and just try to enjoy yourself? This is so pleasant.” She gave my hands a quick squeeze and added, “I want you and Mr. Landis to have a good time.”

“Thank you Mrs. Kennedy, I appreciate that, but I do need to know your plans. I know we are on the way to Istanbul, but can you give me some more specific information?”

“I want to see the Blue Mosque in Istanbul and one of the national museums. You’ll have to check with Mr. Onassis—he knows where I want to go.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Kennedy, I’ll do that.”

I guess Mr. Onassis and I are going to get to know each other.

I went back to the bridge and told the captain I needed to talk with Mr. Onassis. He used the intercom system to connect with Mr. Onassis.

“Tell Mr. Hill to come to my suite,” Onassis said over the intercom.

The captain pointed me to Onassis’s suite, which was located just behind the navigation bridge.

I knocked at the door, and he immediately opened it.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Hill?” he asked. He spoke fluent English, with just the slightest hint of an accent. I had been surprised to see that the manifest listed his nationality as Argentine.

“I need to understand the immediate plans, and Mrs. Kennedy suggested I talk to you regarding the specific details.”

“Well, Mr. Hill, we are on the way to Istanbul, as you know.” He stared at me with his beady brown eyes, speaking slowly, in a somewhat condescending tone. “We will be going up through the Bosporus into the Black Sea and then come back out so Mrs. Kennedy can visit the Blue Mosque and the Topkapi Palace in Istanbul.”

He stared at me with intensity as he spoke. Was he trying to intimidate me? It wasn’t going to work.

“I see, Mr. Onassis. I’ll have to go ashore ahead of Mrs. Kennedy to make sure it is safe for her and that everything is ready.”

“Fine, I’ll arrange for you to do that,” he said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I talk with my people onshore.”

“Thank you, Mr. Onassis. And just so you are aware, this will be the case everywhere we go, so the more information you can provide me in advance, the better.”

With that I left the suite and went back to the bridge. I scanned the horizon, looking for one of the U.S. Navy ships that I knew were surveilling us. I never did see one, but I knew they were there.

That evening Mr. Onassis approached me and said, “Mr. Hill, the local authorities will send a launch to pick you up tomorrow morning as we pass the area on our way to the Black Sea. They will take you ashore to meet with Mr. Brown, the U.S. consul general. Will that be satisfactory?”

“Yes, sir. That will be fine.” I was certainly glad that he was cooperating, and even helping facilitate our security activities.

Paul and I kept a watchful eye on Mrs. Kennedy, but gave her plenty of space. She enjoyed dinner with the other guests and a relaxing time in