Monday, May 1, 1961
The White House, Washington, DC
“There will not be, under any conditions, any intervention in Cuba by United States armed forces…”
Sorenson read from the text, stopped now, looked at the president, who said, “Yes, I said that. Every reporter in the country wrote it down.”
Bobby stood in one corner, looked hard at his brother.
“Jack, you’ve put your foot in a few piles, but none like this. Jesus, you insisted on having that press conference a week before the operation? Why’d you have to mention anything about Cuba?”
Kennedy sat at his desk, arms in front of him.
“They ask, I answer. I’m not going to play games with the press. That’s an enemy I don’t need. If you recall, I also said there would be no Americans on the ground in Cuba at all, ever. I was told that was the truth. Apparently, I was wrong about that too.”
Bobby looked down, knew he had been the source of that lie, that he had tried telling his brother no Americans had been in harm’s way. Like so many of the others, Bobby had been a victim of his own wishful thinking. He looked now toward the fourth man in the room, General Maxwell Taylor, the president’s primary military advisor. Taylor seemed grim, even more than the others.
“Mr. President, it is confirmed that we lost four pilots there. Shot down by Castro’s jets. If they’re prisoners, it will be especially embarrassing, in light of your … um … comments.”
Bobby sniffed, folded his arms tightly crossed against his chest.
“I suppose we should hope that all four of them died.” He regretted the words instantly, knew the president would have none of that kind of talk.
Sorenson seemed to struggle for words, as though seeking some way out of this for all of them.
“We could claim that the Americans who took part were renegades, that there was no knowledge among our people that they were even there.”
The president looked at his brother, said, “Why did you try to tell me we had no Americans involved? I heard that from the CIA too. It was supposed to be Cubans, and only Cubans. How do you think this looks, like the great United States bullies its way into a neighboring country, without provocation.”
Bobby let out a breath.
“I misspoke, obviously. There were a few Americans, mostly from the landing craft, who didn’t make it out. One of the supply ships was destroyed by the Cuban jets, sank, presumably with loss of life.”
Kennedy sat back, glared at his brother.
“American loss of life. I would assume the Cubans have the bodies. Next we’ll hear that they’re parading them all over Havana. What of this fellow, San Roman … Pepe?”
Taylor seemed to perk up at the name.
“He survived, sir. We picked him up, with a handful of others in a boat. Somehow they escaped off the beach, motored or paddled like hell to the middle of nowhere until one of the destroyers spotted them. He’s being flown here, to be debriefed.”
Kennedy shook his head.
“I’ll talk to him myself. I want to hear it all, no matter how pissed off that man is. He has a right to be. He’ll give it to me straight, which is probably more than anyone else has.”
Bobby looked at Taylor, saw the same resignation they all felt. The general said, “There is blame enough to go around, sir. The CIA people, Bissell in particular, they’re ready to admit they made some mistakes. This was Bissell’s baby, and he knows there were screw-ups.”
The president stared ahead, furious now, Bobby recognizing the signs. The others kept silent and Kennedy finally said, “Mistakes. Sounds pretty basic, doesn’t it? Oh dear, someone made an error. Someone misrepresented this entire operation to the president of the United States. Whatever are we to do? Well, I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. The CIA just lost every bit of clout they ever had in this office. I don’t know how they sold this plan to Ike, but that’s not his problem anymore. The problem is they sold it to me, and I bought the whole package. I trusted the experts. Isn’t that what a president is supposed to do? I’m new at this, I rely on the veterans, the professionals.” He glanced at Bobby now. “I thought we needed to be rid of Castro, and they played on that. Here, sir, a great idea, already planned out. We can take out Castro and liberate Cuba in one swoop. No casualties, no one in the whole world will know we’re behind it. Cubans for Cuba, that’s what everyone will think. And the Cuban people, well, they’ll just rise up in one great mass, a tidal wave of support for exactly what we want them to support. Just like that. And damn it all, I bought it. I wanted it, and the CIA, Dulles, Bissell, the rest, they put on their dog and pony show, and told me just what I wanted to hear.” He paused, looked at Bobby, spit out the word again. “Experts.”
Bobby could see he was breathing heavily, his brother as angry as he had ever been. Sorenson said, “Sir, what now? We can’t hide from the facts, not any longer.”
Kennedy stood now, paced slowly before the windows of his office.
“I’m not allowed to be the new kid on the block, no one’s excusing me for being wet behind the ears. People died, and I approved the plan. No blame can be fixed, no matter how tempting it is to hang those damn CIA people out to dry. They know they’re through, especially Bissell. Dulles too, I suppose. The head man can’t be immune. But that won’t satisfy anyone else. It sure as hell won’t satisfy me, or the American public. I’d like to go over to CIA, and smash their damned offices to splinters.” He looked at Taylor now. “The damned Joint Chiefs, you sons of bitches who wear all that fruit salad on your shoulders, just sat there and accepted what the CIA told you. You treat me like I’m five years old, that you have to explain the simplest facts to me. But this time, when all of you should have been throwing cold water on the CIA, you sit back with your oh-so-superior smiles, and sign off on an operation none of you would have dared to approve on your own. You patronized your greenhorn president … and went along with what little the CIA told you, knowing none of this would fall on your heads. As pissed off as I am at all the counsel I received, I will not hide from it. No, gentlemen, this is my doing. It’s my fault, and the blame rests right here in this office. The quicker I own up to that, the quicker we can move forward, put it behind us.”
Sorenson said, “Own up to it publicly? A full statement to the press?”
“A full statement to everyone, the press, the public, the government, and even the damn Russians. If anyone is ever to take this administration seriously, they have to see full honesty, full accountability. The decisions were mine, and they were bad decisions. Mistakes were made, all the way up the chain of command, but the biggest mistake happened right here in this office. I gave the go-ahead.”
Bobby held his pose, arms still folded tightly.
“You’re right, Jack. It has to be done, to accept responsibility for all of it. But, Jesus, it’s a hell of a way to start a presidency.”
HE WALKED WITH his brother across the wet green lawn, a drizzle of soft rain. The president seemed to ignore that, and so Bobby did as well, knowing that Jack was still fuming. Bobby glanced at his shoes, black leather soaked now with the rain. After a long silence, he said, “You had to go along, Jack. Too much had been done, too many hours, too much training. Those Cubans in Miami wouldn’t have let you call it off. It’s all they live for.”
Kennedy stopped, a glance upward.
“That shouldn’t have mattered. The fact is, I want that son of a bitch out of Cuba too. So do you. I relied on my own hope that this would be the way, that he could be erased without any of us getting dirt on our hands. I learned something, Bobby. I’m new at this job, and I thought it was the wise thing to depend on the veterans, those who know how things work. But those people have failings too, have wishful thinking enough to go around. Just because a man’s been in some high-up office for years doesn’t mean he knows what the hell he’s doing, and that goes for the CIA, the Joint Chiefs, and all the rest. That damned Bissell … he flat-out lied to me about the chance for this thing to succeed. I suppose they all did, in one way or another. They thought I needed … boosting. The new kid. A dose of confidence. Well, I’ve got confidence now. I’ve learned not to trust anyone just because he has a big office, or he wears a uniform. You might be it, little brother. From now on, I want you to be my ears, I want you to stick your nose into every dark corner. Figure out what’s real and what’s foolishness, or rather, what’s dangerous. I’ve been thrown straight into the pot, and the water’s boiling. Too many of my advisors are afraid to tell me things I might not like. I figured that one out pretty quickly. You won’t hesitate to pound your boots up my ass plenty. Apparently, this job calls for that.”
Bobby tried not to smile.
“If you insist. I’ve always had your behind, Jack. I learned that from Pop.”
“I know. I need to go sit down with Sorenson, put some words on paper. If anyone will figure out the best way to tell the world I’ve been an idiot, it’s my best speechwriter.”
Bobby tugged on his coat, the drizzle increasing.
“Let’s go inside. Listen, what do you want me to focus on first? I’ve got a truckload of work waiting for me over at Justice. If your attorney general is going to act as your troubleshooter too, I’ll need to set some wheels in motion over there, get things to run without my hands-on every minute.”
Kennedy stopped, seemed to notice the rain now.
“Do what you have to do. The Justice Department is your baby, and you’ll run it however you want to. But beyond that, I want you to find some good people, the right people, to figure out how to get rid of that bastard Castro. He’s a danger to this entire hemisphere.”
“What do we do about the Soviets? Castro’s already crawling into bed with them, and Khrushchev won’t react well if someone plugs Castro with a sniper’s rifle. There are Russian advisors in Cuba now, probably some troops. They’ve been sending in Russian equipment, including MiGs, and they’re certainly training Cuban pilots to fly the things. They consider Castro their new best friend, and they’re going to grease him up with every kind of weapon and training they can.”
“So, if something happens to Castro, it has to come from inside Cuba. Figure out how to make that happen.”
Bobby didn’t respond, knew his brother had the same thoughts. Yeah, we tried that once before.
The president moved toward the White House portico, Bobby keeping up with quick wet steps. To one side, he saw the Secret Service guards, moving parallel, as miserable from the increasing rain as Bobby was now. They reached the cover of the main porch, climbed the steps, Bobby swiping the wetness off his shoulders.
“Jesus, Jack, I’ll need a new suit. Let’s take a walk when the weather’s better.”
Kennedy glanced out past his brother, the rain harder now.
“Just figure out a way to get rid of that son of a bitch. And don’t tell me about it.”
Bobby laughed.
“I just thought of Pop. His best advice. Don’t write anything down.”
Jack glanced at him, unsmiling. They rarely spoke of Joe Kennedy these days, the great shadow of the man growing smaller now. All that the father had pushed for had come to pass already, one son the president, one the attorney general. There wasn’t much else even the most ambitious father could ask for.
At the great doorway, the Marine guard saluted, the two men dripping their way inside. Bobby said, “So, you’ll make your remarks to the nation, owning up to the Bay of Pigs. What do you think the Soviets will say?”
Kennedy stopped, an aide appearing with a pair of towels.
“I think they’ll be surprised as hell that I’m not trying to cover anything up. That I’ll admit we screwed up, and that, under this administration anyway, it won’t happen again. That’s not how they do things in Moscow.”
Bobby wiped at his face with the welcome towel, ran it through the tussle of thick hair.
“They’ll still find a way to accuse you of something sinister.”
“Well, I suppose I’ll find out. Already I surprised them about Vienna. They expected me to put off our scheduled summit, because of our … crisis. But I accepted the invitation anyway. I’ll meet with Khrushchev June third. Jackie and mother will go with me. I thought it would be a good idea to put as much normalcy on this as I could.”
“I’d love to sit down with Khrushchev, find out just what kind of balls he has.”
Kennedy laughed.
“I have more important things to worry about, like whether or not he thinks he can blow up our half the world and get away with it. I intend to push hard for the nuclear test ban treaty. That’s more important to me than his manhood.”
FROM HIS EARLIEST days in Washington, Bobby Kennedy had built a reputation as a ruthless and aggressive advocate for whatever task he had been assigned. Some labeled him cold, unfeeling, dedicated to a fault, most often those critics who had been on the receiving end of his ambitious assaults. In the mid-1950s, he had served as counsel to the infamous Senator Joe McCarthy, who pursued alleged Communists that had supposedly infiltrated the U.S. government. But Kennedy had little of McCarthy’s zeal for attacking the innocent, or elevating himself at the expense of the helpless or hapless who happened to stand in the way. When McCarthy’s vicious campaign exhausted itself, crushed by outrage toward the senator’s methods, the young Kennedy chased a new foe, organized crime, working as an attorney for the Justice Department. There, he pursued corruption springing from racketeering, targeting such figures as Teamsters Union president Jimmy Hoffa. But with the 1960 presidential election approaching, Bobby Kennedy’s zeal turned closer to home, and he resigned his post at Justice to manage his brother Jack’s campaign for the presidency. The brutal campaign pitched the handsome, rising star of the Senate against the vice president, Richard Nixon. Many assumed Nixon was the natural successor to the retiring Dwight Eisenhower, an assumption based partly on the uneasiness many voters had with Kennedy’s Catholicism. But the Kennedy team made great use of Jack Kennedy’s assets, a younger, vibrantly handsome family man, whose wife, Jackie, brought the kind of fashion and elegant charm to her position rarely seen in Washington. The margin was razor thin, but in the end, Kennedy prevailed, in no small part because of his younger brother’s efforts. As the new administration settled into official Washington, one of the new president’s earliest decisions raised eyebrows, and set off a furious contagion of tongue-wagging. Bobby Kennedy was chosen to be the new attorney general. At thirty-five, Bobby was the youngest ever appointed to the Cabinet. Though cries of nepotism echoed through Congress, fueled by Kennedy’s Republican enemies, the Kennedys showed no hesitation in moving forward. Both men accepted that, in his younger brother, Jack had chosen a man who filled two great needs. He was absolutely qualified to do the job, and the president could trust him, absolutely.
As attorney general, Bobby Kennedy quickly erased concerns about his lack of expertise, or lack of ability to handle a position thought to be one of the toughest in Washington. His zeal for attacking organized crime had not waned, so much so that the nation’s chief law enforcement officer, FBI head J. Edgar Hoover, began to see the young Kennedy as an annoying upstart, who didn’t automatically bow down to Hoover’s self-proclaimed superiority. It was a thorny relationship that, as time passed, grew thornier still.
As Bobby had done throughout his brother’s public life, he quickly established himself as his brother’s protector, willing to engage and confront any controversy that threatened the president’s public stature, including both men’s penchant for sexual affairs. Beyond the personal, Bobby continued to serve the new president in other ways, leading some to wonder if the younger Kennedy would be satisfied to keep to his office at the Justice Department. But neither man paid heed to that kind of criticism, and very quickly, Bobby Kennedy rose to become his brother’s most sought-after and trusted advisor. If critics labeled Bobby as out of his depth with topics such as foreign policy, the president didn’t seem to care. What meant more to both men was trust. Jack Kennedy knew he could trust his brother. It did not take long for official Washington to offer labels of their own. It was widely assumed that if the president ever required a hatchet man, someone to ram home an idea or suggestion, that man would be his younger brother.
HE SAT BEHIND his desk, eyed the stuffed tiger beside his massive fireplace. He focused on the beast’s claws, upraised, as though awaiting instructions to assault anyone the attorney general deemed worthy. Across from him sat John Siegenthaler, Bobby’s newly appointed top advisor. Siegenthaler glanced at the tiger, smiled, said, “It’s not enough that you’ve set tongues to wagging all over the city. Now you’re giving some of the press people plenty of ammunition for calling you eccentric.”
Bobby folded his hands behind his head, leaned back.
“Is that a problem? You know, Ernest Hemingway gave me that tiger. I don’t much care who objects to it. I took it as a compliment, from a man whose compliments carry some weight.”
“As you say, sir. I do admit, your appointment isn’t raising quite as many eyebrows around here as it did a few weeks ago. I credit you for that. You’ve made it plain that you’re up to the task.”
Bobby laughed.
“You know, I wasn’t Jack’s first choice.”
“What do you mean?”
“When Jack was elected, he went to Abe Ribicoff, governor of Connecticut, offered him the job.”
Siegenthaler seemed surprised.
“Yes, I know of Governor Ribicoff. Fine man. Would have done a good job here I suspect. Not as good as you, of course.”
Kennedy ignored the joke.
“He’s a Jew. He turned down the offer, smart enough to realize that this job will be staring straight into a cannon barrel down south when it comes to Civil Rights issues. Abe didn’t think that the first Catholic president ought to put a Jew in charge of confronting a bunch of racist white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. Sounds reasonable to me. I don’t have those kinds of handicaps. They’ll hate me for what I do, not just because my brother and I are Catholic.”
“I’m curious, sir. You said you had never actually practiced law before. I know you served as counsel to the senator and all. Should we expect some difficulties from outside attorneys who still don’t accept your qualifications?”
“Nah. I’ve worked hard at this. Like so many, I started as a young lawyer. I was ambitious, I studied, applied myself. I’d have gone far, too. But then, my brother was elected president of the United States. That sort of changed my priorities.”
It was a rare joke, Bobby not cracking a smile.
“Well, then, yes, I can see how that qualified you for any number of jobs.”
“I love saying that. But look, John. I’ve got good people here, dedicated people. I check on ’em, regularly, make my way through most of the offices, here and down the street. I’m surprised to hear that most of these folks have rarely ever shaken the hand of the attorney general, their boss, for God’s sake. I changed that. They need to know who I am, and what we’re doing here. If they have an issue, they come to see me. Tiger and all.”
Tuesday, May 9, 1961
Washington, DC
“Excuse me, sir?”
Bobby looked up, annoyed at the interruption, saw the unsmiling face of Ed Guthman, one of his aides.
“What is it, Ed?”
“Sir, you know Frank Holeman, of the New York Daily News?”
“Maybe.”
“Well, sir, he’s friendly with a Russian, fellow by the name of Georgi Bolshakov. Bolshakov is a colonel in the Soviet military intel unit, the GRU. Nice enough chap, according to Holeman. Thinks it would be a good thing if he had access to the brother of the president.”
“Good God, why?”
“This could be valuable, sir. A back-channel contact, someone who has the ear of Moscow, without gushing over it in the newspapers.”
“But you said the Daily News…”
“Just a contact, sir. Colonel Bolshakov wants to meet you, maybe establish a relationship of sorts. Nothing official, nothing public. Would you be interested, sir?”
Bobby sat back, hands behind his head, his usual position.
“By God. Yes. Um … where?”
“They’re holding him in a discreet place, sir. I assumed that if you were to meet with him, it should be out of doors, away from ears. I suggest, sir, downstairs, on the street corner.”
“What if I had said no?”
“We’d have sent him on his way. And, forgive me for saying, sir, you would never have said no.”
HE WAS SURPRISED. Bolshakov was nothing like he expected, a short round man, with what seemed to be a perpetual smile.
“You don’t look anything like a spy.”
The smile widened.
“Neither do you, Mr. Attorney General.”
“Fair enough. I admit I read too much Ian Fleming. I expect every discreet meeting to take place with someone I presume resembles James Bond.”
Bolshakov laughed.
“I’ve heard that before. No matter. Tell me, Mr. Attorney General, is this a social meeting, or is there more to your being here?”
“My name’s Robert. Bobby, I suppose. I don’t care for the name, but everybody on Earth insists on using it. You’re Georgi, correct?”
“Quite so, sir.”
“In that case, I want to know if you are interested in having the ear of the president of the United States. If so, I expect to meet occasionally with someone who has the ear of the Kremlin. Mutual benefit, as it were.”
Bolshakov nodded, another chuckle.
“Good. To the point. I heard you were not a man for small talk, or mindless jabber. We should get along. I am curious about one thing. It is understood that my government values a pipeline, if you will, into the office of the president. Cuts out the complications, the jabber between governments, too often delayed in transmission. Your government has an annoying habit of relying on your newspapers for information, or even worse, for allowing those newspapers to print what they know. I’m hoping this relationship avoids such things. But I’m curious. What do you wish to gain from me?”
Bobby shifted his seat on the granite wall, waited while a pair of tourists walked past, one with a bouncing camera and the other wearing knee socks.
“Same thing. There is too much tension between our countries. We also do not wish to rely on the snail’s pace of diplomatic channels when we can make our point directly, with no confusion. And one more thing. Any back-channel pipeline relies on truth. I must trust you, as you must trust me. There are no games to be played here. That’s for diplomats. This is a dangerous world, and free speaking is essential for us to know just who we are, and what we mean to say.”
“Your brother the president is sensitive to being perceived as weak, is he not? Your tragic Bay of Pigs event could paint a picture of him that he does not wish to paint, certainly not inside the Kremlin. It was an odd thing for us to hear him accept blame for his mistakes, or for the mistakes of others. That is unusual in our world. He must demonstrate that he is more than a suit full of apologies in order for the Kremlin to take him seriously.”
“That’s the gist of it. We are concerned that your people do not view the United States as a paper tiger. You must understand that we acknowledge our mistakes in Cuba, but it does not mean we are backing down from protecting our interests. It would be a mistake for your government to test us, to push against what you would see as weakness.”
Bolshakov shrugged.
“I cannot tell Premier Khrushchev what to think. He will find out for himself what the president has for a spine when they meet in Vienna.”
Bobby winced at the word, absorbed the subtle message that Bolshakov might open a pipeline but he had no real control over anything. Bobby glanced skyward.
“It’s going to rain. There’s a great deal of that here, especially when I choose to be outside. I ruin too many suits as it is. Let’s walk.”
Bolshakov slid his heavy frame off the wall, moved alongside Kennedy, seemed even shorter now. Halfway down the block, Bobby said, “If indeed you can pass my communications directly to Khrushchev, then we should do just fine. I assure you, I will do the same for my brother.”
Bolshakov nodded, unsmiling now.
“We have many issues lying before us that are of great interest to my government. Cuba certainly, and more importantly, Berlin. No one among us should step into a powder keg tossing off sparks.”
“Precisely.”
“Then, Bobby, we shall certainly meet again.”