Thursday, October 18, 1962
The White House
He walked with his brother past the Rose Garden, where the president’s aides and various stagehands were preparing a platform for a ceremony Kennedy was to preside over later that morning.
Bobby watched the labor, saw the faces eyeing them, said quietly, “What now?”
Kennedy ignored the work, had seen plenty of this before.
“Nine thirty. I present the Harmon International Award trophies. For excellence in flying. Well-deserved stuff. I don’t mind this one. The recipients are good people, deserving.”
Bobby glanced at his watch, after eight, a mental note of how long he might keep the president’s attention. They walked out past the garden, across the wide lawn, Secret Service agents keeping a discreet distance. After a silent moment, the president said, “What time is the next meeting?”
Bobby watched his shoes sliding through the thick grass, said, “Eleven this morning. Another tonight, ten p.m.”
“I’ll probably make the late one. I want to hear some of this stuff firsthand.” He looked at Bobby, a slight smile. “Not that I don’t trust your version of events.”
Bobby welcomed the touch of humor. He had carried around the weight of the meetings for two days. He glanced again at his watch, said, “We’re not close to a decision, you know. Your decision, I mean. The military still wants to go in with guns blazing. The Republicans are out there spouting off the same thing. I heard Richard Nixon is campaigning somewhere in California, called you weak on everything. These idiots have no idea what they’re talking about, but all that talk is pushing some pretty serious buttons around the country. People want to know you’re strong on Cuba, but now, you can’t tell them just how strong. Not yet anyway. How long are you gonna wait before you say something publicly?”
Kennedy stopped, looked around, seemed to check for listening ears.
“I can’t say anything yet. Nothing. Not until we’ve reached a real decision on just what to do. If I announce we’re going into Cuba, it might make the Republicans happy, but it will seriously piss off our allies, NATO, the OAS. We’ll be seen as invading a sovereign country, missiles or not. We have to know exactly what we’re going to say, and what the responses should be, before we say it. It’s tough. I don’t just want to scare hell out of the American people unless there’s a good reason. By the way, I’m sending Acheson to Paris.”
“Why?”
“Well, for one, he’s a pain in the ass. But more importantly, I want our people in place alongside our allies, prepared to give them a heads-up as to our plans, just before I make any kind of public announcement. De Gaulle would expect to know something in advance, as would Prime Minister MacMillan. The British ambassador, Ormsby-Gore, will be our pipeline there. He’s a good fellow, and he’ll do what he can to calm nerves in London. We’ll have to prepare our ambassadors in every country in Latin America. We make any announcement about Cuba, no matter what we decide, and those people will be directly affected.”
Bobby glanced around, no one close, the agents keeping their distance.
“Jesus, Jack. I owe you an apology. I guess I forget just how many details you have to think about. I’m more concerned with the meetings, and who’s saying what. It’s all going to fall on you, before it’s over. I guess I take that for granted.”
“Don’t. I’m relying on you all to come up with solutions that make sense and won’t start World War Three. But nobody, not the Republicans, not the American people, is going to care what any committee says. You’re right. It’s on me. This might be the week I really earn my salary.” He paused, started walking again, slow steps, Bobby following. He stopped again, said, “You read Guns of August?”
“Barbara Tuchman. Yeah, read it a couple months ago.”
Kennedy thought a moment.
“She makes the point. World War One started because a bunch of idiotic heads of state kept escalating their threats, pushing each other into corners. Big talk became bigger action, until half the damn world was on fire. That’s my fear, Bobby. You see The New York Times this morning? Izvestia printed another threat from Khrushchev, that if we set foot in Cuba, it will start a war, not with Cuba, but with the Soviets. They have plenty of eyes in this country, they have to know we’re muscling up, and I’m hoping like hell they don’t know why. If I was Khrushchev, and saw our exercises in the Caribbean, I’d assume it was a rehearsal for the invasion of Cuba. So, he reacts. Shoots his mouth off, maybe just to make Castro feel better.”
“Um, Jack, that was one of the observations the CIA boys offered up. They said the Soviets have repositioned some missile-firing boats—Komar class, they’re called. They moved them away from Havana and closer to Guantánamo. At first, it didn’t make sense, that they’d move missiles farther away from our coastline. But if they think there’s going to be an invasion, they’re positioning their defensive people where they can do more good for them.”
Kennedy rubbed a hand on his chin, then ran it through his hair.
“Or, it could mean they’re gearing up for a direct attack on Guantánamo. Either way, it points to their uncertainty about just what we’re up to. I suppose that’s good. But uncertainty can be dangerous as hell, Bobby. That’s what Tuchman says. Big talk without firm information, big threats that no one takes seriously. Backing people into corners. It’s a recipe for catastrophe. And it scares the hell out of me.” He looked hard at Bobby now. “That’s why you need to keep meeting, debating, discussing, arguing. I need some confidence from you fellows, that whatever I’m doing isn’t going to kill us all.” He turned back toward the Rose Garden. “I’d better get ready. The crowds and the reporters will be here soon. Probably not good for us to be wandering around out here, sharing secrets. You know what the reporters will say.”
“Wait, Jack. What about Gromyko?”
“You know about that, of course. Yep, I’m meeting with Gromyko this afternoon. That should be interesting.”
Andrei Gromyko was the Soviet foreign minister, a direct connection to Khrushchev. Gromyko had been an effective member of the Soviet foreign service as far back as Stalin. Unlike the affable Dobrynin, Gromyko most often offered a portrait of stony silence, seemed devoid of personality, accepted the animosity between the two great superpowers almost personally, as though by his presence alone, he should be thought of as the real enemy the Americans should despise. And yet, he did his job, had requested to meet with President Kennedy this day, their meeting set for five that afternoon.
Bobby knew little of Gromyko, other than the odd contrast to the far friendlier Dobrynin.
“What do you think he wants, Jack?”
Kennedy shrugged.
“Either he’s coming to tell me that we had better keep out of Cuba, that Khrushchev isn’t fooling around with his threats … or he’s going to tell me that the Soviets know what we know, that somehow, they found out what our U-2 flights have shown.”
“Jesus. You think that?”
“Not really. He’s just trying to put the lid a little tighter on the pot, keep the hard words from becoming hard actions. I have to believe that. I have to believe that the goddamn Soviets are as afraid of war as we are.”
Bobby crossed his arms, the familiar stance.
“Maybe he’s hoping you’ll confess. Maybe they’re wondering if you know anything you’re not saying, and so, he’ll be giving you an opportunity to let it out of the bag, chew him out about their missiles.”
“Well, I suppose … we’ll find out.”
THE MEETING WITH Gromyko was a full-on state affair, the Oval Office the natural setting. Kennedy was flanked by Dean Rusk, McGeorge Bundy, Ted Sorenson, with pen and pad in hand, and the ambassador to Russia, Llewellyn Thompson. Gromyko was accompanied by the ever-smiling Dobrynin, and an interpreter, a man whose English was so perfect, it was often suggested he would have made an excellent spy. Gromyko was his usual taciturn self, seemed perpetually grumpy. Immediately, Kennedy’s fears were relaxed, as Gromyko spent most of the time haranguing the Americans for acting the bully toward Cuba, claiming that helpless Cuba was deeply afraid of its massively dangerous neighbor to the north, that the Soviets were only there to quiet the possible storm. As if to emphasize that he was reflecting only the views from Moscow, Gromyko read aloud from previously prepared sheets of paper, offering the assurances that he was there to make clear that Soviet assistance to Cuba was for defensive purposes only, aid to an ally.
Kennedy’s response was cordial and firm, with no mention of course of Soviet missiles. He simply stated that it was the goal of the United States to prevent any aggressive action by Cuba against any of America’s allies in the Western Hemisphere. He further claimed that the United States had no intention of invading Cuba.
Whether or not Gromyko left the meeting feeling any better, Kennedy understood that what had just transpired was an exercise in meaninglessness. And, of course, Gromyko had lied.
THE EXCOMM MEETINGS went on, McNamara continuing to press his idea for a blockade, the other side still adamant that a blockade would only prolong the agony, possibly for months, more than enough time to allow the Soviets to have their missile bases already in Cuba fully operational. Again, the arguments flowed freely, the same as before, insistence that there was no guarantee that any military strike, no matter how surgical, would eliminate all the designated targets. For the first time, more attention was being paid to the impact such a move would have on America’s allies, specifically the Latin countries, members of the Organization of American States, as well as the NATO countries in Europe. Attacking Cuba might be seen as a bully’s move, the assault on a sovereign nation for a reason that might be difficult to justify, given the Soviets’ denial that the missile bases were offensive. And then, there were Khrushchev’s threats, no one certain if the Soviet leader was merely shooting fireworks, or if the Russians were fully prepared for an all-out nuclear confrontation.
Thursday, October 18, 1962
The State Department, seventh-floor conference room
It was pushing close to midnight, more debates, weary discussions from men who more than once had switched positions, rarely holding to the themes they had proposed from the beginning. Bobby was more surprised with McNamara, who seemed to be backing away from his blockade plan altogether. McNamara held the floor, aiming his words at Bobby as much as the president.
“The more I consider this, the more I realize it’s a political problem. I just don’t believe the Soviet missiles pose a military threat. They’re seeking leverage, that’s all, to counter the presence of our missiles in Turkey. If we push too hard, provoke them too much … it could lead to much more than we’re supposing. And, we have to prepare the American people to accept that the missiles are there and might just have to stay there.”
Rusk agreed, focusing on the impact any kind of aggressive action would have on America’s allies, some of whom seemed to feel that the United States had a somewhat ridiculous obsession with Cuba. And yet, Rusk seemed to vacillate again, saying, “We should give the Soviets a deadline. If they don’t stop construction of the missile sites by October 23, next week, we tell them we’re going to hit them with air strikes. We should tell our allies about that in advance, give them time to react. And, Khrushchev should be notified almost at the same time of the strikes, warning him that if he takes any counteraction, it will mean war. If we don’t do this … we go down with a whimper. I’d rather see us go down with a bang.”
Bobby was shocked, pushed his voice through a sudden chorus of comments.
“Gentlemen, I don’t want to see us go down at all.”
The door opened, McCone suddenly appearing, as usual, a sheaf of papers gripped in one hand. The president, mostly quiet up until now, pointed toward him, said, “What’s up?”
McCone glanced around, nods of acknowledgment.
“We have just revised our estimates. It is now believed that the first medium-range missile installations will be ready for launch by the Soviets in less than twenty-four hours.”