Wednesday, October 24, 1962
The White House, Oval Office
The two men sat quietly for a long moment, the president reading a document, yet another official posting from the Navy regarding positioning of ships.
“I’ve moved the quarantine line forward from eight hundred, to five hundred miles out from Cuba. I got some good advice from Ormsby-Gore, that it might give us some more flexibility, allow us to tighten the quarantine line, plus give us some time before we have to confront the Soviet ships. I agreed with his thinking, and I gave the order early this morning. The Navy went along, thought it was the correct decision. Admiral Anderson is confident we’re still keeping out of range of whatever Soviet planes might try to interfere.”
Bobby could see the stress on his brother’s face, said, “I guess every decision now is a big one, regardless. Nobody wants to make a mistake.”
Kennedy laughed.
“You can make all the mistakes you want. Just don’t bring them to me. I’m the one who has to be perfect.”
“Frankly, Jack, I think every decision that has come out of this office has been pretty damn perfect.”
“Yeah, maybe. You see the message we got this morning from U Thant?”
“No. What’s the UN want?”
“He’s begging us to back down, to suspend the quarantine for a couple of weeks, as long as the Soviets will back down on their arms shipments. I’ve already gotten word that Khrushchev is going along with it, but I haven’t heard that directly from the Kremlin.”
“They want us to back down, disband the quarantine. Just like that?”
“Just like that. I talked to Stevenson. He says there are more than forty nonaligned countries signing on to this, mostly Africa and Asia, who have no horse in this race. I suppose they don’t want the world to blow up any more than we do, but, dammit all, just because they’re nonaligned doesn’t mean they understand our position.” He slid papers aside, picked up one, held it out toward Bobby. “Here. My response to U Thant. He’ll get it by this afternoon.”
“I deeply appreciate the spirit which prompted your message … As we made clear in the Security Council, the existing threat was created by the secret introduction of offensive weapons into Cuba, and the answer lies in the removal of such weapons…”
Bobby returned the paper.
“Did he tell the Russians they have to pull their missiles out?”
Kennedy shook his head.
“No. That’s the point. Stopping more ships from going to Cuba … hell, we’re doing that right now. His efforts sound good on the surface, telling us both to take a breath, but I guarantee you those construction workers in Cuba aren’t taking a breath. Our photos show the work is ongoing at all those missile sites, and according to McCone, it looks as though they’ve picked up the pace. Until Khrushchev agrees to pull his missiles out of there, we won’t … we can’t change a thing. The Navy’s in position, and we’re monitoring the Soviet ships that are closing in on the new quarantine line. With respect to U Thant, I will not order our people to just twiddle their thumbs for a couple of weeks while the Russians are working like hell to complete their construction.”
Bobby looked at his watch.
“The meeting will start in a few minutes.”
“Yeah. Head on over to the Cabinet Room, I’ll be there in a minute.”
Bobby stood, hesitated, a concerned look at his brother’s face.
“This is tough stuff, Jack. How are you holding up?”
Kennedy sat back, twisted his back, a sharp grimace, something Bobby was used to seeing. He seemed to ponder Bobby’s question, said, “I don’t know if any of this is right. Or wise. It’s dangerous, I know that. But, dammit all, there was no other choice. If the Russians can get this mean in our hemisphere, and we don’t call them on it, what’s to stop them anywhere else?”
Bobby moved closer to the door, stopped, said, “You know damn well, if you hadn’t acted the way you did, you’d have been impeached. The Republicans wouldn’t have let you alone knowing there are missiles in Cuba. And, I’d have agreed with them.”
Kennedy leaned his chin into one hand.
“Impeached. Yep. It may come to that yet. We’re in this pretty deep, and there’s no changing our minds.”
Wednesday, October 24
The White House, Cabinet Room
There was no laughter to kick off this morning’s meeting, none of the joviality that had marked past meetings. The talk was subdued, Kennedy bringing them to order, McNamara opening the way.
“The Strategic Air Command has raised their alert level to DEFCON 2. They sent out the message in the clear, obviously intending the Soviets to receive it, giving them one more reason to respect our intentions. As you all know, DEFCON 1 is a state of war. We can all pray to God we never see that.”
Rusk said, “Mr. President, the Soviets have refused to acknowledge the rules of contact we sent them regarding our quarantine. They’re continuing to refer to the quarantine as an act of piracy.”
Kennedy stared at Rusk, said, “I suppose … it was too much to hope they’d simply go along.”
McCone spoke up now, shuffling paper as he spoke.
“Mr. President, it seems obvious that the Soviets have accelerated work at their missile sites to an even greater extent than we observed yesterday. I recommend we increase our recon flights to include low-level observation.”
McNamara said, “I’ve discussed this with the Air Force. The P8U jets are perfect for that. They can fly in and out just above treetop level, up to maybe eight hundred feet, far too low and too quick for antiaircraft batteries to draw a bead. I can order that to begin immediately.”
Kennedy nodded.
“Do it. They can be equipped with cameras, like the U-2s?”
“Some already are. Different technology, since they’re so much closer to what they’re targeting.”
“Excellent. Tell those pilots to be damned careful.”
There was a knock at the door, unusual. Bobby was closest to the door, waited for a cue from the president, then opened the door. He was surprised to see Mrs. Lincoln, the president’s secretary, who said, “Forgive me, but a message has come for the secretary of defense. They said it was urgent.”
Bobby took the envelope, nodded to her with a brief smile, closed the door. He handed the envelope to McNamara, who broke the seal, opened, read. The room stayed silent, eyes on McNamara, his expression turning grim.
“Mr. President, it seems that two Soviet ships … the Gagarin and the Kimovsk are approaching the quarantine line. They appear to be escorted by a submarine.”
Kennedy put a hand across his mouth, stared at McNamara, then said, “God, I don’t want to have to confront a submarine. It’s one thing to show muscle to an unarmed freighter, but a sub captain’s got his orders, and most likely, it’s to protect those ships. And if that happens, we’ve got another real problem.”
McNamara said, “Sir, it doesn’t have to come down to shooting. The Navy has assured me already that they can confront subs with practice depth charges, with a bang that’s little more than a firecracker. It’s a signal that we know they’re there, and they had better surface, before we use the real thing. I want to believe the Soviet captain won’t respond by firing torpedoes.”
The room stirred with low talk, the anxiety level growing again. Kennedy quieted them, said, “If we sink a Soviet ship trying to run the blockade, we will have backed Khrushchev into a corner. He will have to retaliate. We know there are at least six Soviet subs in the vicinity of the quarantine line.”
Bobby said, “And every one of those captains is waiting for orders to do something. But we can’t forget … I’m still concerned about Berlin. If we take a strong action, like sinking a ship, won’t Khrushchev be just as likely to blockade Berlin? That’s the one place where he has the upper hand, and in some ways, it’s a logical response, a logical way for him to retaliate.”
Kennedy responded in a low voice, slow words.
“That’s the danger here. It always has been. A blockade of Berlin forces us to use aircraft there, which the Soviets no doubt will shoot down. And of course, we must respond to that.”
McNamara said, “We cannot predict what Khrushchev will do, and we cannot yet know what kind of pressure he is under in the Kremlin. It’s the wild card. But so far, none of his letters and claims have even touched on Berlin.”
Another knock on the door, Bobby opening, a CIA officer with yet another envelope. Bobby took the paper, saw the name on the envelope, handed it to McCone.
They waited again, Kennedy’s fingers drumming the table, a few low comments. McCone said, “My God. I have a report here that six Soviet ships have altered course, away from the quarantine line. Reconnaissance had shown us that these freighters all had extra-large hatches, which makes them ideal for transporting missiles. It is possible the Soviets don’t wish us to stumble onto a shipload of offensive weapons, right off the bat.”
There was a surge of talk now.
McNamara, looking as though he had swallowed something awful, said, “It’s also possible the ships are turning around to regroup, possibly seeking a submarine escort, and together they’ll hit the quarantine line in one push. The Navy needs to keep an eye on them.”
Beside him, Rusk said in a low voice, “I don’t know. It feels to me that we’re eyeball to eyeball, and the other guy just blinked.”
BY NOON ON the twenty-fourth, the White House authorized release of a vast trove of photographs taken by the U-2 flights over Cuba. There had been pressure to do so, insistence from America’s allies that even though the governments of most major powers had agreed with Kennedy, many of their citizens did not. Evidenced by the surge of support in the UN for U Thant’s plea for both sides to take a two- or three-week pause, Kennedy understood that Adlai Stevenson had a difficult lobbying job in front of him at the UN. It would be up to Stevenson to provide substantial and incontrovertible evidence to the nonaligned nations that the Americans were justified in their actions. Surprisingly, many governments and their media outlets had openly rejected the claim that there were ballistic missiles in Cuba. Kennedy knew that by providing these photographs to these same outlets, minds might be changed. If he was wrong, at least he could maintain that the United States was being fully transparent.
Wednesday afternoon, October 24, 1962
The White House, Oval Office
“It was passed along to us through Alex Johnson at the State Department, a letter from William Knox in Moscow. He’s the head of Westinghouse, and apparently, Khrushchev decided to bend his ear. It seems like Khrushchev’s looking for another opening, another way to make himself heard.”
Bobby finished reading the letter.
“Goats? He talks about smelly goats?”
“He’s trying to be folksy. Or maybe he is folksy. But there’s more.”
Kennedy held up another piece of paper.
“I wanted to believe he had ordered his ships to turn around as a serious gesture, a way to defuse this. Now, he says this. ‘Just imagine, Mr. President that we had presented you with the conditions of an ultimatum which you have presented to us by your action. How would you have reacted to this? I think you would have been indignant. You, Mr. President, are not declaring a quarantine, but rather are setting forth an ultimatum and threatening that if we do not give in to your demands, you will use force. If you coolly weigh the situation which has developed, not giving way to passions, then you will understand that the Soviet Union cannot fail to reject the arbitrary demands of the U.S.A. I cannot possibly order my seamen to obey American orders, and we shall defend our ships as necessary. If the United States insists on war, then we shall meet in hell.’”
Bobby stared at his brother, slowly shook his head.
“Nothing has changed. He admitted to this fellow Knox that they have put their missiles in Cuba, but says nothing about fixing the problem. McCone was right. They turned those ships around only because they were carrying cargo they didn’t want us to see. Meanwhile, they go merrily on their way in Cuba getting their missiles ready to fire at us.”
Kennedy picked up another paper.
“I have to respond to Khrushchev. Sorenson and I worked on a text. See if this sounds all right. ‘I regret very much that you still do not appear to understand what it is that has moved us in this matter. You gave us solemn assurances that you would place no offensive ballistic missiles in Cuba. However, the facts as we both know them, required the responses I have announced. I hope your government will take the necessary action to permit a restoration of the earlier situation.’”
“The earlier situation being that they weren’t threatening to blow up the world.”
Kennedy put the paper down, and Bobby could see exhaustion.
“Bobby, there are still too many questions. I have a call in tonight to Prime Minister MacMillan, to see what the British position will be if I have to give the order.”
“Which order?”
“To go into Cuba. Take them out.”
“I thought…”
“I know. I had hoped … maybe it was too much wishful thinking, that the quarantine would send enough of a message, that the Soviets would figure they had no choice but to take down their missiles. And maybe I’m too impatient. But this is not a game anyone is going to win, there is no victory here. How do we avoid a nuclear war? Khrushchev is still rattling his sabers long and loud, and he expects us to just accept things as they are right now. I won’t do that. The country won’t stand for it, knowing we’re facing potential obliteration in a matter of minutes. From the beginning of this, I’ve rejected the idea that we have to invade Cuba as our only course. But if the Soviets don’t do anything to remove the missiles they have in Cuba right now, what else can I do? We know a surgical bombing strike won’t be sufficient to solve the problem. It might be the only decision left to us.”
“Jesus, Jack. It might be the last decision you ever have to make.”