October 26, 1962
Moscow, the Kremlin
He paced through the office, slow plodding steps. His hands were clamped behind him, his stare toward the blank yellow wall. I hate diplomats, he thought. U Thant most of all. He begs me for some comfort, for relief, a way to end this crisis, and then he pledges nothing in return. I go along, I try to soften the blows between us, find a way to communicate intelligently with this young fellow Kennedy, and U Thant is no help at all. He cannot break through the American … what? Blood lust? Is that what it is? They are drunk with their own power? They know they have more missiles, they can destroy us with a single order to do so. Surely they understand we will respond in kind. A nuclear war is no one’s solution. And yet, Kennedy digs in his heels, ignores U Thant, perhaps he is ignoring his own peacemakers. Their military follows his lead, their bases in Florida and everywhere else swelling with weapons and men eager for war. Their politicians push Kennedy, accuse him of weakness so that he must stand up strong. But how foolish is a show of strength? No one needs to be convinced how powerful the other side is.
He changed his stride, moved to the closed office door, pulled it open, saw the faces of his aide, his secretary.
“Where is Marshal Malinovsky? Find him.”
He didn’t wait for a response, knew that as minister of defense, Malinovsky was monitoring events as closely as he was, would surely be nearby.
He backed into his office, closed the door, moved slowly to his desk, was surprised by a sharp knock at the door.
“Yes, enter.”
Malinovsky seemed out of breath, no smile, a brief nod.
“Nikita, things are not progressing well.”
“What has happened now?”
Malinovsky glanced toward a chair, and Khrushchev pointed toward it, said, “Please, sit. I will do the same.”
Malinovsky pulled a paper from his jacket pocket, said, “I have emphasized once more to General Pliyev that no nuclear missile or artillery is to be used in Cuba without direct orders from here. General Pliyev seems to think that some of his commanders, some renegade perhaps, might consider his orders to be … optional. I respect Pliyev for verifying his status.” He let out a breath, stared briefly at the piece of paper. “Then, of course, there is Mr. Castro.”
“What now?”
Malinovsky shook his head.
“I do not know if he actually believes the Americans are intending to invade Cuba. Regardless of what he truly believes, he wants us to believe it. I have never, in many years, found a man to be so eager to start a war. He has gone so far as to suggest that, once our missiles are prepared for use, that we fire them into the United States. A first strike.”
Khrushchev felt a cold twinge in his chest, said, “He would send us all over the brink … why?”
Malinovsky shrugged.
“Perhaps he believes the missiles would only fly across the oceans, destroying the U.S. and the Soviet Union alone, that his part of the world would be immune from destruction. Perhaps he believes that he alone would survive such a catastrophe, that he could then start his own world order as he sees fit.”
“That’s delusional. Or insane.”
Malinovsky shook his head.
“Or he is simply too fond of his own pronouncements. We have known that for some time, that he enjoys bellicose speeches.”
Khrushchev slapped one hand on the desk, was angry now.
“This is no time for bellicose speeches, for waving our hands over the nuclear triggers as a threat.”
“There is no further advance on the diplomatic efforts?”
Khrushchev gripped his hands together, felt a sudden sadness.
“We will not prevail in this, Rodion. We have been clumsy and stupid. It was my plan to install those missiles completely, before we grandly announced to the world, and to Mr. Kennedy, what we had done. But we took too much time, and we underestimated how effective the American reconnaissance would be. It is the first time we attempted to create bases far beyond our own borders and we did not understand the difficulties of logistics.”
Malinovsky seemed concerned now, said, “Why are you speaking this way? We are under no pressure to remove the missiles from Cuba, any more than we are under pressure from Castro. We still have the upper hand here.”
Khrushchev shook his head slowly.
“No, my friend. The Americans have succeeded in turning the entire world against us. If we had ever believed that offering such power to the Cubans would have encouraged other nations to invite us in … that has become a folly. What we have accomplished instead is that we have frightened people.”
“You have already made a decision. I know you too well, Nikita.”
“I have already sent a wire, to one of our agents in the embassy in Washington, Alexander Fomin. He has contacts deep within the American news media and has proven useful on many occasions. It is an avenue we have not yet traveled this time, a way of testing the temperature of the American government from an unlikely source. I have ordered Mr. Fomin to seek out his most reliable contact and offer possibilities of solutions to this crisis.”
“What kinds of solutions?”
“I am trusting Mr. Fomin to reach out to someone in the American media who has strong and private contacts within their State Department, to test whether they would accept terms…” He pulled a paper from his desk, read. “The missile sites would be dismantled and shipped back to the Soviet Union under United Nations supervision. Fidel Castro would pledge himself to accept no offensive weapons in the future. The United States would pledge itself not to invade Cuba.”
Malinovsky stared at him, his mouth slightly open. After a long silent moment, he said, “Have you communicated this to anyone among the Presidium? No, you have not.”
“No, I have not. Mikoyan knows. He accepts my judgment.”
“What of Marshal Kochov? He will not accept this lightly.”
“Kochov wishes us to throw missiles in every direction, as though nuclear war is merely some sort of May Day festivity. I will handle Kochov, as I have handled him before. Allow him to bellow and bitch, make his red-faced pronouncements, and when he has run out of steam, tell him to sit down.”
Malinovsky didn’t seem convinced.
“Tread carefully, Nikita. The Presidium will not accept shame without seeking answers. There will be blame.”
“There is already blame. Please understand, Rodion, I have no idea how the Americans will respond to this backdoor proposal. Kennedy has been adamant, too adamant in his pledges to see this through the way he wishes. We have already ordered most of our ships to turn about, to avoid the American blockade. Kennedy knows we have purposely avoided a dangerous confrontation at sea. But he has his Kochovs too, his powerful military men who see the world only through the eyes of a soldier. We must not delude ourselves. After all, we lit this fuse.”
“When will you know if this Fomin fellow has done his job?”
“I’m not leaving anything to chance. Right now, Mikoyan and Gromyko are preparing the skeleton of a lengthy letter which will be sent to Kennedy as quickly as it can be delivered. I will write the text.”
Malinovsky seemed annoyed now.
“Are you offering your surrender?”
“Be careful, my friend. I will do what we must do to avoid a war none of us want. Whether or not I am successful is not, after all, up to me, or to any of us here. We must hope … yes, that is a good word … hope. We must hope the Americans are as fond of peace.”