Sunday, September 16, 1962
Moscow, the Kremlin
“Rockets Will Blast the United States If It Invades”
He stared at the words, the report handed him by Mikoyan.
“This is in their official newspaper?”
Mikoyan nodded.
“Havana, yes. The quote is said to be from Castro himself.”
“Of course it is. The damn fool. I predicted this, I knew it would happen. Those people … hot-blooded Latins … too full of fire for their own good.”
“There is perhaps no harm. He does not mention the key word … nuclear.”
Khrushchev tossed the dispatch onto his desk, let out a breath.
“Not yet. Give him time. He sent his friend or partner, whatever his title, Che Guevara. You were here when that strange man insisted we broadcast our agreement, tell the world that we were going to install those missiles even before the first shipments began. They are too eager, too reckless. This is a time for delicacy, and Mr. Castro does not know the word.”
Mikoyan turned, stared out a tall window.
“Perhaps it will pass quietly. The Americans are accustomed to hearing bluster from the Cubans. It is only that.”
“One can hope, Anastas. I have thought this through with great care. Once the missiles are in place, with warheads prepared and ready, I will send a private letter to President Kennedy. I will inform him of what we have done, with a soft warning that this should obviously prevent any invasion of Cuba. I will not be impatient, Anastas. The Americans are facing their election in November, and Kennedy is under a great deal of pressure to appear strong. If he knew of the missiles during the campaigns, he might react with violence, to quiet his critics. That would not benefit Castro, no matter how eager he is to announce Cuba’s invulnerability to the world. I am doing Kennedy a favor by keeping our secrets. In November, he will have no choice but to accept the inevitable, once he learns our missiles are in place, and that we are prepared for the worst. There will be much shouting, their congressmen spouting off all manner of threats and curses, but in time, it will again grow quiet. It will be like Berlin, a stalemate. Their missiles in Turkey require a balance, to even the scale. No matter the rattling of sabers, both sides will understand that we will have achieved that balance. I am doing us all a favor. Send a message to Castro. Explain reality to him. It is in his best interests, after all, to maintain a happy relationship with us. There is an old saying: If you raise your voice too much, the strain will soil your pants. We must educate Castro on old sayings.”
Tuesday, September 18, 1962
Petsamo, Georgia, near the Black Sea
He walked slowly, careful to remain close beside her. It was one of his great joys, walking the beaches near his vacation home, his dacha, but only if she was nearby.
Since he had come to power nine years before, she had served dutifully as his first lady, a post rarely heard of in the Soviet Union. For the most part, the women behind the leaders stayed far behind, their role to provide a warm home and the comforts of marriage. Nina was not in fact his legal wife, but that mattered to no one. She had been his intimate for most of forty years, the official ceremony of a wedding seeming far less important than the partnership she offered him, a partnership that surprised only his friends, not hers. She was no quiet flower. Nina Kukharchuk spoke five languages, including English, had served with distinction in the Communist Party as far back as World War One. In a government where women seemed not to exist, she stood alongside him at state functions, was more comfortable with foreign dignitaries than he was, had easily charmed the Kennedys. His pride in her was enormous, especially since she had changed the way many Russians viewed the wives of the powerful. But her devotion to him was absolute, and if there was talk that she was too much the power behind the man, he silenced that. He knew, as did many others, that she was the essential piece of the machine that dealt with the smaller matters, that allowed Khrushchev to focus on the larger policies, the greater programs, without dealing with so much of the minutiae of government. It had never been this way before Khrushchev. Stalin’s wife had died young, Stalin ruling the Soviet Union as a man who entertained mistresses, but never enjoyed the luxury of the loyalty of a strong woman.
Now, Nina walked beside him again, to listen, to advise, or just to feel the soft grip of his hand. He felt a soft breeze off the water, and after a long silence, said, “What do you think of this creature called Castro?”
She seemed to absorb the question, then said, “He seeks great advantages where they are slight. He believes respect is earned by the volume of his voice.”
Khrushchev stopped walking, stared out across the great open expanse of choppy water.
“You are correct, of course. He is noisy. But he has impressed us with his zeal for Communism. It has to be that way, you know. One great lesson from Comrade Lenin I learned years ago. You cannot export our system to other lands, force it onto a people who will not embrace it. Castro embraced us almost immediately when he took control. That is rare. Too rare, I’m afraid.”
She bent low, a small seashell in her hand. She studied it, tossed it to the shore, said, “You are correct, my darling. Stalin believed the entire continent would embrace us after the Second Great War, merely because we had defeated Hitler. It was a grave misjudgment.”
It was a thorn to Khrushchev, knowing that he had agreed with Stalin. With most of Europe in shambles, the workers, the great mass of displaced peoples should certainly have risen up and accepted the Soviet way. He began to walk again, said, “We did not count on America. They offered their great wealth to the people all over Europe, fed them, clothed them, rebuilt their shattered cities. That gave those people a kind of hope and relief we could not provide. Their powerful bosses took control once more, and so, nothing changed. Arcane lessons on systems of government mean nothing to people whose bellies are full, and across western Europe, their bellies are full. So, Lenin was right. If we are to spread Communism to the world, it will have to be toward those who welcome us with open arms. That is why Castro’s big mouth is a problem. The poorer countries of Latin America should embrace us, but his big talk only scares them, as though he intends to conquer, not to enlighten. I can only hope that in time, once we have established our strength in his backyard, he will listen more carefully. With strength comes a need for wisdom. It’s up to us to teach him that.”
Friday, September 21, 1962
Moscow, the Kremlin
Kochov stood before him, arms crossed, his usual posture of defiance.
“General Pliyev is disgruntled. He does not appreciate working in secret. Even his code name seems offensive to him.”
Khrushchev was in no mood for griping, had used most of his energy beating back those in the Presidium who continued to express nervousness about placing the missiles in Cuba. Now, he had to endure another kind of critic, Marshal Dimitri Kochov, one of the few among the Central Committee who continued to believe that a first strike nuclear assault against the United States was not only possible, but essential to the survival of the Soviet Union.
To many, Kochov was a frightening man, though Khrushchev knew him to be first a soldier, that following orders was in his blood. His outspoken views represented the most radical militarism of the Soviet government, but so far, Khrushchev felt he had Kochov under control.
“General Kochov, we have appointed Marshal Pliyev to command of all of our forces in Cuba, a great honor to him. He must surely understand that until our bases are well established, secure, until our missiles are secure and in position, care must be exercised. I respect Marshal Pliyev. He has done great service to our nation and will do so again.”
“I am not certain of this, Premier. I have my cautions. General Pliyev has no experience with missiles. He is a cavalryman. And, his impatience is showing. He is headstrong, and might be tempted to exercise more authority than you have given him.”
“You are describing yourself, General. No matter. Pliyev has been given explicit orders that, once the missiles are in place, it will require a direct order from Moscow to fire them. On that I made myself clear, and General Pliyev accepted the order. We are not installing missiles in order to start a war, no matter how others, including you, might feel. I trust General Pliyev to follow orders. As I trust you.”
“Must we disguise General Pliyev with such a demeaning title?”
“Title? You mean his code name? Ivan Pavlov is a simple Russian name that can easily be intercepted by eavesdropping Americans. There is no reason to reveal any more of our hand than we must. And, should they discover who General Pliyev is, and his position there, his lack of missile expertise will be an added disguise. He is, after all, only a cavalryman.”