Even so, he could see that the young men gathered around him were spellbound. The war in France was going badly for King Henry and the novices were caught up in the story. The English troops, weakened by disease, were exhausted from the hard campaign through France. Now, on the eve of another battle, they found themselves outnumbered five-to-one by the gathering forces of the French.
“You’ve been standing long enough, my dear brothers in Christ,” the man who played Father Samozvanyetz said quietly. “Sit down on the floor with me and rest.”
∗ ∗ ∗
That dark night in France, as King Henry walked among his soldiers in disguise, Charley Coogan followed Father Master’s voice through the camp where the poor condemned English, like sacrifices, sat in little groups by their watchful fires awaiting the morning’s danger.
Charley could almost see the royal captain of this ruined band walking from watch to watch, from tent to tent, with modest smile, calling his frightened soldiers “brothers, friends, and countrymen.” But Charley could see “no note of dread upon this royal face, no dread for the army that had enrounded him.”
“Nor doth he dedicate one jot of color unto the weary and all-watched night,” his priestly guide was whispering, “but freshly looks, and overbears attaint with cheerful semblance and sweet majesty; that every wretch, pining and pale before, beholding him, plucks comfort from his looks. A largess universal, like the sun, his liberal eye doth give to every one, thawing cold fear, that mean and gentle all behold, as may unworthiness define, a little touch of Harry in the night.
“The dawn breaks!”
Charley Coogan was back in the chapel. But only for a moment.
“The English,” the Master of Novices is telling his young men, “can see how overwhelmingly superior in numbers are the French. The situation seems hopeless, but King Henry turns that to his advantage.”
Charley caught his breath as King Henry rose from the chapel floor to speak to Westmoreland. The seated novices rose with him and crowded around to listen.
“If we are marked to die, we are enough loss for our country; and if to live, the fewer men, the greater share of honor. God’s will! I pray thee wish not one man more. Rather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host, that he which hath no stomach to this fight, let him depart. We would not die in that man’s company that fears his fellowship to die with us.”
Charley and his fellow Englishmen, gathered around their king, looked around. The noblemen were ready to mount their horses. The yeomen stood with their long bows, their quivers packed with arrows. Not a very impressive army to take the field against the heavily armored French.
But the loyal novices are moving forward with their Prince Hal. He’s standing above their shoulders now, on the steps of the altar, so that all can see and hear their King Henry.
“This day is called the Feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named and rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors and say ‘Tomorrow is Saint Crispian!’ Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, and say ‘These wounds I got on Crispin’s day.’ Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot but he’ll remember, with advantages, what feats he did that day. Then shall our names, familiar in his mouth as household words—Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester—be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red. This story shall the good man teach his son; and Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, from this day to the ending of the world, but we in it shall be remembered—we few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother. Be he ne’er so vile, this day shall gentle his condition; and gentlemen in England now abed shall think themselves accursed they were not here, and hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks that fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.”
Charley Coogan was leaning forward. He couldn’t wait to get into this game.
∗ ∗ ∗
The man who played Father Samozvanyetz looked about, surveying the novices, and knew he had them. He could see it in their faces and in the eyes of even the most reticent.
They were his men now. Generous, self-sacrificing impulses had risen from their hearts, flooding their eyes, flushing their cheeks. He had brought the novices to the emotional level where Ignatius wanted them to be. They were ready—as ever were King Henry’s yeomen. Or his own remembered soldiers, dead and crippled in the Great Patriotic War.
No need to be dramatic now. He softened his expression and lowered his voice.
“Just suppose,” he said, “that Christ the King came to this chapel tonight. Suppose he said that He was ready to do battle against all the evil in the world, against all the confusion resulting from the catastrophe of sin. Suppose He called each one of you by name and asked you to join Him and follow Him, promising you victory in what seems to be a hopeless cause.
“Ignatius Loyola asks you to envision this scene tomorrow morning during your meditation. Try to hear Christ the King, as Ignatius bids you hear Him:
“It is My will to conquer all the world and all enemies and so to enter into the glory of My Father. Therefore, whoever would like to come with Me is to labor with Me, that following Me in the pain, he may follow Me in the glory.”
The man who played Father Samozvanyetz let the words sink in.
“That should not be too difficult to envision,” he said. “You have followed Christ the King this far to this novitiate. He is calling you to keep marching forward and He can offer you more assurance of ultimate victory than any king you can ever imagine!
“Christ does not ask you to join him in a clash of arms. Nor does He promise earthly honors or recognition, nor any monument to a heroic exploit. How much easier it would be to choose to follow the Temporal King into battle than to choose the long ordeal of actual poverty, chastity and obedience, to humbly endure injury and abuse in the service of Christ.”
They were John Beck’s words, but well played, he thought. He almost believed them himself. But, now, it was time to wrap it up.
“Tomorrow morning, think about how you would answer the call of Christ the King. Turn over in your mind what your response would be. If you cannot find the words, read how Ignatius Loyola responded:
“It is my deliberate determination to imitate Thee in bearing all injuries and abuse and all poverty of spirit, and actual poverty, too, if Thy most Holy Majesty wants to choose and receive me to such life and state.”
“Tomorrow morning, consider His call carefully. But make no decision one way or the other. Not yet. Decision-making will come later. We still have a long, long way to go. But that’s enough for tonight, my dear brothers in Christ. Put your chairs and kneelers back where they belong. Then go in peace and sleep well.”
With that, he made his exit.
The man who played Father Samozvanyetz walked back to his room wondering if he and his novices would live long enough to finish this Long Retreat.
C H A P T E R • 2
At noon the following day, Monday, October 22, the White House press secretary announced that the President would speak to the nation on radio and television at 7:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.
At 5:00 p.m., the President met with twenty Congressional leaders at the White House.
At 6:00 p.m., the Secretary of State summoned the Soviet Ambassador for a meeting that lasted almost half an hour. Ambassador Dobrynin left the State Department “grim and shaken.” He soon confirmed that the text of the President’s speech, transmitted from the U.S. State Department in Washington to the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, had been delivered to the Soviet Foreign Minister’s office, along with a letter from Kennedy to Khrushchev.
At about the same time in New York, the U.S. Ambassador to the United Nations requested a special meeting of the U.N. Security Council about “the dangerous threat to the peace and security of the world” in Cuba. The Russians at
the U.N. appeared to be “stunned.”
∗ ∗ ∗
At 6:45 p.m., the first-year novices were cloistered in their dormitory rooms, sheltered from the tumult of the world, meditating. The man who played Father Samozvanyetz had seen to that. He did not want the President’s speech to break their month-long concentration on the Spiritual Exercises. Satisfied that his novices would be safe from distraction, he walked along Paters Row to the Fathers’ recreation room where the priests were gathering around the television set.
“Better get a chair before they’re all taken,” one of the priests said to him as he came through the door. “It’s a full house tonight.”
“So I see,” he said with a smile. He walked across the room and found an empty over-stuffed chair within sight of the television set. He was thumbing through a news magazine when the Rector sat down beside him.
“I suppose you already know what this is about,” murmured Father Thornton. The man who played Father Samozvanyetz shrugged.
“Sorry,” said the Rector. “I can see you can’t talk about it.”
“It doesn’t matter now. You’ll know everything I know in a few minutes. At least, I think so.”
“It’s something serious, isn’t it?”
“Very serious, indeed.”
One of the Jesuits was bent over in front of the television set. The other priests in the room were smoking their cigars and cigarettes, sipping their after-dinner drinks and heckling the priest who was searching for the channel with the best reception.
The man who played Father Samozvanyetz did not smoke or drink. That was an important part of his characterization, but he wished like Hell he could take something to dull his anxiety. Would he have time for one last glass of vodka before the world ended?
The exchanges of small-talk diminished during the final seconds of a Hudepohl beer commercial and stopped completely when chimes sounded and the unseen network announcer began to speak, precisely at 7:00 p.m., Eastern Standard Time.
“This is a Special Report from NBC News. We interrupt our regular broadcast schedule to bring you an address by the President of the United States, speaking from the White House in Washington, D.C. Ladies and gentlemen: the President of the United States.”
President John F. Kennedy appeared on the screen, seated behind his desk in the Oval Office, his expression grave.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Good evening, my fellow citizens.
“This Government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military build-up on the island of Cuba. Within the past week unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The President seemed to have his emotions well under control, thought the man who played Father Samozvanyetz. He was concentrating on making his delivery deliberate and precise. He would give a good performance.
∗ ∗ ∗
“The characteristics of these new missile sites indicate two distinct types of installations. Several of them include medium-range ballistic missiles capable of carrying a nuclear warhead for a distance of more than one thousand nautical miles. Each of these missiles, in short, is capable of striking Washington, D.C., the Panama Canal, Cape Canaveral, Mexico City, or any other city in the southeastern part of the United States, in Central America, or in the Caribbean area.”
∗ ∗ ∗
The recreation room was completely silent now, save for the President’s voice. He quickly glanced around. The Jesuit priests sat frozen like statues. Father Thornton was looking at him, he realized. Their eyes locked for a moment. Father Thornton nodded, as if to say that he appreciated the gravity of the situation and Father Samozvanyetz’s discretion as well.
∗ ∗ ∗
In Moscow, it was a few minutes after two o’clock in the morning. Alone in his office, General Michail Andreyevich Kalenko paced back and forth as he listened to the voice of the President of the United States on his short-wave radio receiver. He was smiling. The American intelligence was dead-on accurate so far.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Additional sites not yet completed appear to be designed for intermediate-range ballistic missiles capable of travelling more than twice as far—and thus capable of striking most of the major cities in the Western Hemisphere, ranging as far north as Hudson Bay, Canada, and as far south as Lima, Peru. In addition, jet bombers, capable of carrying nuclear weapons, are now being uncrated and assembled in Cuba, while the necessary air bases are being prepared.”
∗ ∗ ∗
“Good work!” thought General Kalenko. Khrushchev has been caught red-handed!
The general had received his translated copy of the President’s speech, just a few minutes before, through his own channels. He followed the translation while the American President spoke. General Kalenko’s English was adequate for reading and general conversation. But, when accuracy was important, he found it better to work in Russian.
∗ ∗ ∗
“The size of this undertaking makes clear that it has been planned for several months.”
∗ ∗ ∗
General Kalenko skimmed ahead through the text of the speech. Major Volkova had done an excellent job. It was all there, just as she had said, even the President’s annoyance with the arrogant and stupid duplicity of Khrushchev and Gromyko.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Only last Thursday, as evidence of this rapid offensive build-up was already in my hand, Soviet Foreign Minister Gromyko told me in my office that he was instructed to make it clear once again, as he said his Government had already done, that Soviet assistance to Cuba, and I quote, ‘pursued solely the purpose of contributing to the defense capabilities of Cuba,’ that, and I quote him, ‘training by Soviet specialists of Cuban nationals in handling defensive weapons was by no means offensive,’ and that ‘if it were otherwise,’ Mr. Gromyko went on, ‘the Soviet Government would never become involved in rendering such assistance.’ That statement also was false.”
∗ ∗ ∗
In Chicago, the Jesuit Provincial turned away from the television set in his office and looked at his secretary.
“So the President knew about the missiles before his meeting with Father Samozvanyetz,” said Father Novak.
Brother Krause nodded. Father Novak scowled at the television screen.
∗ ∗ ∗
“Neither the United States of America nor the world community of nations can tolerate deliberate deception and offensive threats on the part of any nation, large or small. We no longer live in a world where only the actual firing of weapons represents a sufficient challenge to a nation’s security to constitute maximum peril. Nuclear weapons are so destructive and ballistic missiles are so swift that any substantially increased possibility of their use or any sudden change in their deployment may well be regarded as a definite threat to peace.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Herb Coogan was watching the speech with his agents. Washington had put the Cleveland office on full alert earlier in the day, along with all the other FBI offices throughout the country. If the United States went to war, Herb and his men would take immediate action to round up all known enemy aliens and potential troublemakers in the Cleveland area before they could do any damage.
∗ ∗ ∗
“The 1930s taught us a clear lesson: Aggressive conduct, if allowed to grow unchecked and unchallenged, ultimately leads to war. This nation is opposed to war. We are also true to our word. Our unswerving objective, therefore, must be to prevent the use of these missiles against this or any other country and to secure their withdrawal or elimination from the Western Hemisphere.”
∗ ∗ ∗
What nagged at Herb, while he listened, was Father Samozvanyetz’s clandestine meeting with the President that past Friday. What had that been all about? And what
should he do about it, if anything? Should he tell Charley, at least?
∗ ∗ ∗
“We will not prematurely or unnecessarily risk the costs of worldwide nuclear war in which even the fruits of victory would be ashes in our mouth—but neither will we shrink from that risk at any time it must be faced. To halt this offensive build-up, a strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated. All ships of any kind bound for Cuba from whatever nation or port will, if found to contain cargoes of offensive weapons, be turned back.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Oksana Volkova watched the President’s speech sitting on the edge of the bed in a motel outside of Indianapolis, Indiana. She had checked in an hour before the speech began, just another anonymous traveller with a made-up name who paid in advance in cash.
∗ ∗ ∗
“It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile launched from Cuba against any nation in the Western Hemisphere as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.”
∗ ∗ ∗
Khrushchev had probably lost control of his bowels when he heard that, thought Oksana Volkova. If he hadn’t recognized the hazard of the Cuban undertaking before, he was certainly recognizing it now. Kennedy couldn’t make it any stronger, not unless he made an outright declaration of war. Thank God, she thought, that Kennedy had decided to buy time with a naval blockade. Cooler heads would have a chance to force Khrushchev to back down, before that ignorant peasant bastard destroyed the world. And good riddance. Khrushchev was a stupid, arrogant fool.
∗ ∗ ∗
“I call upon Chairman Khrushchev to halt and eliminate this clandestine, reckless, and provocative threat to world peace and to stable relations between our two nations. I call upon him further to abandon this course of world domination and to join in an historic effort to end the perilous arms race and transform the history of man. He has an opportunity now to move the world back from the abyss of destruction—by returning to his Government’s own words that it had no need to station missiles outside its own territory, and withdrawing these weapons from Cuba—by refraining from any action which will widen or deepen the present crisis—and then by participating in a search for peaceful and permanent solutions.”
Red Army Spies and the Blackrobes Trilogy Page 37
