Three Days in Moscow

by Bret Baier

  Reagan was firm: no plans for an Iceland meeting would be announced until Daniloff was released.

  When Shevardnadze informed Gorbachev that Reagan had agreed to the meeting pending the release of Daniloff, Gorbachev replied, “They will get Daniloff,” but then he added that the Soviet government must stand firm so as not to lose face. He wanted to play it out, see how far the United States would go. In the end, the exchange was made—Daniloff for Zakharov. Reagan received some backlash at home for appearing to cave in to the Soviets, but for him the stakes were much higher than the fate of one spy.

  With a meeting in Reykjavík, Iceland, scheduled to begin on October 11, both sides went into action to carve out their strategies. Earlier that year, Gorbachev had made a key appointment that would prove to be valuable to the process: Anatoly Chernyaev, a World War II veteran and senior analyst with the Central Committee, as his foreign policy advisor. Chernyaev shared Gorbachev’s fondest hopes for perestroika; indeed, the day Gorbachev became general secretary, Chernyaev wrote in his journal, “A new era has begun.” He had his work cut out for him.

  In Moscow, Chernyaev met with Gorbachev to outline an approach. He told him, “In order to move Reagan, we have to give him something. Something with pressure and breakthrough potential has to be done. We have to decide for ourselves what is realistic, in what the USA is bluffing and what they are ready to do, what we can get out of them right now.”

  The Soviets seemed willing to go far beyond any previous agreements to further the goal of complete nuclear disarmament. But clearly they were concerned about what they viewed as Reagan’s new “space weapons.” Trying out his approach, Gorbachev said to Chernyaev, “As far as the SDI is concerned . . . I will look him [Reagan] in the eye as I say this. If you do not meet us halfway, well, then, my conscience will be clear before you and before myself. Now I have to explain to my people and to the whole world why nothing worked out between us. I regret very much that we wasted the time.”

  At the same time, Gorbachev said that the Soviets “should concentrate all our resources on the development of our own anti-SDI”—showing just how concerned he really was. A defense system to combat a defense system—it made no sense unless you believed, as Gorbachev surely did, that SDI was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  In Washington, Shultz warned the president that Gorbachev was likely to arrive with a set of proposals and the United States should be prepared with its own positions. He thought Reagan had the upper hand. “The American people are all for it [the meeting], so we should not seem to be playing it down or disparaging the chance for solid progress,” he wrote in a classified memo to Reagan. The meeting didn’t have to have big results to be viewed as successful, but two areas, arms control and human rights, needed to be at the forefront of the US plan. “Gorbachev must go home with a clear sense that Moscow’s continuing insensitivity to the humanitarian dimension of the relationship will assume greater significance as prospects open up in areas of mutual concern.”

  Shultz was not above a little ego polishing: “The policies you set in motion six years ago have put us in the strong position we are in today. . . . We are now entering the crucial phase in the effort to achieve real reductions in the nuclear forces—an historic achievement in itself, and a major step toward your vision of a safer world for the future.”

  In an intriguing addendum to the summit plans, Richard Solomon, the director of policy planning for the State Department, sent Reagan a memo, marked “Classified” and “SUPER SENSITIVE.” In it he detailed the differences in Reagan’s and Gorbachev’s operating styles that would give Reagan an advantage in negotiations.

  GORBACHEV

  REAGAN

  —highly provocative; and, at times, willing to publicly embarrass political opponents, especially subordinates

  —non-provocative; even-tempered

  —high political risk-taker

  —high political risk-taker

  —demanding of his subordinates; requires immediate and detailed responses to significant operational questions

  —not demanding of his subordinates; delegates authority and decisions to appropriate individuals

  —seeks confrontation

  —avoids confrontation

  —when he doesn’t feel in control of a situation he becomes anxious, forceful, and demanding

  —strong self-discipline; rarely appears anxious, flustered, or out of control

  —depends very heavily on detailed information to negotiate a subject

  —prefers to familiarize himself with general points and leaves the detailed work to subordinates

  —an experienced and effective apparatchik who tries to emulate Reagan’s polished political style

  —seasoned politician

  —limited exposure to world media

  —highly experienced media personality

  —highly reasoned and logical in his approach to arguments

  —intuitive and conceptual in his approach to arguments

  —good sense of humor

  —good sense of humor

  —highly charismatic

  —highly charismatic

  “Despite the contrasting personal styles of the two leaders, Gorbachev and Reagan should be able to work well together because of the complementary nature of their respective operational approaches,” Solomon wrote. However, he cautioned that Gorbachev needed a concrete win from the summit, and if it didn’t look as though he were getting one, he would pursue it aggressively so he could show the folks back home that he was tough. “Reagan is a far more comfortable, self-assured leader who has very little to prove to the world or himself without compromising his need for a political legacy.”

  The difficulty of managing strategies and expectations was the impromptu nature of the summit and its undefined goals. Gorbachev had originally proposed it to break the impasse that had set in over the year. Technically, it wasn’t even a summit, virtually without the protocols that normally surrounded those high-level meetings; just a face-to-face between two men at the end of the world.

  REYKJAVÍK, ICELAND, WAS REMOTE and chilly in October, the sun fighting to peek through before each new burst of driving rain. Darkness fell earlier each day, moving toward the winter gloom when there would be only about five hours of light. The scene was desolate and vaguely ominous, “something out of an Agatha Christie novel,” Adelman said. The meeting site was Höfđi House, a stark, whitewashed estate overlooking the waterfront. It had an eerie aura and was rumored to be home to a ghost, whose frequent outbursts had disturbed its British owners so much that they had sold the place in 1952. There Reagan and Gorbachev would be confronting their own ghosts from the past.

  “If observers sometimes regard the everyday practice of diplomacy as cold and bloodless,” Shultz wrote in his memoir, “no one could possibly miss the drama of a summit. There the decision makers face each other. No safety screen stands between the issues and the highest authorities. But what produces drama can also lead to problems and risks.”

  The Reykjavík meeting would be different from any other summit. There would be no ceremonies or elaborate dinners, and the media would be held at a remove. Only Shultz and Shevardnadze would be at the table with the principals. That suited Reagan just fine. He always felt at his best in eyeball-to-eyeball settings, where he could exert his personal power and persuasiveness. He wasn’t even bothered, though his aides were, by how quickly the meeting had come together. He knew his position.

  On the first day, Reagan and Gorbachev met alone for a half hour before inviting Shultz and Shevardnadze into the room. Gorbachev told the president he wanted to focus on Soviet proposals for disarmament.

  Reagan replied, “There is a Russian saying: doveryai no proveryai—trust but verify. How will we know that you’ll get rid of your missiles as you say you will?” That was the central question, the one that would resonate throughout those talks and beyond: How could they trust each other? When the others joined them, Shultz was struck b
y the differences in the two men’s demeanors. As Solomon had accurately analyzed, Gorbachev was strong and forceful, attempting from the start to take control of the agenda. Reagan was relaxed and easygoing. “He could well afford to be,” Shultz wrote, “since Gorbachev’s proposals all moved toward U.S. positions in significant ways.”

  Gorbachev seemed to agree with Reagan on a goal to eliminate all ballistic missiles over the coming decade, but SDI continued to be a point of contention. He insisted that the program be shelved as part of the agreement.

  Reagan replied, “I’ve given you the ten-year period you wanted, and, with no ballistic missiles, you cannot fear a first strike or any harm from SDI. We should be free to develop and test during the ten years and to deploy at the end. Who knows when the world will see another Hitler. We need to be able to defend ourselves.” It was obvious to him. First, SDI was not, to reiterate the point, an offensive system, despite Gorbachev’s suspicions. Second, the United States had an obligation to develop scientific means to protect itself, not only against the Soviet Union but against other bad actors in the world that might pose a threat.

  The debate led to one of the most intriguing back-and-forths at the meeting, recounted by Shultz, who was in the room:

  Reagan: If we both eliminate nuclear weapons, why would there be a concern if one side wants to build defensive systems just in case? Are you considering starting up again with weapons after ten years? I have a different picture. I have a picture that after ten years you and I come to Iceland and bring the last two missiles in the world and we have the biggest damn party in celebration of it!

  Gorbachev: Mr. President, we are close to a mutually acceptable formula. Don’t think we have evil designs. We don’t.

  Reagan [persisting]: A meeting in Iceland in ten years: I’ll be so old you won’t recognize me. I’ll say, “Mikhail?” You’ll say, “Ron?” And we’ll destroy the last two.

  Gorbachev: I may not be living after these next ten.

  Reagan: I’ll count on it.

  Gorbachev: Now you can go smoothly to age 100. You have already passed through the danger period. I’m just entering it. Beyond that, I’ll have the burden of having gone through all these meetings with a president who doesn’t like concessions. He wants to be a winner. We must both be winners.

  Reagan: I can’t live to 100 worrying that you’ll shoot one of those missiles at me. Fifty percent. We both got it. You told your people ten years and you got it. I told my people I wouldn’t give up SDI; so I have to go home saying I haven’t. Our people would cheer if we got rid of the missiles.

  Perhaps because the sparring seemed so amiable, Reagan didn’t fully appreciate that Gorbachev was drawing a line in the sand. Setting aside their dispute, they continued to talk, and in the next day and a half they achieved unprecedented agreements on the ten-year program to reduce missiles on a tight schedule “so that by the end of 1996, all offensive ballistic missiles of the USSR and the United States will have been totally eliminated.”

  Reagan was beginning to let a sense of elation come over him. It was finally happening, a real agreement to end the arms race. Sitting across from America’s greatest foe, he could glimpse the fulfillment of his long-held dream.

  Then Gorbachev smiled. “This all depends, of course, on you giving up SDI,” he said.

  Reagan’s elation turned to rage. He couldn’t believe that with all they’d accomplished, Gorbachev would throw it away. He felt blindsided as Gorbachev assured him that he meant it. He was deadly serious. Agonizing, Reagan experienced a rare moment of self-doubt. He scribbled a note to Shultz: “Am I wrong?”

  Shultz whispered, “No, you are right.”

  That was it, then. Silence fell over the room as Reagan and Gorbachev pushed back their chairs and rose to their feet. They walked out of Höfđi House into an early darkness shot through with light from a phalanx of press cameras. Their faces told the story.

  “I’d just never seen Ronald Reagan that way before,” Kuhn said, “—had never seen him with such a look. I mean, he looked distraught to me, very upset, extremely, very taken aback, upset, borderline distraught. Gorbachev was kind of like, So be it. You could tell, just to me you could tell who really wanted this more than the other one. It was like Gorbachev thought, Well, we can live with the world the way it is. Reagan wanted to end that and wasn’t able to pull that off there.”

  It must have seemed like madness that the Soviets would halt progress on real disarmament plans based on the speculative, unrealized, and probably unlikely prospect of the Americans creating a strategic defense system. And from the Soviet perspective, Reagan’s stubbornness seemed equally mad. Why would he not accept a gift in hand in exchange for a moratorium on his pursuit of a defense system? What was going on here? They’d been so close. Shevardnadze speculated that perhaps “the two leaders just could not handle the ball that they had thrown too high.”

  At the bottom of the stairs Reagan and Gorbachev turned to say good-bye, cameras capturing their grim faces.

  “I still feel we can find a deal,” Reagan said.

  “I don’t think you want a deal,” Gorbachev said. “I don’t know what more I could have done.”

  Reagan fought back his anger. “You could have said yes.”

  Gorbachev turned away, and there was a moment of uncertainty among Reagan’s staff. What now? There had been earlier plans to visit the embassy and greet the staff there, as well as a trip to Keflavik Naval Air Station, where there were five thousand navy and air force personnel. But Kuhn wondered if the president still had the heart for it or if he’d want to board the plane and just go home.

  He approached Reagan. “Mr. President,” he said deferentially, “I know you’ve got a tremendous amount on your mind, but we don’t know what you want to do now. We don’t know where you want to go . . . here are your options. You’re scheduled to go to the embassy, greet staff, speak to the Navy and Air Force personnel at Keflavik, get on the plane and go. You could just go to the plane and go, you could go right out to Keflavik, speak to the troops, which I think is very important. We can have the embassy staff go out there and you could greet them out there. We could work around it, we could make this adjustment, but you’ve got to tell us what you want to do.” By the end, Kuhn was practically pleading.

  Reagan stared at him thoughtfully for a long moment, and then said quietly, “Why don’t we just stay with the schedule and do what we’re supposed to do.”

  But it was not an easy task. “We got back to the embassy, we were outside, it was warm, and we were going to greet everybody outside,” Kuhn said. “He’s just standing there, just looking with this forlorn look on his face. Everybody stayed away from him. They knew. Everybody could tell he was very upset.” By the time they reached the air base, Reagan had recovered somewhat, and the event went well, although Shultz, stung by the abrupt end of the negotiations, told reporters that the meeting had been a failure. Boarding the plane back to Washington, everyone held back, wanting to leave the president alone with his thoughts. But halfway across the ocean, he emerged, smiling. “I’m okay now. I gave it a lot of thought. I know I made the right decision back there. We couldn’t give up SDI, not for America’s future. I made the right decision. I wasn’t sure, but I know now I did.”

  He was furious, though, angrier than he’d ever been. The two days in Reykjavík seemed to have destroyed all hope of disarmament, at least for the time being. “He [Gorbachev] tried to act jovial but I was mad and I showed it,” he wrote in his diary. “Well, the ball is now in his court and I’m convinced he’ll come around when he sees how the world is reacting.”

  He didn’t yet know of the very different spin Gorbachev had put on the meeting. After Reagan drove away from Höfđi House, Gorbachev remained behind to give a press conference to more than a thousand waiting reporters. As he walked back, his mind was in turmoil. He wrote in his memoir, “My first, overwhelming intention had been to blow the unyielding American position to smithereens, c
arrying out the plan we had decided in Moscow: if the Americans rejected the agreement, a compromise in the name of peace, we would denounce the U.S. administration and its dangerous policies as a threat to everyone throughout the world.”

  But then a realization hit him: “Had we not reached an agreement on both strategic and intermediate-range missiles, was it not an entirely new situation, and should it be sacrificed for a momentary propaganda advantage?” By the time he reached the waiting reporters, he had made up his mind. He stepped up and told the media, “In spite of its drama, Reykjavik is not a failure—it is a breakthrough, which allowed us for the first time to look over the horizon.”

  Back in Washington, Shultz was coming around to a similar point of view.

  Sensing Reagan’s discouragement, he sought to reassure him, reminding him that Christopher Columbus had initially been considered a failure because he had landed on only a couple of islands and hadn’t brought back any gold to Spain. But after a while people realized that he had come upon a new world. “In a way, you found a new world,” Shultz told him, noting that he had “smoked the Soviets out and they are stuck with their concessions.”

  Chapter 8

  “Tear Down This Wall!”

  February 1987

  Howard Baker was at the zoo in Miami with his six-year-old grandson, so his wife, Joy, took the call from President Reagan.

  “Joy, where is Howard?” he asked.

  “Mr. President, Howard’s at the zoo.”

  He chuckled. “Wait until he sees the zoo I have in mind for him.”

  Two years out of the Senate, where he had been majority leader, the sixty-one-year-old Baker hadn’t yet settled on a new role for himself. Returning to Washington certainly hadn’t been in his plan, but when Reagan asked him to be his chief of staff, he couldn’t refuse. It was a changing of the guard that had been a long time coming.