by Bob Mayer
Aaron paused before entering, looking at the guard standing to the right. “Join with Caleb. We’re in final defense.”
Despite having prepared for this for years and training for it constantly, the man’s face showed his surprise. But he pulled himself together. “Yes, Aaron.” And then he ran off.
Aaron entered and turned to the woman in the bulletproof booth. “It is time. Switch control of the gas to remote. Then go join the others.”
“Yes, Aaron.” The woman kept one hand on the dead man’s switch while she did as he instructed.
Aaron went to the last steel door. He reached inside his shirt and produced a skeleton key on a chain. There was also a second, more intricate tube key. He inserted the skeleton key in the opening and turned it. With a loud click, the door unlocked and he opened it. The two guards had their weapons at the ready, but recognized Aaron.
“It is time for the Sword,” Aaron said.
He heard a noise behind him and Caleb walked into the vault and joined him as the two guards left. In the center of the room was a large metal box, ten feet square and four feet high. On top, facing them, was a monitor and a keyboard. On each corner of the top of the metal box was a small cube with a single keyhole.
Aaron looked at Caleb. “Ready?”
Caleb nodded. “I’ve been ready for years.”
They each went to one corner. Both produced the tube key on the chain around their neck and inserted it into their respective cubes.
“On three,” Aaron said. “One. Two. Three.”
They both turned at the same time. The screen on the monitor came alive. Leaving the keys in place, they met at the monitor. Aaron extended his hand. “Would you do the honors?” he said to Caleb.
Caleb began typing, then paused. “What delay?”
Aaron checked his watch. “Two hours.”
Caleb typed in the command. He stepped back and Aaron took his place.
“We keep the peace,” Aaron said and hit the enter key.
The screen flashed and then numbers in red appeared.
Counting down.
2:00:00
1:59:59
1:59:58
23 October 1962
The sun had not yet risen, but President Kennedy had not slept a wink since delivering his speech the previous evening. He’d prepared a ‘Presidential Proclamation for Interdiction of the Delivery of Offensive Weapons to Cuba’ and signed it, an escalation of tensions in an already tense situation.
The door to the Oval Office creaked open and his brother stuck his head in, hoping to see the President asleep at his desk.
“It’s fine, Bobby,” the President said.
His brother stepped into the office. “I’ve got him.”
“Where?”
“The pool. It’s the safest place.” If the situation had been less tense, that might have been a little humorous. The White House pool was the place where the President, often accompanied by his brother, met young women, usually escorted to the White House by his special aide, Dave Powers. The Secret Service had long ago been instructed to steer clear of that section of the White House while the President ‘exercised.’
The President got up, carefully stretched his back, then followed his brother. The White House, despite the crisis, was deceptively still and quiet this early in the morning. Guards snapped to attention as the President and his brother walked by. A pair of Secret Service agents followed at a discreet distance, then halted at the start of the corridor leading to the pool.
The two men entered the indoor pool area. Standing in a corner, anxiously smoking a cigarette, waited a man dressed in a cheap suit. He stubbed out the cigarette upon their entry.
“Jack,” Bobby Kennedy said, “this is Oleg Penkovsky.”
Penkovsky snapped to attention and visibly fought back an urge to salute.
Surprisingly, the President stuck out his hand. “All right if I call you ‘Oleg?’”
“Yes, Mister President. It is fine, I mean.”
They shook hands.
“I need to sit,” the President said, heading over to a lounge chair and sinking down into it. He wedged a folded towel behind his back. “So, Oleg. What does my friend Premier Khrushchev have to say to me in private that he can’t say in public or via his ambassador, Gromyko?”
Penkovsky reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “Premier Khrushchev will be sending you a telegram tomorrow which will be made public.”
“Guess I’ll read it tomorrow then,” Kennedy said. “Give me the gist.”
Penkovsky shoved the paper back into his pocket. “You know, Mister President, that according to international law a blockade is considered an act of war.”
“I know that’s the letter of the law. I don’t look at it that way. I see it as a way of defending my country. And eighty percent of my countrymen agree with me.”
“Yes, Mister President, but you want to be allowed a concept of defense that you are not extending to either Cuba or the Soviet Union.”
Kennedy looked amused. “Go on. I assume you know Khrushchev’s mind and are speaking for him.”
“He has spoken to me at length about this,” Penkovsky said. “I believe I am relaying his intent and his intentions.”
“Very good,” Kennedy said. “How am I not extending the concept of defense? Don’t tell me the missiles are for defensive purposes only. I’ve already heard that bullshit to my face by Gromyko.”
“Publicly, Premier Khrushchev will call the blockade an act of outright piracy that will lead to war. He will call it an act of aggression.”
“And privately?” the President asked.
“The Premier feels that we have danced ourselves into a corner that will be difficult to dance out of.”
“I can’t picture the Premier dancing,” Bobby Kennedy said.
“The Premier is an excellent dancer in politics and power,” Penkovsky said. “He survived Stalin.”
“I’ll grant him that,” the President said.
“The problem is three-fold, Mister President.”
Jack Kennedy chuckled. “Two-fold is bad enough. Three is much worse.”
Penkovsky soldiered on. “First is public opinion. Neither side can afford to completely lose face. Second is the opinion of the generals. On either side they will not accept a complete capitulation. Third is the threat of nuclear annihilation.
“For the first, the Premier suggests we do as was done in Berlin. Both sides back off, step by step, and the Premier is asking that you make the first step this time, Mister President. The missiles in Turkey, Mister President. If you agree to withdraw those, we will withdraw our weapons from Cuba and turn the ships around.”
“Which will piss off number two,” the President said. “The generals.”
“For that, Comrade Khrushchev suggests while it is publicly announced that all the missiles will be removed, they will not all be removed. To appease the Generals, we leave a token force of missiles in both Turkey and Cuba. Without letting the Generals know the other side is doing the same. Thus each side’s generals will think that they are pulling, how do you say, a fast one on the other side.”
Kennedy nodded. “I like that.” He glanced at his brother. “That might even make LeMay smile.”
“I don’t think anything can make that sonofabitch smile,” Bobby said.
“And number three?” the President asked.
“That is the most difficult part,” Penkovsky said. “Have you read Fail Safe, Mister President?”
“I have.”
“Comrade Khrushchev proposes secretly setting up a fail safe before a Fail Safe type scenario occurs.”
“Meaning?” Jack Kennedy asked.
“No matter where our hearts are, there is always the chance the generals can push too hard. The danger of allowing them to think they won the standoff and have missiles in place that the other side doesn’t know about is that they will be tempted to use them. So Comrade Khrushchev suggests keeping the
peace with a heavy hand.”
“How exactly do we do that?” the President asked.
“That is the most difficult part of this endeavor, Mister President. Let me explain what Premier Khrushchev envisions.”
Chapter Eleven
“The Russians found the three missing warheads at the grid coordinates Ducharme sent,” Turnbull informed Evie and Burns.
“They were from the Jupiters?” Evie asked.
“Yes.”
“And there were people with them?” she asked.
“Yes,” Turnbull said. “Four. They were in pretty bad shape. Apparently they’ve been isolated down there for years. And they were trying to arm one of the warheads when the Russian Spetsnatz assaulted them. They’d cannibalized the other two to maintain one as functional.” Turnbull sighed. “They detonated one warhead.”
Evie was startled. “There have been no news reports of a nuclear explosion under Moscow.”
“That’s because there wasn’t,” Turnbull said. “The initiator went off but the core didn’t go critical. Apparently, despite their efforts and using the other two warheads, they couldn’t maintain the integrity of the warhead after so many years and being so isolated.”
“Thank God,” Evie said.
“Tell that to the Russian Spetsnatz who are trapped down there. They all received a fatal dose of radiation. The entire site has been sealed off and will probably remain that way forever. And that’s not the worst part. The team leader reports that just before the blast, he saw one on a ‘hotline.’”
“To?”
“We assume the Peacekeepers in New York City. The line is dead now.”
“Fail Safe,” Evie said.
“Exactly,” Turnbull agreed.
“Then there’s a bomb, or more than one given there were three under Moscow, in New York, primed to go off,” Evie said.
“Most likely,” Turnbull said. “And I have a feeling the bombs here will be in better shape.” He held up a hand before she could say any more. “Luckily, I’ve got a line on the location underneath the city. I’ve got teams moving in now.”
Evie turned to Burns. “Contact Duke. Tell him to divert to New York.”
“You don’t trust my men?” Turnbull asked.
“A stupid question,” Evie said. “It seems as if Kennedy and Khrushchev worked out a covert form of mutually assured destruction, at least for the two most important cities in their respective countries.”
Turnbull nodded. “We knew they’d done something like this fifty years ago. Kennedy threatened the Joint Chiefs after the Crisis. That’s why our agents were trying to find the location of the bombs.” He then told her about the encounter with Mikoyan and the death of the SOC agents at the hands of the Philosophers.
“What was on the paper?”
Turnbull shrugged. “That’s what we were trying to find out.”
“I found no record of this in the APS,” Evie said.
“I was hoping there might be a mention of it in here,” Burns said, holding up Meyer’s diary. “I’ve been going through it. Some titillating stuff, but nothing of significance so far.”
“That’s strange,” Evie said. “Meyer was with Kennedy a lot during the crisis and he confided in her.” Her eyes got that distant look, then she refocused. “Go to March twenty-second 1962,” Evie ordered Burns.
He thumbed through. “Just a short entry. She went for a walk. Ate dinner at home. Nothing exciting.”
“It’s a fake diary,” Evie said. “A diversion.”
“How do you know?” Turnbull demanded.
“Because we know from our records that on March twenty-second 1962 she went to Kennedy and relayed a threat from the Philosophers to back off,” Evie said. “That’s a rather significant thing, and if she didn’t record that in that diary, then it’s a fake diary. One she wanted people to find so they wouldn’t look for her real diary.”
“So where is her real diary?” Turnbull said.
“I don’t know,” Evie said. “But I’ll figure it out.”
*****
As Aaron left the cube with the countdown displayed, he glanced at the security monitors. He saw the police cordon around the Fulton Street Subway entrance. Several unmarked white panel trucks were pulling up and armed men were disembarking. They had several dogs with them.
“They’ll find us,” Caleb said.
“Yes. They will. But we can give them a good fight.”
“We can.” Caleb slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “I’ll get our people ready.”
*****
Ducharme absorbed the news from Burns about the bomb going off under Moscow and the expedition that was getting ready to hit the tunnels under New York while the F-22B was 40,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean, having regained optimum altitude after dropping down for a refueling.
“If they were on a hot line to New York,” Ducharme said, “then these Peacekeepers know Moscow has been compromised.”
“Correct,” Burns said.
Ducharme was trying to sort through this fifty-year-old plan. “Then the Fail Safe isn’t a fail safe any more. What about missiles in Cuba? If we left some Jupiters in Turkey it’s likely that the Russian left some in Cuba.”
“I’ll check on that,” Burns said. “Turnbull hasn’t mentioned it.”
“There’s a lot Turnbull isn’t mentioning,” Ducharme said. “Tell Evie to focus on Groves. He’s the one who was the connection from the Philosophers to the Peacekeepers. He’s also the point of contact for Penkovsky.”
“Will do. But Evie’s trying to find Mary Meyer’s real diary. She says the one Angleton took is a fake.”
“If anyone can find the real one after all these years, it’s her.”
“When do you land in New York?” Burns asked.
“ETA?” Ducharme asked Stretch.
“Twenty-two minutes,” the pilot replied.
“I’ll have an FBI chopper waiting for you to take you to Manhattan,” Burns said.
“Let’s hope there’s still a Manhattan for me to go to,” Ducharme said.
27 October 1962
The Russian ships turned around on the 24th of October 1962, causing premature celebration among most of the members of EXCOMM. Secretary of State Dean Rusk felt it had been a case of an eyeball-to-eyeball standoff with the Russians and they’d blinked first.
Blinking isn’t surrendering.
A U-2 spy plane had flown off course over Soviet land just west of Alaska, leading both sides to scramble jets armed with nuclear tipped air to air missiles. McNamara had almost lost it, yelling it meant war with the Soviet Union, but the U-2 turned around and escaped before any shots were fired.
There was also the issue of the weapons that might still be in Cuba.
On the 26th, Kennedy held a meeting of the senior military focused on that issue. He invited some of the strongest opponents to his course of action, desiring to get a wide range of opinions.
He might have gotten more than he bargained for.
“Khrushchev’s letter is a load of bullshit,” General LeMay thundered. “He must think we’re a bunch of dumb shits, if we swallow that syrup he’s pushing.”
Bobby Kennedy leaned close and whispered to his brother. “Some day he’ll tell us what he really thinks.”
“Not sure he’s thinking,” the President replied in a low voice. Khrushchev’s second letter during the crisis, delivered to the US Embassy in Moscow, had been long and a mixture of offers of compromise while maintaining some of the same lies, particularly the one about the weapons only being defensive.
Congress was starting to side with the military men like LeMay, banging the war drum. Everyone seemed to think the military could roll right over Cuba and take the island in a day or two.
The President spoke up. “Well now, gentlemen. The quarantine, while it has turned the ships around, won’t remove any weapons that are already there. So we have only two ways of removing those. One is to negotiate them out, in other words trade
them out.”
LeMay snorted. Kennedy remembered meeting the Joint Chiefs for the first time. They were an intimidating group, their uniforms bedecked with stars and ribbons and badges. All older; all with decades of military experience. As he spent more time in office and met with them more often, Kennedy was less intimidated and better able to gauge the man behind the uniform. He had little use for LeMay, but he was a political hot potato. General Maxwell Taylor, who Kennedy had recalled back to active duty and just made the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, was one whose wisdom he trusted.
The President continued. “The other is to go in and take them out. I don’t see any other way we’re going to get whatever weapons they’ve snuck in there out.”
“Mister President,” Taylor said, “if the Russians already have nuclear warheads in Cuba, an invasion could be disastrous.”
“Khrushchev wouldn’t dare use them,” LeMay said.
Taylor looked at the Air Force officer. “Are you willing to risk the lives of tens of thousands of American soldiers on that?”
“If they nuke our assault forces,” LeMay said, “we level Moscow.”
“What if we trade Turkey for Cuba,” President Kennedy said. He wasn’t recording this meeting, setting the stage for possible future actions that could never be recorded in history.
That comment brought a moment of silence, then, as expected, LeMay exploded. “Mister President, our missiles in Turkey are there legitimately. We are there at the request of the Turkish government.”
“Let’s not stretch the truth, General,” Kennedy responded. “We did some major arm twisting to get those missiles in Turkey. I don’t think they’d be shedding big tears if we pulled them out.”
“We’d look weak, sir!” LeMay protested.
“Are we weak?” Kennedy said. LeMay blinked at him and Kennedy pressed home his point. “We don’t need Turkey. And frankly, Khrushchev doesn’t need Cuba. He’s got missiles on subs right out there,” Kennedy pointed to the east, “that can hit us in a couple of minutes. Cuba is smoke and mirrors. So is Turkey. Those missiles are almost obsolete already.”
