Dimka thought immediately of Cuba. Most of his missiles were there now, and the nuclear warheads to go with them. Tons of ancillary equipment and thousands of troops had arrived. In a few days the weapons would be launch-ready. The mission was almost complete.
But two weeks remained before the American midterm elections. Dimka had been considering flying to Cuba – there was a scheduled air service from Prague to Havana – to make sure the lid was screwed on tight for a few more days. It was vital that the secret be kept just a little longer.
He prayed that Kennedy’s surprise TV appearance would be about something else: Berlin, perhaps, or Vietnam.
‘What time is the broadcast?’ Dimka asked Natalya.
‘Seven in the evening, Eastern time.’
That would be two o’clock tomorrow morning in Moscow. ‘I’ll phone him right away,’ he said. ‘Thank you.’ He broke the connection then dialled Khrushchev’s residence.
The phone was answered by Ivan Tepper, head of the household staff, the equivalent of a butler. ‘Hello, Ivan,’ said Dimka. ‘Is he there?’
‘On his way to bed,’ said Ivan.
‘Tell him to put his trousers back on. Kennedy is going to speak on television at two a.m. our time.’
‘Just a minute, he’s right here.’
Dimka heard a muttered conversation, then Khrushchev’s voice. ‘They have found your missiles!’
Dimka’s heart sank. Khrushchev’s spontaneous intuition was usually right. The secret was out – and Dimka was going to take the blame. ‘Good evening, Comrade First Secretary,’ he said, and the four people in the room with him went silent. ‘We don’t yet know what Kennedy will be speaking about.’
‘It’s the missiles, bound to be. Call an emergency meeting of the Presidium.’
‘What time?’
‘In an hour.’
‘Very good.’
Khrushchev hung up.
Dimka dialled the home of his secretary. ‘Hello, Vera,’ he said. ‘Emergency Presidium at ten tonight. He’s on his way to the Kremlin.’
‘I’ll start calling people,’ she said.
‘You have the numbers at your home?’
‘Yes.’
‘Of course you do. Thank you. I’ll be at the office in a few minutes.’ He hung up.
They were all staring at him. They had heard him say Good evening, Comrade First Secretary. Grandfather looked proud, Grandmother and Mother were concerned, and Nina had a gleam of excitement in her eye. ‘I’ve got to go to work,’ Dimka said unnecessarily.
Grandfather said: ‘What’s the emergency?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
Grandfather patted him on the shoulder and looked sentimental. ‘With men such as you and my son Volodya in charge, I know the revolution is safe.’
Dimka was tempted to say he wished he felt so confident. Instead he said: ‘Grandfather, will you get an army car to take Nina home?’
‘Of course.’
‘Sorry to break up the party . . .’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Grandfather. ‘Your work is more important. Go, go.’
Dimka put on his coat, kissed Nina, and left.
Going down in the elevator, he wondered despairingly whether he had somehow let out the secret of the Cuban missiles, despite all his efforts. He had run the entire operation with formidable security. He had been brutally efficient. He had been a tyrant, punishing mistakes severely, humiliating fools, ruining the careers of men who failed to follow orders meticulously. What more could he have done?
Outside, a night-time rehearsal was in progress for the military parade scheduled for Revolution Day, in two weeks’ time. An endless line of tanks, artillery and soldiers rumbled along the embankment of the Moskva river. None of this will do us any good if there’s a nuclear war, he thought. The Americans did not know it, but the Soviet Union had few nuclear weapons, nowhere near the numbers the US had. The Soviets could hurt the Americans, yes, but the Americans could wipe the Soviet Union off the face of the earth.
As the road was blocked by the procession, and the Kremlin was less than a mile away, Dimka left his motorcycle at home and walked.
The Kremlin was a triangular fortress on the north side of the river. Within were several palaces now converted to government buildings. Dimka went to the Senate building, yellow with white pillars, and took the elevator to the third floor. He followed a red carpet along a high-ceilinged corridor to Khrushchev’s office. The First Secretary had not yet arrived. Dimka went two doors farther along to the Presidium Room. Fortunately, it was clean and tidy.
The Presidium of the Central Committee of the Communist Party was in practice the ruling body of the Soviet Union. Khrushchev was its chairman. This was where the power lay. What would Khrushchev do?
Dimka was first, but soon Presidium members and their aides began to trickle in. No one knew what Kennedy was going to say. Yevgeny Filipov arrived with his boss, Defence Minister Rodion Malinovsky. ‘This is a fuck-up,’ Filipov said, hardly able to hide his glee. Dimka ignored him.
Natalya came in with the black-haired, dapper Foreign Minister Andrei Gromyko. She had decided that the late hour licensed casual clothing, and she looked cute in tight American-style blue jeans and a loose-fitting wool sweater with a big rolled collar.
‘Thank you for the early warning,’ Dimka murmured to her. ‘I really appreciate it.’
She touched his arm. ‘I’m on your side,’ she said. ‘You know that.’
Khrushchev arrived and opened the meeting by saying: ‘I believe Kennedy’s television address will be about Cuba.’
Dimka sat up against the wall behind Khrushchev, ready to run errands. The leader might need a file, a newspaper, or a report; he might ask for tea or beer or a sandwich. Two other Khrushchev aides sat with Dimka. None of them knew the answers to the big questions. Had the Americans found the missiles? And, if they had, who had let the secret out? The future of the world hung in the balance but Dimka, somewhat to his shame, was equally worried about the future of Dimka.
Impatience was driving him mad. Kennedy would speak in four hours from now. Surely the Presidium could learn the content of his speech before then? What was the KGB for?
Defence Minister Malinovsky looked like a veteran movie star, with his regular features and thick silver hair. He argued that the USA was not about to invade Cuba. Red Army Intelligence had people in Florida. There was a build-up of troops there, but nowhere near enough for an invasion, in his opinion. ‘This is some kind of election campaign trick,’ he said. Dimka thought he sounded over-confident.
Khrushchev, too, was sceptical. Perhaps it was true that Kennedy did not want war with Cuba, but was he free to act as he wished? Khrushchev believed that the American President was at least partly under the control of the Pentagon and capitalist-imperialists such as the Rockefeller family. ‘We must have a contingency plan in case the Americans do invade,’ he said. ‘Our troops must be prepared for every eventuality.’ He ordered a ten-minute break for committee members to consider the options.
Dimka was horrified by the rapidity with which the Presidium had begun to discuss war. This was never the plan! When Khrushchev decided to send missiles to Cuba, he had not intended to provoke combat. How did we get here from there? Dimka thought despairingly.
He saw Filipov in an ominous huddle with Malinovsky and several others. Filipov was writing something down. When they reconvened, Malinovsky read a draft order for the Soviet commander in Cuba, General Issa Pliyev, authorizing him to use ‘all available means’ to defend Cuba.
Dimka wanted to say: Are you mad?
Khrushchev felt the same. ‘We would be giving Pliyev the authority to start a nuclear war!’ he said angrily.
To Dimka’s relief Anastas Mikoyan backed Khrushchev. Always a peacemaker, Mikoyan looked like a lawyer in a country town, with a neat moustache and receding hair. But he was the man who could talk Khrushchev out of his most reckless schemes. Now he opposed Malinovsky. Mikoyan had extra authority because he had visited Cuba shortly after its revolution.
‘What about handing over control of the missiles to Castro?’ said Khrushchev.
Dimka had heard his boss say some crazy things, especially during hypothetical discussions, but this was irresponsible even by his standards. What was he thinking?
‘May I counsel against?’ said Mikoyan mildly. ‘The Americans know that we don’t want nuclear war, and as long as we control the weapons they will try to solve this problem by diplomacy. But they will not trust Castro. If they know he has his finger on the trigger they may try to destroy all the missiles in Cuba with one massive first strike.’