Reckless (28 page)

So reasoned Pamela, sitting by her window, wishing the whole ridiculous little mess would just go away.

She heard footsteps coming up the stairs, and on up the attic stairs. Mary going to her room. With a cross little shake of her head, Pamela stubbed out her cigarette and rose to go after her.

She tapped on the attic bedroom door.

‘May I come in?’

Mary was surprised, and a little ashamed. The room was very plainly furnished.

‘Yes, of course,’ she said. ‘I’m afraid there’s nowhere to sit.’

‘We can sit on the bed.’

So they sat on the bed, side by side.

‘There’s something I have to tell you,’ said Pamela, wanting to get it over as quickly as possible. ‘You’ll be terribly cross with me.’

‘Oh, I’m sure I shan’t.’

Her soft Irish lilt grated on Pamela’s ear. Now Mary would be Christian and forgiving. But it had to be done.

‘You know that money that was taken? It was me.’

‘You!’

‘I should have owned up. I never knew they’d suspect you. I was going to give the money back, as soon as I could. Then it all turned into such a fuss, I just got scared.’

‘Oh, Pamela.’

‘I can’t tell you why I needed the money. But I did.’

‘How awful for you!’

This was harder than Pamela had expected. She had no wish to be pitied by Mary.

‘I’d rather you didn’t say anything to Harriet or Hugo.’

‘No, of course I won’t.’

‘If it comes up again I’ll tell them that I’m perfectly sure it wasn’t you. They won’t blame you, I promise.’

‘I think,’ said Mary hesitantly, ‘that Hugo still believes it was me took the money.’

‘I’ll tell him he’s wrong. I’ll tell him you and I have talked about it, and there’s no doubt in my mind.’

‘Won’t he ask you how you can be so sure?’

Pamela understood this to mean she should confess the truth to Hugo. This caused her irritation to surface.

‘Really, Mary, you’ve only yourself to blame. Why do you have to make such a mystery out of your life?’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mary.

‘I don’t know what sort of a mess you’ve got yourself into, but I’m sure everyone would understand if you told us. Everyone makes mistakes.’

‘So they do.’

‘Unless you’ve done a murder or something.’

‘Oh, no! Nothing like that!’

‘Well, I’ve told you about a bad thing I did. So you’re one up on me now. But you’re still keeping your secrets.’

‘I’m sorry. Truly I am.’

‘You know the worst thing about secrets? People start imagining things. And what they imagine is far worse than the truth.’

Mary hung her head in silence. Pamela knew she shouldn’t press her any more, but the devil in her was driving her on, saying to her, ‘She’s no better than you are. She’s got something to hide too.’

‘You know, Mary, we don’t even know where you come from. What if something were to happen to you? What if you fell ill? What if you were dying?’

‘I don’t mind dying.’

She sounded so lost, and so unhappy. Pamela felt exasperated.

‘So you wouldn’t want your family told?’

Mary was silent. Some instinct told Pamela to remain silent too, and let Mary’s conscience do the work.

After some moments, Mary said, ‘County Donegal. Kilnacarry.’

‘That’s where you come from?’

Mary nodded.

‘So if anything happens to you, that’s where we send word?’

She nodded again. Her face had gone very pale.

‘All right. We’d better go to bed now.’

She got up off the bed.

‘I’m sorry about the money.’

Mary gave a shake of her head that said, That’s all over.

‘Just our secret,’ said Pamela.

A mute nod.

Pamela left, closing the attic door behind her. Back in her own room she took out paper and pencil and wrote down what Mary had said, so she wouldn’t forget it.

Donegal. Kilnacarry
.

The increase in the number of Soviet freighters docking in Cuban ports in August was noted by the CIA. Interviews with Cuban refugees in Miami revealed that the cargoes were being unloaded under conditions of maximum security. Trucks were being lowered by crane into the holds of ships, and lifted out again with the payloads covered by tarpaulins.

‘So what’s going on, John?’ Bobby Kennedy said to John McCone, the Director of the CIA.

They were gathered in the Oval Office, the close-knit group round the president. Mac Bundy had his glasses off and was polishing the lenses, frowning at the news. Kennedy himself was sitting sprawled across one of the armchairs, his legs dangling.

‘Well, it’s weapons, that’s for sure,’ said McCone. ‘The question is, what weapons? What if it’s nukes?’

‘Are you telling us the Soviets are putting nukes on Cuba?’ said Bundy, sceptical.

‘We’ve no hard evidence of that,’ said McCone. ‘But my hunch is they will.’

Bob McNamara shook his head, irritated.

‘Khrushchev would be insane to put nukes on Cuba.’

‘Maybe so,’ said McCone. ‘But the intelligence shows that
Soviet military aid to Cuba is increasing all the time. Even if they’re not bringing in nukes, they’re arming Castro to the point where we’ll never get him out of there. And so long as Castro controls Cuba, the Soviets have got themselves a launch pad right by Florida.’

The president listened, swinging his legs, saying nothing. He turned his gaze on his Secretary of State, inviting his views.

‘We can’t launch an unprovoked attack on a sovereign nation,’ said Dean Rusk, ‘because of something they might do to us in the future.’

‘Fine,’ said McCone. ‘Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’

‘I hear you, John,’ said the president. ‘I don’t like this arms build-up any more than you do. But if we make a move against Cuba they’re going to retaliate. They’ll take Berlin. We can’t risk that.’

‘Can we risk letting them put nukes on Cuba?’

‘No. That would be unacceptable. But let’s be damn sure they’re doing it first.’

‘Then send the U2s out again, sir.’

Mac Bundy shook his head.

‘You do that, they’ll shoot ’em down.’

‘Can they do that?’ said Kennedy.

‘It’s a risk,’ said McCone. ‘We believe they have at least eight SAMs at operational level.’

Kennedy blinked at him. Slowly he pulled himself upright and rose from the chair.

‘You’re telling me there are operational Soviet missiles on Cuba?’

He was imagining the newspaper headlines. ‘Anti-aircraft missiles,’ said McNamara. ‘Defensive, not offensive.’

‘This thing is moving too damn fast,’ muttered Kennedy. He crossed to his desk, grimacing at the pain in his back.

‘Send in the U2s,’ said McCone. ‘Then we’ll know what’s going on.’

‘And have a SAM knock one of our boys out of the sky?’ said Bundy.

Kennedy was looking over his desk diary.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be getting married, John?’ he said to McCone.

‘August 30th, sir. We’ve planned a honeymoon on the French Riviera.’

‘Can I come?’

Everyone laughed.

‘So what do we do?’ said Kennedy.

‘Maybe we should fire some kind of warning shot,’ said Bundy.

‘I’m with you there,’ said Bobby Kennedy. ‘We need to slow these fuckers down.’

The president nodded.

‘Draft a statement. Show ’em we know what’s going on. Show ’em where we draw the line.’

On September 4 the president’s press secretary, Pierre Salinger, released a statement to the press.

Oleg Troyanovsky was with Khrushchev at the chairman’s dacha on the Black Sea when the statement came through.
He read it out as he translated it, doing his best to speak in neutral unemphatic tones. Even so, he could hear from Khrushchev’s laboured breathing as he listened that the chairman was rattled.

‘They’ve discovered Operation Anadyr,’ Khrushchev said, smacking at his head, rubbing his brow.

‘There’s nothing in the statement to suggest that, Comrade Chairman,’ Troyanovsky murmured.

‘Read it to me again.’

On the second hearing Khrushchev’s nervous panic receded. He realised that Kennedy knew nothing for certain.

‘He’s banging sticks in the forest in case there are wolves.’

Still, that one phrase worried him:
the gravest issues would arise
. Soon now Kennedy would learn the truth. What would he do?

‘When will the R-12s and the R-14s come into full operation?’

‘Mid-October,’ said Troyanovsky.

‘Five weeks.’ He looked up at his adviser. ‘Do you think they’ll find them in that time?’

‘We have to be prepared for that possibility, Comrade Chairman.’

‘And if they do, will they invade?’

This was precisely what Troyanovsky and others had feared all along. But Khrushchev would not thank him for saying ‘I told you so.’

‘We have to be prepared for that possibility also.’

‘Prepared how?’ Khrushchev jumped up and began to gesticulate. ‘You think the Cuban Army can fight off an American invasion?’

‘Perhaps Comrade Castro could make them a speech,’ said Troyanovsky.

Khrushchev burst into laughter. Castro’s interminable speeches were one of the jokes of the socialist world.

‘But seriously, Oleg Alexandrovich,’ said the chairman, ‘is it possible that we could lose Cuba?’

‘We have to be prepared—’

‘Yes, yes, yes. You and your have-to-be-prepared! Well, I’m not prepared to be fucked in the ass!’

*

Khrushchev summoned Marshal Malinowsky.

‘We must defend Cuba,’ he said. ‘If the Americans attack, will it be by air or by sea?’

‘Both,’ said Malinowsky. ‘First they’ll bomb the coastal defences. Then amphibious landings.’

‘Can they be stopped?’

‘Not by conventional means, Nikita Sergeyevich.’

‘Then by what means?’

‘Lunas. FKRs.’

‘These are nuclear weapons?’

‘Small battlefield nuclear missiles, Nikita Sergeyevich. The Luna has a range of thirty miles, and carries a two-kiloton warhead. The blast would wipe out a battalion and leave a crater over a hundred feet deep. The FKR is a nuclear-tipped cruise missile with enough power to destroy an aircraft carrier.’

‘How fast can you get such weapons over there?’

Malinowsky referred this question to the logistics experts in the Ministry of Defence in Moscow. Khrushchev, meanwhile, had a courtesy visit to make.

The eminent poet Robert Frost was in the Soviet Union, on a cultural exchange. He had let it be known that he would welcome a meeting with the leader of the socialist world. Khrushchev had not been inclined to interrupt his vacation, but now it seemed to him there was value in the meeting. The 88-year-old poet was even now resting in a hotel nearby.

‘Let us show the world that our intentions are peaceful. Does this poet write poems in praise of peace? Most of them do.’

Out of respect for his fame and his venerable age, Khrushchev called on Frost in his hotel room, accompanied by Oleg Troyanovsky.

The poet was lying on his bed. He sat up when Khrushchev entered, and extended a wrinkled hand.

‘This is an honour, Mr Chairman.’

‘The honour is mine,’ said Khrushchev.

Their exchange, passing back and forth through Troyanovsky, was a model of goodwill. The old poet had thought long and hard about the rivalry of the two superpowers, and had concluded that for the sake of world peace there must be mutual respect.

‘Both countries must trust each other and speak honestly to each other,’ he urged Khrushchev. ‘Let there be rivalry, but let it be truthful, honourable rivalry. No deception, no propaganda, no name-calling. You hold great power in your hand. You have a duty to the world to use it responsibly.’

Khrushchev listened politely, nodding his head. These were the kinds of sentiments out of which most Soviet homilies were built. He was happy to agree with every word.

‘You have the soul of a poet,’ he told the old man.

Robert Frost was elated. He had achieved his goal. He had told the leader of the Communist world, face to face, without beating about the bush, what had to be done for the sake of the world, and Khrushchev had agreed with him.

‘You’re a great man,’ he told Khrushchev, exhausted by his efforts.

Khrushchev returned to Pitsunda. There waiting for him was Mikoyan with a hand-delivered package from the Ministry of Defence listing the battlefield nuclear weapons that could be shipped to Cuba. The recommendation was that two divisions of Luna missiles be sent, and one FKR brigade, accompanied by a squadron of Il-28 light bombers equipped with twelvekiloton
nuclear bombs of the type known as Tatyanas. This range of weapons was small enough to move into place quickly, but potent enough to destroy a beachhead in the event of invasion.

‘Can they go by plane?’

‘The Ministry recommends sending the warheads by sea. The
Indigirka
is ready to leave right away.’

Khrushchev signed the secret authorisation that day. The Soviet freighter
Indigirka
was loaded in total secrecy with eighteen battlefield warheads, thirty-six cruise missile nuclear warheads, and forty-five one-megaton warheads for the medium-range ballistic missiles that had already reached Cuba.

‘These weapons are not to be used,’ Khrushchev instructed, ‘without my direct order.’

‘What if communications to Moscow are cut, Nikita Sergeyevich?’ said Mikoyan. ‘What if an invasion is under way, but General Pliyev can’t reach you?’

‘Then he must use his own judgement,’ said Khrushchev. ‘I will not allow Cuba to fall.’

The
Indigirka
sailed for the Caribbean on September 15, with an expected journey time of twenty days. It was carrying over twenty times the explosive power of all the bombs dropped on Germany in the entire Second World War.