there was a note of ultimate calamity.
“Yes, but what is the answer?” the President said.
When Khrushchev spoke, his voice had steadied. He had made a decision.
“Mr. President, in the last hour I learned of a piece of research which we have been undertaking but which was unknown to me,” Khrushchev said. “I am certain, Mr. President, that such things could take place in your country.”
“Of course, Mr. Khrushchev,” the President said. “I am aware that I am unaware of a great deal.”
Khrushchev laughed softly.
“This particular experiment was undertaken by a joint research team of mathematicians, radar experts, computing-machine specialists and weapons-systems experts,” Khrushchev said. “We were aware of your general strategic approach, the system of planes aloft, planes on standby, and the rest of the procedure including the Fail- Safe point. This did not take much intelligence. But this particular team had orders from our general staff in Moscow to see if it would be possible to discriminate an actual attack from a routine Fail-Safe flight. Our observations told us where your Fail-Safe lines must be. We then established mathematically another line which, if penetrated by your planes, would indicate a true attack.”
“What are you getting at?” the President asked. Buck could tell from his face that he already knew the answer. The President had gained some of the offensive.
“Today. Mr. President, our analyzers calculated that a true attack might be imminent. They may have been wrong. But we figured our only chance to prevent it was to try jamming all radio frequencies so that your bombers would be unable to receive the ‘go’ signal ordering them through their Fail-Safe line. We bad to prevent you from changing the standard Fail-Safe control into an ordered attack. Mr. President, we may have succeeded. But who knows?”
“Holy Jesus,” the words slipped from the President’s mouth. “What an irony. The whole operation was calculated on the basis of a trust in the infallibility of our Fail-Safe controls. We’ve both put too damn much trust in the system.”
“Yes, Mr. President, and it is even more ironic than that. We don’t know whether our jamming efforts succeeded and were a contributing cause, and neither do you. But we do know that these are your bombers and they are attacking Moscow. All right, maybe accidents on both sides. But right now, what do we do? Now, quickly, Mr. President, how can you convince me that your planes are on an innocent mission?”
“Just a moment, Mr. Khrushchev,” the President said. “From what you have just said it must be obvious that our planes do not bear all the guilt. Your own scientists have told you that they were trying to jam our radios. The guilt, if there be any, surely must be shared.”
“Mr. President, there was no reason in the world why I needed to tell you that we had conducted, perhaps mistakenly, that jamming operation this morning,” Khrushchev said. “The fact that an obscure team of scientists may have miscalculated is of absolutely no relevance. In the eyes of the world you have wantonly and without provocation attacked the Soviet Union and may, in fact, destroy Moscow. What Indian or Thai or Japanese or African or European will believe that so monstrous a thing was really tripped by our jamming your radios? No one. More importantly, no Russian would tolerate for a moment the destruction of Moscow without retaliation. Forget the mechanical mistakes and traps and countermeasures. The mistake, you agree, started on your side. But we may suffer the consequences.”
“What do you intend to do, Mr. Khrushchev?” the President asked.
“I am trapped, Mr. President,” Mr. Khrushchev said. His voice was riddled with despair. “I am perfectly prepared, Mr. President, to order our whole offensive apparatus to take action. In fact, I intend to do precisely that unless you can persuade me that your intentions were not hostile and that there is some chance for peace.”
“Your experts should be able to tell you that I have ordered all American bombers to fly toward their bases and land,” the President said. “Not a single American plane, aside from those in Group 6, is making a hostile gesture toward you. Does that sound like the preparation for an all-out war?”
“The military people have already told me that,” Khrushchev said and his voice, was tired. “On the face of.it you look innocent, but how do we know what else is happening? What other plots do you have up your sleeve? Where else will your electronic systems break down?”
“We have no plots of any kind,” the President said. “Your people will be able to verify that in plain voice and with top priority I am sending a personal message to all Polaris submarines not to fire, not even to prepare to fire, their missiles, unless they receive a direct order from me.” His voice was not pleading, but he spoke with an urgency which even Khrushchev must detect. “I cannot give a guarantee against further mechanical failure. Neither can you.”
Khrushchev sighed. From a long distance came the single word “No.”
Buck almost groaned. He waved to the President, a sign that no more could be asked. Khrushchev had given everything.
“Premier Khrushchev, I think it would be wise for you to remove yourself from Moscow so that you will be out of danger,” the President said. “That will allow us to continue to negotiate even if the worst happens and the bombers get through. I pray that it will not happen, but it may.”
“I have already made arrangements to remove myself and some of my staff from Moscow by helicopter,” Khrushchev said at once, in a firm voice that suddenly toughened. “Moscow will not be evacuated. There is no time. It lies here innocent and open, defenseless. If it is destroyed there will be little time to talk, Mr. Press dent.”
“I am aware of that,” the President said. “But I will do anything in my power to demonstrate our good will. I. only ask that you not take any irrevocable step. Once you launch bombers and ICBMs everything is finished. I will not be able to hold back our retaliatory forces and then it would be utter devastation for both of us.”
“I know, Mr. President,” Khrushchev said. “We have been over that before; each of us has made the calculations endlessly in his own mind, has heard them from his advisers. But if Moscow is obliterated”—a kind of helpless rage shook his voice—“am I supposed to sit still, watch our biggest city destroyed, and then come hat in hand to you and ask that we reopen peace talks in Geneva? It would be absurd. I am not a man, we are not a people, that likes to look absurd.”
“I agree with much of what you say,” the President said. For the first time Buck saw great physical tension, even pain, in the President’s face.
There was a long hesitation. Then Khrushchev spoke again.
“I will come back on the line when I am a safe distance from Moscow,” Khrushchev said. His voice was toneless, flat, empty.
The line clicked dead.
“Mr. President,” Buck said, “may I say that you handled him beautifully. He acknowledged the possibility that they might be wrong and-”
Buck stopped. The President was not listening. His face was slack, softened by despair. He was staring at his scratch pad, searching the firm black cabalistic signs for some meaning.
Again Buck had the sense that something had slipped by him, that in the literal meaning of the words he had missed some larger import.
“You have broken him, Mr. President,” Buck said. “He is shaken.”
The President looked up. His eyes were dark, but the pupils glittered like small pools of agony.
“He is not broken, Mr. Buck,” the President said, “He has his back to the wall and he is suffering, but he is not broken. Unless we can show him that this is an accident, that we are not doing it deliberately, he will launch an all-out attack on us.”
Buck felt his stomach knot. In the rush of translation, in the thrill of the negotiation, he had forgotten the stakes. He stared at the President.
“What do we do now?” Buck whispered.
The President looked across the table at Buck. Re shook his head slowly as if to clear it.
“We do what we must,” he said slowly. “Get General Black at the Pentagon.”
While Buck put the call through the President leaned back in his chair. He put his hands over his eyes, his teeth clenched together, the muscles at the back of his jaw tightened into hard knots. Then he relaxed.
“General Black, Mr. President,” Buck said. The President held out his hand. He took the phone without opening his eyes.
“Blackie” the President said, his voice quiet and firm. “Do you remember the story of Abraham in the Old
