Khrushchev solved the problem by snatching the binoculars back. “And do you know what I’m going to do?” he said.

“Please tell me.”

“I’m going to let Kennedy know how it feels. I will deploy nuclear missiles in Cuba—aimed at his dacha!”

Dimka was speechless. He had not been expecting this. And he could not see it as a good idea. He agreed with his boss in wanting more military aid for Cuba, and he had been battling the Defense Ministry over that issue—but now Khrushchev was going too far. “Nuclear missiles?” he repeated, trying to gain time to think.

“Exactly!” Khrushchev pointed to the KGB report on Operation Mongoose that Dimka was still clutching. “And that will convince the Politburo to support me. Poisoned cigars. Ha!”

“Our official line has been that we will not deploy nuclear weapons in Cuba,” Dimka said, in the manner of one who presents incidental information, rather than in an argumentative tone. “We have given the Americans that reassurance several times, and publicly.”

Khrushchev grinned with impish delight. “Then Kennedy will be all the more surprised!”

Khrushchev scared Dimka in this mood. The first secretary was not a fool, but he was a gambler. If this scheme went wrong it could lead to a diplomatic humiliation that might bring about Khrushchev’s downfall as leader—and, by way of collateral damage, end Dimka’s career. Worse, it might provoke the American invasion of Cuba that it was intended to prevent—and his beloved sister was in Cuba. There was even a chance that it would spark the nuclear war that would end capitalism, Communism, and quite possibly the human race.

On the other hand, Dimka could not help feeling excited. What a tremendous blow would be struck against the rich, smug Kennedy boys, against the global bully that was the United States, and against the whole capitalist-imperialist power bloc. If the gamble paid off, what a triumph it would be for the USSR and Khrushchev.

What should he do? He switched to practical mode and strained to think of ways to reduce the apocalyptic risks of the scheme. “We could start by signing a peace treaty with Cuba,” he said. “The Americans could hardly object to that without admitting that they were planning to attack a poor Third World country.” Khrushchev looked unenthusiastic but said nothing, so Dimka went on. “Then we could step up the supply of conventional weapons. Again it would be awkward for Kennedy to protest: why shouldn’t a country buy guns for its army? Finally we could send the missiles—”

“No,” said Khrushchev abruptly. He never liked gradualism, Dimka reflected. “This is what we’ll do,” Khrushchev went on. “We’ll ship the missiles secretly. We’ll put them in boxes labeled ‘drainage pipes,’ anything. Even the ships’ captains won’t know what’s inside. We’ll send our artillerymen over to Cuba to assemble the launchers. The Americans won’t have any idea what we’re up to.”

Dimka felt a little sick, with both fear and exhilaration. It would be extraordinarily difficult to keep such a big project secret, even in the Soviet Union. Thousands of men would be involved in crating the weapons, sending them by train to the ports, opening them in Cuba, and deploying them. Was it even possible to keep them all quiet?