“That’s right.”

“So he didn’t really need me to drop off the book. He could have given it back to her tomorrow at work.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve been set up.”

“I know.”

She giggled. “Oh, well, what the heck.”

He liked her for that.

Jacky brought in a tray. By the time she had poured coffee, President Kennedy was on the monochrome screen, saying: “Good evening, my fellow citizens.” He was sitting at a desk. In front of him was a small lectern with two microphones. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and narrow tie. George knew that the shadows of terrible strain on his face had been concealed by television makeup.

When he said Cuba had “a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere,” Jacky gasped and Cindy said: “Oh, my Lord!”

He read from sheets of paper on the lectern in his flat Boston accent, hard pronounced “haad,” and report pronounced “repoat.” His delivery was deadpan, almost boring, but his words were electrifying. “Each of these missiles, in short, is capable of striking Washington, DC—”

Jacky gave a little scream.

“—the Panama Canal, Cape Canaveral, Mexico City—”

Cindy said: “What are we going to do?”

“Wait,” said George. “You’ll see.”

Jacky said: “How could this happen?”

“The Soviets are sneaky,” George said.

Kennedy said: “We have no desire to dominate or conquer any other nation or impose our system on its people.” At that point, normally Jacky would have made a derisive remark about the Bay of Pigs invasion; but she was beyond political point-scoring now.

The camera zoomed in for a close-up as Kennedy said: “To halt this offensive buildup, a strict quarantine on all offensive military equipment under shipment to Cuba is being initiated.”

“What use is that?” said Jacky. “The missiles are there already—he just said so!”

Slowly and deliberately, the president said: “It shall be the policy of this nation to regard any nuclear missile, launched from Cuba, against any nation in the Western Hemisphere, as an attack by the Soviet Union on the United States, requiring a full retaliatory response upon the Soviet Union.”

“Oh, my Lord,” said Cindy again. “So if Cuba launches just one missile, it’s all-out nuclear war.”

“That’s right,” said George, who had attended the meetings where this had been thrashed out.

As soon as the president said, “Thank you and good night,” Jacky turned off the set and rounded on George. “What is going to happen to us?”

He longed to reassure her, to make her feel safe, but he could not. “I don’t know, Mom.”

Cindy said: “This quarantine makes no difference to anything, even I can see that.”

“It’s just a preliminary.”

“So what comes next?”

“We don’t know.”

Jacky said: “George, tell me the truth, now. Is there going to be war?”

George hesitated. Nuclear weapons were being loaded on jets and flown around the country, to ensure that some at least would survive a Soviet first strike. The invasion plan for Cuba was being refined, and the State Department was sifting candidates to lead the pro-American government that would take charge of Cuba afterward.