Impatiently, Stevenson said: “Don’t wait for the translation—yes or no?”

The aides in Washington laughed.

Eventually Zorin replied in Russian, and the interpreter translated: “Mr. Stevenson, continue your statement, please, you will receive the answer in due course, do not worry.”

“I am prepared to wait for my answer until hell freezes over,” said Stevenson.

Bobby Kennedy’s aides cheered. At last, America was giving them what for!

Then Stevenson said: “And I’m also prepared to present the evidence in this room.”

George said: “Yes!” and punched the air.

“If you will indulge me for a moment,” Stevenson went on, “we will set up an easel here at the back of the room where I hope it will be visible to everyone.”

The camera moved in to focus on half a dozen men in suits who were swiftly mounting a display of large blow-up photographs.

“Now we’ve got the bastards!” said George.

Stevenson’s voice continued, measured and dry, but somehow infused with aggression. “The first of these exhibits shows an area north of the village of Candelaria, near San Cristobal, southwest of Havana. The first photograph shows the area in late August 1962; it was then only peaceful countryside.”

Delegates and others were crowding around the easels, trying to see what Stevenson was referring to.

“The second photograph shows the same area one day last week. A few tents and vehicles had come into the area, new spur roads had appeared, and the main road had been improved.”

Stevenson paused, and the room was quiet. “The third photograph, taken only twenty-four hours later, shows facilities for a medium-range missile battalion,” he said.

Exclamations from the delegates combined into a hum of surprise.

Stevenson went on. More photographs were put up. Until this moment some national leaders had believed the Soviet ambassador’s denial. Now everyone knew the truth.

Zorin sat stone-faced, saying nothing.

George glanced up from the TV to see Larry Mawhinney enter the room. George looked askance at him: the one time they had talked, Larry had got angry with him. But now he seemed friendly. “Hi, George,” he said, as if they had never exchanged harsh words.

George said neutrally: “What’s the news from the Pentagon?”

“I came to warn you that we’re going to board a Soviet ship,” Larry said. “The president made the decision a few minutes ago.”

George’s heartbeat quickened. “Shit,” he said. “Just when I thought things might be calming down.”

Mawhinney went on: “Apparently he thinks the quarantine means nothing if we don’t intercept and inspect at least one suspicious vessel. He’s already getting flak because we let an oil tanker through.”

“What kind of ship are we going to arrest?”

“The Marucla, a Lebanese freighter with a Greek crew, under charter to the Soviet government. She left from Riga, ostensibly carrying paper, sulfur, and spare parts for Soviet trucks.”

“I can’t imagine the Soviets entrusting their missiles to a Greek crew.”

“If you’re right, there’ll be no trouble.”

George looked at his watch. “When will it happen?”