“But the Americans might retaliate.”

“Not my decision.”

The radar was tracking the intruder plane, and a lieutenant reading from a screen called out its height, speed, and distance. Outside the command post, the Soviet artillerymen adjusted the aim of the launchers to follow Target No. 33. The U-2 crossed Cuba from north to south, then turned east, following the coast, coming closer to Banes. Outside, the missile launchers turned slowly on their pivoting bases, tracking the target like wolves sniffing the air. Tanya said to Paz: “What if they fire by accident?”

That was not what he was thinking about. “It’s taking pictures of our positions!” he said. “Those photographs will be used to guide their army when they invade—which could be in a few hours’ time.”

“The invasion is much more likely to happen if you kill an American pilot!”

The major had the phone to his ear while he watched the fire-control radar. He looked up at Ivanov and said: “They’re checking with Pliyev.” Tanya knew that Pliyev was the Soviet commander in chief in Cuba. But surely Pliyev would not shoot down an American plane without authorization from Moscow?

The U-2 reached the southernmost tip of Cuba and turned, following the north coast. Banes was near the coast. The U-2’s course would bring it directly overhead. But at any instant it could turn north—and then, traveling at about a mile a second, it could quickly be out of range.

“Shoot it down!” said Paz. “Now!”

Everyone ignored him.

The plane turned north. It was almost directly above the battery, though thirteen miles high.

Just a few more seconds, please, Tanya thought, praying to she knew not what god.

Tanya, Paz, and Ivanov stared at the major, who stared at the screen. The room was silent but for the beeping of the radar.

Then the major said: “Yes, sir.”

What was it—reprieve or doom?

Without putting down the phone, he spoke to the men in the room. “Destroy Target No. 33. Fire two missiles.”

“No!” said Tanya.

There was a roar of sound. Tanya looked through the window. A missile rose from its launcher and was gone in a blink. Another followed seconds later. Tanya put her hand to her mouth, feeling she might vomit in fear.

They would take about a minute to reach an altitude of thirteen miles.

Something might go wrong, Tanya thought. The missiles could malfunction, veer off course, and land harmlessly in the sea.

On the radar screen, two small dots approached a larger one.

Tanya prayed they would miss.

They went fast, then all three dots merged.

Paz let out a yell of triumph.

Then a scatter of smaller dots sprayed across the screen.

Speaking into the phone, the major said: “Target No. 33 is destroyed.”

Tanya looked out of the window, as if she might see the U-2 crashing to earth.

The major raised his voice. “It’s a kill. Well done, everyone.”

Tanya said: “And what will President Kennedy do to us now?”