"First," Kennedy asked, "is the defector reliable?"
"We believe so. He's the same man who warned us about the attack on Gitmo in the first place."
"Which wasn't that much of a warning," Kennedy reminded them sourly. "Maybe that was a trick and maybe this is too. Since he has defected, I think you can finally tell us just who the hell your inside source is, don't you?"
"His name is Andrei Sokolov and, until a few days ago, was a major in the Soviet rocket forces. His commanding officer, General Issa Pliyev, had supported the attack on Gitmo, but is now appalled at the thought of irresponsible people like Fidel, Raul, and Che having their hands on tactical nuclear weapons. As to Sokolov's veracity, through him we now have the Russians admitting that they’ve had a couple of dozen tactical nuclear weapons in Cuba all along. We'd suspected it, but were unable to prove it. Sokolov also says the Russian forces in Cuba are about two times larger than we thought and that means they have forty thousand Soviet troops."
"Jesus," Kennedy said. "But does that make him truthful?"
"We believe so, sir, yes. And what choice do we have at this moment?"
General Taylor leaned forward. He wanted to hear clearly. "How many nuclear weapons does Fidel have and what are they?"
"He has at least four but no more than six short range tactical missiles with warheads, with four being the more likely number. The Soviets call them Lunas while we've designated them as Frog 3. It's a rocket system widely used by the Soviets and they've provided them to a number of other countries, but without nuclear warheads. The Soviets brought twenty-four nuclear warheads into Cuba and now some are missing. The Lunas or Frogs have a range of approximately eighteen miles and each nuclear warhead carries two kilotons of power. Please recall that the bomb that hit Hiroshima was about twenty kilotons which means that these are relatively small."
"Unless one lands on your fucking lap," LeMay snarled. "Four or six of those things properly used could destroy a division or even a corps and would certainly disrupt an amphibious landing. They could easily cause thousands of American casualties. What are the Russians doing about this? Have the Cubans declared war on Russia, or vice-versa?"
"What does FROG stand for?" Kennedy asked. "I can't imagine a rocket named after an amphibian."
Even Taylor smiled. "I can't either, sir. It stands for Free Rocket Over Ground."
McCone continued. "According to Sokolov, Pliyev is launching full scale efforts to find them, along with aggressively covering his ass for losing them in the first place, and no, there is no fighting between Cuba and the Soviets. All Soviet efforts are centered on recovering the missing nukes. They will be difficult to find since the launchers are mounted on tracked vehicles, basically tank chassis, and could simply be covered up and driven down a road without anybody much noticing."
He passed around a photo. It showed a rocket in a semi-upright position on a tank chassis. It had a bulbous warhead and Kennedy thought it looked like a caricature of an erection.
"Christ," LeMay said. "I just had a thought. What would happen if one of our planes hit one of those vehicles carrying a nuke? Would the bomb detonate?"
"Quite possibly," McCone said. "Sokolov is proving a fountain of information. Apparently, Soviet nuclear tactics are quite different from ours. We think of nukes as weapons of last resort, while the Russians think they should be used right off. So, yes, it is entirely possible, even likely, that Fidel's nukes are armed and ready to go and that Castro will use them the first chance he has."
"Assuming that he really has them in the first place," Taylor injected.
Kennedy felt a headache coming on and his back was hurting. Why the hell had he ever wanted to run for president in the first place? Because his father had wanted him to, that's why. Damn it.
"Okay," he said. "Here's what we're going to do. Or not do, if you prefer. First, we tell nobody a thing about Castro having tactical nukes. Second, the invasion is on hold until further notice. You can gather forces and plan for an ultimate attack on Gitmo, but nothing moves without my say-so. Third, hold off on bombing any trucks or other tracked vehicles."
LeMay interrupted. "That means we don't bomb anything ‘cause we can't always tell from several thousand feet up whether a vehicle has wheels or tracks. It we wait until we're on top of them, it could put our planes in danger from their anti-aircraft fire. That's unacceptable."
Kennedy thought quickly and changed his mind. "You're right. And the hell with Castro if we hit one of those bombs and it goes off. Keep bombing the shit out of anything that moves. If one does go off, it'll be his fault that part of Cuba glows in the dark, and there will be one less bomb he can use against us."
"Along with a good sized hole in Cuban earth," LeMay said happily.
Kennedy saw agreement from the military and it pleased him. "Fourth, I want contacts with Russia to find out what they're doing, and fifth, I want this Sokolov's story proved or disproved and I want that done quickly."
And sixth, he thought, I want a damn drink. Maybe that will help my back.
Ross hadn't wanted Cathy to accompany them, but the alternative was to leave her alone at their temporary base camp and that was a prospect that horrified her. Given what he thought had happened to her, there was no other option but to bring her along on a mission that was as risky as anything they'd yet done.
Nor was she his only worry as they waited by the large field they'd identified as a drop point on the one call they'd managed to make to the States. Andrew worried that they hadn't gotten the coordinates right, or that they were right and any relief effort wouldn't find the field. Or, worse, the Cubans had picked up on the transmission and were waiting just behind the next tree. It was night and he could almost feel Cuban soldiers moving through the brush. It was the stuff of nightmares.
They waited until the right time and lit the fire in the middle of the field. "Sure as hell that's gonna bring Cubans," Cullen muttered.
"Maybe not," Andrew said hopefully, "We're a ways from any road or human habitation, and it isn't that big a fire." And what other choice did they have?
They waited. The silence was deafening. They looked away from the fire so its glare wouldn't destroy their night vision.
They heard a noise. It was the whine of a plane's engine. Suddenly, a dark shape lifted above the tree line, seemed to hover, and dropped to the ground, taxiing only a short distance before it was still. They could only stare in disbelief at the small plane as its doors opened and someone inside pushed out a number of boxes and containers. They started to move towards it, silhouetted against the fire, but the plane turned on the ground and headed back. It lifted off and cleared the trees by maybe a few inches. It was gone as quickly as it had come.
Andrew shook his head. Had it really happened? "Grab the boxes and douse that damn fire."
Cullen and Groth put out the fire while the others hauled and lifted the half dozen containers the plane had deposited. Ross was both disappointed and relieved. If he could have contacted the pilot, he would have shoved Cathy into the plane, and she would now be on her way to safety. But it hadn't happened and she was going to remain with them, which didn't totally displease him.
How long had the plane been on the ground? Maybe a minute. Probably a whole lot less. But at least they knew they weren't alone and that somebody was watching out for them. Just so long as Cubans weren’t drawn to the site by the fire and the sound of the plane.
When they were a couple of miles away and back at their current base camp, they fought the urge to open the containers immediately. "Hold off until it’s light," Cullen had urged and they reluctantly recognized the sense of it. They didn't want to damage what might be inside.