President Kennedy looked mockingly incredulous. "Please don't tell me that the godless communists have taken Christ's birthday off as a holiday?"
Rusk declined to smile. He was aware that the Kennedy's did not have a lot of confidence in him either, although, like McCone, his efforts during the recent crisis had been fairly well done.
"So what do we do?" McCone asked. "Can we or should we increase our alert status? Seriously, sir, if the military is like my organization, then a whole lot of them are either at home or on the way home. We'd have a devil of a time recalling people. Can you imagine the mess the trains and airlines would be? And can you imagine what fools we'd look like if this turned out to be a false alarm?"
The president rubbed his forehead and tried to twist into a more comfortable position in the rocking chair. It wasn’t working. The pain continued at its intense level. He turned to McCone. "Do you believe this man Kraeger? I mean the poor guy was half-drowned, sunbaked, injured, and delirious. Could he be hallucinating or could this be a heat induced figment of his imagination?"
McCone scowled at the implication that his man might be unbalanced. "Sir, I believe that Kraeger believes that what he's reporting is the truth. And as to his possibly hallucinating, he wasn't hallucinating when he made a run from Cuba to warn us. And he wasn't hallucinating when the Cubans tried to kill him and sink that little boat he’d stolen — that and the fact that he's provided far too much detail for it to be a fantasy. What I don't know, Mr. President, is whether or not the Russians are feeding us a line through Kraeger in order to make us overreact and look like fools if the report is false. Or, are they giving us enough advance warning so that it will look like they tried to help when, in reality, there's no time to do anything about their warning.
"Sir, all I can say is that my man absolutely feels that the information he's gotten is genuine and that the threat is both immediate and real. He's en route to here and will arrive in a couple of hours. I can arrange for you to meet him if you wish and you can judge for yourself."
"Later," JFK said. "If he’s right, we’ll give him a medal in the Rose Garden. If he’s wrong, we’ll have him exiled to some shithole in Africa. I agree with what you say and what he believes is the truth. The threat cannot be ignored. First, I want to reconstitute ExComm."
Excomm was the name for the group of senior military and government officials that worked as a brain trust during the Cuban Missile Crisis. The official name was the Executive Committee. "And I want the first meeting to take place in a couple of hours and I don't give a shit if it's Christmas Eve or not.
"Second, I want a report to go out to the man in charge of Gitmo, this Admiral O'Donnell. We can't tell him the commies are going to attack, because we're not really certain of that, but we can tell him it's possible that the commie bastards will try to commit some sabotage over Christmas and he should be extra careful. Still, I don't want all his men yet manning trenches and barricades if it isn't quite necessary."
Bobby shook his head. "The second idea is good, Jack, but the first, calling a senior meeting on Christmas Eve, is a bad one. People will see the staff cars and limos and wonder what's up and we're not in a position to tell them. Contrary to popular belief, the press isn't totally stupid. They won't buy the idea that we're having a Christmas Party with only a few selected generals and admirals and a few key cabinet officials invited over for drinks and stag movies. Right now, the press is probably wondering just what the hell Rusk and McCone are doing here, and if we bring in others, it'll cause a panic. No, call the meeting, but we’ll do it by phone."
"Lines might not be secure," McCone said.
JFK thought it over. "Bobby's right. We can't tip our hand by having everyone come here. Like it or not, the meeting will be by phone and I don't care if the lines aren't secure. I want everybody except Bobby to leave and pretend everything is normal. At two o'clock, I want to discuss military options with the chiefs of staff and the Secretary of Defense."
Kennedy turned to Rusk. "After that we'll discuss diplomatic options. I assume you'll be trying to find someone alive at the various embassies?" Rusk, clearly unhappy at being left out of what was going to be the major part of the planning, nodded.
"And as to the possible lack of security in a telephone meeting, we'll have to take that chance." He laughed harshly. "After all, it's Christmas. Who'd be listening in?"
Che Guevara was the titular head of the force surrounding Gitmo, although everyone knew that General Ortega was the real military leader.
Guevara had the reputation as the mastermind guerilla commander, but real soldiers like Ortega considered him a lightweight at best. The Argentine-born Guevara had never been a real soldier and never commanded large numbers of men in regular combat. Nor was there much trust and love between Ortega and Guevara. Che knew full well what the military professionals thought of him, and dismissed it. He considered himself a man of destiny and didn't much care what more traditional soldiers thought of him. He was a liberator, not a warrior, and it was his destiny to lead the communist revolution, first in Cuba and then in other nations, and no matter how much blood had to be shed.
Guevara did not fully trust Ortega's apparent enthusiasm for the people's revolution. The general had been a brigade commander under the regime of the unlamented Fulgencio Batista and had, at the very last minute, swung his command over to Castro's side. Guevara considered that Ortega might be an opportunist who'd change back at the first opportunity and not a dedicated Marxist like himself. Still, Guevara had to admit that Ortega had so far proven to be a very good general, and his plans for taking Guantanamo were excellent. Ortega was most definitely the man for the job. He'd risen through the ranks on the basis of ability for the most part, and, prior to the revolution, had graduated from several army command schools in the United States where he had impressed his instructors with his knowledge and dedication. He would stay in command, at least for the moment.
Ortega admitted to himself that he was a Cuban first and a communist second. He considered Marxism a little extreme, but it was the movement that had ousted the despised Batista and given him a chance to redeem Guantanamo for Cuba. His support for Castro, however belated, had made him a general and enabled him to provide for Maria and the four children in a manner that befitted them. Nor had it escaped his notice that his family was in Havana, close to Fidel, Che, and Fidel's state police. They were not quite hostages to his good behavior, but close to it.
Ortega didn't like Che Guevara and wondered if the man had a personal agenda. But then, who didn't?
Che sighed. "General, there is a real possibility that our plans have been compromised. A man who was likely a spy for either the Americans or the Germans escaped from Cuba in a small boat. If the Americans have him, he could be telling them everything he knows right now. We must move our timetable forward and attack as soon as possible."
"No."
Che was taken aback. He was not used to the word. "What?"
"No."
"This is an order. From Fidel!" he said angrily.
"I don't care if it's an order from the Blessed Virgin, that nice lady we no longer believe in. No attack can take place immediately."
"I don't understand. Just order the men forward."
"Comrade, I am not surprised you don't understand, because you have never had to plan a military action this massive or complex. If we were to attack right now, as you put it, then understand that most of our men are not yet in position. In order to keep the Yankees asleep and unsuspecting, I've been moving our men in small groups during the nights and positioning them to make a final dash for the Guantanamo fences later tonight. I have allowed two additional hours for units to stumble, get lost, have flat tires, collisions, or for inept commanders to just simply fuck things up completely.