Leon Uris (36 page)

“Would this not imply that Devereaux was consorting with the Americans?”

“It is our belief,” Rochefort said, “that he was tricked, duped, and used.”

La Croix’s fingers twitched slightly, and for the first time he showed emotion with a slight reddening of his cheeks. “What is your theory on Devereaux?” he demanded.

“In the beginning,” Brune said, “the Americans did not seek out Devereaux, although they relied on him heavily for information out of Cuba. Instead, they concocted and executed a brilliant plan with Devereaux as the foil. Why did the Cuban turncoat in the United Nations delegation in New York seek out the French? Because he was on the American payroll and his orders were to plant fake papers among authentic ones and let the French steal them. Devereaux’s own deputy in New York, Gustave Prévost, was suspicious of just this sort of thing and warned that we were being set up. But, nevertheless, Devereaux planned and executed an operation to steal copies of the Parra papers from the hotel in New York. Fakes had been planted among the real documents. The fakes aroused Devereaux’s suspicions of missiles. He then took information to the Americans that the Americans had planted in the first place.

“Now Devereaux was obliged by his own doing to go down to Cuba, even though Ambassador D’Arey objected. He saw what the Russians and Americans wanted him to see, no more, no less. No one, Monsieur le Président, can answer why the missiles were brought through Havana. Devereaux tells us it was a miscalculation on the width of the tunnel under the harbor. We say if they wanted secrecy they would have unloaded in a southern port. The so-called missiles were brought through Havana because they wished for Devereaux to discover them.

“Further,” Brune argued, “the Russians knew why Devereaux was in Cuba. He was French Intelligence, sympathetic to the Americans as a matter of record. Is it believable they would have allowed him to leave Cuba with such information unless they planned for him to carry it out?

“Now, with Devereaux completely fooled, the Americans cleverly request him to come to France to authenticate this to us. As a trusted and reliable official, his word would carry enormous weight.”

“I am certain that Devereaux does not endorse this report,” La Croix said.

“Naturally not. No official of his caliber would ever admit to such a blunder. Nevertheless, not making accusations, we have been very skeptical about intelligence on Cuba for a long time.”

“We may have been set up for months.” Rochefort added.

“And you conclude there were never any offensive missiles in Cuba?”

“That is correct, Monsieur le Président.”

“Thank you, gentlemen, good night,” the President said tersely.

They stood, bowed slightly and backed to the door.

“By the way,” La Croix called. “What further information do you have on the Topaz letter?”

“Our investigators are in Washington,” Brune answered, “but I begin to suspect it may all be part of the same Soviet-American plot.”

When they closed the door, Pierre La Croix put on his glasses and struggled through the report. He was not to be taken in so quickly. There was animosity between Brune and Devereaux. Perhaps Brune was trying to discredit Devereaux early in the game to blunt the scandal on Topaz. The President knew Devereaux would not be so easily fooled. He was a maverick, but he was a Frenchman.

Yet Devereaux could have been a victim to a master conspiracy. Brune’s logic was sound. Furthermore, it smelled of the kind of shady American dealings France had suspected since World War II.

After the missile crisis simmered down, Washington and Moscow would establish a hot line. This direct, unusual communication would certainly be interpreted as an understanding between the Soviets and Americans about their respective spheres of domination, relegating France to secondary status.

Coincidentally with the missile crisis, both countries could increase their military expenditures. They would then be in a position to increase their domination over their allies.

By deliberately involving a French Intelligence officer of Devereaux’s stature they could force France to follow American policy without protest or consultation.

And could he be sure the British were not plotting with the Americans to see France diminished?

France had been shut out of German-American talks. And now France would be totally bypassed by the Moscow-Washington hot line.

As a result of the “missile crisis,” the Americans could assert an even fuller domination of NATO.

So the giant powers had played out a charade to thwart France of her true destiny as the leader of Europe.

But even if the SDECE report was wrong, the end result was the same. America would emerge more powerful than ever. In the mind of Pierre La Croix, it only furthered his obsession to break Anglo-American control of Europe.

C
OLONEL
B
RUNE PACED HIS
high-ceilinged office in the converted barracks building on Boulevard Mortier that housed the SDECE. He stopped for a moment at the window and glared down on the courtyard, then returned to his desk.

Brune snatched up the weekly newspaper,
Moniteur.
It was filled with the usual anti-La Croix tripe. But the column by François Picard was encircled in red.

There is a strange smell on Boulevard Mortier. Rumors which will be confirmed soon reek of a scandal brewing inside the SDECE. It has long been known that the French Secret Service is rotted from within. So bad are its leaks that few of France’s allies dare to share secrets with her anymore. But then, our President does not want allies ....

Brune flung the paper down angrily. Obviously the information had come to Picard from Devereaux in a play to discredit him. Since the Topaz letter from the American President he, Brune, a chief of the service, had been under watch like a common spy.

He sat down, looked at the column once more, then lifted his interoffice phone. “Send Ferdinand Fauchet to me right away,” he said.

François and Michele slept tight in each others arms. The phone rang. François yawned to wakefulness and groped for the instrument. “Hello,” he said sleepily.

“Hello. I am calling for Monsieur Devereaux. He was working late and just left headquarters and said Michele might be with you.”

“She’s here. Do you wish to speak to her?”

“No. It is not necessary. Monsieur Devereaux asked me to phone and tell her to come home immediately.”

“Is anything wrong?”

“He didn’t say, but he did seem rather urgent.”

“Yes, I’ll have her come home.”

Michele insisted François stay where he was, that it was not necessary for him to drive her to the apartment. He gave in, and when they kissed good-bye it was past midnight.

Ferdinand Fauchet, parked across the street, watched her leave the building, get in Picard’s car, and drive off. When she was out of sight, Fauchet nodded to four waiting thugs. They entered Picard’s building.

François was about to turn off the light when the knock came at the door. He padded over to it unsuspectingly, certain that Michele had forgotten the car keys.

He opened the door. Two blows from blackjacks hit him at once in the mouth and on the temple.

V
ASILI
L
EONOV TIED ON
his falling pajama pants and examined himself in the bathroom mirror. He had a slight hangover from the night of partying. Americans were good sports. Leonov had enjoyed the give and take of ideological debate, the off-record inside jokes, and the lack of formality. Yes, Americans were extremely pleasant fellows.

Leonov opened the medicine cabinet and fished about for those wonderful American products. First a Bromo. He grimaced as he downed the fizzy stuff, smacked his lips together and reached for the aerosol spray can and lathered his face. A new stainless steel blade went into the razor. He scraped.

A knock on the door.

“Enter!”

Leonov’s male secretary stopped opposite the toilet bowl and cleared his throat.

“Well?”

“Comrade Leonov, I have just received a telephone call from the White House. The President has cancelled his meeting with you today.”

“Eh? What’s this all about?”

“It has just been announced that he is going to speak on television today.”

In the eternal gloom of the Soviet Embassy, Leonov, the Soviet Ambassador and Resident and a half-dozen of the top staff assembled before the television and watched with heart-pounding anticipation.

In the study of the American President, one of his female secretaries swiped at his unruly hair with a brush and comb an instant before the cameras focused.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States.”

“Good evening, my fellow citizens. The government, as promised, has maintained the closest surveillance of the Soviet military buildup on the island of Cuba. Within the past week, unmistakable evidence has established the fact that a series of offensive missile sites is now in preparation on that imprisoned island. The purpose of these bases can be none other than to provide a nuclear strike capability against the Western Hemisphere ....

“... capable of striking Washington, D.C., the Panama Canal, Cape Canaveral, Mexico City ....

“Additional sites, not yet completed, appear to be designed for intermediate-range ballistic missiles....

“ ... and thus capable of striking most of the major cities in the Western Hemisphere.

“... In addition, jet bombers, capable of carrying nuclear weapons, are now being uncrated and assembled in Cuba, while the necessary air bases are being prepared....”

Vasili Leonov grabbed the arms of his chair to hide his tremor. He dared not look right or left at his stunned and frightened colleagues. The American President now spoke with powerful righteousness, without threat. Yes, he was the silent cowboy who had been pushed too far and he was shooting for the heart. He continued on to denounce the Soviet Union’s deliberate lies in the Cuban deception and he flung the gauntlet down by saying that American courage and commitments should never be doubted by friend or foe.

“All ships of any kind bound for Cuba from whatever nation or port will, if found to contain cargoes of offensive weapons, be turned back ....

“... We are not at this time, however, denying the necessities of life as the Soviets attempted to do in their Berlin blockade of 1948.

“... I call on Chairman Khrushchev to halt and eliminate this clandestine, reckless, and provocative threat to world peace.... I call upon him further to abandon this course of world domination .... He has an opportunity now to move the world back from the abyss of destruction....”

In the Caribbean some two hundred warships of the United States Navy straddled the sea routes to Cuba as their patrol planes swept in search.

From underground bastions, maximum alerts were flashed to the far-flung American military bases.

B-47s with nuclear bombs dispersed from military airfields to civil airports to evade destruction in the event of a Soviet missile attack.

Fifteen dozen intercontinental ballistic missiles, enough to obliterate the cities and factories and military bases of the Soviet Union, were readied to fire from their silos.

Strategic Air Command put their B-52 bombers into an airborne alert. While part of them circled and waited for the order to strike, those on the ground were ready to take to the air and head for Soviet targets within fifteen minutes.

Divisions of Army and Marines were combat-ready and poised to swarm into Cuba by land, by air, and by sea.

Other fighter-bombers with close to a hundred percent destructive capability were straining to make a beeline to wipe out the Cuban missile sites.

This, the quickest, quietest, and most brilliant roundup of military power, had been accomplished without major detection. It was now in place and coiled to back up the words of the young man who now spoke to a startled world.

In the Soviet Embassy, they sat shaken and un-moving after the President had left the air. Even Vasili Leonov’s years of studied poise abandoned him.

He knew he had made the ancient blunder. The bully’s bluff had been called. Not only had the myth of the President’s lack of courage been exploded but he had made a shrewd decision. He had taken his own strongest point, his navy, and pitted it against the Soviet Union’s weakest point, their navy. He had skillfully chosen a battlefield to give him every advantage ... a meeting on the high seas.

The Organization of American States unanimously and swiftly backed the American position.

In the United Nations, the outraged American Representative called the Soviet Union to task and demanded the dismantling of the Cuban bases.

And on the high seas, ships of the Soviet Union with their death cargoes inched toward Cuba for the confrontation with the United States Navy. And while the American people arose in anger, they and the entire human race wondered if they were living the last moments of its final folly.

A
NDRÉ PARKED HIS CAR
several blocks from the Place de la Madeleine and continued on foot in order to shake his followers. They were a clumsy pair and he was able to lose them quickly.

He entered the red velvet world of Lucas Carton’s restaurant. Alex and a half-dozen members of the staff greeted him with great warmth for this was the restaurant of generations of Devereaux.

“How is your father?” Alex asked.

“I haven’t had the opportunity to get to Montrichard this trip, but he’s faring quite well.”

“Please tell him I asked for him.”

“Thank you.”

Alex personally escorted André to one of the private dining salons on the second floor. In a moment a bottle of bourbon was produced and Alex went through the ritual of hand-crushing the ice with a small hammer for André’s Manhattan while André studied the menu. He decided on Sole à la Carton, a specialty of the house.

“Madame Devereaux has arrived.”

“Please show her up.”

There was no embrace or touch or scarcely a word as she was seated. She asked for a drink and lit up nervously. After the drink arrived they were closed in, and André asked that they not be disturbed until he rang for further service.