BOBBY (V.O.)
They are a vital threat to my country.
If launched, they would kill 80 million
Americans.
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. BOBBY'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Dobrynin listens impassively, as is his professional duty.
BOBBY
My brother, my friends, my countrymen
and I cannot and will not permit those
missiles to become operational.
(beat)
I promise you that.
Dobrynin looks out the window. And then, pained, looks back
at Bobby.
DOBRYNIN
Then I fear our two nations will go to
war. And I fear where war will lead us.
Bobby acknowledges him with a nod.
BOBBY
If the missiles do not become
operational, if you remove the missiles,
then there will be no war.
(beat)
At this moment, the President is
accepting the terms of Secretary
Khruschev's letter of Friday night. If
the Soviet Union halts construction
immediately, removes the missiles, and
submits to U.N. inspection, the United
States will pledge to never invade Cuba
or aid others in that enterprise.
Dobrynin stares at Bobby. Stares hard.
DOBRYNIN
If your Jupiter missiles in Turkey were
removed also, such an accommodation
could be reached.
The two men move their argument forward with the deliberation
and formality of chess masters.
BOBBY
(tired sounding)
The United States cannot agree to such
terms under threat. Any belief to the
contrary --
(beat)
-- was in error.
Dobrynin reels internally. The only sign on his face is a
slight tremor. Bobby looks up, registers the calculated
effect. And to Dobrynin's horror, the Russian believes:
DOBRYNIN
You want war...
But not so fast. Bobby folds his hands. And he smoothly
goes from hard-ass brinksman to sensitive deal-maker.
BOBBY
However, while there can be no quid pro
quo on this issue, the United States can
offer a private assurance.
Dobrynin holds his breath.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
Our Jupiter missiles in Turkey are
obsolete, and have been scheduled for
withdrawal for some time. This
withdrawal should be completed within,
say, six months.
Dobrynin lets out his breath.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
Of course, any public disclosure of this
assurance would negate the deal and
produce the most stringent denials from
our government.
Dobrynin grasps the move immediately, understanding the
ramifications. Still he hesitates a moment.
DOBRYNIN
This private assurance represents the
word of the Highest Authority?
BOBBY
Yes.
DOBRYNIN
And it can be relayed beyond Comrade
Khruschev's ears to the top circles of
my government
BOBBY
Of course. Our pledge can be relayed to
any government official Secretary
Khruschev sees fit to satisfy.
Meaning this is the bone he can show the hard line. Dobrynin
struggles internally, knowing what Bobby has done, wanting to
hug him. It comes across as agitation.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
With the caveat that it is not made
public in any way, shape or form.
(beat)
And we must have an answer tomorrow at
the latest. I cannot stress this point
enough.
DOBRYNIN
Tomorrow...
BOBBY
Tomorrow...
Dobrynin rises from his chair. Bobby rises with him.
DOBRYNIN
Then you must excuse me and permit me to
relay the substance of our discussion to
my superiors.
Dobrynin heads for the door. Half way there he turns back to
Bobby, deeply moved. Deeply grateful.
DOBRYNIN (CONT'D)
We have heard stories that some among
your military men wish for war.
(beat)
You are a good man. Your brother is a
good man. I assure you there are other
good men. Let us hope the will of good
men is enough to counter the terrible
strength of this thing which has been
put in motion.
INT. OVAL OFFICE - NIGHT
Kenny enters the Oval Office through his side door. The
office is dark, only the desk lamp on. Kenny's gaze moves
over the trappings of power: the carpet with the Presidential
Seal, the rocking chair by the fireplace, the desk.
And on the desk, tucked almost out of sight, sits a small,
humble wooden plaque. It's turned to face the occupant of
the chair behind the desk. Kenny reaches out, turns it
around. It is the Breton's Fisherman's Prayer.
It reads: OH LORD, THY SEA IS GREAT, MY BOAT SO SMALL.
BOBBY (O.S.)
We're out here.
Kenny holds on the plaque a beat, and looks up at the open
French door to the Rose Garden. The curtains swirl around
him in the wind as he goes through the door and out --
EXT. PORTICO - CONTINUOUS
-- onto the portico. Standing there in the dark, by the
white neoclassical pillars of the cloister, are Bobby and the
President. They're holding drinks. Kenny joins them.
The President gestures out across the South Lawn to the
gleaming Washington Monument.
THE PRESIDENT
We were just debating who had it worse,
us or George Washington and his guys.
BOBBY
He didn't have to worry about nuclear
weapons.
THE PRESIDENT
Yeah, but the country didn't even exist
as a country yet. It was a mess, and he
didn't have a leg to stand on.
KENNY
All he had was his character.
The President and Bobby nod at the justice of that remark.
BOBBY
How does a guy get a rep like that?
THE PRESIDENT
Doesn't matter to me. If I went down in
history like Adams, I'd die happy. All
they say about him today is --
KENNY
-- he kept the peace.
Kenny looks at the President. The President feels it, and
gazes back to him.
The three of them stare out at the glittering city. The
grandness of the world lies before them, and they are
deciding its fate, and are humbled by the awfulness of it.
The silence is beyond power.
And for a long moment, they know not to disturb it. There is
nothing left to say. The President, at last, finishes his
drink.
THE PRESIDENT
You know, we never did control it. Not
really. Not like we think.
He looks at Kenny. Kenny nods. He knows that now too.
THE PRESIDENT (CONT'D)
But we did our best. Now it's up to
them.
EXT. O'DONNELL DRIVEWAY - NIGHT
Kenny's limo pulls away, leaving Kenny, coat in hand, at the
bottom of his driveway. He watches it go, silently urging it
to return for him with some call from the President telling
him he's desperately needed. But it doesn't.
He turns to his house. The lights are all out.
He notices he's CLUTCHING the handle of his briefcase. His
knuckles are white. With conscious effort, he unfolds his
hand, letting the briefcase drop on the driveway.
He stands alone, stripped of his friends, his family, his
job... and in that moment, mute, impotent in the shadow of
Armageddon, Kenny is our Everyman of the Nuclear Age.
INT. O'DONNELL KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Helen stands in the kitchen, a ghostly white figure in her
robe, the windows open and curtain flapping as she breathes
the air. Kenny enters. He stands in the doorway.
HELEN
I saw you out there. You want him to
call you back, need you.
KENNY
No. I'm glad I'm home.
And she knows the worst.
HELEN
How long do we have?
Kenny's voice breaks.
KENNY
If the sun rises in the morning, it is
only because of men of goodwill.
(beat)
And that's all there is between us and
the Devil.
They take each other in their arms, the wisdom of the atomic
age so simple, so tenuous, every human life hanging by such a
thread... yet a thread so powerful. The CAMERA RISES FROM
THEM, finding the OPEN WINDOW and the DARKNESS.
INT. O'DONNELL BEDROOM - DAWN
The RED DOME OF NUCLEAR FIRE rising over Washington. It
roils the air in its expanding, blood-red glory.
It is the sun. The dawn in the East.
PULL BACK THROUGH THE OPEN WINDOW.
SUPER: SUNDAY, OCTOBER 28TH. DAY 13
into Kenny and Helen's bedroom. And silence. Kenny and
Helen lie together on the bed. The light burns into Kenny's
half-shut eye. Kenny is only dimly conscious of the light's
meaning. Until the PHONE SHRILLS downstairs.
Kenny is instantly up, launched out of the room.
INT. O'DONNELL KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS
Kenny snatches the RED PHONE from its hook.