We're putting up Potowski next time.
Will you guys come out for him?
KENNY
Who else you got?
POL #2
There's Richardson. Good kid.
KENNY
Got the touch?
POL #2
Yeah. Still moldable, too.
KENNY
Everyone likes a good kid...
And like that, a congressional candidate is made... Kenny
accelerates, leaving the Pols behind. Suddenly, outside the
windows, the crowd swells forward with a collective ROAR.
CROWD
MR. PRESIDENT! PRESIDENT KENNEDY!
EXT. HOTEL - DAY
Kenny heads down the steps with New York Times Washington
Bureau Chief, SCOTTY RESTON. Anonymous, they weave their way
through the crowd for a police car on a side street.
RESTON
How's my favorite President?
KENNY
Busy. But you've got his heart.
RESTON
I want an hour with him.
KENNY
I said his heart, not his attention.
RESTON
Three weeks before midterm elections?
You need me.
KENNY
Well. There is a new civil rights
initiative he wants to talk about.
RESTON
I'm doing a piece on Skybolt. I hear
Macmillan's meeting with him in Nassau.
Kenny just sighs as they make their way up to the police car.
A Secret Service Agent opens the door for him, another is
behind the wheel.
KENNY
We're giving the Brits Polaris instead.
But a story'll just aggravate things.
Scotty stares at Kenny, determined. Kenny looks away. And
his eye catches a tall, willowy BEAUTIFUL WOMAN. She is
talking, excited, embarrassed, to two more SECRET SERVICE
AGENTS. What they're saying is lost in the noise.
Scotty follows Kenny's gaze. Then the two men share a look,
a silent understanding. Kenny glances at the Secret Service
guy holding the car door, tilts his head at the woman.
KENNY (CONT'D)
Not today. He's got tight schedule.
The Agent nods, heads for the other Agents and the Beautiful
Woman. Scotty acts like nothing has happened.
RESTON
Pretending there isn't a problem won't
fix it. He can clear the air on Anglo
American relations.
KENNY
Forget it, Scotty.
RESTON
Let him talk to me, he makes Macmillan
look good, I print it, the British
public likes it, Macmillan owes you.
The formula's exactly what Kenny wants to hear. He pretends
to consider, pretends to cave as he gets in the car.
KENNY
All right, you're in. Half hour.
Reston's won. But so has Kenny, and he's made Scotty feel
tough in the bargain. People like Kenny.
INT. POLICE CAR - DAY
In the back seat, Kenny stares out the window at the parade
goers. The Secret Service Agents leave the Woman.
Disappointed, the Woman turns and vanishes into the crowd.
It's an eerie moment. Something troubles Kenny, and he
glances up at the sky. A premonition. But it's a clear,
clear blue. A day like this, all is right with the world...
SMASH CUT TO:
INT. NPIC - NIGHT
Six Interpreters huddle around IMAGES on a light table. One
of them shoulders his way into the group and THUMPS a black
BINDER on the table. There are grim nods of agreement.
The book is open to a PICTURE of an SS-4 BALLISTIC MISSILE.
A photo from Moscow Mayday parade. An icon of the nuclear
age escorted like some devil-god to a holocaust...
END MAIN TITLE SEQUENCE
EXT. THE WHITE HOUSE - DAY
The White House casts long shadows this gorgeous October
morning. Blue sky; the first flash of color in the trees.
SUPER: TUESDAY, OCTOBER 16TH, 1962. DAY 1.
INT. KENNY'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Briefcase and coat in hand, Kenny enters his office - and
finds THREE MEN. Standing there. Thin-haired, bespectacled,
academic-looking MCGEORGE BUNDY, 43, the National Security
Advisor. The two men in the background: PHOTO INTERPRETERS.
Kenny hangs up his coat, sees the Interpreters' large black
display cases. And suddenly the world is slightly off
kilter.
KENNY
Hey, Mac. You're up bright and early.
BUNDY
No, Ken. I need to see him now...
INT. WHITE HOUSE - RESIDENTIAL FLOOR - DAY
Kenny emerges from the elevator with Bundy. They head down
the long, posh 3rd floor hall, the Presidential Detail
guarding the doors at the end. But the familiar route feels
strange, and lasting an eternity. Kenny eyes the package
under Bundy's arm, its TOP SECRET stamp visible.
KENNY
Morning, Floyd.
SECRET SERVICE AGENT
Good morning, Mr. O'Donnell. Mr. Bundy.
The Agent opens the door. Bundy pauses, Kenny with him.
KENNY
What's it about?
BUNDY
Cuba.
Bundy is tense. But Kenny relaxes.
KENNY
Just Cuba? Okay, I got work to do, see
you guys downstairs.
INT. KENNY'S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
Kenny's office is a raging beehive of activity. Kenny works
the phone as ASSISTANTS come and go with files.
KENNY
(to phone, scary calm)
Listen to me, you worthless piece of
disloyal shit. You will pull Daly's man
on the circuit. You owe your goddamn
job to this administration.
(beat, listening)
There is a word you need to learn. It
is the only word in politics. Loyalty.
LOYALTY you motherfucking piece of shit!
As Kenny THROWS the phone down at the receiver, and the
PRIVATE DOOR to the Oval Office suddenly opens. Kenny
glances up. President Kennedy stands there in the doorway.
Kenny thinks he's reacting to the tirade.
KENNY (CONT'D)
What're you looking at? This isn't the
blessed order of St. Mary the Meek.
Kenny stops.
KENNY (CONT'D)
Excuse us.
The Assistants leave, shutting the door after them. Kenny
rises.
THE PRESIDENT
I think you should come in here.
Kenny starts for the door.
THE PRESIDENT (CONT'D)
Still think Cuba isn't important?
KENNY
Not as far as the election goes.
The President lets Kenny by into...
INT. OVAL OFFICE - CONTINUOUS
WE ENTER from a different angle than we usually enter in
movies: through the side door. The President's ornate desk
sits on the right, windows looking out on the Rose Garden
behind it. Kenny's gaze swivels to:
THE OTHER END OF THE ROOM where the Interpreters, their
crewcut chief, ARTHUR LUNDAHL, 50's, and Bundy stare at him.
They're surrounded by PRESENTATION BOARDS propped up around
the fireplace. The President's rocking chair and sofas.
THE PRESIDENT
You used to look down a bomb sight for a
living, Ken. What do you see?
In eerie silence, as all eyes follow him, Kenny makes his way
among the presentation boards with the U-2 imagery, stops in
front of the picture of the six canvas-covered objects. It
unleashes a wave of memories.
KENNY
We hit a Nazi buzz bomb field in '45.
(beat, incredulous)
It looks like a rocket base...
He puts his hand out to touch the image, then turns and looks
to the President, knowing what they must be.
BUNDY
On Sunday morning, one of our U-2s took
these pictures. The Soviets are putting
medium range ballistic missiles into
Cuba.
Shock. Silence. Kenny glances to the other men.
LUNDAHL
They appear to be the SS-4: range of a
thousand miles, three-megaton nuclear
warhead.
KENNY
Jesus Christ in Heaven...
INT. WHITE HOUSE OPERATOR'S CENTER - DAY
A bank of WHITE HOUSE OPERATORS work the switchboard, fingers
flying, voices overlapping in a babble of:
VARIOUS OPERATORS
Please hold for the White House...Mr.
O'Donnell for Secretary McNamara...
White House Operator... please hold...
INT. KENNY'S OFFICE - DAY
Kenny carries the phone with him as he paces hard from his
desk to his window.
KENNY
The principals are assembling in an
hour. See you then.
Kenny hangs up. The President enters. A beat. And in that
beat, there's a void. The two men are off their emotional
stride, trying to grope their way out of shock.
THE PRESIDENT
Where's Bobby?
Kenny nods, acknowledging the feeling
KENNY
Should be here any minute.
THE PRESIDENT
Good.
And we glimpse the chemistry of these guys by Bobby's
absence. It's like they're missing their third wheel.
THE PRESIDENT (CONT'D)
Good.
BOBBY (O.S.)
Where the hell are you?
The President and Kenny hear him out in the hall. And the
tension goes out of them instantly.
THE PRESIDENT
In here!
They turn to the door as BOBBY KENNEDY, 37, the President's
younger brother/Attorney General, enters. Bobby shuts the
door behind him, falls into Kenny's chair, and clearly
grappling with his own disbelief, is hushed.
BOBBY
Jesus Christ, guys. What the hell's
Khruschev thinking?
THE PRESIDENT
Did you have any indication of this from
Georgi? Any possible warning or sense
of motivation?
BOBBY
(shaking his head)
Complete snowjob. And then we went out
and told the country they weren't
putting missiles into Cuba.
(beat)
By the way, you realize we just lost the
midterms.
KENNY
Who gives a shit about the midterms now?
The Soviets are putting nuclear weapons
ninety miles away from us.
BOBBY
You mean there's something more
important than votes? Didn't think I'd
live to see the day, Ken.
The President paces away, grim.
KENNY
Jesus. I feel like we've caught the Jap
carriers steaming for Pearl Harbor.
INT. WEST WING HALLWAY - DAY
The President strides down the plush hallway, Bobby and Kenny
flanking him. Unconsciously, all three men assume the same
gait: confident, powerful, no longer disoriented.
And before our eyes, the three men's game faces appear, and
they become the hard-ass leaders of the United States.
Secret Service Agents throw open the massive double doors to
the Cabinet Room.
INT. CABINET ROOM - CONTINUOUS
And they enter. The group of men at the long, ornate
Roosevelt-era table, rise as one.
GROUP
Good morning, Mr. President.
THE PRESIDENT
Good morning, gentlemen.
And the doors close on the eighteen men of EXCOM: The
Executive Committee of the National Security Council. They
are the legendary "Best and Brightest."
The President makes his way down the line: shakes hands with
Secretary of State DEAN RUSK, 53, distinguished, with a soft,
Georgian accent, a distant reserve.
THE PRESIDENT (CONT'D)
Dean, good morning.
RUSK
Mr. President.
The President leans past him, grasps the hand of the
Secretary of Defense ROBERT MCNAMARA, 46, a gifted managerial
genius... the price of which is a cold, hard personality.
THE PRESIDENT
Bob. Bet you had a late night.
MCNAMARA
Sleep is for the weak, Mr. President.
OFF TO THE SIDE, Kenny greets Vice President LYNDON JOHNSON,
54, and ADLAI STEVENSON, 62, Representative to the U.N.,
intellectual, well-spoken.
KENNY
Lyndon. Adlai.
The silver-haired war hero and politically savvy Chairman of
The Joint Chiefs of Staff, GENERAL MAXWELL TAYLOR, 50s,
shakes the President's hand.
THE PRESIDENT
Max.
GENERAL TAYLOR
McCone's been notified and is coming
back from the West coast. Carter's
here, though.
He gestures to GENERAL MARSHALL CARTER, Deputy Chief of
Operations for the CIA. Carter nods to the President.
THE CAMERA PANS OVER THE OTHERS.
DOUGLAS DILLON, ex-banker, Secretary of the Treasury.
ROSWELL GILPATRIC, studious Deputy Secretary of Defense.
PAUL NITZE, 55, the detail-driven facts man, Assistant
Secretary of Defense.
GEORGE BALL, 50s, Undersecretary of State. Eloquent, a man
of conscience.
U. ALEXIS JOHNSON, Deputy Under Secretary of State.
EDWARD MARTIN, Assistant Secretary of State for Latin
America.
LLEWELLYN THOMPSON, laid back, rumpled Soviet Affairs
Advisor.
DON WILSON, Deputy Director of the USIA.
The President sits down at the center of the table, Rusk and
McNamara to either side, and the others resume their seats.
Bobby takes one of the over-stuffed chairs at the table.
Kenny finds one along the wall behind the President, under
the windows to the Rose Garden to TED SORENSEN, 30s, the
President's legal counsel and speech writer. They greet each
other coolly.
KENNY
Ted.
SORENSEN
Kenny.
The room falls silent. The President looks across the table
to GENERAL CARTER.
THE PRESIDENT
Okay. Let's have it.
GENERAL CARTER
Arthur Lundahl heads our photographic
interpretation division at CIA. I'll
let him and his boys take you through
what we've got. Arthur?
Lundahl, standing at the end of the room with briefing
boards, steps forward with a pointer.
LUNDAHL
Gentlemen, as most of you now know a U-2
over Cuba on Sunday morning took a
series of disturbing photographs.
SWINGING THE POINTER AT A BOARD SMASH CUTS US TO:
EXT. MISSILE SITE - LOS PALACIOS, CUBA - DAY
The sweltering Cuban countryside. Shouting SOVIET ROCKET
TROOPS, stripped to the waist, glistening with sweat, machete
a clearing under scattered, limp palm trees.
LUNDAHL (V.O.)
Our analysis at NPIC indicates the
Soviet Union has followed its
conventional weapons build-up in Cuba
with the introduction of surface-to
surface medium-range ballistic missiles,
or MRBMs. Our official estimate at this
time is that this missile system is the
SS-4 Sandal. We do not believe these
missiles are as yet operational.
A bulldozer TEARS through the undergrowth. FILLING THE
SCREEN. A 70-foot long MISSILE TRANSPORTER creeps along in
the bulldozer's wake like a vast hearse with its shrouded
cargo.
INT. CABINET ROOM - DAY
Lundahl raps his second board: a map of the United States,
Cuba visible in the lower corner. An ARC is drawn clearly
across the U.S., encompassing the entire Southeast.
LUNDAHL
IRONBARK reports the SS-4 can deliver a
3-megaton nuclear weapon 1000 miles. So
far we have identified 32 missiles
served by around 3400 men, undoubtedly
all Soviet personnel. Our cities and
military installations in the Southeast,
as far north as Washington, are in range
of these weapons, and in the event of a
launch, would only have five minutes of
warning.
GENERAL CARTER
Five minutes, gentlemen. Five minutes.
GENERAL TAYLOR
In those five minutes they could kill 80
million Americans and destroy a
significant number of our bomber bases,
degrading our retaliatory options. The
Joint Chiefs' consensus is that this is
a massively destabilizing move,
upsetting the nuclear balance.
The President stares at Lundahl, and beating out each word.
THE PRESIDENT
Arthur. Are. You. Sure?
Lundahl looks around the room. Everyone is hanging.
LUNDAHL
Yes, Mr. President. These are nuclear
missiles.
The men come to grips with their own fears, own anger.
BOBBY
How long until they're operational?
LUNDAHL
General Taylor can answer that question
better than I can.
General Taylor drops a memo on the table WHICH BECOMES:
EXT. FIELD TABLE - MISSILE SITE, CUBA - DAY
SCHEMATICS slapped down on a camp table. A group of Soviet
site ENGINEERS point and gesture as they study their ground
from a shaded hillock. CLEARING CREWS and SURVEYORS work and
sweat in the distance.
GENERAL TAYLOR (V.O.)
GMAIC estimates ten to fourteen days.
However, a crash program to ready the
missiles could cut that time.
INT. CABINET ROOM - DAY
Taylor sees the grim looks all around.
GENERAL TAYLOR
I have to stress that there may be more
missiles that we don't know about. We
need more U-2 coverage.
Kenny lets out his breath. He catches Bobby's eye. This is
unbelievable.
THE PRESIDENT
Is there any indication - anything at
all - that suggests they intend to use
these missiles in some sort of first
strike?
GENERAL CARTER
Not at present, sir. But I think the
prudent answer is we don't know.
THE PRESIDENT
Do we have any sort of intelligence from
CIA on what Khruschev is thinking?
GENERAL CARTER
No, Mr. President. We don't. We just
don't know what's happening inside the
Kremlin at that level.
BOBBY
They lied to us. Two weeks ago Dobrynin
told me to my face Khurschev had no
intention of putting missiles into Cuba.
They said themselves, this is our
backyard.
There's angry agreement. The President cuts it off.
THE PRESIDENT
Gentlemen, I want first reactions.
Assuming for a moment Khruschev has not
gone off the deep end and intends to
start World War Three, what are we
looking at?
Rusk glances to his team at the end of the table. Ball,
Johnson, Martin, Thompson and Stevenson.
RUSK
Mr. President, I believe my team is in
agreement. If we permit the
introduction of nuclear missiles to a
Soviet satellite nation in our
hemisphere, the diplomatic consequences
will be too terrible to contemplate.
The Russians are trying to show the
world they can do whatever they want,
wherever they want, and we're powerless
to stop them. If they succeed...
BOBBY
It will be Munich all over again.
RUSK
Appeasement only makes the aggressor
more aggressive. Confidence in our
security commitments around the world
will falter, allies will become unsure
in the face of Soviet pressure, and the
Soviets will be emboldened to push us
even harder. We must remove the
missiles one way or another. It seems
to me the options are either to build up
the crisis 'til they give in, or we hit
them. An air strike.
There's silence at the table. Some nods. Understanding.
THE PRESIDENT
Bob?
MCNAMARA
We've worked up several military
scenarios. Before I ask General Taylor
to lead us through the various options,
I'd like for us to adopt a rule.
If we are going to strike, we must agree
now that we will do it before the
missiles become operational. Because
once they are, I don't think we can
guarantee getting them all before at
least some are launched.
And there it is. The clock is running.
BUNDY
Sir. We need to consider... if we
decide to act, there's a good chance
we'll end up in a general war.
The room falls silent. The President leans back in his
chair, studying the circle of men around the table, weighing
them.
Kenny and the others watch him in silence. A long, dramatic
pause. A course that will change history is about to be
chosen. The President leans forward, folds his hands on the
table. Fated. Grave.
THE PRESIDENT
It's clear we cannot permit Soviet
nuclear missiles in Cuba. We must get
those missiles out.
EXT. THE ROSE GARDEN - DAY
Kenny and Bobby follow the President down a path through the
Rose Garden. The shock of the morning has worn off. The
President stops, looks at them.
THE PRESIDENT
I don't think it's going to matter what
Khruschev's intentions are. I tell you,
right now... I don't see any way around
hitting them.
A long moment of silence as they move along again.
KENNY
If we hit 'em, kill a lot of Russians,
they'll move against Berlin. They
attack Berlin, that's NATO... and we're
at war.
The guys stop again. The autumn day is bright, warm, alive.
The air, the distant city sounds derail the relentless train
of logic for a beat. And in their faces we see that all
three men, for the first time, feel the enormity of war, its
shadow over everything. It's only a couple of steps away.
Steps that they're seriously contemplating.
BOBBY
Damned if we do, but if we don't, we're
in a war for sure somewhere else in six
months.
Pained, the President turns away.
THE PRESIDENT
No choice. This is going to cost lives
any way we go. Do nothing, and it could
be 80 million of ours. We have to get
rid of those missiles.
KENNY
There've got to be alternatives to just
going out and bombing them.
BOBBY
He's right, Jack. Taylor is saying we
may have some time. We've got to use
it.
THE PRESIDENT
So if there are alternatives that make
sense - and I'm not saying there are -
we need 'em. Need 'em fast.
BOBBY
What about the allies? Congress? I
think we may need to start letting key
people know. And they're all scattered
across the country for the campaign.
We're going to need to get the U.N.
staff in and warmed up. Jesus... I
don't even know if we've got secure
communications with half our embassies
since that the Soviets got that
cryptographer of ours.
THE PRESIDENT
We can't worry about everything right
now. We've got to figure out what we're
going to do before we worry about how we
do it.
KENNY
The other thing is...
BOBBY
... I know. CIA and the military fucked
us on the Bay of Pigs.
KENNY
They're going to be pressing for a
military solution soon. We can't afford
to let them ram their agenda down our
throats. We need to come with options
other than air strikes so we have some
sort of choice here.
BOBBY
We got a bunch of smart guys. We lock
'em up together in there, kick 'em in
the ass til they come up with options.
Kenny and the President look at him. Bobby nods.
BOBBY (CONT'D)
I'll do it.
KENNY
(to the President)
It's too politicized with you in there,
anyway. They need to be able to stick
their necks out.
BOBBY
It'll be the principals, a couple of the
key guys from each department: the
Executive Committee of the National
Security Council. We'll call it EXCOM.
Kenny snorts a laugh. Bobby shoots him a cross look.
KENNY
EXCOM. Has a ring to it. Like F-Troop.
The President stops. Bobby and Kenny stop, too.
THE PRESIDENT
Okay. Kenny and I only show for the
meetings you call us into. Impress us.
And do it fast.
(to Kenny)
You're in charge of keeping this quiet.
If word gets out before we know what
we're going to do, there'll be panic.
And it'll ruin any chance of surprise if
we decide to hit them.
KENNY
Then we need to do a few things right
away. No Pierre. He knows, the press
knows.
You're going to have to keep up your
schedule - your movements are followed
too closely. And we need to get these
guys out of the White House. George
Ball's got a conference room at State.
(to Bobby)
Reconvene over there this afternoon,
come back here tonight.
Bobby nods.
BOBBY
I think we should bring in Dean Acheson.
He was fighting Soviets while we were
still working the wards in Boston.
The President nods his approval. Looks at Kenny.
THE PRESIDENT
Find him, Kenny. We're going to need
all the help we can get.
INT. WEST WING - HALL OUTSIDE PRESS OFFICE - DAY
Kenny moves hard and fast through the twisting warren of
hallways and tiny offices which is the West Wing. Suddenly,
Scotty Reston pops out of a doorway behind Kenny.
RESTON
Hey, Kenny! Who died?
Kenny glances over his shoulder at Scotty who points to a
window. A beat, then Kenny returns to look out the window.
Outside, the West Wing Drive is FILLED WITH LIMOUSINES.
A flash of dismay, but Kenny covers fast.
KENNY
Way it's going, the Democratic Party.
DNC strategy session. If you can call
it that.
Scotty chuckles. Kenny moves off, leading him away. Kenny's
assistant runs up behind him, holding out a slip of paper.
ASSISTANT
Sir?
Kenny tries to look him away.
RESTON
It's Tuesday. You said to call. When
do I get my 45 minutes?
KENNY
Tell you what. We're in Connecticut
tomorrow for Ribicoff. I'll get you up
front with him during the flight.
RESTON
Deal.
ASSISTANT
Sir.
Kenny turns, harsh
KENNY
What is it?
The Assistant eyes Scotty, holds his tongue. Kenny takes the
slips.
ASSISTANT
The number you asked for.
KENNY
I ask for a lot of 'em. Whose is it?
ASSISTANT
Dean Acheson's, sir.
That shuts Kenny up. Reston eyes the slip, then looks to
Kenny's face. And he knows something isn't right here.
KENNY
Gotta go, Scotty. See you tomorrow.
INT. TREASURY BUILDING GARAGE - NIGHT
A car jolts to a stop. The CAMERA PANS up over the sagging
suspension, the government plates, the hood ornament
revealing half of EXCOM inside. Kenny stands nearby waiting
for them.
The doors open, and out they pile like a bunch of clowns:
Bobby, McNamara, Rusk, Ball, Martin, Dioptric, Sorensen,
Stevenson, and Nitze. They're sitting in each others' laps,
banging their heads on the roof, joking, but tense.
BOBBY
Screw secrecy. You try having that fat
ass sit on your lap all the way from
Foggy Bottom.
MCNAMARA
You were excited. I say no more.
The gang falls in behind Kenny, trails him out of the garage.
INT. TUNNEL TO WHITE HOUSE - NIGHT
A steel door unlocks, swings open, and Kenny marches at the
head of the wedge of men into a long tunnel. It's the
infamous old passage from the Treasury to the White House.
Kenny and Bobby get a little ahead of the others.
BOBBY
Everybody agrees the diplomatic route is
out. It's too slow, and they'll have
the missiles finished.
Kenny looks at him. Then there's only one alternative. The
CAMERA wipes through the ceiling to:
EXT. WHITE HOUSE - NIGHT
GROUND LEVEL. Where the brilliantly-lit flag flutters over
the spotlit White House: their destination.
INT. CABINET ROOM - NIGHT
GENERAL WALTER 'CAM' SWEENEY, head of Tactical Air Command,
stands at the head of the table with a presentation board.
The men of EXCOM gather around Sweeney in their rumpled
shirts, nursing coffee and cigarettes.
GENERAL SWEENEY
We have 850 planes assembling at
Homestead, Eglin, Opa Locka, MacDill,
Patrick, Pensacola and Key West.
SMASH CUT TO:
EXT. HOMESTEAD AFB - FLORIDA - NIGHT
An F-100 Super Sabre stands under lights on a taxiway. The
CAMERA DESCENDS FROM ITS OVERHEAD SHOT, discovering the
aircraft's sleek cockpit, menacing tiger-jaw paint job, the
four 20mm cannons on its nose.
GENERAL SWEENEY (V.O.)
Due to the tropical foliage, the OPLAN
calls for high-explosive and napalm
loadouts for our ground attack sorties.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL:
The FLIGHT LINE where a full strike wing stands beyond this
plane, pylons laden with weapons, GROUND CREW servicing them.
INT. CABINET ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Other EXCOM members draw near the board, its order of battle,
strike maps. They're grim, but fascinated. Empowering.
Intoxicating. Sexy. Kenny sees it in the faces, even the
President's. Adlai does too, is upset.
ADLAI
I still think there are diplomatic
approaches we haven't considered yet.
Kenny looks at Adlai. The others around the room,
embarrassed, don't respond. The group has moved on and
Stevenson hasn't.
GENERAL TAYLOR
We have high confidence in the expanded
air strike option.
(beat)
The problem, Mr. President, is that it's
a short-term solution. Khruschev can
send more missiles next month. The
Chiefs and I believe we should follow up
the air strikes with the full version of
OPLAN 316.
THE PRESIDENT
An invasion...
GENERAL TAYLOR
Yes, sir. We can be sure we get all the
missiles, and we remove Castro so this
can never happen again.
Kenny looks around the room at the men, the murmurs of
general agreement, senses the consensus building and is
agitated.
THE PRESIDENT
Is this the Chiefs' recommendation?
GENERAL TAYLOR
Yes, sir. Our best option is to
commence the strikes before the missiles
are operational. The invasion happens
eight days later.
The President leans back in his chair, turns to the man at
the far end of the table: DEAN ACHESON, 60s, former Secretary
of State. He sits silent, like some revered oracle, the
architect of the American Cold War strategy of containment.
THE PRESIDENT
Dean. What do you think?
Acheson arches an eyebrow, and when he speaks, his voice
resonates throughout the room, powerful, smooth, hypnotic.
ACHESON
Mr. President, you have rightly
dismissed the diplomatic option. The
Soviet will only tie you down in
negotiation, and leave us short of our
goal, the removal of the missiles.
Negotiating will do nothing more than
give them time to make the missiles
operational, complicating the necessary
military task we have at hand.
Everyone in the room listens to him with rapt attention, his
presence overshadowing the room, oracular:
ACHESON (CONT'D)
For the last fifteen years, I have
fought here at this table along side
your predecessors in the struggle
against the Soviet. Gentlemen, I do not
wish to seem melodramatic, but I do wish
to impress upon you one observation with
all conceivable sincerity. A lesson I
have learned with bitter tears and great
sacrifice.
(beat)
The Soviet understands only one
language: action. It respects only one
word: force.
Kenny stares at the old man. Acheson's gaze finds his
through the cigarette smoke. Acheson's eyes travel to the
President.
ACHESON (CONT'D)
I concur with General Taylor. I
recommend, sir, air strikes followed by
invasion, perhaps preceded by an
ultimatum to dismantle the missiles if
military necessity permits.