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"I don't know if it's the State Department's fault, or President Eisenhower's fault, or the American public's fault for allowing this case to drag on," said Connie McKone during her troubled time. "I guess there's enough blame to go around. One thing I'll never forgive our Government for is telling us absolutely nothing about the fate of our husbands. We had to hear the first word about their capture on television . . . I realize things are done we can't be told about, but I won't feel everything possible is being done until John and Bruce are home."
Home Free. The two prisoners themselves had reason to doubt that much was being done for them. Even last week, while Ambassador Tommy Thompson bargained for their freedom with Premier Khrushchev, there was no break in their prison routine. Then, suddenly one morning, their guards gave them Russian suits, heavy wool overcoats and felt hats. They were hustled into a car and driven across Moscow to the American embassy, where even the Marine guard did not recognize them (said one Marine later: "They looked like Russians"). They were handed over to U.S. officials; Ambassador Thompson briefed them on the cloak-and-dagger arrangements that had been made to get them out of Russia unrecognized. Seats had already been reserved on a KLM Electra—under other names. Crisp new passports with Soviet exit visas were ready. There was barely time to smoke an American cigarette before they were rushed to Sheremetyevo Airport.
Just as their plane taxied toward takeoff, there was a sudden jolt. Two tires blew out. While spares were flown from Warsaw, the Electra's passengers were taken back to the airport terminal. McKone and Olmstead made the long hour's drive back to the U.S. embassy. No one could say when their plane would be ready to leave, and every passing minute increased the possibility of a news leak. The two men were spirited into the ninth-floor apartment of the embassy's air attaché, Colonel Melvin J. Nielsen. Embassy electricians were ordered to do phony "maintenance" work on the front-entrance elevator to keep it temporarily out of commission and discourage visitors. It was twelve hours later before the men finally got off the ground and headed for Amsterdam. They had barely left before President Kennedy made his press conference announcement that they were free and on their way home.
Wonderful Thing. By that time, Colonel Godfrey McHugh, White House Air Force aide, had telephoned to Connie McKone and Gail Olmstead to report that their husbands were free. Memories of the news-breaking conversations are blurred with emotion. "There was silence and heavy breathing over the phone," said McHugh. "It got me, too. In their voices you could tell how they felt." Later, after his press conference, President Kennedy, too, decided to call the wives. But their phones were already jammed. The operator announced that President John Kennedy was among those waiting to get through. Which call did Mrs. McKone want first? "I'll speak to John," said flustered Connie McKone.