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Khrushchev's scheme was nearly revealed prematurely. In conversation with an ambassador from one of the socialist countries, Deputy Foreign Minister Yakov Malik could not resist the temptation to show off. He told the envoy that the U-2 pilot was alive and would testify publicly. Fortunately for Khrushchev's hoax, the ambassador was security conscious and immediately informed the Central Committee of this chat.
Furious, Khrushchev decided to expel Malik from the party and dismiss him from his post. During an audience with the Premier, Malik apparently fell to his knees and wept as he begged forgiveness. By this time Khrushchev's U-2 scheme had come to fruition, and he contented himself with a humiliating punishment for Malik: ordering him to make a public confession at a party meeting of the entire Foreign Ministry.
The ministry's conference hall, with its marble columns and rostrum, was overflowing. Mounting the rostrum, obviously pained and embarrassed, Malik bleated, "Comrades, I have never before revealed state secrets." Everyone howled with laughter. In another time he would have ended up in prison or worse; now he received only a strogach (severe reprimand).
AT SEA WITH A HARDY LEADER
In 1960 I sailed aboard the small Soviet passenger liner Baltika from Kaliningrad to New York with Khrushchev and the leaders of several other socialist countries. At age 29, an anonymous foot soldier of Soviet diplomacy, I had the extraordinary opportunity of being assigned to work with the head of our party and the Premier of our country on what was to be a major presentation on decolonization and disarmament to the U.N. General Assembly.
A savage gale broke out, and the little, 7,500-ton ship tossed as the Atlantic heaved. The majority of the passengers and a good half of the ship's crew were seasick. Khrushchev, however, remained hardy and undaunted. He continued to go to the restaurant in high spirits, deriding those who, in his words, had shown themselves to be weaklings.
I lay in my berth almost the entire day, getting up only to run to the bathroom. But Nikolai Molyakov, deputy chief of the Department of International Organizations, taunted me. The best medicine for seasickness was to toss down "200 grams" of vodka, he said, urging me to accompany him to the bar. His suggestion made me feel even sicker, but I thought perhaps it would be more pleasant to die in the bar than on my bunk.
A number of Khrushchev's intimates were there, all tipsy, telling bawdy stories and evaluating the charms of the stewardesses, waitresses and secretaries on the staff of the delegation. Those of us from the Foreign Ministry were usually careful because Gromyko did not like us drinking and talking too much. But we knew that he, unlike Khrushchev, would never appear in the bar, considering it beneath his dignity.
Although Khrushchev valued Gromyko's diplomatic experience, he could not resist teasing him, often calling him an arid bureaucrat. "Look at that," Khrushchev would say, nodding toward Gromyko and smiling. "How young Andrei Andreyevich looks." (He really did look very young for his years.) "He doesn't have a single gray hair. It's obvious he just sits in a cozy little place and drinks tea." These jests were not at all pleasing to Gromyko, but he always managed to force a smile.