A Look Over My Shoulder

by Richard Helms

  As deputy director for plans, responsible for all aspects of defector handling, it became clear to me that the Agency could not underwrite Nosenko’s assertions by declaring him a bona fide defector. After consulting John McCone, I arranged an appointment with Chief Justice Earl Warren, head of the President’s commission to examine the assassination of President Kennedy. We met in an empty office at the commission’s headquarters in downtown Washington. I informed the Chief Justice that the Agency could not now, if ever, vouch for Nosenko’s authenticity, and recommended that the Warren Commission not accept his assurances as to Moscow’s innocence as of now. Warren was understanding, but obviously not pleased to learn that this important piece could not be fitted neatly into the assassination puzzle.

  After some weeks, Nosenko’s questioning was stepped up to what we called a “hostile interrogation.” This harsh expression meant only that the interrogators would no longer appear to accept Nosenko’s statements, but would challenge each and accuse him of falsifying some of his testimony. Nosenko remained unmoved, and the schism between those who believed him and those who did not continued to deepen.

  In early April 1964, I met with Deputy Attorney General Nicholas deB. Katzenbach and other Department of Justice officials to clarify the Agency’s responsibilities for the parolees as specified by the Central Intelligence Act of 1949. Katzenbach instructed William E. Foley, the Justice official most familiar with these matters, to double-check our responsibility, and to advise Larry Houston, the Agency’s general counsel. Foley did this by telephone, and confirmed the basic parole agreement as executed in February 1955 by the attorney general and Allen Dulles, then DCI. This agreement states that CIA is responsible for the care, supervision, and control of these special aliens in a manner “consistent with the internal security needs of the United States during continuance of their parole status.”

  As I was to testify before Congress in 1979,* establishing Nosenko’s bona fides “became a matter of the utmost importance [to the United States] and, indeed to the world.” The interrogation continued, with little or no progress, until it was decided to move him to a specially constructed building at one of our training areas. This meant that Nosenko could be held in strict solitary confinement while the interrogation continued. Conditions were spartan, verging on harsh, but no more so than solitary confinement in a maximum security federal prison. With the full weight of the President’s murder hanging over our every action, Nosenko was subjected to various psychological pressures. Despite what has been reported in some of the literature, he was never drugged or subjected to any form of physical abuse, and was regularly examined by an Agency doctor.

  Nosenko’s testimony took various forms, and was sometimes contradictory, but remained essentially as he had first reported it—the KGB had never had any substantive contact with Oswald, and had nothing whatsoever to do with the assassination. There remained many obvious untruths in some of his other answers. At times, even his KGB rank came into contention—it varied from lieutenant colonel to the more plausible title of captain. In a rare exception to our usual practice, Nosenko was questioned by an earlier and trusted KGB defector, Lieutenant Colonel Peter Deriabin. He came to doubt many aspects of Nosenko’s alleged KGB career, and in the end was not convinced that Nosenko had ever served as a KGB officer in the assignments he claimed.

  After some seven months of intensive interrogation failed to elicit any substantive change in Nosenko’s claims, I became convinced that further questioning would be fruitless and ordered a rapid windup of the case. This was not to be. The interrogation raged inconclusively through my tenure as deputy director under Admiral William Raborn, the new DCI, and on until after my appointment as director in June 1966. Late in 1967, when the case seemed no closer to resolution, I asked my deputy, Vice Admiral Rufus Taylor, to undertake an independent review of the case. After studying the immense files and talking with the concerned officers, Admiral Taylor informed me in October 1968 that he was not convinced how the KGB might have benefited by sending Nosenko to us. He recommended that Nosenko be accepted as a legitimate defector, and that his rehabilitation and resettlement should be accomplished in time for his full release in January 1969.

  Because doubts remained as strong as ever in some quarters, I called a meeting of all the senior officers concerned with the case and asked each to comment on Admiral Taylor’s report. Each of these officers recommended that Nosenko be released from CIA custody. Some differences—notably those of the Counterintelligence Staff representatives—remained as to whether Nosenko’s authenticity had been conclusively proved, but the opinion of the majority of those present was that he still had some important services to offer CIA and should be retained under Agency contract. This was agreed upon.

  In time, Nosenko received citizenship, assumed a different identity, married an American woman, and is now pursuing a new career in this country.

  Some writers have alleged that Jim Angleton was responsible for Nosenko’s confinement, extended interrogation, and the various attempts to prove that he was dispatched by the KGB. This is not true. From the beginning and until Admiral Taylor’s investigation, Nosenko was the responsibility of the Soviet Division of the Directorate for Plans. The recommendation that he be held in solitary confinement was that of the division. Although Angleton was in the hospital at the time some of the critical decisions were made, he disagreed with the hostile interrogation and confinement of Nosenko. From the early months, Angleton’s recommendation was that Nosenko be released, and his further activity monitored.

  This case remains the most frustrating of any single espionage case in my intelligence experience. The sad fact is that if Nosenko had told the truth from the outset and throughout, he would not have endured the difficulties and neither would we.

  *House Select Committee on Assassinations, Report (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1979).

  Photo Insert

  At the home of my McGarrah grandparents in Goshen, New York, 1915. (Courtesy of Cynthia Helms)

  Shirt, tie, and jacket were customary at Williams College, 1934. (The 1936 Williams College Gul)

  Gstaad, Switzerland. At Le Rosey I did double duty as goalie on both the hockey and soccer teams.

  One of the few times my middle initials appeared in print. (The 1936 Williams College Gul)

  My press pass for the 1936 Nazi Party Congress at Nuremberg.

  Hitler had avoided the foreign press corps for some months before sending this surprise invitation for lunch at Nuremberg.

  Charles Lindbergh and the U.S. military attaché, Major Truman Smith, en route to a Berlin airfield. Smith had flattered Field Marshal Goering into showing Lindbergh how far the Luftwaffe had advanced over its British and French rivals. The Lindbergh-Smith report was an intelligence scoop. Incidentally, this is the first time my photograph appeared in the world press. (UPI/Corbis)

  While I was deskbound with OSS in London, Leading Seaman (!) Cynthia Ratcliff, of the WRENS—specifically, the Women’s Royal Naval Reserve (Boats Crew)—was dodging bombs while in command of a launch and crew ferrying British naval brass from ship to ship in Plymouth Harbor. The casual pose conceals the regulation bell-bottom trousers. (Courtesy of Cynthia Helms)

  I spent some four years in a naval uniform and my only sea duty was an orientation cruise, after which I was assigned to an antisubmarine component of the Navy’s Eastern Seaboard offices in Manhattan. (Courtesy of Dennis Helms)

  Admiral William Raborn admired Allen Dulles, but I do not recall his having asked AWD’s advice. (AP/Wide World Photos)

  Mrs. Clover Dulles arranged Allen Dulles’s funeral to reflect his interest in the continuity of the Agency. Among the honorary pallbearers were Colonel Lawrence White (right) and James Angleton (center, carrying ashes). I escorted Mrs. Dulles, who was followed by their children, their grandchildren, and AWD’s sister, Eleanor Dulles. (Courtesy of the Estate of James Angleton)

  President Johnson summoned so many guests
for my swearing-in by Judge Carl McGowan that at first I thought I had entered the wrong room at the White House.

  No matter what the circumstances, LBJ always seemed to loom a bit. (White House photo)

  The seating at the Tuesday lunch was by strict protocol: Dean Rusk was at the President’s right; I was at Rusk’s right; the secretary of defense (here Clark Clifford) was at the President’s left; General “Bus” Wheeler was to the left of his boss; and Walt Rostow, the national security advisor, was at the far end, between George Cushman and Tom Johnson. (White House photo)

  This was not one of the East Germans’ most inspired propaganda efforts, and it had almost no resonance except among collectors of Cold War artifacts.

  Although I played the game reasonably well for many years, this is the photo of me playing tennis that will be remembered. Had the East Germans been a bit more hip, this picture might have had more impact than the forged hundred-dollar note. (Courtesy of Cynthia Helms)

  William Casey, then director of Central Intelligence, presenting me with the Donovan Medal, on behalf of the Veterans of OSS. General Bill Quinn is at the right. (Courtesy of the Veterans of OSS)

  Absolutely the best way to watch the Washington Redskins was as a guest of Edward Bennett Williams. (Courtesy of Cynthia Helms)

  President Nixon’s first visit to CIA. The body language says it all. (Central Intelligence Agency)

  Henry Kissinger had the best grasp of intelligence and security issues of anyone on Nixon’s staff. (White House photo)

  At lunch in the Vice President’s office. Aside from George Washington, the elder George Bush is the only President who had firsthand knowledge of the intelligence world. (White House photo)

  Frank Wisner at Hatfield, his home in England. Frank’s role in the Cold War was unsurpassed. (Courtesy of the Wisner family)

  Tom Karamessines, one of my most valued colleagues, with pipe in hand as always. (Central Intelligence Agency)

  Des FitzGerald, an aggressive and high-spirited officer whose career was tragically cut short. (Central Intelligence Agency)

  John Bross, an outstanding intelligence officer and treasured friend. (Courtesy of Cynthia Helms)

  The presentation of ambassadorial credentials to the Shah was a rather formal undertaking.

  There’s more to riding a camel than can be mastered at a Fourth of July gathering at the embassy in Tehran.

  Golda Meir at her home in Israel, 1971. She was one of the most impressive women I have ever met. (Photo by Cynthia Helms)

  Listening to Senator Frank Church at a Senate hearing. (1978, The Washington Post. Photo by James K. W. Atherton. Reprinted with permission.)

  Edward Bennett Williams responding to the press after my 1977 trial in the Washington District Court. (1977, The Washington Post. Photo by Gerald Martineau. Reprinted with permission.)

  President Reagan presenting me with the National Security Medal. (White House photo)

  This letter from former President Nixon marked the first time I had heard from him since we shook hands at Camp David a few weeks before I retired. (Estate of Richard Nixon)

  At home, 1972. (Courtesy of Karin Wartofsky)

  Chapter 24

  —

  MOVING UP

  It was early April 1965 when Marvin Watson, one of President Johnson’s personal assistants, telephoned to ask if I was the Richard Helms who had been introduced to President Johnson at the National Security Council meeting a few days earlier. John McCone had taken me with him to the meeting for the express purpose of introducing me to the President. Apparently satisfied with my answer, Watson told me that I was to see President Johnson at the White House the following morning. This was a surprise. As deputy director for plans, I was two steep steps below John McCone, the DCI, and one rung below Lieutenant General Marshall “Pat” Carter, who had already logged three years as deputy director.

  To the dismay of cabinet officers and agency chiefs, President Kennedy sometimes telephoned directly to one of their subordinates far down the pecking order. LBJ preferred to deal directly with his principal officers. I checked with McCone’s secretary: Yes, the DCI knew the President had called.

  From the outset of his tenure as DCI, I had got on well with John McCone. I admired the highly efficient way in which he ran his office, and respected his judgment and knowledge of the way things worked in Washington. We had an excellent working relationship, but I knew better than to ask if he or Pat Carter might also be going to the meeting. If the DCI thought I needed any more information on my summons to the White House, he would have given it to me. The twenty-minute drive from McLean to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue was not long enough for me to conjure up any plausible reason for this summons. There were the usual handful of routine operational bothers around the globe, but none of these could plausibly have come to the President’s attention. I was acutely aware that for all of the effort we were making on Vietnam, we had yet to provide adequate access to the Hanoi leadership. If President Johnson wanted to underline his dissatisfaction, I reasoned, he would have started with John McCone before unloading on me.

  It was a long ten minutes before a Secret Service aide led me upstairs and into the President’s working office, which adjoined the more formal Cabinet Office. The President was hunched forward over his desk, a telephone in his left hand. He looked up, waved me to the chair close to his desk, and continued to speak into the phone. Like most Americans, at least at that time, I had grown up in awe of everyone who ever occupied the chair behind the desk in that office. I’ve never lost this attitude, and it was an effort to conceal it. At a distance of six feet, LBJ seemed almost an exaggeration of himself—huge hands, vast shoulders, massive head and ears.

  President Johnson dropped the phone into its cradle and reached across the desk to shake hands. After a minimal but very courteous greeting, he came to the point. “John McCone has resigned, and I’ve decided to appoint Admiral William Raborn as the new DCI. Do you know him?”

  “No sir.”

  “Well, you will. You’ll be named deputy director at the same time.” My complete surprise must have been obvious because the President waited for the news to sink in before saying, “You’re not well known in Washington, or up on the Hill. The new job will give you a lot more exposure and a chance to get acquainted with some of the more important members of Congress. ‘Red’ Raborn has a first-class reputation with both Armed Services Committees because of the job—the fine job—he did bringing the Polaris submarine in under budget and ahead of schedule. I want you to go to every meeting with the admiral whether here or around town. You know the Agency. Red doesn’t.”*At this point I could not help noticing that the President’s photographer, Y. R. Okamoto, had crept into the room and was crouched in a corner a few feet away from my chair. Okie always worked with available light, no flashbulbs and no noise.

  “I’m going to make these appointments at the ranch when I sign the Elementary and Secondary Education Act into law,” the President said. “You and the admiral are to be there, but I don’t want any leaks. Marvin Watson will tell you how to arrange transportation.”

  I nodded, but before I could thank him, he said with heavy emphasis, “No leaks.” With this second injunction, I dismissed the notion of mentioning my morning at the White House to any of my closest associates and even to my wife.

  “Most of the press corps will be there for the signing, but this announcement will be a surprise, and no one’s going to scoop me on it.” LBJ’s manner softened. “It will be in the schoolhouse—one room, near Stonewall, Texas, where I began my education.” Then, almost stiffly, he declared, “As president, I believe deeply that no law I have signed or will ever sign means more to the future of America.” No matter how formal this seemed, there was no doubt how deeply President Johnson felt about the bill.

  At the ranch, Admiral Raborn and I succeeded in keeping a low profile as we dodged about in the crowd of aides while the President repeated his comment to me on the education act word
for word. When he finished the signing, LBJ beckoned us to join him at the rope which had kept the press corps standing to one side. As the President announced McCone’s resignation, a woman reporter gasped aloud, “Oh, no!” This heartfelt expression encapsuled both the journalists’ frustration at being caught with an unexpected development miles away from a telephone and the President’s delight at having caused it.

  That afternoon, as the President dozed on the foredeck of a cabin cruiser on the lake near the ranch, I became acquainted with Senator Eugene McCarthy, the Minnesota Democrat who was well known for his sharply critical view of the Agency. But through the years since then, we lunched occasionally, and encountered one another at the usual Washington events, or as guests in owner Jack Kent Cooke’s box at Redskin football games. McCarthy was always good company, intelligent and witty. His run for president petered out rather early on despite considerable support from the anti-Vietnam War faction. My guess would be that he never really wanted to be president, and that Gene was entirely too intelligent to think that it was a job made for him.