by Arno Baker
“Yes, I am.” She answered in a clear New England accent.
“Miss. Bentley when and where did you begin working for the Soviet underground?”
“I was recruited in Paris in 1936 during a trip to Europe.”
“How were you recruited?”
“I met a member of the communist apparatus in France.”
“Can you give us a name and the precise date and location?”
“Yes, I dropped in at a recruitment center for volunteers for the International Brigades in November 1936. I was curious and wanted to pick up some literature. I remember that the office was located near the Sorbonne in the Latin Quarter. I had a conversation with one of the recruiters, a Frenchman named Claude.”
“Had you ever met this person before or been referred to him by anyone else?”
“No, that was the first time I had ever seen him. I told him I was passing through Paris and was just curious. We began a conversation and he offered to take me to a nearby café to explain the literature and provide more information.”
“What information did he give you?”
“He told me that once I returned to America he would refer me to a friend of his Mr. Jacob Golos, a travel agent in New York organizing transportation for Americans volunteers to fight in Spain.”
“What else did this ‘Claude’ tell you?”
“We talked about literature and philosophy. He told me that he was a student at the Sorbonne. We had a few drinks and spent the evening together.”
“Were you intimate with Claude that evening?”
There was no hesitation on her part in offering an answer,
“Yes I was, I believed in free love. Claude told me that he was about to go to Spain himself. He was a true believer. I admired him and was very much attracted.”
“What did you do when you arrived in New York?”
“Within one month I contacted Jacob Golos who immediately hired me as his assistant in the travel agency.”
“Did Mr. Golos react as though he knew Claude?”
“Yes, he did. As soon as I told him Claude had sent me he became very open and told me about his political commitment to the cause of communism.”
“Did he recruit you immediately?”
“No, actually for a short time we didn‘t see each other. Then we met again a few months later, almost by accident at an art gallery. But I know it was no accident. Golos made sure we‘d meet. It was then that he asked me to work for him. First at the agency, but that was merely a front, after a few weeks I became his main courier traveling regularly to Washington and bringing back suitcases full of documents.”
“Were you intimate with Mr. Golos.”
“Yes, we became lovers.”
“To your knowledge was Jacob Golos an important member of the Soviet underground?”
“Yes, Mr. Golos was managing several secret networks.”
“How many?”
She hesitated then said almost with pride:
“Jacob Golos was an extraordinary man, he set up at least seven networks that I know of and each one was producing hundreds of pages of documents every week. All U.S. government agencies were penetrated by his informers, each network having scores of agents.”
Murphy wrote a few things in his pad then suddenly asked:
“When you met Golos the second time what was the occasion? How exactly did you make contact?”
“I received an invitation to attend an art show sponsored by the Soviet Consulate. Mr. Golos approached me and asked whether I remembered our previous brief encounter and that he was a very good friend of Claude our mutual acquaintance in Paris. I told Mr. Golos that I shared Claude’s ideas.”
After a few minutes of interruption Murphy resumed his line of questioning often rephrasing and repeating the same things he‘d asked previously.
“Miss. Bentley, excuse me if I insist on this question but when exactly did you and Mr. Golos begin having an intimate relationship?”
Elizabeth Bentley shifted nervously in her chair and clasped her hands. Then she said quickly,
“We became lovers that night. I realized that I was in love with him.”
Clyde Tolson looked at the U.S. Attorney who was staring at the scene in absolute amazement, he felt certain that this would be enough to blast open the entire Soviet espionage apparatus. Anderson jumped into the questioning calmly with his soothing voice.
“What was the exact nature of your work in the underground? You mentioned that you were a courier?”
“Yes, that‘s correct, I was a courier.”
“And what precisely did you do as a courier?”
“Mr. Golos sent me on regular trips to Washington where I would meet Mr. Silvermaster…”
“That would be Nathan Gregory Silvermaster, an employee of the Federal Government, is that correct?”
“Yes. I would bring packages back to Mr. Golos. The packages contained U.S. government documents of all kinds. Once in a while I’d look at those papers and noticed that many of them were memos marked “Secret” and even “Top Secret” even though I wasn’t supposed to read them. Mr. Silvermaster provided the copies.”
The questioning was still going on three hours later.
“At some point you met a man called Whittaker Chambers, is that correct?”
“Yes, I did. I first met Mr. Chambers in New York in 1937.”
“Did Mr. Chambers give you anything at that meeting?”
“Yes, he gave me several hundred typewritten pages. I noticed that they were all on State Department letterhead. I looked at them one by one to verify since I had never met Mr. Chambers before that occasion.”
“Where did that meeting take place and how did you verify the documents?”
“The meeting took place in the lobby of the Biltmore Hotel near Grand Central Station. Chambers was sitting on one of the armchairs in the lobby and handed me a shopping bag. I went to the powder room where I verified the documents. It took me ten minutes. Then I returned to meet with Chambers but this time it was in front of the information booth in Grand Central Terminal.”
“Did you give Mr. Chambers something?”
“Yes, I gave Mr. Chambers three hundred dollars in cash. In small bills, fives and tens. He signed a receipt as did all the other contacts who received payments.”
“Did you see Mr. Chambers again?”
“A few more times in 1937 and early 1938 just before he disappeared…”
Behind the two-way mirror Tolson whispered to Hoover,
“She’s named some 50 people so far! Amazing!”
Hoover nodded and kept on staring at the composed ladylike woman in her white cotton gloves talking incessantly behind the one-way mirror. He could already build a monumental espionage case and was wondering where it would end. Then came the first truly disturbing detail,
“Miss. Bentley you stated that Mr. Chambers handed you documents that you identified as State Department confidential memos and reports? Do you remember anything else about those papers?”
“Yes, most of them came from the desk of Stanley Hornbeck, the head of the East Asia Division and were initialed S.H. next to that name. The distribution list was limited to two or three other names that sometimes included Secretary of State Cordell Hull but in every instance they also went to Alger Hiss who initialed as well. I assumed that the source was either Mr. Hornbeck or probably Mr. Hiss. I had heard from Jacob Golos that Mr. Hiss was a key source.”
Hoover shot up from his seat and began pacing behind the other officials who kept looking as if they were mesmerized. Then he leaned over to Tolson and whispered,
“Well, what did I tell you Clyde? The house of cards is about to crumble. But that damn Jacob Golos is conveniently dead! We can‘t possibly keep such a mass of data secret for very long so we must carefully control how it reaches the public. Everyone must be under the strictest confidentiality rules on this one, Clyde.”
The questioning finally ended and everyone present agreed that W
hittaker Chambers had to be questioned as quickly as possible.
He had already been on file with the security agencies since his September 2, 1939 meeting with Adolf A. Berle in Washington when he accompanied Isaac Don Levine. But the timing was awkward as the war in Europe started the following day and FDR was planning to retire…
The questioning of Elizabeth Bentley actually came two months after a major breach at the Soviet embassy in Canada when GRU cipher clerk Igor Gouzenko defected with his family to the Royal Canadian Mounted Police. Since learning about the breaking of the diplomatic and NKVD codes through “Link” among other sources, Moscow center had already reacted by shutting down many networks. Now that preventive action had to be even more radical and complete.
The New York residency was put “on ice” as FBI agents were suddenly shadowing every diplomat and Amtorg employee on a twenty-four hour basis. The number of agent meetings that had to be aborted became astronomical. By November 1945 all the New York networks were dormant and personnel rotations were taking place on a weekly basis among Russian diplomats and spies.
In early January, Fomin contacted Julius Rosenberg for a so-called “maintenance” meeting just to keep in contact and measure the morale of his agents. The signal came in the form of a post card simply marked “greetings!” and signed “Uncle Marty”. It was a code for a dinner at a Hungarian restaurant called the Red Tulip on the following Tuesday. Fomin showed up promptly just before 7 p.m. and ordered a bottle of red wine. Julius arrived a few minutes later, always his happy and eager self. After they ordered and the waiter had left, Fomin immediately went to the heart of the matter,
“My dear Julius there is something important I must tell you. I will soon be leaving New York and the United States to return home. A new officer will take over from me in the next few days. I shall miss working with you because besides being a comrade you have also become a true personal friend. But I am happy because I can finally return to and help rebuild my land after this horrible war. I was lucky to have been sheltered in America for five years, now I have to go and do my share.”
Rosenberg was less surprised than genuinely saddened by the news. He expected it and nodded with a mournful smile.
“So, you have to go! I was dreading this day, Alex. I can’t really believe it. You’re more than a case officer and a comrade to me, you’re a brother, a comrade at arms. How can anyone really replace you?”
Fomin nodded and had to be very precise and clear with his agent who tended to stray so easily and cut corners.
“There is something more Julius. There will be a long period where you will not be contacted. Orders, very strict orders are to cut all networks. Stop all missions! I want to be certain that you understand this very clearly? It comes from the top. It is important that you follow these orders to the letter.”
Julius looked alarmed more at the idea of not being able to work than about any danger that could be looming over the apparatus.
“Really that bad, and for how long?”
“I have no idea. It could be much longer than last time. Months, maybe more than one year. When the time comes you will be contacted.”
The waiter came over to pour some wine and they fell silent. Then once he turned away, Julius asked,
“I imagine you have a password for me?”
“Yes, we are changing procedures. The contact’s line is:
‘Have you been to Mexico City this summer?’ Your answer is: ‘No, I come from Panama City.’ That will be your contact.”
“What if I need to contact the center in an emergency?”
Feklisov was ready with the answer,
“Memorize this number and use it only if you either have an urgent need of cash or are in danger: JUdson 3278. Don’t write it down anywhere. Just memorize it but call only if absolutely necessary. When you call you must speak first and say that you have arrived from Panama City, then the voice will give you instructions.”
The two Hungarian gypsy violinists were playing a sad song that matched Julius’ mood. He played with his napkin and pursed his lips. Fomin felt that he was becoming emotional. Finally he said,
“I‘m having a hard time accepting you leaving so fast.”
Alex understood how Julius must have felt. He was distraught, his life derived its true meaning from his NKVD work, little else mattered to him, except Ethel and his son perhaps, but they probably came second. Feklisov wondered about “Liberal’s” mental state and whether he could hold up in a real crisis situation.
“Julius, you have done fantastic work for the party, the cause of humanity, and the working class. You are a true partisan hero and have taken enormous risks so you must believe me when I say this. Now you must carefully follow the procedures and the orders that will come to you in the future. One day…one day perhaps, once all this is long forgotten, you’ll visit with me in the USSR and we‘ll celebrate your success! You are still a young man Julius, there will be time, believe me! There is excellent wine over there, you know!”
They clicked glasses and Rosenberg said,
“Someday in the USSR!”
Then Fomin gave Julius a gift. It was a book he had brought with him and kept hidden under the table. There was a dedication in English: “For my friend J.R.” When they were walking out he said,
“Other things I intended for you are inside the book. It’s to help you remain active with us.”
They parted with a quick handshake on Broadway and 34th Street. Julius waited until he arrived home and locked himself in the bathroom telling Ethel he had an upset stomach. The pages of the book were glued together two at a time so he had to detach them carefully with a razor blade cutting at the outer edges. There were several hundred-dollar bills between the pages and the total came to $5,500. Julius knew that he would be waiting for a long time.
XIX
President Harry Truman’s temporary office in the Old Executive Building was teeming with excitement and activity that morning in August 1948. Political aides were rushing about incessantly as the presidential campaign was moving quickly into high gear. The electoral fight was taking a very personal turn and a deep seated antipathy was developing between the incumbent president and the Republican candidate, New York Governor Thomas E. Dewey. J. Edgar Hoover arrived with his daily report just as the president, in his shirtsleeves, was in animated conversation with Clark Clifford.
“Come in, come in, Edgar. You know Clark Clifford of course.” Said Truman in his slightly nasal mid-western twang.
Hoover who was serving his third president and had witnessed many political campaigns at close range before, maintained a correct and somewhat distant bearing.
“Good morning Mr. President, good to see you again, Mr. Clifford.”
Everyone knew Harry Truman’s campaign manager and close confidant from Missouri who was a power in the White House and a very clever and sensible broker. Clifford actually managed to restrain the wild bull that Truman could easily become when he got angry which was a daily occurrence.
“Call me Clark! I‘m so delighted to meet with you once again, I hope I may call you Edgar. Haven’t seen you in such a long time!”
They shook hands heartily but Hoover didn’t change his rather demure attitude.
“Well, what’s the news of the day?”
Hoover needed some time alone with his boss and invariably felt nervous at having to hint, as he would often with FDR, that a third party shouldn’t be privy to what went on between the Director of the FBI and the President of the United States, especially regarding sensitive matters of counter-intelligence. So without handing over the briefing folder and glancing at Clark Clifford nervously hoping the hint would be understood, he replied
“I have the daily briefing Mr. President. But…”
Truman saw the look and knew that he had to tune out the boisterous Missouri campaign mode. He became subdued,
“Ok, Ok, Edgar. Clark, I need a few minutes with the Director, nothing too long, right Edgar? T
hanks.”
The president patted Clifford on the shoulder and walked him amiably to the door saying again,
“Make sure you stick around, ok?”
Clifford was clearly miffed but obeyed with a smile and tilted his head at Hoover.
“Yes, I fully understand Mr. President. Mr. Hoover.”
The FBI Director waited for the door to close and the president to be in front of him, quiet and perfectly focused.
“Mr. President there is more disturbing information from reliable sources about renewed Soviet espionage activity. It confirms most of the more controversial congressional hearings involving persons that are or had been part of the administration, President Roosevelt’s and your own.”
Truman grabbed a cup of coffee and looked flustered as he downed it in a single gulp.
“If you’re referring to that goddamned charade the Republicans are using to frame Alger Hiss by that Chambers individual... They’re just tossing me a political hot potato in an election year, can’t anyone sensible see that? Those Republican sons of bitches don’t give a flying fuck about who it is they destroy just as long as they can get at me! But you mark my words, Edgar…”
Hoover was surprised by Truman‘s language even though he‘d heard streams of profanity coming from him many times before.
“Mr. President, I am fully aware of the politics behind this issue but we have corroboration as I said, from unimpeachable sources under deep cover that are totally non partisan. These sources cannot be revealed under any circumstances and I am not at liberty even to tell you who they are, Sir. On this you must trust me completely.”
Truman immediately calmed down; he knew about those “unimpeachable sources” that couldn’t be used in court but he had no idea that recently deciphered Soviet cable traffic was also corroborating much of what Elizabeth Bentley and Whittaker Chambers were saying. Truman sat down at his desk.
“Ok, ok, Edgar if you say so, I gotta believe you. You’re my top cop after all! So then, what’s the end result and what do you recommend?”
“My recommendation Mr. President, if I may, is for you to take the lead in this matter of Communist subversion, thereby removing the politics from the equation. You will then be in a position to lead the crusade against Communist influence in government and society. At the same time we must decide when and how to move against the traitors and the spies.”
