by Arno Baker
Truman was fiddling with some of the mementoes on his desk including a kicking donkey symbol of the Democratic Party. He shook his head and chuckled.
“Edgar you sound just like Clark Clifford out there! He’s sayin‘ much the same thing. You fellows should form a posse, damn it! I don’t intend to bend over for Bob Taft and Tom Dewey! Those two can both go screw themselves! But I believe you when you say you’ve got your sources Edgar, that yes. You wouldn’t be the kind of guy who floats trial balloons, now would you?”
Hoover smiled blandly.
“No Mr. President, I certainly would not.”
“Ok. Let me read your report right now in solitary confinement.”
Hoover handed over the briefing folder.
“The operative sections are checked in red, Mr. President.”
“Thank you Edgar.”
Truman read quickly pencil in hand often entering a few question marks on the margins.
“So Hiss is still a big unknown according to what you have here?”
“Yes, that is correct, we have no direct tangible evidence but a vast amount of circumstantial evidence and accusations that predate those made this year. There are clear inferences of a highly placed informer or informers within the government passing information of varying classification including top secret memos.”
“I see. Well, since the Canadian story in ‘45 it’s been very clear and we‘ve taken every possible step to weed out any disloyal individuals. I‘m on record with a multitude of decisions about this problem.”
“I know Mr. President, but the American people must be reminded. If you could run on the issue yourself and take it off the other side‘s playbook then we can proceed without recrimination against a whole score of suspects.”
Truman, nodded, got up and handed the briefing folder back to Hoover.
“I gotta think about that. I need to knock heads with Clark on this problem, he‘s running the campaign, after all. How about a cup of coffee or even a drink? Let me get Clark back in here, I want you guys to be friends, damn it!”
Truman picked up the phone:
“Please ask Mr. Clifford to come back in here, thank you!”
After some discussion Clifford didn’t warm up to the idea and it was placed on the back burner.
1949. Two days after the White House announced that the USSR had successfully detonated an atomic bomb comparable in size to those of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Clyde Tolson arrived at the Foley Square office of the FBI. Only a small number of New York agents were summoned to a top-secret briefing. Tolson had barely taken his coat off and looked like he was in a big hurry.
“Mr. Hoover asked me to brief you on a confidential matter that must remain top secret. The military cryptographic service has successfully cracked major Soviet diplomatic codes and it is now decrypting much of the traffic from the war years. They are currently working on cables that relate to ongoing investigations involving your unit. We need your input to match up the code names to active and dormant agents.”
Murphy was the senior man working almost uninterruptedly on Soviet intelligence since 1941 and he had adapted to the ups and downs of American policy towards Stalin. Anderson was first assigned to Axis networks and since 1945 was working on organized crime so he was not present at the briefing. Murphy was therefore in charge:
“Mr. Tolson, we’ll need the decrypts and other data as a start and I‘ll have to form a team…”
“No, Murphy, it’s got to be for your eyes only. No teams on this one. Less than a handful of people are in the know, fewer than five, to be precise. This is a state secret with the highest degree of classification. You’ll therefore have to work alone. You‘ll stay here for the time it takes to form your insights. There‘s a lot of material to go through and outside input of any kind is out of the question.”
Murphy had to return to his unit and interrupt ongoing operations transferring them to other agents so he could devote all his attention to Tolson’s requirements. Within two hours he was in a vault in the basement of the Foley Square headquarters. It was his good fortune to find the following message dated 1943 in the first batch of some 2000 partially decrypted cables,“To: VIKTOR. Information on LIBERAL’s wife. Surname that of her husband, first name ETHEL 29 years old. Married five years. Finished secondary school. A COMPATRIOT [Communist] since 1938. Sufficiently well developed politically. Knows about her husband’s work... In view of delicate health does not work. Is characterized positively and as a devoted person. SAM”
Murphy’s memory was jogged by the name Ethel and the age of 29. This definitely did ring a bell and he requested a cross-check of files of known members of the Communist Party USA in New York City in 1938 and 1939. He knew that COMPATRIOT meant a C.P.U.S.A. active party member or even a member of the youth movement. The search took less than a few hours and among the boxes of documents a file turned up with the name Ethel Greenglass who had been a party member since 1938. She worked as a secretary and was an effective labor organizer, totally devoted to the cause. In 1939 she married Julius Rosenberg, a graduate of City College engineering. From that point on Ethel curtailed her political activities and had her first child, a boy named Robert.
Murphy then turned to the file on Julius Rosenberg and found very little significant information other than his dropping party membership in 1942, no reasons given. That in itself was a glaring confirmation: when an active party member in good standing suddenly handed in his or her resignation it could only mean that they were either disaffected, ill or had been ordered to go underground. There was no doubt in Murphy’s mind that Julius Rosenberg and LIBERAL were one and the same person.
From that point on the full attention of the rapidly growing anti-Soviet squad in New York City was focused on Julius Rosenberg. They began by reconstructing his student days at City College and drawing up lists of his classmates, investigating them to see if any backgrounds included party members or known sympathizers. Those associations were extremely fruitful and a directory of Rosenberg connections was created with names and identities added while the FBI proceeded deeper with the investigation. The names were then cross-referenced to the lists produced by the Elizabeth Bentley and Whittaker Chambers confessions as well as other sources that could plausibly have interacted even remotely with Julius Rosenberg.
XX
Petrov was waiting patiently at a booth in the dingy hotel coffee shop on Lexington Avenue just two blocks from Grand Central Station. Harry Gold walked in and sat down opposite him taking off his hat. He had his usual sad face with that strange swarthy yellowish skin giving him the jaundiced appearance of someone who was fundamentally unhealthy.
Petrov was smiling and jovial but Gold didn‘t react and knew from long experience that every control officer had choreographed everything well in advance. It was fully scripted down to the last detail, usually by their boss.
“Well, how have you been?”
“Not so good. I am currently unemployed so things are rather hard.”
“That’s rather surprising, Harry. A trained scientist of your caliber should have no trouble…”
“It‘s not that easy my friend. I guess I don’t interview well or something. Plus the money I get from your end goes very quickly. I even tried getting my old job back…”
Petrov suddenly shifted in his seat and his facial expression changed to a scowl.
“What do you mean by your “old job”? What “old job”?”
“I went to see Abe Brothman.”
At first Petrov looked surprised by the news, he tipped his hat back on his head and opened his mouth but no words came out as the implications of what Harry Gold had just revealed sank in with all of their disastrous consequences. The GOOSE, as Gold was known inside the KGB, had committed a second cardinal error by seeing his old employer, the chemical engineer Abe Brothman, a Communist underground member from way back who had been identified by Elizabeth Bentley. He first looked down at his coffee cup then back at Harry. Petrov was no
w seething with barely controllable rage.
“You … You went to see Brothman? Excuse me Mr. Gold, but you must be the biggest asshole I have ever met! If you had such a need for money you should have come to me, to us! The last thing you want to do is contact a marked man like Brothman who is under unrelenting FBI surveillance. I must say you are either a stupid cretin, or a dangerous traitor! To re-contact a marked individual like Brothman …You stupid, stupid man...I‘m washing my hands of you as of right now!”
He said all this quietly with a forced little smile but Harry knew very well that the chain was now broken and that the flood waters were bound to submerge him and many others in the process. Yet he still tried to find a way…
“Look John, I need a job! That’s my problem… I can’t count on you to…bail me out forever …I didn’t …mean to cause a security breach, you know that! I have been at this too long…I didn‘t think…”
“You didn‘t what? You didn‘t think, you say? That’s something you rarely did anyway in the course of your miserable life. What kind of silly adolescent games do you think we are engaged in? I am walking out of this café right now and I can assure you, Gold, that as of this moment your life isn’t worth a nickel. You have destroyed twenty years of hard work by hundreds of dedicated men and women, my comrades. You are nothing but an incompetent bastard…or maybe even worse: a traitor.”
There was nothing more to add and Petrov, as he promised, marched out in a huff without paying the bill. Gold realized that he was finished with the Russians as long as Petrov was still around, or perhaps even permanently. No doubt he‘d be writing a report calling Harry Gold all kinds of names. Or maybe he’d try to cover it up as they usually did to save their own ass. Yes, that was also a possibility: ‘Gold made a mistake, we let him down, we stopped communicating for too long, he lost his bearings and panicked’... Maybe they’d recall Petrov anyway once he reported back and then would send in a new case officer, someone more congenial than that tight ass Russian peasant. Yes that’s what they usually did when one of the top men screwed up. Gold suddenly felt better, he had talked himself out of despair. He got up, buttoned his coat, and dropped a quarter on the table.
A few days later, one morning around 8 a.m., there was a knock on his door. A voice said it was the FBI and this young guy with a deceptive little smile introduced himself and handed Gold a warrant,
“Special Agent Murphy, Mr. Gold, this is a warrant issued by Judge Beck to search your apartment.”
Gold first sat down in an armchair, he looked ashen but gathered the energy to make himself a cup of coffee knowing that it would probably be his last as a free man. Four FBI men wearing gloves went around and searched every corner of his modest apartment.
Then Murphy took a chair and sat down pushing his fedora back a little,
“Look Harry, let’s put our cards on the table both of us: sooner or later we’re going to find out every little detail and nail you. Now, before you get yourself a lawyer I can help you understand what’s in store for you once we crack this whole thing wide open. I strongly suggest that you calm down, think carefully and cooperate with us to save your own skin. Your Russian friends would probably love to slit your throat by now anyway, don‘t you think?”
Gold was used to the tough talk and thought that these guys behaved just like the Russians, they all kicked ass and enjoyed it, like cops the world over. But now he suddenly felt exhausted and lowered his head in despair for a few seconds then he sat up again and smiled,
“I‘ve done nothing wrong, Mr. Murphy and I don’t need a lawyer because, you see, I have nothing to hide.”
Murphy smiled back and looked at him straight in the eyes,
“Harry, I can see that you’re a nice guy and deep down I genuinely like you. I hope you will believe that? I‘m serious! But the other guys in this apartment right now can barely restrain themselves from ripping your guts out or putting a bullet through your brains. You can understand that too, can‘t you Harry? …Sure you can. You can imagine how hopping mad the Russians will be when we leave here and let you get on with your life, right? Unlike us amiable Midwestern farmers, the Russians are not so tender and don’t have all those comfortable little laws to protect the “innocent,” ...You know what I mean? Just think about it for a while.”
Gold let him rub it in, no doubt it made him feel powerful but his mind was made up, one way or the other.
One of the FBI men came into the living room:
“Mr. Murphy, I think there’s something you should see.”
Murphy got up and was in the kitchen for a few minutes until he returned with a traveler‘s road map of Albuquerque, New Mexico and its environs.
“Well Harry, we stumbled on something really interesting in your closet. Is this yours?”
Gold saw the map he’d forgotten from years before. He immediately knew that it was a solid piece of evidence against him if he went on trial. Gold suddenly bolted out of his seat and attempted to reach the window. Two agents restrained him and brought him back to the armchair. He covered his face with his hands and began sobbing. Murphy sat down again while the two agents stood behind Gold ready to stop him if he attempted to move again.
“No Harry, it’s not going to end that way for you. You‘ll work with us, cooperate, and be a good citizen. I know you‘ll want the opportunity to redeem yourself and believe me this will be the only one you‘ll ever get. Then maybe, just maybe, you can live out a few quiet years somewhere safe, out of reach, under a different name and finally be happy. Right?”
Gold was still sobbing then he stopped and covered his eyes with a handkerchief,
“It was the only thing I knew, that I could believe in, do you understand? What kind of chances does someone like me have anyway? What could I really look forward to? Not much, believe me. What else could I do?”
By then Murphy knew he had won, there wouldn‘t be another suicide attempt and Gold would cooperate fully, so he patted him on the back and acted friendly.
“Good man, Harry, you‘re coming around my friend. Rejoice, you‘re going to save yourself. You must understand that we are not like those ‘other’ guys. We’d never do what they would do to you if they could. With us right now you’re way ahead of the game. Just start naming names, cooperate and forget about the other comrades for your own sake for a change. It’s your only chance Harry, so be smart and take it. You can be a real American at last!”
XXI
Julius was in a booth at the Horn & Hardart Automat on Times Square, reading the Herald Tribune and nursing a hot cup of coffee. A stocky man in a raincoat and a fedora seemed to hesitate for a few seconds then took a seat opposite him. Julius found it odd that a real spy should make such a concerted effort to look like one. He folded the paper and smiled in his usual confident way and went through the introductions.
“Have you been to Mexico City last summer?”
“No, I come from Panama City.”
Julius felt instantly uncomfortable with his new contact. Orlov’s appearance was the exact expression of his personality: a gruff unsympathetic man, a clean-up type with no ineterest in human contact. Not one to empathize with long-time agents going through personal problems. He said in a low voice,
“It‘s been a long time.”
Orlov waved his hand with a dismissive gesture and indicated that he had no time to waste in small talk.
“Let me get right to the point. The situation has suddenly worsened. My orders are to arrange for you to leave the country as quickly as possible. With your family, of course.”
Julius almost lost his composure and looked very alarmed even though he could easily guess what was going on and how the mood around the country had changed following the Hiss case. There had to be more that wasn’t being leaked to the press.
“Leave, now? Why? What’s going on?”
The case officer was all business and didn’t even volunteer a cover name for himself since this was clearly intended to be their only mee
ting,
“Listen to me very carefully, Julius. All I can tell you right now is that your life, I repeat, your “life” and that of your family is in extreme danger. Your instructions are as follows. You are to use the money I will give you at the close of this meeting to organize your immediate departure as well as that of your brother-in-law with or without your respective families. You shall begin by obtaining passports for all those who are leaving…”
Julius seemed to panic, but he kept his voice under control.
“I, I won’t go without my wife and kids…nor will Dave.” Orlov simply ignored whatever Julius was saying and kept on talking in a low but forceful whisper.
“We understand that and the unusually large amount I will be giving you is to pay for the departure of both your family, your brother-in-law, his wife and children. Do not make this procedure more difficult by hesitating and disobeying orders.”
“God! How much time do you think we actually have?”
“We are not sure. Not more than a few months at the most but it could even be a matter of weeks. You must follow these orders to the letter, immediately. It takes three weeks to obtain a passport as you know.”
“And you are sure there is no other solution? My wife…”
Orlov was becoming increasingly impatient and let his anger show in his facial expression.
“You know perfectly well that I would not be taking the exceptional risk of even meeting with you to tell you this if it were not so! I should add that I personally believe the authorities may already know the name of every single operative by now.”
“My sister-in-law has had an awful accident…she was badly burned by a stove and must be given time to recover ...she is very sick right now. That’s going to be a problem. I…I don’t know how my brother in law…”
