by Arno Baker
The FBI made a point of checking on the former Mrs. Koltsov who had resumed her maiden name as Esther Johnson of Pasadena, California after the divorce. She said she had met her former husband on a trip to Germany with the UCLA track and field team. He was a cameraman for a Russian TV channel filming the events. That’s how they met. Ms. Johnson explained that Al, as she referred to him, was very persistent and full of Slavic charm which Ms. Johnson said she enjoyed at the time. But as soon as he obtained his U.S. passport his attitude changed and after a few months he asked for a divorce.
Ms. Johnson was still in shock after such an experience and said she had never met a more deceitful and cunning man in her life who simply pretended to want and enjoy sex with her for years. She is now convinced that it was all a sham and that he was not at all interested in her romantically. She appeared to be very bitter and perhaps somewhat naïve during the interview. It should be noted that Ms. Esther Johnson is a very attractive 30 year-old African American woman about 6 feet tall with the truly spectacular body of an athlete. She now works as a personal trainer in Beverly Hills.
When the FBI shared that profile with the CIA a number of red flags suddenly went up. An interracial relationship between an ethnic Russian and an African, let alone an African American, was something extremely rare! The CIA viewed the marriage as an attempt by an SVR mole to “hide in plain sight” through an interracial marriage that was so atypical as to defy categorization and therefore escape scrutiny.
A Russian specialist noted that the very overt anti-Black racism of Russian society would normally be a major obstacle. But others argued that they were not dealing with ordinary people but with “artists” “film makers” “actors” “athletes” “performers”... who are therefore expected to be free from such bourgeois taboos and skin color prejudices. The CIA viewed the marriage as an attempt to discourage any scrutiny out of political correctness and as a taboo issue in contemporary American society.
The naturalized Russian film maker could then become a “real” American in the most legal manner possible. His domestic situation was the perfect cover for an illegal. So then why not continue that way instead of seeking a clean break? They kept on tracking Koltsov and found little to support either argument other than a few meetings with individuals routinely suspected of being SVR operatives.
Alexander Feklisov made arrangements to travel to the United States and requested a three month visitor’s visa which the embassy immediately issued. The FBI was shadowing the old KGB colonel from the moment he went through immigration at JFK where he was welcomed by Jack Harrison. Traveling with him was beautiful Irina who had never looked more glamorous but was showing signs of growing impatience. However she remained very solicitous with the colonel and extremely friendly with Jack never missing an opportunity to smile and make eyes at him.
At Belmont‘s offices Bill was editing the text, a task that would take at least two months, more than enough time for Feklisov to have completed the American part of the filming and for the cutting process to get underway. Publication would be delayed until the documentary was ready for distribution. The shoot was proceeding expeditiously and after five long weeks Feklisov and Irina were off to London for the final outtakes of the script. By year end Koltsov had finished filming and was actively editing the full length feature. Final DVDs would take another six months. The time frame fit Belmont Books’ schedule because the translation required a lot more editing than they first expected. Jack held on to the press release and an interview about the book being in the works. Everything was delayed until the fall when the book would be published and launched at the Frankfurt Book Fair. In the intervening months many questions remained unanswered.
Finally in late September with the launch just two weeks away, Jack decided to issue a preliminary press release announcing that the book would be launched in October at a press conference by the author at the book fair. Within days of that announcement a flood of emails jammed the computers at Belmont, so many in fact that people were beginning to phone in their reactions and ask questions directly since the emails were bouncing back with error messages. The feedback was disconcerting: both positive and negative ... ‘one more book about “The Rosenberg Spy Case” was hard to justify’... ‘will it be anti-Semitic since it‘s written by a Russian?’... ‘you must be a bunch of commies’...and so on. The facts still rattled many sensibilities sixty years after the couple had been executed.
At one point a phone call came through on Jack‘s cell phone from Morton Sobell now in his mid-80s who was eager to discuss the credibility of Alexander Feklisov. Jack listened politely as the former Alcatraz inmate argued that the Russian author could only be working for the CIA! Jack offered to invite Sobell to attend the book party where he could confront the old KGB case officer in the flesh and possibly in front of many cameras! Sobell, always in search of vindication, was game and loved the idea.
With all the advance publicity appearing ahead of publication both FBI and CIA carefully avoided any input while maintaining a discreet check on the launch should the SVR decide to engage in any antics. Jack became convinced that he was under discreet surveillance and that his phone lines were probably tapped. Art was imitating life and vice versa.
Then one morning in September, two weeks after the press release a large envelope from France was delivered by a TNT courier. The return address was the suburban town of Enghien-les-Bains, known as a small spa and casino just twenty minutes north of Paris. The package actually contained only two pages: a letter typed in English, and the photocopy of a handwritten document from a notebook in French,
“Paris, 24 September 1997
My Dear Mr. Harrison,
I am writing to you following the announcement in the press about the book about the Rosenbergs by their KGB case officer Alexander Feklisov. It would take far too long for me to explain the reason for sending you this personal and confidential letter. Suffice it to say that I am now 60 years old and have been an invalid for the past 20 years because of an accident where I lost both legs. I am a ward of the state and my condition makes it impossible for me to travel to New York to meet with you in person.
If you came to visit me I would show you a number of original documents that would have the greatest impact on the book you are about to publish in English and possibly spark your interest for several other books. I write in the plural because of the vast amount of material that is in my possession.
I should tell you that the main document I am alluding to is dated June 16, 1953 and is addressed to Foreign Minister Georges Bidault. It is marked “Top Secret” and begins this way:
“The situation has evolved dramatically since my last communication. A possible confrontation is shaping up at the top. My friend is ready to make a clean sweep and get rid of the opponents who remain nostalgic of the previous regime. It could come to a sudden and rapid conclusion provided there are no major new crises; the Korean settlement remains on track; the ideological confrontation quiets down and is put to rest. Therefore it is highly recommended that the Rosenberg executions be delayed as a major conciliatory gesture by the Americans as previously discussed…”
A photocopy of this document in its original handwritten form is attached.
I trust that you will easily understand that we may have a few things to talk about since the author of that report was my father, an adventurous man who went by the alias and pen name of
“Lucien Barnave.” He was killed in very mysterious circumstances two weeks later, at the end of June of the same year, 1953.
I trust that I shall be hearing from you and have reason to believe that I may even have the pleasure of seeing you in Paris in the very near future.
Sincerely,
(signed) Sylvain Michaud
22 rue Delambre
4th floor left
75014 Paris XIVème
Tel. 01 44 78 11 02
Mobile 06 32 77 99 23
P.S. As you must have noticed I sent th
is document using a different return address and a false name. I have reason to believe that you must by now be under surveillance by the FBI, and then the CIA once you depart the United States. The French services will pick up once you enter this country and the SVR must be tracking your every move. If and when you come be sure to avoid flying directly into Paris, do not register in a hotel and avoid making any phone calls to my home number from your cell phone. Have someone else call me anonymously on my mobile phone saying “Your package is ready.” I will then know that you will be coming the following morning. My door will be open as I live alone and scurry around in a wheelchair.”
The additional photocopied page was intriguing enough. In very neat handwriting with no words crossed out or marks of any kind it looked oddly authentic. It came from the traditional composition books used by French school children with additional lines meant to encourage the smallest most readable handwriting. This was a requirement essential to all administrative work far into the 20th century when most things were still recorded by hand. But then Jack also remembered that the Hitler Diaries, that gigantic forgery that originated with the Stasi, had fooled some of the greatest historians and experts in the 1980s. There was only one way to find out whether this was a bone fide lead or not: he would have to fly to Europe a few days ahead of his regularly booked flight to attend the Frankfurt Book Fair. But, as Sylvain Michaud aka Laffont correctly observed, this additional journey could entail some risk no matter how cautious he was.
Jack searched the internet and quickly found a few entries about an obscure French left wing journalist who signed his pieces as ‘Lucien Barnave.’ The alias, as the Wikipedia bio pointed out, was first used during the Spanish Civil War as a code name by a courier. But Jack who knew his French Revolution found it odd that this well advertised communist fellow-traveler had picked the name of the famous lawyer and orator Antoine Barnave, a colleague and friend of Mirabeau during the early days of the revolution. He was later guillotined by Robespierre for supporting the King and Queen against the more radical revolutionaries. So ‘Lucien’ was using the name of someone condemned as a counter revolutionary by the purist admirers of Robespierre or at least of a man who had serious second thoughts early on about revolutionary violence.
In any case the Lucien Barnave by-line appeared regularly in the very leftist Franc-Tireur and he was apparently on friendly terms with Albert Camus and other intellectuals at Combat. During the spring of 1944 when the Germans were still shooting hostages indiscriminately Barnave acted as a courier for several underground cells. There was no information about his youth or pre-war years and his real name wasn‘t mentioned: the name Barnave first appeared during the Spanish Civil War as a byline.
Those early adventures prepared Lucien Barnave for his activities during the early postwar period as attested by the countless articles and the reporting he transmitted from Moscow. From late 1945 on Barnave was writing about events from the Soviet and Stalinist point of view which inevitably included thick layers of propaganda. Hundreds of such articles were published in various French magazines and dailies. Between the lines, commented one reader, they offered some interesting insights into Soviet thinking and planning. There was a whole series on Indochina as it quickly turned into a critical issue in French politics in 1948-1950. Some articles attempted to lift a veil on the secret debates that were taking place at the top levels of the Kremlin by a “usually well informed observer” who was meant to leak trail balloons to the west.
Jack concluded that this mysterious source who signed “Sylvain Michaud” should be checked out even if he turned out to be an impostor. Following the suggestions that Michaud outlined in his letter, he simply told everyone in the office that he was taking three days off just before the book fair to ‘recharge his batteries’ and prepare for the press conference with Colonel Feklisov at the Intercontinental Hotel. He‘d go to the peace and quiet of his log cabin in Upstate New York just a few miles from the Canadian border. Susan wished him well with a warm hug and Bill said they‘d meet in Frankfurt at the usual cheap hotel near the Hauptbahnhof and not to worry because everything would proceed according to plan.
Jack felt lucky since Monica was experiencing a burst of creativity and decided not to leave the studio even though she very much wanted to make love on a bed of pine needles in the forest. Her sexual fantasies could sometimes be uncomfortable but they were easily fulfilled and she was a most relaxing companion. Art and her whimsy took precedence over anything else so at the last minute she decided to stay in Greenwich Village. Jack took his Mazda for the five hour drive upstate; the heavy weekend traffic made it impossible to verify whether or not he was being followed until he stopped at a supermarket in suburban Saratoga Springs and filled several bags of groceries for what appeared to be a protracted stay in the woods.
In the parking lot he noticed an old dark green Ford Bronco that looked familiar, there was no one at the wheel and it was parked inconspicuously behind some trees.
Even though the last leg of the trip offered a clear view of the road with far fewer cars he didn‘t immediately notice the Bronco hanging cautiously about one mile behind him. Then near the exit he suddenly saw it slowing down several cars behind just as he was turning off on the access road. Then there was no one behind him for some time and he thought it was all a mistake due to his paranoia. If they were behind him it would be difficult to shake them on the forest road where they would sooner or later be face to face.
He took the turn up the dirt road that twisted into the thick woods until he reached a small clearing and the log cabin. On arrival he made it a point to unload all the grocery bags rather conspicuously taking his time to arrange all the food in the refrigerator and the cabinets as though he were planning to stay more than just a few days. By midnight he had turned off the lights and was preparing his bag for the second more delicate leg of the journey in total darkness.
At first he couldn‘t see whether anyone was observing the cabin from the wooded area at the edge of the narrow clearing. The place was tucked away a few hundred yards from the lake front and the only access was the winding unpaved path in the trees from the county road. The crossroads and the gas station off the main highway were three miles away.
After carefully scrutinizing the clearing around the cabin Jack opted for a much longer path through the woods that would get him behind the gas station. First he set the timer for the lights and TV to turn on at 6 am and turn off and on at set times. He carried a backpack and a shoulder bag and slipped out from behind the garage leaving his car locked in the driveway.
It took much longer to reach the crossroads and he had to stop from time to time to check if he was being followed until he reached the bushes just behind the all night gas station. Unwilling to take any risks he waited patiently for the shift to change and sat in the darkness behind the trees for two more hours. It was uncomfortably chilly at night in late September and a cold wind kept him awake until the early dawn. At five in the morning he used the public phone to call the car service. There was no sign of anyone following him and he kept his cell phone turned off. The taxi took some forty more minutes to arrive and the driver apologized that he was late for his shift. By six thirty Jack was in the bus crossing the Canadian border on his way to Montreal.
On arrival he went to the men’s room at the bus terminal to verify that no one was following him. Feeling confident that his escape had worked he walked to a downtown hotel where he hailed a taxi to the airport. There were several flights to Europe leaving practically every hour.
It was impossible to purchase a ticket in cash, the airlines were under strict instructions to refuse any such transaction and to report the person to the police immediately. But the moment he handed the airline his credit card and passport his name would flash through the tracking screens since he had to be marked for that level of surveillance. But still they’d only know he was heading to Europe slightly ahead of schedule and if he was on his way to Paris for a few ex
tra days it could possibly be to see an old girlfriend, or perhaps a new one. Could the FBI-CIA be watching to see where it would lead? Or was the SVR setting up an operation against him? He preferred to think that they were not after him specifically since he was the publisher but to find out who he was going to meet.
The airport wasn’t crowded that early so he could easily track all the passengers and people for anyone shadowing him. Once more he slipped into the toilet on the arrivals side downstairs where a half a dozen families were waiting for a plane from Vancouver. No one followed him and a cleaning lady was mopping the floor diligently in front of the urinals. She didn‘t even look at Jack who entered a stall and locked it as he waited and looked underneath to see if anyone entered the toilets after him. But no one came and the cleaning detail ended and closed the door quietly. He felt relieved that the coast was clear and relaxed as he prepared his documents so he could produce them easily at the ticket counter.
Then the door opened suddenly and two legs appeared in tennis shoes and jeans. He caught a sliver view of the man at the urinal, longish hair, two day beard, possibly South American, same swarthy skin color as Jack but unkempt and rough. Was he the enforcer sent to stop him? Jack felt trapped in his stall, ready to come out but fearing a confrontation where he would be either outclassed or immediately shot. He couldn’t see if the man had something in his hands as he stepped back from the urinal and looked quickly in the direction of the stalls. Why not attack me now, thought Jack, if that’s what they wanted just go for it and lock the door …but that could mean a potentially messy outcome that could embarrass the Canadian authorities.
The fellow lingered after washing his hands and smoothing his hair as he looked at his face in the mirror for a bit too long. Suddenly the door opened and a group of kids bolted in with their dad all excited about their trip to somewhere…Jack got out and rushed through the door sideswiping one of the boys as the thuggish type was blocked by the youngsters who were crowding the urinals and joking in their high pitched voices. The two fathers tried to keep a semblance of order before the thug was able to extract himself from the confusion.
