Catesby admired birds and other animals. They just built their nests and got on with their lives. They didn’t worry about dying or anything else.
Agency News London: 14 February 1963
Harold Wilson is new Labour leader
The Parliamentary Labour Party has elected Harold Wilson by a vote of 144 to 103 to succeed Hugh Gaitskell who died suddenly last month.
Wilson defeated deputy leader George Brown, who was also temporary leader following Gaitskell’s death. Brown stood for a continuation of Gaitskell’s policies. In the first round of voting, the Gaitskellite vote was split by the candidacy of James Callaghan, who is also on the right wing of the party.
A former Bevanite, Harold Wilson resigned from the cabinet of Clement Attlee in 1951 on the issue of prescription charges in the National Health Service. Wilson, as the most credible alternative leader for the Left, stood for the party leadership in a 1960 challenge to Hugh Gaitskell. In that election he received 81 votes (35.37%).
Wilson was the only one of the three leadership candidates with cabinet experience.
Pimlico, London: 14 February 1963
Catesby was pleased with the leadership election result. Politics was about the art of the possible and Wilson was the only candidate from the so-called left of the Labour Party who had a chance of unifying the party and winning a general election. But he also knew that Wilson’s election was going to cause disruption and trouble. The Americans hated him and the British establishment regarded him as an outsider. Catesby knew there had been anti-Wilson plots in the past – the CIA men in London, and they were all men, had conspired against him and in favour of Gaitskell. But now that Wilson was Labour leader and odds-on-favourite for next prime minister, the plots were going to turn ugly and malicious.
As a grammar school boy who had been to Oxbridge, Catesby knew what Wilson had been through – and knew it was probably much worse than he had experienced. Catesby had the advantage of being a native East Anglian at Cambridge – and his fluency in French and Nederlands had made him stand out against the toffs who were lesser linguists. Catesby defied the grammar school stereotypes, but Harold Wilson fulfilled them all. He was unabashedly Yorkshire and ended up in Jesus, the most unfashionable of all Oxford colleges. Wilson was exactly the sort of bookish Northern grammar school lad that the Bullingdon Club toffs delighted in mocking and throwing in fountains. And Catesby knew that Wilson in response would have built up a defensive carapace of cocky, but brittle, self-assurance. Wilson’s problem was that he represented the people of Britain, regional and unfashionable, rather than the smart ruling elite. Even though Wilson was seven years younger, Catesby felt he was an older brother who wanted to protect him from bullies.
Washington: 20 February 1963
As Chief of Counter-intelligence, Angleton was the only officer, other than the DCI himself, who had access to the Director’s Log. Angleton had been added to the Director’s Log distribution list by Allen Dulles who was very impressed by his ‘astute intelligence and perceptivity’. Unfortunately for Angleton, Dulles had been sacked following the Bay of Pigs fiasco – for which Dulles was largely responsible – and replaced by a shrewd businessman. The new DCI wasn’t particularly pleased with Angleton’s special status, but realised he was dealing with a dark prince who ruled a powerful fiefdom – and, as a shrewd businessman, the DCI thought the best tactic was to give Angleton enough rope to hang himself. It eventually happened, but long after the shrewd businessman had departed. FURIOSO was as mad and tenacious as his code name persona.
FROM OSO LONDON (ATTN: ADDOCI)
SM/DOGGED is now our most valuable asset in the British Security Service. DOGGED is very concerned about the recent death of Hugh Gaitskell and his replacement as Labor leader by Harold Wilson, who represents the far left socialist wing of the party. SM/DOGGED also reminds us that Wilson made several trips to Moscow as Minister of Trade in the late 1940s and was responsible for selling the Rolls-Royce jet engines to the Soviet Union which later powered the MiG-15. After resigning from the Labor government in 1951 – following a bitter and personal argument with Gaitskell over Britain’s socialist health service – Wilson became director of an import/export company that bases all its business on trade with the Soviet Union. During his many trips to Moscow, Wilson has formed close friendships with Anastas Mikoyan, Vyacheslav Molotov and Andrei Gromyko.
Angleton leaned back and lit another cigarette. He remembered what he used to tell Allen Dulles: ‘If you don’t always – always – fear the worst, you shouldn’t be a counter-intelligence officer.’ The problem was that too many of his colleagues didn’t always fear the worst. And not all of them were big fans of AE/TANGO’s dire warnings. TANGO had, in fact, predicted the current scenario when they had lunch at Harvey’s. Angleton went back to the Director’s Log.
SM/DOGGED has signalled further concerns about the nature of Hugh Gaitskell’s sudden death. Not long after his patient’s death, Gaitskell’s doctor contacted the Security Service. The doctor was very concerned about the cause of death. Systemic lupus erythematosus is an autoimmune disease that is extremely rare in Northern Europe. The occurrence of the disease is mostly confined to women of child-bearing age in tropical Africa. The doctor estimates the total number of cases in Europe as less than ten.
Angleton smiled. Always fear the worst. He felt a glowing sense of pride as he stared through the haze of smoke at the Manet, on loan from a banker friend, framed on his office wall. Counter-espionage was like appreciating Impressionist art. On one hand, the painting captures the image as a rapid passing glimpse. On the other hand, the pictures can be blindingly bright and vibrant. The situation in England was both: subtle and glaring. He went back to the log.
SM/DOGGED confirms that Gaitskell has not recently, and perhaps never, made a trip to tropical Africa. Gaitskell had, however, been planning a trip to Moscow at the end of January to meet Khrushchev. One month before he died, Gaitskell had visited the Soviet consulate in London to obtain a visa for the trip. Despite his status, Gaitskell was kept waiting a long time at the consulate while his visa was processed. During that time Gaitskell was served tea and biscuits. SM/DOGGED is now making enquiries at Porton Down, the British Defense Department’s biological warfare center, to see how it would be possible to poison someone with a fatal dose of lupus.
Angleton made a note in his diary: Arrange urgent meeting with AE/TANGO about Line F’s bio-chemical capabilities for assassination. He had found out from TANGO how a KGB hit man had used radioactive thallium to murder the anti-Communist Ukrainian writer Lev Rebet in Munich in 1957. A lethal dose had been sprayed in his face with the type of atomiser commonly used by asthma sufferers. A pellet to induce lupus might be more sophisticated, but always assume the worst.
Angleton looked at the clock. It was past eleven o’clock and time for a pre-prandial drink. He went to the hospitality cabinet and poured himself a JD without ice or water. Philby’s defection to Moscow – now certain – was another brush stroke that began as faint, almost invisible, and then burst into colour and brightness like a Monet sunrise. Angleton now regretted not having ordered a ‘wet op’ on his former friend, one false-flagged as a KGB assassination. Philby’s treachery was a personal blow and slap in the face – and proved that no one could be trusted. But how did it fit in with Wilson and Gaitskell’s murder? Philby must have known that he had been finally and positively identified as a Soviet agent. Could it be that Moscow feared that Philby would crack under interrogation and tell the truth about the conspiracy to put Wilson in power? And who in SIS had been responsible for letting Philby escape? What a pity that SM/HOUND had retired from SIS – or had he been forced out? HOUND had been CIA’s only eye and ear in SIS. Angleton went to the safe and got the file for SM/HOUND. The tribute from a powerful friend of America’s was glowing: X is a noble warrior in the fight against Communism. When there is a crisis, he acts decisively and takes risks. He is willing to stand alone for a friend when everyone else has desert
ed that friend. X is not afraid of making enemies in the fight for freedom. Angleton made an action note in the Director’s Log: To OSO London from ADDOCI: Make immediate clandestine contact with SM/HOUND and tell him that we offer full support.
Hampstead Garden Suburb, London: 28 February 1963
Catesby thought it was ironic, but totally coincidental, that Hugh Gaitskell’s former GP lived two streets away from Harold Wilson. The first news that rumours were circulating about Gaitskell’s death came from Frances. Ferret didn’t know how to keep his mouth shut – a big problem for a rogue agent in a security service. It also didn’t take long for the Gaitskell assassination rumours to reach the ear of Henry Bone who immediately summoned Catesby and gave him the assignment.
‘Tell him,’ said Bone, ‘that you’re a journalist – or at least give him that impression.’
‘Should I talk “Sarf Lunnon”?’
‘Perhaps, but don’t overdo it.’
‘Actually,’ said Catesby, ‘this door-stepping stuff under journo cover might be a bit below my dignity. Aren’t I supposed to be getting an OBE in a month or two?’
Bone nodded. ‘And, please Catesby, don’t do your “Sarf Lunnon” routine with the Queen – or be chewing gum when you go to the podium.’
‘I never chew gum. It pulls out my NHS fillings.’
‘Good.’
The doctor’s house was similar to Wilson’s, but not as large. Catesby was wearing a trilby and looking Fleet Street scruffy in a stained mac. The doctor didn’t invite him into the house or seem very happy to see him.
‘I cannot answer any questions regarding patient confidentiality.’
‘I fully appreciate that, but Mr Gaitskell was a very famous patient.’
‘Fame does not make an exception to patient confidentiality.’
‘But listen, doctor, I know what us lot are like. Have any other newspaper types been sniffing around?’ Catesby smiled. ‘We like to know who else is on the case so we can throw a spanner between their legs.’
The GP gave a weary sigh. ‘I have been pestered – and, I assure you, I sent them away with fleas in their ears.’
Catesby looked at the doctor and dropped his wide-boy manner and voice. ‘Were they journalists?’
The doctor looked thoughtful and seemed less hostile. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Okay, I’ll tell you what I know. I know that Hugh Gaitskell died of an autoimmune disease called systemic lupus erythematosus – and that is a very rare illness in the UK. I’m not going to ask you any questions about Mr Gaitskell, but can you tell me anything about that form of lupus?’
‘I’m a GP, not a specialist.’
‘Well, I suppose I’d better find one then.’
The doctor paused. ‘Maybe I can help you.’
She was the most stunning and beautiful woman Catesby had ever seen. She was black, stately and tall – and one of the most respected consultants at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine. She towered over Catesby – and not just physically. Unlike him and his slithering ilk, she was someone who had devoted her life to relieving human misery. Spies, on the other hand, were the Anopheles mosquitoes of human society.
‘The answer to your first question is no.’ She was sitting in her office chair leaning forward slightly with her hands folded.
Catesby nodded as if he knew more than he did. She had the demeanour, he thought, of a kindly university professor dealing with a clueless undergraduate.
‘SLE is not a rare disease…’
Catesby had twigged that ‘SLE’ was medical shorthand for ‘systemic lupus erythematosus’.
‘…and,’ she continued, ‘I cannot understand why anyone would think it is. SLE is, in fact, quite common.’
‘Even in Europe?’
‘In Northern Europe the rate is about forty per 100,000 people, but much higher among those of African descent. The rate among us is four times the average, 160 per 100,000.’ The consultant paused. ‘Statistically, the person most likely to be diagnosed with SLE is an African woman of child-bearing age – and the condition is exacerbated by poverty.’
Catesby noticed the woman’s eyes had flashed a hint of anger. She was aware of social inequality.
‘The factors that cause SLE are not just genetic, but also environmental.’
‘But women are much more likely to contract SLE than men?’
The consultant nodded. ‘That is true. Women are eight times more likely to be diagnosed with SLE than men. An SLE prognosis is, however, much worse for a man than a woman.’
‘So men, although less likely to contract SLE, are more likely to die from it when they do?’
‘Correct.’
Catesby was warming to the subject. He began to wish that he had done Medicine rather than Modern Languages with post-grad qualifications in Espionage and Dirty Tricks.
‘One final question,’ he said, ‘how many white men are likely to die of SLE in Britain in a typical year?’
‘That’s a difficult question. SLE is very good at disguising itself as other diseases – and, therefore, it is often not diagnosed as the actual cause of death.’ The consultant paused and looked thoughtful. ‘I would estimate, however, that between 500 and 1,000 white British males die of SLE per annum.’
‘So, it is not a rare cause of death for a white middle-aged male?’
‘Unusual, but not rare.’ She gave Catesby a searching look. ‘Why did you want to know?’
‘Because I…’ Catesby wanted to tell her everything – not just about Gaitskell, but about justice, equality, peace and friendship; about Pasteur, Curie, and Lister; about art and love – but couldn’t find the words.
‘You don’t need to tell me.’
‘Thank you.’
CIA HQ Langley: 28 February 1963
Angleton wasn’t happy with the President. Kennedy was dismissive of the serious situation developing in Britain – and he also had scant regard for TANGO’s warnings. In fact, Kennedy seemed to be sidelining the CIA altogether in preference to advice from his brother and the Harvard coterie. Angleton was a Yale graduate and the rivalry between the two universities went beyond the sports field and into the dark areas of secret loyalties. The most secret part of Angleton’s counter-intelligence empire was SIG, the Special Investigations Group – and the most secret of SIG’s file were the 201s. The 201 files were secret histories of Americans who were either a serious potential danger to the country’s security – or, alternatively, of individuals who could be helpful to SIG. In some cases, the 201 subjects fitted into both categories.
The 201 file that Angleton had on his desk related to a former Marine who had defected to the Soviet Union – and come back again. The ex-Marine had had a troubled childhood and as a young teenager, owing to threatening behaviour at home and in the classroom, had been sent to a child psychiatrist. The psychiatrist’s report intrigued Angleton: The subject has a vivid fantasy life turning around the topics of omnipotence and power; through which he tries to compensate for his shortcomings and tendencies. Angleton was not without self-knowledge and not without knowledge of what others thought of him. He realised that his detractors would say that the psychiatrist’s report could equally have described himself. But they were wrong – otherwise he would have felt ‘the rage of Caliban at seeing his own face in a mirror’.
The 201 file on the ex-Marine was dynamite. It contained records of the subject’s military training. As an ex-radar operator in the Far East, the former Marine had knowledge of the CIA’s top secret U-2 programme. And yet, upon his return to the United States, the CIA had not interrogated him about whether or not he had passed on intelligence to the Soviet Union. And it would have been the responsibility of Angleton’s section to have done so. But in some cases it is more important to groom someone and watch them than to harass and frighten them. Angleton thought the ex-Marine could be useful and he opted for the light touch. Part of SIG was a team under the command of a retired US Army officer code-named LN/RIFLE.
Their job was to deal with security threats that could not be prosecuted in open legal proceedings owing to the risk of exposing other clandestine operations and issues of high sensitivity. Sometimes the secret intelligence arm of a government has to override that government. Angleton picked up the ex-Marine’s 201 file. It was time to pass it on to LN/RIFLE.
Angleton, morphing once again into mad FURIOSO, sat back, lit a cigarette and poured another JD. The smoke patterns were sinister. Was the President himself a security risk? Always fear the worst.
Pimlico, London: 3 March 1963
Catesby hadn’t expected a visit. Particularly on a Sunday morning and from someone who had never been to the flat before. The visitor, wearing a black roll-neck jumper and a leather coat, was perfect Fitzrovia bohemian, just as his city-suited and bowler-hatted weekday self was perfect Whitehall mandarin. He even looked a bit grubby: unshaven and hung-over.
‘Good morning, Henry,’ said Catesby, ‘what a pleasant surprise.’
‘I was on my way to a Duncan Grant exhibition at the Tate – and, as you live so near, I thought you might like to come.’
‘I’d love to.’
The Tate was a quick seven-minute walk from Catesby’s flat. Bone seemed more relaxed and less guarded then he did during the week. But that didn’t mean he was off-duty.
‘Do you know Duncan Grant?’ said Catesby.
‘Slightly.’ There was something in Bone’s voice that was reserved and sly again.
‘He used to live near me in Suffolk,’ continued Catesby. ‘During the Great War he worked on a nearby farm as a conscientious objector.’
A Very British Ending (Catesby Series) Page 17
