Ingrao was earmarked for a swift return to the United States. In June 1941, however, while waiting at Euston Station for a train to take him to Fort William where he was to board a boat home, he gave his escort the slip and ran off. Eventually he turned up at the American Embassy where the staff promptly handed him to Special Branch, pointing out that because he had taken an oath to the British crown he had forfeited his claim to American protection. By now he had become so loud, irresponsible and awkward that his case was put before Herbert Morrison, the Home Secretary, who ordered that he be discharged from the army and detained, under Defence Regulations, for being in possession of information dangerous to the state. Long months followed in various prisons, including a sizeable stretch in Swansea. Neither the Home Office nor SOE was indifferent to the fact that Ingrao had come to Britain with good intentions, under a misapprehension of what was expected of him, and was now detained under no formal charge. At the same time, they could not secure an acceptable level of assurance that on returning to the United States he would not immediately disclose all he knew. ‘On the evidence produced we have no option but to keep Ingrao here,’ Gladwyn Jebb commented on the case. ‘This is our funeral & we shall have to stand any racket when the war is over.’34
During his detention, Ingrao bombarded SOE with outraged letters demanding his release. Most of these served to make his liberty less likely. ‘In one of his earlier letters he admitted that there were good grounds for detaining him,’ SOE noted:
As time went on his letters contained a more threatening note and on the 19th November 1941 he writes: ‘I can assure you that it will not take such a long time for me to consult one of the best New York lawyers … nor to consider how big an indemnity to demand, for it will be proportionate to my stay in gaol …’
On the 26th November 1941 he writes: ‘Once in America I will sue Lord Halifax [the British Ambassador in Washington, DC] for a million dollars for each month of agony … I intend to provoke the biggest scandal of the war …’
On the 11th February 1942 he writes: ‘A book on “How I was Kidnapped by the British Government”. I have it already outlined in my mind and I will write it down as soon as I shall be back in my country. I am sure it will be a best seller in America for a number of years because it will contribute to a better knowledge of European civilisation.’35
Ingrao stayed in detention for twenty-three months, eventually being released when it was felt that whatever secrets he had known were out of date, whereupon, on returning to the United States, he offered, for cash, to stay silent about his experiences. In London, officers discussed the matter. There was agreement that Ingrao should be refused his ‘Danegeld’ and told to ‘go to hell’. One suggestion was that the American police might be present at any handover of money, ‘with a view to taking criminal proceedings against him for blackmail’. Harry Sporborg, assistant to SOE’s chief, doubted whether this was worth it: ‘I pointed out that although this would be the normal procedure in this country it would be quite hopeless in the United States where blackmail is regarded no[t] as a punishable crime but as a rather unsporting type of business procedure.’36 No money was handed over, whereupon Ingrao, as expected, went to the press. ‘HELD IN BRITISH PRISON 2 YEARS SAYS AMERICAN’, began one newspaper story. ‘Freed at last after 23 months of what he describes as [a] harrowing experience in prisons in England, Dr Ingrao today is living in New York …’37 Assessing Ingrao’s indiscretions, MI5 was not overly concerned. ‘[T]his sort of thing is bound to come out sooner or later,’ one officer felt, adding that ‘it is a thousand times better to have it out while people can still remind themselves that there is a war on.’38
When, in 1941, Baker Street enquired as to how on earth Ingrao and the others had been recruited, New York explained that they themselves had not interviewed or selected the men. Instead, anxious to prevent the American authorities from discovering any British involvement, they had handed those tasks to the Mazzini Society. This was a cultural association, founded in the United States in 1940 and partly funded by the British, whose members were now dedicating their efforts towards steering the country’s vast Italian-American community away from Fascist orientation. Doing his best to direct that battle was Alberto Tarchiani, one of the Italian exiles who had been introduced to Section D in Paris, but the fight was not easy.39 ‘Fifteen or more years of extremely efficient and widespread Fascist propaganda have unquestionably had a very powerful effect,’ SOE’s New York office told London in December 1941,
and there is no doubt that a very large percentage of Italian-Americans remain convinced that the Axis is in the right … Especially since the Ethiopian war, the main theme of Fascist propaganda has been to inculcate into them the idea that England is the one country that has prevented and is still preventing the development of their homeland.40
The Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor, followed by Mussolini’s declaration of war on the United States four days later, began to change that mindset (although a good number of Italian-Americans would continue to resent Britain for many months to come). It also terminated SOE’s ability to explore the United States for volunteers, though the search had failed to become any more fruitful since the Mazzini Society’s limited efforts among its membership. In November 1941, New York had offered Baker Street 28-year-old Frank Cali. New York-born to Sicilian parents, he had spent eighteen months fighting on the Republican side in Spain. Described variously in New York’s reports as ‘small and slight but tough and ready for any job’, ‘a fanatical anti-Fascist’, ‘keen as mustard’, ‘anxious to go to Sicily on any mission you require’, and ‘a tough little nut and a good chap’, he sailed for Britain in mid-December.41 When he arrived, it did not take London long to spot his obvious flaw. ‘He appears to be suitable for our work but will, we are afraid, not be of much use owing to his poor knowledge of Italian,’ New York was told. ‘It appears that he has not spoken the language since he was a boy.’42
The last American found by SOE’s New York office was forty-year-old Giovanni Realdini. Born in Philadelphia of Italian parents, he certainly seemed to have the language skills: New York noted that he had ‘a natural gift for the Italian tongue’ and ‘a perfect accent’. The problem with Realdini, however, was his character. ‘He entered the United States Navy in the last war and very soon got into trouble for striking a superior officer,’ New York reported.
He has a rather sketchy record of arrests and some convictions over a period of the last twenty years. He has been a pugilist for a short time but his main source of income has been from confidence work and from card games, dice, cheque forging and possible counterfeiting. At the moment his fortunes seem to be at [a] low ebb but this is nothing to concern this type of man.
Perhaps some of these traits could be useful, New York wondered.
He is the type who can talk himself out of “tough spots”. Physically he can take care of himself … and [he] can handle all sorts of lethal weapons.43
He also wanted an income with which to support his disabled younger brother, and seemed ‘genuinely anxious’ to do ‘something worthwhile for Uncle Sam’ and atone for his past misdemeanours.44
But although they recommended Realdini to London, even SOE’s New York men had their doubts this time. ‘The more I think about this chap,’ one of them ruminated, ‘the more certain I feel that London will not want to have anything to do with him.’45 That feeling proved sound.
British backing of Italian anti-Fascists on the far side of the Atlantic also explains an odd incident that intrigued the United States Border Patrol in McAllen, Texas, in April 1941. A local man, C. G. Fink, reported that his son, Melvin, a cabdriver in the town, had allowed someone to use his name to purchase a car. The same man was also paying his son to try to drive him into Mexico. Fink junior was then questioned at the Border Patrol office ‘in an effort to obtain some clue’ to explain the stranger’s actions, ‘as well as to determine any illegal enterprise or un-American intention’.46
�
�Young Fink, age 19,’ the Border Patrol wrote in a report that ended up with the FBI, said that the man had given his name as ‘Emmett Williams’ and ‘never told him anything about his plans, other than that he wanted to go to Monterrey’:
In that connection, he offered Fink $25.00 and expenses to drive him to that point, and requested that he be allowed to purchase an automobile in the youth’s name because he did not have a driver’s license. He also explained that he did not want to enter Mexico at Brownsville or Laredo because the roads were bad, and because he could not get the proper papers from the immigration at Brownsville. [Fink] stated that [Williams] seemed very anxious to go to Mexico, and on one occasion while he was driving him, went to the McAllen airport and priced the service of a plane to Monterrey. Fink noted that he had large denomination bills of money when he would pay for various items, but didn’t find him to be noticeably free with his money. Fink related that on one occasion he drove him to Hidalgo, Texas, to the international bridge, and that he got out of the car and looked at the bridge and river, then returned to McAllen.47
The same day, 7 April, this strange behaviour led the Border Patrol to find and question ‘Emmett Williams’. He gave his real name, admitted that he was carrying a large amount of money, ‘and evidenced a number of large denomination bills to us, which he said was about $2,000,000 [sic: probably $2,000.00]. When questioned as to his source of income, he was at first reluctant to answer.’ Then he explained that he was ‘anti-totalitarian and anti-fascist’ and was making his way to Mexico City to make arrangements for anti-Fascist Italian exiles fleeing Nazi-occupied Europe to seek refuge in Mexico. This work was urgent, he said, and because he had not yet acquired the proper entry papers he had sought to buy a car in someone else’s name, ‘figuring that it would be easier for a local person to obtain [an] entry permit for an automobile than attempt it himself’.48 Although his story still sounded odd, Williams had done nothing illegal and the border authorities let him go.
Emmett Williams was Max Salvadori. Since arriving in the United States at the end of June 1940, he had returned to his teaching, resumed his old friendships with men like Alberto Tarchiani, and generally done as much as he could sensibly manage for the anti-Fascist cause. He had also remained in close and covert touch with the British. Salvadori had barely left Liverpool on the liner Britannic when he had been approached by a fellow passenger, a 44-year-old civil servant travelling cabin class with his wife. This was William Stephenson, H. Montgomery Hyde’s ‘Quiet Canadian’. A decorated fighter pilot in the First World War, Stephenson was a wealthy and well-connected Canadian financier and businessman en route to work in New York for MI6. A little later, on Churchill’s personal authority, Stephenson became director in New York of British Security Coordination. This was the cover name of an umbrella organisation responsible for smoothing all British intelligence and security activities across North and South America, including those of SOE and MI6, and engaging in a host of covert activities, from collecting intelligence and recruiting prospective agents to penetrating unfriendly diplomatic missions and countering enemy propaganda. Written at the end of the war for a very limited readership, the history of British Security Coordination describes Salvadori as one of its ‘most valuable agents’ and ‘indeed the first of BSC’s recruits, for he was enlisted by WS [William Stephenson] when both were travelling in the same ship en route to America from England in June of 1940’.49
Salvadori’s earliest work on behalf of the British in New York seems to have been a previous mission to Mexico in August 1940. His tasks were to report on local politics, uncover the activities of Italian Fascist agents, and take soundings of Mexican attitudes to the war. Returning to New York a month later, he submitted to Stephenson’s office a full report on his findings. Then he returned to his wife and family and resumed his teaching duties at St Lawrence University in upstate New York. Life became a little quieter.
In November 1940, a frustrated Salvadori wrote to Claude Dansey, his old MI6 handler, saying that he wanted to do more. ‘In my opinion,’ he told Dansey, ‘there is little I can do here for our cause. But if I find a proper covering I think that I can go to countries not friendly to yours or try to establish contacts with unfriendly groups.’ He pointed out that his ongoing game of manipulating Italian officials still seemed to be working. The Italians appeared to have interpreted his departure from Britain as ‘a sign of reconciliation’, while he had explained away his brief trip to Mexico in August ‘as an attempt at finding shelter in a neutral country in case of an extension of the conflict’. The ‘quiet life’ he had been leading since should also have ‘allayed suspicions’.50
When he tried to return to Mexico the following April, Salvadori was again on a mission for the British. To judge from a typed report in English that survives among his personal papers, it also appears that his dealings with young Melvin Fink came only after he had explored and exhausted a host of other options of crossing the border illegally. Having flown into Houston on 29 March but still lacking the necessary visa, Salvadori had gone first to Galveston to sound out local fishermen on the possibilities of sailing to Tampico. None of the fishermen were willing. Next he went to Brownsville, on the Rio Grande, the river that served as the natural border between Texas and Mexico, and contacted some Mexican smugglers. But they were not prepared to play either, saying that illegal crossing had become too dangerous. Then he tried some more fishermen, these ones in Port Isabel, but they also proved unable to help.
As Salvadori explains in his report, in which he calls himself ‘XX’ and writes in the third person, it was time to attempt something more drastic. He would try to swim the Rio Grande.
April 3. XX goes to Boca Chica, but does not find either fishermen or owners of pleasure craft. At 9.p.m. swims through the river, a little worried by reported presence of alligators. Arrangements for keeping clothes dry fail completely. Reaches opposite bank and walks all night back and forth in a clearing, waiting for the clothes to get dry.
April 4. By 9.30.a.m. clothes, documents and money are nearly dry. Leaves hideout. Finds group of huts occupied by Mexicans. Attacked by three dogs and severely bitten on leg. Natives highly suspicious and unfriendly. Worried by presence of another river, XX talks with a native. Realizes that he finds himself on a peninsula which until 1938 was part of Mexico. The main section of the river having changed bed, the peninsula is now American soil …
Because of the wound and of the unfriendly attitude of the natives, XX walks back to Brownsville, which he reaches at 2.p.m. Feels a complete fool.
That afternoon Salvadori learned that papers had to be shown by anyone trying to get into Mexico by train or plane. ‘Telephones to Mexico City asking if he can have the visa for which he applied on March 14th. Reply is “mañana”.’ The following day Salvadori went to McAllen and found ‘a youngster’ prepared to help him. This was Melvin Fink. Two days later, on 7 April, Salvadori bought the car for $300 in Fink’s name, since ‘to cross into Mexico with a car it is necessary to prove ownership’. Alterations were made to the car ‘in a way as to hide a person’. Then, at three that afternoon, ‘XX is stopped and questioned by Border patrol. Doubtful points to be cleared: what [is the need] for the car? Why staying at hotel under different name? Why so much money? (XX is completely searched) … XX’s honesty convinces the border patrol.’51
Having abandoned the car idea, failed to bribe Mexican consular officials in McAllen, found his name freshly added to an American border ‘blacklist’ as a possible ‘quintacolumnista’, and finally decided that it was ‘useless to cross without papers’, Salvadori returned to Galveston and ‘ends where he should have begun. In Galveston gets in touch with a cousin he has never known before. Offers to the cousin 100 d[ollars] for papers necessary to enter and leave Mexico (tourist card and registration card). Cousin gets documents and sells them. Data are modified on registration card.’52 On 10 April, wielding these documents, Salvadori entered Mexico by taxi at Laredo and took a train to
Mexico City.
Quite why Salvadori had been so keen to get into Mexico is not adequately explained by his account to the border authorities. His real mission, according to his surviving private papers, was more hands-on: it was to sabotage a radio station. This was located in Mexico City and the British believed that the Nazis were using it ‘to communicate with German submarines in the Gulf of Mexico’.53 Once in the city, ‘explaining that the organization to which he belongs should act concretely against the propaganda of its main enemies’, Salvadori secured the help of an old and trusted socialist Italian friend, Domenico Sandino, who was living in the city. Sandino agreed to do what he could. A reconnaissance revealed that setting fire to the target was not an option since it was built of concrete, brick, metal and tiles. Therefore they would need to find some explosives, or ‘surgical instruments’ as Salvadori called them in his report.54 By late April it was proving impossible to get their hands on these and time was running out: Salvadori would soon need to go home. He finally left Mexico on 26 April, flying back to New York the next day, but with a pledge from Sandino that he and a friend would still carry out the attack. In May Salvadori heard from Sandino that his man had indeed tried to blow up one of the station’s masts. Sandino enclosed newspaper reports in El Universal Gráfico and El Universal carrying details of the damage.
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