by John Barron
The security measures safeguarding SOLO were extraordinary, and with the exception of the Chuchukin matter there had been no leaks in a long time. The reference in the book to Chuchukin as a disinformation officer was “old information” that did not emanate from the FBI—it could have come from anywhere—and the FBI did not know it was going to be published (implicitly, this was a Soviet rather than an American security breach). Nevertheless, the Soviet reaction in jerking Chuchukin out of the operation was normal and understandable to everyone. The FBI was doing everything conceivable to protect them; still, the invaluable intelligence they gathered had to be disseminated to senior policymakers if it was to have value.
Brannigan spoke up. SOLO intelligence bore the highest U.S. security classification. Reports could not be copied or passed from one recipient to another. They could not be read outside the continental United States. The reports were hand-carried to the highest policymakers of the U.S. government, read, then returned to the FBI. Brannigan paused, then probably out of a lifetime of conditioning rather than any clever artifice, blurted out raw truth: “Despite all we are doing, despite unheard of safeguards, we cannot guarantee absolute security.”
Morris and Jack nodded. They knew there could be no absolute guarantee, and that is why they were afraid. What they craved was the belief that their services were valued and headquarters was doing all it could to sustain them.
Concerning expenses, Wannall said that as a matter of principle he did not want either Jack or Morris to spend a cent of their own on SOLO. Here again he flattered them with honesty. There were bureaucratic procedures of accounting for peculiar expenditures, and sometimes they clashed with even more stringent rules enforced to keep virtually everyone ignorant of SOLO. Occasionally it might be difficult to reimburse a few expenses (how do you justify buying a $600 suit for the general secretary of the American Communist Party without telling accountants something about SOLO?). But if ever money was needed on the spot, Wannall would make sure it was forthcoming.
Morris and Jack should not misconstrue the many questions often asked for weeks after a mission as pressure to produce intelligence. Sometimes reports contained slivers of information which, when combined with many other slivers, yielded important intelligence. The questions, rather than manifesting any pressure, testified to the immense value of the reports.
Wannall’s willingness to discuss in-house matters, his treatment of Morris and Jack as fellow agents, his candid and intelligent explanations, and his statement that they could speak to him at any time through Al, John, or Walt completely won over Morris and Jack. They left the meeting restored in spirit and ready to rejoin the battle.
Though he needed to get back to Washington quickly, Wannall asked the others to stay for a brief conference. It was not a conference at all; Wannall simply issued some policy directives. From now on, if Al, Walt, or John discerned in 58 or 69 any dissatisfaction or disillusionment, they were to alert him so the problem could be confronted before it worsened. Al, Walt, and John, in dealings with 58 and 69, were to emphasize that, as far as SOLO was concerned, Wannall was the “director”; when they heard from him, they were hearing from the director of the FBI. Finally, he ordered Boyle after each mission to draft for his signature congratulatory letters to be shown to 58 and 69.
In Kelley and Wannall, the SOLO team had two new champions at headquarters, the most powerful possible. Before long, the team very much would need them.
ON AUGUST 9, 1974, Richard Nixon resigned from office, the first American president ever to do so. In the aftermath of his resignation, Kelley and Wannall made a difficult decision—to violate a fundamental rule that had helped keep SOLO, Morris, Jack, Eva, and Roz alive for an improbably long time. The rule decreed that no one outside the FBI ever could know how SOLO worked or the identities of Morris, Jack, Eva, and Roz. The rule resulted not from distrust of anyone personally but from fear of an inadvertent leak and from awareness that someday the KGB might succeed in penetrating the staff of the White House, the State Department, or the CIA. In the prevailing circumstances, however, Kelley and Wannall concluded that overriding national interests compelled an exception to the rule.
As Brezhnev said to Hall and Morris, Watergate was shaking not only the United States but the world. The scandals and turmoil preceding his resignation had left Nixon virtually powerless in world affairs during his last months in office. Allies of the United States from Western Europe to China and Japan were confused and apprehensive about future American policy, as were Morris’ friends in the Kremlin. In Southeast Asia, the North Vietnamese were exploiting internal American disarray by probing and testing to see just how brazenly they could flout the Paris Peace Accords without provoking U.S. retaliation.
Up until now, policymakers eagerly had accepted “Special Source” (SOLO) intelligence without demanding to know who the source was and how the information was procured, and they had submitted to the somewhat humiliating procedure of reading reports in the presence of an armed FBI agent, then handing them back. Now Kelley and Wannall reasoned that, given the international uncertainty and atmosphere of crisis, the new president, Gerald Ford, and Secretary of State Kissinger needed to know the origins of the “Special Source” intelligence so they could better judge whether to make major policy decisions on the basis of it. Accordingly, the FBI fully informed Ford and Kissinger of the nature and history of SOLO.
Wannall instructed Jim Fox and Boyle, without naming Kissinger, to tell Morris what Kissinger said: “This is a window not only into the Kremlin, but into the minds of the men in the Kremlin. This is fabulous.”
HALL IN SEPTEMBER 1974 dispatched Morris to Moscow with a letter warning the Soviets that they were misinterpreting political events in the United States and that their misguided public statements were fueling an anti-Soviet campaign. Morris found Ponomarev in an ebullient mood; he believed the tide of communism was rising, even in America.
“You should know that we are getting volumes of communications from your new administration and we value these contacts. We intend to work constantly for the improvement of relations and détente,” Ponomarev told him.
“We are well aware and apprised of the past thinking of Ford and Rockefeller. But they assure us that their thinking is quite different than in the past, that they think differently now.”
Ponomarev solicited the advice and help of Morris in doing the impossible: persuading American Jews that the Soviet Union did not persecute or discriminate against Jews. “We are planning to send some Jewish persons to the United States. Please tell us what kind of people can we send to improve relations. We have some very famous ones you know about—artists, many writers, scientists. Please suggest to us who could invite them and help their trip. What should they do to overcome the bad anti-Soviet propaganda? We are really perturbed and sometimes surprised that even non-Zionist Jewish people don’t understand us and are anti-Soviet. We have given the newspapers the facts. We want this material published. We really want to clarify the Jewish problem. We would like your help on this problem.”
Ponomarev was also in high spirits because the Soviets and he personally had just achieved what they regarded, with some justification, as a coup in the United States. They had duped the U.S. Congress into receiving and meeting with a delegation of Soviet “parliamentarians,” as if they were members of freely elected British, French, West German, Canadian, or other demo-cratic parliamentary bodies. Heading the Soviet delegation was that great parliamentarian, Boris Ponomarev. As Ponomarev beamingly recounted, in Washington members of Congress fawned over their Soviet counterparts, their colleagues in democratic governance:
You know that we really had a good trip, our parliamentary delegation to the United States. Our contacts with Congress were good and are continuing. After I came back, we sent letters to the Senate and the Congress. We told them of our hopes for continuing contacts. We invited them, Comrade Suslov and I, and said that it would be very useful to continue these. We also want t
o convince them that we deal not only with one Party or one administration or one individual. We were able to talk to some of their commissions [congressional committees] from our point of view. I took advantage of the opportunity to speak to them on economy, on cultural matters, figures on trade and industry, etc. We did not stick to just foreign policy questions.
I was very much impressed with the final reception at a meeting in Congress with a hundred congressmen. Senator Albert [Ponomarev probably referred to Representative Carl Albert] spoke up full of praise. I spoke before them for half an hour… When I finished, they gave me applause and they were not communists and I was somewhat surprised and even happy. So such contacts help to restrain the reactionaries and the anti-Soviet elements.
Ponomarev acknowledged that he did encounter some killjoys or spoilsports who complained about the recent swindle (accomplished in part with the aid of KGB eavesdropping on telephone conversations pertaining to the commodities market) by which the Soviets bought huge quantities of American grain at what critics of the deal called below-market or giveaway prices:
In San Francisco, there was a big reception given by the City Council and the Chamber of Commerce. There were all sorts of people there from government, industry and commerce. In the speeches, some of them were kind of hard on us on the sale of wheat by the United States to the Soviet Union, and that we were responsible for high food prices in the U.S., etc. But I was told in advance that some might raise that. We decided that we would not run away from discussing this. So we gave our views. We talked from a business point of view. We [I] said, you believe in free enterprise; doesn’t a businessman like to get the best deal, the best price possible? Just because some Czarist idiot sold you Alaska for 3 million dollars [the United States bought Alaska for 7 million], should we criticize you for cheating us? Most of the businessmen agreed that when you are making deals, you make the best deal possible.
The chairman of the meeting… actually chastised those who had attacked us. Despite these things, altogether it was a very useful and pleasant gathering and we believe more contacts should be made and would help everybody. We, Comrade Suslov and I, got a letter from the [Senate] Foreign Relations Committee signed by [Senator William] Fulbright and he proposed to continue the contacts of the Foreign Relations Committee of the Senate with the Foreign Relations Committee of the USSR. Of course, there are no workers on the Foreign Relations Committee. Nevertheless, these contacts are important.
Morris realized that they indeed were. Every member of the so-called Soviet parliamentary delegation had to be a member of either the International Department or the KGB or under their control. By establishing direct ties with Congress, these professional Soviet sharks could turn Capitol Hill into a hunting ground and possibly influence the actions of individual congressmen without having to bother with the trained diplomats responsible for the conduct of U.S. foreign policy. Of course, the very concept of a Soviet parliament or Foreign Relations Committee was ludicrous. Morris thought, Is the U.S. Congress a nursery for children?
On September 30, the day before Morris departed Moscow, Ponomarev called him in, thanked him for Hall’s letter and gave him a formal reply: “On behalf of our leadership, we want to send greetings to your leadership. We appreciate the work of your Party. Although it is still a small Party, it is doing good work. Most important, it is a principled Party. It stands fast, holds the banner of Marxism–Leninism high, and in internationalism it is second to none. We also want to tell you that we appreciate Comrade Gus Hall as an important figure in our international communist movement. We really want to tell him that we appreciate your successes, especially that the CPUSA is breaking its isolation from the masses and is on the road to increasing influence among the people and to further growth. We believe that the situation is more favorable for communists now than ten years ago. And, therefore, we are convinced that you will succeed.”
In Chicago, Morris asked Boyle if the FBI could warn members of Congress that, in consorting with Soviet “parliamentarians” and the Soviet “Foreign Relations Committee,” they were dealing with skilled, hardened subversives bent on manipulating them. Boyle said he honestly did not know. The director of the FBI or his representatives could testify before congressional committees, and if an individual congressman requested assistance regarding a security matter, the FBI could provide it. But the FBI had to avoid the least appearance of trying to influence a member of Congress or of involving itself in politics. The most Boyle could do was ensure that Wannall read what Ponomarev said and hope that he could devise ways to alert the congressional targets.
Morris and Boyle scarcely had finished all their reports when Hall sent Morris back to Moscow in November with a letter begging for money; it said the party was almost broke and could not sustain itself much longer without an infusion of cash. The Soviets took the plea seriously and promised to deliver $500,000 in early February and $1.3 million more later in 1975.
Ford and Brezhnev had just concluded their first summit conference, and Ponomarev shared with Morris the Soviet assessment of the meeting and the new American president. They considered him a “nice” man with whom they could do business despite his record of anticommunism; in their judgment, he lacked Nixon’s experience in foreign affairs and therefore it might be even easier to do business with him.
The Soviets feted Eva as a queen, and in early December her escort and interpreter, Irina, announced that wives of Politburo members had arranged a luncheon in her honor. That meant they wanted her out of the way for the day so the KGB could talk to Morris alone in the apartment. Vladimir Kazakov, the KGB officer who grilled Jack, greeted Morris with unusual warmth and, Morris thought, sincerity. He said the KGB had made an exhaustive analysis of the book KGB and determined that Morris was right—the references to Chuchukin doubtless sprang from his prior activities rather than from his work with Jack in New York, and those activities became known to the author not because of any fault of Chuchukin but from some traitor. The KGB was confident that MORAT had not been compromised and that no one involved in the operation had made a mistake. The crisis was over but everyone must redouble vigilance because what they were doing was both important and dangerous.
As he started to leave, Kazakov said, “By the way, Vladimir [Chuchukin] sends greetings and best wishes to you and Jack. And we all thank you.” Both understood why he gave thanks: for absolving Chuchukin and the KGB of guilt during the witch-hunt caused by the book. More than ever, the KGB was Morris’ ally.
After long dinners, Morris and Eva stayed up late copying documents revealing Soviet views of world affairs and the status of communist parties throughout the world. When they left the second week in December, they were tired and eager to go home to quiet and security.
But storms were about to burst upon them.
fifteen
UNDER SUSPICION
WANNALL FLEW TO CHICAGO on February 11, 1975, to personally congratulate Morris on the success of the last mission. In a meeting with Chicago SAC Richard Held and Boyle, he told Morris that the information gathered was immensely important and that it had been hand-carried to “the highest U.S. officials” (President Ford, Kissinger, and the director of the CIA, who then was George Bush).
The gesture heartened Morris, who understood that Wannall was sacrificing a whole day just to say kind words to him. In the security of the cover office and the camaraderie of men he trusted, he tried to tell them what a mission was like, how terrified he had been in Prague when ordered back to Moscow. “Over there, I am always worried. It is like being in a luxurious prison. I am a member of the club. I have my own apartment or, if I stay at the Central Committee hotel, I am given splendid accommodations next to the suite reserved for general secretaries of foreign parties. I am given a safe and a key. I am met at the airport by a special limousine. I don’t have to handle my luggage or bother with arrival details. I am greeted by special contacts from the International Department. But when I go to bed at night, I never know w
hat the next day will bring. I try to analyze just where I stand with the Soviets, whether certain people will agree to see me, why they would meet me, whether they would allow me to enter certain buildings if they didn’t trust me.”
Wannall replied that the few who were aware of what Morris was doing appreciated the enormous strains he had to endure, and again Wannall flattered Morris by sharing in-house matters. Director Kelley had appeared in closed session before the so-called Church Committee, the Senate committee investigating U.S. intelligence agencies. Kelley told them that there were certain subjects he did not want senators or staff members to ask about. If they asked, they would bear full responsibility for the consequences. Wannall emphasized, “SOLO will not be involved.”
The conference lasted little more than an hour but in terms of its effects on Morris’ spirits it bought more than money could have.
Afterward, over a pleasant lunch Wannall, Held, Boyle, and a supervisor privy to SOLO engaged in amiable banter, and the supervisor asked, “Walt, what would you do if you’re on a plane and someone tries to hijack it to Cuba?” Because of hijackings, Boyle insisted on remaining armed while flying. Sometimes he had with him copies of documents Morris and Eva had copied in Moscow, and in any case the FBI did not want him subjected to the mercies of Cuban interrogators.
“The plane ain’t going to Cuba,” Boyle said.
“But what are you going to do?”
“I said, the plane ain’t going to Cuba.” They dropped the subject—some things are best left unsaid.
BOYLE KEPT READY A small bag packed with a fresh shirt, underwear, socks, and toiletries so that at any time he could leave immediately for O’Hare Airport, only some twenty minutes away from his home. Around 4 A.M. a call from the physician who relayed Morris’ messages in code advised that Morris would arrive that afternoon in Los Angeles aboard a flight from Oslo. The FBI issued agents a booklet of government vouchers that enabled them to write their own airline tickets to anywhere in the world, and by early afternoon Boyle was at the Los Angeles airport where Morris’ flight was listed as “delayed.” In the tower, air traffic controllers had no information about when it might arrive or the cause of the delay. Boyle stayed in the terminal through the night, calling the tower hourly until a controller told him the plane had been diverted and would land in Seattle.
