by John Barron
Morris said, “Listen to me. Nobody will be able to get me out. There may be a chance for you. I will tell them I never let you know, that you were just a good wife who did what you were told. I don’t know how much they know. If they show you photographs of Walt or John or anyone else from the Bureau you’ve seen, you must say, ‘Yes, I saw him a few times. Morris said he was a party member.’ You are innocent. Maintain your innocence to the last, no matter what.”
Before descending the mobile stairway from the plane to the tarmac outside Moscow, they embraced for what they thought was the last time.
Eva imagined that inside the terminal goons would handcuff her or physically drag her away. Instead, beautiful children, bearing bouquets of flowers, and Nikolai Mostovets, chief of the North American division of the International Department, greeted them. Mostovets apologized profusely for interrupting their journey and explained that Hall was on his way to Moscow, and Hall insisted that Morris be present while he was there.
Morris never let the Soviets know when he was ill or in pain but he could not conceal the fatigue that drained his face of color; in consequence, during the return visit, they burdened him as little as possible. Ponomarev told Hall that Morris’ health was vital to the party and that because of his conspicuous exhaustion he was ordering him to skip the ceremonial dinners. Ponomarev also gave Morris a number through which he could be reached day or night, and urged Morris to call if he needed anything. The Soviets could not have been more considerate.
Nevertheless, each day in Moscow Morris feared what might happen in Washington, and he suffered heart palpitations and excruciating back pains. Only when he saw Boyle waiting inside customs at Boston on November 20 did the knotting tension begin to subside.
FBI Director Clarence Kelley, while delegating responsibility for daily management of SOLO, monitored the operation closely and came greatly to admire Morris and Eva without ever having met them. In one of his last official acts before retiring, Kelley, on January 13, 1978, traveled to Chicago personally to thank them on behalf of the FBI and the United States. His obvious sincerity, simple eloquence, and the fact that he came with nothing to gain personally touched Morris. Now, within a span of a few months, the chairman of the KGB and director of the FBI had gone out of their way personally to honor him.
STEINBECK IN MARCH ALARMED Boyle and Langtry. Congressional committees seeking evidence of illegalities continued to demand FBI files, and in an effort to prevent a House committee from stumbling onto SOLO, Steinbeck had told three congressmen about it. They pledged silence, but now at least ten people on Capitol Hill knew.
The New York Times in April published a column reporting facts that, although they did not compromise SOLO, could only have come from someone with knowledge of it. A senior New York agent in the know was under investigation by the Justice Department, and Langtry suspected that the column constituted a veiled warning from him—back off or there will be worse leaks. Langtry and Boyle then heard from Steinbeck that on May 1, 1978, this same agent testified in a closed session of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Steinbeck did not know what the agent said but the committee had commanded Steinbeck to appear on May 4 to discuss allegations of illegal acts committed by the FBI in the conduct of SOLO.
Boyle and Langtry of course had committed many acts that, if considered in a narrow context, could be construed as illegal. They had procured medical prescriptions and airline tickets under false pretenses, and they had suborned immigration and customs officials and persuaded them to admit into the country without question people traveling under false names with forged passports.
And for years they had prepared and filed irregular income tax returns on behalf of Morris and Jack. Because Morris and Jack worked full time for the government, the FBI eventually decided to pay them salaries (Langtry recalls that they never received more than $30,000 a year) and insisted that they pay taxes on this clandestine income. Langtry asked, “How do we explain the source of income?”
Headquarters helpfully replied, “That’s your problem.” Langtry solved his by figuring out how much Jack owed in taxes, obtaining a cashier’s check for the amount from a friendly bank, and mailing it to the Internal Revenue Service without explanation. Boyle paid Morris’ taxes by a more complicated subterfuge, but still a subterfuge.
Langtry and Boyle also violated laws by participating in a conspiracy to smuggle, hide, and disburse millions of dollars in illicit cash (by 1978, the total was approaching $26 million) on which no taxes were paid.
Certainly, Boyle and Langtry did not act with any criminal intent; neither of them profited personally; and no one was harmed, except avowed enemies of the United States waging covert warfare against the United States. To accuse them of breaking the law because they did their duty in accordance with policies specifically approved by presidents of the United States would be a mockery of the law. But in the prevailing political climate, there was no absolute assurance that some publicity-seeking committee or prosecutor might not, now or later, try to mock the law if given the chance. Boyle and Langtry could defend themselves only if the government and courts approved release of the full SOLO story and. In any case, the legal costs to them would be ruinous.
At approximately the same time on the same afternoon, agents from headquarters appeared in the Chicago and New York field offices to show Boyle and Langtry the same letter. Neither man could keep the letter or make notes about it. The original would remain in the Justice Department, and a copy would be secreted at FBI headquarters. But if ever circumstances required, the letter would be made available to them.
The letter was from Attorney General Griffin Bell. It granted Boyle and Langtry immunity from prosecution for any authorized acts perpetrated in discharge of their SOLO duties. No one asked Bell to do this. He grasped the importance of SOLO and of his own initiative did what he thought was right for the United States without any possibility of personal or political gain.
Boyle says, “At the time, we had more to fear from some of our fellow countrymen in Congress and the press than from the enemy. So the letter was very heartening. We were deeply appreciative of the voluntary and noble gesture by Griffin Bell. In retrospect, I only wish I had been allowed to keep a copy.”17
Headquarters in June summoned Boyle and Langtry to Washington to confer with senior Bureau executives about the future of the operation, and none of the factors discussed was encouraging. The New York Times had published another article with information obviously supplied by someone with some knowledge of SOLO; the source had not yet betrayed the operation, but how much more would he leak? And Steinbeck in fending off allegations that the FBI was breaking the law had to reveal to the Senate committee many more operational details than Wannall disclosed when defusing the issue of Martin Luther King. Some were exciting, dramatic details—the kind people like to tell wives, girlfriends, journalists, or anyone else they hope to impress. The FBI no longer could be sure how many outside the Bureau knew of SOLO or who all of them were. There was also increasing danger that the operation inadvertently might be exposed through records that had to be produced in response to lawsuits and demands lodged under the Freedom of Information Act. The ongoing attempts of congressional committees to prove the FBI guilty of wrongdoing, any wrongdoing, remained a threat.
MORRIS AND EVA RETAINED all their mental acuity and were intellectually capable of dealing with the Soviets. However, Morris was now seventy-six and in terrible health, and the arduous journeys to Moscow and Eastern Europe exhausted his reserves. When Boyle met him after the last mission, he was bent over and hobbled by back pains, and his voice barely rose above a whisper. How much longer could he retain the necessary physical stamina? How much longer could he even live? How much more could the United States justly ask of these elderly people who for so long had done so much?
Assistant Director James Nolan, who presided over the meeting, concluded it by saying there seemed to be general agreement that the FBI should not further risk the lives o
f 58 and 66 (Eva), that it should quit while it was ahead. No one dissented, and most nodded affirmatively. Back in Chicago and New York, Boyle and Langtry for the first time discussed with Morris, Eva, and Jack the discontinuation of SOLO.
On June 29, 1978, Steinbeck transmitted urgent messages to Chicago and New York: The president and attorney general have overruled the decision to “disengage.” In compliance with their explicit orders, the Bureau must continue SOLO.
Professionally, Boyle doubted the prudence of their order. Personally, Boyle—who in an election between a Democratic dogcatcher and a Republican dog would have voted for the dog—considered it courageous and admirable. Politically, Carter and Bell had everything to lose. By substituting their judgment for that of the FBI, they implicitly accepted responsibility for the lives of Morris and Eva; if Morris and Eva were lost and the public found out, they would be blamed. If SOLO were exposed and only part of the story came out—the part proving that the government long had suppressed irrefutable evidence that the American Communist Party was a wholly owned lackey of the Soviet Union—how would conservatives and anticommunists react? If the Soviets discovered that the FBI for two decades had made fools of their rulers, how would they react? Carter and Bell had nothing personally to gain; they believed the United States did.
While the president or attorney general could direct the FBI to continue an operation, only the FBI could determine how to continue it, and on July 25 Steinbeck relayed a terse message from headquarters to Boyle: “No more trips.”
Boyle told Morris that he and Eva should maintain relations with Gus and Elizabeth Hall, and if necessary meet the KGB in New York. Jack would go on as before, transmitting and receiving messages, by radio and through drops, and picking up money. But the Bureau had determined that further missions into the Soviet Union would be too dangerous; Morris and Eva could never again leave the United States.
Steinbeck on August 11 sent another alert. Under threat of subpoena, the Justice Department had released to Senate staff members a comprehensive study justifying the legality of SOLO. The study laid bare the operation, and the FBI had no idea how many people might read it. Steinbeck next reported that a retired FBI agent who, as a surveillant in Chicago during the early 1960s, had learned something about SOLO, was blabbing about it to anyone who would listen. The loon had also written a manuscript, a copy of which the CIA had recovered from the debris of the Jonestown massacre in Guyana. Because the former agent seemed daft, apparently no one had paid any attention to him thus far. But if the Soviets got word of what he was saying or saw the manuscript, they would pay attention and understand.
The FBI now judged the operation hopelessly insecure, and on September 15 headquarters unilaterally decided to end it and begin to “disengage.” Listen to Eva:
Jack, Morris, Walt, John, and I got together in a hotel suite in New York. Now, Walt and John always were perfect gentlemen. But they were very tough boys; you have to be tough to do what they did. But they still were boys and I always could tell from the way they looked when something was wrong.
They told us that it was too dangerous for us to go on, that the Bureau had decided to close down the operation. Maybe they said slowly or gradually. But it was all over.
I think that at first we—Morris, Jack, and I—were glad. You know, we always were scared. Then I saw that Morris and Jack were sad. This had been their life. They really loved our country. They really were proud to help it. And now it was about to be over. It was a big change for all of us.
Six days later, Steinbeck frantically called Boyle. The attorney general again had overruled the Bureau and ordered it not to stop. “Mike, I’ve done exactly what you said. I’ve told the main players exactly why the game is over. I can’t go back now and rewrite the rules. You’re going to have to tell the coaches that. Tell them what has been said, cannot be unsaid; tell them, you can’t put the toothpaste back into the tube.”
Steinbeck responded the next day. “We concur. Your comments are appreciated. They will help us explain to those who still want to play.”
Morris was supposed to come to Moscow in October for the annual strategic, operational, and budget consultations. Following another FBI script, he went to New York and on October 3 while talking to Hall, he suddenly gasped and bent over, pretending to be disabled by back spasms. He dissuaded Hall from calling for an ambulance; it would be safer if a party doctor looked at him in the apartment. He asked Hall to help him to a taxi. Meanwhile, Eva, following the same script, beseeched Elizabeth Hall, as one wife to another, as a fellow member of their feminist club in Moscow, to help. Morris tried to hide sickness from her; she knew he was very sick and belonged in the Mayo Clinic. The party was Morris’ whole life, and he was determined to keep his appointments at the Kremlin. Eva feared he could not survive the journey; would Elizabeth please make Gus order Morris not to go to Moscow, to go to the hospital instead?
Early the next morning, an agent chalked a mark near a subway station signaling the KGB that a message had been deposited in a drop. The message said that because of illness Morris could not travel to Moscow. Pending his recovery, communications could be effected by radio and through drops. That afternoon, Elizabeth called Eva and said Gus wanted Morris to enter the hospital and not to worry about anything else.
The FBI, recognizing that SOLO someday must end, over the years developed a number of contingency plans for ending it. The most basic provided for emergency “evacuation and resettlement” of Morris, Eva, Jack, and Roz. On an hour’s notice, agents could bundle them into hiding and then to residences in an area of the country where Soviet diplomatic personnel were forbidden to enter. Boyle scouted for desirable homes in Nevada and Southern California and kept current a list of those available for purchase. However, the sympathetic reaction of Hall to Morris’ presumed illness showed that presently there was no emergency requiring Morris and Jack to suddenly disappear.
At an operational conference on October 25, 1978, the FBI tentatively decided to attempt a “field compromise” or ruse that would compel the Soviets to end the operation and make them think they were responsible for its collapse. According to the plan, Jack would request a personal meeting with his KGB handler and make sure their conversation was incriminating. Through a long-range microphone, agents would record the conversation, confront the KGB officer with the tape, and make a clumsy attempt to recruit him. The officer would race to the Soviet Mission and report that the FBI was onto him and Jack. The Soviets would then warn Jack and Morris that they were in danger, cease contact, and wonder what they had done wrong.
The FBI, however, saw no need to try the ploy immediately. Until a clear compromise or crisis occurred, it could continue to milk intelligence from the Soviet radio transmissions to Jack and from his contacts with Hall. Jack falsely told Hall that while in the Mayo Clinic Morris had suffered a “cardiac incident” but doctors expected him to recover. Subsequently, Morris showed Hall a letter from a physician warning him not to make any long flights.
Continuing messages from Moscow did yield some valuable intelligence. One to Hall instructed the party to organize a propaganda campaign aimed at preventing deployment of Pershing and cruise missiles in Europe. Another directed it to discredit and vilify National Security Advisor Brzezinski. Such messages again enabled the United States to read Soviet minds and act accordingly. Carter did order deployment of the missiles, and the Soviets unwittingly enhanced Brzezinski’s status.
THE FBI HAD ESTABLISHED an Analytical Unit and staffed it with gifted men and women who tried to solve riddles pertaining to crime and espionage. They also looked at data released pursuant to court orders or Freedom of Information Act demands.
A widow of a party member had filed a lawsuit accusing the FBI of defaming her late husband, and an analyst studying records the court compelled the FBI to give her made and reported a finding, viz: On the basis of records now available to the CPUSA, I conclude that Morris Childs of Chicago, former editor of the Daily Work
er, is and long has been an asset of the Bureau. I also conclude that his brother Jack Childs of New York, known to be a confidant of Gus Hall, probably is and long has been an asset of the Bureau. I do not need or want to know whether these conclusions are correct. I respectfully submit that if Soviet analysts study the same data, they can draw the same conclusions.
Reporting this to Boyle on January 12, 1979, Steinbeck asked if Chicago thought it was time to proceed with the “field compromise.” Boyle said he wanted to talk to 58.
Eva in a 1993 interview recalled:
We had a lot of clever ways of talking to each other. We never answered the phone the first time it rang. If it rang a certain number of times, that meant Walt would call back in a certain number of minutes and the number of rings told us what we were supposed to do. I remember that ‘four short, then three long’ meant that the FBI was coming to take us away, even if I was in my nightgown…
Walt called us to the hideout [the cover office]… Walt was Irish, you know, and he could be very charming and funny. So could John [Langtry]. John was Scottish and Irish… They treated me mostly like I was a queen; sometimes like I was their kid sister. They always made me feel welcome and I sat in on a lot of conferences.
Morris and Walt were very smart, and they really could talk to each other, and they didn’t use many words. Walt asked Morris about some trick to end the operation. Morris said, “Why now?” Walt said, “You’re right.” That’s the way they talked. So we kept on going. Of course, we didn’t go over there any more.
A telephone call on September 7, 1979, astonished Morris. Nikolai Mostovets was traveling in North America. Surely he was aware that the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and the FBI would not be indifferent to his travels. The Soviets always tried to conceal their relationship with Morris, yet from a Chicago hotel Mostovets called to invite him and Eva to dinner at the Cart Restaurant on the Chicago Loop.
