by Amy Knight
In June 1943, Gouzenko arrived in Ottawa on his first (and, as it would turn out, his last) mission abroad, accompanied by his new boss, Col. Nikolai Zabotin, and Zabotin's assistant, Major Alexander Romanov. Anna, who was pregnant, would follow in a few months. Ottawa at that time was bustling. Formerly a rough-and-tumble lumber town on the majestic and sprawling Ottawa River, a major route for lumber and fur traders, Ottawa had in 1857 been designated Canada's capital. It retained its unsophisticated frontier character well into the next century, but with the advent of the Second World War, Ottawa, while still a “small town” compared to other world capitals, came into its own. The rapidly expanding civil service brought so many new inhabitants to the city that temporary buildings were erected along its perimeters. At lunchtime, the cafeteria of the elegant and grand Château Laurier Hotel, which stood on the Rideau Canal next to the imposing Houses of Parliament, was filled with government officials, diplomats, politicians, and journalists trading wartime news. In the evening, remnants of the same crowd, those not attending a gathering at one of the embassies, filled the bar.
From the moment they arrived, Gouzenko and his fellow GRU officers, who stayed at the Château Laurier while awaiting permanent living quarters, were in the thick of Ottawa life, a life infinitely more attractive and comfortable than the drab and difficult one they had left behind in Stalin's Russia.
Col. Zabotin was officially the new Soviet military attaché to Canada, but unbeknownst to his Canadian hosts, he was also the rezident, code-named “Grant,” in charge of GRU operations in Canada. With the intense fight against the Nazis turning in their favor, the Soviets had begun in earnest to launch an atomic-bomb project, and they wanted to speed up their progress by taking advantage of Western research. Canada, which had invited the Soviet Union to establish a legation in Ottawa in 1942 (it was elevated to an embassy in 1944), was assisting the United States and Britain in work on the atomic bomb. So the newly arrived GRU officers were instructed to recruit Canadians who could provide information about this research, as well as about other military-related issues. Their reports, and the responses from Moscow, were sent back and forth by telegraphed messages, which Gouzenko was responsible for ciphering and deciphering.4
Zabotin's group was not the first to carry out espionage for the GRU in Canada. In 1942, as part of a Canadian Mutual Aid program, Major Vsevolod Sokolov had arrived as the official Soviet inspector of Canadian war production plants that were supplying weapons to the Soviets. In a classic example of biting the hand that feeds you, Sokolov set up an Ottawa-based GRU spy ring using Canadian Communist Party officials Fred Rose and Sam Carr, who participated in the day-to-day running of the network. (Both Rose and Carr would eventually be arrested because of Gouzenko.) And for more than two decades before that, Canada had been used as an entrée for Soviet spies heading for the United States. According to one Soviet intelligence report, “A false Canadian identity document and passport enabled spies to cross from Canada to the United States without much difficulty and to remain indefinitely in the United States without molestation. . . . Canadian passports were also used by Soviet spies in Europe during the 1930s.” Officials from the Canadian Communist Party participated actively in this process, providing assistance to the Russians whenever required and also working with their comrades in the American Communist Party.5
As accredited diplomats from an Allied power, Zabotin and his staff, which was soon augmented with additional GRU officers, found a welcoming environment in Ottawa and indeed wherever they went in Canada. Canadians felt a special affinity for their Russian neighbors. Both countries had vast and undeveloped territories, including an Arctic North. They had in common the long, frigid winters of their lands. And of course there was Russia's heroic role at the Eastern Front. As one source described it, “Wartime differences were allowed because there was a common enemy. Even the left-wing theatre was acceptable enough for the New Theatre Group to go to Ottawa to do We Beg to Differ for the troops. Eaton's, the largest department store in Montreal and owned by a long-established English-Canadian dynasty, flew the hammer and sickle. Stalin was on the cover of Time. Across Canada, Soviet-Canadian friendship societies were formed, as were many organizations sending aid to the ussr. . . . The National Film Board of Canada made a pro-Russian film called Our Northern Neighbour.”6
Colonel Zabotin was highly popular with Canadians, particularly with ladies. There were rumors he had seduced one or two married women in the Ottawa diplomatic set.7 And no wonder. The son of a Tsarist military officer and a graduate of the prestigious Frunze Military Academy, thirty-four-year-old Zabotin was a decorated veteran of the ferocious 1942 Battle of Stalingrad, the first major victory for the Soviets against the Germans. Over six feet tall, he was strikingly handsome, with a broad smile and thick, prematurely gray hair. And he had a magnetic personality. As Gouzenko described Zabotin, “He must have been well educated because the polish of his Russian speech was a treat to hear. His bright, gay conversation sparkled with references to his place in the Ural Mountains, to his dogs and horses. We assumed that he belonged to a privileged family, a fact borne out by his sudden shifting of the conversation whenever we tried to learn more about his family.” Zabotin, Gouzenko added, was an obvious choice for the job of GRU rezident: “Zabotin looked every inch a soldier, and Red Army soldiers were then at the peak of their popularity with the democratic world.”8
Soviet diplomats in Ottawa, including those secretly working for the GRU, earned high marks for their hospitality, and their receptions were always well attended. According to one Canadian, the Soviets were “the toast of the town. They were sought after for their boisterous energy, their entertaining stories, their generosity with unrationed liquor, their mammoth parties.”9 The hospitality was reciprocated. Zabotin and his crew even received a rare invitation to an exclusive Canadian lodge owned by a wealthy Ottawa manufacturer for duck hunting.10
Zabotin operated differently from his predecessors in Ottawa. They had cautiously refrained from contacting agents directly, using men like Rose and Carr as go-betweens. Under the more daring Zabotin, GRU officers often contacted recruits or potential recruits themselves. With the atmosphere toward the Russians so cordial, the GRU apparently thought the risks involved had diminished.11 Within a short time the GRU had managed to establish itself within Ottawa's government and diplomatic circles and to enlist a small group of civil servants and scientists to pass it information.
What drew the recruits into the GRU's net? Most of them were well-educated young intellectuals who had been attracted to communism in the late 1930s with the rise of the popular front. They had participated in societies like the Spanish Relief Committee, the League Against Fascism, and the Civil Liberties Union. The spread of fascism abroad and the desire for social change at home drew these people from a philosophy of liberalism toward communism. Most attended Marxist study groups organized by the Canadian Communist Party, where they were spotted by the Soviets as likely candidates for their growing network of agents. In the words of Gordon Lunan, a captain in the Canadian Armed Forces, who would spend five years in prison for acting as a middleman for Zabotin's team, “I admired the Soviet Union for what I believed then to be its enlightened world view. I wished it well, but like most of my comrades, I suspect, I would not have wanted to live there or to make Canada over in its likeness. RCMP claims to the contrary notwithstanding, the real glue that bound me to my comrades and them to me was the shared desire for a more humane society, a fairer distribution of wealth.”12 The feeling of wartime comradeship with the Russians seems to have justified, for some of these communist sympathizers, actual collaboration with them. As one source put it, “In the context of World War II, it was possible for well-meaning, politically naive citizens to pass information to the Soviet Union, Canada's ally in the battle against the Nazis, without considering themselves traitors.”13
In addition to the GRU, the Soviets had a second espionage ring, run by the Ottawa NKVD rezident, Vitali
i Pavlov. Born and raised in Siberia, where his father was an accountant and his mother a village teacher, Pavlov studied automobile mechanics at a technical institute before being singled out to join the NKVD. The Stalinist purges that began in 1936 had decimated the ranks of the secret police, and Pavlov was part of a cohort brought in to fill the vacuum. In 1938, after graduating from the NKVD Higher School in Moscow, where he gained fluency in English, Pavlov joined the Foreign Department of the NKVD and spent a short time in the United States before the war broke out. Accompanied by his wife, Klavdia, and young son, he arrived in Ottawa in 1942 as the Soviet consul when the Soviet legation was established. Like Zabotin, Pavlov was exceptionally good-looking, with typically Russian high cheekbones, a thick head of curly hair, and slightly slanted large eyes. This was his first official posting abroad, and Pavlov was young, in his late twenties, and inexperienced. But he was determined to succeed at his job.14
Judging from Pavlov's memoirs, the new consul's responsibilities as a diplomat, especially before Georgii Zarubin arrived as Soviet ambassador to Ottawa in 1944, prevented him from devoting as much time as he needed to his espionage operations for the NKVD. He was charting new territory, and the GRU already had a more established and extensive network. Also, the NKVD's responsibilities included security at the embassy, so Pavlov had to keep a close watch on what his colleagues were up to, a difficult task in Ottawa's open society. Pavlov was nonetheless able to cultivate wide connections in Canada's political and diplomatic circles, where Russian hospitality was so greatly appreciated. Few suspected that the young consul was from the NKVD – and after a few drinks, Pavlov's interlocutors often said things worth passing on to Moscow headquarters.15
But it was not as if the Canadian security services had their eyes closed. Or as if they and their allies in the British and American intelligence communities were uninterested in knowing what the Soviets were up to. Gouzenko had been warned in Moscow that as a cipher clerk he would be prey for Western counterespionage agencies. He was always to be on his guard against foreigners who might try to recruit him. He also had to carefully observe the rigorous and cumbersome embassy security regulations, lest he come under criticism from Pavlov or Zabotin.16
According to Gouzenko, Pavlov had his hands full at the Soviet Embassy, which, under the impact of the oppressive Stalinist bureaucracy, was seething with intrigue, backstabbing, and petty corruption. Morale was bad and there was constant bickering. With alcohol flowing freely, drinking episodes occasionally got out of hand; fights over women resulted in broken dishes, and hangovers lasted well into the afternoon. Ottawa landlords started complaining that their Russian tenants were keeping their apartments in deplorably filthy conditions; they were allowing their residences to deteriorate into pigsties. Pavlov, the minder of all these ill-behaved Russians, reported back to Moscow that when inspecting one of his compatriots’ apartments, the “stench and dirt made my hair stand on end.”17
Despite all the unpleasantness at the embassy, Gouzenko was blissfully happy with Anna, who had arrived in October 1943 and given birth to their first child, a son named Andrei, a few months later. The Gouzenkos were struck by how pleasant life was in Canada compared to the dreary existence back home. Canada was not a shining example of economic prosperity, but it was far better off than the Gouzenkos’ own country, which was staggering under the devastation wrought by its struggles against Germany. As Gouzenko observed, “The unbelievable supplies of food, the restaurants, the movies, the wide open stores, the absolute freedom of the people, combined to create the impression of a dream from which I must surely awaken.”18
Winters in Ottawa were even colder than those in Moscow, but the sun shone a lot, the snow was uniquely clean and white, and there were never the interminable queues for groceries. Anna and Igor bought their first dining set, on time, and settled into a pleasant existence. The couple was, in Gouzenko's words, “supremely content” in their home, a small and rather drab apartment at 511 Somerset Street. Gouzenko later said, “I heard Zabotin remark more than once that living abroad spoiled some Russians. It had certainly spoiled Anna and me. In Ottawa we had a comfortable apartment of our own. In Moscow a place that size would have been shared by four or five families.”19 Gouzenko also found Canadians easygoing and approachable. Amazingly, he recalled some years after his defection that “he even enjoyed talking to the police because they were friendly and warm.”20
Then, “like a bolt from the blue,” came terrible news. In September 1944, Gouzenko was called into Zabotin's office. Sitting at his desk and staring numbly at a letter that had just arrived from Moscow, Zabotin informed Gouzenko, “For reasons unstated, the immediate recall of you and your family has been ordered by the Director.”21 Gouzenko was paralyzed with fear. It had been only fourteen months since he had first arrived, for a tour of duty that was to last three years. Why was his stay being cut short? He must be in some sort of trouble, and under Stalin's repressive regime, trouble meant a labor camp or, even worse, a firing squad.
Gouzenko knew how the Soviet secret police had dealt with intelligence officers in the past. In 1939, newly appointed NKVD chief Lavrentii Beria recalled scores of Soviet operatives from abroad and had them imprisoned or executed as part of a vendetta against his predecessor, the notorious instigator of the purges, Nikolai Yezhov. The war years had brought a respite, but the same vindictive and ruthless men were running the security and intelligence services, and the same rules applied: mistakes, if discovered, were unforgivable.22
Gouzenko's colleague Alexander Romanov had been sent ignominiously back to Moscow from Ottawa a few weeks earlier, because of episodes of drunken and disorderly conduct, including inappropriate advances to the wife of a general in the Canadian Army. But something much more innocent than that, such as an indiscreet remark in front of an informer, might also get a GRU officer blacklisted and sent back to headquarters.23 Pavlov or one of his assistants seemed always to be within earshot. And Gouzenko knew he had made some mistakes. He had arrived late to work, and been reprimanded, on several occasions. He had once left scraps of secret documents on the floor in his cipher room, where they were discovered by a cleaning lady and turned over to one of the embassy officials.24 Also, of course, he should not have been talking to Ottawa policemen.
Unknown to Gouzenko, however, he had not fallen into disfavor with the NKVD, but with a Moscow-based GRU colonel named Mikhail Mil'shtein (alias “Milsky”), who had made an inspection tour of GRU “residencies” in North America in the summer of 1944. Mil'shtein, who published his memoirs shortly before his death in 1993, recalled that Zabotin spoke highly of Gouzenko and asked Mil'shtein to meet with the cipher clerk, even though Mil'shtein was not supposed to interview members of the technical staff, who had no diplomatic status. Mil'shtein claimed he was suspicious of Gouzenko from the start, especially when he found out that Gouzenko had unauthorized access to a safe in one of the cipher rooms. He was also taken aback by a request from Gouzenko to participate in operational work, as an intelligence agent – a request that Mil'shtein turned down.25
The final straw for Mil'shtein was when he found out that Gouzenko and his family were on their own at 511 Somerset Street, although the embassy rules dictated that they reside in buildings where other staff were living, so they could keep an eye on one another. When Mil'shtein brought this violation to Zabotin's attention and suggested that the Gouzenkos move into his building, Zabotin did nothing about it. It seems that Mrs. Zabotin did not want to be disturbed by the Gouzenkos’ baby and thus persuaded her husband to keep the family away. (For their part, this suited the Gouzenkos well, because, according to Igor, the Zabotins quarreled frequently and loudly late into the night.) Upon his return to Moscow at the end of July 1944, Mil'shtein had reported his concerns about Gouzenko. Although they were not entirely convinced that Mil'shtein's suspicions warranted any action, GRU leaders decided nonetheless to order the young cipher clerk back home. They did not want to take chances with an employee who had
access to all their secret communications.26
Luckily for Gouzenko, the generous-spirited Zabotin liked him and, uncharacteristic as this may seem for a Soviet intelligence officer, was willing to go to bat for him. (Zabotin had also lobbied hard for the disgraced Romanov, a fellow veteran of the Battle of Stalingrad, but to no avail.) So, in a move that would have disastrous consequences for his own future, Zabotin persuaded Moscow headquarters to postpone the departure on the grounds that Gouzenko's cipher skills were indispensable to the GRU's work (which they probably were).27 Gouzenko was relieved when he heard the news, but he knew that this was only a reprieve. That night, sometime in September 1944, he broached the idea of defecting with Anna, whose advice he always respected. She concurred with the plan. Gouzenko wrote later, “I felt a great load lifted from me. The die had finally been cast. And, best of all, Anna agreed on the course. There was no use pointing out the dangers – she knew them full well. There was no necessity of stressing absolute secrecy. She knew certain death lay ahead if the least hint of my intended desertion got about.”28 Dramatic as these words may sound, they were true. Gouzenko had embarked on a plan of action that was fraught with peril. Not only for him, Anna, and their little boy, but also for their families in Russia, who stood to suffer the unfettered wrath of the Stalinist system of justice.
It is not clear exactly what Gouzenko's plans were as the next year went by. He heard in the spring of 1945 that his replacement would be arriving in Ottawa within a few months, but he took no action for some months after that. He apparently used the time to learn more about the various agents his embassy colleagues had recruited, and to gather evidence that would arouse the interest of the Canadian counterintelligence services. He had heard about Viktor Kravchenko's defection to the United States a year earlier and was inspired by his example. But Gouzenko did not intend to defect empty-handed, as Kravchenko reportedly had. He wanted to have something tangible to offer his potential hosts, something that would give credence to what he planned to tell them about Soviet espionage. The Cold War was still a long way off, and the Canadian government would be reluctant to offend Moscow by protecting a Soviet citizen who had committed treason. He had to produce something impressive if he was going to be received with open arms in Canada.
