A Look Over My Shoulder

by Richard Helms

  One might have expected—or so it seems given this passage of time—a moment of relaxation after Khrushchev directed the destruction of the missile sites. This was not to be. Although as part of the negotiation President Kennedy had forsworn attempting any invasion of Cuba, he and his brother remained absolutely determined to trounce Castro once and forever. Having been relieved of the manifest impossibility of raising and transporting an indigenous invasion force, the MONGOOSE operation came slowly back to reality. Along with penetrating Castro’s government at home and his installations abroad, I was also directed to contain Castro’s effort to export his revolution, blunt his efforts to inflame political disaffection throughout the hemisphere, and negate any Cuban attempt to support the overthrow of possibly vulnerable governments. This was a full basket, but more nearly within the grasp of the Agency than the original MONGOOSE conception.

  From the months that followed the crisis, one incident remains in mind. President Kennedy placed a high priority on uncovering “hard evidence” of any violation of Khrushchev’s commitment that Castro might be tempted to make. In short order, “hard evidence” became the hot expression of the day. Without this level of data, I learned, accurate secret intelligence from a merely reliable source was not thought good enough. It seemed that everyone within earshot of the President had developed such a penchant for mentioning hard evidence when discussing any aspect of our reporting that the expression became one word, “hardevidence.”

  Robert Kennedy was still the President’s man for all things Cuban. As before, the intensity of Bob’s interest reflected, and sometimes seemed to magnify, the President’s preoccupation with Cuba. Bob’s persistent demand for irrefutable proof of Castro’s violation of any of Khrushchev’s post-missile crisis agreements also came directly from the President.

  We had for some time been quietly monitoring Castro’s relations with a fringe revolutionary group in Venezuela. In November 1963 an agent informed us that Castro’s operatives were about to land some three tons of small arms, ammunition, and mortars on the Venezuelan coast. The plan, as concocted in Havana and slipped to us by our agent, was to use the weapons to paralyze the Venezuelan government in time to halt the national election slated for December 1. Castro’s notion was that two or three terrorist bombs in the vehicular tunnel in Caracas and a few rounds of mortar fire would cause enough panic and confusion to allow the revolutionaries to seize the government and overthrow President Rómulo Betancourt, “a bourgeois liberal” and one of Castro’s many bêtes noires.

  The boldness of this undertaking was more an earnest of Castro’s ambition than a tribute to his assessment of the revolutionary potential in Venezuela. Conditions in some areas of Central America would have provided a more fertile ground for armed revolution than Venezuela.

  Castro’s scheme was a clear violation of the policy agreement that followed the missile crisis, and came almost exactly a year after the press conference in which President Kennedy had pledged peace in the Caribbean if all offensive weapons were removed from Cuba, and if Cuba ceased attempting to export its aggressive communist objectives.

  With the desk officer for the operation alongside to answer technical questions, I called on Robert Kennedy late in the afternoon on November 19, 1963, with one of the Belgian-made submachine guns we had filched from the arms cache. In an effort to conceal the origin of the weapons, the Cubans had attempted to scrape away the Cuban army shield and serial numbers the guns had originally borne. Fortunately, one of our technicians* had developed an acid which, when applied to the filed area, rendered the original markings legible. There was one hitch—the restored markings faded from the blue steel barrel in a matter of seconds. Worse, our acid treatment could be applied only twice before the markings faded permanently away. A complex bit of photography solved the problem.

  The attorney general heard us out, and studied the photographs. After rather reluctantly surrendering the gun, he picked up the telephone. Half an hour later we were in the White House, answering the President’s questions as he studied the photographs spread out on a coffee table in the Oval Office and examined the submachine gun. How, the President asked, did the Cubans get three tons of ordnance to the beach? Fortunately, Castro’s Fidelistas had in effect answered the President’s question. In the process of getting smartly away from the scene of the crime, the Cubans had overlooked one of their outboard-powered launches. It had been left where they beached it, two hundred yards from the weapons cache.

  When the meeting ended, the President arose from his rocking chair and stood beside the coffee table looking toward the Rose Garden. I leaned over and took the submachine gun from the coffee table and slipped it back into the canvas airline travel bag in which we carried it—unchallenged—from the parking lot to the President’s office. As the President turned to shake hands, I said, “I’m sure glad the Secret Service didn’t catch us bringing this gun in here.”

  The President’s expression brightened. He grinned, shook his head slightly, and said, “Yes, it gives me a feeling of confidence.”

  My colleague and I then went out one of the French doors opening onto the portico. As we walked away, we could see the President again signing mail. He had interrupted work on his correspondence to take us into his office for the briefing.

  That afternoon, it occurred to me that I did not have one of the customary autographed photographs of President Kennedy. I called Kenneth O’Donnell at the White House. “Of course,” he said, “I’ll take care of it.”

  Three days later, President Kennedy was murdered.

  –

  John McCone and I had spent the morning of November 22 with PFIAB (the President’s Foreign Intelligence Advisory Board) and on our return to the Agency were having lunch in a small room adjoining the DCI’s offices. On the remote chance that some DCI might inadvertently have to deal with back-to-back visitors, neither of whom would want the other to see him on these premises, Allen Dulles had designed this space as a holding area. For reasons unknown to me—but certainly not as some writers have suggested as a tribute to a foreign intelligence service—the chamber became known as the “French Room.”

  We had not finished our sandwiches when the door flew open, and one of McCone’s aides who had been following the President’s trip to Texas on live TV in a nearby office brought the news of the shooting in Dallas. McCone picked up the phone to check with the Agency Crisis Watch Committee. A few moments later, he clapped on his hat and left to meet Robert Kennedy at his home at Hickory Hill, not far from the Agency headquarters. Despite occasional head banging over MONGOOSE and their age difference, Bob Kennedy and John McCone had become friendly.

  As I rushed for the elevator to my office I had a few moments to phrase the book message I would send to all of our overseas offices. Despite the time-zone differences around the world, there was clearly no need to inform any overseas post of the assassination. The most obvious message would be a flash instruction to everyone everywhere to forward every scrap of information possibly dealing with the actual assassination and any bit of information conceivably pointing to a plot involving any foreign power. I was satisfied that in responding to any such message, the more senior of our office chiefs would have the judgment to screen out any manifestly lunatic rumors or allegations. I was less sure that some of our more junior people in isolated posts would be in a position to make such a judgment and—better safe than sorry—might upend the barrel for any allegations, no matter how wild. Once transmitted, any urgent message on such a sensitive subject would perforce be immediately disseminated in Washington and would forever remain a part of the permanent record. If sent by priority cable precedence, such a message would be evaluated and disseminated with appropriate comment on the possible validity of the content. This would avoid creating any unnecessary alarm, but would, of course, also be part of the permanent record.

  By the time I reached my office, Elizabeth Dunlevy had notebook and pencil in hand. Within a few minutes we had prepared
a priority book message: “Tragic death of President Kennedy requires all of us to look sharp for any unusual intelligence developments. Although we have no reason to expect anything of a particular military nature, all hands should be on the quick alert at least for the next few days while new president takes over reins.”

  The events concerning that ever-so-sad day have all been laid bare and documented. I have only a few observations to make. First, all of the speculation and conspiratology notwithstanding, I have not seen anything, no matter how far-fetched or grossly imagined, that in any way changes my conviction that Lee Harvey Oswald assassinated Kennedy, and that there were no co-conspirators. Furthermore, I know of no information whatsoever that might have any bearing on the assassination that has been concealed from the public.

  Two incidents involving the Agency bear mention here. In mid-October 1963, Des FitzGerald came to my office. For some time, Task Force W had been in contact with a Cuban we referred to as AMLASH. He was both a medical doctor and a Cuban army colonel. He had also known the Castro brothers from his early days in the student movement. From the outset of his contact with us, AMLASH had repeatedly expressed his intention to overthrow Castro by means of a military coup, and had identified a number of ranking officers whom he assured us shared his view. Although we were satisfied that AMLASH was pretty much as he presented himself to us—he really was on friendly terms with Fidel Castro and even closer to Raúl—he remained something of an unknown quantity. His intelligence reports were of interest, but considering his personal relations with Castro, not very revealing. Given the relentless, blistering heat from the White House, I was scarcely of a mind to drop anyone whom we were satisfied had a reasonable access to Castro, and who was apparently determined to turn him out of office.

  AMLASH had strong views on how such a coup might succeed. He was opposed to any scheme involving the creation of a network of kindred activists, and was convinced that any carefully worked-out operational plan would be compromised long before action might be taken. His idea, and it struck me as plausible, was that in time some incident might suddenly offer the opportunity for spontaneous action by the like-thinking senior officers who were secretly opposed to Castro. AMLASH did not plan to assassinate Castro, but he repeatedly made it clear that any coup would likely fail unless, in the process, Castro and the strongest of his followers were, as he put it, “taken out” before they could regroup and retaliate against the coup leaders.

  As presented by AMLASH, his plan seemed to fit the White House conception—a revolution in Cuba, by Cubans, with a minimum of support from abroad.

  Our contacts with AMLASH were necessarily restricted to his occasional trips abroad with athletic teams or as a member of some visiting Cuban delegation. He was now in Paris, and once again sketching the possibility of a military coup. Before taking any further action, AMLASH had informed our contact man that he would not move without some face-to-face, high-level assurance that he could count on the political backing of the United States. To no one’s surprise, Robert Kennedy was AMLASH’s contact of choice.

  In my experience, most politically oriented émigrés and a few of the more senior agents in place yearn for contact with a recognizable public figure. Agents can usually, and very legitimately, be talked out of any such meeting on the obvious security grounds. Political activists are another matter. They want reassurance that their work is appreciated by those at the top, and many welcome the status—and perhaps the “bragging right”—of being able to say, “The last time I spoke with my friend, [X], he said.…” No matter how obvious the morale-building effect of such a meeting would be, I can think of only one or two instances in which I thought that the risk could be justified.

  Des agreed with me that although Bob Kennedy might agree to meet AMLASH, no good could come of it. One obvious purpose of an intelligence service is to serve as a secret screen between overt officialdom and some of the more dubious, or self-serving, denizens of the nether depths. One of the many problems that had bedeviled Bill Harvey was Bob Kennedy’s frequent, and invariably uncoordinated, meetings with agents or contacts that were being run by task force case officers. However rewarding this may have seemed to Kennedy, it was a gross violation of security, and played hob with operational discipline.

  I agreed that Des go to Paris and meet the Cuban under whatever “high-level” guise Des might contrive. As it turned out Des did not trouble to affect any more high-level credentials than his appearance and manifest self-confidence suggested.

  Despite what some writers have put forth, the objective of FitzGerald’s meeting was to explore the possibility that AMLASH’s scheme might work. It was at this meeting that AMLASH made it clear that in discussing coup plans with his potential confederates and meeting our contact man, he knew that he was running lethal risks. He explained that although officers in Havana customarily carried loaded pistols, the prescribed form was to leave such weapons in an outer office when visiting Fidel Castro. In the event he might be arrested in Castro’s presence, AMLASH assumed he would eventually be executed. With this in mind, AMLASH fashioned a grim but not necessarily unrealistic plan. If he were to be seized, it was AMLASH’s intention to put up a fight and to take one or more of his enemies with him to the grave. Against this possibility, AMLASH asked FitzGerald for a weapon he could conceal upon his person.

  Des returned to headquarters, and I agreed that AMLASH be given some such device.

  At a meeting with his contact man in Paris on November 22, AMLASH was given a ballpoint pen concealing an injection device loaded with a more or less readily available but lethal chemical. In a struggle, AMLASH would presumably take the pen from his pocket, stab an assailant, and automatically trigger the injection. AMLASH considered the device useless and handed it back to the contact man. (Had it been shown to me, I would have refused to offer it to AMLASH.) At no time, and by no one involved, was this clumsy device intended to be an assassination weapon.

  This meeting did not involve any plan to assassinate Castro. The fact that the session occurred on the day President Kennedy was murdered adds another sour note to that sad history.

  AMLASH was arrested in Havana in March 1966, brought to trial, and found guilty of treason. His death sentence was commuted by Castro. Thirteen years later AMLASH was released and permitted to leave Cuba.

  *Lee Vagnini, a forensic chemist.

  Chapter 22

  —

  THE HEART OF THE MATTER

  When I succeeded Dick Bissell in 1962, I began to focus more than I had previously on the work of the Directorate for Intelligence (DI). The directorate was responsible for CIA’s intelligence production—the prime responsibility assigned to the Agency by Congress in 1947. Ray Cline, an OSS veteran, had joined CIA in 1949, and later replaced Robert Amory as deputy director for intelligence. Ray was always anxious to make his presence felt in intra-agency discussions and in competitions for the President’s attention. He was intensely aware that the Directorate for Plans, thanks to the public’s apparently endless fascination with espionage and all its trappings—as portrayed by Hollywood—was the only element of the Agency that caught the public eye. This undercut Ray’s desire for the prominence to which he felt entitled.

  It is difficult to describe the sometimes subtle maneuvers in relations with a colleague, but in time I became aware of what I can best define as Ray’s hand in my pocket. More specifically, he wanted my job.

  It was not long after Admiral William Raborn replaced John McCone as DCI that Ray decided he needed a change. He had effected an excellent relationship with McCone, and enjoyed their frequent give-and-take on foreign policy problems. But there was none of that with the admiral, who had almost no experience in foreign matters and even less enthusiasm for being upstaged by an expert. Ray took a deep breath and asked for a post in Germany.

  —

  In beginning this memoir, I was determined to try to give the DI at least a fraction of the credit it has earned. I first thought to check
on how a few of the scores of writers have given the work of intelligence agencies its grossly distorted reputation. No luck.

  Best-sellers from William Le Queux, early in the century, to Ian Fleming, Len Deighton, and their less talented followers ignore the fact that the purpose behind the imagined hugger-mugger involved in secret intelligence collection is to keep national policymakers well enough informed to make sound decisions and to avoid catastrophic mistakes. Nor could I find help from the writers who had varying degrees of actual intelligence experience. Their firsthand knowledge ranges from the espionage efforts of Somerset Maugham in Switzerland and Russia in the First World War, Graham Greene’s MI-6 service, and Eric Ambler’s military staff work in World War II. John le Carré’s considerable professional background in Cold War activity brought things up to date. Like most of the better spy novels, le Carré’s early books most often involve some aspect of counterintelligence—spies against spies—rather than intelligence collection.

  No matter how perceptive and skilled, none of these writers have fashioned an informed, intriguing or, Heaven forfend, dramatic account of the platoons of skilled scholars, analysts, and scientists who are at the heart of the matter—the production of intelligence reports and National Estimates for the nation’s top command.

  —

  It was General Walter Bedell Smith who, as DCI, shaped the Directorate for Intelligence. When he replaced Rear Admiral Hillenkoetter, the Agency was under fire for its failure clearly to signal the communist takeover in Czechoslovakia, Tito’s exit from the Soviet bloc, and the collapse of the Nationalist government in China. The criticism was further inflamed when North Korea launched its attack on South Korea.