Stalin's Romeo Spy

by Emil Draitser

  With his solid cover and financial base, Dmitri joined the “flying squad,” a mobile group of Soviet undercover operatives capable of crossing the borders of many European countries, without arousing any suspicion, frequently and with ease. His immediate assignments came from the OGPU illegal rezidentura set up in Berlin and headed by Boris Bazarov (code-named KIN). His true name was Boris Shpak. Eight years older than Dmitri, he came from a similar background. A military officer by training, during the civil war he first fought on the side of the White Army, but after the defeat of General Denikin in the south of Russia, he ran away to Turkey and later settled in Berlin. As Dmitri had done in Prague, disappointed in the “White cause,” Bazarov offered his services to the OGPU rezident in Berlin and began his career as an intelligence officer. He knew several European and Slavic languages (German, French, English, Bulgarian, and Serbo-Croatian). His appearance was perfect for a spy: a short, red-haired man with an agile facial expression, he was shy and unassuming, and he could easily blend with a street crowd.35

  Although based in Berlin, Bazarov controlled illegal Soviet agents not only in Germany but also in other countries, including England. His group hunted for information on British economic development, the state of the country’s relationship with Germany, and other state secrets.

  Dmitri settled down as an illegal operative in Berlin and had begun working under Bazarov’s supervision when disaster struck on his home front. Four months after he left for Berlin, Iolanta was called to duty as a Soviet agent and given a risky mission. She had to travel to Hungary first and then cross the Hungarian-Austrian border under a forged British passport carrying a package of secret documents. Apparently, she was under police surveillance. At a small railroad station on the Hungarian side, gendarmes tried to remove her from the train. Iolanta put up a fight and shouted in English. Observing the scene, American and British tourists on the train decided that the lady was being violated by the awful Hungarian watchdogs for no reason and interfered on her behalf. Iolanta managed to lock herself up in the compartment. Meanwhile, the train began moving. When finally the gendarmes made their way to Iolanta, the train had crossed the border. On the Austrian side, she was arrested and her luggage confiscated. Dmitri characterizes the contents of the luggage rather vaguely, as some “quite blameworthy material, from the point of view of Austrian authorities.” During her trial, other “weighty pieces of evidence” appeared against her, and her fate was sealed: an Austrian military court sentenced her to five years of confinement in a military prison.36

  Iolanta’s arrest had a devastating effect on Dmitri. As his description of the first four months of that new life attests, his dream of a hero’s halo notwithstanding, he hardly knew where his life was going and what was happening to him. He describes that time as “one stormy night with two people [him and his wife] running through it. And now, when one of them fell down, the other kept running alone. Stumbling and falling, and stubbornly getting up again, that person ran on and on until he disappeared in black darkness that led to . . . Where? Oh, if only he had known it then!”

  Because of the security risk, Dmitri could not visit Iolanta at the time of her trial in Vienna and followed the proceedings by reading the Viennese papers. Through go-betweens, he hired a good lawyer for her. When Iolanta was sentenced, he sent her parcels with everything she needed or might need. But, as he later regretted, he failed to visit her right away. Again giving the higher cause priority above personal life, he was busy carrying out various pressing OGPU assignments. He traveled extensively all over Europe—to Istanbul, Oslo, Warsaw, London, and Lisbon. He calmed his conscience, talking himself into believing that he had sacrificed everything for the sake of the common cause to which he and Iolanta had both sworn allegiance when they began their life together.

  One day, Bazarov commented regarding Dmitri’s continuous postponement of a visit to his wife in prison: “You behave like a hero.”

  The remark woke Dmitri up. He put all his business aside and rushed to Vienna. When he came to the fortress where Iolanta was serving her term, he realized what a grave mistake he had made by delaying his visit. The vacuum of love he had created was already filled by his old rival for his wife’s heart, Isolde Cameron. She was in the visitors’ room. Her body language revealed how much she suffered at the very sight of her beloved behind the prison bars. Seeing them together deeply wounded Dmitri. For the first time a thought flashed in his mind that the only way he could get rid of his rival for Iolanta’s heart once and for all was by murdering her.

  But Dmitri did not have time to sort out his personal problems. Grudgingly, he had to put his private life on hold. Now, with his presence in Berlin legalized, he was called to urgent action.

  SEVEN

  Hunting Down a Man with a Red Nose

  To locate that man was like finding a needle that has vanished in a haystack.

  —BYSTROLYOTOV, IN CONVERSATION WITH THE AUTHOR

  Indeed, this was no time for Soviet intelligence to be idle. After a relative relaxation of international relationships during the years immediately following the end of World War I, the early 1930s were marked by a considerable buildup of international tension in Europe. There were several reasons for this development. The Wall Street crash of October 1929 was followed by economic depression across Europe. Extremist political groups (Fascists and Nazis) used the crisis to promote their agendas and grew in popularity. Mussolini in Italy and Hitler in Germany promised economic growth to their peoples. These leaders pursued aggressive foreign policies, presenting them as a necessary means to assure their countries’ prosperity.

  In addition, there was the unresolved issue of what to do with the newly born Soviet Union. Coming to power as a result of the Bolshevik takeover in October 1917, the Soviet state proclaimed the export of revolution as its official foreign policy. This agenda made the Western powers wary of Soviet expansionist tendencies, especially when words became practice. Communist attempts to seize power in a number of European countries—Germany, Austria, Hungary, and others—only strengthened the appeal of the volatile new political movements, Fascism and Nazism, among many segments of the European populace.

  In turn, the Soviet government was also at a loss as to the intentions of the major European power brokers. By the early 1930s, now already in full command of the Soviet domestic and foreign policies, Stalin was sure that a plot to attack the USSR was in the works. He was frustrated about the lack of reliable information that would confirm his expectations.

  All these developments made the early 1930s a time of intense diplomatic maneuvering. It also dramatically increased the espionage activities of all parties involved. Codes and ciphers of correspondence between high-level officials of major European powers became the most coveted target of world intelligence services. Enabling Stalin to peek into the playing cards of the main adversaries of the Soviet state became the most pressing order of the day for the Foreign Intelligence Department of the OGPU.

  The hunt for these secrets was spearheaded by a recruiter whose task was to make the initial approach toward a new “source” and begin cultivating him or her. The recruiter’s efforts were assisted by both illegal OGPU rezidents (Boris Bazarov in Berlin and Theodor Mally in Paris) and legal rezidents, that is, the OGPU operatives with diplomatic immunity occupying official positions in the Soviet Embassy; at the time, they were first Samsonov (code name SEMYON) and then Boris Berman (code name ARTEM) in Berlin and Stanislav Glinsky (code name PETR) in Paris. The efforts of this group were supported by photographers and messengers. The group used photography and cryptography as a means of keeping the Center informed; there was no direct radio connection.1

  In August 1929, Soviet hunters for diplomatic secrets had a lucky break. A modestly dressed short man, the cuffs of his jacket worn, paid a visit to the Soviet Embassy in Paris and asked to see the military attaché. He introduced himself as “Charlie,” a typesetter in charge of printing copies of the deciphered British diplomatic dispat
ches from around the world for distribution among the members of the British Foreign Office. For a fee of 10,000 pounds, he offered to make an extra copy of these dispatches for the Soviets. He made it clear that, if the deal went smoothly, he would also be willing to serve as a middleman in selling copies of the British diplomatic codes and ciphers. Asked why he chose the Soviets as his potential customer, “Charlie” cited safety: in his view, unlike other embassies, the Soviet one was least likely to be infiltrated by British secret agents. The man set only one precondition: he wanted to operate incognito and threatened to end delivery at the first attempt of shadowing. He brought to the Soviet Embassy two books, one titled Foreign Office Ciphers and the other Colonial and Dominions Office Ciphers. The visitor’s facial expression was one of “last and utter desperation.”2

  At first, the transactions with “Charlie” (code name ARNO) proceeded smoothly. But then, under various pretexts, the man decreased the quantity and quality of the documents. Picked randomly, the material often turned out to be of little interest to the Soviets. Also, the Brit dragged his feet on his promise to sell British diplomatic codes and ciphers. Besides, his insistence on remaining anonymous only reinforced the conviction that he was not just a typesetter. For a man with a rather humble station in life, the agent showed a quite independent spirit. The OGPU believed that the only way to assure an agent’s full cooperation was to bring him under total control. But, despite many attempts, the walk-in’s true identity remained a mystery.3

  To get a firmer hold on ARNO and wrestle from his hands once and for all the initiative of choosing material of interest to the Soviets was impossible without finding out who he actually was and what his true position at the British Foreign Office was. This task was given to the illegal OGPU rezidentura in Berlin headed by Boris Bazarov. Dmitri’s first major assignment was to give Bazarov a helping hand in bringing ARNO into line. First of all, it was important to establish the man’s true identity. That could lead to his source of classified information and make it possible to eliminate him as a middleman from the costly deal.4

  Bazarov and Dmitri developed a game plan for bringing “Charlie” under full control. They decided to use the classical “good cop–bad cop” routine. Bazarov took upon himself the part of the “bad cop.” He was to act as a merciless Italian Communist (cover name “Da Vinci”), fanatically devoted to the Soviet cause and acting under direct OGPU orders. Dmitri was cast as the “good cop” whose game plan was to win “Charlie’s” confidence. For that purpose, he had to become his comrade in misfortune. Moreover, he had to present himself to the Brit as a man on equal footing, which would flatter his ego. Totally in the dark about who exactly “Charlie” was, they assumed that an employee of such a prominent institution as the British Foreign Office must be an aristocrat. Bazarov and Dmitri decided to make use of Dmitri’s aristocratic upbringing. The Center supplied him with a Czech passport issued in the name of a real impoverished Hungarian count, one “Lajos József Perelly.”5

  To make his new assumed personality look as authentic as possible, Dmitri had to get inside the skin of an impoverished Hungarian count. An avid reader since his early days, he perused several books on Hungarian history, culture, economy, and everyday life. To facilitate his conversion into “Count Perelly,” the Center spared no means. The prospects of obtaining the innermost British diplomatic secrets were worth it. With his passport acquired in Danzig and issued to the name of Greek merchant “Alexander Gallas,” Dmitri went to Budapest. There, he attended places frequented by the local landed gentry—diplomatic receptions, opening nights in the theaters, popular horse races, and important church services—making note of the local aristocracy’s manners and customs. To blend with that crowd, he ordered himself several suits from the best Budapest tailors, purchased a few pairs of fashionable shoes, a dozen ties, a few rings, and some other accessories. A set of his smoking pipes carried his family’s (i.e., the Perelly family’s) coat of arms. As dictated by the Hungarian landlord fashion of the time, he embellished one of his hats with a characteristic little brush.6

  Then he toured the country taking pictures of himself against the background of the best-known Hungarian sites. While on the road, he seized an opportunity to solidify his legend. He learned that the Hungarian cardinal would take part in one of the forthcoming church processions. Studying the real Count Perelly’s family tree, Dmitri had established that the cardinal (although nameless in Dmitri’s memoirs, this was apparently József Mindszenty, born József Pehm) was the count’s uncle. Dmitri feigned a fit of religious fervor and stepped out from the crowd in front of the cardinal, who smiled and blessed him. A street photographer hired for the occasion took a snapshot of the moment. The picture proved to be invaluable. Casually stuck in Dmitri’s “Perelly” passport, it never failed to impress customs officials at many European borders.7

  Dmitri already felt well prepared to play his part in handling ARNO, but he became sidetracked by a short-term reconnaissance mission in the Norwegian fjords. One possible purpose of his trip was to assess the feasibility of using the fjords as submarine hideouts in case of a military conflict in Europe. (Apparently, it was there that Dmitri posed as a herring salesman.) He also took Norwegian language lessons from a pastor’s daughter. This served to explain at the border why he was in the country.8

  While he was there, his mission was suddenly aborted by a contact from the OGPU illegal rezident in Oslo, who invited him to a secret meeting at the Hotel Viking. At this meeting, Dmitri received an order from Abram Slutsky, the OGPU Deputy Chief of Foreign Intelligence, to leave for Moscow at once and, immediately upon arrival, report to him. Following the OGPU instructions for all illegal operatives, Dmitri traveled to Moscow not directly, but in a circular manner. This was necessary to avoid giving away his Soviet connection to foreign counterintelligence by having a Soviet customs stamp in his passport. He visited several European countries before contacting the illegal OGPU operative at the last stop (apparently in Geneva), where he exchanged the passport he had used to travel to Norway, made out to the name of some Austrian textile engineer, for his genuine Soviet one.9

  Dmitri was allowed to spend only a few hours in Moscow. From the railroad station, he went straight to Lubyanka. As he walked into Slutsky’s office at the OGPU headquarters, his boss opened a book lying on his desk and asked Dmitri to read a marked-up paragraph. The book, titled Na putiakh k termidoru (On the Way to Thermidor), was the memoir of an old Bolshevik, a former chargé d’affaires of the Soviet Embassy in Paris, Gregori Bessedovsky, who had defected to the West in October 1929. The paragraph in question was devoted to an episode involving a walk-in to the embassy that had taken place a year before ARNO’s visit, in August 1928.10

  A short man carrying a heavy briefcase asked to see either the Soviet military attaché or the first secretary of the embassy. Posing as one of them was the embassy’s OGPU rezident Vladimir Voinovich (aka Yanovich and Volovich). The walk-in offered for purchase the contents of his briefcase—a set of codes and ciphers of Italian diplomatic mail. The asking price was two hundred thousand French francs. Since, for security reasons, the ciphers were subject to yearly changes, he also offered to provide a steady supply of new ones in years to come.

  Voinovich took the briefcase to the embassy security room. There, using the set of codes, he read some samples of coded Italian diplomatic letters and found the goods genuine. He passed the codes to his wife, also an OGPU operative, who photographed the whole set of material. Then Voinovich took the briefcase back to its owner, threw it at him, and outraged, called the walk-in’s behavior a provocation and threatened to call the police. Voinovich’s superiors hailed his cleverness, which saved the country a bundle in hard currency, and awarded him a thousand-dollar bonus.11

  Dmitri finished reading the passage and shrugged. What had he to do with it? “Do you know whose handwriting it is?” Slutsky pointed to a word—“Restore!”—penciled in the book margins. “The Master’s himself. It’s Stalin�
��s order. You should act right away. Find that shorty and arrange to get his wares on a permanent basis.”

  Dmitri gasped in astonishment. “There are zillions of short men in the world. Where the hell would I find him?”

  “That’s your business,” Slutsky said. “If we knew, we would manage it without you. Get as much money as you need, but time is limited. You have no more than six months to get it done. Good luck!”

  First, Dmitri went to Paris and interviewed the embassy employees, asking them to recall whatever details they remembered about the man in question. All they came up with was that the man’s little nose was reddish. Dmitri nicknamed him “Nosik,” which means “a little nose” in Russian.

  Dmitri chose Geneva as his operational base. On a bench at the bank of Lake Geneva, feeding swans, he began thinking. Where should he start looking for the man about whom he knew so little? So far, only one thing seemed certain: to have access to diplomatic codes, “Nosik” had to be attached to one of the Italian embassies.

  Anxious to fish him out as soon as possible, Dmitri first cast too wide a net. On his request, the OGPU Foreign Intelligence Department supplied Dmitri with a list of employees of every Italian embassy that interested him. Their physical descriptions were also on the way from Moscow.

  But Dmitri, unable to wait, rushed into action. He summoned his assistants, Dr. Joseph Leppin (PEEP), whom he had recruited back in his Prague years, and his new wife, Erica Weinstein (code-named ERIKA), also an illegal OGPU agent. Erica was a licensed nurse, a profession she used frequently as a cover. Like Joseph, she was also Jewish. A vivacious and plumpish green-eyed brunette, she was transferred from another illegal OGPU spy group. Both she and Leppin knew five languages and were excellent photographers, radio operators, and shooters. Most likely, the marriage had been arranged as a cover-up: Leppin was often seen in the company of an Englishwoman.12