by Doug Raber
I didn’t say anything else. I just stroked her hair and held her close to me, making very certain that I did not doze off. I wanted to commit the conversation to memory while minimizing any risk that it might later seem to have been only a dream.
On the train trip back to New York and for several days thereafter, I continued to ruminate over this conversation about nuclear missiles, and I began to appreciate something fundamental about negotiations at the international level. In many respects, they were no different than negotiating to buy a new car or to broker an import-export deal between countries from the East and the West. Those were endeavors with which I already was quite familiar.
Consider the following example. If you went to buy a new car, you would expect to bargain with the salesperson. If you found a car you liked and simply agreed to pay the asking price, you would later be disappointed, perhaps even angry. When your friends asked what you paid, or how much they came down on the price, you would realize that accepting that initial price might have cost you hundreds or thousands of dollars. For an expensive automobile, you might have overpaid by more than ten thousand dollars. You would feel like a fool, and you would harbor ill feelings toward the salesperson.
I had learned some of this during my MBA program at Harvard, but it had not previously occurred to me that the same basic principles of negotiation extend from everyday compromises to the intricacies of international diplomacy. This discovery permitted me to begin planning the details of how I would employ the tools of negotiation in my career of secrets.
At the foundation of my strategies were several key precepts. Negotiations, particularly when they involve complex or divisive issues, are time consuming. They cannot be conducted in an afternoon or even in a matter of weeks. Often, months are not sufficient, and the process might span a year or more. During this time, the participants build relationships that have one overriding characteristic. And that is trust. No international agreement of any substance can be accomplished without first developing a substantial level of trust among the parties.
The establishment of good faith is even more challenging for international negotiations when one considers that the final result often depends on years of staff work. It is the staff who meet with their counterparts, who slowly establish their relationships, build trust, and reach compromises. Not until they also have convinced their own leaders, can a final meeting of the principals be called. Only then, can signatures be placed on paper in front of eagerly held cameras.
My opinions and beliefs would hold no sway with national leaders, but time and place would be my allies in letting me achieve leverage on those staffers who did the real work.
• • • • •
Two weeks later, I was in Prague for discussions at the Charles University with scientists who were developing thermocouple probes for use in a new kind of cancer treatment. It was called radiothermotherapy,* and it held some promise for commercialization.
You will not be surprised when I tell you that I saw Josef during this visit. I didn’t have much free time during my trip, but we both knew what the answer would be when he asked me on the telephone, “Will you have time this evening to join me for one Czech beer?”
I think we visited at least a half-dozen pubs that evening, and I tried my best to have no more than one glass of beer at each, despite the urgings of Josef. At the first two stops, we mostly talked about inconsequential things. Whether his wife was complaining, to which the answer was yes. If I had a serious girlfriend, to which the answer remained no. And we discussed the weather and international sports tournaments. Somewhere in the middle of the evening, he mentioned that he had just returned from a trip to Geneva.
This information took me by surprise, and I asked why he had been to that city. International travel for Czechs was still unusual in those days, but he reminded me of his recent promotion to Assistant Deputy Secretary for Western European Cultural Exchanges. He expected to be visiting a significant number of cities in that capacity. It was exciting progress for his career, and we drank an extra beer at that pub to toast the accomplishment.
Hearing of his travels reminded me of my own story about Geneva, and I told him discreetly about the new proposals for arms reductions that the U.S. would soon be making. He didn’t seem particularly surprised or even interested in the news, limiting his response to a single wry comment.
“The conditions seem to be more than the Soviets would be willing to accept.”
I said in turn that I couldn’t speak to the Soviet position, adding only that I understood this to be the line the U.S. would hold in its negotiations.
Quickly enough, we were off to another bar, and shortly after that, the revelry was done for the evening. I did not expect to see Josef again before I would return to Prague some months later, but in the morning, as I was checking out from my hotel before leaving for the airport, who should tap me on the shoulder but my good friend. He handed me a small package.
“A trinket to remember our visit, Timothy. It is a small piece of Bohemian glass. I hope you will find it pleasing to look at.”
The package was wrapped in paper, something much coarser than would have been acceptable as gift wrapping in the West, but in those circumstances, it was a lovely gesture. It was tied with a string, beneath which was a folded scrap of paper. The equivalent of a card, I supposed.
Our exchange took less than thirty seconds, and he preceded me out of the hotel by several minutes. I unfolded the scrap of paper and saw that it wasn’t a notecard at all. At least not one related to the gift. It was rather cryptic, or so I thought at the time.
“Six thousand not five. Reduce 52 numbers.”
I didn’t fully understand it then, but I put it in my pocket. I knew it was the sort of thing that Albertson would ask about.
* * *
25
Geneva
Albertson was delighted when he saw the scrap of paper that Josef had given me.
“You’ve done great work, Timothy. This will help us enormously.”
When he saw that this confused me, he nodded sagely.
“I suppose it’s time to bring you into the loop a bit more.”
I told him I didn’t understand what he was getting at.
“Your man Josef has some serious contacts with the Soviet political system. This note concerns the arms reduction negotiations that will begin shortly. He’s told us where the biggest impediments are. They don’t like the number Reagan is proposing for the overall limit, and they don’t want us to keep our advantage with strategic bombers. The B-52s.”
At that point, Josef’s message became clear to me.
“We were afraid of that, Timothy. Afraid that the Soviets would want to negotiate the bombers right away. We don’t want to do that. But now we know for sure. They’ve told us flat out, so we know where the sticking points will be. Are you ready to move forward with this?”
Again, I didn’t comprehend, and he recognized it.
“You’re positioned perfectly, Timothy. I’m going to arrange for you to attend the Geneva talks as a technical advisor on Eastern European commerce. Perhaps you’ll be able to make some new friends over there. Every little bit helps.”
• • • • •
At first, I felt a bit out of place in the Geneva hotel where our delegation was housed, but life there soon became routine. And I must admit that I enjoyed it, even though it had never occurred to me that I might one day participate in such negotiations myself.
You can imagine my surprise, when I looked across the conference room on the second day. It was a large room, with a central table that could seat perhaps fifty people, and there were chairs near the edges of the room that accommodated at least a hundred more. In one of those chairs across the room sat my good friend Josef. I’m sure the smile on my face nearly reached my ears, and I began to walk across the room. I caught his eye, and to my utter astonishment, he showed no sign of recognition whatsoever. Then he turned his back.
I was stunned. Had I done something wrong at our last meeting? Had I not thanked him for the gift? That lovely piece of Bohemian glass that occupied a place of honor in my New York office. Quickly I realized it must be something else. Our friendship was too strong to be fractured by some small or imagined slight. Was it possible that this was a political thing? He was East and I was West? If so, I would just have to wait and follow his lead.
During the course of the morning session, I looked his way several times, but he did not so much as glance in my direction. Except for one time, but it was very fast, and his eyes moved on quickly. It was as though I weren’t there. As if I didn’t exist.
A somewhat formal lunch had been arranged, and there was a reception beforehand. People mingled freely, and I saw others from our delegation holding polite, if stilted, conversations their East Bloc counterparts. Officially, these were bilateral negotiations between the U.S. and the Soviet Union, but this meeting was designed to also build good will with the allies on each side. I spoke cautiously with one of our colleagues from Canada, and soon we were joined by a man from Poland and then by a woman from Romania. The exchanges were mundane, focused mainly on the surprisingly cool weather the city was experiencing. Discussion of serious topics was not on the menu so early in the meeting.
I felt a presence at my left shoulder, and I turned my head slightly. Before I could say anything, and certainly before I recognized who it was, a familiar voice said,
“My name is Janoušek. Josef Janoušek. From Czechoslovakia.”
He took a half-step in front of me, turned, and looked down at my name tag.
“You are O’Connor. I am pleased to have met you.”
He extended his hand for a very brief and formal handshake. Then he turned immediately to his other side and spoke to the Canadian.
“I am Janoušek.”
My instructions had just been given, though I did not yet understand them. Our group of five continued our sterile conversation for a few minutes, until the call came for us to return to our assigned seats. As we all politely took our leave, Josef turned to me once again and nodded, still without a smile.
“You are from Washington, Mr. O’Connor?”
“New York, actually. Although I was born in Washington.”
“I should like to learn of both of your cities. Perhaps you would like to join me one evening after the meeting finishes for the day.”
This finally seemed to be an opening, but I responded with what I hoped was the appropriate restraint.
“Thank you. That would be good.”
He leaned close for an instant and spoke quietly.
“When the dinner is finished this evening. At the north entrance.”
He paused briefly and spoke with a hint of a smile.
“We will have one Czech beer.”
As he walked away, I knew everything was all right.
• • • • •
That evening, I left the dinner as early as I could without raising any eyebrows. My heart had been racing all afternoon, and I felt like a real spy. I was about to experience that most delicious and intense sensation of sharing a secret.
Prior to the start of formal sessions, the actual negotiations that would be conducted on nuclear arms reductions, the American contingent had met by itself for a briefing on our official positions. This included what would be presented as our opening stance, our goals for the negotiations, the trade-offs we were willing to make, the concessions we hoped to wring from the Soviets, and — most important of all — the absolute limits beyond which we would not be willing to bargain. If the Soviets pushed hard enough, we would walk away from the negotiations rather than cross that red line.
So, now I had that confidential knowledge. It was a secret, but it had become my secret. And I was going to share it with Josef, thereby giving the secret validity. Later that evening, as we walked somewhat unsteadily between pubs, I gave him a folded sheet of paper upon which I had neatly printed these critical data. The ecstasy I felt when I placed that scrap of paper in his hand was as sublime as any sexual release I had ever experienced. What I felt was a sense of power, knowing that the fate of nations, and perhaps even the fate of humanity, was something over which I was exerting control.
My gift to Josef was its own reward, and I needed nothing from him in return. The same might not have been true for Mr. Albertson, however, so it was a good turn of events when Josef handed me the printed program for a concert that was to be held the next day.
I was puzzled.
“Almost certainly, we will be in session at this time.”
“That is quite true, Timothy. But attending the concert and having this information are two very different things.”
He took the edge of the paper in his hand to show me that it could be separated into two separate sheets.
“The most valuable information lies in between the two. You must keep this safe.”
I discovered later that hidden in this concert program was some of the most valuable intelligence the United States had ever obtained about the numbers and types of nuclear warheads in the Soviet arsenal. Mr. Albertson never discussed the material with me, but he subsequently made it clear that it was greatly appreciated by his colleagues.
“That was very helpful, Timothy. No doubt we’ll want you to go back and see your friend Josef again quite soon.”
• • • • •
During this time period, a summit meeting between Reagan and Gorbachev was held in Reykjavík, Iceland. No formal agreements were reached, but the two leaders came to a meeting of the minds regarding the importance of reducing the threat of nuclear war.
The nuclear threat was at the fore, and our negotiations in Geneva intensified following the summit. At the same time, public fears of an accidental nuclear disaster were greatly amplified by events that were unrelated to weapons.
Unease with nuclear technology had been growing steadily over time. A near meltdown had occurred at the Three Mile Island Nuclear Generating Station in Pennsylvania* seven years earlier, and small amounts of radioactive material were discharged into the atmosphere. The physical damage was localized, and human health consequences were minimal, but the effect on the American psyche was large.
The negative public impact of Three Mile Island was magnified by the synchronicity of a hit movie released twelve days earlier. “The China Syndrome” depicted near disaster at a fictitious nuclear power plant, and the combined events generated widespread opposition to nuclear activity, whether civilian or military.
Then another nuclear disaster happened at The Chernobyl nuclear reactor in Ukraine. This time, both the physical damage and human exposure to radiation were much greater, although the immediate death toll from radiation exposure seems to have been only a few dozen people. While that may be a small number, the extrapolation to millions of possible deaths in a thermonuclear attack greatly increased the urgency for reaching an international accord to control nuclear arms.
The news media seems never to have understood the true nature of diplomacy and international negotiations. As wise as they might be, or, at times as foolish as they have been, international leaders don’t sit down over of a cup of coffee or a glass of vodka to hammer out the details of an agreement. In most circumstances, summit meetings are held only when agreement has been hammered out in advance by staff and other high-ranking officials. Nations cannot risk the potential embarrassment that could follow from allowing negotiations to be conducted between two powerful leaders who might be arguing on the basis of emotion or politics rather than facts.
In that sense, Reykjavík was an exception.* People frequently remember it differently, which is a shame, because it means they remember it incorrectly. Rather than achieving a pact that would end the nuclear threat, the participants left Reykjavík without a formal agreement. Which is not to say the summit was a failure. Quite the opposite. Reagan and Gorbachev had begun to understand each other, and they realized they shared the goal of reducing, or even elim
inating, their countries’ stockpiles of nuclear weapons.
When the Reykjavík summit ended, our work as staff was only beginning. Of course, when I say “our,” I am being somewhat hyperbolic. After all, in my official capacity, I remained no more than a technical advisor to whatever discussions were carried out by American and Soviet negotiators. But in no way did that reduce my workload. Throughout those times, my responsibilities with Biggers & Hayes continued to place major demands on my time. Consequently, there were frequent trips to East Germany and Prague. And of course, Geneva, which remained the key location for multinational discussions of arms reductions.
My personal breakthrough came about during one of my visits to Washington. I had been scheduled to meet with Mr. Albertson on a Thursday morning, but I received a message from my office telling me to contact Miss Huffington as soon as I checked into my hotel. She in turn advised me that the meeting location had changed. It would not be at CIA headquarters but would instead be held across the river in the District of Columbia. The new location would be the Old Executive Office Building adjacent to the White House. This pleased me to no end, because I could look out the window of my hotel room at the Hay-Adams and see my destination for the next morning.
She explained that there were some confidential background papers Mr. Albertson wanted me to see before I attended the meeting. If I wished to avoid an evening trip to Langley, she would be happy to deliver them to me at the end of the day.
I eagerly accepted this offer, hoping that the opportunity to review the documents in my hotel room would offer opportunities that would be quite outside the realm of possibility at CIA headquarters. And my expectations were entirely correct.
My level of excitement surprised me that afternoon as I waited for Miss Huffington. It had been several months since we had seen each other, and I was hoping that her physical appetites had remained enkindled in the same way as my own. As if I were not sufficiently aroused by the mere expectation of her arrival and what would surely ensue, the sight of her as she entered my hotel room nearly bowled me over.