by Doug Raber
“Yes … retired. To Florida, I believe. Early retirement, of course. Much too young …”
He changed the subject to tell me that I was being asked to serve as a technical advisor on some additional negotiations. This time I would be going to Moscow, at least as a first step.
“And by the way, Timothy...”
He paused.
“We would like you to have more direct contact with those who are conducting the negotiations. To shorten the chain between you and those who are in charge here in Washington.”
“Of course.”
“I understand you have already met a woman by the name of Tremont. At the State Department.”
I was surprised that he knew this, but I said nothing.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m told she approves of you.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“We think she would be an ideal point of contact for you. She knows the policy issues, and nobody would think it odd for you to be seen with her on occasion.”
I hesitated, somewhat unsure of myself.
“Then I … I would no longer be reporting back to you?”
“I see Tremont on a regular basis. It’s part of the reason we’ve given her this assignment.”
“How will this work? How do I find out what …?”
The direction of the conversation had made me feel very much at sea.
“She will provide you with whatever detail you need. You have her contact number, correct?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Then I suggest you phone her up and ask.”
He stood and extended his hand.
“Best of luck, Timothy.”
I called Pamela on her private number, and she asked me to meet her for lunch the following day. The location was a busy restaurant in downtown Washington, although she managed to book a table in a quiet corner of the dining room. Meeting in such a public place required the utmost in discretion, because our topics of discussion demanded unconditional secrecy. It meant that we had to speak in a sort of code, not naming names and avoiding specifics that, if overheard by a curious waiter, could compromise months or years of sensitive negotiations.
Despite those restrictions, our conversations proceeded smoothly. Over the preceding years, I had developed a remarkable facility with discussing secrets in the open but revealing nothing to anyone other than the partner in my conversation. Pamela also seemed comfortable with this approach, although I could not ascertain whether it was from training or because she was simply following my lead.
The nature of my position with Biggers & Hayes, together with my previously planned trip to the Soviet Union provided perfect cover for our discussion of the upcoming negotiations in Moscow. I had previously scheduled meetings for the purpose of negotiating new trade deals, which meant we could openly talk about the preliminary talks between the two countries. We merely had to be careful that we spoke specifically about neither the weapons nor the governments.
Toward the end of our meal, Pamela surreptitiously slid a folded piece of paper across the table and indicated that I should put it in my coat pocket.
Aloud, she said, “Guidance. It will suffice.”
When I inspected it later, not much had been written down. A time and location for my first meeting. And several bullet points, clearly the goals that the American government wished to achieve. Each was followed with a parenthetical statement indicating the starting point for our position.
As an example, there was a goal for unannounced inspections and a starting point for continued reciprocal tours of certain chemical facilities. It may only have been a single sheet of paper, but it was a treasure trove of information.
• • • • •
I traveled to Moscow by way of Prague, not because I had business there, but because it would allow me to dispel any jet lag by the time I reached my final destination. I attempted to call Josef after checking into my hotel, but he did not answer his telephone, and there was no answering machine. I went to sleep early, after deciding to try calling again the next day.
Some things never cease to amaze me. When I dressed and went downstairs to breakfast in the morning, who should be sitting in the lobby waiting for me but Josef. We greeted each other enthusiastically, and he accepted my invitation to join me for breakfast. It was a delightful meal, and we discussed all those things that had happened around the world since we had last seen each other.
I told him that I was on my way to Moscow, providing substantial detail about my prospective business arrangements. On the other hand, I could tell him little about my other plans beyond the fact that I would be acting as a technical advisor for some bilateral negotiations between the Soviets and the Americans. There was in my opinion a clear line of distinction between passing information on the American negotiation stance that would help bring the parties to a successful outcome and the gratuitous sharing of what would be no more than gossip. Josef understood this, and he did not ask me for any detail. Not even the topic, although it would be difficult to think he was unaware.
Neither Josef nor I had anticipated our meeting in Prague, so we had no further opportunity to socialize. I asked if we might meet again for dinner that evening or even for one Czech beer. But his schedule did not permit it. As a result, I departed the next morning following an additional good night’s sleep.
There had been no opportunity for us to exchange any gifts, not even the trinkets we often gave each other as mementos. Nor did he ask me to deliver any secret files when I reached my next stop. That was not how he and I interacted.
My briefcase therefore contained neither recording devices, nor miniature camera, nor classified documents. Still, I did have important information, and it had come directly from Josef. It was not in my briefcase but in my head. A name. Vasili Yevchenko.
“Vasili is entirely trustworthy, Timothy. He can do for you in Moscow what I have been able to do for you in Prague and Geneva and Berlin. He will be attending some of your negotiations, so you must introduce yourself. He will give you something very important. Something for you to take back to your Mr. Albertson.”
Josef’s prediction was quite correct. The piece of paper given me by Vasili was extraordinarily well received by Mr. Albertson — at least that is what Pamela told me — and it cemented the next phase of my career path. I became a trusted and indispensable participant in the ongoing negotiations on all weapons of mass destruction. Nuclear, chemical, and biological. And Vasili became another lifelong friend.
You might ask how I could so openly contact another agent without fear of compromising myself. The answer is actually quite simple and at the same time very elegant. It lies at the heart of my tradecraft, and it explains why I have had such outstanding success throughout my career in espionage. Whenever I meet someone or do something, I am always careful to be certain that I am doing what an observer would expect me to do.
So, when I first met Vasili at these negotiations and when I passed secrets to him while receiving others from him, I was doing exactly what was expected of me. We were participating as advisors in these negotiations, and we were passing papers back and forth. How could that raise suspicions for anybody? We were sharing information in precisely the same manner as all the other participants, and the only difference was that some of the pieces of paper never made it into the general records of the conference.
Vasili was nearly as talented as I, so nobody ever saw those papers make their way into his pockets. Nobody knew. Nobody suspected.
* * *
27
Promotion
Soon after I returned to New York from Moscow, I received instructions to go back to Geneva yet again. The disarmament negotiations continued at their unrelenting pace toward stalemate.
All of us — the NATO allies, the Warsaw Pact countries, and the others who were being recruited by the first two — understood the existential need for us to achieve success in reducing the threat of world destruction. At the same time,
we all knew that it would not happen. With so many participants, it was too easy to prevent success. Any time a breakthrough seemed imminent, it would take only a single minor player to throw a monkey wrench into the works. Not even something as big as a wrench was needed, and just a few grains of sand were sufficient to cause the gears of progress to grind to a halt.
Therefore, we continued to meet, to discuss, to argue, and to agree in our one-on-one conversations. Only in decisions of the committee as a whole did nationalist concerns of the participants rise to the fore, and they could be relied upon with great certainty to prevent success.
While the question of nuclear weapons continued to dominate public reporting on negotiations around the world, a topic of considerable import in some of the sessions I attended was that of chemical weapons. Hostilities in the Iran-Iraq war had only recently ceased, and the use of chemical weapons by both sides was seared into our minds. For me, that particular tragedy seemed to represent an issue that required action. The irony lay in the realization that I was working with a group destined to achieve no success. The Conference on Disarmament was unable to stop the inexorable march of weapons growth that was its raison d’être.
It was perhaps the first time I ever sought to expand my little circle, my actual network of espionage agents. But I knew it was something I must do. And now I discovered that I would have to reach out to make indirect contact with Iran. I had been able to forgive the Iranians for their taking of American hostages* ten years earlier. It was reprehensible but understandable in view of the atrocities visited by the Shah on his people. But the attacks by Iraq using tabun* against Iran in 1984 represented a new level of depravity. It was the first use ever of nerve gas in a war.
The U.S. was playing both sides during that time. Despite official American condemnation of the Islamic revolution, the Iranian nuclear reactor program, and Iranian support for groups we considered terrorists, unofficial communication and backchannel diplomatic activity continued. A few years earlier, the Reagan administration had arranged a covert sale of arms to Iran,* yet we simultaneously provided Iraq with military information to be used against Iran. It was an untenable situation. Iraq continued to use nerve gas, moving on to even deadlier agents such as sarin later in the conflict.* There was no intervention by the superpowers, and it was clear to me that Iran would remain defenseless in the face of future aggression. The question persisted of how I could intervene effectively while still acting in the national interest.
• • • • •
As always, such dilemmas seem to find their own solutions, and in this case, Pamela Tremont came to the rescue. I returned to my hotel in Geneva one evening, and the desk clerk handed me a message along with my room key. Short and simple, written in a hand I did not recognize.
Please call P. Tremont, Room 517.
She answered on the first ring, and I suppose my surprise was obvious at once.
“What are you doing here in Geneva?”
“There are updated instructions to our delegation. And there are some for you as well. Not instructions actually, but a package of technical documents for background information. We want you to look through them beforehand.”
“Yes, of course. How should I get them?”
“I can bring them to you in the morning. The sessions don’t begin tomorrow until eleven, so we can meet before then. Shall we say half-past eight? Be sure to have your breakfast before that, so we can focus on more important things.”
I tried to sound professional.
“Yes, of course. I’ll see you then.”
She had been playing with me. I was certain of it. Saying that we could focus on more important things. I suspected what she was telling me, and it drove me crazy the entire night. Following her instructions, for certainly that is what they were, I arose before seven and had breakfast sent to my room. Then I bathed and tidied the room to await her arrival, which was precisely at eight thirty.
She knocked, and I opened the door to a lovely sight. She was stunning, and on that morning, she wore a nicely tailored beige suit with a skirt that came to just above her knees. She smiled politely and sat in one of the small armchairs, placing her attaché case on an adjacent table.
Her smile changed from polite to provocative.
“You like the attaché case, don’t you Tim? Unfortunately, I have no handcuffs. They hardly seemed necessary to make such a short walk here inside the hotel.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
She removed a silk scarf from her neck and handed it to me.
“You could loop this through the uprights of the headboard on the bed and tie each end to my wrists. But be gentle, Tim.”
“Yes,” I managed to say.
Soon, she lay on her back on the bed, her head on the pillows, and her hands above her shoulders bound at the wrists. She was not tied tightly, so there was no discomfort. But it was enough to restrict her. She certainly was unable to sit up or to get off the bed. As I thought about what she had suggested, or at least implied, my excitement increased to yet another level. Yet I remembered her admonition to be gentle.
I knelt next to her on the bed and unbuttoned her blouse. The silk scarf restrained both of her wrists, so I could not completely remove all her garments. I caressed her breasts, and I could tell that she was becoming aroused also.
I unfastened her skirt, which I slid gently down her legs, observing that she wore extremely sexy lingerie. My caresses moved from her breasts, to her hips, and then between her legs, as our excitement continued to grow. When I finally collapsed against her, she told me it had been a wonderful experience.
After a few minutes, she spoke in a serious voice.
“You must look at the documents now, Timothy. But first, untie me.”
She opened the combination lock on the attaché case, removed a sheaf of papers, and gave them to me. Then she closed the case and took it with her to the bathroom.
“I think I’ll have a nice bath. It will give you time to review the documents. They’ll provide you with your own copy tomorrow.”
As soon as the door closed, I hurried to photograph the papers. When all had been photographed, I replaced the film cassette and repeated the process. I was nervous, expecting Pamela to emerge from the bathroom at any moment. It had become one of the riskiest activities I ever undertook. Everything else was covered — meeting with her, looking at the documents, and later the excuse to show documents to others. But I would have no explanation if Pamela should happen to see me copying these papers.
Fortunately, I was on the last page, when she called to me from behind the closed door.
“I’m almost finished. I’ll be right out.”
I don’t know why she called to me that way. It was almost like she was providing a warning that she was about to reappear, but she had no reason to do that. She could have had no idea I was copying the documents.
• • • • •
That same afternoon, I was able to see my two desired contacts. My network. The first was Josef, and the second was Reza Kashani, a technical advisor from Iran. Like Josef, Reza would become a lifelong friend, or if not exactly friend, a lifelong colleague and collaborator.
It was easy to pass Josef the first cassette. Refreshments were offered at one of the breaks during the meeting, and I simply handed him a plate with a small cake on it. The Minox film cartridge is just a bit more than an inch long and less than a half-inch thick, so I could hide it nicely beneath a piece of food.
“Mr. Janoušek,” I said in greeting as I handed him the plate. “You should try one of these cakes. They are very tasty.”
He understood exactly, picking up the cake so that his fingers grasped the cassette beneath it. Deftly, he palmed the cassette as he took a bite of the cake. He put the half-eaten piece of confection on the plate, while consolidating his grip on the cassette. A moment later, after placing the remainder of the cake in his mouth, he dabbed at some crumbs on his mouth with a small paper n
apkin. He placed the napkin in one of his pockets, and both of his hands were again empty.
The transfer to Reza was more difficult. We had only met the day before, so we had no history to our relationship. Unless, of course, one considers that Pamela had given me a small slip of paper with his name printed on it.
“You should trust him Timothy,” she had said without elaboration.
“Hello again, Mr. Kashani.” I said. “You must try this delicious pastry.”
He hesitated, but not enough for anyone else to notice. As he accepted a plate with another of the small cakes, I attempted to coach him, speaking in a quiet tone that no one else would notice.
“Do not attempt to take the entire piece in one bite. I find that it is much like eating a date, and you must be certain there is nothing beneath the surface on which you might break a tooth. At the same time, you must be careful that someone looking at you would not conclude that you are vulgar in the manner that you handle your food.”
He frowned at me for just the briefest moment, but then he realized I meant something quite serious. He looked at the confection and saw there was something beneath it, although it certainly was not visible to anyone standing more than two feet away. Perhaps he was more experienced than I had anticipated, or possibly, he simply had the gift. In any event, he transferred the cassette to his pocket with as much skill as Josef had exhibited several minutes earlier.
There had been no need to explain to Josef, but Reza still had a quizzical look on his face. I had to be cautious, yet the basic procedure was unchanged. After all, we were both there for the purpose of discussing reductions in arms.
I began obliquely.
“It is my hope that the participants are able to make progress toward limiting the new missile capabilities.”
“It is, of course, a worthy goal, my friend,” he answered. “But my country has not developed such capacity.”
“No, I suppose you have not. But I understand the pressure on your government with the hostilities that you have endured with your neighbors in recent years. Whether or not your country admits to working with the North Koreans to obtain new capabilities, the fear of being attacked cannot be eliminated.”