Suddenly, all of the nurses ran from the dance hall; a new Chinese attack was under way. The main line of resistance up north had broken. Everyone had to get out of there immediately, crossing a secondary line of resistance that was being formed about a block away. They quickly shot across. Dozens of trucks carrying ammunition came rolling by on their way up the road. Then, moments later, down the hill came a different group of trucks. These were loaded with U.S. casualties. That was why all of the nurses had run to the hospital. There was one and only one bridge that was still standing between their location and the soldiers' position at the front. The trucks had to get the wounded soldiers across, or they would be dead. George winced at the thought of all those poor, hurt soldiers and forgot about the dance business. They got back to headquarters in the Traymore Hotel and climbed up on the roof, where they could see the firing of Chinese artillery on the skyline at one particular UN position that was taking a beating. "The horizon looked like it was on fire," George recalled. "Of all the stupid names, `Pork Chop
He continued, "Those were the sad days; and we did the best job we could. I was in Seoul, Pusan, and some other locations. All that was left of Seoul in 1952 were hulks of buildings. You could see tradesmen in the street making straight nails out of crooked nails. That was their business. Admonitions posted in our PX read, `All personnel will fire arms outside, not inside, the building. This is a PX, not a shooting gallery.' We were actually sacrificing drinking money at the bar in order to subsidize orphanages. It was all but impossible to have a drink while thinking of the starving kids. It was that pitiful; it was out of this world."
I said to George, "You lost a case officer. How did that happen?"
"Two. They were young and determined. They boarded a supply plane that served some of our agents behind the lines. Every time they loaded the plane they felt guilty because they were sending somebody else and were not going themselves. `Ah hell, let's go. What do we have to lose? We'll show these guys we have guts.' And they walked into a trap. They were captured and they stayed in Manchuria for twenty years. This was incidental; it had nothing to do with me, not a thing. I was just a witness; but it was so sad. I knew the activities, but I didn't control them. The resupply of agents over there was under a local jurisdiction. If it were Russian and so on, they would give me a reading of what's what. But if it were North Korean or Chinese I had nothing to say. We all were involved in the same war, but we had different responsibilities.
"We thought that we had reliable agents in the North. We were supplying them with our airplanes. I believe that we were using B26s. Our people would have gear that they would kick out of the plane in a parachute while flying at low levels. They did other things, as well. They even invented an air-snatch system called Skyhook for getting people up from the ground. Anyway, Jack Downey and Dick Fecteau, two case officers working for our chief in Korea, were the ones. They said to each other, `Heck, we look like chickens. We're dispatching agents and resupplying them; but we are always on the ground. We don't go up in the air. Let's take this trip; it's a milk run. We'll see what the situation is like.' Well, that particular plane was suckered into a trap somewhere that was set up by agents that we thought were on our side.
"These fellows were victimized by the double agents. Then, after they were picked up, the Chinese had some phony trial. I wouldn't call it a trial. It wasn't even a monkey trial, although it was a correct trial by Communist standards. Just because they were fighting against us doesn't mean that the trial was in any way illogical or illegal or improper. It was their trial and Downey and Fecteau were the victims. Those poor guys didn't have a chance.
"As you know, we used cover of all kinds. We used military as well as State Department cover at CIA. Downey and Fecteau were using military cover. Our Eighth Army was in the area; so, ostensibly, they were a part of that, even though they really were working for the CIA, dispatching our agents into China and North Korea. Jack Downey's mother publicly appealed to CIA director Allen Dulles to testify that her son was an American military officer, not an intelligence officer. Asking Allen Dulles? What a move! She literally convicted Jack to a jail sentence. Well, Dick got twenty years and Jack got life. Dick served until 1971 and Jack until 1973. Ironically, Jack was eventually released because his mother became very ill."
George's memories of this incident were incomplete. I later learned that Downey and Fecteau had trained to operate a special apparatus installed in a C-47 airplane that was designed to retrieve agents who had been deposited in enemy territory. The agent would lie on the ground, secured in a special harness. The harness would be attached to long lines hovering in the sky above him that were supported with balloons. The procedure called for the aircraft to swoop low to the ground, where special hooks would grasp the lines and thereby snatch the individual off the ground and up into the air. Downey and Fecteau then could reel him in just as they had in practice. However, for this event, late in November of 1952, they had been doublecrossed. On the fateful evening, the aircraft left a field near Seoul after dark, flew five hours into a remote area of Manchuria, and commenced the low-altitude mission track. As the plane dropped down to the rendezvous point, camouflaged Chinese artillery shot it down. Both American pilots were killed and the two CIA employees were captured. The weapons used to destroy the aircraft were American-made fifty-caliber machine guns supplied the Chinese during World War II.
At the time, Downey was twenty-two and Fecteau was twenty-five. There was no word of them for two years. Then the "show trial" was announced. Only then did their parents know that they were alive. Mrs. Downey appealed to four different presidents, their secretaries of state, various congressmen, the United Nations, and the Catholic Church trying to gain Jack's release.
Shortly after their releases, both were retired from the Agency and went on to successful lives in the civilian world. In June of 1998 they were awarded the Director's Medal for their bravery and loyalty while being incarcerated. On the back of the medals are inscribed the words Extraordinary Fidelity and Essential Service.
There were dozens of operations under way in the Far East at that time; not all of them were George's. He was supervising some of them, examining others, checking on some. He went to Hong Kong to do a damage report on a failed operation and to check on Agency resources there. In Hong Kong the CIA had agents, former White Russians working against the Reds. George had one agent who was the wife of an American banker.
I asked him, "How were they penetrating anything worthwhile in the USSR if they were American citizens living in Hong Kong?" He replied, "There was a whole rat line going from China through Hong Kong all the way down to Samar in the Philippines being run by the Communists. The White Russians knew all about them and they were reporting on them to us. We were taking advantage of anything that we could. The details are unimportant today; we are talking almost fifty years ago. The how and where, as well as who was loyal then, is now a moot question. We had penetrations everywhere, against us and for us. We had a lot of trouble with double agents at this time and lost a lot of people. So did everybody else. The whole thing was a complication. But you try to do what you are supposed to do, do what you can.
"A number of humorous things happened. In Hong Kong I made some money exchanges. We used yen for our transportation. Officially, it was 360 to the dollar at that time in Japan and in the United States. It was 400 to the dollar in Hong Kong. When I came back home to make my accounting of what the trip cost, I threw all of this credit on the table. Because of things like that the Agency got more money back than they put out. I didn't engineer it. That's just the way it was, if you follow me. The finance man didn't know what to do with the extra money.
"As soon as I reported back to my office, my next assignment, the one with Popov, was to commence."
The doorbell rang and George yelled, "Come in." A distinguishedlooking, elderly lady entered and wryly looked at George as she handed him an envelope that obviously contained a sum of money. "We made a grand sl
am yesterday, which we shouldn't have," she said to him. "It's not fair for you to win every time, but I love having you as a partner." Noting that George seemed to be tiring, I excused myself. We would continue on another day.
PART II
Popov
CHAPTER 5
The Peasant
By the twilight of 1952, the fledgling CIA was still trying to establish itself among the world's espionage organizations. It needed a significant success. The Cold War was at its height and the Korean War stalemate continued, sometimes with cruel outbursts of hostilities. The U.S. intelligence community did not adequately understand the intelligence apparatus and methods of the Communist nations, particularly those of the Soviet Union. The Agency, however, was about to experience its first notable espionage coup, and George was to play the pivotal role. For six years, he would reel in a wealth of information from an in-place, high-ranking Soviet military intelligence officer and enable the compilation of a significant repository of Soviet military secrets. The information collected would provide the United States with its first insights into the structure of the Soviet Union's intelligence machine and reveal the threat that it posed to the free world. Moreover, the techniques George developed during the case led to an understanding of the people behind that threat-some of them insidious, some merely innocent pawns of their government, and some profoundly tragic. To be sure, the operation succeeded because of precise teamwork on the part of many in the Soviet Bloc Division of the CIA. But George established the beachhead, determined the ground rules of the operation, and delicately assembled the elements of an extraordinary success. He alone had the empathy for his Soviet agent that promoted the cooperation required for success. George simply had the unique ability to personally, and intimately, relate to a fellow human being. As a consequence, Pyotr Semyonovich Popov would trust none other than his father figure and friend, Georgi Georgievich Kisevalter, Jr.
In the early 1950s, the U.S. Army, the CIA, and the intelligence wings of all nations were nosing everywhere in Vienna for everything and everybody. The place was complex and intriguing, with spies everywhere. The 1950s film adaptation of Graham Greene's novel, The Third Man, starring Joseph Cotten and Orson Welles, recalls the atmosphere existing in Vienna at the time. All of Austria was still quartered: the French, the British, the Americans, and the Soviets each managed a zone. The city of Vienna, whose boundaries were entirely within the Soviet Zone, was divided into five sectors. Four of these were administered by one of the different allied countries on a somewhat permanent basis. The fifth zone was administered on a rotating basis, one month at a time.
On New Year's day of 1953 an American vice-consul stationed in Vienna was preparing to enter his car parked in the International Sector when he was interrupted by a man who obviously was tense and ill at ease. The man stood about five feet five inches in height, appeared to be about thirty years old, and had an olive complexion and the innocent, trusting look of a cherub. He was neatly dressed and, speaking German haltingly with an accent, asked for the directions to the American Commission for Austria. Notwithstanding the presence of his lady friend, the vice-consul dutifully offered the stranger a ride to the commission. The man demurred, handed the diplomat a letter, and then scurried away on foot.
The letter, dated 28 December 1952, was composed in Cyrillic and read as follows: "I am a Soviet officer. I wish to meet with an American officer with the object of offering certain services. Time: 1800 hours. Date: 1 January 1953. Place: Plankengasse, Vienna I. Failing this meeting, I will be at same place, same time, on succeeding Saturdays." The CIA mission chief thought this might result in something worthwhile. However, he was also leery that the overture might be merely an invitation to a provocation, and he did not deem it to be worth the exposure of any of his regular officers. He therefore decided to use a contract agent, a former Vlasov Army lieutenant, previously obtained through an emigre organization, for the initial meeting on 8 January.' Popov was on board.
For this first meeting, Ted Poling and another mission officer surreptitiously surveilled the candidate agent as he approached the tryst with the former Vlasov lieutenant. When they were satisfied that the prospect was clean, that is, not being followed by anyone, they proceeded to the meeting place and hid in a monitoring room before their contract agent and the prospect arrived. A minor oversight, however, almost blew their cover. Ted and his partner had been drinking beer during their stakeout of the rendezvous area, and after the interview got under way, they both needed to empty their bladders. Unfortunately, the bathroom was beyond the interview room from their location in the monitoring room. The interview was taking hours and they had to remain hidden. Eventually, they began to feel as though they were bursting at the seams. Ted looked up at the ceiling lamp, a cheap, giant, basin-shaped fixture. They loosened the lamp bowl, took it down, and relieved themselves in it. By the time the meeting was completed, the fixture was brimfull. Imagination is vital to the success of any enterprise.
At that time, George was on his way back to the States after a tiring trip to the Far East. He figured that he could now enjoy a lengthy spell at home after being away on such a long and difficult tour. When he got to Washington, the chief of operations called him in and said, "Look, everything is fine. You are home, here is your office, here is your desk; but don't unpack. We need you for something else." George stammered, "What is it? What am I going to be asked to do? Where is this?" "I want you to go to Vienna. A Soviet has just showed up," the chief replied. "We have no one else to handle him. The only person there now who can meaningfully react to this situation is a Russian national emigre we have working for us. He was okay for the initial contact but he may scare off any future relationship with the prospect." "Why me?" George persisted. "Because you speak Russian and you are old enough to convince the fellow that everything will be all right. Besides, your papers are already in order and it would take too long to get someone else processed and ready. You have a passport in hand; you are ready right now. All you need is some money and a ticket. Now grab the plane and fly." That is how he went to Vienna. It was a matter of convenient circumstances for the Agency and not so much George's desire. It, however, worked to his everlasting benefit.
When George arrived in Vienna, he was briefed on what had already transpired and what was known of the potential collaborator. That first meeting had gone well, so he was hopeful that he could develop the contact if he reappeared. Luck was with the mission. The Soviet took a chance and came again. George met the adventurous man and reassured him that he himself was for real. They hit it off as soon as they met. The incipient agent immediately sensed a warmth in George that emboldened him. They apprehensively revealed to each other their personal credentials and laughed because they both knew that all of the documents were phony. They decided to tell each other the truth, and this cemented their relationship for some 100 meetings that took place in two different countries over a period of almost six years.
In this particular operation, the CIA was not involved with the British or any other nation; therefore, there were no international sensitivities to be trampled on or otherwise offended. No intelligence organization likes to share its methods and schemes. During most of George's stay there, he was living in the British sector in order to be away from the Americans and avoid any accidental encounter that might jeopardize security. He even had a British car. He knew Agency people there but avoided them like the plague. He couldn't live anywhere near these people; they shouldn't know who he was. He couldn't attend the American social events because there were many unsecured local employees attending these affairs. He was so removed from the Americans there that one time U.S. military personnel, the Counter Intelligence Corps (CIC), arrested him because he appeared strange and suspicious to them. Living like that was very difficult. George had no one to talk with except security people and the defector. This condition of solitude ultimately led to his meeting the lady who would become his second wife and to his divorce from Velma.
George pretended to be a different American with a different name-an assistant airline pilot shuttling back and forth between Salzburg and Vienna. He might have gotten onto such a plane once, just to look at it, but he never flew any plane. He was given a permanent change of station after being there on a temporary basis for six months.3 The people at headquarters said, "Let George stay there. Keep his wife out of Vienna. Let him live black.4 Let him stay away from all of the Americans. He's doing fine. Nobody knows who he is, and the Soviets will never be on to him." So, he lived that way, black, for seven years.
Popov came to the Americans because he had a problem. It was a reasonable problem and George understood it. He needed money to get off the hook. When George helped him with it, Popov saw that George was honest. They then got along. Later Popov shared with George his philosophy of life as well as his knowledge of and experience with the peasant existence. Eventually, he said, "I'm glad I approached the Americans. They are more powerful than the British, and although the British are good people and I like them, my motive is to help my fellow peasants. I can do that better with the Americans. If that helps you too, then good; we both believe that Communism is a negative."
He approached the United States because, to him, it was the most powerful country in the world. He believed that the United States could do something to help the peasants graduate to the general category of people who are human. This disparity of humanity was something that he, as he became older and more educated, began to see more and more sharply. For instance, he once said, "The song, The Volga Boatman,' is a misnomer. The song attempts to show that the Russian peasant is fit to do the work of a beast of burden. I want the peasant to be a human being." Therefore, he had his own socialpolitical ambitions.
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