Roosevelt and Churchill left Yalta with no sense that they had been deceived about Stalin’s true intentions. Even Churchill, hitherto more skeptical than Roosevelt, wrote confidently, “Poor Neville Chamberlain believed he could trust Hitler. He was wrong. But I don’t think I’m wrong about Stalin.”80 Some sense of how Moscow felt that good intelligence had contributed to Stalin’s success at Yalta is conveyed by Moscow’s congratulations to Hiss. Gorsky reported to the Centre in March 1945, after a meeting between Akhmerov and Hiss:
Recently ALES [Hiss] and his whole group were awarded Soviet decorations. After the Yalta conference, when he had gone on to Moscow, a Soviet personage in a very responsible position (ALES gave to understand that it was Comrade Vyshinsky [Deputy Foreign Minister]) allegedly got in touch with ALES and at the behest of the military NEIGHBOURS [GRU] passed on to him their gratitude and so on.81
The NKGB’s regret at failing to wrest Hiss from the NEIGHBOURS must surely have intensified in April when he was appointed acting Secretary-General of the United Nations “organizing conference” at San Francisco.82
BEHIND THE VICTORIOUS Red Army as it swept into central Europe during the final months of the war came detachments of Smersh (short for Smert Shpionam, “Death to Spies!”), a military counter-intelligence agency detached from the NKVD in 1943 and placed directly under the control of Stalin as Chairman of the State Defense Committee and Defense Commissar.83 Smersh’s main mission was to hunt for traitors and Soviet citizens who had collaborated with the enemy. On Stalin’s instructions, it cast its net remarkably wide, screening well over five million people. The million or more Soviet POWs who had survived the horrors of German prison camps were treated as presumed deserters and transported to the gulag, where many died.
In their anxiety to honor obligations to their ally, both the British and American governments collaborated in a sometimes barbarous repatriation. So far as Britain was concerned, the most controversial part of the forced repatriation was the hand-over of Cossacks and “dissident” Yugoslavs from south Austria to the Red Army and Tito’s forces respectively in May and June 1945. Most had collaborated with the enemy, though sometimes only to a nominal degree. On June 1 battle-hardened soldiers of the 8th Argylls, some of them in tears, were ordered to break up a Cossack religious service and drive several thousands of unarmed men, women and children into cattle trucks with rifle butts and pick handles. There were similar horrors on succeeding days. Some of the Cossacks killed themselves and their families to save them from torture, execution or the gulag. Most of the 45,000 repatriated Cossacks were Soviet citizens, whom Churchill and Roosevelt had agreed at Yalta to return to the Soviet Union. But a minority, variously estimated at between 3,000 and 10,000 were so-called “old émigrés” who had left Russia after the civil war, had never been citizens of the Soviet Union, and were not covered by the Yalta agreement. They too were repatriated against their will.84
Among the “old émigrés” were a group of White generals—chief among them Pyotr Krasnov, Andrei Shkuro and Sultan Kelech Ghirey85—whom the NKGB and its predecessors had been pursuing for a quarter of a century. A Smersh detachment was sent to Austria with orders to track them down. Its initial inquiries to the British about their whereabouts met with no response other than the claim that no information was available. After heavy drinking at a dinner for Anglo-Russian troops, however, a British soldier blurted out that, until recently, the generals had been at a camp in the village of Gleisdorf.86 A group of Smersh officers drove immediately to Gleisdorf where they discovered that, though the generals had left, Shkuro’s mistress Yelena (surname unknown) was still there. Yelena was lured out of the camp on the pretense that she had a visitor. As she approached the Smersh car, she suddenly saw the Russian officers inside and froze with fear. She was quickly bundled into the car and revealed, under no doubt brutal interrogation, that the White generals had appealed for the Supreme Allied Commander, Field Marshal Alexander, for protection. Yelena also disclosed that the generals had with them fourteen kilograms of gold.87 What happened next is of such importance that Mitrokhin’s note on it deserves to be quoted as fully as possible:
The Chekists [Smersh officers] raised the matter of the generals again at a meeting with… [a British] lieutenant-colonel. They mentioned where the generals were. The Chekists proposed that they should approach the question of the generals’ fate in a business-like way. “What do you mean by that?” asked the Englishman. They explained to him. If the British would hand them over quietly at the same time as the Cossacks were repatriated, they could keep the generals’ gold. “If the old men remain with you, you and your colleagues will get no benefit at all. If you accept our alternative, you will get the gold.” The lieutenant-colonel thought a while and then agreed. He talked with two of his colleagues about the details of the operation. On the pretext that they were being taken to Alexander’s headquarters for talks, the generals were put into cars without any of their belongings and driven to Odenburg [Judenburg] where they were handed over to the Chekists. From the hands of Smersh they were transferred to Moscow, to the Calvary of the Lubyanka.88
No corroboration is available from any other source for the claim in a KGB file that a British army officer (and perhaps two of his colleagues) had been bribed into handing over the White generals. Given the failure on the ground to distinguish the minority of non-Soviet Cossacks from the rest, they might well have been surrendered to Smersh in any case. The generals would probably have survived, however, if their petitions had reached Field Marshal Alexander, who might well have granted them. But the petitions mysteriously disappeared en route.89
The speed and injustice of the “repatriation” derived chiefly from the desire of military commanders on the spot to be rid of an unwelcome problem as soon as possible, combined with the belief that individual screening to determine which Cossacks were not of Soviet nationality would be a complex, long drawn out, and in some cases impossible task. On May 21 Brigadier Toby Low of 5 Corps, which was in charge of the “repatriation,” issued an order defining who were to be regarded as Soviet citizens. The one White Russian group which could be collectively identified as non-Soviet, the Schutzkorps, commanded by Colonel Anatol Rogozhin, was, he instructed, not to be repatriated. But those to be “treated as Soviet Nationals” included the “Ataman Group” (of which General Krasnov was a leading member) and the “Units of Lt.-Gen. Shkuro.” Low added that “[i]ndividual cases [appeals] will NOT be considered unless particularly pressed,” and that “[i]n all cases of doubt, the individual will be treated as a Soviet National.”90
When all allowance is made for the difficulties of combining loyalty to allies with respect for the human rights of the Cossacks, the brutality with which the repatriation was conducted remains perhaps the most ignominious episode in twentieth-century British military history. “I reproach myself for just one thing,” the 76-year-old White general Krasnov later told the NKGB. “Why did I trust the British?” On May 27, just before 3 A.M., a time of day much favored by Soviet Security, General Shkuro was awakened by an unidentified British officer, who told him he was under arrest and took him to be held under close guard well away from the Cossack camp. Another, or perhaps the same, British officer later delivered an “urgent,” though bogus, invitation to General Krasnov to a conference with Field Marshal Alexander, his former comrade-in-arms during the Russian civil war. Smersh photographers were waiting to record the historic moment when the NKGB’s oldest enemies were turned over to it.91 For the British army it was a shameful moment. For Stalin, Smersh and the NKGB, it was a famous victory.
NINE
FROM WAR TO COLD WAR
At the end of the Second World War, the Centre faced what it feared was impending disaster in intelligence operations against its wartime allies. The first major alarm occurred in Ottawa, where relations among NKGB and GRU personnel working under “legal” cover in the Soviet embassy were as fraught as in New York. The situation was worst in the GRU residency.1 O
n the evening of September 5, 1945 Igor Gouzenko, a GRU cipher clerk at the Soviet embassy in Ottawa, secretly stuffed more than a hundred classified documents under his shirt and attempted to defect. He tried hard to hold his stomach in as he walked out of the embassy. “Otherwise,” his wife said later, “he would have looked pregnant.”
Defection turned out to be more difficult than Gouzenko had imagined. When he sought help at the offices of the Ministry of Justice and the Ottawa Journal, he was told to come back the next day. But on September 6 both the Ministry of Justice and the Ottawa Journal, which failed to realize it was being offered the spy story of the decade, showed no more interest than on the previous evening. By the night of September 6 the Soviet embassy realized that both Gouzenko and classified documents were missing. While Gouzenko hid with his wife and child in a neighbor’s flat, NKGB men broke down his door and searched his apartment. It was almost midnight before the local police came to his rescue and the Gouzenko family at last found sanctuary.2
As well as identifying a major GRU spy ring, Gouzenko also provided fragmentary intelligence on NKGB operations. Some months later Lavrenti Beria, the Soviet security supremo, circulated to residencies a stinging indictment of the incompetence of the GRU and, he implied, the NKGB in Ottawa:
The most elementary principles of security were ignored, complacency and self-satisfaction went unchecked. All this was the result of a decline in political vigilance and sense of responsibility for work entrusted by the Party and the government. G[ouzenko]’s defection has caused great damage to our country and has, in particular, very greatly complicated our work in the American countries.3
The fear of being accused of further breaches of security made the Ottawa residency unwilling to take any initiative in recruiting new agents. According to a later damage assessment, Gouzenko’s defection “paralyzed intelligence work [in Canada] for several years and continued to have a most negative effect on the work of the residency right up to 1960.” In the summer of 1949 the acting resident in Ottawa, Vladimir Trofimovich Burdin (also known as Borodin), newly arrived from Moscow, wrote to the Centre to complain about his colleagues’ inertia:
The residency not merely lost all its previous contacts in Canadian circles but did not even try to acquire new ones… The Soviet colony closed in on itself and shut itself off from the outside world, becoming wholly preoccupied with its own internal affairs.
The Centre agreed. The residency, it concluded, had “got stuck in a rut.”4
For the rest of Gouzenko’s life the KGB tried intermittently and unsuccessfully to track him down. In 1975, after a Progressive Conservative MP, Thomas Cossit, requested a review of Gouzenko’s pension, the Ottawa residency deduced that Gouzenko lived in his constituency. The residency also reported that Cossit and Gouzenko had been seen together at an ice hockey match during a visit to Canada by the Soviet national team. A KGB officer stationed in Ottawa, Mikhail Nikolayevich Khvatov, sought to cultivate Cossit in the hope of discovering Gouzenko’s whereabouts. He had no success and the residency subsequently reported that parliamentary questions by Cossit were “clearly anti-Soviet in tone.” Some years later the KGB began to search for compromising material on Cossit’s private life and prepare active measures to discredit him. He died in 1982 before the campaign against him had begun.5
Gouzenko’s defection in September 1945 also caused alarm at NKGB residencies in Britain and the United States. As head of SIS Section IX (Soviet Counter-intelligence) Philby was kept well informed of the debriefing of Gouzenko and reported “an intensification of counter-measures” against Soviet espionage in London. The Centre responded with instructions for tight security procedures to ensure that “the valuable agent network is protected from compromise.” Boris Krötenschield (aka “Krotov”), the controller of the residency’s most important agents, was told to hand over all but Philby to other case officers and to reduce the frequency of meetings to once a month: “Warn all our comrades to make a thorough check when going out to a meeting and, if surveillance is observed, not to attempt under any circumstances to evade the surveillance and meet the agent…” If necessary, contact with British agents was to be temporarily broken off.6
Even greater alarm was caused by the attempted defection of an NKGB officer in Turkey, Konstantin Dmitryevich Volkov. On August 27, 1945 Volkov wrote to the British vice-consul in Istanbul, C. H. Page, requesting an urgent appointment. When Page failed to reply, Volkov turned up in person on September 4 and asked for political asylum for himself and his wife. In return for asylum and the sum of 50,000 pounds (about a million pounds at today’s values), he offered important files and information obtained while working on the British desk in the Centre. Among the most highly rated Soviet agents, he revealed, were two in the Foreign Office (doubtless Burgess and Maclean) and seven “inside the British intelligence system,” including one “fulfilling the function of head of a section of British counter-espionage in London” (almost certainly Philby).7
On September 19 Philby was startled to receive a report of Volkov’s meeting with Page by diplomatic bag from the Istanbul consulate.8 He quickly warned Krötenschield. 9 On September 21 the Turkish consulate in Moscow issued visas for two NKGB hatchet men posing as diplomatic couriers. The next day Philby succeeded in gaining authorization from the chief of SIS, Sir Stewart Menzies, to fly to Turkey to deal personally with the Volkov case. Due to various travel delays he did not arrive in Istanbul until September 26. Two days earlier Volkov and his wife, both on stretchers and heavily sedated, had been carried on board a Soviet aircraft bound for Moscow.10 During the flight back to London Philby drafted a cynical report to Menzies on the possible reasons for Volkov’s detection by the NKGB. As he wrote later,
Doubtless both his office and his living quarters were bugged. Both he and his wife were reported to be nervous. Perhaps his manner had given him away; perhaps he had got drunk and talked too much; perhaps even he had changed his mind and confessed to his colleagues. Of course, I admitted, this was all speculation; the truth might never be known. Another theory—that the Russians had been tipped off about Volkov’s approach to the British—had no solid evidence to support it. It was not worth including in my report.11
Under interrogation in Moscow before his execution, Volkov admitted that he had asked the British for political asylum and 50,000 pounds, and confessed that he had planned to reveal the names of no fewer than 314 Soviet agents.12 Philby had had the narrowest of escapes. With slightly less luck in Ottawa a few weeks earlier, Gouzenko would not have been able to defect. With slightly more luck in Istanbul, Volkov would have succeeded in unmasking Philby and disrupting the MGB’s British operations.
The Gouzenko and Volkov alarms occurred at a remarkably busy period for the London residency, headed until 1947 by Konstantin Kukin (codenamed IGOR). From September 11 to October 2, 1945 the Council of Foreign Ministers of the five permanent members of the UN Security Council (the United States, Soviet Union, Britain, France and China) held its first meeting in London to discuss peace treaties with defeated enemy states and other post-war problems.The residency’s penetration of the Foreign Office gave it an unusually important role. Throughout the meeting, according to KGB files, the Soviet ambassador, Ivan Maisky, placed greater reliance on residency staff than on his own diplomats, forcing them to extend each working day into the early hours of the following morning.13 The Security Council meeting, however, was a failure, publicly exposing for the first time the deep East-West divisions which by 1947 were to engender the Cold War.
At this and subsequent meetings of the Security Council, Stalin’s foreign minister, Vyacheslav Mikhailovich Molotov, depended heavily on the intelligence supplied by the MGB’s Western agents. Indeed, he tended to take it for granted. “Why,” he roared on one occasion, “are there no documents?” At the London conference which opened in November 1947, he appears to have received some Foreign Office documents even before they reached the British delegation.14
The MGB’s mo
st important sources during the meetings of the Council of Foreign Ministers from 1945 to 1949 were British. Thanks to the kidnapping of Volkov, four of the wartime Magnificent Five were able to carry on work as full-time Soviet agents after the war. The exception was Anthony Blunt, who was under such visible strain that the Centre did not object to his decision to leave MI5. Shortly before he returned to the art world in November 1945 as Surveyor of the King’s Pictures, Blunt made one extraordinary outburst which at the time was not taken seriously. “Well,” he told his MI5 colleague Colonel “Tar” Robertson, “it’s given me great pleasure to pass on the names of every MI5 officer to the Russians!” The Centre may well have hoped that Leo Long (codenamed ELLI), whom Blunt had run as a sub-agent in military intelligence during the war, would succeed him in the Security Service. Blunt recommended Long for a senior post in MI5 but the selection board passed him over, allegedly by a narrow margin, in favor of another candidate. Long moved instead to the British Control Commission in Germany, where he eventually became Deputy Director of Intelligence. There he resisted attempts to put him in regular contact with a case officer—a recalcitrance which the Centre attributed in part to the fact that Blunt had ceased to be his controller. Among the occasional services which Blunt continued to perform for the Centre were two or three visits to Germany to seek intelligence from Long.15
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