The Crossing

by Ted Allbeury

  “I got Met to check. They say there was heavy snow and some wind but nothing that wasn’t normal for the time of year.”

  “Where would they divert to if there had been a problem?”

  “God knows. There are a dozen or more airfields around Moscow that could take an old Antonov. And they could have diverted to some place way out of Moscow.”

  “No way of checking if there was a diversion?”

  “RAF intelligence say no. Even internal domestic flights in Warsaw Pact countries are classified. And we haven’t got good enough contacts anyway.”

  Morton nodded. “There’s one good indication.”

  “Tell me.”

  “If they’d picked him up and he’d talked they would have tried phoning that number—and they didn’t.”

  “It was a bit early for that.”

  “Agreed, but it weighs against any thoughts he might have defected.”

  Shapiro shrugged without speaking and Morton said, “Was he in Moscow to do anything top-grade?”

  “No. Not as far as I know. It was just a routine visit as liaison officer.”

  “So why the telephone contact?”

  “Routine. A precaution.”

  There was another long silence and then Morton said, “So we’re left with deciding whether we do nothing—or something—and if something—what?”

  “There are only two things we can do. We can’t make an official diplomatic complaint. He’s officially—genuinely—a Polish national. We’ve got no diplomatic standing in the case. We could try an unofficial deal and admit that he was ours. Or we could offer an exchange.”

  Morton shook his head. “We haven’t got anybody in the bag who’s anywhere near an equivalent. Put half a dozen together and they aren’t worth offering to Moscow. They’d just laugh at us.”

  “Diplomatic pressure?”

  Morton laughed harshly. “Our masters wouldn’t go along with it. Détente is the reigning policy. The FO were never informed about the operation in the first place.” He shrugged. “But they were bloody glad to get the stuff he provided.” He shook his head, sighing. “Forget ’em, they wouldn’t lift a finger to help us.

  “Apart from all that we can’t really make any move until we know that he’s in the bag, and that they’ve broken him. We could be confirming their suspicions if he hasn’t talked already. I recommend that we do nothing except keep a close monitoring of the situation.”

  When Morton finished Shapiro looked at him. “What do you think?”

  “How many people know about Phoenix?”

  “You, me, Sir Peter and FO liaison, Saunders.”

  “Nobody in the FO. Not the Foreign Secretary?”

  “No. Nobody. There’s been a change of government since we launched Phoenix and the previous Foreign Secretary’s dead. We’ve always tried to treat it as just a piece of routine operations.”

  “What about CIA?”

  “We share his material with them and they value it highly—but they’ve no idea of the source. When they’ve pressed to know we’ve always implied that it was a Polish national.”

  Morton sighed and said, “So I still recommend we do nothing until we know more. A lot more.”

  “I agree.”

  Morton looked across at Shapiro. “I understand your concern, Joe, but we could easily make things worse for him.”

  Shapiro shook his head slowly. “It haunts me, Hughie. Right this minute he could be lying in a cell in the Lubyanka after the first beating-up. Hoping against hope that we can do something.”

  “You warned him I assume?”

  “Of course. All the usual crap. But no matter what we say they never really believe that we’ll leave them to rot. Others, yes. Them, no. They’re special.” He sighed. “They never really grasp that once they’re in the bag they’re not special. Just an embarrassment. Not even a problem. You just forget ’em. At least that’s how it’s supposed to be.” Shapiro looked at Morton. “He was so brave, Hughie. All the guts in the world. I’d give everything I’ve got in the world to get him out. Ten years of his life. Taking risks every day. For us. And it ends like this. No medals, no bloody anything.”

  “Take consolation where you can. He may not be in the bag at all. Just some aviation cockup.”

  “I wish I could think that, Hughie. But I can’t.” Shapiro stood up, sighing. “We’d better get on our way. I need some sleep to clear my mind.” But Morton noticed the tears in Shapiro’s pale blue eyes. He made a mental note to keep close to Shapiro until things had been sorted out. Deep concern was one thing. Tears were something else. And with a temperament like his there was no knowing what he could get up to.

  20

  Having been charged with being an illegal alien Emil Goldfus was flown down to the McAllen Alien Detention Facility in Texas. All concerned had recognised that it was only luck that had allowed them to wriggle off the horns of a legal dilemma. If Goldfus had been arrested for espionage he would have been entitled to an almost immediate hearing on that charge and with Reino Hayhanen refusing to testify in court the government had no case. But having arrested him as an illegal alien it meant that the evidence of espionage found in his room was inadmissible. The search was out of bounds for a mere illegal entry charge. Fortunately by the time the judge issued the warrant to search Goldfus’s studio Hayhanen had changed his mind.

  As the investigators and the prosecution lawyers again went over Hayhanen’s statements and questioned every statement as rigorously as he would be questioned by defence counsel in court, the exact location of every “drop” was established and photographed. Their main difficulty was Hayhanen’s desperately poor English.

  At first they saw him as just being of low intelligence but they realised as the days passed that in fact he had an excellent memory and was quite astute. What concerned them subconsciously was that despite his vices of drink and women and his total lack of interest in the mission he had been sent on, the United States security services had known nothing about him nor his organiser, Emil Goldfus.

  By midsummer the man who now officially admitted to being Rudolph Ivanovich Abel, colonel, KGB, was brought before the grand jury. The main evidence was given by Reino Hayhanen, with other testimony from people who had just happened to be neighbours or acquaintances of Abel.

  Finally came the indictment. It charged Rudolph Ivanovich Abel, also known as Mark and Martin Collins and Emil R. Goldfus, of conspiracy on three counts. The first count was conspiring to transmit information relating to the national defence of the USA, particularly arms, equipment and disposition of the armed forces, and the atomic energy programme. The second count was conspiring to gather that information, and the third count was that he had remained in the country without registering as a foreign agent. The third count sounded both strange and faintly ridiculous to the public, but it had its purpose. The penalty for failing to register is five years in prison. To be classed as a foreign agent did not necessarily imply that a person was an intelligence agent. They may merely represent some foreign company or interest and only have as their objective the lobbying of some influential group in government or politics generally. But in the case of Colonel Abel the media made clear that they, at least, had no doubt as to what sort of “foreign agent” Abel was. The second count could mean ten years’ imprisonment and the first count carried the death penalty.

  The afternoon newspapers and TV were grateful for such a story in the dog days of summer and the headlines left their readers in no doubt that this was the spy capture of all time. The probability that the colonel would be executed if convicted was also emphasised. The vigilance of the security services was highly commended.

  When Abel told the court that he had no lawyer Judge Abruzzo said a lawyer should be appointed and the trial was set for September 16, to be held in the Brooklyn Federal Court before Judge Mortimer W. Byers.

  The Bar Association chose wisely. James B. Donovan, an alumnus of Harvard Law School, had been an intelligence officer in
the US Navy during World War II, and a member of OSS. He had also been on the staff of the US prosecutor at the Nuremberg Trials. Arnold Fraiman and Tom Dibevoise were appointed as his assistants.

  They set out to examine everything that had happened between June 21, the day of Abel’s arrest and August 7, when he was indicted by the grand jury. They immediately moved to have everything that had been taken from the hotel declared inadmissible at the trial on the grounds that it had been illegally seized, contrary to the Fourth and Fifth Amendments to the Constitution. An inept statement to the press just after the arrest, by the Commissioner of Immigration, stating that the arrest was made at the specific request of “several government agencies,” added weight to their submission.

  The defence was also entitled to all the evidence that the prosecution would be offering and that included an interview with the prosecution’s “mystery man”—Reino Hayhanen. At the interview with the defence lawyers Hayhanen quoted, and insisted on sticking to, his legal rights not to talk until the trial.

  The hearing of the motion submitted by the defence was to reveal the main thrust of the case against Abel, but when it came to identification of the items from the hotel room that the defence wanted excluded, Judge Byers had been irritated by both sides’ fencing in their approach. When Donovan asked a prosecution witness, “And did you find any documentary evidence of his status as an alien?”, prosecution counsel interrupted, “I think he should just ask what was found in the hotel room.”

  Judge Byers: “I agree.” He looked at Donovan. “The witness doesn’t need to give his opinion as to the nature of the papers in the evidentiary sense. Ask him what he found.”

  “Your honour, this is extremely important.”

  Judge Byers shrugged, his irritation all too obvious.

  “All right, don’t ask him what he found. I am telling you what I would like to have you do. Of course, you can disregard my instructions: I realise that.”

  Donovan turned again to the witness. “What did you find in the room that confirmed the information that the FBI had given you?”

  Judge Byers intervened. “The witness does not need to characterise the probative nature of the documents.”

  “Agreed, Your Honour, but he did make the statement.”

  “I know you like to argue, we all like to argue. Will you just move along.”

  Donovan tried to put the question to the witness again and Judge Byers cut him off. “I am not going to listen to the witness’s opinion as to what those documents show. Now take that from me.”

  Eventually Donovan argued that the arrest was not made in good faith and that the search and seizure were illegal.

  Judge Byers told him bluntly that it was not part of the court’s duty to tell the FBI how they should function.

  On October 11, Donovan’s motion to suppress the evidence was denied. The case could go to trial.

  One of the strange features behind the legal wrangling was that Abel was liked, and in some cases admired, by all those who came in contact with him. Prisoners, officials and lawyers found him both mild in manner and extremely intelligent. Their reaction to the man accused of being a Soviet spy was much the same as his friends and neighbours at the Ovington Building.

  Tomkins, the prosecutor, was happy about the evidence but was worried about how Reino Hayhanen would react under interrogation and coming face to face with Abel and identifying him as a Soviet spy. But Tomkins made his opening speech to the jury with confidence and authority.

  Later he listened to Donovan’s speech for the defence and it confirmed his expectation that Donovan would try to discredit Hayhanen’s evidence. He closed his eyes and listened intently as Donovan stated the defence case.

  “The defendant is a man, a man named Abel,” Donovan said. “It is important that you keep that fact uppermost in your mind throughout the days to come. This is not a case against Communism. It is not a case against Soviet Russia. Our grievances against Russia have been voiced every day in the United Nations and other forums. But the sole issues in this case … whether or not Abel has been proved guilty beyond a reasonable doubt of the specific crimes with which he is now charged.”

  Half an hour later Tomkins was listening intently as Donovan started his attack on Hayhanen.

  “The prosecution has told you that among the principal witnesses against the defendant will be a man whose name is Hayhanen, who claims that he helped the defendant to spy against the United States … I want you to observe his demeanour very carefully when he takes the stand.

  “Bear in mind that if what the government says is true, it means that this man has been here for some years, living among us, spying on behalf of Soviet Russia … It means that he entered the United States on false papers … that he has lived here every day only by lying about his true identity, about his background, about every fact of his everyday life … He was trained in the art of deception … He was trained to lie. In short, assuming that what the government say is true, this man is a professional liar.”

  Some observers thought it was odd that neither the prosecution nor the media pointed out that every word of Donovan’s derogatory references to Hayhanen applied equally to Rudolph Abel. Tomkins was saving the point for a more effective stage in the proceedings.

  When Hayhanen took the stand the courtroom and the media listened to the details of “drops” and secret signs in places they knew well. It was an amalgam of every spy story they had read and every spy film they had seen. A lamp-post in Riverside Park at 74th Street, another lamp-post near 80th Street. A cinema in Flushing. Drawing-pins in the slat of a park bench. Mail boxes on Central Park West in the upper 70s used for magnetic containers, others on every street corner between 74th and 79th Streets. A fence around the Museum of Natural History and a “drop” at a 95th Street subway station. Meetings and journeys with Abel. Abortive attempts to trace and contact American citizens named by Moscow as potential collaborators.

  Then followed descriptions of meetings or conversations with Abel about his links with Americans already serving prison sentences for passing information to the Soviet Union. Information concerning atomic and military secrets. Day after day the jury listened to the paraphernalia of espionage. Impressed but confused. Amazed that it could have gone on for so many years apparently without detection.

  For four days Donovan, for the defence, cross-examined Hayhanen, trying to discredit his evidence, but Hayhanen was immovable. He insisted vehemently that everything he had said had happened. In one last effort Donovan sought to discredit Hayhanen himself. Questioning him about his lies to Abel about his work, his lies about the money he received, and his lies to get more. But Hayhanen just admitted quite openly to it all. Unabashed and unashamed.

  When Donovan referred to the fact that Hayhanen had a wife in Russia but had married another woman, a church marriage, Hayhanen was riled to the point of complaining to the judge about Donovan’s questions. It seemed that he didn’t care about being accused as a liar, a thief, a coward and a drunkard, but Donovan’s smug hypocrisy about his morals clearly enraged him.

  On the last day but one of the trial Donovan made his summation. He had one last card to play. He went back over the trial item by item. Then he paused for a moment before looking at the jury.

  “What evidence of national defence information or atomic information has been put before you in this case? When you and I commenced this case, certainly we expected evidence that this man is shown to have stolen great military secrets, secrets of atomic energy and so on …”

  Judge Byers interrupted to point out that the charge was only conspiracy to get such information. He turned to Donovan and said, “The charge doesn’t involve a substantial offence. When you undertake to tell the jury what the law is, be accurate in your statements please.”

  Donovan turned to a comparison of the characters of Abel and Hayhanen. The dissolute, dishonest drunkard and Abel, the devoted husband, the family man … a very brave patriotic man serving his country.
He ended his summation with a warning to the jury.

  “You are not serving your country and you are not fighting Communism to convict a man on insufficient evidence.” He paused and went on. “Ladies and gentlemen if you will resolve this case on that higher level so that you can leave it with a clear conscience, I have no question but that certainly on counts one and two in this indictment, you must bring in a verdict of not guilty.”

  Then Donovan sat down. His reference to Abel as a family man had had some effect. During the trial letters had been read from his wife and family that had been enlarged from micro-dots found in his studio. They could possibly have been coded messages but they had an authenticity that was convincing. They seemed to be letters from a wife and daughter to an obviously much-loved father. They described the humdrum incidents of domestic life and emphasised how much he was missed. Several observant people had noticed that when the letters were read out there were tears in Abel’s eyes. The only indication of any emotion by the prisoner during the whole of the trial.

  Tomkins was aware of the sympathy that the letters might arouse and covered it in his final speech. He reminded the jury of the many items of evidence and then went on to remind them of the significance of conspiracy.

  “If we agree—if two persons agree, to assassinate the President, and one of them procures a gun, that would be all you needed to complete the crime of conspiracy, and it does not need to be completed to be a crime.” He paused to emphasise his next words. “In other words, we don’t have to stand idly by and permit an individual to commit espionage, to get our secrets. We are not powerless in that case. We can intervene. We can prevent the consummation of the crime.”

  Tomkins then referred to Donovan’s disparaging description of Hayhanen as “bum,” “renegade,” “liar,” and “thief ” and used it to counter the letters from Abel’s family.

  “The witness had the same training as the defendant …” He went on to point out the difference in their backgrounds, the hapless Hayhanen left to scavenge as best he could, and then reminded them that it appeared from the letters read out in court that Abel’s family lived very well in Moscow, with a second home in the country, and servants. He went on to say, “The defendant is a professional, a highly trained espionage agent … a master spy, a real pro … Just remember this was the man’s chosen career. He knows the rules of the game and so do his family. He is entitled to no sympathy.”