There was, thought Catesby, something in Bone’s demeanour that was a little too glib and assured. He finished his tea and looked at the chipped and cracked enamel of the mug. Henry was going through a rough patch and trying not to show it.
After a UK-USA intelligence agency stand-off over venue, it was decided to have the meeting at the Dorchester Hotel in Park Lane. At first, the Americans tried to bounce their Brit counterparts into coming to Grosvenor Square. The Brits then suggested Leconfield House, MI5’s anonymous HQ in Mayfair. In the end, the Dorchester was agreed as neutral ground. The Americans were happy because it’s just around the corner from the US Embassy.
The conference room was far from the Dorchester’s grandest – that one looks like the main ballroom in the Versailles Palace. The room the Americans had chosen was no-nonsense and modern. There was a light oak table that sat twelve people and windows that would have looked out over Hyde Park if the curtains hadn’t been drawn.
James Jesus Angleton, CIA Head of Counterintell, began the shouting. He pointed at Catesby as if he had just spotted a dead toad in a pot of Chantilly cream. ‘What’s he doing here?’
Dick White smiled blandly. ‘William is our man in Berlin. The places under discussion fall within his areas of responsibility.’
Angleton turned to a florid-faced assistant sitting next to him and whispered something. The assistant, who had fingers like little pink sausages, began to write things down in a lined yellow foolscap notebook that Americans call a ‘legal pad’. Meanwhile Angleton finished one cigarette and lit another. He then poured a slug of Jim Beam bourbon into a crystal tumbler. The Catesby problem already seemed in the past.
Roger Hollis, head of Five, appeared to be chairing the meeting. ‘I’d like to thank Jim,’ Hollis nodded to Angleton, ‘for inviting us here tonight to brief us on FEDORA.’
‘Excuse me,’ said Bone, ‘we don’t even know who or what …’
Angleton glared at Bone before speaking. ‘FEDORA is a high-ranking Soviet agent who defected to us at the end of last year. It’s taken us until now to establish his bona fides, which is why we’ve waited until today to have this meeting.’
Catesby kept staring at Angleton trying to peel off the layers. Some thought the American was mad, clinically paranoid-schizo. Even if he was mad, Angleton had been clever enough to distance himself from the Cuban fiasco. The most dangerous combination, as Catesby well knew, was someone who was mad, but who was also extremely intelligent and cunning at the same time. He was sure that Angleton fitted that category.
‘The FEDORA debriefings,’ continued Angleton, ‘have alarmed us as much as they would yourselves if we could give you all the details. But I can’t give you all the details – particularly the ones referring to your own politicians and your own intelligence agencies.’
All the British seemed to reel back in their chairs as if slapped in the face. Hollis looked particularly pained. Catesby began to say something, but Bone gestured for him to shut up.
‘I know,’ said Angleton smiling for the first time. The American was so thin and the skin around his face so tight that Catesby expected to hear flesh tear as Angleton’s lips contorted into a cadaverous smile. ‘I know, you must be thinking that this is one hell of a way to treat your closest ally. But I’m going to make no apologies. If it’s any consolation, I am certain that my own agency has been penetrated at the highest level by a Soviet agent. And the United Kingdom is not the only Western European country with leading politicians who are puppets of Moscow.’
Catesby sensed that the mood among the Brits was embarrassed bemusement, that polite awkward silence before someone tells madam she needs to readjust her clothing. But in this case madam’s tits were hanging out and she didn’t care.
‘I know what you must be thinking,’ said Angleton looking around the table. ‘You’re thinking I’m just another goddamned reds-under-the-bed paranoid Yank – and that you British, so much more sophisticated and knowledgeable than we naïve Americans, have to listen with polite condescension. I can see your hidden contemptuous smiles. But you forget that I’ve lived among you. I went to one of your most elite public schools and learned the spy trade in London.’ Angleton nodded at Dick White. ‘In fact Dick was one of my mentors – and Kim Philby was another.’
None of the British rose to the bait. They all sat stony-faced and silent with hands calmly folded.
Angleton shattered the awkwardness with a laugh that sounded like gravel being thrown against a window. ‘Where’s Kim this evening? Oh, pardon me, I forgot. Kim is your man in Beirut, isn’t he? He’s working under cover, of course – as a journalist. But we all know that Kim Philby still gets a generous stipend from Her Majesty’s coffers for intelligence services rendered – or not.’ Angleton paused. ‘Maybe, my friends, you are the naïve ones.’
‘Thank you for those thoughts, Mr Angleton.’ The comment came from an unexpected source. The speaker was one of the MI5 men who had accompanied Hollis. Catesby called them Ferret and Fox because that’s what they looked like. They had both entered Five via technical services. Both flaunted the fact they were practical men who had trained as engineers. They felt contempt for Oxbridge-educated mandarins who couldn’t tell the difference between a megacycle and a bicycle.
‘I hope, Jim,’ Dick White was wearing his conciliatory voice, ‘that you haven’t misconstrued our silence as scepticism.’
Angleton exhaled a cloud of cigarette smoke and swigged another slug of bourbon. ‘Truth always looks complicated at first, especially when you’re dealing with defectors. But the joy of one like FEDORA is that practically all of the pieces fit together – and the ones that don’t fit are easily recognisable as poor memory or human error.’
Catesby doodled on the Dorchester Hotel headed notepad: Authenticity = Imperfection > So intentional errors in disinfo = best fake gems > as any fool knows. Bone glanced at the pad and gave an imperceptible nod. Catesby was convinced that one of the reasons Philby got away with it was because of his stutter. That imperfection of speech made him sound innocent – a genuine master of deception would never be word perfect.
‘We have,’ continued Angleton, ‘debriefed FEDORA for over a thousand hours. Several pieces of intelligence have emerged that are vital to the security interests of the United Kingdom. The most important intelligence revelation is that a very senior and influential member of the British establishment met covertly with the Soviet leadership at the end of 1961. This, gentlemen, is not speculation, but verified fact. I am sure we know the identity of the person involved, but this information is case sensitive for political as well as intelligence reasons. It is not our intention to interfere in Britain’s domestic politics.’
Catesby stifled a smile and an inclination to say ‘Since when?’
Hollis, however, was bolder. ‘Is this person a politician, a peer, a royal, soldier, civil servant?’
‘I can’t say, Roger, I really can’t. I would strongly suggest, however, that you launch your own investigation to find this person as a matter of urgency.’
Dick White pitched in. ‘How much help are you going to give us, Jim?’
‘Not much, but we will point you in the right general direction. I think it is vitally important the British themselves arrive at the same conclusion – preferably without our help.’
‘It would look bad, wouldn’t it?’ said Catesby.
‘What would look bad?’ said Angleton.
‘I don’t think the British press or people would be very happy if one of our senior politicians were seen to be slandered as a commie spy by the CIA. There would be a backlash, which wouldn’t be in US interests.’
Angleton glared at Catesby. The thickness of the lenses in his spectacles made his eyelashes look like writhing tarantulas. ‘First of all, I didn’t say that he is a politician. Secondly, I never implied he is a Soviet spy. Perhaps you have insights of your own into this matter? And finally, the intelligence that we have isn’t “slander”. It’s hard factua
l evidence.’
‘I think,’ said White to Angleton, ‘what William is trying to say is that he completely agrees with you. He agrees, as do all of us, that it is absolutely essential that the investigation be British led and conducted.’ White looked at Catesby. ‘Isn’t that so, William?’
Catesby smiled wanly and nodded. At the same time he noticed that Angleton’s assistant was staring at him in an odd, almost seductive, way.
‘It is likely,’ said Hollis, ‘that this investigation is going to involve ourselves primarily since the person under suspicion appears to be a British national living in Britain. We will, of course, have to liaise with our SIS colleagues for investigating outside the UK. Fair enough?’
Everyone nodded except for the two Americans – and Ferret and Fox. Catesby thought it odd they weren’t at least making a show of supporting their boss in public. Very odd. It suddenly occurred to Catesby that Ferret and Fox were siding with the Americans at every turn.
‘It would be extremely useful,’ continued Hollis looking at Angleton, ‘if you could give us a timescale. The actual day, if possible, or at least week that the meeting took place?’
Angleton lit another cigarette. He paused thoughtfully in his veil of smoke, then said, ‘No.’
‘Well actually,’ said Hollis, ‘a time frame would allow us to quickly eliminate suspects by checking their diaries. It would save a lot of time and effort.’
Angleton went stony-faced.
‘That may be so, Roger,’ the fox-faced underling spoke for the first time, ‘but it would also give a warning to the guilty one – or ones – that we have sufficient detailed information to nail them. They might do a runner, like Burgess and Maclean.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Hollis. He sounded exasperated. ‘We’re obviously not going to make the date known,’ he paused, ‘to anyone not sitting around this table.’
‘I don’t think, sir,’ it was now Ferret’s turn, ‘you fully appreciate what our colleague is saying. If Jim Angleton were to tell us the exact dates, at this very meeting, it is highly likely that the person who made that trip would find out how much we know.’
There was a long stunned silence, not even broken by a cough or shifting chair. Finally, Catesby looked across the table at the American and said, ‘Would you like me to leave the room?’
‘No, William.’ It was Dick White. ‘If there was any doubt about you, you wouldn’t be here.’
‘But someone has doubts about someone sitting around this table,’ continued Catesby, ‘and those doubts have just been voiced. May I suggest, sir, that all of us except yourself and Sir Roger leave the room. If Mr Angleton feels that he cannot reveal the date involved to Head of SIS and Head of MI5, then there is no …’
‘William,’ said Henry Bone, ‘I think that you’ve said enough.’
‘Fine.’
Hollis and White exchanged pained glances. Then Hollis spoke. ‘I feel that there are a lot of tensions being aired tonight – and that it is very unfair to put Jim under so much undue pressure.’
Angleton meanwhile was making his way through the bourbon bottle at a rate of knots. He almost flaunted his alcoholism. But the Russians, Catesby knew, were just as bad. What a situation, as bleakly comic as tragic. Most of the world’s nuclear arsenals were poised in the trembling hands of two opposing gangs of dipsos. It made closing hour in a mangy Glasgow pub look like a haven of peace, reason and tranquillity.
Angleton peered first at Hollis, then at White, before saying, ‘Have either of you distinguished gentlemen read Sun Tzu?’
Hollis shook his head. White smiled blandly.
‘Well, you should.’ Angleton now did sound a little drunk. ‘Sun Tzu was a sixth-century BC military strategist. He once wrote, “Of all the senior officers close to the commander none is more intimate with him than the secret agent of the enemy. Of all matters concerning the security of the State, none is more critical than those relating to secret operations.”’
The embarrassment among the Brits was now palpable. The accusations of treason in high places were starting to grate. Even Angleton must have realised that he was making an ass of himself. His manner became less portentous as he said, ‘Before we close the meeting, I’d like to introduce you to Jennings Galen.’
The name gave Catesby a jolt, but he kept a straight face. Katya had asked about Galen in Havana. He looked closely at the American for the first time. Galen beamed back shyly through rimless glasses. He looked, thought Catesby, like a bank clerk with a secret vice.
‘I’m flying back to Washington tomorrow,’ continued Angleton in a slightly slurred voice, ‘but I’m leaving Jennings behind as my deputy. He’ll have diplomatic status and be working out of the Chief of Station’s office in the embassy. Jennings’ role will be to assist you in the investigation, but also to carry out his own enquiries – under, of course, the appropriate international protocols.’
In other words, thought Catesby, Jennings was going to be a spy operating under diplomatic immunity. He scribbled surveil? on his pad. Bone glanced and gave a slight nod. Catesby doodled a seagull over the word.
The Americans gathered their papers and were the first to leave. There were no little clumps of chatterers as is usual after most meetings. Everyone slunk away in silence without even making eye contact. It was difficult to tell the cats from the pigeons.
Catesby and Bone loitered in the hotel lobby while Dick White asked the doorman to fetch the Humber Hawk from wherever he had parked it. Out of the corner of his eye Catesby caught sight of the two Americans talking to the two junior MI5 officers, Fox and Ferret, near the lift doors.
‘Don’t look behind you,’ whispered Bone.
Catesby stood still and looked at Bone instead. He listened to the sounds behind him: lift doors opening, a shuffle of feet followed by a bell pinging – and the velvet wheeze of lift doors closing.
‘Good,’ said Bone, ‘they’ve gone up.’
Meanwhile, White was gesturing them to the car.
‘Nice of you to give us a lift,’ said Bone.
Catesby sat in the back and used the opportunity to look closely at Dick White. In the service the SIS boss was known simply as C. He was, thought Catesby, certainly a smooth suave dog. Someone had once described White as David Niven without the moustache. It was true. C was the ultimate Englishman – and, as such, he was the only person who had ever been honoured to head both MI5 and the Secret Intelligence Service. Hollis must have found White a difficult act to follow. It was obvious that Hollis lacked the cunning and firmness to deal with poisonous and dangerous underlings such as Fox and Ferret.
‘What did you make of all that?’ said White. The lights of London flickered across his face making him look even more like his cinema familiar.
Bone laughed. ‘Angleton didn’t give us the date of the meeting because he doesn’t know it himself or because the meeting never took place. There was a lot of bluff going on.’
‘The Americans,’ said White, ‘have done a good job of keeping FEDORA for themselves. It looks like they deceived us into thinking that BUTTERFLY was the big defector they were bragging about.’
Catesby stared out the car window and tried to subdue the loss and sense of pain the BUTTERFLY operation had caused him. It was the only time he had taken satisfaction, if not joy, in killing someone.
‘What do you think, William?’ said White.
‘I don’t think they were playing a deception game with BUTTERFLY. I’ve heard that FEDORA was a walk-in joe who turned up completely unexpected at the US Embassy in Stockholm.’
‘From whom did you hear that?’ said White.
‘From my man in Säpo.’
Bone suddenly stiffened. ‘I think Säpo are too fond of playing games.’ Säpo, or Säkerhetspolisen, were the Swedish secret police.
‘In any case,’ said Catesby ignoring Bone’s scepticism, ‘walk-in joes usually begin by telling the truth to convince their new masters of their bona fides. Once they’ve got that, the
y start to embellish the truth with exaggeration. As soon as they see their interrogators have taken the bait, they start slipping in the lies. They test the water with harmless little porkies at first, but these soon grow into venomous lies that can destroy careers.’ Defectors, Catesby knew from experience, were masters at recognising the divisions in a Security Service and setting officers at each others’ throats. That’s why fake defectors could be lethal. But Catesby’s spy intuition told him that FEDORA was genuine, a genuine troublemaker with his own agenda of attention-seeking mischief.
White turned the Humber on to the roundabout dominated by the Queen Victoria Memorial. Beneath Victoria, who was seated on her throne, there were three figures at the base of the statue. Charity faced the palace, the Angel of Justice looked over Green Park, but the Angel of Truth peered directly and sternly towards SIS Headquarters.
‘By the way, William,’ said White over his shoulder, ‘you did a brilliant job at taking Angleton down a peg or two. There was no one else who could have done it without creating a diplomatic incident.’
The reel to reel tape machine was set up on Bone’s desk. They had already heard the recording once and now Bone was re-winding it.
‘Does C know about this?’ said Catesby.
‘No, it would put him in an embarrassing position if he did. So it’s best to spare him.’
‘It could put you in jail if Five found out about this.’ SIS were strictly forbidden to undertake surveillance or any other espionage activity on UK soil. Bugging Angleton’s hotel room in the Dorchester was a blatant violation of SIS’s remit.
‘Don’t be silly. I would only get disciplined, sacked at worst.’ Bone put on his headphones and gestured for Catesby to do the same. ‘Listen to this bit again.’
It was Angleton speaking. ‘Frankly, the intelligence FEDORA provided about OMEGA was a shocking revelation …’
The Midnight Swimmer Page 20