by Earley, Pete
Before John left for his meeting with Jerry Whitworth in Hong Kong and the face-to-face rendezvous in Morocco with the KGB, John purchased a stenographer’s pad and a new ballpoint pen and began his journal with the trivia of flight times and departures notes that he had come to believe were the stuff of legend.
John had written Jerry and suggested that they meet at the Hong Kong airport so he could pay Jerry the $8,000 owed him, pick up Jerry’s film, and catch his next flight. But Jerry had rejected the idea.
If John was going to fly halfway across the world, he might as well take enough time to visit and have dinner. Besides, Jerry wanted John to spend a little time getting to know Brenda, who also was flying to Hong Kong to meet Jerry’s ship.
“I thought he was nuts,” John recalled. “I mean, what was I going to say? ‘Oh, hi, Brenda. My name is John Walker and I was just in this part of the world and so I thought I’d drop by to see my old pal Jerry?’ How could I explain being in Hong Kong?”
Despite his misgivings, John acquiesced.
The U.S.S. Constellation was delayed and arrived later than scheduled, which further irritated John. When the aircraft carrier finally dropped anchor, John was waiting with several hundred wives and sweethearts on the pier.
John and Brenda had rented rooms at the Holiday Inn, and after Jerry spent a few hours with his bride, he hurried into John’s room. He had hidden his film in the bottoms of Q-tips boxes, a move that he considered clever but that immediately alarmed john.
“What the hell did you do that for?” John demanded. “Why didn’t you just carry them off the ship in your camera case?” If someone had discovered them hidden in the Q-tips boxes, they would have been suspicious.
Jerry shrugged. It just seemed like a good idea at the time, he said. The spies he had read about and seen in the movies always hid their film.
“Jesus, Jerry, this isn’t some second-rate spy movie,” John complained.
But his anger cooled when Jerry told him what was on those photographs from the carrier.
Jerry had taken snapshots of technical manuals for the KW-7, KWR-37, and the KY-36, three of the most heavily used cipher systems in the Navy. If the Russians had any brains at all, they would be able to use the schematics in the technical manuals to recreate the three cryptographic machines in Moscow.
Jerry’s photographs were almost as good as giving the KGB actual, working machines!
Jerry’s delivery put John in a festive mood, and he joined Jerry and Brenda that night for an exotic dinner at an Indian restaurant.
“Only Jerry would eat Indian food in Hong Kong,” John joked later.
He left Hong Kong for Bangkok the next morning. He had planned to go sightseeing during his trip, and even though he was behind schedule because of the Constellation’s lateness, he didn’t alter his plans. He checked into his Bangkok hotel and he went directly to a whorehouse.
Rising early the next day, he decided, on a whim, to join a tour that was departing from the hotel lobby. On the bus, he met a schoolteacher from New York City. According to notes in his journal, they spent the day together and that night he had sex with her. He listed her name and hotel room number in his chronicle, and years later, after John’s arrest, the teacher was appalled when the FBI knocked on her door and began questioning her about her one-night encounter with a spy.
“I was always cautious on these trips when I met strangers,” John recalled.
“Anyone I met could have been a secret agent, either CIA or KGB, but none of them ever said anything remotely connected with espionage, so I felt safe.”
When John was actually traveling, he kept the Minox film for the Russians in his shoulder camera bag. But when he was leaving a hotel room to go sightseeing or to a whorehouse, he usually taped the small metal film canisters along the back of the bottom of the curtains. That seemed the safest place to hide something.
Always one to mix business and pleasure, John had invited his Norfolk girlfriend, Patsy Marsee, to meet him in Casablanca.
He had planned to meet the Russians before Pat arrived, but because the Constellation was late, John missed his first scheduled meeting with the KGB. As a result, Patsy Marsee arrived in Casablanca at about the same time as John’s meeting with his KGB contact.
“It was hard to explain to Pat, but I told her that I had business and that she couldn’t come with me to the meeting. It was difficult because who the hell did I know in Casablanca, especially at night, and what kind of business would I be having there?” John recalled. “I mean, you usually don’t go to Casablanca to recruit salespersons for an association.”
Still, Patsy Marsee didn’t question John’s behavior. He left her at the hotel and took a taxi to the city’s public aquarium. The building was dark and the streets were empty. John began walking along an avenue as he had been instructed.
The KGB had given him a code to use. His KGB handler was supposed to approach him and ask, “Didn’t we meet in Berlin in 1976?”
John’s response was, “No, I was in Norfolk, Virginia, during that hectic year.”
John didn’t want to screw it up so he kept thinking about the code words as he walked along the narrow path. The street began to wind and get even narrower, until it became so constricted that only one car could pass. It was becoming darker and John felt uneasy. He couldn’t see anyone on the street, and he began to wonder if the KGB had given up on him after he missed the first meeting.
“Hello, Mr. Harper,” said a deep voice behind him. John spun around.
The man must have stepped from the doorway of one of the buildings. John couldn’t tell whether he was the same KGB agent that he had met nine years earlier outside the Zayre department store or someone new.
He wasn’t even certain this man was a KGB agent. Why hadn’t he used the agreed upon code?
“Let’s continue walking, shall we?” the man said.
John looked through the growing darkness. The man was close to six feet tall, weighed about 190 pounds, and was about the same age as John.
“Uh, what about the signal?” John asked.
“I don’t think it will be necessary,” the man replied. Perhaps sensing John’s uneasiness, he added, “But if you wish to talk about how you were in Norfolk during the hectic year of 1976, you may.”
He began asking John questions in the same manner as that agent he’d met almost a decade ago outside Zayre’s. How did you get here? Where are you staying? What was your route of travel? Did you notice anything suspicious around you during this trip? Did you meet anyone suspicious? Are any new people coming into your life? Okay, what’s on the film?
That answered and the film turned over, the KGB agent talked about specific items that the Soviets wanted procured: more KW-7 keylists, technical manuals for cipher systems whenever possible, information about communications satellites.
Once the agent had finished giving John a shopping list, both men began to relax and the conversation turned personal.
“How is Barbara? Is she still drinking heavily?”
“Yes,” John replied, “but she is not a threat. She will keep quiet as long as she is paid.”
“I’m sorry about the divorce,” the KGB agent said, in a tone of voice that John felt was sincere.
“Then you obviously don’t know my wife,” John replied, chuckling. The agent didn’t understand at first, but then he laughed.
As they walked, he said that his superiors wanted him to meet John face-to-face at least once a year. He gave John a sheet of paper with the words The Vienna Procedure typed at the top. It was an elaborate set of directions for a face-to-face meeting in Vienna, Austria in January 1978.
“Have you been to Vienna?” he asked.
“No,” John replied.
“Oh, it is a lovely city, but it is cold. Almost as bad as my country in the winter. You must dress warmly.” The agent suggested that John shave off his beard before the face-to-face encounter and that he not wear his hairpiece while he was in Vienn
a.
“It would be very difficult to recognize you with such a disguise,” he said.
“Yeah, I guess it would,” replied John, who thought the idea stupid.
“Have you read the book, The French Connection?” the KGB agent asked, referring to the Robin Moore book about two New York police detectives’ year-long investigation of a narcotics kingpin.
“No,” said John.
“You should, it will give you excellent tips about avoiding surveillance. It really is useful.”
Later, John said he was astounded that a trained KGB agent was recommending an American crime book as the best source of advice on security precautions.
“When you fly to Europe,” the KGB agent continued, “do not fly into Germany under any circumstances. The Germans are much too thorough at airports. It is too dangerous to go through their security. You should fly to a country like Italy because the Italians, they are corrupt and a backwards people. You can fly into any city you like in Italy and it will not be a problem.”
“Okay,” John responded.
“Also, you should take a train to Vienna,” the agent continued. “It is called Wien in Europe. A train is good because there is no security check. Customs will not be a problem for you. But do not bring any narcotics. The customs look for narcotics. They have trained dogs to smell them.”
“No sweat.”
“You must also be extremely cautious about people you meet and never, never, come to any of our embassies or telephone them. It is simply too dangerous.”
Having finished with his lecture, the agent turned his attention to Jerry Whitworth. Does he drink excessively? Have a drug problem? Is he a homosexual? Why has he been in and out of the Navy so many times?
John described Jerry in detail.
“I was always scrupulously honest with the KGB. I might not volunteer some information, but what I told them was usually always the truth,” said John. “I didn’t want to risk being caught in a lie because I felt these people were dangerous.”
At one point, John even told the Russian about Jerry’s intellectual fixation with Ayn Rand.
The agent interrupted, “Who?”
The KGB agent knew The French Connection, but he knew nothing about Rand, much more famous and influential than Moore. Obviously, books by Rand, a Russian emigré and staunch anticommunist, weren’t on the agent’s reading list.
After a few minutes of chatter, the agent asked John, “Are you still doing this only for the money?”
“Yes,” John answered.
The agent paused and John figured that a lecture about the joys of communism would follow, But it didn’t.
“We will talk about this further, perhaps in Vienna.”
Then the agent handed John an envelope of cash and asked him, as usual, to sign a receipt for it.
As John was writing his name, the agent said, “My country appreciates greatly what you are doing for all humanity. This is important for you to know. This is a great thing you are doing for peace.”
John nodded.
“If something ever happened to detain you,” the agent continued, “would you send Jerry to Vienna?”
The question caught John completely off guard. What could possibly happen? And why had the KGB asked if Jerry could come to Vienna? Were they considering dealing directly with Jerry and cutting John out since he was no longer in the Navy? Was the agent trying to give him some kind of hidden message – that if he didn’t play along, he could be eliminated?
“I’m not certain he would have the balls to do it,” John said. “This is definitely a two-man operation. He gets the material and I deliver it.”
“Of course,” the agent replied. “What do you mean, ‘balls’?”
John explained. It would be foolhardy for Jerry to come to Vienna since he still was in the Navy, John added.
“Of course,” the agent responded.
“Good-bye, dear friend,” he said, before turning to leave. “And remember,” he added, “to be careful.”
The KGB agent’s words kept buzzing through John’s head. “If something ever happened to detain you, would you send Jerry to Vienna?”
John couldn’t stop thinking about that question as he and Patsy returned home from Casablanca.
“I knew that I was only valuable to the KGB as long as no one knew what I had given them,” he explained later to me during an interview. “You see,” he said, quite seriously, “if I were dead, then the CIA and FBI could really never be certain what I had stolen. I am the only person who really knows what the KGB got from me.
“So I am certain that the KGB seriously considered killing me at some point. The Russians had to think about it. It didn’t have anything to do with my loyalty or service to them. It had to be a logical decision on their part. Here was a guy who had given them valuable information for several years. Now, he no longer was directly producing information, although he was still delivering what Jerry produced. The truth was that I had become Jerry’s handler and the question that had to be in the KGB’s mind was, Should we execute this guy and cut our own deal with Jerry or wait? If they did a .22 caliber slug-behind-the-ears number on me, how would Jerry react? In some ways, killing me might have been an incentive to Jerry.”
The more John thought about it, the more paranoid he became.
“I didn’t know what the Russians were thinking and I decided that I needed some insurance. I needed to convince them that I was invaluable as a spy even though I wasn’t directly producing material. This is when the idea of recruiting others besides Jerry began to form in my mind.”
Before his return flight landed in New York City, John outlined a letter on the back pages of his journal, It was a letter that he intended to send to his brother, Arthur, a letter that was not only going to make Arthur angry, but also bring their joint business, Walker Enterprises, closer to financial ruin.
John was tightening the noose on Arthur, and while he would later deny in interviews that he intended to put pressure on him, this was exactly the effect of the letter.
SUB: Position of Jaws in WE [Walker Enterprises]
1. This is not a “Dear John” letter. I have put my thoughts, recommendations and basic position in writing for three reasons:
a. I wrote it during my Far East trip.
b. We seldom have the opportunity to talk.
c. You are difficult to talk to anyway since you become strongly argumentative when I bring up my problems.
2. At the risk of boring you with the obvious, the following facts should be recapped:
FINANCIAL
a. I have invested considerable direct cash into the formation of WE.
b. I have invested a large sum of invisible cash into WE in the form of a vehicle, office furniture, typewriter, copy machine, bldg rent, utilities, secretarial pay, personal vehicle expenses . . .
John’s letter continued in this cool and calculated manner. He demanded the repayment of more than $10,000 [spy money] that he had pumped into Walker Enterprises, along with back wages and compensation for time lost.
John knew Arthur couldn’t afford to pay, but he didn’t care.
“Arthur had never missed taking home a paycheck from Walker Enterprises, but the company was losing money like crazy,” John told me later. “Now who in the hell do you think was making that possible? Me! That’s who! I was financing his kids’ college education for christsakes! I just kept pumping more and more spy money into the business.”
John had decided it was time for old Uncle Art to feel reality.
Chapter 32
Four months passed quickly, and in mid-January 1978, John boarded a flight for Italy. Jerry had delivered another promising cache of cryptographic material and collected another $6,000 in salary. This time, Jerry hadn’t complained about what they were doing, nor had he brought up the subject of Israel. He was beginning to get used to the extra income.
“In the Wild West days, the bad guys had to wade down streams to cover their tracks,” J
ohn recalled, “but today’s criminals worry about keeping their names out of computers and that was my big worry about going to Europe.”
John used an alias when he bought his ticket from Norfolk to New York City. But traveling under a fictitious name was a bit trickier on out-of-the-country flights. Airlines compare the names on each passengers passport with their ticket. With the KGB’s help, however, John came up with a way to beat the system.
“Having a fake passport or two would have been stupid because if anyone saw them, they would know you were doing something illegal,” John explained to me. “So I did something much simpler. I misspelled my name.”
When John bought his ticket to Milan, he told the ticket agent that his name was John A. Walker, Jr. It was such a minor oversight that the harried airline ticket agent at John F. Kennedy International Airport didn’t even notice the difference when she glanced at John’s ticket and passport. As a result, there was no record in the airline’s computer of anyone named John A. Walker, Jr., ever leaving the country.
The KGB had been correct, John discovered, when it told him that security at Italian airports was virtually nonexistent.
“The place was a madhouse!” John hustled through Italian customs without ever having to open his suitcase or get his passport stamped.
The KGB had told John to board a train for Vienna next, but he decided to make a side trip on his own. He had realized when he met the KGB in Casablanca that he was totally defenseless.
“The KGB always wanted to meet me at night in out-of-the-way places where I could be robbed or even murdered,” John recalled. He also remained paranoid about the Russians. “I still didn’t know if they were going to kill me.”
So John asked a taxi driver in Milan where he could buy a small, cheap handgun, and within a few minutes he was taken to a cramped apartment where he paid $100 for a .25 caliber automatic with twenty-five bullets. He also paid the cabbie a $25 finder’s fee.