Everyone Is A Secret Spy Except You

Counterintelligence, paranoia, and the road to insanity

One Life to Save

Peter Garbler did not have much time: there were only a few minutes to save a man’s life. The CIA’s first Chief of Station in Moscow in the autumn of 1963 was busy photographing documents that had been provided to the U.S. embassy. An American couple had dropped them off; the pair were in Moscow looking to purchase books and their guide had slipped them a set of sensitive KGB files. Garbler could not believe his luck; also, he could not believe that the embassy staff wanted to hand the documents back to the Russians. At least they had allowed him to take photos of the documents before the handoff. As he flipped between the pages and focused his camera, a picture began to emerge: this was blackmail material. “It was dirty stuff,” he recalled. The files contained a catalogue of the drinking habits and sexual proclivities of U.S. embassy employees and contained plans to use this information to the KGB’s advantage. He read one example: “The assistant military attaché drinks and we’re going to catch him in the act.” The embassy staff tried to reassure Garbler this was a provocation and could not be taken seriously. He was not so sure; perhaps missile information would fulfill that purpose. However, this material appeared to be genuine. He had been provided the documents for a few hours that morning and was told that the embassy had made an appointment at noon to give them back.

Garbler left his small tenth floor room and walked down one floor to try to convince the embassy staff of their error. Garbler took Walter Stoessel, Deputy Chief of Mission, into the “bubble,” the only secure location in the building to share sensitive information. “Walter, you’re making a mistake,” Garbler said, sitting with impatience as the clock ticked. “This isn’t the kind of stuff they would use in a provocation. This is the kind of stuff that would come from a KGB man who wants to get in touch with us.” Malcolm Toon, a counselor for the ambassador, joined the conversation. Garbler continued explaining that if the documents were returned as planned, it would take no longer than an hour for this man to be discovered: “In effect, what you’re doing is killing this man.”

“Well,” Toon replied, “you guys kill people every day in your organization, so what difference does it make if you kill on more? Besides, it’s too late, we’ve already returned them.” The conversation had run long enough that the documents had already been collected. Garbler leaped up from his seat and asked: “Is the officer taking material back still in the building?” Toon guessed: “Probably not.” It was 11:50 am; there were ten minutes left.

Garbler exited the room, approaching the closest window overlooking the courtyard. Outside he could see a man waiting by a car making preparations to leave. He turned around and went to the elevator, but it was taking too long to arrive. Instead, he decided to run down nine flights of stairs and burst out into the courtyard. He ran up to the man with the papers and took them out of his hands. He showed the inch-thick stack to Stoessel, saying, “Walter, I’ll risk my life and career on this. Don’t give these papers back. A man’s life is at stake.” Stoessel was unmoved: an arrangement had already been made. Garbler was outranked and reluctantly gave in: “Okay, you’re wrong, wrong, wrong, but if this is what you want to do, I guess you must.” Garbler returned the documents to the surprised embassy staff member. “He thought I was a lunatic,” Garbler admitted.

Following the return of the papers to the KGB, Garbler learned the fate of Aleksandr Nikolaevich Cherepanov, the man who had provided them, and how his prediction had been correct. There had been a nationwide manhunt for the aspirant KGB defector, he was told: “They nailed him on the Iranian border and executed him.”

An Education

“Those who leak to us we like.” That was the lesson Seymour Hersh learned as a journalist joining the New York Times staff in 1972. Working on the Foreign Desk, he watched with interest every day at 5:00 pm when Henry Kissinger, US National Security Advisor, would call the Times’ bureau chief. Kissinger would relay that day’s story the White House wanted to include in the paper. Ten minutes later, the bureau chief’s secretary would walk up to the chief foreign affairs writer to inform him, “We’re transferring Henry to you now.” Hersh watched his colleague listen on the phone: The reporter would grunt in agreement, nodding, as he took notes. He would laugh at something Kissinger said and then would hang up the phone, slipping a piece of paper into a typewriter to begin writing his piece for the Times. It would inevitably lead with anonymous sourcing: “a senior official said today.” Interested in knowing how this arrangement worked, Hersh asked the reporter: “Do you ever ask anybody else about what he says?” The reporter replied: “Oh no, he wouldn’t talk to us if we did.” Hersh was in awe: “The man had it made...”

James Angleton was desperate to reach Hersh on December 22, 1974 to deliver an important message: that his article on Angleton’s activities as Counterintelligence Chief at the CIA had ruined his life. Counterintelligence was tasked with protecting the Agency against hostile intelligence services and in the process, had committed abuses, which Hersh had uncovered, such as the opening of US mail and surveilling US citizens. Reaching him by telephone, Angleton lambasted Hersh: “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve blown my cover. My wife, in 31 years of marriage, was never aware of my activity until your story. And now she’s left me.” Hersh was speechless, sitting with a weight on his conscience and cognizant of the despair that was apparent in Angleton’s voice. He had offered Hersh exclusives on current CIA activities in Russia and North Korea in exchange for staying quiet on CIA domestic spying on Americans, but Hersh had not taken the deal. Now listening to a desperate man, he mumbled some words to Angleton about the duty of a reporter to tell the truth.

Hersh could not shake a feeling of guilt over the CIA man’s despair and after hanging up, he phoned a friend who had worked with Angleton. His friend assured him with a laugh, “I can tell you that Cicely did leave him, but not because of you. She left him about three years ago to go live out in Arizona.” Hersh’s sense of guilt quickly evaporated. The friend added: “Of course, she knows all about the CIA.” Cicely had since rejoined Angleton, but what Hersh did not know at the time was that these cracks in their marriage far pre-dated his interactions with Angleton by decades. Upon returning from his service in Italy with the Office of Strategic Services (OSS), the CIA’s forerunner, back in 1945, she later told an Angleton biographer: “He didn't want a family. The marriage seemed to be annihilated then and there.” In addition, Hersh had only scratched the surface of how deep Angleton’s troubles ran and their dangerous implications for the country.

The Peculiarity of K

In 1944, Peter Karlow was working for the OSS in Italy during World War II. While leaving a harbor on a torpedo-armed motorboat in shallow water, the boat triggered a trip mine planted by the Germans and Karlow was thrown into the air by the explosion. “I was standing on the port side, the mine was on the starboard side. I was blown out into the water.” He landed on the boat’s torpedo tube and damaged his knee. The gangrene that developed caused the twenty-two-year-old’s left leg to be amputated above the knee. He was given an artificial limb, which he learned to use so proficiently that few knew he had lost a leg in the war, least of all the FBI agents who later surveilled him.

Karlow employed his technical skills to rise through the ranks of the new CIA, supported by Richard Helms, Deputy Director for Plans. Karlow believed that after serving in an assignment as a CIA representative with the US State Department, Helms might appoint him as Chief of the CIA’s Technical Services Division, which supplied the Agency with espionage devices, including the gadgets, drugs, weapons, and disguises used in clandestine operations. He could not have been more wrong.

Karlow knew that something was amiss, but he could have never figured out on his own that part of his problems stemmed from the fact that his last name began with the letter K. Seemingly out of nowhere, he was asked to meet with two FBI agents in a CIA building and they questioned him on the chances that a German forger he had worked with would redefect back to the Soviet Union, the man’s country of origin. He told them he thought there was no possibility of this occurring. Something about the meeting did not sit right with him. How could the two FBI agents be so far off the mark, and why me? he thought. He wrote a memo about the experience to Helms and tried to forget about the FBI interview.

Another two FBI agents visited Karlow at home some time later, explaining there was a suspicious couple down the street and that they wanted to use his garage to install listening equipment. With his technical expertise, Karlow quickly realized that he was in fact the target, as his phone sounded tapped immediately thereafter. “There was a slow response on the dial tone, because the tap puts additional drain on the line. The phones were just not behaving right,” he remembered.

As strange as the experiences were, Karlow thought they could have been part of a vetting process for his desired promotion. As he looked out his window one morning, he saw a technician working on the telephone pole near his home. Spooked by what had already happened to him, he checked on this activity by calling the phone company, who informed him: “There is no work order for your street.” The odd occurrences continued: cleaners showed up at his front door offering to clean his furnace for free. He told them he had just cleaned his furnace; they completed the work anyway.

The FBI agents surveilling Karlow believed they were on the right track. One of Karlow’s suspicious activities was described following his delivery of a box to an unknown business: “Observation at 1127 South Broad by a special agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation revealed that this was a three-story row brick structure...It is noted that nothing can be observed within the business establishment inasmuch as Venetian blinds extend across the entire window in the front of the store and are kept tightly closed.” The agents failed to note in their report that a sign outside the building read: “B. Peters & Company, Orthotics and Prosthetics.” The box Karlow handed them contained his artificial leg.

By Christmas 1962, Karlow learned that he would not be getting the job of Chief of the Technical Services Division. “I blew my fuse,” he remembered, “and went to see Helms.” He knew the Deputy Director for Plans well enough to pay him a visit at home on a Sunday. Karlow demanded to know what was happening to him and why. In his typically understated manner, Helms reassured him: “Okay, you’ll hear on Monday.”

As expected, Karlow received a phone call on Monday after his return to work in January. However, it was from the CIA’s Office of Security, instructing him to work on a sensitive security case out of an FBI building in Washington, DC. Karlow came to realize he was to work on his own case when he was greeted by two FBI agents once he arrived: “You have the right to remain silent,” they informed him. “What is this about?” Karlow demanded. The FBI agents did not respond. In the planning meeting for this FBI work, the CIA’s Director of Security Sheffield Edwards expressed doubts regarding if Karlow would agree to be interviewed. The attendees agreed, however, that Karlow “appears to have a very high regard of his own intellect” and because of this predicted he would “go ahead with the FBI interview.” Not only did Karlow allow the interview to proceed, it was to last five days.

The agents picked apart every part of his life, looking for any inconsistencies, often misunderstanding the subtleties of foreign names including those of his mother and his own:

FBI: What is your name?

Karlow: Serge Peter Karlow.

FBI: Is that how it was always spelled?

Karlow: You mean, on my birth certificate, it’s Sergei.

FBI: That’s two different names.

Karlow: No, it’s the same name. In Germany, for example, it would be spelled Sergei. In France, Serge.

Karlow wanted them to cut to the chase: “You’re playing games and wasting time.” The FBI agents pressed on, cycling through his education, job history, and a list of everyone he knew organized in alphabetical order. He had no idea what they were looking for as they took the questioning down a sexual path. He recalled the process: “Friends, colleagues, relatives, and for each they asked: ‘Was he a homosexual?’ ‘Did you know Jones? Was he a homosexual? Did he make any advances to you?’” Then they proceeded to question the bona fides of his boss: “Is Helms a Communist?” Karlow replied: “I’m not going to answer that, it’s too ridiculous.” Unrelated to the matter at hand, the FBI seemed obsessed with the notion that the CIA was littered with homosexuals: “The FBI asked about why there were so many ‘queers’ in the CIA’s German stations in the early 1950s.”

On the fifth day, he was subjected to a polygraph test. They asked Karlow: “Do you know Sasha?” and the needle on the machine jumped. There was a flurry of excitement amongst the FBI team, despite the fact that both they and Karlow were thinking of different men named Sasha. “There are 18 million Sashas in the Soviet Union,” commented another CIA officer at the time.

“Now will you tell me what this is about?” Karlow demanded. “Yes, we will,” an FBI agent responded. “You’re under direct suspicion of being a Soviet spy, a Soviet agent working in the CIA.” Karlow laughed and replied: “I thought I had done something serious, like leaving a safe open.” The FBI agents failed to find the humor in the situation. Karlow thought they had not clearly identified a possible motive for him to want to be a secret spy for the Soviets: “I was happily married with an ideal family,” he later wrote. “I had adequate means, no debts, no vices like drink or drugs, or gambling. No homosexuality, or womanizing for that matter.” He challenged them to tell him what his motive was to commit treason:

FBI: You tell us.

Karlow: Tell you what?

FBI: How you could become a Soviet spy.

Karlow: Bullshit.

Back at the office on Monday, Helms greeted Karlow as “Sergeyevich,” which he typically did, meaning son of Sergei. Karlow urged Helms to employ caution: “Maybe the humor of the nickname is no longer appropriate under the circumstances.” Finding no solace with Helms, who told him to report to the CIA General Counsel and asked him to catalogue the activities in his history that could have caused this suspicion, Karlow was despondent leaving Helms’ office: “Well, this means the end of my career. So this is goodbye.”

Karlow received even less support visiting Sheffield Edwards, head of the Office of Security: “You’re a traitor!” Edwards shouted. “It’s just a question of whether we fire you or let you resign.” Karlow countered: “And you are a fool.”

Unbeknownst to Karlow, the FBI had cleared him of the false charge. FBI supervisor Courtland J. Jones recalled one of the agents “saying how good he felt that he had cleared a man who had been painted guilty. Our inquiry cleared Karlow.” A 1963 secret memo explained the Agency’s position at the time was that although Karlow was not shown to have betrayed his country, his utility for the Agency had been severely hindered by the accusation.

“Give me your badge,” demanded Edwards’ deputy from the Office of Security after Karlow resigned on July 5, 1963. Karlow took off his lanyard and handed it to the man, who led Karlow out of the building, which ended his 14-year career in the CIA and over twenty years working in intelligence. As they reached the lobby, Karlow pointed to an engraving installed by Allen Dulles that read: “And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free. John VIII-XXXII.” Karlow remarked to the security officer: “I hope you read it sometime.”

Karlow’s only hint of why this happened to him came slightly earlier, after he had made one final stop in Angleton’s office before leaving the Langley headquarters. Angleton was chain-smoking and stooped over his desk, offering Karlow the following: “This is a very uncertain and highly dangerous situation. There is more that goes on here than I can possibly explain to you. It has to do with a Russian defector.” Angleton leaned forward: “Please don’t discuss this with anyone.”

Wrestling Match

George Kisevalter, a CIA officer with experience in handling Russian defectors, was tasked with meeting Anatoliy Golitsyn, a former KGB mid-level officer who, as the Agency’s latest agent, wanted to meet with President John F. Kennedy. Golitsyn had worked in counterintelligence in the Soviet Army during World War II and was transferred to the KGB in 1945. By 1951, he had moved to the counterintelligence division involved in operations against the United States and he defected to the US a decade later while stationed in Finland in December 1961.

Kisevalter first encountered Golitsyn in 1962 in an unmarked building at the CIA’s complex on E Street in Washington, DC. The conversation began in a friendly manner, Golitsyn seated across from Kisevalter, who was told to screen a letter Golitsyn had written to the President seeking assurances regarding his defection. “Let’s speak Russian,” Kisevalter began. “Let me see your letter.” Kisevalter was fluent in Russian, having lived in Russia until the age of five when his family emigrated to the United States. Kisevalter looked over Golitsyn’s request on the page:

In view of the fact that the President who has promised me things through his brother, Robert, may not be President in the future, how can I be sure the United States government will keep its promises to me for money and a pension?

What may have worried Golitsyn was the fact that US presidents left power generally every four to eight years, whereas the Soviet Union had been led by Stalin from 1924-1953 and by Khrushchev from 1953 to the present day. Rather than assume the question was being asked in good faith, Kisevalter glared at Golitsyn and immediately launched into a tirade in Russian: “You son of a bitch. You’re a first-class blackmailer. This is blackmail!” Believing he had made a serious mistake, Golitsyn asked for the letter back. Kisevalter refused: “Oh no. You want it delivered to the President, I’ll deliver it.” Golitsyn jumped on the desk and lunged at Kisevalter, landing on his side and the two began wrestling over possession of the letter. Kisevalter let him win the struggle. The original mission Kisevalter had been given was now accomplished through reverse psychology: Golitsyn now lacked any desire to send a letter to the President.

Kisevalter had the opportunity to listen to the recorded conversation between Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy and Golitsyn. Despite his fluency with the Russian language, Kisevalter needed the services of a translator to listen to the tape: not to understand Golitsyn, but rather RFK. “I needed a translator for Bobby Kennedy. His Boston accent was impossible to decipher.” To the Agency’s chagrin, it turned out RFK had stoked the Soviet defector’s belief he had access to the higher echelons of US power: in response to Golitsyn’s claim, “I was made promises in the name of the President,” RFK said he would inform his brother. To cap off the conversation, Golitsyn requested that a new security service be created that he would lead, which would report to no other authority and cost $30 million ($300 million today).

By late 1962, Golitsyn had worn out a series of case officers in the CIA’s Soviet Division and was passed on to Angleton. “The division got tired of him,” recalled Scotty Miler, deputy to Angleton at the time. British intelligence also expressed an interest in Golitsyn and brought him to London in March 1963, having been recently rocked by scandals including British intelligence officer Kim Philby being revealed as a Soviet spy and the Profumo affair. Golitsyn accused Harold Wilson, then opposition leader and future Prime Minister, of being a Soviet spy. Wilson had made several trips to the Soviet Union on business. “Golitsyn’s theory was anyone who spent a lot of time in the Soviet Union had to have been recruited,” said Don Moore, head of FBI Soviet Counterintelligence. “Wilson spent time in the Soviet Union. But you must differentiate between Golitsyn’s theories and what he knew. What he knew was solid and useful. His theories were something else.” Wilson eventually resigned as Prime Minister in 1976, accusing Britain’s MI5 counterintelligence of acting against him.

Golitsyn also spurred on a further mole hunt within MI5: they surveilled their own deputy director on suspicion of him working for the Russians. A US intelligence official recalled his conversations with Arthur Martin, Angleton’s equivalent in Great Britain: “At the time they were analyzing Graham Mitchell. Mitchell was under surveillance and would sometimes sit with his head on his desk. Arthur thought that meant he was a spy, sitting and thinking, ‘Oh my God, they know about me.’ For Christ’s sake, the guy was just taking a nap after lunch!”

This panic caused by Golitsyn in the United Kingdom would pale in comparison to the hysteria and hardships he was to cause inside the CIA.