A Brief History of the Spy (10 page)

The Technical Services staff at the CIA were authorized to begin MKULTRA in April 1953; it became the responsibility of the Chemistry Division, headed by Dr Sidney Gottlieb. As an internal CIA report from 1963 explained, MKULTRA was ‘concerned with the research and development of chemical, biological and radiological materials capable of employment in clandestine operations to control human behaviour’. It had wide-reaching aims – everything from finding ways to make alcohol more or less effective, as required, to creating instantly acting knock-out drops, to locating substances that would help people’s ability to resist brainwashing.

The project tried many different methods to achieve its goals. Initially, hypnotism was tried. In February 1954, Gottlieb was able to implant a post-hypnotic suggestion into a woman who was normally loath to handle a weapon. Under the command, she was told to try to wake another woman up by any means possible, and ‘failing in this, she would pick up a pistol nearby and fire it’. According to the declassified report, she ‘carried out all these suggestions to the letter including firing the (unloaded pneumatic pistol) gun . . . and then proceeding to fall into a deep sleep . . . [On waking] she expressed absolute denial that the foregoing sequence had happened.’

The substance with which MKULTRA is most associated is lysergic acid diethylamide, better known as LSD. To begin with, the subjects of the experiments gave their consent, but
Gottlieb needed to know how people who were not aware that they were being drugged would react. This would lead to many people’s rights being violated, and in some extreme cases, to death – the most notable case being army scientist Dr Frank Olson, who was given LSD in November 1953 without his knowledge or consent and jumped from a hotel room to his death a few days later. Eventually, as they had with hypnosis, the MKULTRA scientists dismissed LSD as being too unpredictable in its results – although not before many Americans were tested, including the author Ken Kesey, who would become of the great proselytizers of the drugs culture.

Less well known are some of the side-products of the MKULTRA research – including the CIA’s investigations into magic. It was all very well coming up with secret drugs that would have the desired effect, but pointless if there was no way of administering them to the chosen target. John Mulholland, one of the most highly respected American magicians of the time, was brought on board, and applied the secrets of sleight of hand to the problem. His 1954 paper entitled ‘Some Operational Applications of the Art of Deception’ formed the basis of a training manual for agents, and the agency picked his brains further to investigate possible methods of covert signalling.

MKULTRA’s days were numbered when the CIA’s own internal monitor, the Inspector General, reported in 1963 that the controls over its operations were inadequate, and that the moral and ethical implications were too great. Much as many of those who would like to believe that the CIA’s quest to create the perfect unwitting assassin – usually referred to as a Manchurian Candidate, after the Richard Condon 1959 novel, which featured a serviceman programmed by the Communists to commit murder – continued (and perhaps continues to this day), MKULTRA was disbanded by the end of the sixties. However, the revelation of its existence would have a critical
effect on the CIA in the seventies; perhaps the best epitaph on it came from Senator Edward Kennedy in 1977: ‘The Agency itself acknowledged that these tests made little scientific sense.’

Downgrading the organs of State Security in the Soviet Union from a Ministry to a Committee when the KGB was set up in 1954 did not mean that the organization’s power would be any the less effective. This was amply shown by the extremely pro-active stance taken by its leader during the Hungarian Revolution of 1956, its first major test – with the Chairman of the KGB, Ivan Aleksandrovich Serov, going undercover himself.

Just as the Americans were concerned about protecting any area into which Communism might spread, so the Kremlin wanted to make sure that all parts of the Soviet bloc were toeing the party line. After the split with Yugoslavia (which didn’t heal after the death of Stalin) and the rising in East Berlin in 1953, the Presidium wanted to nip any potential activity in the bud. Trouble began to foment in Hungary, following a speech by Soviet leader Nikita Khruschev that denounced Stalin’s cult of personality, and those – like the Hungarian First Secretary Mátyás Rákosi – who followed in its footsteps. Rákosi was pressured into resigning but was replaced by a hardliner, rather than by the popular Imre Nagy. A revolution began on 23 October when a crowd demonstrating outside the Radio Building were shot by AVH (Hungarian State Security) troops.

Serov flew to Budapest, but was simply introduced to the Hungarians as a new Soviet adviser, rather than as head of the KGB. He was present as the situation worsened – Nagy was brought in as Prime Minister, but this didn’t stop the popular uprising, as workers united with students against the Soviet-backed government. It reached the stage on 30 October, a day after the AVH had been abolished, where Kremlin representatives
agreed to the removal of Soviet troops, and Nagy announced he was forming a multi-party government.

Soviet Ambassador Yuri Andropov, later to become chief of the KGB and Soviet leader himself, was responsible for countering this counter-revolution. He ordered fresh Red Army units to enter Hungary, while reassuring Nagy that they were only there to safeguard the security of the units that were supposed to be leaving. On 3 November, the Hungarian minister of defence was invited to Soviet military headquarters – and at midnight he, along with the rest of the national delegation, was arrested by Serov and a group of KGB officers. When the Red Army launched its assault the next day, Nagy made a desperate plea for help before seeking asylum in the Yugoslav embassy. At this point, Serov identified himself to the Budapest police chief, Sándor Kopácsi, who had stood up to him initially, and took open charge of the operation. Unsurprisingly, when Nagy and his colleagues left the Yugoslav embassy believing the guarantees of safe conduct they had been given by the new Soviet-backed government, they were arrested by the KGB, taken for trial. Two of them died, or were killed, during the interrogation process; Nagy’s other colleagues were shot. Nagy himself was taken to Romania, then returned to Hungary and tried in secret. He was hanged in June 1958.

Not long before the Hungarian Revolution, the KGB also claimed another success in Europe, although this time with considerably less bloodshed, and much less negative publicity in the outside world. According to the KGB themselves, one of their greatest foreign coups was the rise to power of the Finnish politician Urho Kaleva Kekkonen, who became President of Finland in 1956, a post he held until 1981. While there is no doubt that Kekkonen had good relations with the KGB, and often acted in a way that benefited the Soviets, it seems far more likely that rather than being an active Soviet agent, he was a very pragmatic man who saw the relationship
with Moscow as a good way to maintain an independent Finland. The Soviets certainly assisted him by pressurising other candidates to withdraw from elections against Kekkonen, but the number of KGB and GRU agents who were caught by the Finnish Security Police without Kekkonen’s intervention would suggest that, for once, it was the KGB who were being manipulated.

Manoeuvres against the Soviets had major repercussions for the British Secret Intelligence Service in 1956, when a mission to investigate the Soviet cruiser
Ordzhonikidze
while moored in Portsmouth Harbour went badly wrong. It would lead to questions in the Houses of Parliament, and, some claim, the relocation of the U-2 spy flights from Lakenheath in Norfolk, in the east of England, to Weisbaden in West Germany. It has often been blamed for the resignation of the head of MI6 later that year, although the official history of MI5 notes that the decision for Sir John Sinclair to step down at this point had been taken two years earlier. And it was the inspiration for one of James Bond’s more seemingly outrageous missions as recorded in the book and movie
Thunderball
.

The Navy wanted more information about the propeller design of the Soviet cruiser, which had brought Khruschev on an official visit to the UK. MI6 officer Nicholas Elliott hired a freelance frogman, Commander Lionel ‘Buster’ Crabb, to carry out the mission. The Prime Minister, Sir Anthony Eden, was keen to promote friendly relations with the USSR, and had ordered MI5 and MI6 not to carry out operations against the Soviets during the visit, so he was highly embarrassed when the Soviet sailors reported seeing a frogman wearing a diving suit around the ship on 19 April 1956. That it was Crabb, there is no doubt – but he was never seen again.

The Soviets made political capital out of the incident, with Khruschev making reference to ‘underwater problems’ in a press conference. Despite attempts by the security services to
throw reporters off the scent by claiming Crabb was diving three miles away, eventually Eden had to come clean: ‘As has already been publicly announced, Commander Crabb was engaged in diving tests and is presumed to have met his death whilst so engaged,’ went the official note from the Foreign Office. ‘The diver, who, as stated in the Soviet note, was observed from the Soviet warships to be swimming between the Soviet destroyers, was presumably Commander Crabb. His approach to the destroyers was completely unauthorised and Her Majesty’s Government desire to express their regret at the incident.’ Added Eden in the House of Commons, ‘It would not be in the public interest to disclose the circumstances in which Commander Crabb is presumed to have met his death.’

It may not have been in the public interest to reveal what happened, but in fact no one knew for sure exactly what did occur. A headless, handless body was identified as Crabb in June 1957 and buried in his place, but the man who made the identification admitted later he had been coerced by the security services. Crabb may have been brought aboard the
Ordzhonikidze
and died in their sickbay. There were claims that he was taken to Russia and worked in the Soviet Navy. Even when papers released under the Freedom of Information Act suggested that there was a second diver with Crabb, they shed no further light on the mystery.

The CIA weren’t the only intelligence agency in favour of pro-active regime change during this time. The Suez crisis, which brought about the fall of Sir Anthony Eden, and caused major difficulties for the Anglo-American relationship for years, proved that such plans don’t always work out.

The usual accounts of the crisis note that it was precipitated by Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser nationalizing the Suez Canal in July 1956. Eden saw this as the act of a fascist dictator and as he proclaimed at the time, ‘we all remember only too well what the cost can be in giving in to fascism’.
Three months later, Israel invaded Egypt via the Sinai peninsula; this led to French and British forces landing, apparently to separate the combatants – but coincidentally with the aim of forming a peacekeeping force around the Suez Canal, taking it out of Nasser’s hands. However, after pressure from both the US and the USSR at the United Nations, a ceasefire was declared and the foreign troops had to leave. Nasser survived.

However, as a CIA memorandum from April – three months before the nationalization of the canal – shows, MI6 wanted to take far more drastic action against Nasser much earlier, since he had ‘accepted full scale collaboration with the Soviets. Nasser has now taken the initiative for the extension of Soviet influence in Syria, Libya, and French North Africa. Nasser must therefore be regarded as an out-and-out Soviet instrument. MI6 asserted that it is now British government view that western interests in the Middle East, particularly oil, must be preserved from Egyptian-Soviet threat at all costs.’

Their plan to achieve this was threefold:

Phase one – complete change in government of Syria. MI6 believes it can mount this operation alone, but if necessary will involve joint action with Iraq, Turkey, and possibly Israel. Phase two – Saudi Arabia. Believe MI6 prepared to undertake efforts to exploit splits in Royal Family and possibly hasten fall of King Saud. Phase three – to be undertaken in anticipation of violent Egyptian reaction to phases one and two. This ranges from sanctions, calculated to isolate Nasser, to use of force, both British and Israeli, to tumble Egyptian government. Extreme possibilities would involve special operations by Israelis against Egyptian supply dumps and newly acquired aircraft and tanks, as well as outright Israeli attack on Gaza or other border areas.

The Foreign Office didn’t share MI6’s view that there would be a group of Egyptians who would rise up against Nasser,
and indeed when the invasion happened – at the same time as the Russians were dealing with the Hungarian uprising – the expected internal revolt failed to materialize. MI6’s plan to assassinate Nasser with nerve gas was never put into effect. And when President Eisenhower, perhaps hypocritically given the CIA’s penchant for regime change elsewhere in the world, made it clear that ‘We believe these actions to have been taken in error, for we do not accept the use of force as a wise or proper instrument for the settlement of international disputes,’ it was evident that the attempt to retake the canal, let alone remove Nasser, was over.

1957 would see the end of another of the KGB’s assets in the United States, Colonel Rudolf Invanovich Abel – although he would be known by many names, including his birth name William Fisher, Emil Goldfus, and Martin Collins. His arrest by the FBI in June that year, and their discovery of ‘virtual museums of modern espionage equipment’ in his workplace and hotel room, which ‘contained shortwave radios, cipher pads, cameras and film for producing microdots, a hollow shaving brush, cufflinks, and numerous other ‘‘trick’’ containers’ would lead to his conviction for conspiracy to obtain and transmit defence information to the Soviet Union.

Giving the FBI the name Abel during his interrogation was probably a move designed to let his KGB controllers know his situation, a typical act by this veteran operative, who had spent years in Soviet intelligence before the Second World War prior to entering the US in 1948, as code name Mark. He was involved with the Volunteer network of atomic spies that operated out of New York, but had to rein back his activities following the arrest of Julius and Ethel Rosenberg. The arrival of a new assistant, Reino Häyhänen, in October 1952, was supposed to mark a new phase in his career, but in fact would lead to disaster for Abel. Häyhänen was not a good agent, misusing KGB funds, losing important reports, and even
mislaying one of the hollowed-out coins in which information was transmitted. This coin found its way into the hands of the FBI, who spent years trying to decode the message within.