A Secret Life (19 page)
Authors: Benjamin Weiser
Tags: #History, #Europe, #Germany, #World, #True Crime, #Espionage
Kuklinski also said he had been pondering something the Americans had told him in the summer meetings. If the CIA did not have backup officers on the street during exchanges, shouldn’t he carry his gun? He realized that he would be on his own, he wrote. His job allowed him to have a sidearm. If he found himself in peril during a moving-car delivery, should he use the gun to escape or to make his way to the American Embassy?
He wrapped the letter with his rolls of film and headed for the exchange site. The location―a spot on the north side of Ladyslawa Street, near its intersection with Krzywickiego Street―had been chosen because it had good escape routes. It was a neighborhood where hundreds of military families lived in two-and three-story apartment buildings that were built around gated courtyards, which were accessible from the street.
As he looked up the street, Kuklinski saw a car turn onto Ladyslawa, adjust its beams, and reduce its speed. It was a Mustang, a model that Kuklinski knew Warsaw Station used. He stepped forward and made a quick exchange through the passenger window.
The Mustang accelerated and continued down the block. But before Kuklinski could step backward, he was caught in the headlights of another car, a cream-colored Fiat 125, which had quickly turned the corner and was tailing the Mustang. Two men in the front were leaning forward, as if they were trying to identify him. Kuklinski retreated, but the Fiat seemed to be heading right at him.
Terrified, he entered the gate to the courtyard and walked briskly down an alley to the next street, Langiewicza, which ran parallel to Ladyslawa. The driver of the Fiat appeared to have anticipated his move. The car, its high beams on, had also made two turns and was again heading in his direction.
Kuklinski almost ran to the next block, Sedziowska Street, but saw the Fiat again. He turned another corner and picked up his pace, finally believing he had escaped the pursuing car. But at the intersection of Koszykowa and Niepodleglosci Streets, the two men bore down on him again. Kuklinski did not believe they had seen his face, but he felt certain he had been caught in SB surveillance. He ran down Koszykowa Street, then disappeared up alleys and into buildings, zigzagging block by block: Wilcza, Poznanska, Hoza, Marszalkowska.
He entered a pedestrian tunnel that led into Warsaw’s sprawling central railroad station near the huge Palace of Culture, Stalin’s oppressive gift to Warsaw, and mingled in the crowd around the ticket booth. One man seemed to be looking at him with interest. Ignoring him, Kuklinski approached the ticket window. Suburban trains ran every few minutes. He bought a ticket to Rembertow and walked to the platform. He waited as several trains passed through the station. The train for Otwock arrived. Kuklinski watched as the cars filled with passengers; then he stepped into one just as the doors began to close. As he did, he saw two men, dressed in civilian clothes, enter the next car. Kuklinski turned in the opposite direction and began to walk from one car to the next. At the first stop, Powisle Station, Kuklinski paused as passengers disembarked, and as the train began to inch forward again, he opened the door with an emergency handle and leaped out. This time, he saw no one behind him.
He hurried down several streets until he saw a bus stop in front of him. He boarded a bus, rode for a while, and got off at the Chelmska stop. Kuklinski found a pay phone and woke up Hanka at home. He said he was stuck at a vodka reception, which was running late, and he might not be home until early in the morning. He then asked for Bogdan. When his son got on the phone, Kuklinski slurred his speech slightly, saying he was too drunk to drive. He told Bogdan where he had left the car and asked him to take the bus there, retrieve the car, and return it to their garage. Kuklinski said he would find a ride home.
Kuklinski boarded a bus at Chelmska and got off at a large square called Plac Unii Lubelskiej. There, he caught a taxi to Nowe Miasto Market, near where his new home was being built.
It was close to midnight, and Kuklinski was exhausted. He was still carrying his briefcase with the package from the CIA. He replayed the incident again and again in his mind: Had the SB men seen his face? Did they know whom they were chasing, or had they just seen a man acting suspiciously in a military neighborhood?
He walked to Rajcow Street, where his new home was being built. Picking his way through the dirt and debris, he found some tarpaper, which he wrapped around the box he had received in the exchange. He buried the package on his property, near the foundation of his home construction. Then he left, walking for a few blocks until he could hail another taxi to his apartment.
At home, he slipped in quietly, changed his clothes, and left again, driving several miles to a bridge that crossed the Vistula River. Halfway across, he dropped his empty briefcase over the side and heard it hit the water. It was the last thing he had been carrying that could connect him to the incident.
Kuklinski tried to analyze his situation objectively. If he had been observed, he probably had not been identified. At most, the secret police had an incomplete picture of him, his movements, and his outward appearance.
It was still dark, and Kuklinski decided to drive to Warsaw’s other major railroad depot, the Main Station, where there was an all-night barbershop. The barber did not know him. Kuklinski wore his hair slightly longer than his colleagues and had been teased recently by one of his superiors, who said he was spending too much money on his new house and not enough on his hair. “Make it short,” Kuklinski instructed the barber. When the barber finished, Kuklinski was not satisfied and asked the barber to cut off more.
Kuklinski got home before dawn, put on his uniform, and left for work. He did not feel he could risk leaving a chalk mark for Warsaw Station asking for an emergency meeting. He would have to wait until the next scheduled car exchange, in November.
Unaware of Kuklinski’s close call, the CIA processed his latest documents and prepared a letter for delivery to him in November. The letter thanked Kuklinski for the materials he had sent on September 3 as well as the photographs and biographical information about his family. The only item missing was a photograph of Bogdan, the agency said, requesting that he include one the next time. The letter went on to ask Kuklinski for handwriting samples from each family member. “Such samples, for example clipped from notes or school papers, would assist us in preparing travel or other documents for your family’s use if ever required,” the agency said. CIA physicians had reviewed Kuklinski’s medical results and concluded that Kuklinski was in excellent condition. “We are delighted, and wish you continued and long-lasting good health,” the CIA wrote. The agency also devoted several paragraphs to Kuklinski’s question about whether to carry his gun during car exchanges, recommending against it.
Although that decision is one only you will be able to make if circumstances ever require it, and hopefully they never will, we suggest that any other possibility for escape and flight should be preferred.Our reasoning is that should you use your weapon to escape, should you be successful in eluding your captors but kill or injure one or more of them in the process, and should you then succeed in reaching us, then your government might be in a position to claim a legal jurisdiction over you, citing an alleged criminal act on its territory.Although we would of course deny their claim, the publicity might complicate our plans for your escape from Poland. However, should you succeed in eluding your captors by any means short of killing or injuring one or more of them with a weapon and then reach us, we would then be in a stronger position to help you escape clandestinely to the West.
Kuklinski waited fitfully for the November exchange, fearful that he might be arrested at any time. On the evening of the exchange, he wrote to the agency, describing in detail the incident with the Fiat. “My situation is unclear and uncertain,” he said. “In spite of the fact that the exchange of correspondence was executed swiftly and flawlessly, it is greatly probable that it did not go without being observed.”
He had been unable to elude his pursuers, he said, recounting how they had “cut into my way and put high beams on me.”
He had given great thought to the incident. “I spent almost the entire night analyzing the situation,” he wrote. In the darkness, he said, the surveillance team would likely have been able to get only a “general description,” such as his movements and the clothing he was wearing, and not a positive identification. On that assumption, he said, “I decided to continue my pattern of life and work while applying special caution.”
Since the incident, he had not noticed anything out of the ordinary at work that might indicate that his superiors, including Chief of Staff Siwicki, had any idea of his situation. It was possible an investigation was under way without his knowledge, which could explain why he had been allowed to continue to work. If so, he speculated, Polish counterintelligence would be quietly monitoring his activities, in order to trace his contacts and try to determine with whom he might be collaborating. Such an investigation, he wrote, would be “programmed for a longer period of time,” and “carefully camouflaged.” He asked for the CIA’s advice on how to proceed.
“It is possible that my feelings―not void of strain and emotion― lead me to a subjective evaluation of the situation and improper conclusions.” He described everything that he could remember, including the route he had taken to elude his pursuers. He wanted to offer as much detail as he could, he said, “in order to present you the fullest possible picture . . . and to make it possible for you to make an appropriate decision.”
He added a pledge: “With full awareness of the danger, I am ready to continue the work undertaken, treating it as my sacred duty to my own nation and country. Without objections, I shall abide by any other decision which will be passed to me.”
Kuklinski felt he could not wait for an answer until the next exchange, as it was several months away. He asked the CIA to place a chalk mark immediately at the regular location, using a number signal system, which would correspond with a list of options:
1. Continue activities using agreed upon communications system.
2. Continue activities [while] perhaps keeping equipment and materials outside of the house. Wait for signal or message according to agreed upon communication system. Abandon planned (regular) meetings and exchanges.
3. Immediately interrupt activities. Conceal equipment outside of the house. Wait for signal or message according to agreed upon communication system.
4. Interrupt activities. Destroy equipment. Wait for signal or message according to agreed upon communication system.
5. Interrupt activities. Establish contact while abroad (sailing cruise) in accordance with the agreed upon system. Dispose of equipment according to own decision.
6. Interrupt activities. Destroy all traces. Wait for clarification of the affair. In case of arrest and interrogation deny all contacts. Re-establish activities and contact in favorable conditions.
7. Leave the country [following] instructions concerning assistance.
8. Wait for detailed instructions which will be passed in accordance with the existing system of communications.
After finishing the letter, Kuklinski wrote to Daniel. He wondered whether it would be their last communication.
I am grateful to you beyond words for your friendship. . . . I intended long ago to share with you matters and thoughts of a more personal character. Most unfortunately, even today, while preparing materials literally on one knee, I shall be able to write just a few sentences.You should, however, know that in my personal thoughts, you are often my conversation-partner. I do not know how my fate will turn out, whether I shall ever be able to pass to you even a small portion of the tale of my not-so-easy life, as well as the motives for my activities.
In his mind, Kuklinski wrote, America had always been the homeland for people of all nationalities, including Poles, who “linked their existence and progress with a concern for the existence of the entire human family.”
He cited the Vietnam War as a factor in his life choices. “In my conscience,” Kuklinski wrote, “the card ‘for our and your freedom’ was filled out with authentic and unselfish contents by your fathers and brothers, the people of the United States. Perhaps the Vietnam War was, for you Americans, a nightmare, and it is difficult for you to believe that precisely the experience of that war decided my present road in life.” In Vietnam, he said, the American troops had made a strong impression on him. He realized many Americans were angry and cynical about the war, and he described his concerns about a backlash that could lead the United States to bring its troops home from Europe.
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