A Secret Life (22 page)
Authors: Benjamin Weiser
Tags: #History, #Europe, #Germany, #World, #True Crime, #Espionage
One day in April, Kuklinski was in his office secretly photographing a map that had been prepared for Warsaw Pact maneuvers planned for the fall when he was called by a counterintelligence officer who wished to see him. Kuklinski hid his camera and placed the map in his desk. The officer questioned him for ninety minutes about the surveillance voyage planned for June and about the previous trips. He wanted to know the original reason for the voyages, what intelligence was gained, how long the voyages took, how the crew was chosen, what the trips cost, how much time was spent abroad, and whether there was contact with foreigners.
Kuklinski responded matter-of-factly to each question. The officer then asked about the yacht club, Atol, of which Kuklinski recently had been elected president, wanting to know who were members and how they joined. Kuklinski wondered whether the interrogation was related to the Pawlowski investigation, and a few weeks later, he was called in for two more hours of questioning. But nothing more came of it, and Kuklinski dismissed the matter as routine fact gathering.
On June 5, 1976, Kuklinski arrived in Copenhagen, leading another voyage through northern Europe. When Daniel and Henry met with him in a hotel room, he seemed considerably more relaxed and confident than in earlier meetings. Kuklinski was in his third year as chief specialist for operations, overseeing all operational planning on the General Staff. He had regular contact with military officials in Moscow and throughout the East bloc and had recently begun working on a five-year plan for the armed forces through 1980.
He conceded there had been difficult moments. Pawlowski had been convicted and sentenced to twenty-five years in prison that spring. “The vigilance in the army, in my institution, was greatly sharpened,” he said. He described the visits by the counterintelligence officer. “I must admit that I was shaken, because he called me immediately after my return from photographing a map.” Kuklinski had even discovered that the telephone line in his apartment had been bugged, but only by a clever neighbor who did not have his own phone. The incident reminded Kuklinski of how little privacy he had. “I do not conduct any conversations which could suggest the character of my ‘second personality,’ ” he added.
They met twice more in the ensuing days, discussing topics ranging from Soviet military capabilities to the after-hours love-life of one of Kuklinski’s General Staff colleagues. Kuklinski said that the plumbing, heating, and electrical work on his new home had been completed, the walls should be plastered within a month, and the roof tiles would soon be laid. The construction was going slowly, but his family might be able to move in by Christmas.
Daniel cabled headquarters after the final session with Kuklinski: “Consensus here is that [Gull], while very much aware of the pressures he [is] working under, has achieved [a] remarkably fine balance of alertness, endurance, and naturalness to carry out his work with us during [the] next year.”
Over the summer, Kuklinski had to cancel a family vacation after he was assigned to complete the Defense Ministry’s directives for the armed forces for 1976-1980. The work brought him into extensive contact with the Defense Ministry leadership, including Jaruzelski and Siwicki, who were friendlier than ever toward him. On August 22 he appeared for a moving-car delivery, writing to the CIA that he felt “an atmosphere of peace, previously unheard of for me.” Warsaw Station cabled headquarters two days later to say Kuklinski seemed “smiling and relaxed, almost nonchalant.” He “may be a shade too relaxed,” the cable said.
Daniel wrote to say that he was grateful for the personal meetings. “They are especially valuable for the human contact they give us, something without which our relationship could not be so deeply satisfying.” In a postscript, he praised the performance of Polish athletes in the recent Summer Olympics in Montreal, “particularly their victory over the Soviets in the volleyball finals.”
That fall, Kuklinski received a series of commendations. His superiors cited him as “Leading Worker of the General Staff of the Polish Army.” General Siwicki awarded him a medal, Amor Patriae Supreme Lex, with a written dedication and letter of commendation. On October 12, Army Day, Jaruzelski awarded him the Cavalier’s Cross of the Order of the Rebirth of Poland. About thirty colleagues attended the ceremony, and Jaruzelski and Kuklinski spent a few minutes discussing Kuklinski’s ideas for innovations in military planning. Siwicki also announced special honors for Kuklinski’s work on the Defense Ministry directives. “This type of public show of interest and consideration for me . . . would probably not be possible if there were even the least shadow of suspicion,” Kuklinski wrote to the CIA on October 31. He said he understood that the smallest indiscretion could cost him his life, and that total safety was unattainable within the borders of his country. He added:
The recognition recently accorded me in no way weakens my desire to continue cooperation. I nourish only the hope that as a result of my good position in the General Staff, as well as good feelings, in the future I will be able to provide more information on the potential and the actual intentions of the combined armed forces of the Warsaw Pact and especially of the Armed Forces of the U.S.S.R.
On November 3, 1976, portions of Gull’s most recent letter were sent to then-CIA director George Bush through the DDO. “We, too, are planning to award him a medal when next we meet in person!” the Soviet Division chief said in a memorandum.
In a letter to Kuklinski the following month, Daniel wrote that the CIA could not “match the public honors that you received recently. But I assure you that the enormous value of your work (and of your anonymity) is recognized at the top levels of our government.”
Throughout the summer and fall of 1976, public discontent in Poland grew. In late June, after the government announced it would raise food prices on average by about 60 percent, riots, work stoppages, and other protests broke out across the country, resulting in the deaths of two demonstrators, injuries to seventy-five police officers, and millions of dollars of damage. The increases in food prices were postponed, but dozens of workers were arrested and many were tried and sentenced to prison. In August, Cardinal Stefan Wyszynski, the revered Polish primate, criticized the government’s decision to fire and imprison the demonstrators, saying the punishments were too severe.
On December 9, Kuklinski decided to carry a particularly large collection of classified documents out of his office to photograph at home, but had little time to do so. He hid the material in a large briefcase that he kept in his office. Such briefcases were practically standard issue for General Staff officers, whose perks included access to an exclusive shop that sold sausage and other meats that were in otherwise short supply. Kuklinski had always felt the shop was a symbol of the double standard in Poland, but it was a useful cover for his secret work. He shopped there regularly, filled his briefcase with groceries, and put the documents beneath them.
That day, clutching the briefcase, Kuklinski barely acknowledged the guards as he left, heading toward his car and driver. Preoccupied, he walked briskly and collided with a massive concrete column.
Kuklinski staggered blindly, his face bleeding. He stumbled to his knees and felt as if he might pass out, but he steeled himself to stay alert. Other military personnel and guards rushed to his side, and one man reached for his briefcase. Kuklinski, dizzy, swaying, and blinking back tears, yanked it back, sputtering, “Leave me alone!”
He struggled to his feet and reentered the General Staff building. Shaking off solicitous security personnel, he hurried to his office, where he left the briefcase, and entered the bathroom. He ran cold water over his hands and splashed his face in an attempt to stanch the bleeding from his nose, lips, and forehead. Still shaken, he returned to his office. He had lost valuable time. Trying to calm himself, he left the building again, this time without incident. At home, he cleaned up and put powder on his face, but winced when he glanced in the mirror. He looked dreadful, caked up as if he were going to a masquerade ball.
Three days later, he was still feeling the effects of his encounter with the pillar. A CIA officer who met him on December 12 for a car exchange noted in a cable that although he was smiling and seemed fit, “his face appeared somewhat fuller than usual.” His written account of what had happened to him, the officers wrote, “leaves our knees weak.”
Kuklinski wrote that despite his close call, he was satisfied that the exchanges were being conducted without detection. He apologized for not responding when American officers offered him a quiet hello in the exchanges. “The tension during these few moments is so strong that words of sentiment such as I would like to express remain somewhere in the background,” Kuklinski wrote.
He regretted he had not provided even more material, but he was obsessed with trying to avoid missteps, although, as he put it, “concentration on fine points nearly ended in disaster,” a reference to the incident with the pillar.
In a response to Kuklinski, the CIA expressed sympathy: “We are still marveling at your great presence of mind in protecting your briefcase of papers when you had your accident,” and added, “Please don’t worry about not returning our greetings. We understand completely that the moment of passing is very short and filled with many details. We know that, in your thoughts, you return our good wishes, and appreciate it.”
In January 1977, President Jimmy Carter took office and appointed Admiral Stansfield J. Turner to run the CIA. Daniel had been promoted as well: After three years overseeing internal operations inside the Soviet Union and East bloc, he was named chief of operations worldwide for the Soviet Division. He wrote to Kuklinski:
Dear P.V.,The earnest rivalry and rhetoric of our political campaign are long since over, and three weeks ago Mr. Carter spoke for the first time as president to the American people and to the world. As I listened, and again as I read and reflected on his inaugural address the next day, my thoughts turned repeatedly to you. In our talks together, and in many of your letters, you have touched on the same themes of human rights, liberty and opportunity that formed the basis of Mr. Carter’s address.It was a simple, straightforward, and moving address. I knew that Polish Radio was going to broadcast it the next day (Friday, the 21st of January)―or portions of it, at least. But I wondered if you would be able to hear it. If you did, I hope that you can understand why I was reminded so vividly and in so many ways of you and the goals that bind us together.President Carter said that “the American dream endures. . . . We have already found a high degree of personal liberty, and we are now struggling to enhance equality of opportunity. Our commitment to human rights must be absolute, our laws fair, our natural beauty preserved; the powerful must not persecute the weak, and human dignity must be enhanced . . . the world itself is now dominated by a new spirit . . . people are demanding their place in the sun―not just for the benefit of their own physical condition, but for basic human rights . . . because we are free we can never be indifferent to the fate of freedom elsewhere. Our moral sense dictates a clear-cut preference for those societies which share with us an abiding respect for individual human rights. We do not seek to intimidate, but it is clear that a world which others can dominate with impunity would be inhospitable to decency and a threat to the well-being of all people.”
In the exchange on February 13, 1977, Kuklinski appeared grinning and hatless. His letter included a positive security assessment, saying there was nothing indicating any danger. “Nonetheless, in accordance with a saying that storms are preceded by tranquillity, I try to act very carefully.”
For a long time now, my official workload has exceeded my work capacity. I am continually forced to work after hours and during weekends and holidays. Continuous sitting at work―although it is not connected with our cooperation―might, in the end, arouse somebody’s interest in the negative sense. I presented my case of overwork to General Skalski, but he probably is not capable of understanding that human capabilities are limited.
He also reported sad news: Colonel Jan Zarek, who was in charge of the strategic defense department, had died of a heart attack. “I want to have an EKG examination,” Kuklinski wrote. Although only forty-six at the time, he thought it might be prudent because of his workload and the stress in his life.
In a separate note to Daniel, he reported approval of another General Staff voyage, including a stop in Britain. A counterintelligence officer would join on the trip. “There are still countless details to be taken care of, but I nevertheless hope that it will materialize,” he wrote.
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