Authors: Benjamin Weiser
Tags: #History, #Europe, #Germany, #World, #True Crime, #Espionage
A Secret Life (47 page)
On May 23, 1984, the court declared that Kuklinski had deserted the Polish Army, convicted him of “treason of the Fatherland,” and sentenced him to death. Saying that it had found no mitigating circumstances, the court also ordered the seizure of Kuklinski’s property and stripped him of some of his rights as a citizen.
In a detailed explanation, the court described Kuklinski’s participation in “the fundamental defense matters of the Warsaw Pact” as well as his role as author of Poland’s military doctrine and of documents pertaining to martial law. “Those projects, classified as top secret, were of the utmost importance,” the court said. “To reveal them would jeopardize Poland’s defense and security in an incalculable manner.” The evidence “unequivocally indicated that Col. Ryszard Kuklinski had deserted the Polish People’s Army.”
While passing out the most severe sentence onto defendant Ryszard Kuklinski, the court took into account the fact that the treason was committed by an officer who occupied such a high post in the General Staff of the Polish Army, and whose knowledge about Poland’s defense and security was therefore particularly broad. The defendant unscrupulously passed that information to the U.S. intelligence in a period especially difficult for the existence of the Polish People’s Republic, that is, prior to the imposition of martial law. The damage caused by defendant Ryszard Kuklinski is immeasurable, given the scope of his knowledge and the fact that he works now as an adviser on Eastern Europe for a country that is hostile to the Polish People’s Republic. The results of that activity cannot be foreseen in the future.
There is no evidence that the military court was aware of the tens of thousands of pages of Soviet documents Kuklinski had provided the West. But the court speculated, “One may safely suspect that defendant Ryszard Kuklinski had cooperated with the United States intelligence for a long time.”
The CIA eventually informed Kuklinski of the verdict, but he did not tell Hanka or his sons. His only surprise was that the Jaruzelski regime had waited so long to act.
During Kuklinski’s first three years in the United States, David Forden―still “Daniel” to him―called the family regularly and tried to visit once or twice a week. Sometimes he stayed for dinner, and other times he just talked, offering any guidance he could and working to help the family understand America’s often startling culture and media. Kuklinski was astonished at what he saw on American television: the nightly accounts of shootings and murders in Washington, D.C., for example, and a program in which people swallowed goldfish in return for money.
Forden was also undergoing a transition: After three years running the Soviet Division, he was being named Athens Station Chief. He was also getting married. He had fallen in love with a vibrant Austrian woman named Aurelia, whom he had met toward the end of his posting in Vienna, where she worked as the protocol officer at the American Embassy.
Under the rules, the CIA must give its approval to officers wanting to marry a foreign national. As part of that process, Aurelia had to undergo a polygraph examination, and Forden had to submit a request for permission to marry her and a letter of resignation. If the CIA approved the union, they could marry, and Forden could stay with the CIA. If it did not, Forden would have to resign.
Forden did not tell Aurelia about Kuklinski―he could not reveal classified information to people who were not cleared to know it.
Aurelia passed the polygraph, and the CIA gave its blessing. In mid- 1984, Forden decided it was time to introduce her to some of the most important people in his life.
He invited the Kuklinskis to dinner at his modest townhouse in Falls Church, Virginia. That night, Forden gave Kuklinski some startling news: “My name is really David.”
Aurelia, who had lost her father at a young age, asked Kuklinski to give her away at the wedding. Kuklinski agreed and invited the couple to have the wedding at his home. One day in August 1984, he led Aurelia down the stairway into his living room, where David and a crowd of well-wishers had gathered. David and Aurelia were married before Kuklinski and his family and David’s three children, including his twenty-year-old son, Daniel.
In early June 1986, Aris Pappas, the CIA specialist on Polish martial law, and James M. Simon Jr., a senior military operations analyst, accompanied Kuklinski to Norfolk, Virginia, to meet General Al Gray, then Commanding General, Fleet Marine Force, Atlantic, and Commanding General, II Marine Expeditionary Force.
The gruff fifty-seven-year-old Gray was responsible for all Marines east of the Mississippi, in the Atlantic, and in Europe. One of his responsibilities in wartime would be to reinforce the northern flank in Europe, which included Norway, Denmark, and northern Germany― one of Kuklinski’s areas of expertise.
Gray greeted Kuklinski in Polish, explaining that he had once played quarterback at Lafayette College, and that some of his Polish-American teammates called out their signals in Polish. Kuklinski was pleased to meet the high-ranking military officer. After a daylong discussion in the company of admirals, generals, and other officers, Gray invited Kuklinski and his entourage to his home for a cookout. “We’re going to continue this,” he said.
Gray’s home overlooked the waterfront on Dillingham Boulevard, which is known as Admirals Row. He introduced Kuklinski to his wife, his ninety-three-year-old mother, and their five dogs, including his miniature poodle, Cozy. Gray also showed Kuklinski his large library.
The general put some steaks on the grill, and noticing that Kuklinski was chilly, he brought him a World War II-style leather flight jacket, on which was imprinted “Papa Bear,” Gray’s call sign during the evacuation of Saigon, where he was the last commander to leave. Kuklinski enjoyed himself, and the party did not break up until almost 1:00 A.M.
Later that morning, while he was still in his hotel room in Norfolk, Kuklinski got a frantic call from Hanka. The
Washington Post
had published a front-page article revealing Kuklinski’s name and his role in providing the martial-law plans to the CIA. The article, by Bob Woodward and Michael Dobbs, said the CIA considered the Kuklinski operation one of its “most important intelligence successes.”
Washington Post
had published a front-page article revealing Kuklinski’s name and his role in providing the martial-law plans to the CIA. The article, by Bob Woodward and Michael Dobbs, said the CIA considered the Kuklinski operation one of its “most important intelligence successes.”
At one point, the article reported, a copy of the martial-law plans sat on President Reagan’s desk. The article said that Jerzy Urban, spokesman for Polish leader Wojciech Jaruzelski, had volunteered information about the case to a
Post
reporter in Warsaw, using it to attack the United States. The article cited the death sentence imposed by the Polish military court, and indicated that Urban believed the case showed why the United States and Kuklinski, not Jaruzelski, had betrayed Solidarity.
Post
reporter in Warsaw, using it to attack the United States. The article cited the death sentence imposed by the Polish military court, and indicated that Urban believed the case showed why the United States and Kuklinski, not Jaruzelski, had betrayed Solidarity.
“The U.S. administration could have publicly revealed these plans to the world and warned Solidarity,” Urban said. “Had it done so, the implementation of martial law would have been impossible.”
Urban said Polish authorities had assumed the CIA withdrew Kuklinski from Poland so that it could publicize “his information on the preparations for martial law without jeopardizing his safety.” Jaruzelski had waited for an announcement from the Americans, Urban said, but after hearing nothing, the plans were put into effect.
Two days later, Urban held a news conference in Warsaw to discuss the article, which came at a time when Poland was chafing under tight economic sanctions imposed by the United States as a response to martial law. Urban’s tone was harsh and sarcastic.
The fact that President Reagan’s administration did not warn its friends in advance also points to the insincerity of the surprise and holy indignation expressed by the U.S. authorities at the introduction of martial law. . . . Hypocrisy also lies at the foundation of the anti-Polish restrictions. The U.S. government cheated not only its ardent Polish allies but also its own society. Such are the undertones of the case of Kuklinski, who was sentenced in absentia to death by the Polish Military Court.
Kuklinski was deeply wounded by the article and frustrated by his inability to respond. He told Hanka he had to get away, and he decided to go sailing. After arriving in the United States, Kuklinski had taken up sailing on Chesapeake Bay, and he had bought a forty-four-foot sailboat, which he christened the
Shadow Line
after the Joseph Conrad novel.
Shadow Line
after the Joseph Conrad novel.
Kuklinski sailed in the direction of Norfolk, Virginia, planning on a leisurely trip of about a week. But after several days, the weather grew stormy, and the boat’s anchor was damaged. He sailed back up the Potomac to the small town of St. Marys City, Maryland, where he stopped for repairs. As he arrived, he saw two young women reading on the dock. They jumped up and offered to help with the ropes. “What a beautiful boat,” one said. They were students at the local college and loved sailing.
Kuklinski, who had regrown his beard, welcomed them aboard. As they chatted, Kuklinski offered them a tour of the cabin, pointing out his boat’s library, which included a collection of Conrad’s works.
One of the women looked up, saying, “I only love spy stories.” Unsettled, Kuklinski cursed under his breath and abruptly ushered them off the boat.
The
Washington Post
story and Urban’s attack still rankled. The next year, Kuklinski decided to enter the debate, and gave an interview to a Polish émigré journal,
Kultura
, in which he detailed his clandestine activity in the year before martial law and his motivation for acting as he did. He only hinted at the extent of his earlier cooperation and offered no details of how he had escaped from Poland. He said it was “premature to describe the circumstances of how this occurred.”
Washington Post
story and Urban’s attack still rankled. The next year, Kuklinski decided to enter the debate, and gave an interview to a Polish émigré journal,
Kultura
, in which he detailed his clandestine activity in the year before martial law and his motivation for acting as he did. He only hinted at the extent of his earlier cooperation and offered no details of how he had escaped from Poland. He said it was “premature to describe the circumstances of how this occurred.”
He maintained that warning Solidarity about the impending crackdown would have accomplished nothing. By then, martial law was inevitable, and had Jaruzelski refused to implement it, other Polish officials would have. Moreover, a warning would have provoked Solidarity to even greater levels of resistance, barricading factories and fighting in the streets. “There is no question that . . . the whole matter would end with an incredibly bloody massacre,” Kuklinski wrote.
“Today, despite the sentence of death issued against me,” Kuklinski said, “I sleep soundly, and this is not because I have some specific personal protection, but because my conscience is not burdened with the loss of any human life.”
The
Kultura
essay spurred broad debate in Poland, which Kuklinski followed closely in the Polish press. Meanwhile, the CIA moved him to another location in Virginia after a car with a Soviet diplomatic license plate was observed parked outside his house.
Kultura
essay spurred broad debate in Poland, which Kuklinski followed closely in the Polish press. Meanwhile, the CIA moved him to another location in Virginia after a car with a Soviet diplomatic license plate was observed parked outside his house.
Over the next few years, Kuklinski began to feel reason for hope as Poland underwent a fundamental change. The breakthrough came in spring 1989 with the roundtable talks between Communist authorities, led by Interior Minister Kiszczak, and Solidarity, still an illegal organization, led by Lech Walesa. The talks resulted in semifree elections to the Polish parliament in June 1989, and in September, a Solidarity-led government was created, the first government in the Communist bloc led by a non-Communist prime minister, Solidarity activist Tadeusz Mazowiecki. The events began a process of profound systemic change in Poland and had a ripple effect throughout Eastern Europe. But even as Solidarity assumed control of all government ministries by the middle of 1990, there remained an entrenched bureaucracy in the military, which had come up under communism.
In mid-November 1990, during a visit to Warsaw by CIA director William Webster, his DDO, Richard Stolz, raised the Kuklinski case with several high-ranking Polish intelligence officials at a reception and asked why Kuklinski was still being treated as a criminal. They replied that they had no problem with clearing his name. “But it’s the military,” they said.
Late that month, with Poland ready to hold its first nationwide presidential elections, Kuklinski was caught up in the enthusiasm. Hearing that Poles all across America were invited to go to their consulates and exercise their freedom by casting an absentee ballot for the president of Poland, Kuklinski wanted to participate and vote for Walesa. Some years after Kuklinski’s arrival in the United States, he had sent Walesa a present through an intermediary: the flask the retiring CIA translator had given him. The flask had once helped a World War II Polish paratrooper, and it had helped him as well, Kuklinski wrote in a letter to Walesa. “This is a symbol of survival.” He had never heard from Walesa, but he was prepared to vote for him now.
On November 24, he boarded a plane to Chicago, where he rented a car and drove to the Polish consulate on North Lake Shore Drive. He strode through the gate with dozens of other Poles who were arriving to vote.
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