The Redaction Chronicles Collection

Chapter 16

LONDON, JANUARY 1965“You would work directly to me. No contact, either overt or covert, with the Embassy or the local CIA stations where you are operating. You work at arm"s length, independently, with no chaperoning.

You would work directly to me. No contact, either overt or covert, with the Embassy or the local CIA stations where you are operating. You work at arm"s length, independently, with no chaperoning.You try knocking on their doors, they"ll tell you to take a hike and that they don"t know what you"re talking about. I will give you a series of telephone numbers; you check in regularly to give and receive up to date intelligence. After each successful "hit", I will release a designated amount to a personal bank account of your choice. You don"t complete the contracts; you don"t get paid. Questions?”

You try knocking on their doors, they"ll tell you to take a hike and that they don"t know what you"re talking about. I will give you a series of telephone numbers; you check in regularly to give and receive up to date intelligence. After each successful "hit", I will release a designated amount to a personal bank account of your choice. You don"t complete the contracts; you don"t get paid. Questions?”The tape player clicked off with a deep thunk. It had come, mid conversation, toward the end of the spool.

“So is it fortune or fraud?” asked C.

The faces – all men he knew and trusted, stared back – all non-committal. They saw the deceptively youthful looking face of C, reclining in his chair, debonair with spectacles perched precariously on the end of his nose as he read through his files. He looked like a gentleman official from one of the better banking institutions: amiable, kindly, forgiving – all of which he could be if the occasion warranted.

But the four men knew this to be a facade. C was as tough as an old iron-spike when he had to be. The Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, or C as he was known to his officers, knew what they were thinking; they needed more concrete information before they were willing to give their opinions. He didn"t blame them. But that did nothing to confront the problem they were facing, and he needed answers pretty damn soon.

The five men, the hierarchy of the Secret Service, were sitting around the old mahogany conference table in the "War Room", which was situated on the top floor of 54 Broadway Buildings. The room was dark and brooding and was in sync with their collective mood. Stacked all around the rooms and corridors were boxes and security-sealed filing cabinets, all in place ready for the organizations big move over the coming weeks.

Broadway was a huge monolith of a building; slab grey, austere and parked away in a quiet backstreet in Westminster. It had, for over thirty years, been the headquarters of the British Secret Service. Its maze-like corridors and annexes had, over the years, baffled even the most intrepid of spies and visitors alike. It had survived wars, conflicts, skirmishes and political intrigue, but with the onset of the Cold War, even its most ferocious protectors had recognized that Broadway"s day had come to an end. Plans were afoot to make a move across the river to a more modern building in Lambeth, with internal rumblings that the powers that be were intent on keeping the spies away from the corridors of power and moving them further away into the shadows.

The five men had been here for the best part of the morning, thrashing out the contents of the scratchy audio recording that the technicians had done their best to clean up. It was audible, but muffled, and the boffins had decided that it was prudent to supply a transcript of the recording lest anything be misunderstood or misinterpreted. The empty teapot, cups, saucers and overflowing ashtrays had been pushed to one side, ignored, and the men had their noses firmly pushed into the transcripts hoping to find a clue that could give them a definitive answer.

C sat at the head of the table, as his seniority allowed. To his immediate left sat his Vice-Chief, Barton, a bullish man who had cut his espionage teeth working for the sabotage service during the war. To his immediate right sat the Director of Soviet Operations, Harper, a career intelligence officer who had been at the helm of Soviet Operations for as long as anybody could remember. Both men had different styles of operating within SIS, something that caused much internal friction.

Bringing up the lower echelons of the table was the "Constellation" network controller and its senior case officer, Bernard Porter, a former Oxford Don who had been recruited from academia. The final officer present was the Head of the Redaction Unit, Colonel Stephen Masterman.

It had been several weeks since the audio tape had been recovered from the dead letter drop by the Head of Station/Vienna. The tape had been listened to, and then listened to again, phone calls had been made and then it had hastily been posted into the diplomatic bag marked “URGENT – C – EYES ONLY” and then headed for London.

When it had arrived at Broadway it had dropped on them not with a bang, as would be associated with red hot intelligence, but instead with a whimper. No one seemed to know what to make of it. Was it genuine and if so, said the old intelligence hands, what does it have to do with us?

There was the argument that the information should be shared with Broadway"s sister service, MI5, the Security Service. After all, the mention of Soviet agents who had been recruited for Western organizations could provide vital clues to the spy hunters. This was quickly pooh-poohed by the older hands at Broadway, who preferred to keep it to themselves until they knew exactly what they were dealing with.

whatFinally, at the weekly department heads meeting, someone had mentioned to the Director of Soviet Operations about a report that had come in from Vienna. It was nothing out of the ordinary, just another possible piece of the intelligence jigsaw. That was until someone mentioned the phrase "a military liaison officer in NATO is alleged to be working for the Russians".

Then the explosion of activity had happened. The Soviet Operations desk had quickly swung into action demanding an in-depth report and investigation into the recording and its background. It had caused panic, concern and not a little consternation. The follow-up reports of the murder of the informant Max Dobos had sent the top floor of Broadway into a flurry of action. Hence the high level meeting that was now taking place.

“So… thoughts?” prompted the Chief, determined to kick-start the analysis. The group had been batting forth ideas about the overall meaning of the information contained in the recording, now he needed them to look at the fine detail.

“Well, from the unconventional way we received it, it"s bound to be a fake,” said Barton, bullish as ever.

“And yet, Head of Station Vienna mentions in his report that he had used this man, Max Dobos, on and off for years,” countered Harper. “Low level stuff certainly, but always reliable.”

“He"s an intelligence hawker; he sells bits and bobs of information all over. To us, the Americans, the Germans, even the French, God help him,” said Barton.

“Just because he sells intelligence to a variety of services, doesn"t equate that he"s a liar. He evidently thought it was important enough to pass it on to us,” countered Harper.

“Bit thin isn"t it… hardly cast iron evidence,” replied Barton gruffly.

“Well, that and the fact that he was found recently with his throat slit suggests that he was involved with something that was nefarious, even in our trade. Was he out of his depth? Is someone tying up loose ends?” said Harper in his most courteous tone.

The two men – Harper and Barton – came to the end of their sparring match. They both sat there, each weighing up the other, planning their next move in an ever continuing turf war that had become legendary within headquarters.

“The tape is obviously incomplete. Almost as if we"ve come in half way through a conversation. Therefore, we have to assume that this Dobos character either didn"t start recording the conversation soon enough and he ran out of tape before the meeting finished,” said C.

“Or he was disturbed and had to stop the recording,” said Barton.

“Possibly. The fact that he was killed in Vienna rather than in Luxembourg where we are led to believe that this meeting took place, seems to suggest that he simply ran out of tape rather than being caught in flagrante. If he had been caught red handed, it is assumed that he would have been murdered on the spot,” replied C.

The committee all nodded their agreement at the Chief"s assessment. In their shoes, they would have done the same thing. Why leave a witness to your crimes?

“So are we to assume that the people in this recording are completely unaware that they have been the victims of surveillance? To them, they are in the clear, haven"t been compromised and the killing of this informant in Vienna has been standard procedure for them?” mused the Chief.

“Agreed. They think the integrity of their operation is intact. That gives us the tactical advantage… for the moment at least,” said Harper.

“And we"re definitely sure it"s the Americans, are we?” asked Barton.

“On the face of it that certainly seems to be the case. An American player, numerous mentioning of the Agency, a former CIA asset by all accounts being re-recruited, the targeting of Russian agents. Has the Americans Cold War policy perhaps gotten a bit out of hand?” replied Harper.

A smile spread across C"s face. He didn"t think the Americans knew the meaning of "out of hand". They always seemed able to raise the bar to the next level of recklessness. “And have the technicians been able to identify anything useful from the voices on the tape?”

Harper shrugged. “Not much, Sir. The American voice is West Coast, late 50"s, educated. "Mr. Knight" is almost certainly a working name and aside from that, we haven"t been able to positively identify him from the conversation.”

“And the other voice, what of him?” asked C.

“Again, not much. European certainly, possibly from Spain or France, but the accent has been eroded over the years. Hint of German in there somewhere, so possibly travelled around a lot. Younger, somewhere in his 40"s. I"ve checked through our agents files in the registry and it"s no one that we"ve used before. Apart from that, it"s a dead end.”

There was a nod from C as he considered his options. “Mmm… So what to do,” he said.

“Well, excuse me for stating what is glaringly obvious, but can"t we just pull these agents out and temporarily isolate them until the threat has passed?” said Barton.

“Or at least put a security team with them?” suggested Harper.

“I"m afraid that won"t be possible or indeed feasible.” This time the voice was the jowly rumble of Porter.

“Please tell us why, Bernie? Give us reasons why we can"t, perhaps some background to your operation might make it clearer to us mere mortals outside your games,” said C.

And it was then that Bernard Russell Porter, a tubby little man of indeterminate age, gave the collective minds of British Intelligence the harsh truth about running a covert network of double agents at the sharp end of the Cold War.

Porter leaned in to them, almost trying to project his argument even more by the crowding of his body. He looked the exact opposite of the debonair agent-runner who existed in the current spate of spy movies or indeed the adventure novels of fiction.

He was neither youthful nor attractive to women. He was mid-fifties, bumbling, with a mop of dark curly hair flecked with grey and settled above a frayed, three-piece pinstripe suit. His speech came in a staccato machine g*n fire that people sometimes found hard to decipher.

“The Constellation Network started as a small mission to disrupt Russian operations in Europe. Nothing fancy, nothing too technical, just a simple smoke and mirrors operation. Things that we do all the time to make the Russians look one way while we do devilish things the other. This was post-Philby.”

The name "Philby" still sent chills around the corridors of SIS and Porter hurried on with his briefing, lest the name should stir up evil ghosts from the past.

“We had been decimated by his betrayals and we had to start from scratch, rebuilding networks, operations and planning. Constellation was a part of that, small at first as I say, but it quickly grew. Its overall aim was to spread disinformation into the Russians" backyard.”

Porter cleared his throat and continued. “Our head agent is CIRIUS. British Army Major stationed in Germany after the war and later when the wall went up. He has a lot of experience in Berlin. We worked it so that he got himself involved in a s*x-trap and therefore, at least in the eyes of the Russians and East Germans, had compromised himself. We also added in his frustrations with post-war British colonial policy, lack of promotion, a shortage of cash and we had a nice little "dangle" for the Russians to bite at, which is exactly what they did. The Major himself is a very brave man, a true patriot and is the longest serving agent in Constellation.”

CIRIUSAll eyes looked over the transcript once again as if to confirm that the man that Porter spoke of was the same person mentioned in the report. Porter continued with his briefing, his pace slowing, so as to ensure that each man understood the gravity of the situation they were dealing with.

“With our head agent in place, our aim then was to slowly integrate more operatives into the KGB"s line of sight and set about building a network. Want the run down on who the rest of them are, within reason of course?”

Murmurs of agreement rose from around the table and a confirming nod came from the Chief to carry on. Porter counted each of the agents off on his fingers, holding onto each respective one like a man holding onto a rope in a sea storm.

“So,” continued Porter, “we have ORION, a Dutch citizen who has risen to be a senior executive with the AGIG Bank in Zurich. He passes the information to Moscow about IMF funding and advises the KGB on the moving of monies for its agents and operations in the West.”

ORION“CIRIUS we know, and then we have LYRA. If CIRIUS is our longest serving agent, then LYRA is our star agent. LYRA is a former Italian Member of Parliament and currently Special Advisor to the UN. British mother, Italian father: she was married to an American businessman who had close ties to the current US Administration. He died several years ago. Moscow believes that she is the KGB"s eyes and ears inside both the UN and the White House. Her importance to the network can"t be overstated.”

CIRIUSLYRACIRIUSLYRALYRA“Next we have SCORPIUS. I know, that codename sounds very dramatic doesn"t it, but it belies his commitment to destroying the KGB and the Communist regime. He"s a former Nazi engineer, a protégé of Van Braun no less, who currently works at the Weapons Research facility in Hampshire, where he is part of a team heading the next phase of submarine delivered nuclear missiles. He passes his KGB control "doctored" technical information about missile guidance and propulsion systems.”

SCORPIUS“Finally, we have PYXIS, a junior officer at the Government Code and Communications Headquarters outstation in Cyprus. He"s of the post-war intake. He had family at Bletchley during the war. The Russians seem to trust him as the KGB is more and more interested in not only new technical code developments, but also who is listening to whom in the Middle East. Plus, there is the whole stable of sub-agents, couriers, safe-houses, de-briefing teams and of course the agent handling team. Not to mention the policy making and disinformation unit that provides the intelligence that we feed to the KGB. All in all, that"s a pretty big operation to risk.”

PYXISPorter leaned back in his seat, spent after delivering the revue of his agents. But it was only a brief pause. He shrugged and continued with the outline of his operation.

“From the KGB"s point of view, the agents of Constellation were perfect, high access, low maintenance. The only thing that concerned them was that not one of them was a thoroughbred, Russian born communist; they were all Western turncoats, and were therefore, by default, classed as completely untrustworthy and totally unreliable. But that"s the Russian psyche for you; they see conspiracy and intrigue everywhere. They could have Stalin himself providing the intelligence and they"d still think he was a traitor. It"s who they are.”

There were several discreet rumblings of laughter from around the table. All the men recognized the truth in Porter"s statement. He pulled a wry grin at his own wit before carrying on.

“But – and it took a long, long time – the Russians began to see the merits of using these agents. They proved themselves again and again and again. Oh, not in the big things, but in the small details of intelligence. A piece of gossip that turned out to be factual, a sub-agent who allowed himself to be recruited, a shred of information that confirmed a piece of intelligence. The usual things. It was an operation within an operation. First to get the network recruited and then to establish their bona fides. And eventually the Russians started to have a little faith, and then a bit more trust, until eventually someone in Moscow was having a nice little career promotion on the back of Constellation"s intelligence product. And that was when we knew that they had bought into us hook, line and sinker.”

Porter could see Sir Richard, C, nodding in silent agreement. He knew that Sir "Dickie" had been on the front-line of the espionage war during the second round of unpleasantness, running German agents first in Europe before 1940 and later running them back as doubles, and he knew the pitfalls from first-hand experience.

“Constellation has been able, over the past few years, to influence Soviet policy on political decision making, strategic armed forces, missile strength and a wide variety of technical capabilities. At times we"ve made it appear as if the West is weak and at other times as though we are strong. Our aim is to keep the Russians off balance and thus far, we have been quite successful.” Porter sighed and looked at his hands; sadness had descended over him and C had recognized it immediately as the melancholy of the agent-runner. “They"re my boys and gals, you see. I"ve borne them, carried them, bullied them and fretted over them in some of their darkest days.”

Another pause for breath, then Porter once again hammered out his theory on what not to do, to save his beloved network. “Now to our options, as I see it, in my role as their controller. Simply removing those agents from danger, oh, were that it was at all possible. That would be the easy option, certainly, but I fear that even the slightest hint of something out of the ordinary would cause ripples throughout Russian Intelligence. The KGB is nothing if not suspicious of everything, even its own agents. We move them, and remember that"s a whole network, questions will be asked by the Russians. Why are you all going to ground? What is this, a group holiday?”

notThere was no laughter this time. They were into serious territory and they all knew it.

Porter became more earnest, his voice taking on more authority. “If we alert them, again it will cause them to act out of character. Something they"ve spent many a year building up, to gain the trust of Russian Intelligence. A scared and frightened agent begins to do silly things, takes risks, and acts like a b****y nightmare. What we need to do is keep them operationally unconscious for as long as we can about this assassination team. Apart from anything else, one of Constellation"s agents, LYRA, before she was widowed, was married to a very influential American citizen with close personal links to the hierarchy in the White House…the current President"s Chief of Staff no less. Links she still retains to this day!”

LYRAMasterman, who so far had shown very little interest in the whole briefing did, however raise an eyebrow at that. This portly, slovenly man must be one hell of an agent-runner to have such a prize of an agent, he thought to himself.

This portly, slovenly man must be one hell of an agent-runner to have such a prize of an agent,“She"s a very clever lady who believes that cooperation between Europe and America is essential for dismantling the Communist regime. If we declared the details of Constellation"s work to the CIA, it would mean bringing forth details of American citizens working indirectly for us,” said Porter.

“And knowing the CIA, they"d want to take over the whole shooting match,” said Harper, who knew from bitter experience how the Agency had a reputation for running roughshod over someone else"s show.

“Not to mention the considerable embarrassment that it would cause, not only between services, but also on a political level. We spy on our friends as well as our enemies. It would bring the whole house of cards down,” said Barton.

“What about agent PYXIS? Why doesn"t he make their list?” asked C.

PYXISPorter nodded as if he had been expecting the question. “PYXIS is our new boy, Chief, and has only been active for a little over a year. Wherever the original intelligence came from, it appears to have been before he was recruited.”

PYXISbefore“I see,” said C. “Well, that"s good luck for him – shame it can"t be said for the rest of the network. Poor buggers.”

“But that"s not the most surprising thing about this recording. Far from it,” said Porter.

“Well, what is Bernie? Come on man, speak up,” said Barton.

“Well, Sir, it"s the fact that only four of the targets mentioned are a part of Constellation. The remaining names don"t have anything to do with us. They appear to be legitimate Soviet agents!”

“Good Lord!”

“Yes, the Diplomat and the Quartermaster. We seem to have run into a genuine Soviet intelligence operation,” said Porter, amused at the irony of it all.

“And what do we make of the seventh target, this so far unnamed Russian Intelligence officer?” said C. “Surely if we go around bumping off each other"s spies, it will cause no end of chaos between services.”

Barton took out his pipe and lit it. He waved the match like a man with recently numb fingers and then ceremoniously tossed it into a nearby ashtray. “That is harder to manage I agree; after all there isn"t much of a description of the man. More importantly, why do they want him dead? Agents, well alright, I can see how that may be expedient, we do the same ourselves from time to time,” he said flicking a brief glance down to Masterman"s end of the table. “But it"s a little extreme to start eliminating a fellow professional, even if he is a b****y Russian.”

The men around the table all knew the unwritten rule of the intelligence business: no sanctioned killing of other service"s officers, no matter how tempting it might be on occasion. They were professionals and after all such a lunatic action was only one step away from all out warfare. The Cold War was already at fever pitch and it wouldn"t take much to tip the balance.

C turned to Porter. “Anyone you know, Bernie?”

Porter considered this. “Well, Sir, the Russian intelligence officer that runs several of the Constellation agents, sort of my opposite number if you like, has a reputation for being ruthless. Perhaps the Americans have tired of having to play against him. Of course it could be a dozen other KGB officers of equal experience, but without further information it"s only guesswork about which one it could be I"m afraid.”

C nodded. He knew that agents could, over the course of their careers have several different case officers; it was normal routine in the spy world. “Maybe you could have a dig about with your agents Bernie, see if there is anyone that fits the bill from their Russian contacts. At least if we can identify him we can make a more informed decision about whether to feed him to the dogs.”

They stopped for another tea break, a stretch of their legs and backs and a quick trip to the toilet for several of the older members.

When they resumed it was C who moved the meeting on to the next phase. “So Bernie, we were talking about Constellation and how it is necessary to protect it. Perhaps you could share some more information about the time constraints that we have placed upon ourselves in carrying this out. I know that some of us are up to speed in this operation of yours, but it would rather help if you could lay out what you are hoping to achieve in the endgame.”

Porter, refreshed and cleansed, once again leaned forward across the table and spoke with a quiet authority. “Gentlemen, Constellation is only one facet of this operation. It is in fact running in tandem with a much larger and more complex strategic intelligence operation. If Constellation is the means, then Operation SHREDDER is the end result.”

Porter turned his gaze to Harper, the Director of Soviet Operations. “Perhaps you might like to take over from here, sir. SHREDDER is after all, under your direct control.”

Harper nodded. The senior intelligence officer checked through his notes, made a small annotation, and began. “Thank you Porter. Over the past few years the Russians have been carrying out more and more aggressive operations and ramping up the tensions of the Cold War to unparalleled levels. Assassinations, rolling up of networks, plus the recent crisis in Cuba seem to have caught the West on the hop, which, let"s face it, is an unenviable position for any intelligence service to be in.”

The men around the table mused on the thought of recent Soviet operations, both military and espionage, and how many Western intelligence services had taken a beating on more than one occasion.

“Well,” continued Harper, “after being in such a low position it was decided that an operation should be mounted, a long term operation. Its aim was to frighten the Soviet Union into a stalemate. I think that the phrase that was used at the time was that if you can"t fight, then you should wear a big hat.”

“Oh, I say, I rather like that,” said C, a sly grin spreading across his face.

“Indeed, Chief. As you all know the thought of going to war; dare I say it, a nuclear war with Russia is something of a pipe dream by the hawks in the military. Nobody wants that. It would be the end of all days.”

“It"s why we do what we do, to stop the madness happening,” said Barton.

“Agreed and Constellation has played a huge part in containing the excesses of the KGB and its subordinates,” replied Porter.

“So what is the endgame that is so important Harper? What has Constellation been working for all these years?” queried C.

Harper ran a hand over his smooth mane of hair, dislodging several strands before he hurriedly brushed them neatly back into place. “It"s a bluff, pure and simple. A big bluff that says we are the scary ones so do not dare to challenge us. There is to be a meeting later this year, in the autumn actually; exactly when is just guesswork at the moment. What we do know however is that in attendance will be several senior KGB officers, senior officials from the Russian military and numerous members of the Politburo. The purpose of the meeting is for the KGB to present, in a sort of symposium I suppose, the latest evidence of Western powers arming to the hilt to stand against the Soviet Union arms proliferation.”

“What will this evidence show?” tested Barton.

“It will lay out in minute detail that we in the West have developed a range of inter-continental ballistic missiles and armaments that are far in advance of anything that the Russians have or are likely to have for the next decade. The evidence that is provided is expected to give the Russians pause, wrong foot them and make them reconsider any aggressive actions.”

“And this false evidence comes from your Constellation network, Porter?” asked Barton.

“Yes. Each of the Constellation agents has, over many years, provided a piece to a jigsaw that is leading to this final operation. On their own, these pieces of intelligence are meaningless, but put together – like a jigsaw – they make up a beautiful picture of a fully armed, technologically advanced and determined Western nuclear policy,” replied Porter.

“So the survival of Constellation, both literally and figuratively is essential for the success of Operation SHREDDER. Is that a fair summation?” said C.

“Absolutely. The ramifications of SHREDDER failing, being exposed or not believed, would set back our military and strategic advantage over the Russians by years. Something that I"m not sure we could recover from. Therefore, the survival and safety of Constellation is paramount, especially agents LYRA and SCORPIUS,” answered Porter.

“Why those two agents in particular, Bernie?” asked C.

“Because they will provide the final clues to the Russians, Sir. SCORPIUS will provide the technical evidence and LYRA the evidence of a more aggressive Western policy in that area. They are our two best agents within Constellation; they are trusted by the Russians and have proved themselves to the KGB again and again. If they confirm what the Russians have been told, then we will have a classic closed loop; namely intelligence supplied and authenticated by several members of the same network,” said Harper.

It was a huge gamble; they all knew that, risking a long term intelligence operation on a very spurious deception plan. But then that was what SIS was there for: to take on the jobs that were harder than most.

“And if it is a success, what is the outcome you"re hoping for?” queried Barton.

“Best outcome for SHREDDER is that we scare the living daylights out of the Russians and give them pause about their future actions. Second best outcome is that at the very least we set the KGB off against its military counterparts,” said Harper.

“Explain?” queried C.

“Well, the Soviet military machine, like most military organizations, always wants to have the best hardware and the latest weapons. If we can offer them proof that the weapon systems at our disposal outshine anything that they have by a country mile, then their military can"t hope to compete with what they believe we have in the West. They will revert to type and try to dismiss the KGB"s intelligence as rubbish.”

“A case of if we don"t have it, no one can have it. Their Russian generals will spend so much time bickering with the KGB that they"ll cause an internal war. Excellent work,” commented Barton, rubbing his hands beneath the table with glee.

“So it would seem that we are playing for some very high stakes. I must say I do rather like the subtlety and complexity of it all. I suspect it"s the type of operation that we all dreamed we"d have the chance to run when we were toddlers in spy school,” considered C.