Моргенштерн » 08 ноя 2013 10:35
Spymaster: Startling Cold War Revelations of a Soviet KGB Chief
Tennent H. Bagley
Skyhorse Publishing; (November 2013)
Contents
Preface vii
One: Breaking American Ciphers—and Starting a War 1
Two: Two Views of Culture 17
Three: Target: The American Embassy 39
Four: Inside a Deadly Purge 47
Five: Into Foreign Intelligence—and England 71
Six: A Mole and a Tunnel 85
Seven: "Why Do You Need All Those People Here?" 101
Eight: A Unique Look at the Hungarian Revolution 115
Nine: Spy Center Vienna 129
Ten: The KGB's Nazi Underground 139
Eleven: Richard Sorge Redux 153
Twelve: Organizing to Disinform 165
Thirteen: Active Measures 179
Fourteen: "How Could CIA Ever Have Believed in that Man?" 195
Fifteen: The Top Hat Paradox 213
Sixteen: Prague Spring at the Politburo 223
Seventeen: Other Places Eighteen: The Irony of Helsinki Nineteen: Watching It End
Epilogue 253
Appendix: A Surprising Background, for a KGB Leader 257
Notes 267
Index 297
Preface
THIS VOYAGE BACK into the darker regions of the Cold War began in a little country inn in eastern Germany.
As I walked into the sunny breakfast room, the sparkle of silverware on an undisturbed sea of white tablecloths showed me I was early. But not the earliest: a thin and bespectacled man sat alone at a corner table. I recognized him as another participant in the TV production that had brought me to the inn so I walked up to him.
"May I join you?" I asked.
"Please do," he replied with a welcoming gesture toward the seat to his right.
We introduced ourselves, but he evidently knew me already just as I knew him. In fact, this man and I had probably known of each other for more than thirty years. He was Sergey Kondrashev, one of the KGB's most influential figures during the Cold War years, when on the other side I had been supervising CIA's work against his service.
Having long grappled with Soviet deception operations, I was about to breakfast with a man who had run them.
Over orange juice and toast, we talked amicably of our past in the spy game. Kondrashev mentioned that his career in foreign intelligence operations had not started there, but in the KGB's internal-counterintelligence directorate where, in the late 1940s and into the 1950s, he had worked against the American Embassy in Moscow.
That grabbed my interest; I knew that some unsolved mysteries had originated there and then. Old questions rushed to my head. Did I dare ask them of this familiar stranger? Why not? "Tell me, then," I said without preamble or explanation, "something that has been bothering me for a long time. Why ever did Kovshuk make that trip to Washington?"
My breakfast companion had no trouble translating my reference. Vladislav Kovshuk, while heading the KGB's work against American Embassy personnel in Moscow, had travelled to the United States under a pseudonym in early 1957 on a trip that had somehow helped the KGB uncover Americas most important spy in the Soviet Union.
Kondrashev could have deflected the question or pretended ignorance, but instead he answered matter-of-factly and right away, "Oh, that was to meet an important agent." After a brief pause he added, "One who was never uncovered."
Just ten minutes into our acquaintance, the great Soviet spymaster had thrown out a morsel that convinced me this could be a fruitful relationship. I nodded. "Yes, I've long thought so" (as indeed I had), then dropped the subject. To dig for the identity of that still-hidden spy would surely force him to pull back. We smiled at each other, knowing how exceptional our exchange had been.
This astonishing start to a first meeting between former enemies was to set the tone of a relationship that ended only with Kondrashev's death thirteen years later, a tone of affinity, cordiality, mutual respect, and growing confidence between two old professionals.
We were breakfasting there north of Berlin in what had been forbidden territory for me until the recent end of the Cold War. We were not just inside former Communist East Germany, but in the very heart of the once tightly-patrolled Wandlitz area where the Party bigwigs had their summer homes. In this roadside inn in the village of Prenden, we practically sat atop the huge, once-secret underground bunker that would have protected them in case of atomic war.
It was March 1994. A Franco-German TV company had invited retired spy-service veterans, two from the East and two from the West, to chat together about our Cold War in front of the cameras. Along with Kondrashev, the East was represented by the fabled East German intelligence chief Markus Wolf, who had offered the use of his dacha here in Prenden for the occasion. I had already been introduced to Wolf a year earlier in his East Berlin apartment, and we had hit it off well. Later I learned that one reason Kondrashev had been so open with me was that "Mischa" Wolf, his long-time colleague and friend, had already assured him he could talk confidently with me.
After breakfast I joined the other Western participant, Constantin Melnik, who had overseen the intelligence and security services of France, to walk the few hundred yards along the narrow road to Wolf's dacha. At the gate we introduced ourselves through a speaker-phone and were cheerfully admitted. As we walked the forty yards up to the A-frame cottage set in the forest greenery, I wondered how many Eastern spymasters must have enjoyed Wolf's hospitality here during the Cold War to plot against my country and my service.
We talked for two days in fine spring weather, our "round table" being a rough-hewn outdoor garden table whenever we were not on the terrace sipping drinks, or inside dining on the pelmeni dumplings that were Mischas culinary specialty.1
Later that year we reassembled in Paris for the first TV broadcast of the film documenting our talks.2 Its positive reception encouraged further TV "round table" projects. The next year we found ourselves together again, this time in Berlin to talk about Cold War spying in that area. And later that year, when those talks were broadcast on French TV, we met again in Paris.3 Finally, we came together in 1996 in Sochi, Russia, where our public exchange was one event of an international film festival.
Each of these five occasions provided opportunities for long, informal talks with Kondrashev, often about family and other personal matters. He was moved, as he put it after Sochi, by "our good personal contact and mutual understanding."
During this same period in the mid-1990s, a series of joint East-West research projects brought out more of the secret history of the just-ended Cold War. Under an arrangement with the American publisher Random House, the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service made selected KGB file materials accessible to its veterans who cooperated with Westerners bringing documents from their own side, to shed fresh light on major espionage episodes. From this project books emerged on the undersides of the Cuban Missile Crisis, on Soviet atom-bomb espionage in America, on the activities of certain Soviet undercover operatives, and on the long KGB-CIA confrontation in Berlin. In the latter project, Sergey Kondrashev, the former head of the KGB's German Department, collaborated with my colleague and friend David E. Murphy, former CIA chief in Berlin and head of its Soviet Bloc Division, in a years-long effort that produced the book Battleground Berlin.4
Seeing that his own service was willing to release some previously secret information, Kondrashev decided to follow the example of other KGB veterans and write his memoirs. However, to earn a reasonable amount of hard currency, his story would have to be published in the West as Battleground Berlin had been and, as Sergey put it, "in the English vernacular." He asked David Murphy to help him, but wearied by long, frustrating efforts to spring useful material from KGB files for their Berlin book, Murphy did not want to take on this new project. He suggested that Kondrashev turn to me.
Having gained confidence in my goodwill and discretion over the previous five years, having recommendations from Murphy and Wolf, and knowing I had already written a book on the KGB, Kondrashev asked me in 1999 if I would assist him in writing his story. He knew that my familiarity with the KGB would spare him the need to provide the context for his recollections and could even contribute to their substance.
I readily accepted, thus beginning a unique relationship. There have been a lot of contacts between KGB and CIA veterans since the end of the Cold War but none, I think, in which a top-level, still-loyal KGB veteran permitted—indeed, invited—an experienced Cold War enemy to delve for year after year into the details of his personal and professional life. And because I was being asked not just to write "in the English vernacular" what Kondrashev chose to recount, but also to choose the topics and shape his telling of his life story, I could ask whatever questions I wanted.
Thus, long after retiring from the CIA, where I had grappled with subtle and deceptive Soviet operations, I was given the undreamedof opportunity to dig back into them with an expert insider.
I considered it a stroke of fortune. To some it might seem curious that I would want to associate with veterans of the KGB, the prime executor of the longest and cruellest repression of modern times, a system that I had dedicated my career to combating. But I knew that behind the blood-spattered walls of that Cheka-OGPU-NKVD-KGB lay the answers to questions never resolved— involving ongoing threats to the security of my country—and only their veterans knew those answers. Though I had retired and severed contact with the CIA more than thirty years earlier, I still felt the responsibility and the attractions of my old job, and I was still nagged by those questions.
For about seven years, Sergey Kondrashev and I worked on his autobiography, inevitably exploring ever deeper the field of deception where he had played a leading role. From 2000 through 2006, we met about twice a year for two or three weeks at a time in Brussels, the city where I had retired to, and for shorter periods at European conferences. In Brussels we worked in my personal study where my elaborate library on Soviet Bloc espionage, organized and catalogued, offered immediate reference to details and reminders of the past. He either stayed as our house guest or in Russian Embassy-provided quarters not far away. Between working sessions, we relaxed during forest walks and tourist outings. And when not together, we exchanged drafts and comments via mail, email, and telephone between Brussels and Moscow.
The renamed KGB (now SVR for its foreign intelligence operations and FSB for its internal counterintelligence and security work) were fully aware of who I was and what we were doing. Indeed, Kondrashev went out of his way to minimize Moscow suspicions that he might be sharing too much with this former adversary. He arranged that some of our correspondence and drafts passed through the SVR's Press Bureau. He made no secret of our Brussels meetings; on some mornings, the local Russian counterintelligence chief even drove him to my apartment building.
As we completed chapters, Sergey would routinely submit them for clearance for publication. The SVR objected to only a few passages, but later, when we had nearly completed the manuscript, they required Kondrashev to translate my English-language original into Russian for final review by "a special committee of leading personalities of the service."
Then, abruptly, the situation changed.
Perhaps SVR people saw more clearly how sensitive the matters were that Kondrashev was planning to divulge. And with security tightening under Putin's regime, the FSB had entered the scene, apparatchiks who took a wider view of what might constitute a secret. In April 2007 the SVR revoked all earlier chapter clearances. They told Kondrashev that his manuscript would be circulated inside the SVR for the orientation of their officers, but they refused to release any part of it for publication.
From that forbidden manuscript, which will now enlighten Russian spymasters, I have taken much of the present book.
It is not surprising that Moscow might judge our revelations as too sensitive to publish. Sergey Kondrashev was not just any senior KGB veteran, but one of a mere handful who knew many of its deepest secrets. During his half-century of active KGB service (1944-1992), he had worked in some of its darkest corners:
• In a case of colossal importance that vaulted his career, Kondrashev had personally recruited in Moscow an American Embassy code clerk whose betrayal allowed the KGB to break American military ciphers. This traitor was never uncovered.
• He personally handled the earlier defection of another American Embassy military code clerk in Moscow.
• He handled a historically-important mole inside British Intelligence, the MI6 officer George Blake.
• He headed two of the most important KGB stations abroad, those in London and Vienna.
• He was chief of the KGB's German-Austrian Department, overseeing its penetrations of the West German government and other clandestine actions in that area of prime Soviet concern.
• He led the KGB's Service A ("active measures"), the element tasked to weaken, mislead, and confuse Western governments and their intelligence services.
• He worked directly with the Politburo inside its premises while it coped with the Prague Spring crisis of 1968.
• He was deputy head of the KGB's worldwide clandestine operations, specifically overseeing its deception operations, among others. In that capacity, he was one of only two foreign-intelligence (FCD) officers briefed on the tightest-held operations abroad of the SCD (internal-counterintelligence directorate).
• He commanded the secret intelligence operations of Soviet border troops along their vast frontiers in northern Europe, Central Asia, China, and the northern Pacific.
• As Chief Senior Consultant to four KGB Chairman for more than a dozen years, he helped supervise the most sensitive intelligence operations abroad and prepared the Chairman's participation in meetings of the nation's high command, the Politburo.
To bring out stories from such depths, while remaining steadfastly loyal to his country and his service, Kondrashev had to tread an unmarked path between those things he could safely reveal and those he could not. Sometimes when our talks got too close to the edge, he shifted into generalities or deftly changed the subject or pretended not to hear a certain question. He would (uncon-vincingly) deny knowledge of certain matters. But I could discern the truth from the consistency in his accounts of the same events related months or even years apart and from my growing familiarity with his character and manner. Sergey Kondrashev wanted to present for posterity as true and complete a picture as he could of his life and motivation. He did not exaggerate his role or achievements nor, to the best of my knowledge, did he fabricate any part of his story, even its most trivial incidents.
Throughout all our time together he was aware—we in fact discussed it—that I was composing a book of my own on the subject of KGB deception operations, one that centered on the case of the putative KGB defector Yuri Nosenko whom, as he knew, I had handled for CIA.5 Some of the questions I put to Kondrashev pertained more to my own interests than to his life story. Sometimes he would answer them without recognizing their pertinence. At other times he would smilingly reproach me: "Pete, that question was for your book, not mine!" When I admitted it with a rueful grin, he would shrug and answer it anyway.
To clarify a forgotten detail, he would sometimes go back and question former colleagues in Moscow. On at least one occasion, he did so on my behalf, getting from one of Nosenko's former associates some details about Nosenko's KGB career that were quite different from what Nosenko had fed to CIA.
Kondrashev inevitably strayed off that unmarked path from time to time, ever more frequently as our friendly understanding ripened throughout the years. Outside our working sessions, as we relaxed over a meal or drink or strolled in the woods, he told me things that he would never publish and that his Moscow reviewers would never clear.
I asked Kondrashev what might be the consequences if I were indiscreetly to publish in my book sensitive facts attributable to him. After a moment's reflection, he said it might cost him his (very modest) pension, but more important to him was his status in his community. He would be discredited among his former colleagues in the semi-official KGB retirees' circle. It would also compromise his continued association with the SVR itself, which still consulted him and provided him services, such as special telephones, a car and driver when necessary, and file information for his writings and contributions to historical seminars. So I refrained from using any details that might point to Sergey as a source in my book Spy Wars.
In 2007, Sergey Kondrashev died of long-standing heart troubles. He can no longer be harmed by these revelations, and his family has agreed to my publishing his story in the West with my own input to make his contribution to the history of the secret Cold War more accessible to the Western reader.
What follows, then, is an account that even today Russian intelligence doesn't want you to read. It offers new insights into famous episodes of the Cold War and exposes others for the first time—like that of the American traitor who helped launch the Korean War.
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Думаю, если бы мемуары Кондрашова вышли бы на русском языке, то они м.б. заняли бы то же место, что и "Спецоперации" Судоплатова, тем более, что период то к нам более близкий. Но так как их нет, придется удовлетвориться Бэгли и поверить ему на слово, что то, о чем он пишет, ему ДЕЙСТВИТЕЛЬНО рассказал генерал Кондрашов.