Operation Solo (42 page)

Even though the line was secure, they tended to speak elliptically or in their own informal code, and in August Boyle asked if the weather had improved any. Steinbeck said it had not. “Do not think it's safe to fly?”

“We're trying to decide.”

The Soviets planned an elaborate celebration of the sixtieth anniversary of the October Revolution, and they fully expected Morris to attend, as did Gus Hall. Boyle wanted to know if the Bureau was willing to risk another mission.

Steinbeck telephoned, in October. “It's a Chicago call. Whichever play you choose, we'll back you up.” In other words, the Bureau is willing to take the risk, but let 58 decide. It's his life that's at stake.

Boyle on October 20, 1977, told Steinbeck over the secure line, “We've decided to throw deep.” Morris and Eva left for Moscow the next day.

The Soviets initially put them in a suite at the party hotel so Morris could more easily mingle with (and spy on) foreign leaders gathering for the ceremonies. Despite the demands upon their protocol resources imposed by the presence of so many dignitaries, the Soviets assigned a retinue of women to attend Eva and Elizabeth Hall and even arranged for them to have tea with the first female cosmonaut, who to Eva seemed shy and nice.

In the hotel, Morris encountered Fidel Castro, who greeted him heartily and insisted that he and Eva come to dinner at the Cuban embassy.

Castro said the only other guests would be a Spanish couple and pointedly told Morris not to bring a Russian as an interpreter; they would speak English. Castro was an engaging host and especially gracious to Eva. She recalled, “He knew a lot about the United States and he was very interested in our party. He said some snide things about the Russians and I got the feeling he really didn't like them; he wouldn't let any of them come to dinner. They served good steaks and they were a delicacy in Moscow, and after dinner Castro himself poured brandy and asked me if he could smoke a cigar. It was a pleasant evening but he just kept talking and I thought we never would get out of there.”

Eva most remembered the sight of Brezhnev at a formal reception. Two men literally held him on his feet; his face was pale and waxen, his eyes glazed, his speech blurred and incoherent. The ruler of the Soviet Union gave every appearance of being comatose and Eva thought,
That man is not going to get well
.

Throughout the four weeks in Moscow, the Soviets were as trusting and friendly as ever. They assembled leaders of South American parties for secret deliberations about how better to coordinate communist activities throughout the Western Hemisphere and invited Morris to participate and make suggestions. Ponomarev said that, despite a shortage of hard currency, they would give the American party $2.1 million in 1978, and he asked Morris to nominate Americans to attend the Lenin School. Except at the reception, Morris did not see Brezhnev, but Ponomarev gave a farewell luncheon for Morris and most of his old acquaintances came.

Eva and Morris started home in mid-November 1977 by flying
from Moscow to Prague. About twenty minutes before the Aeroflot plane was to land in Prague, the pilot or co-pilot came to them with an announcement: By order of the “highest authorities,” they must return to Moscow at once. They were not to remove their luggage or other belongings from the plane. While the plane was being refueled, they were at liberty to enter the Prague terminal and speak to the Czech delegation awaiting them. Two comrades would escort them and make sure they did not miss the return flight.

Morris and Eva looked at each other and reached for each other's hand.
They have found out, and we are going to die.

Flying back to Moscow, they held hands, kissed each other on the cheek, exchanged vows of love, and spoke of the wonderful life they had shared. Eva tried to be cheerful, and once she did make Morris laugh by talking about their visit to the Polish horse farm, Gus Hall's idea of the party selling horse meat as beef, and a communist fast-food chain selling “Gusburgers.” She tried to be optimistic. “Walt and John and Jim will get us out.”

Morris said, “Listen to me. Nobody will be able to get me out. There may be a chance for you. I will tell them I never let you know, that you were just a good wife who did what you were told. I don't know how much they know. If they show you photographs of Walt or John or anyone else from the Bureau you've seen, you must say, ‘Yes, I saw him a few times. Morris said he was a party member.' You are innocent. Maintain your innocence to the last, no matter what.”

Before descending the mobile stairway from the plane to the tarmac outside Moscow, they embraced for what they thought was the last time.

Eva imagined that inside the terminal goons would handcuff her or physically drag her away. Instead, beautiful children, bearing bouquets of flowers, and Nikolai Mostovets, chief of the North American division of the International Department, greeted them. Mostovets apologized profusely for interrupting their journey and explained that Hall was on his way to Moscow, and Hall insisted that Morris be present while he was there.

Morris never let the Soviets know when he was ill or in pain but
he could not conceal the fatigue that drained his face of color; in consequence, during the return visit, they burdened him as little as possible. Ponomarev told Hall that Morris' health was vital to the party and that because of his conspicuous exhaustion he was ordering him to skip the ceremonial dinners. Ponomarev also gave Morris a number through which he could be reached day or night, and urged Morris to call if he needed anything. The Soviets could not have been more considerate.

Nevertheless, each day in Moscow Morris feared what might happen in Washington, and he suffered heart palpitations and excruciating back pains. Only when he saw Boyle waiting inside customs at Boston on November 20 did the knotting tension begin to subside.

FBI Director Clarence Kelley, while delegating responsibility for daily management of SOLO, monitored the operation closely and came greatly to admire Morris and Eva without ever having met them. In one of his last official acts before retiring, Kelley, on January 13, 1978, traveled to Chicago personally to thank them on behalf of the FBI and the United States. His obvious sincerity, simple eloquence, and the fact that he came with nothing to gain personally touched Morris. Now, within a span of a few months, the chairman of the KGB and director of the FBI had gone out of their way personally to honor him.

 

 

STEINBECK IN MARCH ALARMED Boyle and Langtry. Congressional committees seeking evidence of illegalities continued to demand FBI files, and in an effort to prevent a House committee from stumbling onto SOLO, Steinbeck had told three congressmen about it. They pledged silence, but now at least ten people on Capitol Hill knew.

The
New York Times
in April published a column reporting facts that, although they did not compromise SOLO, could only have come from someone with knowledge of it. A senior New York agent in the know was under investigation by the Justice Department, and Langtry suspected that the column constituted a veiled warning from him—back off or there will be worse leaks.
Langtry and Boyle then heard from Steinbeck that on May 1, 1978, this same agent testified in a closed session of the Senate Intelligence Committee. Steinbeck did not know what the agent said but the committee had commanded Steinbeck to appear on May 4 to discuss allegations of illegal acts committed by the FBI in the conduct of SOLO.

Boyle and Langtry of course had committed many acts that, if considered in a narrow context, could be construed as illegal. They had procured medical prescriptions and airline tickets under false pretenses, and they had suborned immigration and customs officials and persuaded them to admit into the country without question people traveling under false names with forged passports.

And for years they had prepared and filed irregular income tax returns on behalf of Morris and Jack. Because Morris and Jack worked full time for the government, the FBI eventually decided to pay them salaries (Langtry recalls that they never received more than $30,000 a year) and insisted that they pay taxes on this clandestine income. Langtry asked, “How do we explain the source of income?”

Headquarters helpfully replied, “That's your problem.” Langtry solved his by figuring out how much Jack owed in taxes, obtaining a cashier's check for the amount from a friendly bank, and mailing it to the Internal Revenue Service without explanation. Boyle paid Morris' taxes by a more complicated subterfuge, but still a subterfuge.

Langtry and Boyle also violated laws by participating in a conspiracy to smuggle, hide, and disburse millions of dollars in illicit cash (by 1978, the total was approaching $26 million) on which no taxes were paid.

Certainly, Boyle and Langtry did not act with any criminal intent; neither of them profited personally; and no one was harmed, except avowed enemies of the United States waging covert warfare against the United States. To accuse them of breaking the law because they did their duty in accordance with policies specifically approved by presidents of the United States would be a mockery of the law. But in the prevailing political climate, there was no absolute assurance that some publicity-seeking committee
or prosecutor might not, now or later, try to mock the law if given the chance. Boyle and Langtry could defend themselves only if the government and courts approved release of the full SOLO story and. In any case, the legal costs to them would be ruinous.

At approximately the same time on the same afternoon, agents from headquarters appeared in the Chicago and New York field offices to show Boyle and Langtry the same letter. Neither man could keep the letter or make notes about it. The original would remain in the Justice Department, and a copy would be secreted at FBI headquarters. But if ever circumstances required, the letter would be made available to them.

The letter was from Attorney General Griffin Bell. It granted Boyle and Langtry immunity from prosecution for any authorized acts perpetrated in discharge of their SOLO duties. No one asked Bell to do this. He grasped the importance of SOLO and of his own initiative did what he thought was right for the United States without any possibility of personal or political gain.

Boyle says, “At the time, we had more to fear from some of our fellow countrymen in Congress and the press than from the enemy. So the letter was very heartening. We were deeply appreciative of the voluntary and noble gesture by Griffin Bell. In retrospect, I only wish I had been allowed to keep a copy.”
¹⁷

Headquarters in June summoned Boyle and Langtry to Washington to confer with senior Bureau executives about the future of the operation, and none of the factors discussed was encouraging. The
New York Times
had published another article with information obviously supplied by someone with some knowledge of SOLO; the source had not yet betrayed the operation, but how much more would he leak? And Steinbeck in fending off allegations that the FBI was breaking the law had to reveal to the Senate committee many more operational details than Wannall disclosed when defusing the issue of Martin Luther King. Some
were exciting, dramatic details—the kind people like to tell wives, girlfriends, journalists, or anyone else they hope to impress. The FBI no longer could be sure how many outside the Bureau knew of SOLO or who all of them were. There was also increasing danger that the operation inadvertently might be exposed through records that had to be produced in response to lawsuits and demands lodged under the Freedom of Information Act. The ongoing attempts of congressional committees to prove the FBI guilty of wrongdoing, any wrongdoing, remained a threat.

 

 

MORRIS AND EVA RETAINED all their mental acuity and were intellectually capable of dealing with the Soviets. However, Morris was now seventy-six and in terrible health, and the arduous journeys to Moscow and Eastern Europe exhausted his reserves. When Boyle met him after the last mission, he was bent over and hobbled by back pains, and his voice barely rose above a whisper. How much longer could he retain the necessary physical stamina? How much longer could he even live? How much more could the United States justly ask of these elderly people who for so long had done so much?

Assistant Director James Nolan, who presided over the meeting, concluded it by saying there seemed to be general agreement that the FBI should not further risk the lives of 58 and 66 (Eva), that it should quit while it was ahead. No one dissented, and most nodded affirmatively. Back in Chicago and New York, Boyle and Langtry for the first time discussed with Morris, Eva, and Jack the discontinuation of SOLO.

On June 29, 1978, Steinbeck transmitted urgent messages to Chicago and New York: The president and attorney general have overruled the decision to “disengage.” In compliance with their explicit orders, the Bureau must continue SOLO.

Professionally, Boyle doubted the prudence of their order. Personally, Boyle—who in an election between a Democratic dogcatcher and a Republican dog would have voted for the dog—considered it courageous and admirable. Politically, Carter and Bell had everything to lose. By substituting their judgment for
that of the FBI, they implicitly accepted responsibility for the lives of Morris and Eva; if Morris and Eva were lost and the public found out, they would be blamed. If SOLO were exposed and only part of the story came out—the part proving that the government long had suppressed irrefutable evidence that the American Communist Party was a wholly owned lackey of the Soviet Union—how would conservatives and anticommunists react? If the Soviets discovered that the FBI for two decades had made fools of their rulers, how would
they
react? Carter and Bell had nothing personally to gain; they believed the United States did.

While the president or attorney general could direct the FBI to continue an operation, only the FBI could determine how to continue it, and on July 25 Steinbeck relayed a terse message from headquarters to Boyle: “No more trips.”