The Falcon and the Snowman (49 page)

But Chris had decided that he had seen enough of prison to convince him he didn't want to do
any
more time. He was, like his birds, he thought, not meant to be caged, and he vowed to escape.

Isolated and lonely, Chris had only one friend: Vito Conterno.

Vito had warned him that the guards could overhear prisoners' conversations in D Block, so the escape negotiations had to continue via the prison “kite” communications network—notes secretly sent between cells, usually wrapped around a heavy object like a razor or piece of soap that was tied to a string. The sender flipped the weighted missile down the corridor, then retrieved it after the intended recipient had removed the note. Vito sent Chris a kite trying to quash his worries about the escape and said they should plan it for as soon as possible. Chris replied:

Talking to you in my position is like getting close to a cobra. Once again no offense. You're right, once I get settled in a pen it would be all the harder. My lawyers are completely straight and of no use to me except for legal advice. Sitting here I can not contact anyone but my lawyers and my family, which is straighter even still. My old network is down. They would not even consider contact. In fact I am considered a threat to them as long as I'm incarcerated. After an exit I revert to an asset.

You just told me I was too easy to get close to. Okay, I will be above board with you. Jesus, I wish I had heard of you before. I wish I had some knowledge of your reputation. I am a babe in the woods as far as O.C. figures. But to hell with it. I bury these thoughts. You offer me my life.

Anyway, I am isolated. I cannot touch my links nor would I even consider trying. Even exited I would have to establish new ones. I do not know what slots I would fill after that. Obviously my cover was blown as a direct source within the CIA. There are many other roles to play. I don't work
for
any men and I never will. I work for the KGB. The U.S. government is not going to collapse in our lifetimes. It would seem to me that there would be mutual interests that could be exploited between O.C. and the KGB to the advantage of both parties. No doubt such connections might already exist although that was not my specialty and I wouldn't know.

I did hundreds of millions of dollars worth of damage to the NSA and the CIA over the last two years. I am not trying to brag or impress you, I am merely stating a fact. I delivered the agency's crypto codes, cipher machines and the Pyramider Project. These came out in court so I don't mind telling you. The diplomatic relations between the U.S. and Australia are poisoned at their worst ever through my efforts. For this the Soviets are grateful. It means the main base for monitoring of Chinese and Russian telemetry by satellite surveillance will be shot down and kicked off the continent by the Australian government. Can you put something soft besides that razor on the line so it doesn't make noise when you throw it? Why don't we say
matches
when we want to pass something?

Until I receive my sentence I cannot see anyone that I trust. I think I will be moved out of here very quickly after that.

Chris said his lawyers had told him chances were good that he would be sent to a Federal prison in San Diego for his psychiatric evaluation.

It would mean I would be transported between here and there by the marshals, probably in a sedan.

I want out. I will raise $15 [$15,000] as soon as I can talk to a friend. The study in San Diego would be perfect. I could have visits and I would have to be transported. $15 is cheap, very cheap. Perhaps at the end of the study. How long does this type of thing take to arrange?

George Chelius was on the phone to Bill Dougherty: “Bill, something terrible has happened. I'm going to withdraw from the case.”

Chelius had just been called into the office of Assistant United States Attorney Richard A. Stilz, who had handed him the notes Chris had written to Vito Conterno.

Chelius had believed in Chris. He did not understand his psyche, his curious sense of disillusionment and anger at his country, but he had believed that Chris had become a spy not out of pro-Soviet sympathies, but through an enigmatic act of bad judgment whose consequences had snowballed and eventually smothered him. He had not even been sure that Chris was not a secret agent for the CIA. Chelius was now bowled over by the admission of loyalty to the KGB and its implication that he had been working for the Russians all along.

Stilz told Chelius that he planned to give the notes to Judge Kelleher.

The implication was clear: any chance of leniency toward the troubled son of his former boss would probably vanish.

“Take it easy, George,” Dougherty advised Chelius, urging him not to withdraw until they could discuss the affair with Chris.

When Chris learned that Vito had given his notes to the warden at Terminal Island, he became physically ill in his cell. Once again he had trusted in something—this time, the Mafia—and it had let him down.

Like Fawkes, Chris had been trapped by a pigeon—a stool pigeon. Vito Conterno was a professional snitch—a Mafia hit man who had agreed to testify before a Federal grand jury against other mobsters in return for a light sentence and, eventually, a new identity in a distant city. He was a murderer-turned-government witness whose life in prison was gilded by a silk robe and slippers. From the beginning, Vito had given Chris's notes to the Federal agents.

His precise motive for entrapping Chris is uncertain. Perhaps it was patriotism or outrage against the egghead kid who had spied for the Communists against his country; or perhaps it was merely an act of gutter survival, throwing Chris to the wolves so that he could curry favor with his keepers.

When Chelius and Dougherty asked for an explanation, Chris admitted that he was the author of the incriminating notes, and seemed close to tears when Chelius said he was afraid the notes had destroyed any chance he had had for leniency. After all, Chelius said, Chris had now
admitted
he worked for the KGB; it was sure to be used against him.

Chris insisted that he had not meant what he said in the notes. Yes, he said, he had feigned loyalty to the Russians, but it was because he thought that was what Vito wanted to hear; he wouldn't help an
innocent
man, would he? Yes, Chris said, he did want to escape, but, no, he was not loyal to the KGB. The notes were elements of a charade. After Chris presented his defense, Chelius agreed to stay on the defense team with Dougherty; but doubts had been planted in the attorney's mind, perhaps never to be exorcised completely. Once more, Chris had left the people around him wondering what really went on behind his thin face and probing eyes.

After meeting with his lawyers, Chris, still shaken, had another session with Jerry Brown of the CIA. While riding back late that afternoon to Terminal Island, once again passing the mountainous southern face of The Hill, he thought of one thing: he would spread the word that Vito was a snitch. He relished the idea. But when he reached the prison, Chris discovered that he had been preempted: Vito had told other inmates in D Block that
he
was a snitch and had just come from squealing to the Feds.

“Hey, you fuckin' snitch,” one inmate taunted him as he was led down the corridor to his cell.

“Hey, look what's back! Joe Valachi,” Vito Conterno shouted.

“You son of a bitch!” Chris screamed.

Then other inmates took their cue from Conterno, and Chris could hear their chant, “Joe Valachi … Joe Valachi … Joe Valachi …” ringing in his ears until he finally fell asleep.

Daulton also was depressed much of the time these days as he awaited his sentencing. He had evaded jail so often, for so long, that he found it impossible to accept that he might now actually go to prison, possibly for a long time. And then something happened that gave him hope—and still another chance at survival.

It was contained in a postscript to the bitter strife among the jurors who had decided Daulton's fate. It was written six days after his conviction and filed with Judge Kelleher by Kahn and Re:

Peggy Fuller, being first duly sworn, deposes and says:

1. That prior to the commencement of the trial, several jurors ex pressed the belief that Mr. Lee was guilty.

2. That the majority of the jurors became aware of the conviction of Christopher Boyce on the same charges during the course of the Lee trial.

3. The fact of the Boyce conviction was discussed in the Jury Room.

4. That other jurors discussed the case outside the Jury Room.

5. That pressure was applied on me outside the Jury Room to change my vote.

6. That I do have reasonable doubt as to the guilt of Mr. Lee and had the jury been polled, I would not have agreed with the jury verdict.

Affiant says nothing further.

Executed this 20th day of May, 1977, at Los Angeles, California.

(signed)
Peggy Fuller

Miss Fuller told a reporter several jurors had seen a newspaper headline reporting Boyce's conviction on May 14, the night of his conviction, while they were dining in a Holiday Inn restaurant. It was a serious allegation. If it was accepted by Judge Kelleher, it could mean a new trial for Daulton. It would mean that the jury might have been prejudiced against Lee because his case was so closely intertwined with that of Christopher Boyce.

Stilz and Levine contacted other members of the jury and were told a story different from the one related by Miss Fuller. Joan Lyon, the housewife who had served as foreman of the jury, wrote a letter to Kelleher stating that she had contacted nine of the other ten jurors (besides herself and Peggy Fuller) and had found none who had seen the newspaper headline.

“We are dumbfounded as to what has prompted Miss Fuller to make these statements,” she said, calling the assertions “absolutely false.”

“We are satisfied that our performance of duty was in keeping with our oath as jurors. Because of the total lack of truth in the affidavit,” she said, “we felt you should be so informed and I was delegated to write to you for the group of jurors.”

Judge Kelleher held a hearing to determine which of the statements addressed to him was accurate. Miss Fuller took the witness stand and testified that she had seen the news headline and that another juror—whose identity she could not recall—had told her, “Well, if Boyce is guilty, then Lee must be guilty too.”

Eight other jurors who had been subpoenaed to the special hearing before Judge Kelleher followed her to the stand. They all denied her charges. Kelleher ruled that there were not grounds in the affidavit for a new trial, and then he turned his attention to the next matter pending before him.

49

The sentencing of Christopher John Boyce was scheduled for June 20, 1977. The night before, Chris began a letter to his parents. Neatly, slowly, he wrote in longhand:

Dear Dad and Mom:

My thoughts are a jumble. My emotions are bled white. I have become callous. I have been dancing on a razor. I close my eyes and I feel my falcon beating hard into the wind.…

Chris laid down his pencil. For a long time he looked at his words under the dim light of his cell, which was partially blocked by the shadow of his trousers. The trousers were knotted into a noose and hanging from the bars above his head.

Chris was writing a suicide note.

Once again he had weighed his options and concluded that dying was better than living.

His sentencing was tomorrow, and he was certain to get a life term.

He felt the lowest that he had felt since the day of his arrest. His sense of doom had kept him awake most nights since he had learned that Vito Conterno had turned his letters over to the prosecution.

Vito was still in the cell beside his, and as Chris looked up from his words he occasionally yelled an epithet at him. Lately, he had gotten a small measure of revenge on Conterno. Other inmates in D Block hadn't believed him when he shouted that
he
wasn't the snitch, Conterno was! But luckily, Bill Dougherty had another client in D Block, a drug dealer; Dougherty had told him the story, and this new prisoner had corroborated Chris's account. Now most of the other prisoners weren't speaking to Conterno.

Conterno also was awake in his cell on the night before Chris was to be sentenced: Chris could hear him pacing and groaning. He knew the old Mafioso was having heart pains again and tried to enjoy the thought. “I hope your heart bursts, Conterno!” he said loud enough for him to hear. “I hope you die!” Moments of pleasure were rare in his cell, but this was one of them.

Chris wanted Conterno to go to sleep so that he could go ahead with his suicide, but Conterno continued to moan and pace the floor in a monotonous thump.

Chris looked back at the few words he had written and wondered what he could say next. He wanted to say that he was not ashamed of what he had done, that he would do it over again. But mostly, he sought the words that somehow, against all the odds, would convince his father that he was right. He wanted him to
understand
. But what could he say? They were two people living in the same world who spoke different languages, each indecipherable to the other.

At dawn, the letter was still unfinished, and Chris removed the pants he had tied to his bars that were to serve as his noose.

As it had in the days when Chris had plotted to murder Daulton and on the eve of his testimony, his courage failed him again. Somewhere, through the night, he had heard the distant voices of Monsignor McCarthy and the sisters of St. John Fisher preaching that it was a mortal sin to take one's own life—as grievous as taking another's life. He ridiculed himself for his weakness.

His courage failed him that night in another way, too. Chris wanted to tell the judge what he
really
believed about the nation-states and their blind march toward self-destruction. Mentally he composed a script that would lay it all out right between the eyes.

But he decided that if he was going to have any chance of escaping prison for the rest of his life, he couldn't say what he believed.