My first port of call was, of course, the Soviet Embassy in the Rue de Grenelle. I approached it somewhat circumspectly as I did not know conditions in Paris, whether it was likely to be watched or whether the arrival of a stray person there would be conspicuous. I need not have worried: the place was in complete chaos. I was quite unable to discover anyone who knew anything, who or where anyone was, or what anyone was supposed to be doing; and it was only with the greatest difficulty that I found anyone who could understand any known Western language. The entire ground floor of the embassy was occupied by a seething mob of Russian ex-prisoners of war whose main object in life appeared to be attempting to cadge cigarettes off me. At last I managed to make linguistic contact with one of the less ferocious-looking types in the place who realised that I wanted to see some high official and he gave me an address in the Rue de Prony where he alleged there were some Russian officials who might be the ones I wanted. It was obviously useless to stay where I was, and anyway my stock of cigarettes was running low, so I went off to the address. There I found that the Soviet Military Mission had just arrived in the building (the former Lithuanian Legation) and was busy installing itself.
The doorkeeper below luckily spoke French, as he had been fighting in the Maquis for part of the war, and I told him that I wanted to see "the chief' as I had important news from Switzerland. After only a short delay I was ushered in to see Lieutenant Colonel Novikov, who appeared to be in charge at that time.
Novikov was a tall fair flying officer with more than the usual share of Slav charm. Unfortunately for me, this was his first visit outside Russia and he did not appear to have much knowledge of intelligence work. Things were not made easier by the fact that he was at this interview willing to talk only Russian and the conversation had to take place through his adjutant, who acted as interpreter. At first he was reluctant to accept me at my face value and to take any action regarding my request that he get in touch with the Centre about me. He told me later that before leaving Moscow he had been warned to be on his guard against agents provocateurs and had been instructed to treat all unknown visitors as such until the contrary could be proved. Fortunately, during this first interview, when conversation was at its stickiest, the Soviet naval attaché from London came into the room and took a hand. He was evidently an old hand at the game, and after a few questions he seemed convinced that I was genuine and advised Novikov to treat me as such. I feel sure that he himself had worked at some time for the Centre, as both Rado's and my cover names seemed familiar to him, and when he asked the cover names of our main sources the answers seemed to give him satisfaction- as if they tallied with his recollection.
Once confidence had been established, my first request to Novikov was to be put in touch with Rado since, as he had left Switzerland for Paris some weeks before, I felt quite sure he had arrived and made his number by that time. Novikov assured me, however, that he had not yet shown up. He then agreed to send off a cable to Moscow about me, giving my cover names and also the cover names of other members of the organisation such as Albert (Rado), Cissie, Pakbo, Lucy, etc., and ask for the control questions so that they could be put to me. He also agreed to send off the voluminous information that I had brought with me from Pakbo and Lucy.
This information was in French and German and Novikov explained that his cipher was designed only for messages in Russian. He therefore asked me to stay on legation premises and help with the translation. This took a day and a night, with me translating the material into English and Novikov's adjutant retranslating it into Russian. As a result, I had not finished this task till the morning of November 11, and I was then told that a reply to their telegram about me to the Centre could not be expected for about six days. They kindly offered me the hospitality of the legation in the meanwhile, but I refused as this would have meant being cooped up in a room all the time till the answer was received. I preferred to go to a hotel outside and take a chance that the fact that my papers were not in order would not be spotted. I therefore arranged a rendezvous with Novikov's adjutant for a week ahead, under cover of darkness, at the corner of the Rue de Prony.
I had some difficulty in finding a hotel, as all the big ones had been taken over by the Allies and most of the small ones were unwilling to let rooms for a period as they could make more money letting their rooms by the hour to soldiers and their companions, the usual establishments having all been closed by the police after the liberation on the grounds of collaboration. After a couple of failures I found a room with the aid of a couple of packets of cigarettes as a douceur. Accommodation was always a difficulty since, having neither an entry visa for France nor a permis de sejour for Paris, my papers, to say the least, were not in order and I would be liable to arrest if I were picked up in a police raid or reported by a zealous hotel manager. As a result I moved my hotel every few days until in the end I found an obliging hotelier who, realising that I was phony, blandly increased his charges tenfold in recognition of the fact that I remained there unmolested till I left the city.
I had chosen the right day to see Paris, as Churchill and Eden were with General de Gaulle at the Armistice Day celebrations. The enthusiasm of the French on seeing Churchill was tremendous and it was a memorable occasion for me also, since it was the first time I had seen the great war leader who, when I left England, was still in political outer darkness.
The adjutant kept the rendezvous a week later and told me that Novikov had received a reply from the Centre but that I was to come again the next evening as all the telegrams for me from the Centre had not yet been deciphered. Accordingly I presented myself at the rendezvous again the next night and after the control questions had been put and correctly answered the atmosphere mellowed considerably and we all settled down to an enormous dinner liberally washed down with vodka and wine.
The Centre had sent a whole series of questions for me to answer, most of them pertinent and most of them not unnaturally concerning the fate of the organisation. One or two, however, were rather odd; for example: "Were agents of the Abwehr present when you were interrogated by the Swiss police?" I assume that they thought my arrest had been entirely the result of Abwehr tip-offs and that there was a much closer liaison between the Bupo and the Abwehr than in fact was the case; unless, of course, it was a trick question of such subtlety that I failed to see the point. The director was also very much concerned over the fate of Rado and asked Novikov to find out discreedy whether he had not perhaps been arrested by the French police.
In my first message to the Centre I had pointed out that the network in Switzerland was completely intact and that all it needed was a means of communication and funds; it could then continue exactly as before. I had suggested that a new transmitter be installed either in Geneva or just over the frontier in French Communist- controlled Annemasse, with the local French and Swiss Communist parties running a system of couriers from the main cut-outs in Switzerland. The director preferred the second plan and I was instructed to work out a detailed organisation for this.
After the banquet was over and the messages had been discussed, I was told to make regular calls on the Military Mission every two or three days under cover of darkness. The Mission in the meanwhile had moved to the former Esthonian Legation in the Rue du General Appert, where they had installed a short-wave transmitter which speeded communications somewhat. At one of the visits I was ordered to go ahead with the plan for setting up the headquarters of the Swiss network in Annemasse and also informed that shortly a false Dutch passport and a new cipher would be sent me by courier.
Soon afterwards I was told that all plans had changed and that I was first of all to go to Moscow for discussions. I would be flown there on the return journey of the plane which was to bring Maurice Thorez back to France. The plane arrived towards the end of November and was due to return after a couple of days. It did not do so, however, as the pilot and the crew were busy sampling the delights of life outside the Iron Curtain and had not the slightest desire to leave the fleshpots of the decadent democracies for the husks of pure Marxism in Moscow. As a result all sorts of ingenious excuses were thought up by the crew for delaying the return trip, ranging from mechanical defects and bad flying weather through veiled suggestions of sabotage by the wicked Allies to plain illness of one of the crew. This pleasant game was put to an end by a stern signal from Moscow- ordering them to leave the next day or be shot when they did return; but they had had their fun.
In the meanwhile an interesting situation had developed in the Rue du General Appert. One evening, on one of my routine calls to the Mission, I was amazed to see Rado sitting in the waiting room. My surprise was nothing to Rado's. I knew that he had left Switzerland en route for Paris. He, on the other hand, had thought I was still incarcerated in a Swiss prison. Despite this, our training held and, as good secret agents, we neither of us showed any signs of recognition there. Only later when we were both summoned into the presence of Novikov did we speak to each other. Novikov said that no good purpose would be served by discussing then and there the whys and wherefores of the breakup of the Swiss organisation. He added that we were both going to Moscow, where the matter could be thrashed out in detail and at leisure, and that we were both to travel by the same plane. He also suggested that as there would be other passengers it would be better, from a security point of view, if we travelled as strangers.
This rather difficult interview was followed by the usual banquet. At it, for the first time, I saw Rado affected by alcohol. He confessed later that it was the first time for many years that he had drunk more than one glass of spirits at one time. If one got out of a Russian dinner having consumed ten times that quantity, one was doing very well. During the course of this convivial dinner- convivial on the surface but with certain rather sinister undercurrents- every subject was discussed save the Swiss network. Despite Rado's libations he acted rather as the skeleton at the feast. The only fact of interest that I learned was that he had arrived about a fortnight before.
This gave me furiously to think. For a fortnight I had been kept ignorant of the fact that Rado had arrived, despite the fact that he had seen Novikov and that Novikov knew that I wanted to see Rado. We had obviously been deliberately kept apart until both our stories had been taken and there was no longer any risk of our comparing notes and concocting a co-ordinated story. Rado's arrival had also coincided with the "change of plan" by which I was no longer to go to Annemasse as a Dutchman but to return to Moscow for "consultations." Obviously Moscow was not satisfied with the Swiss setup and it seemed equally likely that Rado had put in a story which differed radically from mine. Rado was, of course, unaware that I had overstepped all the normal espionage rules and had, in fact, contacted all our sources after my release from prison. He assumed, therefore, that I was ignorant of the state of the network after Rado had left it in the air and thought that I was in no position to contradict him.
Moscow, therefore, was determined to have us both back there together so that they could cross-examine us at leisure and compare one story against the other. This did not particularly bother me. Admittedly, Rado was a theoretical colonel and a man of high standing with the Centre, while I was only an equally bogus major, unknown personally to anyone at the Centre and of comparatively new standing. On the other hand, the account I had given to the Centre via Novikov was true in every respect and could easily be checked by reference back to Switzerland. Similarly, all my accounts were in order and could be checked by anyone and found to be correct to a dollar. Also in my favour was the fact that I had left Switzerland having made all arrangements by which a new resident director could pick up the threads easily and quickly; while Rado on the other hand had escaped in a hurry, leaving everything completely in the air and having made no arrangements for any continuity. In theory and in fact my position was impeccable- if only
Moscow would realise it and take the trouble to check the work of an unknown agent against that of an agent who had worked for the Centre for years. I looked forward to the trip to Moscow with somewhat mixed feelings.
For some time I had been considering my position vis-a-vis the Russians. Indeed, for a long time I had been disillusioned and unhappy about the attitude of the Centre. It was entirely ruthless, with no sense of honour, obligation, or decency towards its servants. They were used as long as they were of any value and then cast aside with no compunction and no compensation. The director expected miracles from the agents and the local Communist parties, and when the miracles were performed, there were no thanks and only a formal acknowledgment. Similarly, when the Centre demanded the impossible or the foolish- or both- and it was pointed out to them that the action would either end in disaster or frustration, there was never any sign that they had learnt a lesson or that they had any symptoms of contrition. Some of these attributes are no doubt common to all intelligence services, but the cold-bloodedness of the Centre and its lack of any common humanity or decency made it stand alone.
I argued to myself that I could not consciously and deliberately desert the work and throw my hand in altogether. It would have been perfectly easy for me to go to the British diplomatic or service authorities in Paris and explain who and what I was and get speedy repatriation to England. Similarly, I could throw a brick through a Paris police station window and get myself arrested, with an exactly similar result. But this I would not do.
The war was still on and the information available in Switzerland was useful, if not vital, to the Russians - who were Allies. It was clearly my duty to do all I could to get the network against Germany working again. Deliberately to desert the work would have been in my eyes equivalent to desertion in the face of the enemy. On the other hand, I argued that if once I got to Moscow it might be many years before I saw Europe again, if at all, and all my desires to get the Swiss network re-established so as to extract the vital information out of Germany might be equally frustrated by suspicious Kremlin officials.
In the end I made no decision one way or the other and left the whole thing in the lap of the gods. I made no attempt to get myself arrested or to contact the British or Americans. On the other hand, I continued to live in hotels and to move freely round the town as if I had been the best-, rather than the worst-, documented Englishman in Paris. At the time the police were making frequent raids and setting up unexpected check points in the city in an endeavour to catch deserters and also to check up on the many alleged Abwehr agents who were supposed to have been left behind at the time of the liberation. In addition, there were, of course, the various swoops and checkups by the military police of the Allies.
Soon after I had come to my decision I thought that the matter was quite definitely going to be taken out of my hands. I was on my way to my favourite restaurant, Chez Mermoz, in the Rue de Tremoille, for dinner and had taken the Metro and got out at Marboeuf only to find that the police had blocked all the exits and were examining all papers. I was last in the queue and felt a certain relief that finally the future had been taken out of my hands and that I need think and plan no more. I presented my visaless and unstamped passport for inspection. The inspector in charge of the point saluted and waved me on without a glance. The dice appeared definitely cast for Moscow.
Despite my rather troubled mind I enjoyed my stay in Paris. It was pleasant to be able to pass the time without any thought of immediate work, and a good meal often did much to dispel the nagging doubts about what I should do and how I should do it. I courted all kinds of dangers which lurked for anyone in my visa less state. Never once, the whole time I was in Paris, was I asked for my papers though my stamping grounds ranged from the blackest of black market restaurants to American officers' messes.
All things come to an end in time and on January 6, 1945, at nine in the morning, I took off for Moscow in the first Soviet plane to leave France since the liberation. The plane was alleged to be carrying Russian prisoners of war being repatriated to Russia, but this was a convenient Soviet fiction. How hollow a fiction it was can be seen from the fact that the plane had four vacant seats despite the equally hard fact that there were over a million Russian prisoners of war in France clamouring for repatriation. It is perhaps pertinent also to note that in our planeload there was- in fact only one genuine Russian prisoner of war.
All the passengers held Russian repatriation certificates. Certificate No. 1 was held by a veteran Bolshevik, Myasnikoff. A likable old ruffian, looking like a venerable edition of Maxim Gorki, he had led the general strike in Russia in the early 1920s which almost overthrew Lenin and Trotsky. Trotsky had wanted him shot but Lenin had overruled this and he had merely been exiled to Siberia. He was offered a pardon if he cared to return to European Russia, which he had accepted. Later he had again been exiled. This time he had escaped to Turkey and from there had come to France, where Briand offered him asylum. During the war years he had been in hiding, as the Germans were after him, and after the liberation he had been seen by Bogomolov, who had offered him a pardon and an important post in Moscow if he would return. Thorez had offered him the same, and Myasnikoff showed me a letter signed by Thorez when the latter had been in Moscow, couched in similar terms. He had no liking for Stalin and I think had little real hope that the promises would be honoured. I never saw or heard of him again after I reached Moscow, nor have I ever seen his name in the press. It is more than likely that he is now tasting Siberian exile for the third time. He had an extremely alert brain and did much to lighten the tedium of the journey.
Certificate No. 3 was held by Alexander Koulicheff, who was Rado. Certificate No. 4 was used by a certain Ivanovsky, also a Soviet agent of questionable nationality. He spoke Russian and French fluently and some English. I gather that he had spent some if not most of the war in hiding in France. I know nothing more about him but that he was a most charming travelling companion. The holder of certificate No. 5 was the only genuine prisoner of war on the plane. His patronymic I have forgotten but he was known to all of us as Vladimir. A virile young tough, he had been a submarine commander in the Red Navy before he had been captured, and he had been decorated as a "Hero of the Soviet Union." On his escape he had organised the Vladimir Group of the French Resistance and had twice been decorated by the French for his activities as a partisan. There were also on board a diplomat from London, Smirnov, and another diplomat and his wife.
Certificate No. 2 was held by Alfred Fedorovitch Lapidus, former Esthonian national, now a Soviet citizen, who had been deported from Tallinn to France by the Germans. In fact, none other than myself.
This was the planeload of "returning P.O.W.s," and a nice representative collection it was, too. As regards the real P.O.W.s, no such luxury as a plane ride back to the Soviet Union was in store for them. They were first checked to determine their degree of collaboration with the enemy and then again checked to find out why they had disobeyed Stalin's order to fight to the death. Very few of them on their return found that liberty in their homeland for which they had fought. The majority of them were drafted into labour camps, where they will remain till they die or are worked to death- not that there is much difference between the two. The Soviet state has very short shrift for those who do not obey implicitly, and the labour camps are always hungry for new blood.
The journey to Cairo was as uneventful and boring as all air travel. I had not flown for many years and at first it was interesting to look down at the French landscape and to observe the precision with which the Allied air forces had bombed the bridges and the airfields over which we flew. After Marseilles, where we stopped the night, there was only the Mediterranean and then the endless tedium of the North African coast. It was dark by the time we reached the Egyptian border and so the battlefield of El Alamein was hidden from us. The only breaks in the tedium were the two nights we spent at Marseilles and Castel Benito, where we were guests of the R.A.F. in their mess. As the first Soviet planeload through, we were objects of some curiosity and equally targets for the traditional R.A.F. hospitality. Liberally entertained in the mess, we were sent off each morning laden with chocolate, tobacco, and whiskey. I spent a large portion of the night at Castel Benito telling a large crowd of officers about my experiences as a prisoner of the Nazis. It was with some difficulty that I kept my face straight and my character up as Lapidus, the exiled Es- thonian, in a mixture of bad English and French.
We were due to spend two nights in Cairo and as a result did not stay at the airport, but went into town and were billeted at the Luna Park. Accommodation, as always in Cairo during the war, was short and the manager said that we would have to share rooms. Rather to my surprise Rado spoke up; it was almost the first time he had opened his mouth since we had left Le Bourget, and said that he would share with me if I was agreeable. 1
I cannot say that he was a lively room companion. | The first night he hardly said a word and declined to come out with me into Cairo for a final fling. On my return from a pleasant and convivial evening he was asleep- or pretending to be. The second evening he was, if possible, even more depressed but did become somewhat loquacious. He said that he feared we were in for a difficult time in Moscow, and compared our situation to that of a captain who has lost his ship. No explanation would convince the director that it had not been our fault that we had lost the sources which the Centre valued so highly.
I attempted to reason with him and calm his fears. I pointed out that my arrest and the consequent breakdown of communications had been entirely the fault of the Centre. They had ordered transmissions to continue after the arrest of the Hamels and Bolli, when they knew that the heat was on. Also they had never given us sufficient funds to provide an adequate reserve of trained operators and spare transmitters. In any case, I added, the main sources, Werther and Olga and the others, still remained and could be made instantly available as soon as communications were re-established. Also the Centre had not been deprived of these sources altogether, as I had brought a quantity of material with me to Paris which had been sent back to Moscow; so that they had in fact the cream of all the material available for the year November 1943-November 1944 when the Swiss network had been out of touch.
This information really startled Rado and he became more depressed than before. He bewailed the fact that he had not discussed the matter with me in Paris. Rather unkindly, I pointed out that he had only himself to blame, as I had given him my address after our first meeting at the dinner and he had not bothered to come round. It was entirely his own fault that he was going to Moscow unaware of the true state of affairs, and as an old hand at the game, he must know the danger of putting in reports without bothering to see if they tallied with the facts.
There was a long silence after this, while Rado sat tapping his fingers on the small hotel table, lost in thought. Then he got up and left the room without a word. I never saw him again. The plane left next morning without him, and his hat, coat, and luggage remained in the hotel bedroom uncollected, mute evidence of a spy who had lost his nerve.
At six the next morning we took off again, and when we reached Teheran we were delayed for three days by bad weather. I spent most of the time with Myasnikoff, who was a much more entertaining roommate than poor Rado. He expressed his relief at having got out of the sphere of British influence with no difficulty. He confessed that he had been nervous, as he had ordered the shooting of a number of British officers as a reprisal for the execution of the commissars in Baku during the period of foreign intervention. He also said that he thought his past might be brought up against him as he, as high commissioner for the Urals, had ordered the execution of the Czar and the imperial family at Ekaterinburg against the strict orders of Lenin. He made no secret of his dislike for Stalin, whom he had known in Baku in the pre-Revolutionary days. At that time he was a brighter light in the Party than Stalin and on two occasions had had Stalin expelled from the Party for brigandage. This was a curious echo from that part of Stalin's less respectable past when, no doubt for the highest political motives, he had been engaged in several bank robberies in Georgia with his own small coterie who believed that brigandage was the best way to world revolution.
After a night in Baku, where we were met by the N.K.V.D., who got us through the customs and passport formalities with speed and ease, we took off for Moscow. We were to have been met in Baku by officials from the Centre, but they missed us, as we had changed planes at Teheran and they were waiting for the wrong plane.
When we had left Baku Myasnikoff got the pilot to send a signal to the airport to ask Molotov to send a car to meet him. (He was in fact met by one of the state Packards, but the grim faces of the escort made me think it unlikely that a very rosy future lay ahead for this man, one of the last veterans of the Revolution.)
At four o'clock on the afternoon of January 14, 1945, the plane touched down at the airport in Moscow. I was well and truly behind the Iron Curtain.