Deadly Deceits (10 page)

During the debriefing L/1 gave us details of L/2's house and life in a commune in China. Food and clothing were rationed, he said, apportioned according to one's status and function. Everyone was required to participate in political meetings that continued sometimes until late in the evening. In the morning everyone was required to get up early and participate in group exercises. The government's radio station
would broadcast exercise instructions and music to exercise by.

There was one thing about L/1's story that disturbed me—the lack of radio contact while he was in China. L/1 claimed that he could not make contact because our schedule called for early-morning communication when, according to him, the electricity in the town was turned off. Yet the government's exercise program came on early in the morning and was received by L/2's commercial radio. How was one radio able to operate but not another? I began to wonder if L/1's claim about no morning electricity might be contrived. But I did not want to confront him with the discrepancy until I had closed all avenues of possible retreat. I wanted desperately for him to allay my suspicions, but I just as avidly wanted to know the truth.

One aspect of the operation complicated my attempts to resolve the problem. The intelligence service of the Chinese Nationalists might have substituted their crystals in our radio, thereby allowing L/1 to report only to them. I had to be careful not to expose any possible duplicity on the part of the liaison service, since the ongoing relationship was probably more important than determining the truth about this operation. Throughout the last two weeks of the debriefing, I casually asked L/1 about L/2's radio—where he had purchased it, what its brand name was, what stations it could receive, and what kind of batteries he had to buy for it. L/1 responded that it did not have batteries and that it operated off the house current. That was the wrong answer.

On the last day of the debriefing I asked why, if L/2's radio operated off the house current in the early morning, was it impossible for him to make use of that same electricity for our radio? L/1's look archly acknowledged that I had got the best of him. He jumped up, went into the next room, and brought out several gifts for me. He handed me a bottle of true mainland Gao Liang, a pack of mainland cigarettes, and a few trinkets that had originated in China. The debriefing was over.

I could never prove that L/1 lied to conceal duplicity on the part of the Chinese Nationalist intelligence service or that he was working for the Chinese Communists. But these questions hung over that operation until it was terminated.

We were never quite sure when the Chinese Nationalist intelligence services were playing games with us, and I am sure
they felt the same way about the CIA. I had found out shortly after I arrived in Taipei that LFBOOKLET, the agent fabricator who had led us on such a merry chase with his Saigon clipping service, loading our files with pro-Chiang Kai-shek and anti-Mao Tse-tung misinformation, was actually an officer of Chiang's intelligence service.

On June 18, 1960, President Dwight Eisenhower visited Taipei. The Chinese Nationalists were ecstatic and Generalissimo Chiang Kai-shek and his men arranged a grand reception, featuring major speeches by both Chiang and the President in the Plaza in downtown Taipei. Tom and I were anxious to see President Eisenhower and went down to the Plaza. As the hour grew near for the Generalissimo and the President to appear, the Plaza became jammed with more than 200,000 Chinese, and possibly a few Taiwanese. The excitement mounted, and the orderly crowd changed into a pressing, pushing, shoving mass. Both Tom and I stood over six feet tall, but we worried about suffocating. I can't imagine how the shorter Chinese were feeling. The speech by Chiang reiterated his annual “back-to-the-mainland” cry, while President Eisenhower vowed American support for the Generalissimo's government.

The crowd grew more out of control, and both Chiang and Eisenhower fled from the podium—out the back way—to avoid that swirling crush of humanity. An electric enthusiasm motivated the crowd, but I feared that it could quickly turn to violence. Tom and I moved to the edge of the crowd and hurried back to the safety of our office compound.

While President Eisenhower was in Taipei, the Chinese Communists launched an unprecedented, vicious artillery barrage on Chinmen Island, their way of expressing disapproval at the visit. The great turnout at the Plaza and the unnecessary attack on the island reinforced the view within the station of the correctness of our policy toward the two Chinas. The demonstration led us to believe that Chiang, in fact, held the allegiance of the people, while Mao's bombardment revealed the true brutal nature of the international Communist movement.

I did not know then how the Generalissimo's government had come to power. Only later did I learn that in 1949, as the
mainland fell, the Chinese Nationalist forces and camp followers had been evacuated to Taiwan by the American Navy. Once on the island, they had used their American-supplied weapons to dominate the more numerous Taiwanese—one Chinese to every seven or eight Taiwanese. In fact, the Generalissimo in the early days was able to maintain his authority only with extensive repressive measures. All of this at the time seemed to escape my attention and the attention of my colleagues at the station.

Our life was almost totally divorced from that of the more unfortunate Taiwanese and Chinese. Living in a compound, we spent all of our time with Agency friends. The only local contact we had, other than liaison officers I worked with, came on shopping trips, traveling to and from work, or going to restaurants. If we had not been so removed, we might have noticed the true situation on Taiwan and reported back some decent intelligence about it.

Despite my boss's early warnings, the duties on Taiwan seemed more directed at having a good time than at productive work. When we were not throwing a party for our counterpart Chinese officials, they were having us to sumptuous multi-course banquets. In addition, the station personnel were inclined to party, and every week required attendance at one affair or another. We realized that we had isolated ourselves from the Taiwanese people, but the constant partying and the good company kept us from worrying much about the problem.

Ray Cline was the chief of station. He had few pretenses and was gracious to the lowest- as well as the highest-ranking of his employees. He had an unusual way of accepting an Agency wife into the station family. When he felt a woman had earned a place in the loyal fellowship, he would deliver a pinch to the fanny. This was such a tradition that many women felt left out until he delivered his own version of official acceptance. It was all in rather good fun and no one seemed to object. Early in his tour Ray struck up a close friendship with the Generalissimo's son, Chiang Ching-kuo. Chiang and his wife could frequently be seen in our club bar playing the slot machines.

To welcome new arrivals and to say goodbye to departing people, the station held monthly hail and farewell parties. One
March night in 1961 we held a special hail and farewell costume party. Our clique of seven or eight couples, who had been together for more than a year, decided to do it up right. We held several meetings to decide the theme and type of costumes. Someone came up with the brilliant idea of an Indian tribe. Someone else said that a local tailor would surely be able to make the costumes for about $20 each—about the monthly salary of some Taiwanese workers. After a few drinks at one of our planning sessions, we decided to be the Sit Tribe. The women picked names such as Chicken Sit, Bird Sit, Running Deer Sit, while the men chose more macho names, such as mine—Big Chief Bull Sit.

After fittings at the tailor, our costumes seemed ready, except for the chief's headdress—another excuse for a party. This special meeting was to dye feathers and sew them on a headband. The headdress was a spectacular thing with vividly colored feathers. It was also heavy and awkward, but anything for the cause.

The hail and farewell party resembled a bacchanalian orgy with free food, free drinks, free entertainment, and some clandestine fooling around. Our tribe won an award for the best costume group, and all were called to the stage to receive the award from Ray Cline, who in his good-willed manner accepted the challenge to introduce each member of the Sit Tribe by his or her tribal name—an interesting task after a few drinks, and he almost made it without a slip, but not quite. Ray also gave an award for the best female costume to the statuesque, beautiful wife of one of the case officers; her costume was a revealing bathing suit. After Ray gave her the award, she put her arms around him, turned his back to the audience and bestowed a most obvious pinch, to the delight of the crowd.

Driving home from the party in a caravan of cars, dressed up in our costumes, sipping champagne out of fancy crystal glassware, we passed by the hovels of the Taiwanese people. I looked inside one tin shanty and saw several people in virtual rags huddling over a charcoal fire. My eyes met those of a young man. He stared uncomprehendingly out at me, while I looked through him. We seemed people from two different worlds—one of affluence, comfort, dedicated to having fun; the other of grimy poverty, where it was a struggle to stay
alive. Over the years I have thought of that moment and wondered how we in the CIA could ever have expected to understand what was happening in a foreign country when we existed in such a rarefied world, cut off from those we ostensibly were there to help.

5. LIFE AT LANGLEY

IN August 1961 I returned to a Headquarters rife with despair and upheaval. The Agency's poor performance at the Bay of Pigs, plans for a government-wide reduction in force (RIF), and the anticipated move from the Lincoln Memorial mall to the new building at Langley, Virginia, added to the turmoil.

Following the Bay of Pigs disaster in April 1961, Allen Dulles, the CIA director, sent out an all-station cable that tried to put the best face on the tragedy. The cable implied that had events taken their planned course, we would have been victorious in that invasion of Cuba. Be that as it may, there were many who questioned the operation. I had little knowledge of what happened other than what I read and saw on television, but it did seem that the Agency had relied too much on an anticipated uprising by the Cuban people.

The layoffs in the Agency were code-named the 701 program. It seemed that the RIF program was aimed more at the CIA than other agencies of government, possibly as a result of the Bay of Pigs misfire, and President John Kennedy's anger at it. This was a tension-filled, dismal time. I was assigned back to China activities, where I shared one small office with five other case officers. None of us had much to do, but we all made a real effort to appear busy. We all dreaded being called into the office of our superiors. All around people were receiving their notices. The halls seemed filled with the strained, anxious looks of the soon-to-be unemployed.

The move to Langley began shortly before the New Year 1962. The thrill of acquiring new, more spacious offices—usually no more than two people to a room—was dampened
by the continuing 701 program, About one of every five was fired. The tension became too much for some. On several occasions one of my former office mates came to the office howling drunk and worked his way onto the 701 list. When the Agency announced the end of the program, we lucky ones felt immense relief and also began to consider ourselves members of an elite. We had to be good because we hadn't been fired.

The new building had been planned by Allen Dulles, but as a result of the Bay of Pigs he was replaced and never got to enjoy it. The 219-acre site, located above the Potomac River about nine miles from Washington, resembled a college campus. As Dulles had intended, the employees soon took to lunch-time strolling around its tree-lined walks, jogging out onto nearby roads, or just relaxing in the sun on the numerous park benches. The building itself was seven stories high and was made of concrete and Georgian marble. On the huge main entrance on one side, a biblical verse was etched: “and ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free. John VIII-XXXII.” On the opposite wall were a bas-relief bust of Allen Dulles and memorial stars, each honoring a Central Intelligence Agency employee whose life was lost in the service of his country.

To get inside the building, you had to pass a security system consisting primarily of badges with identifying photographs. Once past the guards, you entered onto the wide first-floor corridors. This first floor housed many of the Agency's service functions—the travel office, the medical staff, the credit union, the library, the insurance claims office, the various cafeterias and records management facilities. One corridor wall was reserved for portraits of former directors of the Agency and another for displays by various Agency clubs—the photo club, the art club, and others. Four banks of elevators hurried the employees to the upstairs office corridors, which were painted off-white with dark green-grayish vinyl floors. Later, to relieve the monotony, the office doors were painted in solid bright colors.

China activities occupied a major portion of C corridor on the third floor. My office was Room 57, or in governmentese, 3 C 57.

Those of us remaining after the ravages of the 701 program responded to the increased work space, the campus-like
grounds, and the relaxed atmosphere. Our spirits soon revived.

It was only years later that I was to learn of the many covert operations that the CIA was conducting around the globe at that time. As in the previous ten years, covert operations dominated the Agency in the decade of the 1960s. It was employing all of the techniques of covert action, including disinformation, to accomplish policy goals. A dramatic surge in paramilitary activities in support of counterinsurgency programs was occurring in Laos and Vietnam.
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In the 1960s Cold War attitudes continued to shape foreign policy. In the early part of the decade, according to the Church Committee, an expansive foreign policy, exemplified by the invasion of Cuba at the Bay of Pigs, reflected American confidence and determination. The following confrontation with the Soviet Union over the installation of missiles and the rapidly escalating paramilitary activities in Southeast Asia drew the Agency into these major developments.
²