"Brian was a nightmare, a wreck. He barely got his clothes on right, except the sonofab.i.t.c.h got medal after medal for coming up with things that n.o.body else could make," said Greg Ford, an OTS senior manager.

To make matters worse, Holmes's immediate supervisor, a by-the-book administrator, was nearly the exact opposite of the brilliant but disorderly engineer. That the bureaucratic fates had placed this odd couple in such close proximity was either funny, tragic, or both. Finally, at the end of his rope, the supervisor appealed to Ford in the plainest possible terms. He just could not take it anymore.

"I had to tell him, 'You're the best division chief I've got, but if I lose you tomorrow morning, I can replace you by the afternoon. If I lose Holmes, I can't replace him,'" said Ford. "'So we have to find a way to deal with this.'"

After giving the problem more thought, Ford hit on a solution. In another part of the OTS complex were several ultrasecure room-sized vaults built to hold equipment too large for the Agency's standard three-drawer office safes. These windowless rooms featured secure steel doors along with good lighting and ventilation. Ford moved Holmes's desk and equipment into one of the cavelike rooms, making it his new office and laboratory.

"He loved it, absolutely loved it," said Ford. "He had all his s.h.i.t laying around on tables and everywhere else. He knew where everything was. It suited him. And at the end of the day, he didn't need to put anything in a safe, all he had to do was secure the vault door before he left. Naturally, I'd always have someone else check on it."

For Ford, the untidy Holmes fell into that rare and precious category of engineers he labeled "inventive b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." A valued a.s.set, they were aggressively recruited and then given enough freedom to work their magic. "Let me put it that way, if I have a hundred thousand Chinese, a hundred thousand Russian, and a hundred thousand American engineers, there's going to be about a hundred and fifty of these creative types in each group," said Ford. "One of my jobs was to find and convince them to work for OTS, and then protect them."

Finding, retaining, and protecting these engineers and scientists became an obsession for Ford and the Agency. After World War II and throughout the Cold War, the value of technology to intelligence operations steadily increased as devices grew smaller, more portable and concealable. "Science as a vital arm of intelligence is here to stay. We are in a critical and compet.i.tive race with the scientific development of the Soviet Bloc, particularly that of the Soviet Union, and we must see to it that we remain in a position of leadership," wrote Allen Dulles in the early 1960s. "Some day [sic] this may be as vital to us as radar was to Britain in 1940."1 Others shared Dulles's a.s.sessment of technology's importance to espionage and warfare, including MIT professor Dr. Vannevar Bush. During World War II, Bush served as chairman of the National Defense Research Committee (NDRC), the organization into which Lovell was recruited and from which OTS would eventually emerge.2 Even as the war was winding down, Bush was thinking ahead. Looking toward the future, he auth.o.r.ed a seminal essay on science and engineering, "As We May Think," which appeared in the July 1945 issue of The Atlantic Monthly. The Atlantic Monthly. His insights would prove prophetically accurate. "The world has arrived at an age of cheap complex devices of great reliability; and something is bound to come of it," Bush wrote. His insights would prove prophetically accurate. "The world has arrived at an age of cheap complex devices of great reliability; and something is bound to come of it," Bush wrote.

Consider a future device for individual use, which is a sort of mechanized private file and library. It needs a name, and, to coin one at random, "memex" will do. A memex is a device in which an individual stores all his books, records, and communications, and which is mechanizedso that it may be consulted with exceeding speed and flexibility. It is an enlarged intimate supplement to his memory.

In the first decade of the twenty-first century, Bush's memex could be called the personal computer, though elements of his predictions would eventually turn up in cell phones, PDAs, notebook computers, and even the Internet, all of which serve as supplements to our memories.

In a second paper, this one written for President Roosevelt that same year, t.i.tled "Science the Endless Frontier: A Report to the President," Bush argued that science is a vital resource of the United States, in peacetime and war: .

It has been basic United States policy that Government should foster the opening of new frontiers. It opened the seas to clipper ships and furnished land for pioneers. . . . Although these frontiers have more or less disappeared, the frontier of science remains. It is in keeping with the American tradition-one which has made the United States great-that new frontiers shall be made accessible for development by all American citizens.

The quandary the Agency faced from the 1950s onward was in identifying applicable new technologies and recruiting the right engineers and scientists. This was no easy task. Men and women with technical skills were becoming highly valued, emerging as the superstars of the post-World War II generation. At Bell Labs, they designed transistors and then integrated circuits. Xerox revolutionized computing by transforming an obscure government-funded project into the first computer with a mouse and graphical interface. Plastics and synthetic materials, jet engines, and televisions were making industrial engineers wealthy and changing the way Americans lived.

Even when the modest starting salary was not an obstacle for prospective hires, OTS faced other special problems in recruiting. Because of the cla.s.sified nature of the work, CIA employees were prohibited from publishing papers or obtaining patents. By working for the CIA, they could be a.s.sured of earning less than in the private sector and receiving no professional prestige that would otherwise accompany publication or publicity of a technical breakthrough. The necessities of security demanded that their hard work, though frequently invaluable, would remain secret. Finally, they might never know how, where, or if their labors had paid off in field operations.

Nevertheless, the Agency found ways to tap America's engineering and scientific talent. The OSS model of collaborating with private companies that served America's intelligence effort well during World War II continued to provide TSS and OTS a window into leading-edge research. Eventually, this partnership model provided a decisive advantage over the centralized Soviet system, a fact not lost on some Soviet leaders. "We lack R-and-D and a manufacturing base," said Lavrenti Beria, head of the NKVD. "Everything relies on a single supplier, Elektrosyla. The Americans have hundreds of companies with large manufacturing facilities."3 The Soviet Union, by contrast, handled its need for engineering talent decidedly differently. Its engineers, scientists, and mathematicians who showed particular brilliance or promise were singled out and channeled into advanced studies. If they measured up, they were put to work in intelligence, the most talented sometimes held as virtual captives in KGB-controlled sharashka sharashka (prison labs). (prison labs).4 From such facilities From such facilities The Thing, The Thing, along with some of the Soviet Union's most advanced weaponry, aircraft, and rocket technology, including early nuclear devices, emerged. along with some of the Soviet Union's most advanced weaponry, aircraft, and rocket technology, including early nuclear devices, emerged.5 Russian aircraft designer A. N. Tupolev was held in one such prison in Bolshevo outside Moscow, Russian aircraft designer A. N. Tupolev was held in one such prison in Bolshevo outside Moscow,6 as was the physicist P. L. Kaptisa. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, in his book as was the physicist P. L. Kaptisa. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, in his book The First Circle, The First Circle,7 immortalized his own experiences in the immortalized his own experiences in the sheraska sheraska known as the 01 Inst.i.tute, which coincidentally also held Leon Theremin, inventor of known as the 01 Inst.i.tute, which coincidentally also held Leon Theremin, inventor of The Thing The Thing.8 The Soviet scientists were left with little choice as to where to apply their talents. "Leave them in peace," Stalin was reputed to have said of the imprisoned scientists. "We can always shoot them later."

However, if Beria imagined all of America's industrial technology focused on defense or intelligence, he was mistaken. Post-World War II industry was largely geared for profit in consumer or industrial markets, and the trick, OTS discovered, was in adapting the innovative commercial and military technologies to clandestine use.

TSD's inventiveness encompa.s.sed aircraft as well as listening devices. The North Korean seizure of the USS Pueblo Pueblo in January of 1968 became the backdrop to one of its most ambitious aviation projects. One of the frustrations facing both the Johnson and Nixon administrations was the seemingly limited options available to avenge such incidents short of declaring war. Responding to the White House, in the spring of 1970, TSD was tasked to develop a means to infiltrate intelligence or paramilitary teams into hostile and otherwise inaccessible areas. "The project got started because of comments attributed to Nixon's national security advisor, Henry Kissinger," recalled one of the princ.i.p.al officers. "We understood he wanted a covert capability to access strategic North Korean targets if we ever decided to attack and destroy them." in January of 1968 became the backdrop to one of its most ambitious aviation projects. One of the frustrations facing both the Johnson and Nixon administrations was the seemingly limited options available to avenge such incidents short of declaring war. Responding to the White House, in the spring of 1970, TSD was tasked to develop a means to infiltrate intelligence or paramilitary teams into hostile and otherwise inaccessible areas. "The project got started because of comments attributed to Nixon's national security advisor, Henry Kissinger," recalled one of the princ.i.p.al officers. "We understood he wanted a covert capability to access strategic North Korean targets if we ever decided to attack and destroy them."

Because the likely military or economic targets would be accessible only by air, a "silent" aircraft operating at night could potentially reach the targets covertly, thereby hiding the U.S. government's hand in the operation. From an intelligence perspective, such an aircraft could have the additional capabilities for deploying covert sensors for intelligence collection and conducting hostage rescue missions.

The initial requirement called for an aircraft that could fly 1,000 miles without refueling and carry a two-man team along with a modest 150-pound payload. Primarily because of its range, the Hughes OH-6 helicopter was identified as the platform for the project. OTS acquired an "off the shelf" OH-6 and went to work reducing its operating noise.

"First we slowed the tip speed down on the main rotor," said Jack Knight, the TSD officer who headed the project. "That required we change the rotor, so we made a five-blade version rather than four to get the same lift pattern. We could move the same amount of air at a lower RPM and maintain the same lift. We also changed out the tail rotor, going from two blades to four."

The engine noise presented a different set of problems. An initial attempt with a m.u.f.fler failed when a contractor designed one weighing nearly 400 pounds, far too heavy for the OH-6. However, Knight had heard that a commercial aircraft manufacturer was running a program to quiet its jet aircraft and paid the company a visit. "There was a guy working on a 'quieting program' for a long haul pa.s.senger plane and we went to talk to him," said Knight. "We asked to borrow him for a few months, but the company had other plans for him. So that was a disappointment. But on the way out the door, he handed me a business card with his home number written on the back. I called that night and he said he'd work on the project during his off hours. He eventually designed an engine quieting system that weighed about thirty pounds, a perfect fit for us."

What the engineer did, explained Knight, was identify the sound frequencies coming from the engine making the most noise and attacked them by creating a series of sophisticated acoustic chambers. Just as high-end audio speakers are designed internally to acoustically enhance certain frequencies, the engineer's design performed the opposite function, trapping the sound waves in a carefully constructed series of baffles.

With the rotors and engine silenced-or at least quieted-Knight and his team next targeted the noises coming from the chopper's other moving parts. First, the transmission was quieted, and then they turned their attention to the converters (small generators) that provided auxiliary power, which were found to be extremely noisy. Their studies eventually led to converting the OH-6 over to solid-state electronics that required less power and smaller, quieter generators. "Then all of a sudden we found a real noisy valve in the fuel control system," remembered Knight. "You never hear it in a normal helicopter, but it was a screamer. I took it back to the manufacturer and told them to quiet it down. They looked at me like I was a nut case. But they did it using silicone insets to cushion the moving parts."

From start to finish, the project was completed and delivered in less than two months. The result was an OH-6, operating in "quiet mode," that could not be heard on the ground as it pa.s.sed over at 500 feet. Flying at the optimum "quiet" speed of 85 knots, the helicopter was less fuel-efficient, while higher speeds increased the noise but improved fuel efficiency.

Richard Helms, the DCI at the time, followed the progress of the silenced helicopter with great interest. He called Knight in for personal briefings on the project as it moved through various stages, the conversations frequently focusing on the difference between "quiet" and "silent." One day, Lawrence Houston, Helm's senior lawyer, called Knight. "I want to go to California and hear this thing," Houston stated.

Knight obliged, taking Houston out to the Culver City Airport late at night to stand in the center of a darkened runway. Knight ordered a fly-by of a standard OH-6, which was audible from one end of the runway to the other. Houston and Knight stood on the runway tarmac as the sound faded and then vanished altogether. After a few minutes, Houston asked when the quiet helicopter would be coming. "It just did," Knight replied, and then radioed the pilot to make another pa.s.s and illuminate the helicopter when overhead.

"That sonofab.i.t.c.h is is quiet!" Houston exclaimed. His report to Helms settled the question of "quiet" versus "silent." quiet!" Houston exclaimed. His report to Helms settled the question of "quiet" versus "silent."

The second major requirement for the quiet helicopter was a capability to "see into the night." Knight and his TSD team needed a Forward-Looking Infrared (FLIR) system that would allow night flights at low alt.i.tude. Knight discovered that the smallest system available weighed several hundred pounds and produced poorly defined images that often resembled blobs.

In principle, infrared "sees" not the gradations of light like a video or still camera does, but differences in temperature. It picks up heat emanating from an object, much like a camera records light reflected from an object. At the time, FLIR was a new technology, somewhat comparable to early "tintype" photography during the Civil War.

When Knight asked a military components company to help with the FLIR problem, two recently graduated electrical engineers, both in their mid-twenties, were identified. Knight, listening to their ideas, did not leave the meeting until long after dark. With more enthusiasm than funding, the engineers saw in Knight and the Agency the opportunity to put their theories into practice.

The next morning, when Knight returned to the company, the FLIR manager was decidedly unfriendly. The manager sensed that the young engineers had committed the company to something that could not be delivered and he did not want the corporate reputation riding on an "impossible" project. Knight countered by writing and signing a letter on the spot absolving the company and the manager of any responsibility for the project's outcome. "I just wanted those kids, because I was convinced they could do something no one had done before," Knight recalled. "Those kids were going to run my program without interference from experienced nay-sayers."

Within sixty days, the two engineers had an operating prototype of their system. What they had done was to rethink the way IR receivers processed signals. Typical IR systems processed long, mechanically scanned linear arrays that had wide variations in line-to-line sensitivity. The young engineers reconfigured existing technology to create a single array of fifteen elements stacked together, which const.i.tuted a single-point detector with the capability to scan in both the horizontal and vertical planes. The additional elements allowed the system to take in more information, which was then processed into a more detailed image. The result was sensitivity so high that the FLIR scanned at TV rates.

"We told the engineers it couldn't weigh over eighty-five pounds and they gave us one that weighed fifteen. We were getting recognizable images-not TV quality-but dang near," Knight said. "People couldn't believe the world they were seeing was through the eyes of a thermometer. It was so good you could pick faces out just from the sensitivity that registered vein systems close to the surface of the skin. It was so startling, I think it killed every other FLIR program going on in the country at that point."

Technology and the human agent were becoming interdependent as each gave the other capabilities and security that had previously not existed. Tiny, reliable, long-life audio devices could supplement an agent's information by remaining in a room after the agent departed. Small, concealable, low-light cameras enabled agents to clandestinely copy doc.u.ments in supposedly secured areas. Low-power transmitters provided agents with a communications link to a handler he might never meet.

As the complexity of the technology increased, so did the intricacies of hunting it out. Many of the companies that were once little more than Gene's garage-shop contractors in the fifties and sixties had grown significantly by the 1970s, a few to multinational status. With their growth, some were no longer able or willing to accommodate the small production runs typical of clandestine equipment. The same problem Lovell faced in recruiting businesses into the specialized and marginally profitable field of intelligence thirty years earlier was now confronted by a new generation of Agency managers. However, these managers ran into an obstacle not encountered by Lovell.

The Cold War lacked the immediate urgency of World War II. Convincing a CEO to commit resources and manpower to clandestine endeavors, with the inherent risk of exposure and adverse publicity, became a tough sale. Although research funded by the Agency sometimes gave companies a temporary lead in the marketplace, such as it had done with battery power-saver technology, this ancillary benefit was never a.s.sured. In most instances, work for CIA had limited practical application beyond espionage.

In the early 1970s, OTS, in search of a digital device that pushed the limits of memory capacity, a.s.sessed the technology used for satellite-based reconnaissance that was moving toward digital imaging. The technology appeared to have clandestine applications. After receiving word that James Early was doing interesting work in the field at Fairchild Semiconductor, OTS sent Ford to investigate. Early, a member of the team that worked for n.o.bel Prize winner William Shockley on the transistor at Bell Labs, is frequently credited with pioneering efforts in moving the technology into commercial and industrial applications.9 By the time Ford stepped into Early's lab at Fairchild, the invention of the transistor was two decades in the past and Early, a senior researcher, revered within the engineering and scientific communities. However, Ford found a scientist unwilling to rest on his laurels and showing unrestrained enthusiasm for pushing the limits of digital technology. "I watched him work two blackboards on one side of the room for forty-five d.a.m.ned minutes with more formulas than it took to build an A-bomb," said Ford. "Finally, I said, 'What's it going to take to build this thing?'"

The problem Ford faced was that OTS did not have a budget for theoretical research. Whatever funds were spent had to be committed to a specific device, so Ford instructed Early to build a camera. Early put the price at $25,000 with a completion date of three months. Ford gave him $50,000 and made a mental note the completion date would likely be closer to nine years, rather than ninety days.

Three months later Early was in Ford's office setting up a contraption consisting of not much more than a small box with a 16mm lens mounted on one side and some wires trailing out from another to a picture tube and power supply. Ford watched as Early switched the device on, and saw one of the first digital images captured by a Charge-Coupled Device (CCD). "The thing worked perfectly. I called a friend of mine over at the Advanced Research Projects Agency (ARPA) and said, 'I don't know or care who you have in your office, clear them out, now!'" Ford recalled.10 Packing the device up and with his guest in tow, Ford set up a demonstration in an ARPA office a few miles away. "The ARPA engineer recognized exactly what the impact of this was," Ford said. "All he asked was, 'How much money can they sensibly absorb?'"

CCD technology would, in fact, revolutionize traditional tradecraft, make real-time images from s.p.a.ce platforms possible, and transform the camera business in the consumer market. "An executive once asked me what was in the presentation that made me believe Early could pull this off," Ford remembered. "I told him, 'Nothing.' The guy lost me after the first foot of formulas on the board. But I'm looking at this sixty-something-year-old engineer, one of the coinventers of the transistor, and he's jumping around like a twenty-five-year-old kid. I'll give money to people like that."

Another problem facing the Agency was the nature of technological advancement itself. The speed at which technology progressed in the three decades after World War II placed OTS engineers in constant compet.i.tion with consumer and industrial markets. "It's a race to get my device into the field before every other intelligence service has a countermeasure. Technology is my edge, so I have to get it into my clandestine product quickly," said one senior OTS scientist. "For instance, until the mid-1980s there were no cell phones and you couldn't buy a walkie-talkie small enough to use covertly. So we had to build special stuff. Now anyone can buy most of the devices that we had to invent during the Cold War."

The race against the consumer and industrial markets was one that OTS did not always win. Sometimes, developments in the private sector either overtook Agency engineers or shortened the operational life of a device to a surprising degree. In one notable case during the 1970s, OTS needed a better, more compact recording medium and contracted to have the standard-sized ca.s.sette shrunk down to allow for a smaller recorder. The contractor successfully delivered the device, but the effort was largely wasted when the first commercial and equally capable microca.s.sette recorders appeared on the market a few months later.

However, the overall trend of technological proliferation in the consumer marketplace also brought operational benefits. With the spread of small, affordable portable devices, technology was becoming ubiquitous and transparent for people in every part of the world. For example, as Walkman headphones, along with low-priced pocket calculators, pagers, and digital watches became common in the 1980s, these everyday products were adapted or disguised for clandestine use. Audio receivers once hidden beneath lifelike molds of the user's ear could now be disguised as headsets for music or a cell phone.

Sometimes even standard commercial devices could be pressed into clandestine duty without modification. In an unwitting doctor's office in a European city during the 1980s, an answering machine, a new technology at the time, picked up calls in the middle of the night. Once or twice a month, a case officer would call the office, leave a brief message, and hang up. A short time later, an agent would call the office and tap in the code to access the messages on the answering machine. After retrieving instructions for a dead drop, he would then erase the secret message, leaving no trail back to his handler or even telephone records.

One OTS scientist recalled a conversation with a case officer returning from Europe in the mid-1980s. The case officer offered details of something called a "cellular phone." "I want to use this. You figure out how I can make covert calls," he told the scientist.

As a result of the conversation, the scientist linked up with an operations officer with a technical bent and a senior engineer to figure out how to make early cell phone technology an operational tool. The inspiration the three-man team needed came from the criminal world. At the time, drug dealers in major cities were monitoring cell phone calls and hijacking the phones to ply their illegal trade. The team developed similar technology to s.n.a.t.c.h random caller codes out of the air in selected foreign countries, creating a covert phone system dubbed the "portable pay phone." Short-duration calls could be placed using a random number to sever any connection between the case officer and the agent. The borrowed number added only a few barely noticeable pennies to the phone bill of its unwitting owner.

"What's happened is that as technology kept getting more automated, it became smarter and adaptive," said the scientist. "The more we could do, the more we're asked to do. New technologies let you do so many things you couldn't do before but they also made our older equipment obsolete more quickly."

Circuit boards and computer chips offered OTS miniaturization and flexibility for building equipment. Digital memory, a common component of modern electronic devices, became a blank slate upon which nearly anything could be written. Increasingly, even under close examination, spy gear was becoming indistinguishable from everyday objects.

Digital tradecraft also advanced the concept of the cloaking function in electronic form-as generations of spies had done with concealments and dead drops-by creating spyware buried deep within lines of software code. The process known as convergence in the consumer marketplace, in which a cell phone stores music along with a datebook or text messaging function, would become the twenty-first-century technical challenge for OTS.

SECTION V.

PRISON, BULLET, Pa.s.sPORT, BOMB.

CHAPTER 16.

Conspicuous Fort.i.tude, Exemplary Courage in a Cuban Jail

You are not expected to take anything with you in the field that would reveal your ident.i.ty or in any way show that you are an agent of the government . . .

-U.S. Army order to an intelligence officer posted to Latin America in 19051 On September 8, 1960, three American businessmen stepped off a plane in Havana. The pa.s.sports and tourist visas they presented to Cuban officials identified them as Daniel Carswell, age forty-two, an electrical engineer from Eastchester, New York; Eustace Van Brunt, thirty-four, a mechanical engineer from Baltimore, Maryland; and Edmund Taransky, a thirty-year-old electrical engineer from New York City.2 Along with their official travel doc.u.ments, the three carried credit cards, driver's licenses, and other pieces of identification confirming their ident.i.ties. However, their names and all the material that supported their ident.i.ties were fictions. TSD artists skilled in doc.u.ment fabrication and reproduction had created all the mundane contents of their wallets-"pocket litter," in CIA parlance.3 Eustace Van Brunt was TSD engineer Thornton "Andy" Anderson, while Edmund Taransky was really Walter "Wally" Szuminski, an audio tech. The third tourist, traveling as Daniel Carswell, was Dave Christ (p.r.o.nounced "Crist"). The most senior of the three, Christ had recently become head of TSD's audio operations. In that capacity, Christ carried in his head worldwide knowledge of the CIA's bugging capabilities, equipment, targets, and current installations.4 Cloaked in their false ident.i.ties and a cover story, the trio entered Cuba on a weeklong mission to install clandestine listening devices. The target for the operation was not Cuban, but rather, the future emba.s.sy of a critical hard-target country. This rare opportunity was the result of Cuba's decision to embrace diplomatically America's adversaries.

The CIA learned where the emba.s.sy would be located and reached an agreement with the owner to allow Agency techs access to plant the bugs. Not only was the chance to install listening devices in a major target a golden opportunity, the plan was virtually risk-free. The owner could authorize access to his building to anyone, even three American tourists, at any time. No one would ask questions.

With open access to the building, the Christ-led team planned to conduct a thorough preinstallation survey and then work without fear of interruption. The team's single concern lay with the Cuban government's growing antagonism and suspicion toward the United States. Since American tourism to the once popular Caribbean island was becoming increasingly rare, the arrival of three Yankee engineers in search of tropical fun could very well attract the attention of Castro's immigration or counterintelligence officials.

While Cuba was still presenting a welcoming facade in the summer of 1960, unsettling changes were occurring under Castro's new government. During the eighteen months following the revolution, Cuba's reputation as a Caribbean playground was in rapid decline. Refugees were streaming into Florida while Havana increasingly became a city of civil unrest. Protests, which Castro aggressively countered with ma.s.s arrests, were becoming more common. Businessmen, who had supported the deposed dictator, General Fulgencio Batista, were branded as potential counter-revolutionaries and growing increasingly fearful of their new government.

Despite these troubling developments, Castro's true political orientation was still uncertain. In power less than two years, after seizing control on New Year's Day in 1959, he continued to deny communist leanings, although his 1960 decision to embrace the Communist Chinese at the expense of the Taiwan government should have been taken as a good indication of where he was headed.5 America still maintained diplomatic ties with Castro's government, but relations were strained and the situation between the two countries was clearly deteriorating. A conflict surrounding sugar imports to the United States along with American condemnation of tightening government controls on Cuba's press, trade unions, and universities angered Castro. Cuba had also resumed diplomatic relations with the Soviet Union, welcoming the new Russian Amba.s.sador Sergei Kudryatsev. Fifteen years earlier, Kudryatsev had been declared persona non grata by the Canadian government after being linked to an extensive network of Soviet spies in that country.6 The Soviet Union now had a toehold in the Western Hemisphere, a "friend" in Castro, and a presence just ninety miles from the United States. The Soviet Union now had a toehold in the Western Hemisphere, a "friend" in Castro, and a presence just ninety miles from the United States.

From the U.S. perspective, the signals Castro sent out to the world in speeches and interviews were mixed. Human rights abuses were reported by Cuban refugees in Florida and the Cuban leader's pledges not to nationalize businesses seemed hollow. In one of his odder p.r.o.nouncements, Castro banned Santa Claus along with the importation of Christmas trees in December 1959, bizarrely labeling both St. Nick and spruce trees as "imperialistic."7 As formal rupture of relations between the two countries became more likely, the CIA began making "stay behind" arrangements for intelligence activities on the island. Stocks of technical gear and espionage equipment were cached in the countryside. Agents who could no longer safely be met in person were given alternate communications plans and covcom systems, such as secret-writing materials and maps to the cache sites.

During the summer of 1960, CIA officers had spotted suspected surveillance by Cuban security officers, prompting the office in Havana to organize a small countersurveillance team of recruited Cubans to protect its operations.8 At the same time, other elements of the CIA were already planning White House-approved covert operations against Cuba, including an armed invasion of the island by a refugee counterrevolutionary force and a possible a.s.sa.s.sination of the Cuban leader. At the same time, other elements of the CIA were already planning White House-approved covert operations against Cuba, including an armed invasion of the island by a refugee counterrevolutionary force and a possible a.s.sa.s.sination of the Cuban leader.9 The September audio operation took on urgency with the possibility that all official Americans could be ordered out of Cuba, rendering support for any technical attack virtually impossible. Already, a similar audio operation a month earlier against another target failed because of logistical problems. Adding to this growing list of concerns, September was midway through the hurricane season, and Hurricane Donna, forming in the Caribbean, threatened to disrupt travel to Cuba and upset operational timing.10 Given the circ.u.mstances, a delay of even a few days could see this opportunity slip away. Given the circ.u.mstances, a delay of even a few days could see this opportunity slip away.

A TSD team was needed to take advantage of a rapidly closing window of opportunity, but audio techs were in short supply. It was late summer and some were on annual leave, others scattered in transit to new a.s.signments, and ongoing operations consumed the remainder.

Wally, an experienced field tech on home leave after a tour in Asia, was redirected to the operation, and postponed a visit to his parents. Andy, an engineer who developed audio gear, saw the operation as a chance to get his feet wet by helping in a routine installation. The firsthand experience, he believed, would help him to understand and antic.i.p.ate operational problems and design better equipment for the techs in the field. Dave, as head of the personnel-strapped audio unit, also stepped up to the requirement. No one had any reason to believe the three would not be home within a few days.11 After making contact with their case officer in Havana, the techs unpacked the tools and audio equipment. Everything was in order, when fate threw the team a curve. Unexpectedly the building owner got cold feet and withdrew the offer for access. It was a disappointing development, but the case officer conveying the news to the techs a.s.sured them their trip would not be in vain. The local office had received authorization from Headquarters to bug an alternative target, the New China News Agency, located in the Seguro Medico Building, a new high-rise in the heart of Havana.12 This alternate operation seemed routine enough. An apartment above the news agency offices had been rented by a CIA contact, a Cuban dance instructor named Mario, and if any problems arose, the techs had a "bug out" plan to regroup in the apartment of an American secretary also living in the building.

The next day, the techs met with the case officer in a downtown sandwich shop to await a "go signal." When Mario showed up, drank a cup of coffee, and left without acknowledging the presence of the four Americans, the empty coffee cup signaled an all-clear for the techs to proceed to the Seguro Medico Building and survey the target. Because the local office feared an informant had penetrated its surveillance team, they would conduct the operation without countersurveillance. All agreed that since the techs would be working from the agent's apartment, little risk existed. They could control the apartment for as long as they needed to finish the job.

Arriving at the Seguro Medico Building for the survey phase, Andy and the others noticed that no concierge was on duty. That was the first good sign. "It was a Sunday and n.o.body was there. We got on the elevator and went one or two stories higher and walked down the stairs to the agent's apartment," remembered Andy. "We cased the apartment to determine the construction materials, where load-bearing walls were, and the location of power. We figured out what equipment we'd need to drill and make repairs and how we'd divide up the work. Basically we created the 'plan of attack' to minimize the amount of time to do the job. Then we went back to the safe house."13 The next day, after satisfying themselves and the local chief the operational plan was sound, the techs returned to the apartment to do the job. They would drill down through the floor and into the ceiling of the New China News Agency, opening pinholes of less than one millimeter to provide an airway for conversations to reach microphones placed snugly against the minute openings. "This wasn't exactly a blind drill," Andy explained, "because we knew the apartments were mirrors of each other. We were going into an area we believed they'd be talking in, like a bedroom office. You're never sure of how the audio will work, but in those days, when we had a good pinhole, we could usually get good reception and cover a couple of adjacent rooms."

The backbone of the equipment used for the mission was the SRT-3.14 The all-transistor transmitter was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and broadcast an unencrypted clear signal. The all-transistor transmitter was about the size of a pack of cigarettes and broadcast an unencrypted clear signal.15 A small switch receiver mounted in the SRT-3 would allow the listening post keeper to turn the device on and off remotely to elude electronic sweeps, A small switch receiver mounted in the SRT-3 would allow the listening post keeper to turn the device on and off remotely to elude electronic sweeps,16 and since the system would tap power from the building's electrical line, it could run indefinitely. and since the system would tap power from the building's electrical line, it could run indefinitely.

However, almost from the start, the job did not go as antic.i.p.ated. The unair-conditioned apartment was stifling and soon the three stripped down to their shorts and tennis shoes. The apartment's thick concrete floors made the work slow going, even with the heavy-duty quarter-inch diamond drill bits.

For two days, the techs worked at the job, supported with food and supplies brought in by Mario and the case officer. With luck, they would finish up in three days and immediately leave the island.

On Wednesday, the operation began to go bad. First, a meter reader with the local utility company knocked on the door and was turned away without incident. Then a loud knocking summoned Dave to the apartment's front door. Opening the door, he found himself facing down the barrel of a large handgun in the hand of an unshaven young Cuban in olive green fatigues accompanied by four other armed young men, all dressed in the same style of fatigues. The five Cubans entered the room and silenced Dave so quickly that he had no opportunity to sound a warning.

Andy and Wally were in the bathroom. Andy had removed the two fluorescent lights on the top and side of the medicine cabinet and dug out a cavity in the plaster for the power line tap, while Wally was working on the antenna. "We just about had the thing pretty well finished, just the final touch, putting the tile back and plastering in the bathroom to cover the wires running from transmitter to the AC power line buried in the wall," said Andy. "We hadn't drilled the pinhole through the ceiling, but had everything else done. And that's when it all fell apart."

Andy and Wally had continued working away in the bathroom unaware of what was taking place just a few feet down the hall. Focused on the task, they a.s.sumed that either Mario or the case officer had come by, but when Dave did not return, Wally went to investigate. He too found himself staring down a gun positioned so close to his face that he could see traces of rust on the inside of the barrel. Then, when Andy turned around, he faced yet another armed Cuban. Hustled out of the bathroom, he joined Dave and Wally against the wall of the apartment's kitchen dining-room area.17 To the three prisoners, the armed Cubans seemed indecisive about what to do next, which only added to their fear and anxiety. To the three prisoners, the armed Cubans seemed indecisive about what to do next, which only added to their fear and anxiety.

"We stood against the wall for some hours. They ripped through the place, I don't think they knew what they were doing," said Andy. "First thing they took was all our money, then they took all my good cigars, and put us in the bedroom on a bed with the lights on."

Dave and Andy began communicating with each other by tracing letters on the bed. The Americans remained awake through the night as the Cubans waited to see who else might show up at the apartment. At one point, there was a gunshot from the living room. Had the Cubans caught and executed either Mario or the case officer? The techs' fears were unfounded. One of the guards had accidentally shot himself in the hand.

The next morning the prisoners were moved to the living room and faced the first of many interrogations. All of the equipment and tools they had brought in to do the job were arranged neatly on the floor. Repeatedly questioned, the techs maintained their cover story that they were Americans on vacation and saw an opportunity to make a little extra money doing some electrical work.

They were given coffee and then photographed with the equipment. Within days, the pictures appeared in the local papers alleging that the three were American spies.

Since the operation was put together quickly, the techs had little to back up their story, except the few doc.u.ments they carried and their ability to brazen it out under interrogation. None of the three had received "risk of capture briefings" provided to military or intelligence officers who undertake dangerous missions. If one of the three alias ident.i.ties or cover stories fell apart or if one of them broke under questioning, all three would be exposed as criminals or spies. The consequences were grave. Castro's government had already established a tradition of executions for political as well as social crimes.

Eventually the Cubans moved the trio from the high-rise to a military intelligence installation, only a few blocks from the U.S. Emba.s.sy. There they were fingerprinted and photographed. By early evening, the techs were separated, had their belts, shoelaces, and watches removed, and locked into different holding cells. Not much more than thirty square feet, with a shower and toilet combination at one end, each cell was packed with prisoners and triple-decker, GI-style bunk beds.

That night began the first of many interrogations. Escorted from his sweltering cell to a small, cold, air-conditioned room, Wally faced three Cubans. The one whom he would dub "Bad Teeth" took the lead. "What are you doing here? Come on, Mr. Taransky, tell us," Bad Teeth asked in English. "Why, you work for the CIA, don't you?"

Throughout the initial round of questioning, Wally stuck to the cover story and on the second day was driven back to the apartment and ordered to identify the equipment. Once there, he explained how certain pieces of the equipment functioned in general and managed to "accidentally" break some of the circuit boards to deny exploitation of the technology by the Cubans. The next day, he was again taken to the high-rise where he faced a horde of photographers and television cameras at a press conference. When one of the reporters asked if he was there of his own free will, Wally replied, "No, he brought me," and pointed to Bad Teeth. "He told me I'd be shot if I didn't cooperate."

With the press conference ended, Wally was put in one section of the facility and Andy in another. Dave was sent to a military base called "Columbia." In all, the three men would spend twenty-nine days undergoing middle-of-the-night questioning, being shuttled between steaming holding cells and freezing interrogation rooms. Their stories did not change.

During the twelve weeks leading up to the mid-December trial, relations between Cuba and the United States continued to worsen. The U.S. Emba.s.sy advised all American nationals to leave the country and Castro was hosted by a Russian delegation while visiting New York. After delivering a speech of more than four hours at the UN-setting a new all-time record-Castro discovered his plane had been seized as collateral against Cuban debts. The Soviets, eager to solidify their relationship with the Cuban leader, obligingly provided a plane.18 At CIA Headquarters, the arrest of the three officers caused a major flap. According to one memo circulated at the time, the situation was not hopeful. "The tourist cover used by the technicians was very light," the memo read. "The cover [a.s.serted by the techs] could not be expected to hold up if the Cubans conducted a thorough inquiry and intensive interrogation."19 For example, a check of the New York City address Wally used for his cover story belonged to a woman he was dating. If questioned, she would not have known an "Edmund Taransky." For example, a check of the New York City address Wally used for his cover story belonged to a woman he was dating. If questioned, she would not have known an "Edmund Taransky."

In late October, the three were transferred to La Cabana, an ancient Havana fortress converted into a prison. Issued prison garb with a large P (for prisoner) stenciled on shirts and pants, the techs were again fingerprinted and then escorted to separate cells filled with common criminals, anti-Castro elements, and American adventurers caught in the revolution.

"At La Cabana they got serious about the interrogations. They had Dave back in the same facility where we were, but in different quarters," said Andy. "I never saw him except sometimes during interrogations, he'd be coming out and I would be going in. They'd bring you out of a hot room, put you in a freezing cold room, and threaten to pistol-whip you. Then they'd say, 'We're going to shoot you.' They had me convinced they were going to shoot me. I really thought it was going to happen. They said you have to cooperate or this is it; we know all about it. Once when the interrogator told me about our being in that sandwich shop, I thought, holy cow, we were dead before we went into the apartment."

Sometimes the questions would vary, with the interrogators accusing them of working for the FBI.20 Bad Teeth would often claim that the other two prisoners already confessed, so not telling the truth was pointless. During one session, a young guard incessantly played with his gun, flipping the cylinder open and then pulling the trigger. "Tell him that men don't play with guns," Wally ordered Bad Teeth. "Only kids do." Bad Teeth obliged and the guard looked suitably chastened. Bad Teeth would often claim that the other two prisoners already confessed, so not telling the truth was pointless. During one session, a young guard incessantly played with his gun, flipping the cylinder open and then pulling the trigger. "Tell him that men don't play with guns," Wally ordered Bad Teeth. "Only kids do." Bad Teeth obliged and the guard looked suitably chastened.

"Our att.i.tude was that we didn't know what our fate would be. I was convinced I was going to be shot. I figured I'm expendable, but I'd never do anything to disgrace my children or the Marine Corps," explained Andy, who had served in the Marines from 1944 to 1946 and again between 1950 and 1952. "I made my peace with G.o.d, but it never happened, thank G.o.d."

The possibility of execution was, as the three learned at La Cabana, not an idle threat. Firing squads were busy day and night as Castro consolidated power by eliminating political opponents and malcontents. Reliable estimates set the number of political executions at upward of 2,000 by 1961.21 "They were shooting five, six, seven every night. Right outside our window at one or two o'clock in the morning. One of them I will never forget as long as I live," recalled Andy. "His name was Julio and he was a doctor. He was educated in Spain and ran some kind of anti-Castro political cell. To save the people in his group, he took all the blame. He slept right above me and we became friends for a couple days. Then they shot him." "They were shooting five, six, seven every night. Right outside our window at one or two o'clock in the morning. One of them I will never forget as long as I live," recalled Andy. "His name was Julio and he was a doctor. He was educated in Spain and ran some kind of anti-Castro political cell. To save the people in his group, he took all the blame. He slept right above me and we became friends for a couple days. Then they shot him."

Prisoners at La Cabana were executed along the outer wall bordering a moat, long since filled in with dirt, that surrounded the old fortress. Firing squads of six to eight guards used U.S.-made World War II M-1 Garand rifles taken from one of Batista's armories. "Leaving and returning from our trial we got a particularly good look at the execution wall," Andy said. "When the .30-06 caliber round hits you it takes flesh and embeds it in the wall. I looked at that wall and could see exactly where guys had been standing. They shot some the night before our trial. We crossed over the moat on a bridge adjacent to the wall and we could see the results of the day's executions. First time I had ever seen something like that."

In the months leading up to the December 17 trial, Cuban-American relations reached the breaking point. President Eisenhower announced a ban on all exports to Cuba, except for a few foodstuffs and medicine. On October 25, the Cuban government retaliated by nationalizing all major banks, private sugar mills, distilleries, and stores, including American multinationals such as Sears, Roebuck, General Electric, and Coca-Cola.22 Within days, U.S. Amba.s.sador Philip Bonsal left the country. Within days, U.S. Amba.s.sador Philip Bonsal left the country.23 The techs were formally charged as "Enemies of Cuba" and the prosecutor asked for thirty-year sentences. Represented by a Cuban lawyer hired by the American Emba.s.sy, the Americans sat through a four-day trial, which consisted of a three-judge military tribunal. After the trial, U.S. Consul Hugh Kessler approached the three defendants. Trying to be upbeat he said, "You guys are great. Man, you're famous." Kessler would be the last American government official they would see for two years.

The verdict, never officially announced to the three in the courtroom, was guilty. They were sentenced to ten years apiece, which at the time seemed like a good deal. "The thing was, when you come back from your trial you either went to the left or the right," Andy explained. "If you went to the right, you went into a copiea copiea, a little chapel-like room, and you knew you were going to get shot the next morning. For most prisoners, if you went to the left, you got thirty years. In those days thirty years was considered a pretty favorable sentence. So, before we were officially told what the verdict and sentence was, I realized that by making the left turn we weren't going to be shot."

A parade in Havana on January 1, 1961, featured Soviet tanks along with other weaponry. Relations between the United States and Cuba were officially severed two days later, just two weeks after the trial. The three techs, with their tourist cover still holding and their true ident.i.ties still concealed, remained at La Cabana. That month, they heard that Mario, the agent in whose apartment the techs had been discovered but for whom the Cubans apparently had insufficient evidence to convict, was deported and joined his wife in Florida.

On January 22, 1961, prison authorities made an announcement over the public address system; the three were among 250 prisoners to be transferred to the Isle of Pines prison. Called the Presidio Modelo (Model Prison), the facility was located on a small, lush, 850-square-mile island a few miles off Cuba's coast and was perhaps the most dreaded of all Cuban prisons. Castro himself had been a prisoner on the Isle of Pines for two years following his 1953 attack on Moncado Garrison.24 The Isle of Pines had been the inspiration for Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island Treasure Island and in the early twentieth century was known for its luxury resorts and sugar cane plantations. and in the early twentieth century was known for its luxury resorts and sugar cane plantations.25 However, in 1925, Cuba's president, Gerardo Machado, endorsed the idea of building a modern prison on the island. This would not be an ordinary prison, but a state-of-the-art facility that employed the latest "scientific" theories of rehabilitation. A Cuban envoy, dispatched to the United States to study prisons, returned greatly impressed with the new prison in Joliet, Illinois. However, in 1925, Cuba's president, Gerardo Machado, endorsed the idea of building a modern prison on the island. This would not be an ordinary prison, but a state-of-the-art facility that employed the latest "scientific" theories of rehabilitation. A Cuban envoy, dispatched to the United States to study prisons, returned greatly impressed with the new prison in Joliet, Illinois.26 Loosely based on the concepts of eighteenth-century British philosopher Jeremy Bentham, Cuba's new prison would be a panopticon, a circular structure in which cells faced inward toward a central guard tower from which the guards look outward toward prisoners in their cells. The design of the panopticon was based on the idea that the guards could see the prisoners but the prisoners could not see the guards because of the shuttered windows of the central guard tower. The theory behind the design held that prisoners would "behave" if there was the chance chance they were under surveillance. Once they behaved, they could be rehabilitated. they were under surveillance. Once they behaved, they could be rehabilitated.27 Between 1926 and 1931, the Cuban government built four such circular structures, each connected by underground tunnels, arranged around a ma.s.sive center structure, also round, that served as dining hall and something of a community center. Ninety-three cells circled each of the four buildings' five tiers, with a sixth floor remaining largely open and filled with support beams. Each cell measured approximately six feet wide by twelve feet deep.

What made the prison unique was that, in accordance to Bentham's concept, none of the cells had doors. Prisoners were free to roam within the building and prepare themselves to reenter society as productive citizens. "There is great care taken to fit each man into his own line of work, and there are workshops in which the prisoner may learn tailoring or boot making or any other trade his chooses, as well as cla.s.ses for the backward or illiterate," enthused the Ill.u.s.trated London News Ill.u.s.trated London News in 1932, just after the prison was opened. "At the end of the day, chess, dominoes, and cards are allowed, as well as more active games-the floor s.p.a.ce of each round-house giving ample room for exercise . . . Moving pictures and wireless programs are given in a large hall." in 1932, just after the prison was opened. "At the end of the day, chess, dominoes, and cards are allowed, as well as more active games-the floor s.p.a.ce of each round-house giving ample room for exercise . . . Moving pictures and wireless programs are given in a large hall."28 However, what the three CIA officers found on the Isle of Pines bore no resemblance to the "perfect prison" cheerfully described in the British magazine with its pictures of pristine cells. Whatever scientific notions of rehabilitation may have inspired the original design had long been abandoned and the prison itself had fallen into a state of abject disrepair.