The Greatest Traitor Read online

  The Greatest Traitor

  To Eileen

  Contents

  Author’s Note

  Foreword and Acknowledgements

  Prologue

  1 A Question of Identity

  2 Resistance

  3 Flight to England

  4 Secret Intelligence Service

  5 Cold War

  6 Cambridge

  7 Captive in Korea

  8 Death March

  9 Stalin’s New Recruit

  10 Hero

  11 Secrets of the Tunnel

  12 Berlin

  13 Discovery

  14 The Unmasking

  15 Confession

  16 Trial

  17 Prison

  18 Breakout

  19 Hiding

  20 Moscow

  21 Endgame

  Sources

  Index

  Copyright

  Author’s Note

  For simplicity’s sake, I have described the Soviet Union’s security and intelligence organisation as the KGB throughout the whole of this book. It is the name, the acronym, most familiar to the general reader – and in any case, the functions of the organisation remained constant from 1917–1991. However, at various times in its history it has been called the Cheka, NKVD, OGPU, NKGB, MGB and MVD.

  Likewise on the British side, I have opted to refer to SIS, the Secret Intelligence Service, as opposed to MI6, the title which is perhaps more familiar to twenty-first century readers. SIS was the name used from around 1920 onwards, and is enshrined in statute today. MI6 became a ‘flag of convenience’ for SIS in the late 1930s, and entered common parlance from the Second World War onwards.

  Foreword and Acknowledgements

  My interest in George Blake was first stirred on Friday, 17 September 1999, when I came into the offices of BBC Radio 4’s Today to edit the following morning’s programme.

  Remarkably, I had not one but two spy stories on the running order that evening: it was as if the Cold War had never gone away. The breaking news concerned a lecturer from a northern university who had been exposed for his work as a recruiting agent for the Stasi – the East German secret police – in the late 1970s. My team started putting in the calls to mould the revelation into our 8.10 a.m. lead – the slot on the programme reserved for the most significant, compelling story. While they set to work calling the Foreign Office and assorted espionage watchers, I settled back to consider our other spy tale.

  I had in my hands the tape of an interview our foreign affairs reporter in London had conducted over the telephone earlier that day, on the line to Moscow. It was an undoubted coup: apart from a brief flurry of activity around the time of his autobiography, a decade earlier, the Cold War traitor George Blake was not known for speaking to the Western media.

  As I listened, I found myself completely absorbed by his voice, which was so redolent of the 1950s, a time when it seemed that educated men spoke in more assertive, rounded fashion. I knew little about Blake then beyond the bold headlines of his life – that he was a Soviet spy who had sold a nation’s secrets and been sentenced to an incredible forty-two years in jail; that he had made a daring escape over the walls of Wormwood Scrubs and all the way to the Soviet capital.

  That day we wanted to speak to Blake in his role as Cold War veteran, seeking his reaction to the unmasking, earlier that week, of 87-year-old Melita Norwood as a Soviet agent of some forty years standing. She had passed her KGB controller information about a top-secret project connected with the building of Britain’s atomic bomb. In clipped, accented tones – those of a foreigner who has absorbed the English language well and can speak it almost too perfectly – Blake was effusive in his praise for the suburban pensioner, whom The Times had smartly dubbed ‘The Spy Who Came in From the CO-OP’. Bracketing her with the ‘atomic spies’ – Donald Maclean, Klaus Fuchs, Morris Cohen, et al. – Blake told his interviewer: ‘They were moved by higher considerations, because they firmly believed they were helping to save the world from an atomic holocaust, and so I think we all ought to be very grateful for what they had done.’

  Asking his British audience to be ‘grateful’ to these characters was one thing; trying to persuade them that a member of the infamous Cambridge Five spy ring might be worthy of canonisation was quite another: ‘I have known – and feel privileged to have known – a number of the atomic spies, and they’re very good friends of mine, starting with Donald Maclean, and they are people of the highest character, indeed in some cases approaching saintliness; I don’t hesitate to say that.’

  Ten years after the Berlin Wall had been pulled down, Blake was still reluctant to budge from his ideological fastness. The failure of the Soviet Union, of Communism, was the fault of mankind not the system itself. ‘Human beings are still too imperfect to build the perfect society,’ was his assessment. It would arrive eventually, he maintained, but not for decades, even centuries.

  Sure and unrepentant, the interview was certainly the most powerful item we had for the programme but, instead of giving it the hallowed 8.10 slot, I placed it at 8.40 a.m., separating it from the ‘newsier’ Stasi story. My editor Rod Liddle – whose instincts were invariably correct on these matters – rightly berated me afterwards for that decision.

  In the coming years, I became fascinated with Blake and, as I learned more about him, I discovered an intriguing, flawed character, whose life had been played out against – and often at the heart of – some of the major events of the twentieth century. Twelve years later, once I had resolved to write about him, it was naturally incumbent on me to approach him for his version of the story. I telephoned him on the eve of his birthday in November 2011.

  He had no warning of my call, despite a number of e-mails and letters which had all mysteriously gone astray. Most politely, he declined to be interviewed. He had written his own autobiography, and several other books, and said he had nothing more to add to what was already on record. He told me he felt in good health for his age, although his eyesight was steadily fading, to the point where he could no longer read or write, except to sign his name. For a man with a passion for literature and languages, this must be a bitter degeneration.

  What he did agree to do was answer by e-mail, with his son acting as intermediary, some specific questions of fact about his life. The arrangement worked very smoothly for a number of months, until I began to probe the roles played by his various KGB handlers in the 1950s. Then the answers dried up.

  This, then, is no authorised biography, but, through fresh interviews with those who knew Blake, previously unseen papers from his trial, and valuable material in British and German archives, I have been able to piece together what I hope is an authentic and revealing portrait of an astonishing life lived through remarkable times.

  There has been no assistance from the present-day Secret Intelligence Service (SIS). Blake’s file – like all the others – remains under lock and key, and the Service, unlike MI5, is not a participant in the regular Freedom of Information process. In 2010, it did commission Professor Keith Jeffery to write a history of its activities up to 1949, and it has released a limited amount of other material for ‘biographies of important intelligence figures’. But by ‘important’, they mean, of course, heroic and worthy, and Blake is not considered either, hence the story of his treachery is something the Service would rather forget. One very senior former officer I contacted for assistance replied tersely that he had ‘absolutely no enthusiasm for facilitating books about George Blake (of whatever type)’. I became used to this kind of response.

  Despite that reaction, outside the intelligence community, there is an enduring fascination with Blake. Indeed, as I began to delve deeper into his life, I discovered that some of our
leading film directors, novelists and playwrights had all trodden the path before me.

  Blake inspired films by both John Huston and Alfred Hitchcock. The former’s 1973 thriller The Mackintosh Man features the escape from prison of a KGB mole (played by Ian Bannen), alongside Paul Newman as a British intelligence officer. Hitchcock’s The Short Night, had it ever been made, would have featured a British spy and traitor, Gavin Brand, escaping over the wall from Wormwood Scrubs prison. The screenplay had all the hallmarks of a classic Hitchcock thriller, even featuring a Psycho-like scene with an attempt to kill the heroine in a gas-filled sauna. Unfortunately, the director died just months after the script was completed and the project was cancelled.

  Blake has also inspired several novels, notably Ted Allbeury’s Shadow of Shadows (1983), in which the former secret agent meshes Blake’s complete life story (thinly disguised) with the tale of SIS agent James Lawler’s attempt to track down the missing Russian defector Colonel Petrov. A decade later, Ian McEwan gave a forbidding, suspicious Blake a substantial walk-on part in his 1990 novel The Innocent, the story of a twisted love affair set against the backdrop of spy-ridden Berlin in the 1950s.

  Finally, there is the theatre: in his 1995 play Cell Mates, Simon Gray chronicles the volatile relationship between Blake (first played by Stephen Fry) and his co-conspirator Sean Bourke (Rik Mayall) in Wormwood Scrubs.

  Blake’s life could yet provide stories for many more films, novels and plays. Even before his defining years as spy and traitor, he performed a variety of roles: teenage courier with the Dutch Resistance; fugitive in occupied Europe; promising intelligence officer in Germany at the onset of the Cold War; and stoical captive at the hands of Communists in Korea.

  His close confidante in jail, Kenneth de Courcy, assessed Blake’s character in a way that is both troubling and difficult to dismiss: ‘He was really three quite separate personalities. One was charming, witty, good natured and kind. The second was despairing, pessimistic, defeatist, while the third man was cruel, ruthless and without regard to personal or any other loyalty.’

  How those different personalities manifested themselves, how they developed, and to what different ends Blake put them are the subjects this book seeks to examine. In his spy’s ‘wardrobe of disguises’, how did the various cloaks Blake wore enable him to survive and prosper?

  For survive he certainly did. Blake turned ninety in November 2012 and now lives out a comfortable retirement outside Moscow on a KGB pension, honoured as one of the major figures of Russian foreign intelligence, and held in high esteem by none other than President Vladimir Putin. Both men are products of an era in which Europe – indeed the entire world – was divided and carved up by two implacably opposed and warring ideologies. The Cold War required cold warriors – men and women who lurked in shadows, dealt in lies, half-truths and disinformation, and lived on the conflict’s psychological and ideological frontline.

  It also demanded belief. Blake, however deplorable his actions and choices might appear, remains a rare living specimen of a type that is almost lost to history: the principled traitor. Prime Minister Harold Macmillan had to delve back to the 1570s, to the young Catholic priests who plotted against Queen Elizabeth I, to find a satisfactory historical parallel to the intensity of faith and certainty of political ideology that he attributed to Blake.

  And judged purely on the length of the sentence handed down to him at his trial, Blake might also lay claim to another title: the greatest traitor. Surely that unprecedented forty-two-year punishment, together with the Lord Chief Justice’s conclusion that the spy had left the nation’s intelligence service in tatters, is testament to a truly destructive betrayal?

  Over in Moscow the ‘honorific’ certainly sits well. Recent years have seen a full-length dramatization of his life and a special documentary to celebrate his 90th birthday. In the pantheon of Soviet spies, he commands a seat at the top table, along with the likes of Second World War heroes Richard Sorge and Rudolph Abel.

  It is true, of course, that Blake’s nine years as a mole for the KGB never involved giving away the ultimate secret – the atomic bomb – as Klaus Fuchs did. It is arguable too that Kim Philby, in his more exalted position within SIS, caused greater quality of damage – if not quantity – than the middle-ranking Blake. Moreover, it has never been proven that his betrayal led to loss of life.

  From this perspective then, his sentence might appear more a vindictive punishment than a carefully measured one; a late act of retribution borne out of the frustration of the political class at yet another in a long line of traitors who bedevilled British Intelligence in the 1950s and 1960s.

  In that scenario Blake becomes something of a scapegoat. A confessed traitor, but also an outsider made to pay for the failings of a secretive establishment then in its death throes. As we shall see, there were certainly those who reached – and were prepared to act on – this interpretation at the time.

  George Blake’s life has touched many in the intelligence world and beyond it, for good or ill. Despite the passing of time I have managed to talk to a number of those who knew him, and there are two to whom I am especially indebted.

  Lord Hutchinson of Lullington – then Jeremy Hutchinson – represented Blake at his trial in 1961, and details of his eloquent defence that day in May can be read for the first time in this book. He was most helpful in his recollections of Blake, and also described vividly to me the forces arraigned against him as a new QC fighting his client’s case in the Old Bailey more than half a century ago.

  Michael Randle, a longstanding peace campaigner, believed Blake’s sentence to be inhumane, and the remarkable story of how he assisted his former prison companion is told in detail here. His own riveting book, The Blake Escape, was one of those that helped guide my chapters on Blake’s time in prison, in hiding, and then of course on the dramatic journey across the Iron Curtain. Randle generously gave me access to some of his private papers and to a gripping chapter in another of his books, the as yet unpublished Rebel Verdict, an account of his 1991 trial on charges of helping Blake escape.

  Michael’s wife Anne was also most helpful, especially with memories of those days in the winter of 1966. The Randles may not share all my conclusions about their friend but I trust their own actions and views are faithfully represented here.

  I also owe a special debt of gratitude to Tom Bower, acclaimed investigative journalist and writer, who was one of the first to interview Blake in depth back in 1990. The results were broadcast in an absorbing BBC Inside Story documentary, ‘The Confession’. Not only did I watch the film, but buried away in a couple of boxes in Tom’s garage were several hours of ‘raw’ tapes – a good deal of the interview with Blake, and others with his colleagues and friends, that had to be left on the cutting room floor. I have made full use of those recordings in this book, and they have provided invaluable insights into my subject and his times.

  Ben Birnberg represented Blake for a while in his battle for his book royalties against the British Government. He was most generous in giving me access to all the legal documents associated with the case.

  Leopold Van Ewijk talked to me very movingly and compellingly about the role his wife Greetje played in the Dutch underground and, in particular, the vital part she played in ushering young George Blake (then Behar) across the border and on the first leg of his journey across Europe.

  Louis Wesseling learned Arabic alongside Blake on a course in Shemlan, Lebanon, in 1960–61, and his very clear memories of their association and their conversations are recorded in these pages.

  There are also several former SIS officers who have been most helpful with their recollections of Blake and his times, but they have asked to remain anonymous.

  While researching and writing this book, I regularly attended the stimulating seminars hosted by Professor Christopher Andrew, an authority on intelligence and espionage, at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. I am most grateful to him. Through the wisdom of the guest speaker
s and the quality of the ensuing conversation, those sessions helped me build up a far deeper knowledge of the intelligence world.

  Also from Cambridge University, I must thank Professor Jonathan Haslam, an expert on the Cold War – especially from the Soviet side – who has been a source of valuable suggestions and insights into some of the characters and events depicted in this book.

  There are many other people who I must thank for advice and assistance and stories about Blake and his times, including Gordon Corera, Alan Judd, Tennent ‘Pete’ Bagley, Phillip Knightley, Ian McEwan, David Cornwell, Anthony Cavendish, Oliver Miles, Colin Cohen, Alain Gresh, Sylvie Braibant, Professor Keith Jeffery, Martin Coubert, Adri Wijnen, and ‘Shorty’ Eastabrook.

  I am greatly indebted to Abby D’Arcy Hughes, who unearthed vital new information about Blake’s time in Berlin. Elke Piron’s researches into his early years in Holland were equally invaluable, while Nvard Chalikyan provided immaculate translations of Russian newspapers, books and films in which Blake featured. My friends Conny Loosen and Rita Cillessen contributed some important additional German and Dutch translation.

  My agent Andrew Gordon has been a continuing source of encouragement and guidance. Ray Newman was a splendid copy editor, assiduous in locating errors in the text and equally creative when suggesting improvements. Finally, last but certainly not least, Sam Harrison has been the ideal editor, always full of the soundest advice on content and style, all done in the most constructive and helpful manner.

  Roger Hermiston,

  Cavendish,

  January 2013.

  ‘What do you think spies are: priests, saints and martyrs? They’re a squalid procession of vain fools, traitors too, yes: pansies, sadists and drunkards, people who play Cowboys and Indians to brighten their rotten lives.’

  Alec Leamas in The Spy Who Came in from the Cold by John le Carré

  ‘It is the spy who has been called upon to remedy the situation created by the deficiencies of ministers, diplomats, generals and priests . . . we do not have to develop, like the Parliamentarians conditioned by a lifetime, the ability to produce the ready phrase, the smart reply and the flashing smile. And so it is not surprising these days that the spy finds himself the main guardian of intellectual integrity.’