McEnery’s hackles raised. “They’re testing me, and, by God, I will not allow it to stand. They won’t cooperate, that’s just fine. I’ll do it myself.”
“Permission granted. You have thirty days. That’s the most I can give you. Even now, the Soviets are outfitting the Northern Fleet at the home base at Severomorsk. We’re just about out of time.”
“A month should suffice. My staff will take it on around the clock.” But McEnery needed someone on the ground. He told Director John McCone, "I don't need just any spy, I need a spy at the top of his game. Who do we have who catches Russkies and doesn't have a huge rep and poster-boy face the Soviets will see coming from a mile away? That's who I need to catch this damn ULYSSES."
McCone thumbed through his Rolodex. "Rosenkranz?"
"I know where you're going with that, maybe using FBI in CIA business because they won't be recognized. But no. Keep going, sir."
"I like this Oleg Penkovsky. I know he knows ULYSSES. Both KGB, both double-agents."
"That one gets really tricky. We know KGB has known for a year that Penkovsky is a double agent. But they've been leaving it alone because they didn't want to out their mole in MI5. It's a mess, and I think we leave him alone."
"Why's that?"
McEnery’s eyes narrowed. "Because we don't want Penkovsky taking it back to the Brits we're looking. Worse, we don't want him to take it back to the KGB. He's so twisted, I doubt he even knows who his friends are anymore. No, we leave Penkovsky alone."
"Well, who do you have right here in your Division that no one knows? Pardon me for asking, but who's your greatest under-producer?"
"That would be Henry Stoner."
McCone's gray face lit up. "Then there's your man. Make your silk purse out of your sow's ear."
"John, that's exactly what it would take. But you might be right. He's got the brains, just not much else."
"Tell me about Henry. I've got him here on my Rolodex. Not a nice picture, I daresay."
"He's forty, rotten teeth that he covers with his hand when he talks, highly invisible. Late to work all the damn time."
"How susceptible to being turned?"
"Susceptible as shit to being turned. Close to bankruptcy except for paydays. The wife is a Saks Fifth Avenue baby. Can't keep her out of Manhattan with Henry's checkbook. She got him into trouble when she talked him into borrowing a CIA car for a personal vacation."
"Don't tell me. Henry drives a clunker that wouldn't last past the city limits."
"Bingo."
"Now tell me something negative about Stoner," laughed McCone.
"See? That's just it. But maybe you're right. KGB Moscow will never see him coming."
39
Henry Stoner was a CIA case officer who spoke Russian and specialized in the Russian intelligence services. His initial overseas assignment was in Ankara, Turkey, where he targeted Russian intelligence officers for recruitment. Later, he worked in New York City and Mexico City. On 12 September 1962, while assigned to the CIA's Soviet/ East European Division at CIA Headquarters in Langley, he secretly volunteered to defect to KGB officers at the USSR Embassy in Washington. At the same time, Ansel McEnery was determined to identify ULYSSES and bring him to America. He assigned Henry Stoner to bring it home--the worst possible timing, because KGB had turned Stoner inside out. They had made him their best CIA double agent. Stoner passed the names of double agents. He took money from the Soviets. $10,000, $20,000, even $45,000, depending on the importance and density of the intelligence. He was rolling in it now. The wife was receiving new credit card offers in the daily mail and sending them back ACCEPTED.
The names Stoner turned over to the Soviets got people killed. The CIA and FBI watched Russian officials who they had recruited then arrested and executed by the Soviets.
It was early in the game, however, and the CIA had no suspicions about Stoner. He just wasn't raw double agent material.
So it went ahead. Following his talk with Director McCone, McEnery took Stoner aside and told him it was his ball. He was assigned the critical job of finding the identity of ULYSSES. Stoner was doubly pleased with the assignment. It meant money in the bank, lots of money, when he sold the Soviets' the identity, and it meant a for-sure promotion at the CIA. He bought two new suits of clothes with his Soviet earnings and came to work early on Monday.
"Where do I start?" he asked McEnery.
McEnery touched the side of his head. "Use this, Henry. You received that brain from the good Lord for a reason. I want the name in three weeks, no more.”
Stoner exulted, realizing he had the authority to move mountains if necessary.
He booked a flight to London. He scouted the Soviet Embassy and located a point where he could monitor the rear exit. He spent two weeks camped there. While Henry wasn't overly creative, he was tenacious. Sometimes that was the key trait in surveillance.
Over the first two weeks, he followed likely-looking KGB operatives as they came and went from the embassy. He photographed them from a distance. In his hotel room, he pasted their pictures to the wall. One by one, he followed them to their flats, picked their locks, and tossed their homes for ULYSSES. He did this with twenty-five agents, looking for clues, expecting the hint he would find was going to be abstract because ULYSSES was brilliant. He wouldn't leave the obvious lying around. Thus, Stoner was thorough. Every drawer, every cabinet, every nook and cranny—nothing escaped his eye.
On his fourteenth day, he made a discovery. He followed a man home, waited until he left after lunch, and quickly let himself inside. In the man's bedroom, he discovered a sea chest with a large picture frame on top. Combination locks were nothing to CIA agents. He was quickly inside and picking through the contents. Then, on the bottom beneath other books, he found a book by James Joyce. The title: Ulysses. Stoner instantly knew. He had located ULYSSES. It was just too coincidental to ignore. With all due haste since the officer could return at any minute, he closed and relocked the chest.
He peered inside the closet and swung some hangers. KGB uniforms, a half dozen. He went into the main room and found where the officer kept his mail. He riffled through the envelopes, confirming the addressee that kept coming up. Then he made his way back outside. Out of all the officers Stoner had pawed through so far, this was the first inkling of a clue. It wasn't conclusive and maybe meant nothing, but Stoner felt the pressure to produce, and he wanted Soviet gold. He boldly decided he was going to claim victory.
He returned to his hotel room and made a secure call to McEnery at Langley. "I've found your spy."
"You've found ULYSSES?"
"It will need verification."
"Return and debrief. That is all."
He flew home and spoke with the spy catchers the following night, telling them what he'd found.
"I'm not convinced," McEnery said. "I think we're close, and I think Stoner here has done an outstanding bit of spying, but we still need to confirm."
"No way,” said Andres, the plodding spy catcher known to have shot at least three American spies gone bad. "A fucking book title means shit."