Kitabı oku: «The Spy Who Changed History: The Untold Story of How the Soviet Union Won the Race for America’s Top Secrets», sayfa 4

The White Army and the Black Baron

Are preparing to restore to us the Tsar’s throne,

But from the taiga^fn11 to the British seas

The Red Army is the strongest of all!

But the feared Baron Wrangel could only hole up with what remained of his beaten forces in Crimea to await his inevitable exile. Lenin decided the time was now right to seize Baku’s oil wealth. The 11th Army – into which Shumovsky had been transferred – was given the task of supporting a planned workers’ uprising. The tide of war had turned, bringing him home.

• • •

Following the Turkish withdrawal, the British had returned in force, determined to stay in the region. They found Baku, a once beautiful town which had fallen into decay, much to their liking. When oil was discovered at the end of the nineteenth century, the city had become almost overnight one of the wealthiest on earth, with every famous European luxury store opening a branch on Baku’s elegant tree-lined avenues. British naval officers requisitioned the oil barons’ magnificent palaces and villas as they set about building a strong naval force to control the Caspian Sea. The ruthless British tactics involved first disarming their allies before moving out to attack the weak Red Navy. The Communist flotilla in the Caspian Sea was no match for the better-equipped British-backed forces. The British complained to London that the Reds refused to come out of port to fight them. But by March 1920, on Winston Churchill’s orders, the British were long gone, and the region was a ripe plum ready to fall into Communist laps. The opposition, such as it remained, was deeply divided. The Whites refused to countenance any rapprochement with the Nationalists. Independent Armenia, Georgia and Azerbaijan dissipated their energies fighting territorial disputes between themselves. Each was in a state of financial and economic collapse. Epidemics of typhus raged unchecked, brought in by the hordes of refugees from the fighting. Just days after the campaign started, and without firing a shot, Shumovsky and the victorious 11th Army were marching down the streets of Baku. Soon Lenin was preparing a grander plan to establish Soviet power over the whole Caucasus region.

On his eighteenth birthday, 9 May 1920, his very first opportunity to do so, Stanislav Shumovsky became a full member of the Soviet Communist Party. He was to remain an active Party member for the rest of his life, earning the right to one of the first fifty-year anniversary membership medals awarded.^{fn12 53}

Although the government in Baku had no stomach for a fight with the Reds, many in Azerbaijan were not so eager to abandon their religion and embrace the ideals of Communism. Civilian revolts and mutinies centred on the old capital of Ganja. Shumovsky’s army was tasked with suppressing the revolts in Azerbaijan and Dagestan, dangerous counter-guerrilla operations. On the hot summer’s day of 3 July 1920, as he was slogging up the mountain roads at Agdam at the head of his unit, advancing towards his hometown of Shusha, Shumovsky suffered his third and most severe wound when he was shot through the neck.⁵⁴ During his recuperation, the 11th Army mopped up all remaining opposition to Communist rule in the Caucasus in Georgia, Armenia and Azerbaijan. The agonies of the Civil War were over.

• • •

As an able, committed soldier, Shumovsky would serve in the Red Army for a further six years,⁵⁵ taking on increasingly important administrative roles in major cities across the Soviet Union. He married Vera, and in 1922 they had a daughter, Maya.⁵⁶ In December 1924, he transferred to Smolensk to fulfil his childhood dream – for in the spring of 1925, Shumovsky climbed into the front pilot’s seat of a two-man Polikarpov R-1 at an airfield of the newly formed Red air force at Smolensk.⁵⁷ The mechanic spun the propeller and the engine coughed into life. Turning the aircraft into the wind, Shumovsky pointed its nose down the long grass runway, revving the motor. Opening the throttle close to maximum, he waited for sufficient speed to finally pull back on the stick to adjust the flaps, giving the plane enough lift to gently rise off the ground. With a broad grin spread across his face, Shumovsky had joined his boyhood band of heroes as a pilot. His observer reached forward to pat him on the head, congratulating him on his first successful take-off.

For nine months, Shumovsky would learn first to be the observer and then the pilot in the 2nd Independent Reconnaissance Squadron. He flew in the R-1, the first new aircraft built in the Soviet Union after the Revolution and the first Soviet plane ever sold for export.⁵⁸ The R-1 set the tone for future Soviet aircraft development. It was a copy of a captured de Havilland DH-9, but with substantial improvements on the original British plane. The Soviets lacked a design for a powerful aircraft engine and the ability to make them in large numbers. They had no access to the advanced aluminium moulding necessary to build powerful but lightweight engines. Old motors were bought abroad for the first aircraft and eventually copied in large numbers. The fuselage design was adapted to Russian conditions and materials, mahogany being replaced with local wood. The Russian plane was more robust and less powerful than its Western brother, but over 2,400 were built cheaply in a decade.⁵⁹

Shumovsky clocked up many happy hours as a pilot in the skies over Smolensk and many more over a nine-month period as the rear-seat observer. But a crash brought an abrupt end to his flying career. He walked away, but the impact had damaged his left arm so seriously he was unfit to be a pilot. In the mid-1920s he sent his family a photograph of himself in uniform. His brother Theodore noticed ‘the three rhombuses on the lapel collar’.⁶⁰ Aged just twenty-five, Stanislav was already an army commander. He had reached a rank equivalent to what we would understand today as a full general.^fn13 His final military posting was to the prestigious Kronstadt naval base at the electro-mining school of the Baltic fleet, alma mater of fellow spy Arthur Adams.⁶¹ After the Kronstadt assignment, Shumovsky transferred into the military reserves and became the Ministry of Finance’s head investigator for military affairs.⁶²

Shumovsky’s letter was not the only surprising communication sent to the Caucasus. In 1926, eight years after her apparent death a letter arrived from his mother saying that she was still alive in Warsaw and earning a livelihood giving music lessons in private homes. One of a vast number of refugees displaced by war and trapped outside the Soviet Union, she was unable to return home, as tension between the USSR and Poland was at an acute level. When the demand for music lessons dried up, Amalia moved to Łódz′, where she had to work as a weaver. It was only in 1932 that she was able to return to the Soviet Union and finally live close to her family in Moscow. Broken by her experiences, she died soon afterwards; her only consolation was knowing that, in a time of blood, chaos and disaster, her eldest son had followed his beliefs and achieved great success.⁶³

2
‘WE CATCH UP OR THEY WILL CRUSH US’

The Communist victors of the Russian Civil War inherited a ruined and backward land surrounded by enemies. By 1921, the level of the country’s economic activity had plunged to less than a quarter of that in 1913. Agricultural production had tumbled to a point where it was insufficient for the country to feed itself. The Communists were big dreamers, but their initial grandiose projects to modernise the transport network at a stroke by buying thousands of railway locomotives abroad and carrying out a national electrification scheme were soon scaled back when no foreign nation would advance them credit. In frustration, the leadership turned once more to their political vanguard and gave them a new task. The country had to be rebuilt and modernised and the Party’s elite was to bring to the factory floor the energy, drive and commitment responsible for the successes on the battlefield. Men like Shumovsky left the Red Army to lead the drive for industrialisation. The zealots were assigned to central roles in industry to replace the old, tired management teams.

In 1925, Shumovsky transferred to the military reserves and was assigned the pivotal role as head investigator of the armaments industry on behalf of the People’s Commissariat (Ministry) of Finance.¹ War with the capitalists was expected to break out at any time and the armaments industry needed to be ready. Shumovsky brought his military experience and Party loyalty to the role. On his factory visits, he saw the dire state of Soviet industry, which after decades of neglect was suffering from an absence of training, underinvestment, and a lack of leadership. The plants he toured struggled under the burden of pre-war machinery that was worn out and outmoded. As a result, the end product was of poor quality and frequently obsolete. Across the armaments industry, productivity was unacceptably low, and this was not merely because of the quality of the machinery. Labour relations in the workers’ state were a complicated and delicate issue. Factory directors, former Tsarist middle managers of questionable loyalty and motivation, lacked authority on the factory floor as workers did not respect their orders. Foreign consultant engineers brought in to advise on improvements despaired at Russian working practices. They noticed large numbers of Soviet workers disappearing on endless smoking breaks. Female workers often carried out heavy manual work in factories, while the men sat idly watching.

Early, piecemeal efforts to improve matters had failed. With their scant foreign exchange reserves, the Soviets had bought small amounts of expensive new manufacturing machinery abroad, which the unskilled Russian workers promptly ruined. Shumovsky noted that most of the new machinery sat unused in the factories, either uninstalled or broken. Spare parts were never on hand, nor were there engineers trained to conduct the regular maintenance required to service the machines. Faulty installation of new equipment was often to blame for the poor quality of the final output. In their current state, Soviet arms factories were incapable of making precisely engineered products even in small numbers. Above all, a chronic shortage of young engineers versed in the latest techniques and methods held the country back. Owing to a decade of war and strife, none had been trained. The armaments industry was in no state to support even a small-scale conflict. Shumovsky’s reports to the Finance Commissariat detailed his dire conclusions. The reports matched similar ones written by the other inspectors, visiting factories across the whole of Soviet industry. The flow of bad news exacerbated a building sense of crisis.

The leadership was aware of the desperate issues and, under an ailing Lenin, a gradualist approach had been adopted. Lenin was a deep admirer of US invention, if not of its capitalist system. He spent considerable time in his office in Moscow’s Kremlin flicking through his subscription copy of the magazine Scientific American, the Advocate of Industry and Enterprise. The US monthly showcased all the latest technological inventions and innovations. Lenin wanted to secure the technology to help build Communism. On the day before his death, 20 January 1924, the leader of the world’s first proletarian state passed the day watching a film about the workings of a tractor assembly line in a Ford factory.² While Lenin believed that in the American factory, owners used machinery as a means of oppressing the working class, in the USSR the same US-made technology and modern production methods would help build Communism. Introducing modern machines together with efficiency measures in Soviet factories would eventually allow workers greater free time and higher living standards.

Lenin hoped that greedy American businessmen would sell his government everything it wanted, even if the Soviets’ ultimate goal was the destruction of capitalism. He was said to have joked that if he announced the execution of all capitalists, one would sell him the rope to hang the others. As he predicted, the US was intent on selling its technology and had the best on sale, but only for hard cash. Lenin’s plans were expansive, but in the absence of credit he could buy only a limited number of US-built tractors, other advanced farm machinery and some factory equipment. In his business dealings, Lenin favoured market leaders, the likes of International Harvester and Ford, as his trusted partners. When the money ran out, which it soon did, he sold the nation’s treasures. The Kremlin’s famous bells had to be saved by the curator of its museum from being auctioned off abroad.³ It was not only the crown jewels that were given away; in a sign of the Russians’ commercial naivety, Trotsky negotiated to exchange the rights to exploit all Siberia’s vast mineral resources for the next seventy years to one American company for a pittance.⁴ The Communists had returned to the Tsar’s method of offering long-term concessions to foreign investors. In desperation, the Soviets even resorted to barter; to its complete bemusement, the Douglas Aircraft Company was offered payment for an aircraft in oriental rugs and antiques. For US entrepreneurs venturing into the USSR, the experience of doing business under Lenin’s New Economic Policy (NEP) was disappointing. Once profits began to flow from their Soviet concessions, the intrepid US investors complained that they were subject to unexpected taxes or the sequestration of assets. For the Russians, the results of the programme were all too slow and involved tolerating a wild free market, risking social chaos at the hands of a class of newly rich ‘NEP men’, Russian capitalists who thrived by exploiting others.

The exchange of American ideas for Soviet cash or concessions should have been mutually beneficial. But ideological issues sharply divided the two societies. There were those in the US who flatly opposed doing any business with the Russians. They believed that under direct orders from Moscow, the US Communist Party members were secretly working to destroy the whole American way of life. They argued that if Communism were to spread to the US, it would mean taking away religious freedom, private property and access to justice. To the Communist way of thinking, America was a society built entirely on unfairness and the institutionalised mass exploitation of the working class for the benefit and enrichment of a few. The greatest success of the US had been to mobilise mass consumer demand. The American working class was not political and aspired to a life of consumption that the Soviets viewed as a shallow, material existence. Every Soviet visitor to America would comment on the extraordinary proliferation of advertising hoardings cajoling consumers to purchase the latest model of automobile, Coca-Cola or cigarettes.

The key barrier to greater trade was the US government’s implacable opposition to lending the Communists any money while Russia owed vast sums to US investors. Assets granted to American businessmen by the Tsar had after the revolution been expropriated by the Communists, who refused to pay any compensation. With the debt issue unresolved, the Soviets could not legitimately buy technology in the quantities they required. So they adopted a roundabout approach, which US manufacturers learned about the hard way: the unlicensed reproduction of foreign technology. Foreign cars, tractors, and other machinery exhibited at Soviet trade fairs were examined and copied. Henry Ford’s deputy, Charles Sorensen, on a visit spotted near-perfect copies of Fordson tractors manufactured under the name Red Putilovets.⁵ The Soviet design originated from technical drawings based on a dismantled American vehicle. Following the re-establishment of diplomatic relations, the first American ambassador to Moscow, William Bullitt, would be plagued by constant complaints from US firms about infringement of their patents.

It was not just mechanised harvesters and cotton pickers that Lenin imported to transform backward Russia, he adopted advanced US management techniques. The Soviet Union introduced the Taylor system of time and motion study – a technique to improve productivity – to encourage the scientific efficiency of labour in its factories. To much puzzlement, an army of officials armed with clipboards, stopwatches and tape measures appeared on factory floors. Russian workers were unimpressed and did not want to be timed, measured and subjected to flip charts. New technology from abroad, augmented with Gantt organisation charts – which broke down processes into their component stages – was supposed to lead to a rapid reduction in working hours and improvement in the quality of workers’ lives. It didn’t.

In a more successful step, the Soviets translated Henry Ford’s works into Russian as essential reading for factory managers. There was an official government campaign to ‘Do It the Ford Way’.⁶ By such innovative manufacturing techniques of mass production, the United States had overtaken the British Empire as the world’s number-one economy, helped in part by the Great War. Imported to the Soviet Union, these same techniques were expected to bring about the inevitable triumph of socialism. Capitalism was a smart, inventive beast. American business, as well as Marx, had much to teach those embarking on the sure road to socialism. The US had met and defeated the same challenges that confronted the newly formed Soviet Union, including how to industrialise with only untrained, unskilled workers and few managers. The US was the teacher, the model of mass production, an urbanised country boasting the highest living standards in the world. Copying US techniques and methods would turn Russia’s army of uneducated, conservatively minded peasants, tied to their traditions and land, into a progressive communist urban proletariat.

From the 1920s, hundreds of Soviet engineers were sent abroad annually on short foreign trips for hands-on training with new technology. They were instructed to gather as much helpful information as they could on their visits. It was not a difficult task in the US. One engineer described his surprise at the openness of the Americans he met. While visiting a factory, he and his comrades would be given unhindered access to a broad range of technical data. They could make sketches and take copies back to the USSR free of charge. Their host company did not disclose its patented secrets, but everything else was considered advertising for the firm. From such early trips, the Soviet leaders gained the idea that America, more than any other country, was wide open to industrial espionage.

• • •

In October 1922, just a few weeks after the Reds’ victory in the Russian Civil War, an ex-Russian Orthodox seminary student and his close friend, a former Jesuit student, set in motion a more radical long-term reconstruction of Russia. In their frequent correspondence, they planned a transformation of their backward land, now shattered and starved by three wars and revolutions in short order.⁷ The lapsed Catholic, ‘Iron Felix’ Dzerzhinsky (his nickname arose on account of his ruthlessness and devotion to the Communist cause), was the founder of the Soviet security services. The former seminary pupil, Joseph Stalin, General Secretary of the Party, was on his path to become Lenin’s heir. In 1925, Dzerzhinsky became the first and only known intelligence chief to be given simultaneously a major economic post as Chairman of the Supreme Economic Council. The two friends could discuss almost anything.

In their shared desire for rapid change, Dzerzhinsky and Stalin emphasised the use of intelligence as one tool to tackle the economic crisis. Both men had a fine appreciation of the value of espionage: Dzerzhinsky was a spymaster, and his friend the most spied-upon man in history. Dzerzhinsky had a pivotal role in identifying the potential contribution of both Western technology and scientific and technological (S&T) espionage to the modernisation of the Soviet economy. He identified America, the world’s number-one technical innovator and leading industrial power, as a role model and target. Dzerzhinsky studied and grew to admire American industrial methods – most surprisingly those of the world’s first billionaire, Henry Ford, the pioneer of the industrial practices from which Dzerzhinsky believed the backward Soviet economy needed to learn. Dzerzhinsky wrote in 1925: ‘It is essential to engage in the study of Ford’s methods and their adoption in practice … Perhaps it would be worth recruiting from abroad practitioners and organisers of Fordism.’⁸ Dzerzhinsky’s ideas and recommendations were incorporated into the Five-Year Plans – Stalin’s centrepiece programmes to industrialise the Soviet Union at breakneck pace. Ford’s top architect, Albert Kahn, was recruited to design and build Stalin’s giant dual military/civilian-use factories along Ford lines, and was responsible for establishing automotive, tractor and tank facilities in the Soviet Union.

On assuming control after the death of Lenin, the new leadership decided enough was enough and immediately galvanised the entire efforts of the state to build up heavy industry. Amid enormous publicity, Stalin announced the first Five-Year Plan in 1928. The first and second Five-Year Plans proposed the creation of new capital-intensive aviation, automobile, tractor and chemical industries. Stalin’s plans were on a truly grand scale and required building over 1,500 modern factories between 1928 and 1933; yet he understood that the Soviet Union’s early attempts at going it alone to develop industry without adequate foreign help had failed. The most notable example was the first project at the vast Magnitogorsk metallurgical plant. The inexperienced Soviets had tried to build the plant at breakneck speed, cutting corners; as a consequence, urgent and extensive repairs to the twin blast furnaces were needed just days after first starting them. The production of steel was pushed back years. The lesson of such failures was that the design and building of large, technically complex industrial facilities was beyond Soviet capabilities without significant long-term foreign expertise. The help of the West was required and was sought once more – this time in the new form of fee-based technical assistance programmes, not long-term concessions. Stalin’s proposed commercial terms were attractive to foreign companies, as they were for a limited period and so did not require risky long-term investment. During the Great Depression of the 1930s Western companies desperately needed large orders, allowing the Soviet Union the opportunity to acquire advanced technology and technical skills quickly and cheaply.

Under the standard terms of the contract, a foreign firm would provide the Russians with a complete description of a project including specifications of equipment, machines and mechanisms. They transferred all the technological secrets, including patents, and sent representatives to the USSR to supervise the construction and start-up of the facility. The Russians had to compensate the foreign company for the cost of manufacturing drawings, business trips and the work of its employees in the USSR and provide the necessary living conditions. The international company would receive a fixed profit as a percentage of the estimated cost of the work. The contribution of US companies and engineers to the success of the first Five-Year Plan was enormous, yet it is generally forgotten, especially in America. Around 1,700 US engineers entered Russia in 1929 to work on major industrial projects.

The plan to work closely with the US had its genesis in September 1927, when Stalin set up a permanent commission of the Politburo of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union to manage technical and scientific relations with the United States. He stated: ‘It is clear to me that the USA has more grounds for extensive business relations with the Soviet Union than any other country.’⁹

The vast new industrial capacity developed under supervision of US engineers boosted the economy. But most of them left in 1932–3 when hard currency ran out, sent home unless they would accept payment in roubles. From 1931 the USSR could only afford to import essential US technology. To survive on Stalin’s route to the future, there was a need for elite engineers able to invent local solutions. The Soviet government had sought from its international partner an efficient balance of trade and a long-term supply of credit, but the US refused. On 25 August 1931, Stalin declared:

Because of the foreign exchange difficulties and unacceptable conditions for loans in America, I demand an end to all business contracts with the United States. Instead we must seek every opportunity to break existing agreements. In the future all orders will be placed with European or Soviet factories, making no exceptions, even for the most important construction projects.¹⁰

The world’s first Communist state had spent so heavily in the first stage of the investment plan that it had run out of money and credit. Turning the Soviet Union from a country of peasants with wooden ploughs into a modern industrial society was proving prohibitively expensive. Despite Stalin’s exploitation to the full of American commercial terms, he now needed to rely on industrial espionage. The Soviets pressed on with their plans, but with no cash to pay engineers from abroad, they were required to use their own experts, helped by the information provided by their intelligence gathering abroad.

Until the money ran out, every large Soviet enterprise built in this period received most of its equipment from American or European engineering companies. As diplomatic relations between the US and the USSR improved, the floodgates had opened to facilitate the transfer of skills and technology to Russia. All Soviet commercial activities in the United States were overseen by its single agency, the American Trading Corporation or AMTORG, established in 1924 with offices on New York’s Fifth Avenue, in Moscow and eventually in several other cities in the USSR and the USA. Although nominally independent of the state, which was a requirement if it were to obtain legal status to trade in the United States, it was the sole Soviet reseller as well as being tasked with providing information on all aspects of US business. All commercial deals and contracts with American firms, experts, and payment for their services went via AMTORG. It would develop a well-deserved reputation as a veritable nest of spies, its employees under constant US counter-intelligence surveillance.

• • •

The Five-Year Plans had three interrelated goals: to build an industrialised society, to create an educated population, and to ensure that the Soviet Union had the means to defend itself in the event of an attack. Stalin spoke of the imperative to modernise the Soviet economy as fast as possible to meet the imminent imperialist threat. A substantial challenge for Stalin’s Russia was how to protect its vast land borders and natural resources. After invasions from the Polish King Stephen Báthory,^fn1 the Swedish King Gustav Adolphus,^fn2 the French Emperor Napoleon^fn3 and the German Kaiser, followed by the Allied intervention, the lesson of history was that the Soviet army must be equipped with the most up-to-date weapons to deter further invaders. Dzerzhinsky had analysed the Tsar’s defeat. Iron Felix’s assessment of Russia’s performance in the Great War was strikingly similar to that of the current Russian foreign intelligence service, the SVR (Sluzhba Vneshney Razvedki), whose official history mocks the naivety of the Tsarist government in embarking on a modern war without the technical resources to equip its armed forces.¹¹ Dzerzhinsky’s studies for the Supreme Economic Council in 1924–5 emphasised that the reason for defeat lay in the dependence of the Tsarist war effort on imports of arms and munitions from its Western allies. In 1914, Russia could not even manufacture sufficient rifles for its army. It was not until 1916, thanks largely to British finance and US industrial expertise, that Russia developed a somewhat more adequate munitions industry. The Western allies had rescued the wartime Tsarist arms industry for their own war aims but were unlikely to help Communist Russia. Like defeated Germany, the Soviet Union was treated as a pariah state.

The British Empire was seen as the likely enemy. Stalin was privately convinced, as Dzerzhinsky had been, that the modernisation of the Soviet defence industry also required S&T from the West – first and foremost from the United States. And, since Stalin believed that war with the imperialist powers was inevitable, S&T was therefore a top priority. As he was to declare in February 1931 in a speech to industrial managers: ‘We are fifty or a hundred years behind the advanced countries. We must catch up in ten years. Either we do it, or they will crush us.’¹² Though he did not realise at the time who the most dangerous potential enemy would be, the forecast was to prove prophetic.

Given the urgency, Stalin turned to his intelligence service. His library gives an extraordinary glimpse into his thinking as he marked up the passages of his reading that he found most insightful. Stalin’s deep interest in developing S&T operations in the United States grew from a fascination with US and British writing on espionage. Dzerzhinsky’s death in 1926 seems to have slowed the development of S&T, but only for a short while. In 1929, the autodidactic Stalin devoured the informative book Spy and Counterspy: The Development of Modern Espionage by the US writer Richard Wilmer Rowan.¹³ Stalin’s copy survives in his archive, with notes scrawled in the margin. It was from this US book that he learned how to direct and organise intelligence-gathering operations. He was attracted to the idea of using spies, not least because, as Rowan argued, they were inexpensive and efficient. In Rowan he had found the solution to his problem of how to acquire the best technology without paying for it. But he needed extraordinary men and women to become his spies.