would this be an extremely difficult and dangerous operation, but
it was certain to end up as a suicide mission. But the suicide would be a slow
death, and a particularly unpleasant one; not a bullet in some vital organ, or
even a fatal wound where life ebbed over minutes or, at most, hours and the
victim languished until overcome by the ultimate sleep. The agent, if he was
not killed or captured during the operation, faced an agonizing and protracted
death upon his return. When all others associated with the project would be
celebrating a well executed and successful plan, the agent responsible for this
triumph, fresh from victory, would be thrust into an unwelcome confrontation
with his own mortality, the end of his life telescoped into a few short months.
"How , "thought Dulles, "does one ask another human
being to make that kind of sacrifice? And what of the woman? She would
certainly be affected by the radiation, Ruckelman had said, although he didn't
know in what way. Presumably to a lesser degree than the person carrying the
plutonium, but was this better or worse? No one knew; there simply wasn't
enough experience. Too many unknowns." Dulles did not have a good feeling
about this operation, but that would not deter him. He, too, had orders to
follow.
Dulles was first posted in Europe in 1916, at the age of 23,
when he served as the third secretary at the American embassy in Vienna,
capital of the Hapsburg Empire. At a young age he had been thrust into the
diplomacy, duplicity and gossip of an imperial court and had handled it all
with aplomb, a benefit of his upbringing and the social stature of his family,
not to mention the innate ability he possessed to interact with people in such
a way that they thought he was more interested in them than in anyone else. It
was this latter quality that served him so well as a spymaster in later years,
allowing him to extract information from a variety of sources who had been
reticent to divulge their secrets to any other person.
During his time in Vienna, Allen heard a story that was
circulating among the members of society and the imperial court, a story that
he found both fascinating and troubling. Three years earlier, Colonel Alfred
Redl, a well-respected young officer, one who would have been expected to
continue his rise up through the ranks, had committed suicide. The details of
this incident were classified, but in the Austro-Hungarian court, secrecy was
no match for the persistence of upper crust quidnuncs, and the whole rather
sordid affair was soon being discussed at all the nicest places, usually over
an elegant afternoon tea, the fashionably dressed magpies delicately removing a
crumb of Sacher tort from their upper lip while they tisked and shook their
heads disapprovingly. The Colonel was a homosexual, engaged in an affair with a
younger man, and needed money to pay for the gifts he lavished on his lover. A
military officer's salary was inadequate for his affaire d'amour, so in order
to garner the finances necessary, he began selling state secrets to Imperial
Russia. This went on for some time until, because of stupidity or urgency,
Alfred went himself to pick up a payment. One act of carelessness, one lapse in
technique, led to his capture and the dismantling of a spy network.
The sad story of Colonel Redl impressed upon the young
Dulles two key points that were to stay with him throughout his career as an
intelligence chief and a statesman. The first was the realization of how much
influence a single person could have on the affairs of state, both in war and
in peacetime. Second, it cautioned him on the importance of never deviating
from proper tradecraft and always utilizing sufficient cut outs and
intermediaries to protect your agents in the field.
Templeton's eyes flicked open just as Ruckelman finished his
explanation, interjecting a question directed primarily at Dulles before anyone
had time to say anything. "How much of this plutonium are we
it was certain to end up as a suicide mission. But the suicide would be a slow
death, and a particularly unpleasant one; not a bullet in some vital organ, or
even a fatal wound where life ebbed over minutes or, at most, hours and the
victim languished until overcome by the ultimate sleep. The agent, if he was
not killed or captured during the operation, faced an agonizing and protracted
death upon his return. When all others associated with the project would be
celebrating a well executed and successful plan, the agent responsible for this
triumph, fresh from victory, would be thrust into an unwelcome confrontation
with his own mortality, the end of his life telescoped into a few short months.
"How , "thought Dulles, "does one ask another human
being to make that kind of sacrifice? And what of the woman? She would
certainly be affected by the radiation, Ruckelman had said, although he didn't
know in what way. Presumably to a lesser degree than the person carrying the
plutonium, but was this better or worse? No one knew; there simply wasn't
enough experience. Too many unknowns." Dulles did not have a good feeling
about this operation, but that would not deter him. He, too, had orders to
follow.
Dulles was first posted in Europe in 1916, at the age of 23,
when he served as the third secretary at the American embassy in Vienna,
capital of the Hapsburg Empire. At a young age he had been thrust into the
diplomacy, duplicity and gossip of an imperial court and had handled it all
with aplomb, a benefit of his upbringing and the social stature of his family,
not to mention the innate ability he possessed to interact with people in such
a way that they thought he was more interested in them than in anyone else. It
was this latter quality that served him so well as a spymaster in later years,
allowing him to extract information from a variety of sources who had been
reticent to divulge their secrets to any other person.
During his time in Vienna, Allen heard a story that was
circulating among the members of society and the imperial court, a story that
he found both fascinating and troubling. Three years earlier, Colonel Alfred
Redl, a well-respected young officer, one who would have been expected to
continue his rise up through the ranks, had committed suicide. The details of
this incident were classified, but in the Austro-Hungarian court, secrecy was
no match for the persistence of upper crust quidnuncs, and the whole rather
sordid affair was soon being discussed at all the nicest places, usually over
an elegant afternoon tea, the fashionably dressed magpies delicately removing a
crumb of Sacher tort from their upper lip while they tisked and shook their
heads disapprovingly. The Colonel was a homosexual, engaged in an affair with a
younger man, and needed money to pay for the gifts he lavished on his lover. A
military officer's salary was inadequate for his affaire d'amour, so in order
to garner the finances necessary, he began selling state secrets to Imperial
Russia. This went on for some time until, because of stupidity or urgency,
Alfred went himself to pick up a payment. One act of carelessness, one lapse in
technique, led to his capture and the dismantling of a spy network.
The sad story of Colonel Redl impressed upon the young
Dulles two key points that were to stay with him throughout his career as an
intelligence chief and a statesman. The first was the realization of how much
influence a single person could have on the affairs of state, both in war and
in peacetime. Second, it cautioned him on the importance of never deviating
from proper tradecraft and always utilizing sufficient cut outs and
intermediaries to protect your agents in the field.
Templeton's eyes flicked open just as Ruckelman finished his
explanation, interjecting a question directed primarily at Dulles before anyone
had time to say anything. "How much of this plutonium are we
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