Christopher Andrew - The Sword and the Shield

After Blunt had acted as talent-spotter, the initial approach to Cairncross early in 1937 was entrusted by Deutsch to Burgess 65—much as Philby had made the first recruitment overture to Maclean in 1934. The actual recruitment of Cairncross shortly afterwards was entrusted to James Klugmann. 66On April 9 Maly informed the Centre that Cairncross had been formally recruited and given the codename MOLIÈRE. 67Had Cairncross known his codename, he might well have objected to its transparency but would undoubtedly have found appropriate the choice of his favorite French writer, on whom he later published two scholarly studies in French. For reasons not recorded in KGB files, the codename MOLIÈRE was later replaced by that of LISZT. 68In May Klugmann arranged Cairncross’s first rendezvous with Deutsch. According to Cairncross’s admittedly unreliable memoirs, the meeting took place one evening in Regent’s Park:

Suddenly there emerged from behind the trees a short, stocky figure aged around forty, whom Klugmann introduced to me as Otto. Thereupon, Klugmann promptly disappeared… 69

Deutsch reported to Moscow that Cairncross “was very happy that we had established contact with him and was ready to start working for us at once.” 70

Among the pre-Second World War Foreign Office documents available to both Maclean and Cairncross, and thus to the NKVD, were what Cairncross described as “a wealth of valuable information on the progress of the Civil War in Spain.” 71Only in a few cases, however, is it possible to identify individual documents supplied by Maclean and Cairncross which the Centre forwarded to Stalin, probably in the form of edited extracts. 72One such document, which seems to have made a particular impression on Stalin, is the record of talks with Hitler in November 1937 by Lord Halifax, Lord President of the Council (who, three months later, was to succeed Eden as Foreign Secretary). 73Halifax’s visit to Hitler’s mountain lair, the “Eagle’s Nest” at Berchtesgaden, got off to a farcical start. As the aristocratic Halifax stepped from his car, he mistook Hitler for a footman and was about to hand him his hat and coat when a German minister hissed in his ear, “ Der Führer! Der Führer! 74The Centre, however, saw the whole meeting as deeply sinister. The extracts from Halifax’s record of his talks with Hitler, tailored to fit Stalin’s profound distrust of British policy, emphasized that Britain viewed Nazi Germany as “the bastion of the West against Bolshevism” and would take a sympathetic view of German expansion to the east. 75Though Halifax’s assessment of Hitler, whom he regarded as “very sincere,” was lamentably naive, his record of his comments on Germany’s role in defending the West against Communism were much more qualified than the Centre’s version of them. He told Hitler:

Although there was much in the Nazi system that offended British opinion (treatment of the Church; to a perhaps lesser extent, the treatment of Jews; treatment of Trade Unions), I was not blind to what he had done for Germany and to the achievement from his point of view of keeping Communism out of his country and, as he would feel, of blocking its passage West.

Halifax also said nothing to support German aggression in eastern Europe. His aim—unrealistic though it was—was to turn Hitler into “a good European” by offering him colonial concessions in order to persuade him to limit his European ambitions to those he could achieve peacefully. Halifax made clear, however, that Britain was prepared to contemplate the peaceful revision of Versailles:

I said that there were no doubt… questions arising out of the Versailles settlement which seemed to us capable of causing trouble if they were unwisely handled, e.g. Danzig, Austria, Czechoslovakia. On all these matters we were not necessarily concerned to stand for the status quo as today, but we were concerned to avoid such trouble of them as would be likely to cause trouble. If reasonable settlements could be reached with the free assent and goodwill of those primarily concerned we certainly had no desire to block them.

Such statements were music to Hitler’s ears—not because he was interested in the peaceful revision of Versailles, but because he interpreted Halifax’s rather feeble attempt at conciliation as evidence that Britain lacked the nerve to fight when the time came for him to begin a war of conquest. 76Stalin, characteristically, saw a much more sinister purpose behind Halifax’s remarks and persuaded himself that Britain had deliberately given the green light to Nazi aggression in the east. The Foreign Office documents supplied by Maclean and Cairncross which recorded British attempts to appease Hitler were used by the Centre to provide the evidence which Stalin demanded of a deep-laid British plot to turn Hitler on the Soviet Union.

THOUGH KIM PHILBY ultimately became the most important of the Magnificent Five, his career took off more slowly than those of the other four. He abandoned an attempt to join the civil service after both his referees (his Trinity director of studies and a family friend) warned him that, while they admired his energy and intelligence, they would feel bound to add that his “sense of political injustice might well unfit him for administrative work.” His only minor successes before 1937 were to gain a job on an uninfluential liberal monthly, the Review of Reviews, and become a member of the Anglo-German Fellowship, contemptuously described by Churchill as the “Heil Hitler Brigade.” As Philby later acknowledged, he would often turn up for meetings with Deutsch “with nothing to offer” and in need of reassurance. The outbreak of the Spanish Civil War gave him his first important intelligence mission. He eventually persuaded a London news agency to give him a letter of accreditation as a freelance war correspondent and arrived in Spain in February 1937. “My immediate assignment,” he wrote later in his memoirs, “was to get first-hand information on all aspects of the fascist war effort.” As usual, his memoirs fail to tell the whole truth. 77

A few weeks after Philby’s departure, the London illegal residency received instructions, undoubtedly approved by Stalin himself, to order Philby to assassinate General Francisco Franco, leader of the nationalist forces. 78Maly duly passed on the order but made clear to the Centre that he did not believe Philby capable of fulfilling it. 79Philby arrived back in London in May without even having set eyes on Franco and, Maly told the Centre, “in a very depressed state.” Philby’s fortunes improved, however, after he was taken on by The Times as one of its two correspondents in nationalist Spain. 80At the end of the year he became a minor war hero. Three journalists sitting in a car in which he had been traveling were fatally injured by an artillery shell. Philby himself was slightly wounded. He reported modestly to Times readers, “Your correspondent… was taken to a first aid station where light head injuries were speedily treated.” “My wounding in Spain,” wrote Philby later, “helped my work—both journalism and intelligence—no end.” For the first time he gained access to Franco, who on March 2, 1938 pinned on his breast the Red Cross of Military Merit. Then, as Philby reported, “all sorts of doors opened for me.” 81

The doors, however, opened too late. By the time Philby gained access to Franco, the NKVD assassination plot had been abandoned. Since the spring of 1937 the Centre had been increasingly diverted from the war against Franco by what became known as the civil war within the Civil War. The destruction of Trotskyists became a higher priority than the liquidation of Franco. By the end of 1937 the hunt for “enemies of the people” abroad took precedence over intelligence collection. The remarkable talents of the Magnificent Five had yet to be fully exploited. INO was in turmoil, caught up in the paranoia of the Great Terror, with most of its officers abroad suspected of plotting with the enemy. The age of the Great Illegals was rapidly drawing to a brutal close.