Vince Houghton - Nuking the Moon - And Other Intelligence Schemes and Military Plots Left on the Drawing Board

The book is organized into four parts, each with its own theme, but all full of stories centered on the desperation that was the product of the sheer terror of World War II, or the ideological fervor and suspicion of the Cold War. In each case, the originators of these ideas truly believed their very existence was at stake. And their desperation led to some… interesting choices.

Part I focuses on our furry and feathered friends of the animal kingdom, who have endured more than we could ever imagine—all for our benefit, and all because they were “willing” to do the jobs we wouldn’t, or couldn’t. You know how when a movie uses animals—an Air Bud, a Turner & Hooch, a Dunston Checks In —there’s a disclaimer during the credits that says, “No Animals Were Harmed in the Making of This Film”? Well, that’s not the case in part I. The animals in these stories were cut open, wired up, run over, set on fire, blown to pieces, dropped unconscious from thousands of feet, infected with biological pathogens, painted with caustic (and likely carcinogenic) paint, and shoved inside tactical nuclear weapons. All in the name of national security.

Part II centers on the secret world of covert and clandestine operations. The stuff that makes for exciting tales of espionage and intrigue: assassination attempts, special operations, secret missions, spies and spycraft, devious dealings, dastardly villains, double-crossers, and deadly vixens. The fact that these operations never happened doesn’t take anything away from the extraordinary plans developed for them. They are illogical, irrational, absurd, bizarre, ludicrous, and wild. But they are completely real.

Part III spotlights some of the most inspired and innovative technology of World War II and the Cold War. No, not those. No, not those either. I’m talking about the really innovative stuff. The things so creative that they aren’t just “outside the box,” they are outside of the room, the building, the neighborhood, the city. Some of them were clearly ahead of their time. Some, we should hope, might never be in “their time.”

Part IV could be reasonably considered an offshoot of part III. The development of nuclear weapons was, of course, the development of a new and novel technology. Yet it is disingenuous to consider the atomic bomb as “just another invention.” The weaponization of nuclear energy was a watershed moment for the history of the Cold War. We had created the most destructive technology in the history of the human experience, but in many cases we had no clue what to do with our newfound power. Do we use it just like any other weapon? Or do we reserve it for just the most extraordinary circumstances, or even depend on just the psychological impact of having the weapons at our disposal? Can we even find ways to use nuclear weapons for the good of humanity? What are some of the most ridiculous and asinine things we can possibly do with nuclear weapons? These questions were under constant debate during the Cold War. Some were addressed, some still remain unanswered today. I will be focusing on the last one.

Finally, while my research for this book depended on serious research into primary and secondary source literature, archival resources, expert interviews, and broad-ranging scientific, intelligence, foreign policy, and national security policy perspectives, my primary reason for writing this book is to help you learn and have fun. And to have some fun myself. Because these stories are extraordinary. So pull up a chair, and sit back and relax.

We’re going for a ride.

Why start here? Well, for starters, I love this story. I do everything I can to weave it into whatever lecture or public program I am doing at the International Spy Museum in Washington, DC. And moreover, I can, because this story has a bit of everything. Intelligence history—Acoustic Kitty. Diplomatic history—Acoustic Kitty. History of the Cold War—Acoustic Kitty. History of science, technology, the CIA, the KGB, eavesdropping devices, surveillance—yep, you guessed it: Acoustic Kitty. It works for every age group. Kids love it (kitties!), teen and young adult audiences find it fascinating (robotic cats!), and even adults find it an endearing story (kitties!). It is and will continue to be my go-to story for just about anything.

To be honest, however, Acoustic Kitty is not a story, but rather stories . You see, there are two different versions of this tale.

The first version has all of the necessary and wonderful elements of successful drama: great characters, extraordinary spectacle, rising action, a climax that shocks and delights, and a denouement for the ages.

The second version is, well… probably true.

But don’t fret, the divergences between the stories are pretty trivial. The differences only make up a small part of the broader picture, and do nothing to change the most important, fundamental fact of the Acoustic Kitty story:

The CIA tried to make a covert listening device out of a housecat.

People have beensecretly intercepting communications for centuries. One of the most prominent historical examples is the French cabinet noir, run by Cardinal Armand Jean du Plessis, the Duke of Richelieu and Fronsac (Cardinal Richelieu of Three Musketeers fame) in the early seventeenth century. This “black room” or “black chamber” intercepted the letters of French citizens and foreigners suspected of conspiring against the king. The letters were secretly opened, read, resealed, and then sent to their intended recipient (who would never know what had happened in transit). More than one nefarious plot against king and country was foiled this way—and even some that hadn’t yet reached the level of “nefarious.” Richelieu didn’t care if he trampled a liberty (or two). The protection of the crown was paramount: “If you give me six lines written by the hand of the most honest of men, I will find something in them which will hang him.”

Skip ahead to the twentieth century, when the development of electronic communications inevitably leads to means for intercepting communications with electronics. Thus begins the age of the covert listening device—the “bug” or “wire.” But 1940s and ’50s listening devices hardly resembled what you might imagine when you think of the bugs from the movies, where the hero gets the Mob boss to reveal where he’s hidden the bodies, just before the cops bust in. Instead, they were soda-can-sized monstrosities that could only be concealed in furniture or adequately large household appliances—lamps, comfy chairs, bookcases, and so on.

By the 1960s, some of the size issues had been resolved thanks to the natural evolution of electronics, but listening device technology still could not clear its most pressing hurdle: These bugs picked up everything. Now, that might sound like a good thing. The more the better, right? No. When I say everything, I mean everything . A bug secretly placed on a park bench wouldn’t just pick up the conversation of the people sitting on it. It would pick up dogs barking, birds chirping, traffic noise, cars honking, ambulance sirens, heavy footsteps, heavy breathing, etc., masking the conversation and wasting the time of the poor schmucks whose job it was to try (futilely) to make sense of whatever cornucopic cacophony was recorded on the tape.

Think of what it feels like to try to have a conversation at a crowded bar, a busy restaurant, or a deafening rock concert. Even though the musician onstage is shredding a bodacious face-melting guitar solo, you and your friend can nevertheless have a reasonably understandable conversation. Sure, you are screaming into each other’s faces from two inches away, but you can still make out your friend’s ridiculous argument that Sammy Hagar’s Van Halen was better than David Lee Roth’s Van Halen. This is because humans (and many animals) have a structure inside our inner ear known as the cochlea, and this is where something called transduction takes place—the conversion of energy from one form to another. In this case, the cochlea transduces sound waves into electrical impulses that our brains perceive as sound. Most importantly, this process allows our brain to differentiate between different kinds of sounds—we can focus on our friend’s asinine argument (Hagar? Really?), as we are simultaneously inundated with 120 decibels of heavy metal mayhem.