Rodney Barker - Dancing with the Devil - Sex, Espionage and the U.S. Marines - The Clayton Lonetree Story

When it was Major Henderson’s turn to testify, he put the Lonetree court-martial in context, describing in compelling detail the frenzied atmosphere of the time, when this case had been portrayed as the spy scandal of the century, and the impact those sensational allegations had to have had on the members of the jury who issued a thirty-year sentence. Henderson characterized his former client as a lightning rod for circumstances beyond what the facts of his offenses warranted, and maintained that when all was said and done, Sgt. Clayton Lonetree’s actions had had minimal impact on national security. In support of his opinion Henderson referred to a letter the defense had received from the commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen. Al Gray, within two years of the court-martial, wherein it was written, “Our review of post trial damage assessments satisfies us that [Lonetree’s] misconduct did not equate to the seriousness of other recent national security cases, and that his sentence is disproportionate to that of other convicted service members or employees of the Department of Defense….”

Finally, Calligaro addressed the question of where he expected Lonetree to go from here, and along those lines he played a trump card. His main client in the health-care field had recently signed a contract with the Navajo Nation to establish a substance-abuse program on the Reservation, and they had offered Clayton a counseling position. Obviously he was not going to provide clinical treatment and therapy himself, but he could be a buddy to those in the system. Someone who could put himself in the other guy’s shoes because he had made mistakes, and he knew what it took to overcome adversity. It would be employment that would permit him to turn some of the very problems that got him into trouble around to help others, make a positive contribution to society, and regain his self-esteem.

In his closing, Calligaro mentioned the Court of Military Appeals’ ruling on ineffective assistance of counsel, but purposely he did not dwell on it. His thoughts on the effective role of an advocate within the military system were that the judge was well aware of the ruling, the issue before them was appropriate sentence, and he had decided it would be more productive to focus on Lonetree and the progress he had made. But he did introduce an affidavit from former prosecutor Dave Beck that said, “Sgt. Lonetree deserved to be punished and a tough message had to be sent in sentencing. But the service of justice needs to be monitored… and in Sgt. Lonetree’s case the purpose of punishment has been served.” And referring to the fact that Lonetree, without asking anything in return, was cooperating with a study conducted by the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit, which was trying to develop a psychological profile of individuals who had committed espionage, Calligaro reminded the court that his client had done everything you could expect of someone who had made a mistake, recognized it, and tried to make it right.

“Clayton doesn’t ask for forgiveness. He knows what it means to be a Marine. Those who serve with pride, honor, and faithfulness often take for granted what Clayton Lonetree knows in his heart: what it is like to lose that dignity, that uniform. He has said that the worst part of this whole thing is that he will never again wear the Marine uniform. If ever someone knows what that means, and regrets it, it is Clayton Lonetree.”

As the courtroom emptied, leaving the judge alone to deliberate, the appellate defense team allowed itself to hope that Lieutenant Colonel Anderson would see his way to remedying what had happened the first time around. Calligaro had specifically requested a sentence of time served, in which case Lonetree would be a free man in a matter of days.

Fifty-five minutes later the judge indicated he had arrived at a decision.

In his closing argument the Marine prosecutor, Maj. Ronald Rogers, had said, “Your honor, your job today would be far easier, I believe, if the accused were sitting here in the courtroom in a red outfit carrying a devil’s pitchfork. But he’s not. He’s a man of flesh and blood, just like the rest of us. But he’s wearing a Marine Corps uniform, sir. And to those of us who wear this uniform, who believe in the Corps and believe in our country, who believe in the sanctity of the commitments we make on a daily basis—that he used his office as a Marine to come into contact and gain information which he passed to the Soviet Union; that he used his office as a base of knowledge to compromise intelligence agents—covert intelligence agents—who truly represented the point men in America’s efforts in the Cold War; that he did those things wearing this uniform is unforgivable.

“To label this conduct a mistake is blasphemy. Your honor, the accused has earned substantial punishment. It is the government’s recommendation that the punishment you award almost approach the maximum.”

Judge Anderson was apparently persuaded. He reduced Clayton Lonetree’s sentence, but only by five years, from twenty-five to twenty.

The appellate defense team was stunned. Sally Tsosie began to wail. Spencer Lonetree was enraged. The only person who seemed to take the decision calmly was Lonetree himself. After thanking his appellate attorneys for doing their best, he turned his sergeant’s uniform back in and submitted his wrists to be handcuffed by a Marine guard, who would escort him from Lejeune Hall to the van outside that would take him to the brig.

In the lobby, just inside the exit door, something stopped Lonetree. It so happened that I was standing beside him at that moment, and I could see that he had just spotted perhaps a dozen cameramen and photographers waiting outside for a photo opportunity.

On TV we have all seen criminal suspects with their jackets draped over their heads, ducking the cameras as they are led from a law-enforcement facility to a waiting vehicle. But that was not Clayton Lonetree’s style. Unable to lift his hands because they were chained to a leather belt, he asked his guard to adjust his fore-and-aft cap to a slightly smarter angle. Once that small measure of dignity was achieved, he nodded he was ready and marched forward into the flashing media lights.

When the KGB talks openly about a case, it is usually one in which their “intelligence” has prevailed over another service’s and their officers can be portrayed in a heroic light. As he sits in a Moscow restaurant drinking beer and reminiscing, this is not the spin that Uncle Sasha gives to Tyulpan —the code name for the Lonetree operation—which is Russian for “tulip,” a fast-growing flower cultivated from a bulb.

Dressed informally in jeans and a sweater, a receding hairline losing the battle of baldness, Aleksei Yefimov is neither a charismatic nor a chameleonic personality, but straightforward and friendly. His appearance is typical of Russian men in their mid-forties: If you met him once, you might not recognize him if you were to pass him on the street again. What is distinctive is his voice—it is deep and resonant, like a disc jockey’s—and his attention to detail. In his hands an article of clothing casually thrown on that morning becomes a character revelation.

Although Aleksei Yefimov could not be called a reformer, like many of the people who were working on the frontier of intelligence during the Cold War, now that Russia is no longer a communist state and the former enemy is an ally, he has ambivalent feelings about his past. At one time he believed in the State and the system, and even though he understands the reasons for the decline and fall of the Soviet empire, it disturbs him. He thinks Gorbachev ought to be prosecuted, and Yeltsin deserves little better.

While he is not ashamed of his involvement in this case, now that the service his organization provided for the country is discredited, reviled, and in some cases even labeled criminal, he is embarrassed to talk much about it. It’s not that he thinks the twenty-odd years of his life involved in spywork were wasted on meaningless activities, it’s just that he’s more comfortable talking about his performance as a professional, from which he does take personal satisfaction.