means. I have heard a rumor in the General Staff that they can read your codes.’” Henry noted that when they had driven him back, Kuklinski “wanted to be left off in [a] dark corner to avoid all possibility colleagues would see him.”
“As patriotic Pole with no love left for Soviets, he felt he should contribute to the West,” Henry wrote. “He impressed me as courageous: . . . ‘Give me tape recorder and any topic you choose, and I’ll tell you all I know.’. . . He’s like a waterfall.”
Henry pointed out that Kuklinski was a “military type,” and not an “intel officer.” He added: “He’s either very sincere or a hell of a good actor.” Kuklinski reminded him of his own experiences in World War II. “In short, he’s a Pole.”
In Lang’s portion of the cable, he offered a series of words to describe Kuklinski: “Earnest.” “Convinced.” “Pride.” “Intelligent.” “Wiry.” “It seems we are indeed dealing with a man of far above [average] intelligence and talents,” he wrote. He estimated that Kuklinski was about five feet, nine inches tall, and 150 pounds “of solid bone and muscle.” Lang added: “Although I am his size and have at least a 10-pound advantage on him, I have the feeling I would not like to box, wrestle, or go at him in any way physically. He is one tough hombre.”
Lang added, “I had the feeling he was scarcely nervous at all. Nervous or not, he certainly knows what his association with us means in real terms and it takes a brave man, knowing this, to take the step he took. . . . He was there for business and was all business. I’m glad he’s on our side.”
The cable ended with the team’s observation that “father’s death, Saigon experiences and long pent-up feelings suggest next few contacts should be oriented toward man who [is] having catharsis yet torn with conflicts between his success in his world and Western idealism.”
Henry and Lang added a request for “intelligence requirements”―questions that Langley wanted them to pose to Kuklinski and what documents they should ask him to provide.
The cable was sent at 2:04 A.M. Headquarters responded almost immediately with a five-line message confirming the existence of a file on Kuklinski that included biographical details and his role on the ICC in Vietnam. The names Kuklinski had offered in the first meeting were generally accurate, the cable said, and Lang and Henry were asked to focus in the second meeting on how the CIA should communicate with him after he returned to Poland. It said that should Kuklinski and his family need emergency assistance to escape from Poland, it would be provided. Henry and Lang were to continue to leave the impression that they were from the army, not the CIA.
Early Saturday morning, Lang and Henry made the short drive to Rotterdam, where they reserved another hotel room. To maintain their businessmen pretense, they filled an empty suitcase with shoes to give it some weight. They were joined by a technical officer from Bonn Station, a handyman who could fix a broken camera, tape recorder, or just about anything else. He was asked to go shopping for a carburetor.
Late that afternoon, Lang and Henry headed for the RV park to wait for Kuklinski. At about five o’clock, they saw him, accompanied by a teenage boy with wispy blond hair. Kuklinski and the boy passed Henry, who was snapping photographs as if he were a tourist.
“Sir, my son,” Kuklinski said softly.
He and the boy walked on, taking pictures and mingling with a tour group.
Several minutes later, Lang and Henry saw Kuklinski say something to his son, and the boy strolled away. Kuklinski approached Lang, who led him across a pedestrian bridge, and with Henry, they drove to the hotel.
Once in the room, Kuklinski beamed as he spoke about his son, Bogdan. The boy did not understand English, Kuklinski said, and would have assumed that
Carolyn Keene, Franklin W. Dixon