Deadly Deceits (15 page)

At the time in Laos the CIA had a number of armed and trained Hmong organized into a couple of dozen platoon-sized teams. But the CIA now wanted financial support for more than 100 teams. The problem was, how do you indicate to Congress that you have more than 100 teams when you actually have only one-fourth that number? The answer was simple: the couple of dozen teams were divided, on paper only, into platoons of only a few individuals each, and instantly there were the necessary number of teams. Of course the briefing did not explain the instant creation of the 100 teams nor their anemic manpower. Also overlooked was the fact that many of the Hmong were untrained teenagers. Whether it was true or not, the briefing material had to indicate an existent force that was primed and ready to go and needed only one thing: congressional authorization for the necessary funding. The thinking at Langley was that if Congress approved the program, the group could be brought quickly up to strength. So why not fudge a few details? On paper the struggling, ragtag group of Hmong fighters began to resemble a small army.

After the first meeting we subordinates held a long series of discussions to determine just the right name to call the new army. The name chosen was to have little to do with the function of the team; it was important solely for the response it
would evoke from Congress. “Hunter-Killer Teams” was rejected because it portrayed the image of an aggressive force involved in assassinations. “Home Defense Teams” or “Self-Defense Units” or similar names were rejected as too passive. The name finally adopted for the briefing was “Mobile Strike Forces”—a marvelous combination of defense-offense flexibility and superb word usage. After deciding on the name and after numerous revisions of the chart, Colby briefed Congress. He won approval to go ahead with the program. The Agency then undertook efforts to make the illusion a reality.

This was my first exposure to how the Agency shapes policy. It was, of course, a perfect example of policy being decided from the top in advance and then intelligence being selected or created to support it afterwards—precisely the opposite of the way it should be done. Not only was it all backwards, but it was a complete hoax contrived to deceive Congress, which naturally swallowed it hook, line, and sinker.

At the time I was not disturbed by any of this. Not the faintest doubt crossed my mind. After all, we were in a death struggle with the communist hordes, and if we failed to beat them in Laos, the dominoes would fall possibly all the way to our shores. A little fudging of the facts here and there to reinforce the proper impression seemed a small price to pay for protecting our liberties. For years I didn't realize the disastrous consequences of these practices.

This was only one of many examples of the CIA's deceptions of Congress. Another is described by Frank Snepp, an Agency analyst in Vietnam, in his book,
Decent Interval
.
¹
He says a major portion of his time was devoted to briefing touring congressmen. His briefings were carefully orchestrated to convey the exact impression desired by the chief of station, one having little foundation in fact.

The Agency did worry about congressional investigating committees and took emergency measures to forestall effective action by such committees. Agency officials who did not perform well at these investigations paid dearly. In one case a rising star in the Directorate for Operations (previously called the Directorate for Plans) was called to testify before a committee concerning Agency operations in Laos. He went beyond Agency-approved boundaries for testimony and “opted” for early retirement before the week was up.

Vietnam was looming ever more important on the foreign policy scene, and I shared with my fellow workers the strong conviction that it was necessary to smash the Vietnamese Communists to halt the spread of that cancerous growth. I believed that all we had to do to win the war was to devote enough time and effort to the task, and then North Vietnam would cease its efforts to subvert South Vietnam.

In mid-1965, it was announced that President Lyndon Johnson was going to make a major speech concerning Vietnam. On July 28, 1965, a group of fellow officers and I went out to a delicatessen in McLean—a hangout for the Agency—to watch the fateful speech on television. We ate our hot pastrami sandwiches and drank our cold beer while we watched and listened. As the President spoke, I virtually prayed that he would send additional forces to fight the invading North Vietnamese. He announced that the United States military strength in Vietnam would be increased from 75,000 men to 125,000 almost immediately. However, he said, it was not necessary now to order reserve units to active duty. The purpose of his announcement was twofold: to disclose the military measures being taken, and to emphasize the desire of the United States for negotiations to end the conflict.

“We do not want an expanded struggle with consequences that no one can perceive,” Johnson drawled, “nor will we bluster or bully or flaunt our power. But we will not surrender and we will not retreat.”

Gravely, the President explained that the United States was involved in the Vietnam conflict because “we have learned at a terrible and brutal cost that retreat does not bring safety and weakness does not bring peace.” The United States learned from Hitler, he said, “that success only feeds the appetite of aggression.”

He continued: “We cannot dishonor our word or abandon our commitment or leave those who believed us and who trusted us to the terror and repression and murder that would follow.”
²

There it was—we were going to fight and win. All of us
at the table exchanged congratulations with each other and with others at nearby tables. We would show those commie bastards that they couldn't play with Uncle Sam.

I just could not sit at a desk while important things were happening all around. This was especially true with regard to Thailand, for on December 3, 1964, a clandestine radio station, the Voice of the People of Thailand, had announced that the Thailand Independence Movement was beginning a revolution. The radio station and the movement were China-based organizations, and the implications of the announcement were not lost on the Thais or the Agency. The broadcast signaled the beginning of covert guerrilla activities, and in the next six months incidents between government and insurgent forces multiplied, especially in the critical Northeast area adjacent to Laos.

I asked my desk chief, who was going out to Thailand on a short trip, to plead my case with the chief of station and especially with the deputy chief, Dave Abbott. I noted my fluency in the Thai language, my ability to get along with Thai officials, my knowledge of the station programs, and my generally good record while in the North. I hoped my request would put Abbott in a difficult position, for the increased guerrilla activity meant increased Agency manpower requirements for Thailand. Dave would have a hard time refusing me when faced with a critical shortage of people.

When the desk chief returned, he said I was to be assigned to Thailand just as soon as possible. What great news! I went home to tell my family. Their excitement at my revelation seemed more than controllable.

8. IN SEARCH OF REDS

IN September 1965 I began work in Bangkok. At the time Thailand was supposedly a constitutional monarchy, but in fact was more a military dictatorship. The real power was in the hands of two military officers—Prime Minister Thanom Kittikachorn and the
de facto
leader of the government, Deputy Prime Minister Praphat Charusathien, who also headed the military establishment. King Bhumibol and Queen Sirikhit were powerful emotional symbols, but they seldom contradicted the military. There was an on-and-off parliament, but it acted more as a rubber stamp than an independent branch of government.

The CIA station, led by the effervescent Rod Johnson, was involved in numerous anti-communist liaison operations with various departments of the Thai government.
[Eight words deleted.]
The Agency will not permit me to say what these were, but Douglas Blaufarb's book,
The Counterinsurgency Era
, says:

In Thailand, information on the identities, size, movements, armaments, and operational patterns of insurgents was collected by … BPP [the Border Patrol Police), Provincial Police, and Special Branch. (The latter is the senior police intelligence service but concentrates largely on the Bangkok area. It does have a small section working in the affected areas).…[The various organizations] produced a large amount of low-level information which was useful when professionally handled and promptly exploited. This was the task of the … centers … set up under the CSOC mechanism.… the Communist Suppression Operations Command…[had the responsibility] to plan and conduct suppression activity nationwide.… The central concept was the establishment of a framework for a coordinated effort by civilian, police, and military services linking
Bangkok to regional Headquarters and then to combat areas. The system, called CPM, established suppression centers … in all the [communist] affected provinces and regions. Several regional intelligence offices (Joint Security Centers or JSCs) were also established to combine the inputs of the various intelligence services working in the affected areas.

Existing sources say nothing about the U.S. agency working to develop and improve these intelligence efforts, but the very fact suggests that the task was performed by the CIA.
¹

Shortly after I arrived in Thailand, I received a command to appear before the deputy chief of station, Dave Abbott. I arrived at the appointed time and then began the entire series of Dave Abbott put-downs. I had to wait in the reception area for more than a half hour. Then I stood in his office for an interminable time while he assiduously read a file before he finally deigned to recognize my presence. His babyish complexion, his owlish eyes staring behind heavy glasses, his pear-like physique all were disarming—yet I was wary. After looking at me for a long time, he said, “Well, you just couldn't stay away!”

I had hoped to begin this new tour with a clean slate, but Dave obviously hadn't forgiven me for refusing to become his office spy when I was in North Thailand. His angry gaze delivered an explicit message; I pretended not to notice. “Yes, I know I can do a good job,” I responded. “I speak some Thai and my work on the Thai desk will help me appreciate the problems of Headquarters. I know you won't be disappointed in me.”

Inwardly I felt confident, like a professional athlete at the peak of his ability. My analytical talents had developed. I got along with the Thais, and I was eager to participate in our great anti-communist crusade. I considered Dave an aberration from the norm of Agency leadership. He was a fearful figure, but deserved pity rather than hate. His anger and deceits probably masked his insecurities and lack of self-confidence; I thought that my work would speak for itself and therefore I had little to fear from Dave's intrigues.

“I have assigned you to work with Jason [not his real name],” said Dave. “I told Jason if you give him any problems to let me know and I will transfer you.”

Clearly Dave was the boss. My future, and specifically
this assignment, depended on him. With a wave of his hand he curtly dismissed me.

I was not unhappy with the assignment, except that Jason was considered one of Dave's top informants in the station. To me Jason seemed pleasant, if somewhat reserved, but quite defensive about his position. At the time he was the chief liaison officer with a small Thai counterinsurgency force, and I was to be his assistant in this organization. The word liaison may not adequately describe the Agency's relationship with this organization, for the CIA had planned for, created, trained, equipped, and helped breathe legal life into this service. The organization had a Bangkok headquarters with offices scattered throughout the outlying provinces. Its functions paralleled to some degree the duties of our FBI but with particular responsibility for gathering information on communism. As so frequently happened with Agency-created services, however, it also had become a secret police for the government.

I worked with Jason in a private office at the headquarters of what I will call the “FBI.” Jason's area of responsibility included headquarters and the key Northeast area where the Communist Party had made the strongest inroads, while I was given the responsibility for the less critical South and North Thailand. Our Thai staff translated the most relevant reports on Communist activity coming into the “FBI” headquarters from field offices and from most other government agencies, including the military intelligence services. Jason and I read them and maintained geographic files of all reported Communist-inspired incidents. If in my daily work I came across a report of significance, I put it into Agency format, dressed up its language, and submitted it to the station's reports office for possible dissemination to the American intelligence community. In a sense we justified our support to the “FBI” by the number of reports it produced, so it was essential that I do this aspect of my job well.

I remained in this assignment for more than six months, and I began to develop a critical sense about the quality of reporting of the various Thai intelligence services and especially their ability, or rather inability, to recruit agents from the Communist Party of Thailand. These services for the most part had to rely on numerous second- or third-hand access agents, usually friends or relatives of party members. Such agents
generally produced low-level information of doubtful reliability. An analyst collating all of that type of information could make of it just about anything he wanted to. If it was to the benefit of his service—or his career—to paint the picture of a serious Communist threat, then he would make it a serious threat. Conversely, if it was more advantageous to paint the picture in more rosy perspective, then that also could be done.

I also fell victim to this fundamentally unreliable intelligence. I wanted to be in the center of the action, to be called to station meetings, to submit and get credit for a large number of reports, and to earn promotions. As part of this ambition, I prepared one collated report on the strength of the Communist Party in Southern Thailand. Based on poorly sourced, subjective information, my report stressed the existence of various entrenched, military-like Communist camps in mountain redoubts in the South. In reaction to my analysis, the Thai military conducted a sweep in the South and found exactly nothing. This taught me several lessons: my information was as good or as poor as my sources; I needed to be skeptical of intelligence from agencies with a vested interest in the issues; and I had to be especially aware of my own preconceptions and ambitions, for it had benefited me to show how serious the situation was in the South since that was “my” area and I had a special interest in that piece of the action.