The Falcon and the Snowman (52 page)

“The defendant is hereby committed to the custody of the Attorney General or his authorized representatives for imprisonment for a term of his natural life.”

Daulton packed the few possessions he had in his jail cell in Los Angeles and prepared for transfer to a Federal penitentiary to begin the life sentence. He had not seen Chris now in many weeks. But through Kahn, he had followed his efforts to get a favorable sentence under the Youth Act, via his defense of extortion and his participation in further debriefings with the CIA. Daulton had heard about the favorable probation report and felt a grudging admiration for Chris: it looked as if he might save himself.

When Daulton had finished packing, he was taken to a car by Federal marshals for the trip to his next prison. But en route, Daulton made one stop, arranged by Stilz at the request of Anne Lee.

The prison car climbed up The Hill from the flatlands of Los Angeles, followed the high bluffs that skirted the Pacific, and came to a stop on the big driveway in front of the Lee home.

A marshal led him into the house and then stood back, waiting, while Daulton tiptoed into his father's bedroom and said good-bye.

“Pops, I love you,” he said, and held his hand a few moments.

Lompoc is a small town in Central California 170 miles north of The Hill that is best known for its production of commercial flower seeds—an industry that each spring turns the Lompoc Valley into a panoramic rainbow of fragrant sweet peas, stock, petunias and a dozen other varieties of flowers. Besides flower blossoms, Lompoc's economy is rooted in the payrolls of two institutions of the United States Government—the Lompoc Federal Correctional Institution and Vandenberg Air Force Base—the CIA's principal launching platform, along with Cape Canaveral, for spy satellites.

The prison car arrived at the Lompoc penitentiary late in the afternoon of August 4, 1977, and Daulton began his life term. At 1:10
P.M.
the following day, his father died of stomach cancer.

51

At 2
P.M.
on September 12, 1977, the clerk of Federal District Court Judge Robert J. Kelleher announced Item 19 on the judge's calendar that day:

“Criminal Case 77-131,
United States of America versus Christopher John Boyce
.”

Chris's parents and most of his eight sisters and brothers were seated in the second row of the crowded courtroom. It was the first time they had come to court. George Chelius had told his friend and former boss, Charles Boyce, that he was optimistic Chris would get off with a moderate sentence.

Chris had reason to be hopeful. There were now two encouraging reports about him in the possession of Judge Kelleher. Since the favorable presentencing probation report had been filed with the court in June, he had been interviewed at Terminal Island by Federal Bureau of Prisons psychiatrists and psychologists, and they, like the probation officer who had written the earlier report, had accepted his story that he had become a spy because he was blackmailed by an old friend.
Maybe his lie had worked
.

The other reason to be optimistic was Kelleher's decision in June to sentence him preliminarily under provisions of the Youth Act. To the lawyers, this seemed to signal that the final sentence would also be under this provision of the law. Daulton's life sentence had not added to their optimism, but the lawyers hoped the judge accepted Chris's story of extortion.

A few days before the sentencing, Chris had told two newspaper reporters, during an interview at Terminal Island, that he hoped for a sentence of six or seven years. Then, he said, he wanted to become a lawyer. “I know that sounds funny,” he said, gesturing toward his prison uniform. “But the law is something that's always interested me, and it's something by which I would be able to show society that I'm a worthwhile person and that Judge Kelleher was not wrong.”

Although Chelius and Dougherty were ostensibly optimistic when they entered the courtroom, they knew there was the equivalent of a legal bomb that could detonate Chris's chances of a lenient sentence—his letters to Vito Conterno.

The clerk had barely finished reading the docket number of the case when Chelius signaled the judge that he wanted to make a motion at the side of the bench, where he would not be heard by the spectators.

Chelius, Dougherty and Stilz all approached the bench. Joel Levine had resigned from government service, and Stilz was representing the government alone.

“Yes, gentlemen?” Kelleher inquired.

Chelius said he wanted to bring up the matter of letters Chris had written while he was at Terminal Island. “We would like to see those suppressed on the basis that they would cause undue prejudice and would be only cumulative in nature as to the continuing charges for which he has been found guilty.”

“I am not clear what you are saying. Specifically, to what letters are you referring?” Kelleher, like Chelius, was whispering.

“Well,” Chelius said, “the United States Attorney submitted letters purportedly written by the defendant Boyce prior to the last sentencing—”

“If I may interrupt for a minute,” Stilz said. “They were letters purportedly written by defendant Boyce to an inmate in prison, and these letters discuss partly about the spy trial, that in fact he still works with the KGB and that his interests still lie with the KGB.”

“Does the record reflect that the Court is familiar with these?” Kelleher, seemingly puzzled, asked.

“No,” Chelius said.

“It doesn't ring a bell with me at all. I don't think I ever saw them,” the judge said.

“Well, I submitted these letters
in camera
, copies of those letters,” Stilz said. “I provided them to the probation officer, and the probation officer indicated that he provided those letters to you, Your Honor. If you are not familiar, I can go get the original letters and let you consider them before sentencing.

“I think they are
extremely
important,” Stilz insisted.

“No, they will be ordered suppressed,” Kelleher said. “The Court will represent that it has no recollection whatever of the contents of any such letters, and if there is a recollection that comes to mind it will disregard any such matters.”

“Okay,” Chelius said, pleased.

“Your Honor, may I be heard for a moment?” Stilz persisted.

“Your Honor, I think it is extremely imperative that I be allowed to argue those letters, the contents of those letters. They show the state of mind and intent of Boyce after he was convicted, and they show no—”

“They are insufficient before the Court for that purpose,” Kelleher snapped, “so you will not make any reference to them.”

“May I submit those letters to Your Honor before sentencing?”

“No, you may not.”

Chelius and Dougherty returned to the defense table and told Chris things still looked good: Kelleher had refused to consider the letters in determining his sentence. Chris's spirits were lifted.

Stilz rose to begin his pleading. As he had done at Daulton's sentencing, he began by acknowledging that Chris had “cooperated fully” with the government since his conviction. “He voluntarily allowed himself to be interviewed and debriefed on numerous occasions by Federal agents; and more important, the information he did in fact provide to the United States Government proved extremely valuable to the CIA in terms of assessing the damage done to our national security and defense.

“However,” Stilz continued, “even taking defendant Boyce's cooperation into consideration, it is the position of the United States that defendant Boyce should be sentenced to life imprisonment.” And then he listed the reasons:

“As he stands before Your Honor for sentencing, it cannot be questioned nor challenged by anyone that he committed one of the most serious offenses that a person can possibly commit against society: espionage—an act of betraying one's own country, here the United States of America, a country that gave defendant Boyce his very existence, his education and an opportunity; a country that gave him, above all, freedom, his liberty and his security. But apparently unimpressed by these cherished items, defendant Boyce turned against his country and jeopardized its safety and well-being; in turn, he jeopardized the safety and well-being of all Americans. Why did he do what he did?

“What was his motive in jeopardizing the security and safety of his country and selling his country's most sensitive top secrets to the Russians?

“Was it money? Was it for monetary gain? Perhaps to a small degree. But this was not his primary motive as it was with his codefendant, Andrew Daulton Lee.

“His primary motive, Your Honor, was to aid and benefit the Russians.”

Of course, Stilz continued, the defendant had said in open court that he was disillusioned by his government and had been coerced by Lee and had committed crimes that “may have caused untold potential damage to our national security and for this damage he has expressed in open court his ‘profound regrets' to the American people and their principles. He then asked to be allowed to contribute once again to our society, that there was no possibility of a recurrence of his past deeds.”

The government submits, Stilz said, that his defense is “simply not worthy of belief.

“He was not coerced by Lee. No doubt his codefendant, Lee, had an influence upon him and probably at times pressured him due to his own monetary greed. But clearly not to the extent claimed and emphasized by defendant Boyce. Boyce had his own motive for betraying his country. He carried his betrayal into fruition because he had a reason to do so. His reason was to advantage and benefit the U.S.S.R.”

Chris, again wearing his rust-colored corduroy suit, but with an open-necked, flowered sport shirt different from the one he'd worn during most of the trial, didn't look at Stilz as he spoke. He looked down at the defense table and fiddled with a pencil.

Not only, Stilz said, had the defendant systematically transmitted secrets to the Soviet Union; he had quit TRW to take a college course that would lead to a job in the State Department working covertly for the U.S.S.R. There was still another reason that this case demanded life imprisonment, Stilz continued: the nature of the documents that were sold to the Russians.

“First, there were those Top Secret documents and materials proved at trial, of which this Court is fully aware. Second, and more important, Your Honor, were those Top Secret documents and materials not charged in the indictment nor proved at trial. These documents and materials were, of course, so extremely sensitive that the government did not dare to expose them at trial. Yet defendant Boyce freely caused their transmittal for over a two-year period!”

Dougherty rose to his feet.

“May it please the Court,” he said. “I dislike to interrupt, but I hardly believe my client can be sentenced on the basis of anything that was not brought before the Court or proved at the trial.”

“Overruled,” Kelleher said.

Stilz deplored the espionage acts of Chris for more than twenty minutes. And then he concluded:

“Defendant Boyce knew if he breached the security of his position at TRW that the lives of every man, woman and child in this country would be drastically affected. He did so notwithstanding. He must, therefore, Your Honor, be expected to pay the consequences.”

Now it was the defense's turn. Bill Dougherty raised his huge frame out of his chair and approached the lectern. There was a short silence while he arranged the notes he had written and put on his reading glasses. Then, having no choice, he appealed for mercy.

Referring to the study of Chris that had been made that summer by the Bureau of Prisons, he said its author had concluded “that this act never could have happened had it not been for the gross negligence of TRW. I don't say that excuses Mr. Boyce, but if we take the setting of a young boy, an impressionable young boy, in an extremely sensitive place, with absolutely no supervision, we see that the opportunity was not created by him.”

He stressed Chris's willingness to spend six days with CIA representatives. “He and only he knew what had happened, and he chose to tell completely and honestly to the CIA and the FBI everything that he remembered.” Finally, after appealing to Judge Kelleher to sentence Chris under youthful-offender statutes, Dougherty turned over the defense's case to Chelius. As he walked away from the lectern, the judge stopped him and told Dougherty he might want to consider two points while Chelius was proceeding.

“First: When one is awaiting sentence under a statute which, amongst other things, provides for a death penalty—the appropriateness of which has been brought under some question by virtue of some of the expressed wisdom of the Supreme Court in recent years—but facing sentence which clearly can be maximized to life imprisonment—it is understandable that he will at that time become cooperative.” Nevertheless, the judge said he would not ignore the defendant's co-operation.

“But there is one thing that struck this Court very strongly concerning your client at a time when he really could have performed in vindication or perhaps in expiation, and that was perhaps to come forward as a witness to see that a disreputable codefendant did not escape with a fictitious, false, unsupported, almost insulting defense, which might have succeeded before a jury, but which would never have been done had your client been in the position where he would come forward to give the full lie to the testimony of his codefendant.

“You rise to some matter, Mr. Chelius?”

“Your Honor, I represent to this Court that defendant Boyce offered his testimony against Lee, which testimony was rejected by the United States Attorney.”

“What testimony did he offer?”

“He offered to tell the whole story,” Chelius said.

“Well, what was that testimony? Did it relate to—”

“It would have related, Your Honor, to the fact that defendant Lee was not a representative nor had he ever been advised that he was working for the Central Intelligence Agency; the United States Attorney rejected that testimony.”