The Müller Washington Journals- 1948-1951: From Gestapo Chief to the CIA - Part 6

Edited  by Dr. Rainer Scholz

Editor¹s Foreword

“The American Army even recruited and evacuated the head of the Gestapo, Heinrich Mueller. To prevent later accusations that the United States government was employing the notorious Mueller, the Americans used Gehlen’s organization to finance his work.”

Joseph Trento, “The Secret History of the CIA” New York, 2001, p29

The Müller Journals

Translation from the German by Ernst Gauss

Thursday, 5 January 1950

On to Philby! Or “Tally Ho!” as the foxhunting freaks in England shout.

Oscar Wilde referred to foxhunters as the Unspeakable in pursuit of the Inedible. A very funny man. Would have done well in the British Foreign Office. Probably in the lavatories

Our quarry lives at 4100 Nebraska. Brick Georgian house on a street between Florida and Massachusetts. Not a long trip to the Embassy. We have set up a watch in a neighboring house and the Hoover people have done their business with the telephones.

Philby, his hysterical wife, and a number of children all live there so the noise from the household makes conversations difficult to listen to.

Hoover and I are working very closely on this one. Of course, he now knows who I am but will say nothing at all. We both have the same goals. I flatter him from time to time and he knows I have interceded with Truman on his behalf. I am not certain how he knows this because T. does not like him. Maybe, like the CIA, Hoover has listened in on the White House telephones.

It will be my job to get Philby in a safe place and drop the safe on his head. My people will use FBI equipment to record the entire incident. If necessary, we will edit the material and give a copy of it to Hoover. Threatening a prominent British intelligence agent makes the very political Hoover very nervous, but to me, it is only a day’s play in the garden.

I have been reading through the files I have on Philby and have my act quite perfected. I have a fellow who has a perfect British accent and will pose as an atomic scientist who wishes to have a “private chat” with Philby. It will take a little doing to get them into contact but since we are listening to the Embassy conversations, we know that P. will be attending a cocktail party. Not much trouble to get our man in there and then let us see what happens.

Sunday, 8 January 1950

A bad start but a good finish. Philby, who stutters and drinks a great deal, was there and in fine form, entertaining everyone including other people’s wives. My man was late because someone stole his automobile and he arrived in a taxi. After about three drinks, he managed to get near Philby and mumble something about atomic bombs. Philby at once seemed to sober himself and took my man aside for a friendly chat. Fortunately, we filled the man with enough accurate information to interest P. and they made an agreement to meet at a room in the Shoreham Hotel on Saturday.

We reserved two rooms with a connecting door and got all the equipment into one room and the dummy scientist into the other. We were very careful to have the adjoining room “rented” to an elderly couple from New Mexico State and had to be even more careful about the identification we used on the room with our man. Who knows what Philby or others of his breed can check out? That the British have a large number of their spies in Washington we know. One must be very careful and assume, as I always do, that even the smallest detail will be checked out.

The plan was to have P. come in and our man would at once hand him some very impressive papers that “he was working on.” Then he would tell P. that he had left the rest down in the hotel safe and would be right back.

Just as I thought, Philby was sitting on the edge of the bed, intently reading through the thick file when I came into the room. I had a pistol and there were three men, including Arno, outside with a key in case I needed any help. The pistol was in my pocket and he never looked up. He even said, “Very nice, indeed. You wouldn’t happen to have a bottle on the premises, would you?”

“Mr. Philby,” I said in such a friendly way, “what a pleasure to find you so far from home.” He looked up very suddenly and shoved the papers inside his coat. “Who the devil are you?”

(I am taking this from the transcription)

“We have met a number of times before. In Berlin, 1939. I had more hair then. Remember? We talked about your papa.” I thought he was going to have an attack of some kind and he stared at me as if I were the very devil, come to snatch him away. I never needed the gun at all.

Philby is an amoral, greedy, needful man who works, or has worked, for anyone who will pay him. He worked for the British, for the “London Times,” for Franco’s intelligence in Spain, gave, or rather sold, information on Franco to the German Thaelmann Brigade, for the Gestapo in general and myself in particular, and finally for the Russians. The latter are the most dangerous because once one begins with them, one cannot just resign. Also, they do not pay well.

Philby is a masculine, pleasant and often entertaining person. He stutters, drinks too much, is a philanderer (who isn’t?) and owes no loyalty to anyone except himself; neither to his wife, his country nor his own honor.

We spoke together for nearly four hours. I will summarize my talks with him.

And I am not going to give Hoover what we originally agreed upon. More later.

Philby, after his initial shock at seeing me again, readily admitted a number of his sins to me. Why not? As I very politely but very firmly pointed out to him, if his Soviet handlers ever found out about his very well documented work for us, they would not hesitate to track him down and kill him. He knows this and I will have no trouble at all with Mr. Harold Philby.

Aside from the Sikorski business that I will note a little later here, (if I don’t get a cramp in my fingers first), he admitted that he was in Washington for one reason: He is here to protect the top Soviet spy in their Embassy!

Philby said that the previous top agent was the First Secretary, Donald Maclean, who has since been recalled for reassignment. I know nothing about Maclean and will have to make inquiry as to what level of secrets he had access to. P. states that he had access at the very highest levels, especially in the atomic bomb program! Philby initially declined to tell me who M’s replacement was but will “think on it” and if the price were right, would tell me.

This, as I said, I will not pass on to Hoover. He is too provincial, has no understanding at all of such matters and is far too much involved in mindless, bureaucratic manipulations to be given anything so valuable (for me at least) and so potentially damaging to international relations.

He is actually quite entertaining and we enjoyed the conversation...after the initial shocks had worn off. He knows that I am not an ideologue and will not expose him as long as he cooperates with me...and as long as I pay him well. Maclean is, I am told, “brilliant but unstable,” a latent homosexual with a very bad marriage, who is “utterly consumed with a terrible hatred for the United States.”

They knew each other in university and Philby said that of all of the proto-communists he had associations with, he, Philby, was the only heterosexual. This I can believe.

He went on about Victor Rothschild, the high-level Soviet spy and socialite, and his little place in London where all the fairies congregated and brought their dockworkers, sailors and amateur boxers. I do not need to imagine things like that. There is enough of that here in Washington.

I didn’t take notes because this was being recorded.

P. knew this because I told him. I am not worried about Hoover watching me and making his own recordings. First, I told H. that the meeting would be next weekend at the American University or Georgetown University libraries. Second, I made certain to avoid anyone who might be following me here. Thirdly, I had the foresight to rent a pair of rooms on the top floor of the hotel, the important one (where the interview was to take place) on the corner of the building. I made certain that there was no one on the roof by putting a man there and the room below was empty. The adjoining room, with the equipment, was occupied by my men and two in the hall outside the room. Besides, Hoover likes to hire the type of serious young men who stand out like turds on a bed sheet and my men know what to look for.

When we finished our long talk, I suggested new, interesting but not damaging talks for a recording for just Colonel Hoover’s ears. It was then that Philby gave me a nice present in return for a small envelope full of American money. (He hates the U.S. but likes their money.) The nice present was information about one Dr. Klaus Fuchs.

I recognize the name. A German Jew who fled Germany in 1933 and came to the West (one source claims Fuchs was not Jewish, ed.). A well-known communist. How he managed to get into sensitive atomic research for the British, and later American governments is beyond me. Philby says British intelligence is “crammed with communists to the Plimsoll line.” This man I certainly will give to Hoover at once so he can get some kind of credit. At this point, I will say to Hoover that Philby is anti-American, sent here to iron out differences between the FBI-CIA and British intelligence.

I also find out that one of his tasks is to find out just how far the FBI has progressed with a decoding of Soviet agent traffic, both from the war and current. He has some luck, but the FBI agent in charge of this is very careful about what he says. The CIA, on the other hand, are a pack of loose-mouthed idiots. We do have some similar views at that.

The Sikorski business came as a genuine surprise to me. We had always thought that Churchill had murdered the Polish leader because he was causing trouble over the Soviet slaughter of thousands of Polish officers. Not so, according to P. He tells a different tale.

P. was in charge of security for the Gibraltar area in 1943. Stalin wanted Sikorski killed, at once. P., in his official capacity, discovered that Sikorski was going to be flying into Gibraltar in July of 1943, and from there to London. The Soviets arranged for Maiski, their Ambassador to London, to fly back, via Gibraltar, and to be there at the same time as S.

Sikorski was as valuable to the British as he was dangerous to Stalin. Maiski’s passenger list included two professional assassins. Both his plane and Sikorski’s were on the airfield at the same time.

The commandant, (of Gibraltar, ed.) Mason-Macfarlane, was asked not to let the two parties meet so S. was sequestered (with his consent) early in the day, allowing Maiski to land and be officially greeted. Later, the Russian was told to leave quickly because the weather was turning bad. When S. and his entourage got into their “Liberator” (a very ill-handling aircraft with inherent control cable problems) it had already been tended to by the Soviets. The rest is known.

I have to believe Philby because I have some small knowledge of this affair. He told me that although the British had nothing to do with this (other than Philby’s treasonable activities), nevertheless, Churchill had been “tipped off” that this would happen and he was so frightened about the possible rupture with Stalin over the dead Polish officers that he said nothing by way of warning.

At his level, this cannot be called murder but merely “furtherance of policy” after all.

Philby agreed to keep me “in the picture” and I have agreed to give him any information, aside from American security material...which I would never do... which might help him in his liaison work with U.S. intelligence.

I concluded with a drink (I had a Cognac and he had three big glasses of whiskey!) and we shook hands on our renewed friendship. I could never trust this man at all but it is not unpleasant to deal with him. He had a number of terrible and amusing anecdotes to tell me about the staff at the Embassy here. Most of them are perverts at best and alcoholic perverts at worst. Almost all of them hate this country and P. will supply me with the names of British (as opposed to Russian) agents working here. We will meet again soon enough and discuss the British spying program in this country. If I agree not to interfere with the ones who are giving him information, he will help with the others. As Lenin said, 'One step backwards for two steps forward.' It is lawful to be taught by the enemy.

And now to bed.

Note later: The recordings will be in my wine cellar and the creative one will be prepared for delivery to Hoover, but next weekend. This will give us some time to do creative editing.

One thing I have noted, and ought to make a study of, is the degree and extent of homosexuality in the U.S. government and most especially in that of England. These miserable assholes seem to be hidden everywhere you look. They support each other; get one another into this or that department where they proliferate like Jews in the banking business. There is no point in attempting to root them out because God alone knows who is a fairy and who is not. This is sort of a pink underground and is almost worth the trouble to catalog. These pests are rampant here in Washington and a normal man has a very difficult time visiting a public lavatory for fear of being accosted by frenzied individuals of some prominence. Given the predominance of Englishmen in this category, we ought to keep an eye on the various locals where they practice their trade. However, bringing this subject up to Hoover ought to be undertaken with some caution. I have revised an earlier opinion of his orientation and have come to the conclusion that his “Special Circle” of friends (some of whom I have met) is certainly highly suspect. Hoover is one who has lived with his mother and I have a great deal of distrust of such people. Like so many others I have encountered in my life, these individuals are rabidly moral.

I do not think Himmler was a pansy but I do recall one incident where he had his own nephew sentenced to death for homosexual behavior. I brought this sorry business to Hitler’s attention and he promptly pardoned the young man. Himmler claimed he was only attempting to enforce his own morality on members of his family. He did a good deal of this moralizing, from morning to night. Better to worry about the condition of the State than the bedroom antics of nephews, nieces and second cousins.

I have had some such people at the beck and call of the Gestapo but not, certainly, for sexual purposes. Handsome and willing young men are excellent bait for those easily tempted, either men or women (or those in between.)

The story of the Cambridge spies has been told and retold ad nauseum over the years but not from an entirely fresh point of view.

England, in the years after the First World War, was filled with frustrated youth, disillusioned by the collapse of their Empire and seeking for positive answers to their collective angst. Many turned to the utopian allure of communism and the universities were filled with young men who eagerly clutched at the tattered hem of Karl Marx’s overcoat, hoping thereby to find salvation.

A significant number of these students were practicing homosexuals, their public school system encouraging the development of such behavior. Since homosexuality was neither socially nor legally acceptable in the England of the 1920s, its practitioners quickly developed a hatred for a society which subjected them to ridicule on one hand and imprisonment on the other.

The Soviets, who long practiced sexual blackmail, found a rich harvest in the universities of England and many of the recruits in their intelligence services later went on to achieve considerable prominence in the British civil service. When rumors of high-level Soviet agents in British intelligence organizations and in their Foreign Office began to surface, both in England and America, the establishment at once went to enormous efforts to protect their own, even to the point of destroying incriminating documents and to persistently lying to American intelligence and other U.S. official agencies.

These upper-class traitors were not only protected from discovery but when it became evident that American investigators were uncovering deadly truths, the spies were not only warned that exposure and arrest were imminent but assisted to escape their completely just desserts.

Dr. Klaus Emil Julius Fuchs, born in Rüsselheim, Germany, in 1910, fled from Germany in 1933 and took refuge in England. He was interned as an enemy alien there at the outbreak of the war in 1939 but was subsequently released, becoming a naturalized British citizen in 1942. Fuchs went to the United States in 1943 where he worked on the American atomic bomb program. Although Fuchs was known in Germany as a communist and while in England had openly admitted his political beliefs, he was nevertheless given the highest security clearances by British intelligence and the American government was assured that he was beyond reproach. In August of 1949, the FBI was able to decode a wartime Soviet message whose contents pointed directly at Fuchs as a spy. The scientist, who had returned to England where he was head of the theoretical physics division at Harwell, finally confessed in February of 1950 and was sentenced to fourteen years in prison as a spy. Released in 1959, Fuchs went to East Germany where he worked for that government in their nuclear program. He died in 1988.

A common theme found in all writings on Soviet espionage concerns the fact that, in spite of his known communist connections, Fuchs was given a prompt security clearance by British authorities, and it was only when the FBI supplied incontrovertible evidence of his treason that Fuchs was finally arrested.

Müller’s information on Fuchs only confirmed what Hoover had recently discovered from his interview with Harold “Kim” Philby.

This theme of strangely careless British intelligence investigative data concerning known communists recurs with dismal regularity throughout the entire period from 1945 through 1955. This carelessness planned or otherwise (and Müller believed it was quite deliberate and makes an excellent case for this), resulted in the complete distrust by the Americans of both the abilities and the loyalties of Britain’s intelligence community.

Philby, whose father, St. John Philby, was a political advisor to the royal family of Saudi Arabia and a staunch supporter of Adolf Hitler. He was interned in England during the war as an enemy agent. His son attended Cambridge University and had there become acquainted with a number of avowed communist students, members of an elitist group called the Apostles Philby later became a war correspondent for the “London Times” and was decorated for his actions during the Spanish Civil War by Franco. Because of his father’s attitudes, Philby joined a German-English friendship group and traveled to Berlin in 1939. It has been long felt in some American intelligence circles that Philby had done more than admire historical buildings while on his visit to the capital of the Third Reich.

Donald Duart Maclean, born in 1913, attended Cambridge and joined the Foreign Service in 1934. He was the son of Sir Donald Maclean, a former Cabinet member in the MacDonald government, who died in 1932. Maclean was sent to the United States in 1944 where he was First Secretary and acting head of Chancery in the British Embassy. During his tour of duty, Maclean had almost unrestricted access to most of the secrets of the American government, especially those of the Atomic Energy Commission. The amount of vital material he turned over to his Soviet handler in New York was incredible and by all accounts, gave Stalin at least a three-year gain in his own atomic bomb program. Maclean also turned over to the Soviets an enormous quantity of other secrets that proved to be of vital importance to the anti-American, expansionist plans of the Soviet dictator.

Müller’s journals contain a wealth of information about British espionage against the United States. Resisting the urge to develop it all in a single chapter, each incident will be reported as Müller wrote it; in proper chronological sequence.

Tuesday, 17 January 1950

Had a pleasant conversation with Hoover this morning about my “great success” with Philby. I have listened to my scripted recording and will have it sent over to him by courier as soon as he has the time to receive him.

Expect to hear from Philby soon enough and I very strongly want to get together with Hoover to see what is progressing with our observation of the British. Also, I have more information to feed to Senator M. (McCarthy, ed.) but let us see what he does with the State Department material. I have been going out almost every night with Bunny and things are progressing very well. Never push these things. She is very intelligent and very determined so one must proceed with placid, yet hopeful, calm. The aunt likes me but I am not interested.

I have been asked if I would like to breed Maxl. He has many famous dog ancestors and a friend of Bunny has a bitch. When she comes into heat (the bitch, not the friend!) I will think about it. I know Maxl would certainly like that. Right now, he is sitting on his basket, next to me in my room, watching me intently. I always wonder just how much dogs really know about what we are thinking? If they do, no doubt he will be frantic with anticipation. A dog’s sex life is so simple. The males smell something delicious, jump up on the ladies, work away for a few minutes and then hop off...at least when they can. And no regrets at all. The bitch has the litter and the male goes his way, waiting for another delightful odor.

Am getting in another shipment of Upmann’s Corona Majors tomorrow. I certainly don’t drink like I did in the last years of the war...I can’t...stomach won’t take it anymore...but still love to smoke. One of my associates remarked that after fifty, all one talks about are the bowel habits, loss of hearing and other things. Probably true, but I wouldn’t know about that. I shall be fifty in April. That is a dismal prospect so perhaps I ought to seriously consider getting married again. Of course, I am officially dead so who would care? Sophie is no doubt happy in her widowhood and we were not a congenial couple towards the end. I remember the last weeks of the war and her insane stubbornness in returning to Berlin. I think she felt she would catch me with little Anna but who knows? Women take an enormous amount of patience, skill and cunning and then they suddenly develop headaches at the wrong time or pout endlessly because you forgot to buy them something.

I have had a chat with Heini about Irmgard. She wants to marry him very badly. Of course, he is quite handsome but especially, he is an American citizen! I think she would marry Maxl if that would get her the green passport. Of course, I doubt if Maxl would be interested. She doesn’t smell quite the same.

I told Heini if he wished to marry I., he had my full blessings. He replied that he did not want to marry her and that she was beginning to be a clinging nuisance. This might present a problem unless I can turn her loose on the brother who is equally as good looking but quite remote from here. Heini says, with much laughter that he is in complete agreement with this program and will begin at once to “soften him up” to the project. I pointed out that the opposite is often more effective and we did enjoy a good laugh. I. came in just then and I had to tell her that we were talking about the Negro in the blackout in New York during the war who had to keep smiling so people could see him! One has to think quickly where women are concerned.

Saturday, 21 January 1950

Excellent news today! Hiss was convicted by the jury and will be sentenced next Wednesday. I hope they put him away for the rest of his life but he will probably be free on appeal for some time. If it wouldn’t make so much trouble, I would turn Arno loose on him but one cannot do that. Of course, he is guilty but the Justice Department cannot use some of its evidence against him because it would reveal how much we know about the Soviet’s activities and point out a few more rodents who will have to be crept up on and whacked with a heavy club. Well, I expect to see mourning bands being worn by the CIA idiots this week.

I was just sent a clipping from a university paper concerning remarks made by Hoover which are interesting...and certainly at variance with what he has told me in the very recent past. According to this article, which appeared on the first of the month, Hoover states that he is strongly opposed to a national police force designed to fight communists! I suppose this is another public relations effort on Hoover’s part because he has specifically stated in my presence that this is exactly what we need. I believe, if I know the man at all, that he is opposed to there being another such agency set up when his own is in place. It makes him look like a civil libertarian, which he is certainly not.

I read a paper not too long ago that discussed Hoover’s role in the Palmer anti-radical raids held after the end of the 1914 war. Wilson was incapacitated with a stroke and the Attorney General, (A. Mitchell, ed.) Palmer, conducted a number of raids against known radicals...that included socialists, communists and God knows how many other groups of political protesters. Instead of surgical removal of the most dangerous, they rounded up and physically deported a very large number of people who were outspoken opponents of the political system. Hoover was in charge of much of this and I must say it was like reading an account of what went on in Germany during the times of the Council Republics. Of course in Germany, we merely shot anyone involved in counter-government activity and here they shoved them onto cattle boats and shipped most of them back to Russia, Poland or wherever.

As most of them were Jews and as I know Hoover hates Jews, I am not surprised that he is so genuinely friendly to me. He assumes that I must be another Jew-hater and keeps asking me about what sort of methods I used on these “miserable people” as he calls them.

When they tried poor Ilse Koch, someone invented the story of lampshades made from tattooed human skin. I suspect that Hoover feels that this was a true story and wonders if he could get a few for his house. The lampshades and the soap made from dead Jews are some of the more grotesque stories made up to enrich the Sunday newspapers.

I once tried to explain to Hoover that our prison camp system was not designed to murder millions of Jews but was intended, mostly, for political prisoners.

Recent books by drooling lunatics about vast gas chambers and millions reduced to soap fat or ashes have no relationship with the truth whatsoever, but there are those who still believe the world is flat or that Father Christmas is coming with gifts for them. Father Christmas should, if he exists, stuff the mouths of the mythmakers with enough coal to heat the boilers of the Capitol building for three years.

Soon, the lunatics will come out with stories about Hitler throwing fat babies into bonfires.

People like Hoover, and Washington...and New York...are filled with them...seem to have no problem with the disappearance of thousands of Jews in Europe and at the New Year’s party, a serving general officer said that the bad thing about Hitler was that he lost the war, but the good thing was that he killed off all the Jews first.

Such wonderful sentiments! Of course he was a General Staff officer here in Washington and never fired a shot in anger. I doubt if a combat general would make such a statement but then I am not entirely certain there either.

I had much to do with the Zionists at one time and felt that they had the right idea in establishing a Jewish state on the old estate as it were. I even assisted their aims in sending our Jews down there. It served two purposes. Hitler wanted all the Jews out of Germany and the Zionists wanted them in Palestine to build a new state. Never worked out. The Arabs hate the Jews and they have the oil. I had to fight the British and the Bormann people over this and gave it up finally.

I have been greatly disappointed to note that instead of building a peaceful state, the sufferers are determined to make others suffer and are now doing to the once-peaceful Arabs what everyone else in Europe has done to them over the last hundred years.

Stalin, like myself, saw a wonderful opportunity of getting rid of his unwanted Jews (and Josef does hate Jews down underneath the pipe-smoking facade) by sending them down to Palestine in boats full. He reasons that the Russian Jews down there will assist the terrorists in taking control of the new state and then Comrade Josef can pose as the protector of the new state, move in and get not only a warm-water port (for which all Russians have lusted since the Ark) but access to all the oil. He was in Persia until Truman forced him out. Why was Stalin there with his troops? To protect the people against the evil West? No, to get the oil fields. And why would Josef support the Jews in Israel? Because he loves them? No, because he wants a foothold there.

Truman knows all about this and won’t allow it.

When he was told that Israel was planning to invade one of the oil-producing countries, he made it very clear that he would oppose this with military force if need be.

No invasion, but the President now has terrible enemies who will continue to work against him. These people will not be thwarted and will have their way. They are already in positions of great power in Russia and now they will try to regain the ground they lost here when Roosevelt died. They see Truman as their enemy, but he is not. He merely will not allow himself to be forced into anything, and unlike Roosevelt, Truman has surrounded himself with other Midwest types and has not filled the White House with Harvard Jews.

They think this means T. is an anti-Semite but he is not. He is a practical, very sincere American whose roots are in the land and not in Harvard or Yale.

Roosevelt did terrible damage to the middle class during his unlamented reign and I doubt if Truman can put things right but at least he will try. And by trying, he will bring down the wrath of all those pinheaded pseudo-intellectuals who loathe businessmen and want to socialize all business with themselves as head of the bureaus that run them. The fact that such imbeciles are heavily Jewish in composition is immaterial to me but not to many others and I can foresee some troubles ahead.

McCarthy has said that almost all of the spies and traitors here are Jews and that he wishes to make a crusade against them! No, this is not the way to go, Joseph, not at all.

The Church is restraining him from making such utterances because the public would not tolerate such things. They do not like Negroes for sure but would resist any attempt to drive them out of the country. Many would secretly wish for this to happen but few would act on their wishes and would be criticized by the others for their brutality.

Many Americans, from what I have heard, also are very angry about the flood of communists who Roosevelt put into office to harass them but would never openly support any kind of anti-Semitic pogroms. This is middle-class morality and one ignores it at their peril.

Sunday, 22 January 1950

We have in the papers, (I am just catching up on the back pile) an interesting story from the 13th of this month. The Hiss people have hired some grossly incompetent Harvard psychologist named (Dr. Harold A., ed.) Murray who “analyzed” Hitler for the U.S. government in 1943. I read a copy of this odd document recently and I must say that my initial impression of psychologists, made years ago with reference to that opium-addict Freud (whom we know from files captured in Vienna was having a sexual affair with his sister!) has not changed. This is about as much of a “science” as Christian Science. I was once introduced to one in Berlin who wanted to work for me, “analyzing” various people, such as Stalin and Churchill. There were people in our government who believed in soothsayers, chicken entrail observers, astrologists and those who spoke with the dead. That’s what happens when a revolutionary government comes into power. Helping Hitler with free sandwiches in the Kampfzeit (early days of the Nazi Party, ed.) then seemed to entitle them to cast the horoscopes of Himmler and other fatuous idiots. I recall the story about the spear of Longinas. There were two originals and neither of them came from the period.

Hiss must be desperate indeed to hire such idiots. We all know that Chambers is slightly strange but I am positive his information on Hiss (and many others) is certainly very accurate whenever it can be checked out.

Last week I had the distinct honor of meeting with Clark Clifford, a St. Louis lawyer who is one of Truman’s top advisors. A tall man with wavy blondish hair that a woman would envy and who looks like a male model, Clifford has heard that I have been giving advice of my own to Truman and wanted to see who, and what, I am. I find him to be an intelligent man with a bloated and exaggerated opinion of his talents. He loves to talk down to people in a well-modulated voice and asks questions which indicate he thinks everyone else is an idiot.

He has no idea who I am but assumes I am merely an interfering and ignorant foreigner who needs to be put in his place to avoid disturbing Truman and deflecting his attention from Clifford’s well-rounded phrases. I pretended to be interested in his boring lectures for some time until I decided to bring the conversation to a conclusion. Clifford had been speaking to me for nearly thirty minutes on foreign affairs, waving his hands around like an Italian tenor in a Verdi opera, when I very politely cut in on him.

“Mr. Clifford,” I said, looking very earnestly at him, “might I ask you a very important question?”

“Why of course, sir.”

“As you can see, I am losing my hair. Could you recommend a good wig maker? Yours seems to be a first class production, I must say.”

That was the end of my conversation with Clark Clifford who became very red in the face and assured me repeatedly and loudly that his hair was absolutely genuine. Genuine weasel or baboon hair?

So much for the King’s counselors. General Vaughn is another thick head. Why Truman puts up with such useless people is beyond me.

Clark Clifford was a long-time advisor to a number of Presidents and once served as Secretary of Defense. He also nearly served a term in Federal prison for an outrageous bank swindle and it was only the fact that he was completely senile that prevented justice from being done. He died, disgraced, in 1998.

Thursday, 26 January 1950

More delights! Hiss is sentenced to five years in the prison but as I predicted, will remain free until he appeals. He doesn’t have a chance.

Well, now that they’ve gotten that one and Harry White is dead, there are a few more like Lattimore, Currie and Wallace who ought to be gone after. We shall see about these but the left wing is stiffening its resistance to the purges, claiming, among other things, that they are anti-Semitic! Nonsense. Hiss and White are both Jews but the others certainly are not. Wallace is of English background and as crazy as a squirrel. The others are “friends of Josef the Saint” and at the least must be discredited. Currie is not even an American, coming from Canada. We should deport him back again. In a box preferably.

(Dean, ed.) Acheson, (Secretary of State, ed.) has made a pubic statement that whatever happened, he did not intend to turn his back on Alger Hiss. Such a stupid and ill-advised man! Hiss had worked for A. and so did his brother who is also a spy. Now there is an uproar here about this stupid statement and demands being made for a full investigation of the State Department hiring policies. Question: Did Hiss sneak in any other communist spies during his days of power?

I had a message from Philby stating that he had information for me and wanted to make contact again. It seems to be a question of money. Always this with him. The Acheson business is nothing for me to get into with the President because T. thinks the world of two men: Marshall (a very efficient staff officer and very cold and heartless) and Acheson (who puts on cultivated airs and impresses Truman very much).

The Admiral (Roscoe Hillenkoetter, retired Admiral and Director of the CIA, ed.) wants to retire and several names have been put forward, strongest among them is General Bedell Smith. I really do not look forward to having that small-minded martinet in above me. He is a man of savage temper who glares at everyone. His bad temper conceals a very weak character and limited intelligence. If I put up with Himmler’s vaporizing, I suppose I can put up with the tin soldier.

Looking through transcripts of intercepted telephone calls to and from the British Embassy is good entertainment. Such elitists! They obviously loathe all Americans from the Ambassador (who is a fairy) all the way down. It is obvious they would like to see the Russians defeat us somewhere just so they can cackle and rub their hands together.

I know that the economic situation in England is terrible with some rationing still in place five years after the end of their war against us. Germany is rebuilding and has even now begun to outstrip England who is prostrate.

Robert talked with me today about the successes of the counterfeiting program we initiated. We discussed instituting another one through the CIA but to what end? The pound is totally destroyed and the ruble doesn’t circulate outside Russia. A talk about printing rubles and dumping them inside Russia to wreck their economy. The Russians are doing it to us so why not do it to them runs the thought.

How would we get the faked rubles inside that enormous jail? Drop them by aircraft? Any Russian caught with faked money would be shot at once and I can see nothing worthwhile coming from this. We could, on the other hand, counterfeit American money and use it to bribe Americans to spy for the British. A few of my men, cunningly disguised as Englishmen, could no doubt get hundreds of greedy Americans to spy for Britain. Of course, we could then catch the spies and embarrass them but both Robert and I agree that this would come to nothing because the government here would suppress the whole thing and never attack the British.

I just got a copy of a secret document from Churchill to Roosevelt trying to goad him into invading Ireland during the war. C. refers to that country as a “nest of Nazi vipers” and urges R. to use American troops to invade. A copy of a minute to R. saying that this would result not only in a disproportionate number of American dead (the Irish are fierce fighters after all) but would cause havoc in the Irish communities here in America. Most vote Democratic in the end. Roosevelt turned this down and Churchill was very angry. I think he hates the Irish almost as much as he hates all Germans. No doubt if the fat fairy had his way, Dublin would be bombed from the air like Dresden and all the inhabitants incinerated.

I have worked with a number of the Irish and find them attractive people with a flare for words coupled with violent temperament. But not bad people and to me, one Irishman is worth ten Englishmen.

Robert, who is Irish, asked me by way of having a joke, if I had ever met a good Englishman since I dislike them so much. I replied that the cemeteries were filled with them and we went on to other matters.

There isn’t too much in progress now, except for paperwork, so I suggested to Bunny that she might like to go skiing with me. She surprisingly agreed (without the aunt at last!) and she wants to go close by and I want to go to Colorado. We will go to Colorado, of course, because with women, I always get my way.

Who can we take? Irmgard likes to ski and Heini has to come along as my bodyguard. I will invite his luscious sister as well. Not for myself (unfortunately) but for Arno who now claims that the sister has become his new interest in life. Since Arno is a good fellow, if a bit too adept with knives and other implements of death, he might make a good match. His activities are not due to impulse but rather business. He would never become a Jack the Ripper and slit up women for sexual gratification. Arno is merely a very cold-blooded man while on the job.

Off, he is a jolly companion and a charmer with the ladies. I have no problem assisting a little romance. I would like to invite his brother to pay some attention to Irmgard. Heini approves with this so I assume both brother and sister will be brought to the marriage market by the two Heinies. Everyone will benefit and it will be like the last act of a Mozart opera when everyone pairs off and sings duets to the audience.

Of course life is not like that but one dreams.

If the brother comes along, Irmgard will get damp looking at him and I am sure we can get him into her bed. I told Heini that he would be all alone and he said a bit of quiet would be just fine with him.

Tuesday, 31 January 1950

McCarthy will be launching his attack against the State Department very soon. I trust he will stay sober long enough to do a good job. With that man, one cannot be certain what he will do. Loud, vain, violent and drunk, but effective enough. Thank God I have no public or official connection with him.

Still, at one time he defended the actions of the LAH (1st SS-Panzer-Division “Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler,” ed.) at Malmedy. My son belonged to the same unit but later on. McCarthy did a good job then so one can forgive him a little.

In California, much fuss about Harry Bridges, an Australian communist labor leader who is on trial. The judge has been fighting with the defense attorneys in the case. No question Bridges is guilty but proving guilt is often very difficult. One can be a pro-communist liberal without being a spy. The trouble here is that the laws are too loosely defined and the swine can slip through the enormous holes. In addition to a national police force to deal with such assholes, we need laws that are very clearly defined so that these escapes prove impossible.

The ski trip has been planned now, very quickly, and everyone is happy, even Maxl who gets to come along as usual. Thank God he is well trained or my compartment would be hip-deep in dog shit!

I got a nice photograph of the brother and left it, framed, where Irmgard could see it. I admit to having a nasty sense of humor about this. I. said, looking at it sideways, that he was certainly “very good looking” and I replied, very seriously that, yes, he appeared to be but he had a terrible physical problem which made life hard for him. She, like all women, was at once curious. “Why he looks very healthy to me.”

“Yes, my dear, he is very healthy but nature was very unkind to him. He has quite a problem with the women because of it.”

“He’s too small?”

“Oh no, love, to the contrary.”

And I held my hands apart as if I was describing a champion trout. I would say now that Irmgard is very interested in brother.

Heini, who does get somewhat disrespectful at times, thought this was very funny and called me a dirty old man. I assured him that I was only in my 40s and bathed at least once a day.

The Roosevelt woman is at the UN and runs about chattering endlessly. Nothing can be done about her, of course, because Truman would never dare replace her. Better in New York than here anyway. Wednesday, 1 February 1950

The trip is on, bags are being packed, Irmgard is getting a new ski outfit (which I will have to pay for) but Bunny has her own, as I do. Heini doesn’t ski but he will now learn and we will pick up brother and sister in Iowa on the way.

I will have to stop this for a time and resume later.

We have three weeks and for various reasons, I am looking forward to it.

Talked with several real estate agents in Colorado and am determined to buy a home there. It will save a great deal of money on hotel bills and give me a place to stay when I eventually retire. If Truman runs again, I will stay here but if not, I think it would be wiser to go elsewhere. Eisenhower has been suggested, very quietly, as a Republican candidate and I must confess that Truman, while in my estimation an excellent president, is not too popular.

I know too much about Eisenhower to want to be around him, and if he ever found out about me, Arno would make the history books, cleaning that little situation up for me.

Early this afternoon, I had the opportunity of inspecting several “very rare and desirable” works of art. A connection at the National Gallery has a friend here who is a private art dealer. A trade with me was suggested.

What rare and wonderful things did we see? First, four pencil drawings by Dürer! They did look somewhat like D’s work but as graphitic pencils were not invented until the last part of the sixteenth century, they could not possibly be original. The next very rare piece was a “View of Delft” by Vermeer. I was told that it had been in the Thyssen exhibition in Munich in the early 1930s. The painting is nothing more than an eighteenth century Dutch landscape with over painting of some of the buildings in Delft.

I have never seen the original “View” in Holland but I have seen pictures of it and I have the extraordinary good fortune to own a very fine, albeit very small, original Vermeer acquired in Russia in 1941 by the Rosenberg people. Having once seen, examined (and owned!) an original Vermeer, no one but a drunken Russian could ever believe this quite ordinary landscape was by that master of technique and light. Vermeer’s paintings glow with an inner light that no other artist has ever approximated. To my mind, V. is the greatest of all painters.

The Thyssen collection, to be sure, has many fine pieces in it but recently, I believe, has added a number of items of very questionable provenience. I ought to know about this, considering what was sold to them by me. T. also had a number of fakes in the pre-war collection. I will keep my silence on what happened after the war.

Of course I had to disappoint my dealer and I told him the drawings were worthless and, if cleaned up of its over painting, the landscape was, at best, worth a few hundred dollars. The frame is worth more than the painting. Long faces indeed and many apologies! Do not teach grandmother to suck eggs!

As we know, the original Leonardo “Mona Lisa” was stolen, briefly, from the Louvre. It was duly recovered but not before the fakers made up a number of copies which were sold, one to someone in Argentina. An individual came to a friend of mine in Zurich in the 30s and tried to sell one of these copies. When the dealer, who has an extraordinary sense of humor for a Swiss, asked the man how it was stolen, he was told that the painting in front of them had been rolled up and hidden in a tube! Considering that the original had been painted on a walnut panel this act defies imagination! People wishing to commit a fraud and be successful with it, had best do their research first.

Enough high humor for today. We must now get down to packing and, hopefully, anticipating a thoroughly delightful vacation from the Great Swamp of Ignorance on the Potomac. I have the names of three real estate people in Colorado and will actively look for property there, now having more money than I know what to do with.

If my CIA associates ever find out about this place, I can be expected to be deluged with all kinds of bootlicking and ass-kissing attempts on the part of my sycophantic friends. Free lodging and food appeals to these assholes. I could do Truman and the nation a great favor by inviting the lot up there and poisoning them all with one of Arno’s little concoctions. I can’t imagine how we could cover that one up. Dozens of contorted corpses wedged in the bathrooms and behind beds, not to mention the vomit and shit all over the carpets. I think that would tax even Arno’s capacity for disposal.

They have those great, rotary snow plows on the railroad and perhaps we could pile up the elite of the CIA on the tracks and stand back while they are turned into frozen sausage meat. When spring came, the local cats and dogs could feast on the remains of the head of this office or the backside of another!

Well, no more writing until we return.

Sunday, 26 February 1950

Back again after a truly wonderful three weeks away from the zoo.

I am looking at an article in the paper that covers a speech made by McCarthy on the 12th to a group of Republican women (at Wheeling, West Virginia, ed.). Had heard about this while I was on the vacation but I did not have the time to check the details.

Much pleasure to learn that M. took one of my own paragraphs and used it in toto.

“One thing to remember in discussing the communists in our government is that we are not dealing with spies who get 30 pieces of silver to steal the blueprint of a new weapon. We are dealing with a far more sinister type of activity because it permits the enemy to guide and shape our policy.”

He got his figures wrong. M. said 57 communists in the State Department but there are actually 85. But the important paragraph he copied word for word from my own paper!

Now the real entertainment starts here and we will see where it goes. The minute I leave the city, we have all manner of interesting things happen. I knew he would start but I would like to have been on the scene. Now, I will have to get all the back papers to see just what was actually said.

Now, about the vacation.

The trip started out well, with some weather problems but nothing overly serious. As I am trying to wean Irmgard away from Heini, I had Heini fake a sprained ankle so he had his own compartment. Irmgard had hers, Bunny had hers and I shared one with Maxl who behaved very well. I had to walk him at various brief stops but all went well and I did not have to put my bare foot into a pile of steaming dog shit when I got up to use the tiny lavatory early in the morning.

We picked up the brother, Charles, and the sister Gloria, in Iowa and they had their own separate quarters. The rest of the party consisted of Klaus (Müller’s cook, ed.) and Arno.

The ski hotel was an older but expensive building and there were a number of wealthy and prominent people there. Some were there for the skiing but others like to sit around in the lodge and play bridge or poker and enjoy the beautiful landscape.

The various romances, including my very own, went off more or less as I anticipated. Bunny and I had a suite and at last we have consummated that which I have worked so hard to accomplish. She is quite good in bed and a great deal of entertainment for me. A sense of humor is as important as physical prowess in these matters.

So much for Bunny. We skied almost every day and went to bed early and rose late. Klaus often served us in the suite that kept me out of the dining room and possible curious eyes. As I planned, Heini could not ski because he does not know how and has this terrible sprain.

Irmgard made an effort to be kind to Charles, or Chuck as he is known, and tutored him every day. On the second day, she vanished into his room and didn’t come out until noon the next day.

Arno, on the other hand, took an extra day to bed Gloria (Sic transit Gloria mundi!) but informed me that he was in love again. Every week, Arno falls in love. I suggested a platonic relationship but then said that the trouble with a platonic relationship is that the woman always gets pregnant. Arno was not amused at all.

He looked rather tired after several days and we saw very little of Heini’s siblings during the stay.

That left Bunny and myself, and sometimes I preferred skiing to sexual romps.

There was a Steinway in the lounge and in the bench, I found a number of musical scores, many over forty years old. I have now discovered one (Scott) Joplin, a Negro jazz musician and writer of ragtime pieces. Practiced a few of these and then one night when it was snowing heavily, Bunny and I decided to play the piano to entertain ourselves. I did a few German ballads (“The Little Rose” for example, which I sang) and she ran up and down the scales. When I mentioned the jazz, she asked me to play a few pieces for her.

I did so and of course was only paying attention to her as she sat next to me on the bench, but I suddenly realized that I had quite an audience around me. People were smiling and beating time with their feet and I finished off the concert with the “Felicity Rag” which is a wonderful, lively piece with a great feel to it. This got a round of applause and afterwards, a man came up to me and introduced himself to me as a New York producer who owned night clubs. He actually asked me how I would like a contract to play this music in one of his establishments!

I was much better dressed than he was and smoking a good Upmann and could probably buy his theater but I took his card anyway and thanked him.

I can hear Walter Winchell saying on that awful program of his: “Flash, America! We have just discovered that the chief of Hitler’s evil Gestapo is playing piano in an off-Broadway theater!” That would put the cat down the rat hole!

Poor Heini couldn’t ski because he doesn’t know how (I promised to tutor him myself later) but he put a brave face on things. He enjoyed my concert and told me that if I ever lost my job, he could get me a position in a Kansas City whorehouse!

So much for the trip.

Irmgard is now in love with Heini’s brother although she told me in some anger that he was not “that large” after all.

Arno whistles around the house, off key, and may well be in love.

One day, I will have to tell Bunny that I am not Swiss. She already knows that because she speaks excellent High German and knows the difference between real German and Swiss German. I told her I was “in business” in Germany before the war and picked up the accent at “school.”

She assumes, as she has said, that I must have a degree from a university. What she does not know is that I had to leave school when I was fourteen and go to work in an aircraft engine factory to help out the family. My father, while a good father and a fine man, is not a business success and never could be.

Everything I have now and have had before, I worked for and very often worked very hard for. Now that there is a good bit of money, all carefully hidden here and there just in case, I can spend what I want and on what I want but the ingrained habits of thrift learned painfully as a child are not easy to shake off.

I gave Bunny a very decent emerald ring set about with diamonds. It is elegant without being ostentatious but she immediately recognized that it was worth a great deal of money. There were protestations but in the end, she accepted it. What she doesn’t know is that it cost me nothing, having been acquired during the course of the last war. If I had to pay for a gift, I would have gotten her a collection of sheet music or a nice scarf (like the one she bought for me). Still, I find that I like her far better than any of the others.

I ask myself: Why? I am not Freud but perhaps because she is a good pianist and likes the same kind of music I do and because she is intelligent and excellent company. The fact that she is a very handsome, patrician woman does not hurt either but the first two factors are the most important ones, believe me.

There has been sufficient writing and I will retire.

The Bible says “Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof” and I can now say “Amen” and go to bed.

Heinrich Müller was a complex person in one sense but quite simple in another. His family was poor and Müller did indeed have to make his own way in the world without assistance from rich parents.

Intense ambition coupled with an incredible ability for hard and effective work made him a success in both the Weimar Republic and the Third Reich. In politics, Müller was a member of the Bavarian People’s Party, a conservative, Catholic entity which was very influential in post-World War I politics.

Very anti-communist, Müller was equally anti-Nazi and his acceptance into the SS and his subsequent progression up the bureaucratic ladder infuriated the old-time Bavarian Nazis who had suffered his persecutions prior to their assumption of power in 1933.

German files are still filled with loud complaints and expressions of outrage that this strong opponent of the Nazi Party was now a rising star in the government. Old Party members were appalled by the fact that Müller was in possession of the sacred Blood Order, only given to Party members who took part in the 1923 putsch in Munich. Müller, after all, was an active member of the Bavarian Political Police who actively opposed the Putsch and were responsible for rooting out and arresting its participants.

The other face of the ambitious, aggressive policeman and bureaucrat could be seen in Müller’s attitude towards his co-workers in Berlin, most of whom had worked with him in Munich. To them, and to his staff, he was not “Herr Gruppenführer” but only “Herr Müller,” or to his friends, simply “Heini.”

Müller was possessed with a strong, if sometimes grim, sense of humor, and candid pictures of him away from his official duties showed him constantly smiling.

Aside from his duties, which occupied fourteen to fifteen hours a day, seven days a week, Müller found relaxation in his piano, in reading, painting (mostly landscapes in watercolor), skiing and mountain climbing, chess (at which he was a master) and finally, in his pursuit of attractive women.

His love affairs tended to be long-standing and semi-permanent and in response to a question from a friend as to why his former lady friends sent him birthday and Christmas cards, Müller’s response that one always started an affair with a smile and always ended it the same way.

To those who would be horrified, not only by Müller’s survival but his successes, the vision of him in an expensive tuxedo, smoking an expensive Cuban cigar and playing ragtime in an exclusive Colorado ski resort will no doubt cause what Müller would have called “a first class case of spastic colon.” It is the victors who always write the first, and very official, versions of history and only later do different, and often very unpleasant, themes and variations begin to emerge for the enlightenment of some and to the fury of others.

Napoleon once said that written history was merely fiction that everyone agreed upon.

The further progressions of Heinrich Müller, his lovers and his friends, will no doubt be a subject of fascination and approbation from some and ill-concealed fury from others. His frank and revealing discussions of the activities of his Gestapo are rivaled by his chronicles of the early days of the CIA and the inside, and hitherto very private observations on the administration of Harry Truman and the activities of such individuals as Senator Joseph McCarthy, “Kim” Philby, and others. Only some of the characters that appear in his journals are enshrined in the pantheon of American heroes, an enshrinement based almost solely on the writings of court historians. More often than not, emperors are not the only ones with new clothes.

Thursday, 2 March 1950

Another coup for me! One of the main secretaries for the agency has now become a great friend of mine. I learned that her mother was in the hospital so I made an investigation and discovered that an operation was needed and there was not a great deal of money for it. I managed to locate an excellent surgeon in Boston and paid him to take care of mama quite properly. Then, after much overjoyed comment from the secretary, who is not particularly attractive...but decent...I very discreetly let her discover that I was the unknown benefactor. Many tears and she even kissed me! I could have done without that because she has dentures and she smells like Camembert cheese! Still, I made my connection.

Now, I had a talk with her about how damned secretive the lunatics were and how much trouble all this secrecy made for me. After all, I had a job to do and they all liked to make it as difficult as they could for everyone. In the end, she now manages to give Irmgard all the important material that I. brings to me and I take into my large closet and carefully photograph everything. It only takes a few minutes and everything goes back to the benefactress and there I am with a wealth of inside information!

It does pay to be kind...at least to the right people! Friday, 10 March 1950

(Judith, Ed.) Coplon and (Valintin, ed.) Gubitchev have been convicted of espionage. Coplon worked for Justice and Gubitchev was connected with the UN. She gets 15 years in the cooler and he is to be deported. State wants this because they are afraid the Soviets might take action against Americans outside this country.

They were lovers and he is an ugly man. Poor, frustrated woman. Now she will pay the price for her glandular urges and he can go back to Russia to his ugly wife.

And McCarthy is firing wildly at anything in sight. He is terrifying all the left wing idiots who were running the country five years ago. I have given more information to him via the usual source, this time, a good deal of it from Hoover who wouldn’t dare be seen near the man. But of course, I can.

Brewing problems between Hoover and the CIA. Long talk with Philby who tells me the obvious: Hoover hates the CIA and is trying to cultivate British intelligence (even though he loathes the British) in the hopes of getting one up on the CIA. This is absolutely typical empire building (and territorial defense) that I observed in the Reich in former days. Always a struggle for supremacy while no one is minding the business of intelligence.

I have opted to support Hoover for several reasons. In the first place, he and I have a more common background. We were both poor and had to work for what we got. He is as anti-communist as I am and his agents are far more professional than anything the CIA has. In the second place, he is crisply businesslike and does not spend two hours a day at very alcoholic lunches. He does not have a degree from Harvard or Yale but is a man of common sense.

The CIA is filled with pseudo-intellectuals, drunks and egomaniacs who have no idea at all about what they are doing. It is actually a psychotic circus with manic clowns running about smacking each other with dead fish and accomplishing nothing at all.

Unlike Hoover, who is basically a very professional policeman, the CIA people are constantly plotting on how to expand their shabby lot, sniping at the President, attempting to set foreign policy and not one of them with any more brains than a ladle.

I have to put up with them and their idiotic schemings to the point where I genuinely prefer to work at home. But of course they follow me there, leer at the paintings, drink my liquor and try to steal my good cigars. I haven’t heard one sensible sentence over there since I started working with them and a good psychoanalyst would find a rich harvest among the chattering apes.

I have already had two sexual encounters with their frustrated and elegant wives and hopefully will have more. And the women do talk to me. Since all of them move in the same, vicious circles, I have to be careful that Bunny doesn’t get wind of my mattress exercises in the little pied-à-terre in Chevy Chase.

Much of the copied material I mentioned earlier goes to Hoover who is entirely delighted.

And Angleton slinks around the offices like some demonic character, a professional poisoner, from Shakespeare or...more to the point, something from the Renaissance in Italy when poison was indeed king.

This man is a poet, as he constantly reminds us, and he feels that he alone can see the dangerous movements of Stalin’s intelligence. I know more about that subject than Stalin, and Angleton knows less than nothing. It is actually very painful to listen to these cretins babbling about their knowledge of their enemy. I have carefully concealed much of my own knowledge and certainly my grasp of the Russian language or they would be after me day and night to give them material for their utterly worthless “position papers” which read like something by Kafka by way of Hasek’s “Schweik.”

The wives, on the other hand, are entirely bored with the heavy drinking, foul language and child-like secrets that their husbands mumble about at garden parties, and are easy pickings. I like nothing better than watching some bleating sheep with a Harvard tie going on about the situation in Italy when the night before, I was educating his wife in certain matters that he could never begin to grasp.

One charming lady told me yesterday evening that her husband is good for about ten minutes once a week...in a good week! Of course the one in question, who smokes a pipe and has leather patches on the elbows of his tweed jacket, spends a good deal of time bragging about his prowess with the women and how his wife can’t keep her hands off of him. Marvelous! He must use Chinese chopsticks for splints.

I refrain from telling Hoover how I get some of my inside information because he is a terrible moralist and I do not wish to upset him. Like all moralists leading a monastic life, Hoover is strangely interested in the sexual escapades of his enemies and he is the terror of his own men who do not dare frequent bars or other suspect establishments.

Drinking and nose painting are not encouraged by the little Colonel!

Sunday, 19 March 1950

Truman, at Key West to warm up, will be out of town in May to dedicate a dam in the west and I promised him a lengthy overview of the recent CIA plans and the cover stories prepared to delude him. I brought up the subject of a little dinner to him and he seemed quite receptive.

Bunny is going to New York for a concert but I am not able to break away and join her. She is talking about a trip to Europe and wants me to join her but that idea is out of the question.

McCarthy is about to attack Truman because T. does not want to release confidential files to M. Of course, he doesn’t want it known about the communist OSS men and there is, finally, some support for Truman in the CIA. I must say that many of them put on a ferocious act concerning the communists when many of them are a good deal more left of the center than they would like to admit. I have been passing some of their background and political attitudes to those who have the real power and at least hope to slow down some of the lunacy. I have fed M. some material on a few of my co-workers and of course they are in terror lest they be exposed.

I must say, I am greatly enjoying McCarthy’s forays and he is sensitizing the press and various other groups to the real dangers of communism here. We need a good cleansing of the Augean stables, packed with twelve years of Roosevelt’s horseshit.

Müller’s journals accurately reflect the growing rivalry between the newly established CIA and the FBI. Hoover was jealous of his territory, was afraid the CIA would encroach on it, and long-established bureaucrat that he was, fought tooth and nail to maintain his position.

Harold Philby kept as far away from Hoover as he could because the latter was anti-British in general and his agency was very actively searching for communist infiltrators in the British services. Neither Philby nor his superiors in London gave anything more than very token cooperation to the FBI in their searches, but Philby himself spent a great deal of time in attempting to discover just how far the Bureau had progressed in their breaking of the Soviet agent codes.

To be continued…