2

January 31–July 28, 1952

ST. PETERSBURG, FLORIDA

My thoughts go back a little over three months to the beginning of this strange adventure in my so-called illustrious career. A bit of reflection is warranted.

First, though, let me tell you about my fun-filled vacation in Florida!

I spent way too much time in a hospital in St. Petersburg, recuperating from The Mishap. That’s how I refer to it—The Mishap. Sounds like the title of one of those cheap Hollywood crime movies that feature cynical, hardboiled detectives, crooks, and seductive, but dangerous dames. I love those pictures. Anyway, The Mishap …

My job was supposed to be as an “observer” for the CIA on a case that involved a SMERSH operative based in Harlem. SMERSH is a Soviet outfit that runs counterintelligence agencies. One of the group’s tasks is to assassinate Russia’s enemies—spies, political figures, you name it. Sometimes they even kill off their own people if somebody screws up. Suffice it to say, they’re not very nice.

This Harlem gangster also had businesses in Florida and Jamaica. The British Secret Service was handling the bulk of the operation, and it turned out the agent they’d sent was a friend of mine. He was one of the best men on their team, a Double O, in fact. Those guys are the tops. I’d first met him in France while I was still working as part of the Joint Intelligence Staff of NATO in Paris. Several months after what I refer to as the Casino Job, I was transferred back to the States and put through the works in Washington in the fall of ’51. It all happened quickly before the New Year—the brass moved me to New York and I started working out of the tiny CIA branch there. A cozy one-bedroom garden-level apartment on Bank Street in Greenwich Village became my residence amongst the jazz clubs and all the up-and-coming Bohemian artists and weirdos—not that I minded that, I thought it was great. I settled in for an interesting stint in Manhattan. It beat D.C., that’s for sure.