MY TRIAL IN RUSSIA

• Document Type: CREST
• Collection: General CIA Records
• Document Number (FOIA) /ESDN (CREST): CIA-RDP75-00001R000300370004-1
• Release Decision: RIPPUB
• Original Classification: K
• Document Page Count: 1
• Document Creation Date: November 11, 2016
• Document Release Date: October 30, 1998
• Sequence Number: 4
• Publication Date: November 10, 1960
• Content Type: NSPR

Sanitip,&:-Aoved For
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one of the guards put on a black duster and
e to follow him. He took me down a short
ned with heavy doors on either side. He
of them and led me into a small cubicle
furnished only with a wooden bench and
CPYRGHT
Kaminsky (r) and Bennett at press conference in Vienna
outside. As a special privilege, they allowed the to
check the water temperature before stepping into the
shower. The shower restored some of my self re-
spect, but my first experience with prison had left
me feeling soiled, not only on the outside. The. Rus-
sians had been persuading me I was dirty to the
core.
A Clean Cell
After the shower, I was handed a "kit," consisting
of sheets, a pillow case and two towels, and led back
to the cell block. The guards opened one of the pad-
locked doors and I stood inside the six-by-l0-foot hole
which was to be my home for the next 40 days: Cell
No. 35, Voldamir St., Third Entrance.
The guard assigned to me, a surly individual, said:
"We don't expect any trouble from you," meaning,
"Stay in line and you won't get hurt" I looked around.
There was a cast-iron cot, a .rather ornate affair with
lion's claws holding the metal frame, a night table,
Sanitized - Approved For Release :
CIA-RDP75-00001 R000300370004-1
Trial
i
The author, who teaches the 1Qtf"Iaii language asked whether he was looking for athlete's-fo
at Purdue University, just three weeks ago was his only reply was a grunt. Then he said that p;'
languishing in a Russian jail, wondering whether ,Tie ers are not allowed to speak.
would ever see a fellow American again. This is The guard gave me the most thorough sdlfi'ch
the fourth of five ivies by the first Anierican to' I have ever been subjected to. He went thiia"rgft 3r
return fi'om Russia after being tried au-d.eonticted hair, looked into my ears, under my tongs,
of espionage.
As M Told o Peter Halt.n
WAS SITTING in the soundproof interrogation
chamber of the KGB (Russian secret police) head-
quarters at Kiev, stunned by what my questioner,
Colonel Lysenko, had just told me: I was suspected
of having violated Article 2 of the Soviet Criminal
Code, dealing with "especially dangerous crimes
against the state."
It was the article dealing with espionage.
I had just been flown to Kiev "for further investi-
gation" of my case. The interrogators wanted to find
out more about why I had tried to take the wrong
checkpoint to leave the country, and why I had kept
a notebook and diary during a month-long motor' trip
through western Russia:' My friend and traveling
companion Harvey Bennett was being held as a mate-
rial' witness, confined to` his hotel room.
Now I was informed that the Soviet government
had ordered my arrest. '
In addition to Colonel Lysenko, a lieutenant colonel
from the Red Army's judge advocate general's office
had been assigned to investigate the "military aspects"
of my' case. His name was Arakchayev: He, too, was
present, together with an interpreter named Adamski..
_ __~ t +hnr T want d to
4nothei guard -arrived,-tossed me a bundle .of
- prisoner's underwear, ed'told me to put it on. 'He
and the other guard then _startedta, go through my
belongings., ter.
After
taking everything from ray. tzpusers,
returned them to men along with -my_ rocks. T4
prison underwear, ipcidentally, looked .like' American
longjohns, with pieces ;' of string to: tie ;around the
-on the table. He pulled o e of my girt~-
pl.ucked at it with ers dud leered.
Then both guano?` ent .~ -y shaving .kit: '
It proved a wonder, ttf' thea~, Like two country,
pumpkins, !they asked,, men hov -to use the push
buttor..shaving creaif'bomb" and some injector
bladgs, and then experimented with them. When I
reached fot' one of the articles tot show them how
to use it, they jerked it away, _Iike'possessiye chic-'
dren.
The guards finally decided -tl}at.` all the articles
in my kit would take too long to list in their labored
handwriting, and postponed that chore till the fol-
lowing day.
Then I was led to the prison bathroom in an ad-
joining building. It was a large room with several
metal shower stalls. When taking' a shower, the
.prisoner is locked inside a stall and handed a bar of
G1-' soap, acid the guards *krq on the water from the
silent gesture toward a crude bucket standing
corner. But all told, the cell was clean.
The guard handed me two bowls for food, a tea
pot and a metal cup. He also gave me a wooden spoon.
Then he left, closing the heavy steel door quietly
behind him.
I was alone for the first time since my detention-
alone -to think, alone to worry, more alone than I had
ever been. Moscow, the U. S. Embassy, my family,
even Harvey Bennett, only a few miles away, seemed
hopelessly removed from the reality of this Soviet
1en minutes er small peep o e was opene
in the door arid a woman asked me for my food
containers, returning them with a nondescript meal.
I cannot remember what I ate. I was nervous and
tense as I swallowed a few mouthfuls'
They! I made my bed and went to sleep. I surprised
myself by sleeping like a log-once I had accustomed
my eyes to the glare of the 100-watt bulb shining
straight down.
The Prison Routine
I was awakened by a guard banging on my door
and yelling, "Padyom!" ("get up!")
The prison routine never varied: wakening at day-
break, toilet buckets emptied at 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.,
breakfast at 8, an hour's exercise at 9. My exercise
was carried out in isolation from other prisoners.
During my entire detention, I never saw other
victims of the KGB. But I heard them, pacing above
me at night. Sometimes there would be a thudding
overhead, as if someone was banging furniture on
the floor of a cell. And I don't know whether I im-
agined them or not, but at times I thought I heard
faint screams from nearby.
Each day there were ceaseless rounds of interro-
gation and "depositions." But now the line of ques-
tioning had changed. No longer was I being bullied.
My questioners had split into a neat team, tossing
the ball of fictional fact and emotional attack skill-
fully back and forth between them-with me in the
middle.
The nine-day ordeal with "Grindstone," my tor-
mentor at Uzhgorod, already had broken down most
of my mental resistance and left me confused.
~...,~_..,-. -
np-
ust as soon speak in their languages : _
I said I would Just-
and would need an interpreter only for the clarification
of the fine points of Soviet law.
Lysenko ,;said that what was happening now was
an "official inquiry," and that everything I said from
this moment on would be considered evidence, and
could be used against me. .
'
I Learn My 'Rights
Then Arakchayev pulled;; out 12 gray-bound copy
of -the Soviet Criminal Code and began to read to me
my "rights" as a sus'Vect. Among them were:
tion was made of a right to refuse an answer.
qThe right to admit my guilt. When I asked
about the Fifth Amendment, or a similar provision
under Soviet law, my question was brushed off as
"capitalist nonsense." - -
lIThe right to complain about unfair treatment
by the Interrogators. But their previous attitudes
already had demonstrated how much good this
"right" would do me.
I then asked about my right to counsel, and about
my right to see a representative of the U. S. Embassy.
Lysenko answered: "You have a head on your
shoulders. You are your own counsel in this investiga-
tion. And as for seeing someone of your embassy, the
answer is-no!"
This opening exchange, and a repetition of my
personal history, all strictly for the record, t6ok up
most of my first afternoon at KGB headquarters. At
7 p.m., Lysenko asked me whether I was tired, and
when I told him that I was physically and mentally
exhausted, he said: "It's been a long day, and we
will let you rest." But there was a lot to be done
before I could go to bed.
He told me tp put my hands behind my back, but did
the headquarters building. We crossed the yard
the door, which seemed to be the day room
after they were released by the Russians.
Colonel Lysenko and Lt. Colonel Arakchayev knew
that by now I had been made to feel guilty of a
crime I had not committed. And they started dan-
gling the lure of a "glorious life" in the Soviet Union
before my eyes. r - _-- _
"You are a fine physical specimen," they would
say. "Once you have paid your debt to Soviet society,
why not stay here? We shall provide you with a
decent job. Wouldn't you like to stay?"
Alone in my cell at night, away from the ques-
tioners and their torments, I could think only of
one thing: how I could get out of Russia. Would
I ever see my hometown, my parents, my girl again?
I even thought of suicide.
Then one day, after a ten-hour interrogation, Ly-
senko gave me electrifying news. He told me that I
was to appear the next day before the prosecutor
who would "prepare" my case and who would de-
cide whether I was to be tried for my suspected
crime against the Soviet state: espionage.
An American Tourist Is 'Accused of Spying;;