In early June 1984, a bespectacled nearly thirty-year-old man with a dimpled chin, chubby cheeks, and wavy, receding hair left his modest apartment in Washington, D.C., and walked two blocks to the fashionable Hilton Hotel, spread across seven manicured acres at 1919 Connecticut Avenue. In the lobby, a sumptuous space lit up by a massive crystal chandelier, he glanced around and located the person he had come to meet for lunch, a stranger to him until now. After a quick consultation, the two decided to eat in the Hilton’s refurbished coffee shop, at a corner table where no one would overhear their conversation.
Hilton Hotel, Washington, D.C. —SHANNON OLIVE
It was a watershed moment in the life of this man—the first step in the culmination of a lifelong dream. For the guardians of America’s national security, it was a disaster in the making. Jonathan Jay Pollard, a naval intelligence analyst, had recently been temporarily assigned to the ATAC, a newly established division of the NIS. As a watch stander, he was responsible for answering phones, interpreting classified information about potential terrorist activity, and writing draft reports for review before they were disseminated to the fleet. His position gave him access to the most highly classified material the defense intelligence community possessed.
His lunch partner, Israeli air force colonel Aviem Sella, was a striking, articulate man with a slightly pointed chin and a lean, trim build. A famed fighter jock and an Israeli national hero, he was the exact opposite of the bookish, baby-faced Pollard, who had been a social outcast for much of his life. Some said that Pollard was a wise guy and a troublemaker, a flamboyant, loose-lipped person who invited insults and basked in attention, whether positive or negative. The analyst claimed he was harassed because he was Jewish. Whatever the case, he had spent much of his life on the sidelines, and like many a sidelined youth, over the years he developed an active fantasy life. During his undergraduate years at Stanford University he told a lot of far-fetched tales, most notably, bragging to acquaintances about working for the Israeli foreign-intelligence agency Mossad and being a colonel in an elite Israeli army outfit. He dreamed of someday becoming a real spy. Now, after years of longing for it, his opportunity had arrived.
In the annals of spy lore, the encounter at the Hilton would have been laughable had it not led to such a disastrous result. Both the analyst and the air force colonel were wet behind the ears. Though, in the past, Pollard had tried to pass classified information off to various people, his attempts had been bungled. Despite all the big talk about working for Mossad, there is no indication that up to this point he had ever given someone classified information for money. As for Sella, he was a pilot and a student, not an intelligence operative. Currently he was attending New York University, working on his doctorate in computer science and raising money for Israeli bonds by lecturing about his combat missions. Sella was an excellent speaker, well known throughout the New York Jewish community for the riveting accounts he gave of his legendary exploits. But he knew little about the art of recruiting a spy.
When the two men met for lunch, both were nervous. Colonel Sella didn’t know what to expect from the figure sitting across the table from him. Sure, someone had sung Pollard’s praises, saying that he was a brilliant man and an ardent Zionist, but the person who made this claim was just a passing acquaintance. Was the colonel doing the right thing? Sella made up his mind not to say much of anything other than impressing the analyst with his background. He would just listen to what Pollard had to say and report it to his superior at the Israeli consulate in New York City, Yosef Yagur.
Although Pollard had his own reasons for being cautious, by nature he was less inclined to hold back. No sooner had they met than he pegged his lunch companion as the Chuck Yeager type, and his nerves began to settle. Before long, Sella was telling Pollard that he had shot down Soviet-piloted MiG aircraft over the Suez in 1969, and Pollard was addressing Sella as Avi. Anyone with Russian blood on his hands is all right with me, Pollard thought, and he began giving Sella a detailed description of the high-level access he had working for the ATAC.1
Israeli Air Force Colonel Aviem Sella. AP/WWP
Pollard cited specific examples of what he could get his hands on, including documents classified TS for top secret and SCI for sensitive compartmented information, the U.S. government’s highest classification level.2 He had access to classified materials housed at the Defense Intelligence Agency (DIA), the CIA, the National Security Agency (NSA), the Naval Intelligence Command (NIC), the Naval Intelligence Support Center (NISC), and the National Photographic Interpretations Center (NPIC), among others, and he knew how to exploit security “chasms.”3 The analyst was blunt: he wanted to work as an undercover agent for Israel. His ultimate goal, he admitted, was to immigrate to Israel, but for now he was willing to stick with his job and exploit holes in the U.S. intelligence system on behalf of the Jewish homeland.
Sella was stunned. What this fellow was telling him was so incredible and so bold that, thinking it must be a setup, the Israeli glanced around the room to see if anyone was watching. “I can’t believe that security is so lax in the U.S. government,” he said with a skeptical look.
Pollard, a nonstop talker, kept chattering away about his access, claiming that he could get signal intelligence in addition to technical information. His manner was so convincing that Sella in turn began to relax. No one could be this bold and sincere at the same time. Pollard must be telling the truth.
The colonel had already been authorized by Yagur to set up another meeting as well as a clandestine communications plan, but only if he believed Pollard to be sincere. By now, Sella was sold. This was a golden opportunity, one that he couldn’t let slip through his fingers.
Leaning forward on his elbows, Sella said they were going to set up a communications link using pay phones near Pollard’s apartment. The analyst should locate several phones and write down their numbers. Not wasting a second, Pollard catapulted out of his seat and told his companion to wait right there, he would be back soon. About twenty minutes later, he returned to the coffee shop with the numbers scribbled on a piece of paper and handed it over. Sella assigned each phone number a one-letter code from the Hebrew alphabet.4
The plan was that the colonel would ring Pollard up at his residence at a specific time and give him the code letter that corresponded to a given pay phone. As soon as Pollard heard the Hebrew letter, he was to hang up, go to the appropriate phone, and wait for Sella to call with further instructions.
The colonel told him to bring to their next meeting anything he could get his hands on about Saudi Arabia and Soviet air defense systems. He needed several samples of the types of classified material to which Pollard had access. Then Sella began pushing the button to test his companion. In June 1981 the colonel had led a raid on a nuclear reactor facility in Tuwaitha, Iraq. He had been only verbally briefed following the mission and was dying to see the damage inflicted. Could Pollard produce satellite photos of the outcome?5 Sella figured that if there were any such photographs being held by the United States, they were probably coded top secret. That would be a good test of Pollard’s claims.
When lunch was finished, the two men parted ways with a warm handshake. Sella promised he would soon be in touch.
If the meeting had started with nervousness on both sides, it ended with joint elation. The colonel was under the impression that he would be Pollard’s operational case officer. This was far different from downing Soviet MiGs, but it was thrilling just the same. As for Pollard, he was in his glory. Although the issue of pay had not been mentioned, for years he had been dreaming about espionage, and now here he was, exiting the Hilton with a secret code already established, an Israeli war hero as his handler, and a virtual warehouse of highly sensitive defense material to disclose. And this was only his first meeting. . . .
Barely keeping his joy in check, he hurried home. Pollard had a girlfriend, Anne Henderson, with whom he shared everything. Before his encounter with Sella he had told her about it, saying this was his big chance to help Israel, and she had encouraged him to go forward with the meeting. Now, as soon as he walked through the door of his apartment, he spilled everything to Anne. His dream was coming true. Not only was he about to become a spy for Israel but also, he was convinced—though no promises had been made—Israel was going to pay him. He and Anne were on their way to a better life.
“Insider betrayal is the most dangerous threat to our national security and national economy.”
RON OLIVE
Special Agent, NCIS