One day before departure to Europe, I hand-delivered a report to the Washington station chief of Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service. The matter was extremely sensitive, and unconnected to the matter I was handling for them.
And so I flew into a London storm, dealt with the matter at hand, and carried on to Monaco.
I had time only for a short walk before cabbing to the Palace for a 5 p.m. meeting with Prince Albert. I sat in the austere anteroom—so quiet you could hear its clock tick—until summoned.
The Prince apologized for keeping me waiting.
“I know your schedule is unrelenting,” I said. “As for me,” I deadpanned, “I’ve survived three assassination attempts between Washington and here.”
“Really?” The Prince’s eyes popped.
“But it wouldn’t surprise me,” said the Prince.
“Not after what I discovered about that name you gave me…”
“Read this,” I said, producing a single sheet from my back pocket, the same way Clair would have done. (Over time, I adopted his mannerisms.)
The Prince read, mouth agog. What he learned excluded this Russian from buying into Monaco’s football team.
“It seems to me,” I said, “that Fedorichev and the person I briefed you on in December are just a small part of what’s going on in Monaco. There are others like them here, and more Russians waiting in the wings. This may be Monaco’s greatest danger in the years ahead. The Red Mafia. The best posture will be preventive action. Stop them from getting here.”
The Prince concurred.
I told him the next step, if he was interested, should be for me to provide him with an overview of how the Russian intelligence services and the Red Mafia perceived Monaco.
The Prince asked me to put a proposal in writing.
Back in London, I hosted two former KGB officers—part of my undercover assignment for the FBI.
At the conclusion of their visit, they bestowed upon me membership in the retired KGB officers association.