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- BOOKS, Page 86Supermole
-
-
- THE MASTER SPY
- by Phillip Knightley
- Knopf; 292 pages; $19.95
-
- In the extensive postwar literature of espionage and double
- agentry, fact and fiction tend to blur. Was Magnus Pym the name
- of John le Carre's perfect spy? Or was it Guy Burgess? Pym and
- Burgess, Donald Maclean and Toby Esterhase -- characters from
- the shadow world of MI6 and the KGB -- seem equally real,
- equally fanciful.
-
- And so it was with Harold Adrian Russell ("Kim") Philby,
- whose exploits as a Soviet mole inside Britain's Secret
- Intelligence Service seem breathtaking enough to have been
- crafted by a master of the thriller genre. The son of an
- eccentric Arabist, Philby entered Communism's orbit while at
- Cambridge in the 1930s. Carefully disguising those links, he
- joined Britain's SIS and rose high enough in its ranks to rate
- consideration as its potential chief. Yet by the time he
- disappeared in 1963, only to surface in the Soviet Union a few
- months later, it was painfully clear that Philby all along had
- been not only a Soviet agent but also, as Knightley calls him,
- "the most remarkable spy in the history of espionage."
-
- Only experts can guess at how many secrets of the Western
- allies Philby passed along to his Moscow controls, or how many
- British agents were sent to certain death on missions whose
- cover Philby had exposed. When he died last May at 76, he was
- honored as a hero of the Soviet Union.
-
- Philby's is a story oft told -- once, self-servingly, by
- himself (My Silent War, 1968). It seems likely that Knightley's
- will stand as the definitive account, despite its pedestrian
- style: Knightley, a former special correspondent for London's
- Sunday Times, was the only Western journalist to interview
- Philby at length during his last years of semiretirement in
- Moscow.
-
- Oddly, Philby's comments on world politics and on his
- colorful past seem wan and trite. It is almost as if this
- supermole wanted to demystify his own legend, making double
- agentry seem as banal as bartending. The impression of
- ordinariness is reinforced by his chatty letters to Knightley,
- which are cited in extenso. Philby comes across as a slightly
- dotty old Brit, complaining about how hard it is to find
- "bilambees" (an Indian vegetable) in Moscow and fuming about
- the "preposterous" radio commentaries of "the BBC's own Smarty
- Cooke, Alistair of that ilk."
-
- The Soviets amply rewarded Philby for his services: a lavish
- apartment (by Moscow standards), chauffeurs, a plummy desk job
- at KGB headquarters. Yet the only perk he really cared for,
- Knightley notes, was access to artifacts of his homeland: pipes
- from Jermyn Street, books (he liked Dick Francis' mysteries),
- magazines, the Times of London (whose daily crossword puzzle he
- regularly solved in 15 minutes).
-
- Why does the Philby name retain its hold on the popular
- imagination when other Soviet spies have been forgotten? One
- explanation is that despite the fogyism of his final years,
- Philby was blessed with dash and elan; he was a witty boon
- companion, irresistible to many women. Another, Knightley
- suggests with grudging admiration, is that he was a perverted
- idealist who betrayed Britain for a cause, not cash. Finally, of
- course, there is the question of class. Philby had neither title
- nor inherited fortune, but he was distinctly "one of us," as
- Mrs. Thatcher might say. That someone condemned to success by
- breeding and bearing would chuck it all for a utopian delusion
- is always a mystery, sometimes a great madness.
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