TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/090489/09048900.040

Text File | 1992-09-23 | 5.7 KB | 118 lines

                                                                                NATION, Page 16

My Lunch with Felix


A correspondent's very public encounter with a suspected spy

By Bruce Van Voorst


    For Felix Bloch it was "just another day," but a meal with
him last week at Washington's posh Jockey Club took place under
the watchful gaze of FBI agents two tables away, while a posse
of reporters and TV cameramen waited outside. Two months have
passed since the State Department accused Bloch of contacts
with a Soviet agent, setting off a circus of public surveillance
but no formal charges. Yet as Bloch sipped a vodka tonic and
spoke angrily of the "F Bureau of Incompetents," he seemed
little changed from the career foreign-service officer I have
known for more than 28 years. "I guess the bottom line is they
don't have a case yet," he said.

    Bloch, 54, appears much more dynamic than the stiff-necked,
melancholy personality portrayed on television. Always a
meticulous dresser, he suggested that we meet "someplace where
you need a coat and tie" in order to keep the casually attired
press mob outside.

    "Do you really think I'm dour?" he began, referring to a
description of him in a recent issue of TIME. It seemed an odd
concern for a man at the center of the most serious State
Department espionage scandal since the Alger Hiss affair. But
perhaps Bloch's preoccupation with the media is understandable:
he carried with him a color photo of a woman knocked to the
ground in a supermarket by a burly TV cameraman who had been
tracking Bloch's grocery cart. "That's the way it is nowadays,"
he said, sighing.

    Some suggest that Bloch enjoys his notoriety. Yet he has
rejected a barrage of telephone calls and messages from Diane
Sawyer asking him to appear on Prime Time Live and from Mike
Wallace for 60 Minutes. Bloch plays along with the reporters who
dog his every step. "Longevity runs in the family," he cautions.
"This could go on for another 35 years."

    With the skill of a veteran diplomat, he dodges questions
about espionage. "There have been no charges," he said at
lunch. What of the Government's statement that he had been
involved in a "compromise of security"? "What's a `compromise'?"
he asked coyly. Anyway, he added, "there's no evidence of a
compromise."

    Does that mean he is innocent? Bloch paused an agonizing 30
seconds. "I can't comment on particulars, for then I must
comment on the whole." He has heard that a federal grand jury is
investigating. "What more can they learn?" Bloch asked. "They
have all my papers and have talked to all my friends and
colleagues."

    Bloch's attitude toward the investigation is ambivalent. At
his first FBI interrogation, on June 22, he not only surrendered
his diplomatic passport, as he was required to do, but
volunteered to give up his regular passport as well. He says he
agreed to permit the FBI to search his car and apartment without
a warrant and even reminded the agents to check the cellar
storage space. But when Bloch and his wife Lou returned from a
trip to New York City, they found a valuable chandelier cracked,
the windows open and the air conditioning running. They
submitted a bill to the FBI. To Bloch's great irritation, the
FBI also confiscated his private papers and only belatedly
returned a checkbook, with just three blank checks, so he could
pay some bills.

    Angered by intense surveillance in New York City, Bloch took
to marching up one-way streets, causing traffic tie-ups as the
pursuing FBI autos bucked oncoming cars. At intersections the
FBI held traffic, but Bloch chose to let cars back up while he
waited for a green light.

    In Washington, to ease the FBI's burden, Bloch generally
tells agents where he is headed. Even so, as one agent allowed,
there have been some fender benders caused by the troupe. In
front and back of Bloch's Washington apartment, FBI agents sit
in autos, the motors running, smiling wanly at passersby.

    Still, Bloch does not play the deeply wronged innocent. A
self-described fatalist, he is stoic. "Life is unfair, that's
it," he said. "I don't expect anything else." Can he endure the
pressure? "I know people think of suicide," Bloch said, "but my
roots are in Vienna, where everybody thinks of suicide all the
time." Thinking and doing, he seemed to be saying, are two
different things.

    Acquaintances have searched in vain for an indication of
what might have motivated Bloch's espionage, if indeed the
Government's suspicions are justified. Money is an unlikely
answer. He still earns $80,000 a year from the State
Department, and his wife has additional income. Except for their
$328,000 apartment, Bloch has modest tastes. He seems satisfied
with his books, the theater, his stamp collection and a glass
of good wine. Bloch resented serving under politically
appointed ambassadors in Vienna, but his real complaint is with
the State Department's failure to consider him for appointment
as Ambassador to East Germany, and his later lack of success in
becoming Deputy Ambassador to the Hague or Consul General in
Munich, even though he had the backing of his immediate bosses.

    Is he guilty? Bloch's Talmudic refusal to deny everything
leaves the question open. After lunch we stopped in the men's
room, where an FBI agent rushed in, standing, staring and
listening as we washed our hands. Bloch agreed to meet again,
"providing I don't defect to East Berlin before then.

    "Just kidding," he added, smiling at the agent. Outside,
Bloch headed toward Dupont Circle, trailing agents and media
like the Pied Piper. "The guy's got guts," mused one agent as he
rejoined the procession.