Deadly Deceits Read Online Free

and to keep track of all of them it was necessary to designate the cases by city and group number. The Senate Subcommittee on Internal Security was holding hearings as yet another person denied Senator Joseph McCarthy’s charges that he was a Communist. Indeed, this was the second anniversary of Senator McCarthy’s announcement that he had the names of 205 card-carrying Communists who were working in the State Department. The House Un-American Activities Committee (HUAC) was continuing its attack on the reds in Hollywood. The Soviet foreign minister accused the United States of transporting Chinese Nationalist troops to Thailand and Burma. In Korea the fighting raged, while the peace talks at Panmunjom stalled. President Truman in his State of the Union message before Congress warned that the “world still walks in the shadow of another world war.”
    These realities were a part of me. My professors at Notre Dame, the news media, public officials, and my friends all discussed the danger and viciousness of communism and the despair behind the Iron Curtain. No one doubted or questioned our government’s statements; we all believed. It was obvious to me that the monolithic international communist conspiracy was attacking our way of life, our religion, and our allies overseas. Ralph W. McGehee, Jr. was proud and happy to be on his way to help his government.
    I arrived at Washington’s Union Station mid-morning. It was a sunny, bright, cold, invigorating day. A recent snowfall had laid a blanket of pure, virginal snow over the capital. I took a cab from the station up Constitution Avenue. On the right stood the National Archives building with its towering Corinthian columns and its huge bronze doors. On the left the glorious Capitol dominated its hilltop site and that tall proud obelisk, the Washington Monument, aimed its adoration straight at God. He, in His infinite loving wisdom, I was sure, pointed His benevolence back at this great country. It was truly an emotional moment for me. I thought back to my history class where I learned of Nathan Hale regretting that he had but one life to give to his country. Sir Walter Scott said it best: “Breathes there a man with soul so dead who never to himself hath said, this is my own, my native land.…”
    The cab pulled up at the circle at the Washington end of the Arlington Memorial Bridge. I had been told to report to K Building, one of four dirty, gray, wooden structures that had been erected near the Lincoln Memorial during World War II. They looked as if they had not been painted since that time. A formidable eight-foot-high steel mesh fence surrounded the buildings, broken only by a couple of entrance gates. There were no signs to give me any clue about what organization was working inside. I entered at the second gate and the guard directed me to a poorly furnished, rundown waiting room. In about 10 minutes a harried, bespectacled man somberly greeted me, had me fill out some travel forms, and advised me to report the next day to the 9th Street personnel pool. He helpfully suggested that I might find acceptable lodging at the 17th Street YMCA.
    The next day I checked in at the personnel pool located above a large store halfway between Ford’s Theatre and the building that served as the FBI’s headquarters. The head of the pool, whom I shall call Mr. Munson, was a middle-aged, small, thin, kindly man. He at once put me at ease and explained that there were generally about 40 people in the pool at any one time and that they were scattered in four different rooms. They and I were awaiting security clearances, while going through necessary processing. He advised that this was all he could tell me and warned that I should not discuss the tests during the processing since this would be considered a breachof security. Later, various candidates couldn’t resist talking and speculating about why we were there. One person mentioned the