Saturday, December 31, 2016



(THE GULAG)--Following Google 3D image now available--



(THE GULAG, SIBERIA)-- Another background note from the files--

By TOM TIEDE CENTREVILLE, Md. (NEA) a- Bartow Van Ness just can't believe it. Just "can't believe it.''
Here he was, living most of his life in this tiny town, minding his o‘vn business as the sediment Control officer, asking nothing but a little decency and a chance to salute the flag during the high school football game. And then all of a sudden — "all of a sudden" — in come these Communist infiltrators. Yes, Communist infiltrators, to plant their flag right on the banks of the Chester River.
M'God. The Russians have come, the Rus-sians have come.
It had been rumored for a couple of years. Word was that the Soviet Emboss` in nearby Washington was negotiating a deal to buy 45 acres of vacation retreat land just outside town at Pioneer Point.
Bartow Van Ness, a John Birch Society member and chairman of the Support Your Local Police Committee, was one of the first to protest. So were the county commissioners. Said one of the latter, in a gripe to the U.S. State Department: "We don't want a Russian flag in Queen Anne's County."
But it happened anyway. Last March Soviet diplomats concluded an agreement to buy the 45 acres. including two large mansions there-on, for just over $1 million. Short while later some exploratory Russian limousines began showing up in the area. Then a couple of river cruisers. Somebody started the rumor that a submarine was spotted in the Chester. And, Lord, the town was flapping: "This is the big-gest thing around here," says one woman, "since those college kids went nude in Chester-ville."
The submarine, of course, proved mythical. So did some other stories about radar antenna, frogmen and parts for MIG jets. But the Rus-sian presence here in Centreville, America, is established fact.
The land they bought is not onl■, Ow►'s, but is now in effect Russian soil. Ilicy have erected "Keep Out" signs at the cntranue. They ha\ e constructed a Sears-Roebuck chain-N% I e !ICC on the adjacent roads. And they '\ asked local law enforcement officers to help guarantee their privacy. `They're here to stay," says Bartow Van Ness III, fuming, "like it's Moscow. Somebody in tow► has sug-gested that we change the name of our river to the Volga."
Van Ness is the most outspoken opponent to the Russian presence. He says his reasons are simple: "Leopards do not change their spots. An FBI report of recent years states that a large majority of Russian diplomats and em-bassy personnel are intelligence agents and spies. Communism is not mellowing as some Nvould have us believe. It is a totalitarian Wm of government. I have no quarrel v ith the Rus-sian people themselves. But I don't want their ideology in this country, in this communit).''
Others in town, equally ant i-Russian, have different complaints. The county commission-ers lament the fact the new Russian land en-joys diplomatic immunity, thus the area will lose $10,000 in property taxes every year. A man outside the police station says he doesn't like the idea of the land being fenced off, and wonders if "the bastards will shoot tres-passers." Somebody else states simply that "we are not allowed to buy land in Russia, so why should they be able to buy land here?" Not everyone, naturally, is so chagrined. Tony Kontos, 77, a Greek immigrant, a restau-rant owner, a "George McGovern man," and a "good citizen for nearly 50 years," welcomes the Russians.
"They are gentlemen," he says. "They come into my store for a beer and they con-duct themselves well. Why should we not wel-come them? We are not at war. I remember when they first came, there was this Jewish organization in New York, those kooks, the Jewish Defense League.
4.They said they were going to come down here, for God sake, and protest the Russians because Jews arc oppressed in Moscow. For God sake. Well. the Jaws may be oppressed in Moscow, but they damn «ell aren't here. We got one J('I\ in town. Ile owns the furniture store. First thing the Russians did when they came was to buy $7,000 \r wilt of new decora-tions from him."
The furniture deal won a number of towns-folk over to the side of live and let live. Mid where money hasn't talked, the Russian diplo-macy has. They haven't caused a peep of trouble," says one law officer. Indeed, except for trips to the Acme supermarket, and stops at Tony Kontos' restaurant, the Russians stick to themselves, at their retreat, away from in-c►lent potential. During the weekday, a small tuntingent, mostly children, live on the land. Weekends the group grows to as many as 70, including, on occasion, Ambassador Anatoly F. Dobrynin. Whatever the size of the group, how-ever, it stays well hack on the land, barely visible from the road, and separated by many acres of open field from their nearest neigh-bors.
Some of the neighbors, by the way, provide a touch of irony in the whole matter. The pres-ident of an insurance company lives nearby, the top executive of the Maryland National Bank does, too. There is even a retired general in the neighborhood. Capitalism and commu-nism. "Man," says one observer, "talk about coexistence."
But if the Pioneer Point dacha has become, in recent weeks, one of quaint chuckling rather than squabbling worry, there are still some in town who believe that, well, "there goes the neighborhood." The neighborhood is almost Mason-Dixon, pink plastic flamingos on the lawns, staunchly conservative — and among those who want to keep it this way is Bartow Van Ness III : "If the Russians are allowed to come and live here, who knows, the Red Chi-nese may be next."




(GULAG NORTH, SIBERIA)--Following more background of the Russian spy HQ in MD.--

The Gettysburg Times (Sept 26, 1974)--


Charnita Sold Raskob Estate To Russians

CENTREVILLE, Md.(AP) -- Soviet diplomats are living in grand style at their Eastern Shore retreat, stocking it with comforts that would have made a czar envious. After buying a luxurious es-tate at Pioneer Point for more than $1 million, the Russians acquired two yachts, imported a speedboat for waterskiing, in-stalled air conditioning, im-proved the tennis courts and touched up the swimming pool. The resort, formerly owned by businessman John Jacob Raskob, includes two mansions on. 40 tree-shaded acres with sandy beaches along the Cor-sica and Chester Rivers. Victor Ivanov, resident man-ager of the estate, says the re-sort is used for relaxation by Soviet diplomats and their lam-ilies who come from Washing-ton, often in groups of about 50. They amuse themselves play-ing tennis, soccer, table tennis, fishing, skiing and swimming, Ivanov said. At one recent party, the So-viet diplomats invited local government officials and pro-vided seemingly unending sup-plies of lobster, vodka and cav-iar. "You'd think they were capi-talists," one neighbor com-mented. Editor's Note: The Eastern Shore retreat is part of a 1,5+00-acre tract previously owned by Charnita, Inc. The Soviet gov-ernment purchased the 30-room Raskob mansion and a 14-room guest house on 40 acres about two years ago from Charnita President Charles G. Rist.





Soviet goons of spy fiction replaced by sophisticated pros

By TOM TIEDE CENTREVILLE, ma. (NEA) — In 1972, when the Soviet Embassy purchased a summer retreat here on Chesapeake Bay, the local residents complained angri-ly. They knew the embassy employed spies, as well as diplomats, and they did not want to be neighbors with an oafish cloak and dagger set. There were fears of hulking Communists with gold teeth and hidden guns. One protester said the Russians would send in submarines to pick up military secrets. Some people thought the summer house would be a haven for wild-eyed bomb throwers, and fathers were warned to keep their daughters indoors. Well, times change. Today the Russians visit Cen-treville in peaceful repetitionttItta way, they are almost welcome. They are orderly an011inist, they have made substantial improvemements5.4o their 35-room Tidewater mansion, and, in addition, they spend hard cash in the area stores. The whole affair says something about rural misconceptions of strangers. It also says a lot about the old time view of Communist spies. The agents who've been coming to Centreville for the last decade haven't been barbaric brutes; they've been well mannered and genuinely friendly family men.
And that's just the way the Kremlin wants it. U.S. of-ficials say the Soviets have tried hard in recent years to pull the gold teeth from their intelligence corps. The result is that the goons of spy fiction have been replaced by some of the most sophisticated professionals in the espionage world. That doesn't mean the agents are any less threaten-ing. On the contrary, the FBI thinks the Russians are stealing more American secrets than ever before. "But they do it in an artful and modern way," says one government counterintelligence expert. "The Soviets have made spying a science." At least they have made it a primary vocation. And 50,000 Russians are said to be working full time in the job. Most of them belong to the Komitet Gosuudarstvenony Bezopasnosti, or the shadowy KGB. The FBI estimates that about 1,500 of the secret agents are in the United States. Those who are here are said for the most part to be college educated and trained in social graces. They have spent up to two years at the KGB school in Moscow, and many of them have also been enrolled at the Institute of American Studies there. Some of them speak colloquial English as if they were natives.
Oafs they aren't. Many of the spies in the United States are more middle class than they are monstrous. They join the nice clubs, they go to the movies, they watch their children grow. The people in Centreville say the Russians seem to drink a lot, when they eat out, but so do the other people here. In fact, Centreville, residents say the principal dif-ference with the Russians is that. they are unusually curious. They ask endless questions. They collect papers and brochures. Some of the locals say they sometimes discuss politics with the Soviets, because "It can't hurt anything can it?" Actually, it can. For this is the way the Communist spies gather intelligence today. They still recruit in-formers, and they still plot clandestine intrigue, but in the main they simply nose around. The FBI says they may steal up to 90 percent of their secrets in bits and pieces. Thus they engage in small conversation. And they save every scrap of printed paper. They attend congre-sionai : na ri ngs , they take corporate tours, they go to libraries throughout the land. Sometimes they also visit chambers of commerce, just to pick up the reports of regional businsses.
They read too, of course. The FBI thinks they pro-bably subscribe to every major periodical in North America. Some of the newspapers tell them which way the winds are blowing, and some magazines, such as Aviation Week, contain a remarkable amount of technical and militarily useful data. Not everything is crucial, of course. The Russians in Centreville read weekly newspapers that speak primari-ly of menhaden fishing and the fortunes of people who grow their own tomatoes. One local gas station operator says the Soviets who stop by his place like to chat on about the Washington Redskins. But the FBI thinks it all adds .up. Even here on the rural banks of the Chesapeake. The modern Russian spies have one thing in common with ham-fisted agents they've replaced, and that is persistence. "They know what they want," says one government observer, "and too often they get it." They get it by looking, by talking, and by dull and cloakless routine. And if that doesn't work, there is always the old-fashioned way. The Soviets' Centreville retreat is equipped with enormous antennas, for in-stance, and they can apparently listen to military messages up and down the Eastern seaboard.