America washes its hands of torpedo 'sleuth'

By ROGER FRANKLIN

NEW YORK - Of all the riddles that surround the destruction of the Russian submarine Kursk, perhaps the most baffling concerns a stooped and ailing American professor who has spent the past five months in Moscow's notorious Lefortovo prison.

His name is Edmond Pope and, if there is even a shred of truth to the whispers about what he was doing when Russian secret policeman arrested him with a satchel containing $US40,000 ($93,962) in cash, the former United States Navy officer may well be the unluckiest of souls: an amateur spy whose masters have decided to leave him out in the cold.

Wherever the truth may lie, one thing is certain: apart from the Russian technicians who designed and built it, Pope is probably the world's foremost authority on one of the most remarkable weapons ever hoisted on board a ship of war. The Russians call it Squall - a wedge-shaped, rocket-powered torpedo with a blunt, boxy nose that US defence analysts are convinced can break the sound barrier underwater. According to Moscow prosecutors, Pope was trying to purchase the torpedo's blueprints when he was taken into custody on April 3.

His wife, Cheri, insists Pope is innocent in every sense - nothing more sinister than a tweedy physicist who made the mistake of placing too much faith in his Russian hosts.

That is one view. The other perspective, that of the Pentagon and the CIA, sheds even less light for it is nothing but an embarrassed silence.

"Washington has abandoned us," Cheri Pope lamented recently. "My husband served his country for 25 years in the Navy and now, well, he's a non-person. Apart from our local Pennsylvania congressmen, nobody who could help wants to know about him, or offer the slightest assistance to get Ed home."

At the State Department, the official silence on the case is even more telling. Asked by a reporter if the 55-year-old Pope is indeed a spy, the department's senior spokesman refused to be drawn. "It is our practice not to get into confirming or denying intelligence issues," he said. If the Russians had been tempted to let Pope leave, that answer probably banished the thought forever.

There can be no denying, however, that US naval analysts would dearly love to know a lot more about the Squall - the same weapon that is being blamed in some quarters for sending the Kursk to the bottom. Though Moscow has floated several theories of its own - that the Kursk collided with a British submarine, that it was hit by a stray missile fired by a sister ship on the surface, even that it struck a Second World War mine - not one of them comes close to providing an adequate answer.

So, in the absence of hard facts, attention has centred on the Squall, a new version of which many in Washington believe was being readied for a test firing when it exploded in the sub's forward torpedo room. The pieces certainly fit: if the wonder weapon really was responsible for last month's tragedy, it would explain why Moscow at first refused to let foreign rescue teams lend a hand. Why grant potential enemies an opportunity to learn more about a torpedo fast enough to leave an F-16 fighter plane in its wake?

The West first learned about Squall's technology more than 20 years ago, when Soviet officials neglected to classify a research paper that described how a torpedo could be made to speed beneath the waves inside a bubble of high-pressure gas. With only the nose actually coming in contact with the water, drag would be so low that the projectile could cover as much as a kilometre every second.

To Cold War submariners, such a weapon would have been irresistible.

"It is a gunfighter's weapon," a former US Navy weapons consultant explained last week. "Picture a Russian submarine being hunted by one of ours: The Ruski hears our guy fire a torpedo and responds by squeezing off a bunch of Squalls. One Squall takes out the incoming torpedo and the rest kill the US sub before it can get off another salvo."

In the context of an all-out war, those Squalls would have given the Russian captain just enough time to launch his nuclear missiles at American cities.

"The Russian isn't going to make it back to port - and he knows it," the analyst continued. "All those rocket-powered fish would have given away his position, like screaming out: 'I'm over here. Nuke me!' But in the few minutes he had until the next attack, he would be free to incinerate Boston."

The problem with the Squall - at least the early versions that the Americans know about - was that it could not be steered since there was almost no contact with the surrounding water. The theory about the Kursk is that the sub was about to test an updated Squall, perhaps one that could be remotely controlled by funneling exhaust gases from the rocket engine through portals in the weapon's bow.

The unfortunate Pope was already behind bars when the Kursk went down, so the Russians cannot accuse him of playing a direct part in its destruction. All the same, they must have been intrigued by his background, which is a good deal more interesting than the bland haze of biographical data released by the US Navy.

According to the Americans, Pope is a former seaman who retired with the rank of captain and landed a teaching job at a Pennsylvania college better known for its bucolic setting than academic achievements. Even the name of his hometown - State Farm - is so bland it might have been lifted from a bad novel.

The truth, however, is that Pope was one of the Navy's leading experts on Soviet naval hardware, and that the physics department at the university where he found work receives most of its research funding from the Pentagon. It has also come to light that he speaks fluent Russian and had made more than 30 trips to the country in search of Russian high-tech gear, much of it military.

If there is a man qualified to unravel the Squall's secrets, Pope would have to fit the bill.

Whatever he was up to when the Russians busted him, Pope's situation is dire.

His family says he is suffering from cancer, has lost 18kg since his arrest, and is being fed little more than boiled potatoes.

Though he is tentatively scheduled to go on trial next month, his wife suspects that he has suffered a nervous breakdown and may not live to see the inside of a courtroom.

Back in Washington, where Cheri Pope recently complained that President Bill Clinton and Vice-President Al Gore have refused to lift a finger on her husband's behalf, you cannot help but suspect that there are some who might regard Pope's death as the happiest outcome.

As downed U2 spy-plane pilot Francis Gary Powers discovered almost 40 years ago, the only thing more embarrassing than a captured spy is a live captured spy.