As it happened, Los Angeles police believed that Korshak may have played a role in the Romaine heist. According to an LAPD report, Hughes security chief Ralph Winte said he had “received information that there were possibly two attorneys involved, Sidney Korshak and Morris Shenker… if a sale [of the papers] was made, it would be through these attorneys.”
But Davis claimed his Uncle Sidney was out of town when he called, and swore he never discussed the Hughes papers with him.
Gordon said he and a dispirited Woolbright left the lawyer’s office and went to a nearby coffee shop. “Well, we tried our best shot and I guess we’re too lightweight to handle it,” the car salesman reportedly said. “It’s too big for us. I’ll just have to give this stuff back to the people and forget it.”
If Woolbright was discouraged, a large team of FBI men, CIA agents, and LAPD detectives was equally disheartened. Two months had passed since the burglary without a breakthrough, and the Glomar was completing its top-secret mission under threat of sudden exposure.
Finally, “Adam 12” Gordon tipped off the police. When his weird tale of the Woolbright connection flashed through law-enforcement circles, the reaction was immediate and seemingly decisive. The FBI told the LAPD to have Gordon reestablish contact with Woolbright and sent word to Chief Davis that there was a million dollars in CIA funds available to buy back Hughes’s dangerous secrets.
“Payoff: This option unquestionably rankles,” noted a CIA report, “but must be considered a mere pittance when weighed against the time, effort, and monies expended to date on Glomar.”
With the million in hand, the FBI and CIA prepared an elaborate scheme: “Informant being operated by LAPD would meet with chief suspect Woolbright within the next couple of days for the sole purpose of indicating that the informant has a possible interested eastern buyer. LAPD informant will introduce seller to Los Angeles attorney, who would then give name of New York attorney who had client interested in stolen merchandise. Bureau agent from Los Angeles division would be identified as assistant to New York attorney, and would be available to fly to Los Angeles with $100,000 with which to negotiate a buy. Stipulation would be not to buy package unseen, but rather to examine individual pieces of merchandise. It is believed that this procedure would enable undercover agent to examine all merchandise. $100,000 to be placed in safety-deposit box in Los Angeles bank as ‘show money’ to be utilized by undercover agent in buy transaction.”
That was the plan. Yet despite the trappings of high-level intrigue and high finance, what followed was low comedy.
On police orders, Gordon met with Woolbright at an all-night restaurant near his home. But the actor had not been given any lines. His instructions were simply to renew contact. No one had told him what to say. Left to improvise, Gordon concocted an odd story. He told Woolbright that movie star Robert Mitchum would put up the money for the stolen papers. The meeting ended indecisively.
Detectives hurriedly arranged for Gordon to confer with federal officials, but hours before the scheduled strategy meeting, Woolbright called and demanded an immediate rendezvous. The Mitchum story had not gone over. “All right, I’ll level with you,” said Gordon. “The police are onto it. The Feds are onto it. They know about me, and they know about you, and all they’re interested in right now is recovering those documents because national security is involved.”
Woolbright, according to Gordon, took the news quietly but issued a warning: “The people I’m dealing with are not the nicest people in the world. If this goes wrong, it might take a few years, but we’ll pay the piper.”
Gordon claims they then struck a deaclass="underline" Woolbright would get one folder to verify that he had the documents; Gordon would supply $3,500 front money. “He told me he was leaving immediately, then added, ‘But my God, don’t tell the police—if I show up with a tail I’m a dead man.’”
Later that evening, Gordon met for the first time with a government representative. The official said his name was Don Castle, but never showed any identification and refused to say which federal agency he represented. He told Gordon to get word to him through the police when Woolbright called back.
The call came two weeks later. Woolbright said he was “still working on it.” Gordon was taken for a second meeting with Castle at a North Hollywood hotel. “When this goes down I want a controlled situation,” said the mysterious agent. Then he added with a laugh, “Maybe we’ll get the right folder and solve this whole thing for three or four thousand dollars.”
It was not to be. Gordon said he never saw or heard from Woolbright again. Nor did he ever have further contact with the mysterious Don Castle.
“They dropped me like a hot potato after that last meeting,” complained Gordon. “It was really strange. It was like I had the Hope diamond, and zap, all of a sudden it was glass.”
The great search for the stolen Hughes secrets had come to an abrupt end.
Why, after gearing up so intense a recovery effort, after bringing in the heads of the CIA, the FBI, and the LAPD, even alerting the president of the United States, why, after pledging a million dollars to the quest, did everyone simply give up after entrusting the entire mission to a second-string movie actor?
Apparently because Hughes’s secrets were thought to be so dangerous that finally nobody wanted to find them.
In the weeks that followed the failure of Operation Gordon, the FBI and CIA met to plot a new investigation of the Romaine heist, starting from scratch—and instead quietly decided to drop the whole case.
An FBI report classified “secret” spelled it all out:
“Bureau agents met October 31, 1974, with representatives of sister federal agency regarding status of instant case and ramifications of contemplated investigation.
“Conference at Los Angeles included discussion of possibilities of embarrassment to sister federal agency in the event of direct and full field investigation of theft by FBI.”
But it was not only the CIA that might be embarrassed.
“In view of the possibilities of direct investigation and inquiry with some of the nationally known personalities involved with Howard Hughes interests, which might lead to disclosure, it is recommended that no further investigation be conducted by the FBI unless the other interested federal agency is in agreement with the above-mentioned interviews.”
It was not. Although the Glomar secret remained at risk, top officials of the CIA decided to abandon the investigation. The Agency had learned from a “fairly reliable source” what was stolen from Romaine and passed the unsettling information along to the FBI:
“Property taken included cash, personal notes, and handwritten memoranda by Howard Hughes; correspondence between Hughes and prominent political figures, etc. The personal papers are said to be sufficient in volume to fill two footlockers and are filed in manilatype folders and catalogued in some fashion. The contents are said to be highly explosive from a political view and, thus, considered both important and valuable to Hughes and others.”
Political dynamite. Already a president had been driven from office amid speculation that Watergate was triggered by his dealings with Hughes. God only knew what else might be revealed in those stolen documents, what other powers might be implicated in which dirty deals. Neither the FBI nor the CIA wanted any part of it.
Top officials met at Langley late in November to close out the case: “It was finally decided that the Agency would do nothing but monitor the case and request nothing from the FBI except what the FBI is doing: i.e., the FBI is monitoring the Los Angeles Police Department. At the current time the Los Angeles Police Department is not conducting a current investigation, so in effect they are doing nothing at this time.”