Deception (15 page)

4

Real Spies, Real Victims

The Russian diaspora's presence in the West reflects one of the great triumphs – and vulnerabilities – of the post-
1991
era. The free movement of people from East to West was a defeat for the merchants of mind-control in Moscow, who feared that capitalist fleshpots would be an ‘ideological distraction' for the hard-pressed proletariat of the ‘world fortress'. But the new regime in Russia is more resilient. It flourishes on contacts with the rich world, which offers everything from financial services to luxury goods, and it places no obstacles in the way of those wanting to leave. The Soviet leadership created the largest prison camp in history, keeping hundreds of millions of people bottled up behind the Iron Curtain, with travel privileges tightly rationed and dependent on cooperation with the KGB. Now tens of millions of Russians have travelled abroad: they are free (visa regimes permitting) to work, holiday, study, marry and invest there. Whatever counter-intelligence worries the new era creates, nobody should wish for a moment that the clock be put back to the dark days before
1989
. But for Russia's spymasters, targets and means of espionage overlap in this diaspora. These compatriots may know the secrets of the country they are living in. Or they may be able to help steal them. It is a sad truth that however far émigrés may flee oppression and corruption, their personal ties with their country of origin will always leave them vulnerable to bullying and blackmail.

The new problem is a greatly amplified version of an old one. As we will see in a later chapter, in the huge movements of refugees that followed the Second World War émigré communities from Soviet-block countries easily became pawns in spy wars. As the Cold War intensified, and the gulf between East and West deepened, personal ties across the Iron Curtain were increasingly scanty and easily scrutinised on both sides. Even so, they occasionally led to spectacular breaches in security. A successfully hushed-up scandal of the
1980
s involved an émigré from one of the Baltic states (then still occupied by the Soviet Union) who worked as a dentist. That might seem an occupation of no interest to the KGB. But this particular dentist had a contract to provide treatment to the staff of a Western foreign ministry.
^v
His files provided a perfect means of distinguishing between mainstream diplomats and intelligence officers working under diplomatic cover. When the spies were due for a dental check before or after an overseas posting, their agency's personnel office made the appointment, not the foreign ministry's. The intelligence officers' files had a distinctive coding – doubtless for budgetary reasons. The KGB, in a clever bit of spycraft, tracked him down and threatened his family members inside the Soviet Union with the many miserable fates awaiting those who displeased the authorities there. When news reached him of their troubles, he was distraught – and with no security training, an easy target.

The result was devastating. The intelligence service concerned went to great lengths to post its best and brightest young officers under carefully constructed diplomatic cover. They cheerfully did the worst jobs in the embassies they were assigned to, toiling over visa applications and stationery invoices in the hope of staying unnoticed. Had they worn neon lights flashing the word ‘spy' they could hardly have been more conspicuous. The KGB knew just whom to watch. Often it waited for years before taking any action, allowing the targets to work diligently in the belief that their efforts were unseen. In fact they left a toxic trail over a web of contacts that the KGB could investigate at its leisure. To this day, the damage done by the dentist is unknown. Unmasked when some KGB records became available after
1991
, he admitted everything and escaped prosecution. This KGB operation was a brilliant piece of work, done with the greatest difficulty in a well-protected NATO country at the height of the Cold War. The task now is much easier. Russians who live abroad, working in everything from finance to showbiz, are a force-multiplier for the regime back home. Even if few have access to secrets themselves, their friends, relatives, colleagues and sporting partners may do so.

Monitoring the activities of émigré and diaspora groups that could pose a threat to the regime's interests has long been an intelligence target for the Kremlin. It pays particular attention to those who previously occupied positions of power or influence inside Russia. Even if they are not formally defectors, it views them with great suspicion and monitors them aggressively. But ordinary émigrés too may be eavesdropped and recruited, either willingly or not. Some may end up serving just the narrow purposes of Russia's intelligence services. Someone who works in the billing department of a mobile phone company, in a tax office, in a bank as Ms Chapman did in Britain, or in a credit-rating agency can help expose a fake identity being used by a foreigner on a visit to Russia, or assist in concocting one for Russian spies needing to work abroad. During the Cold War, for example, the KGB was able to recruit an agent in the London regional office of the motor-licensing authority. This enabled them to find out which cars were used by the spycatchers of MI
5
.

The same insights are useful today. Does the Western businessman visiting Russia have a convincing credit history? Does his mobile phone number check out? What calls has he made? Does he have any frequent-flier cards? If so, what pattern of activity do they show? Does he pay taxes? If so, from which home address and on which sources of income? Someone with access to an immigration computer can check if records show any sign of previous globetrotting for the passport that this supposed international businessman presented at his hotel.

Still more tempting targets are those in a position to obtain secrets or sensitive information. Even if they do not have the necessary access, they may know someone who has. In a lawless country such as Russia, it is easy to find ways of influencing them, either directly or through those that they care about. As a Canadian official put it after a spy scandal there: ‘They're pretty good at applying pressure, by appealing to their patriotism . . . or by reminding them that Mother is still back home.'
¹
Such robust persuasion is easiest when émigrés actually visit Russia. The FSB can plant drugs or pornography, fake an allegation of rape, or concoct some other unpleasant difficulty, either against the victim directly, or against a relative or friend. The accused protests his innocence to grim-faced police who tell him to expect a lengthy stay in custody while the case is fully investigated. Without proper legal representation, facing scandal at home and possibly losing his job, the detainee is easy prey when an anonymous visitor in civilian clothes appears, explaining that the ‘misunderstandings' will clear up in return for a little help. This cooperation can range from straightforwardly betraying secrets to more subtle tasks such as reporting on colleagues' personal weaknesses, or simply providing anodyne information in order to test the source for later use.

In some cases, the victim hurries home and reports the entire affair to his own country's counter-intelligence service (one such agency is the source of the above outline of the FSB's
modus operandi
). If that happens, the Western side may try to use the person to feed disinformation to the FSB, or to obtain more information about Russia's wish list. Such instances are rare. Western spycatchers worry about how often such FSB approaches have been successful and unreported, and what may have happened as a result. The advantage of this kind of operation for the FSB is that its methods and officers are largely preserved: if the ‘pitch' is unsuccessful and the source is never seen again, little is lost. If it works, the agent running can happen mainly or wholly inside Russia: after all, the target has completely convincing family reasons for visiting. Each time he visits, the screw can tighten a little. That is a lot easier than trying to recruit people in Berlin, London, New York or Paris under the noses of NATO counter-intelligence services.

A good example of what appears to be the use of the diaspora for intelligence purposes is the story of Axis Information and Analysis (AIA). This outfit described itself as an ‘information agency that unites professionals having years of experience in collecting and analysing information about Asia and Eastern Europe'. It claimed to be focused upon ‘states that constitute a threat to regional and international security, as well as upon areas of ethnic and religious conflict'. Its main mission was to produce rather good information about defence, security and intelligence issues. A typical day's headlines, on
25
February
2009
, included items such as ‘Former Czech chief-of-staff works in company with person suspected of ties with Soviet intelligence'; ‘Estonian investigators pass opinion why did Herman Simm betray his native country'; ‘Attempt of bombing of synagogue in Ukraine not considered act of terrorism' and ‘Russia has at least
500
secret service agents in Vienna
20
years after Cold War'.

From
2005
I was a regular visitor to AIA's website, www.axisglobe.com.
²
The information was a clever mix of local media reports, seasoned with intelligent observations and occasional bits of first-hand reporting. It was topical, accurate, well presented and concise, if in slightly stilted English. So who was writing it? I had never met any of the people listed on the site as contributors, though after more than twenty-five years dealing with the region I would have expected to have heard of such evidently expert and well-informed colleagues. Nor had I met anyone else who had. Nor did Google show them as having any existence elsewhere. AIA said that some of its authors were still in government service and that they, and some other contributors, used pen names. It self-consciously added an air of mystery by claiming to use ‘journalists, ex-diplomats, and
former officers of the special services of a number of Asian and East European countries
' [my italics].
³

The site did not require payment and had no advertising. My initial assumption was therefore that it was part of an information-warfare effort, aimed at planting skewed stories or disinformation in a seemingly credible wider stream of news. But intense scrutiny of the AIA output, even on the subjects I knew best, revealed no consistent pattern that supported this theory. The tone was pleasantly astringent towards the Russian services and their rivals alike. I took discreet soundings from intelligence professionals in the region. They turned out to be fans of AIA, with the same curiosity about its origins and purpose. The site was registered via an American hosting company, with all further details privacy-protected. I tried writing to the supposed editor, Michel Elbaz, and got an evasive reply in return. Eventually I gave up worrying and simply used the site as a handy compendium of news and analysis, assuming that it must have some kind of business model that I was too stupid to grasp. Had I looked a bit harder, I might have found some clues suggesting the opposite.

The pace of contributions to the site slackened in late
2009
and it became inactive in
2010
. It was still a useful repository for historical information – particularly as I was beginning to research this book. In mid-
2010
, the whole site went behind a pay wall, demanding a log-in and password but giving no indication of how to acquire one. Frustrated, I emailed Mr Elbaz again, simply asking him to invoice me for access to the archived material on the site. Any normal company would have responded to that – at least to ask how much I was prepared to pay. AIA did not respond. This fired my interest again. If AIA was not trying to make a profit, someone had sponsored it. But who? And why? It had no visible do-gooding or academic affiliation. I started investigating more vigorously.
⁴

A bit more digging brought a real breakthrough: the identity of one of the AIA contributors. He turned out to be a colleague:
Ā
ris Jansons, a well-known Latvian journalist and an acquaintance of mine for nearly twenty years. He had worked at Radio Free Europe in Prague after the collapse of the Soviet Union. When its Latvian service closed in
2004
, he returned to Riga to look for a job. In January
2006
he was browsing the web and noticed a mistakenly identified picture in an AIA story. He emailed the site to point out the error, and after receiving an initially dismissive reply from Mr Elbaz then received a rather friendlier letter offering him a job as the Baltics correspondent. Mr Jansons was intrigued. The money was good and, more importantly, the editorial quality was impressive. I have reviewed numerous emails between the two men, provided by Mr Jansons. Mr Elbaz's brief to his new writer was a model of editorial professionalism. He gave a step-by-step guide to AIA's needs. One priority was to avoid duplication with any other English-language source. Another was to use a snappy, and preferably intriguing, headline. Concision, relevance and topicality were vital. The only slightly puzzling aspect was an instruction to avoid any direct criticism of the regime in Uzbekistan. But that was hardly going to be a big deal for a correspondent in the Baltics. The first year went well, with generous pay and plenty of demand. Mr Jansons wrote excellent articles, under a pseudonym. After that, AIA began to plead poverty. Payments slowed and stopped. Eventually Mr Elbaz offered Mr Jansons shares in the company in lieu of pay, which he turned down. Mr Jansons found another job and apart from grumbling about his unpaid fees, thought no more of it: freelance life is like that.