“As far as [Oleg Gordievsky] could tell, no one had followed him as he entered the familiar apartment block on Leninsky Prospekt and took the elevator to the eighth floor. He had not been inside the family flat since January…The first lock on the front door opened easily, and then the second. But the door would not budge. The third lock on the door, an old-fashioned dead bolt dating back to the construction of the apartment block, had been locked…But Gordievsky never used the third lock. Indeed, he had never had the key. That must mean that someone with a skeleton key had been inside, and on leaving had mistakenly triple-locked the door. That someone must have been the KGB…The fear of the previous week crystallized in a freezing rush, with the chilling, paralyzing recognition that his apartment had been entered, searched, and probably bugged. He was under suspicion. Someone had betrayed him. The KGB was watching him. The spy was being spied upon by his fellow spies…”
- Ben Macintyre, The Spy and the Traitor: The Greatest Espionage Story of the Cold War
Were we to judge the Cold War simply on the exploits of human spies, the Soviet Union would be declared the undisputed winner.
Starting even before the Second World War, Communist agents worked their way into high places in American government, passing on intelligence to the Kremlin. During the war, Soviet spies infiltrated the supposedly-super-secret Manhattan Project, advancing the USSR’s work on an atomic bomb by an appreciable factor. Meanwhile, in Great Britain, the Cambridge Five gave Joseph Stalin an inside look at MI6. After the war, as tensions heightened – and long after the inhumane conditions of the Communist experiment were well known – these turncoats continued to apprise their Soviet masters of western intelligence operations, leading to the deaths of countless men and women.
These successes are not all that surprising.
Democracies are a bad place to keep secrets. They are free and open. They have an aggressively robust media looking to make a scoop. They have the rule of law. Kim Philby, for instance, the most infamous of western spies, was never charged for his crimes, much less convicted, because of the difficult legal hurdles. Philby remained free, and ultimately fled to the Soviet Union. Had the roles been reversed – had he been a Soviet citizen suspected of spying against his own people – his brains would have been blown all over the walls of the Lubyanka Prison, hard evidence or not.
Also, there is the matter of capitalism itself, and the entrepreneurial spirit that has encouraged those with access to intel to occasionally pass that on to foreign powers for considerable remuneration.
The west has had their own espionage successes, of course, especially with signals intelligence. But by and large, it feels like the KGB spent forty years running laps around MI6 and the CIA.
That’s what drew me to Ben Macintyre’s The Spy and the Traitor. In telling the tale of Oleg Gordievsky, a British-controlled mole in the midst of the KGB, he provides a nice counterbalance to the many well-known embarrassments and failures of the western intelligence agencies.
***
At this point in his career, Macintyre has fully reached corporate brand status. He writes a book about special operations; that book gets made into a television series; and then the process starts again. He has a style, that style has worked in the past, and it is something that he is comfortable repeating.
It is also quite comforting to read, even if no new literary ground is tilled.
The Spy and the Traitor is slick, assured, and polished. As in his book on Philby – A Spy Among Friends – Macintyre starts with a quick introduction to bait his hook, then settles into a narrative that combines standard biography with a John le Carré thriller. We are introduced to our hero – and Oleg Gordievsky is certainly treated as such – and learn about his family background, upbringing, career, and personal life.
The portraiture of Gordievsky is a bit shallow. Macintyre struggles to dig below the surface, but can’t quite make the man come alive as a person. This might be a function of Gordievsky’s essential decency. Unlike Philby – a charming, hard-drinking, brilliant betrayer of trusts and lives – Gordievsky is kind of a square. According to Macintyre, it seems that Gordievsky did what he did out of a genuine belief that the Soviet system was rotted, and that given the proper application of force, it might all tumble down.
Even if Gordievsky is less than a magnetic protagonist, Macintyre packs these pages with tradecraft, spy-slang, and a white-knuckled procession of dead-drops, brush passes, cutouts, and extractions. The pace is smooth and fast and politely refuses to overstay its welcome.
***
Opposing Gordievsky is a far less reputable – though much more intriguing – antagonist: Aldrich Ames. A somewhat-gross looking man with bad teeth, bad glasses, a bad haircut, and a terrible mustache, Ames was an unspectacular nonentity who not only managed to become a CIA agent, but failed his way upwards into positions of extreme sensitivity.
Short of money, trying to impress a woman, Ames reached out to the Soviets and eagerly identified foreign agents so that he could buy a new house and a silver Jaguar, with enough left over to cap his teeth. Meanwhile, the KGB used his information to root out and kill – repeat, kill – the individuals Ames exposed.
My chief critique of The Spy and the Traitor is that Macintyre didn’t spend more time on Ames. The guy is absolute rubbish, yet holds the stage much better than Gordievsky. I would’ve liked a deeper examination into this banal, rumpled bureaucrat, so entirely self-absorbed and greedy that he didn’t hesitate to facilitate executions in order to afford an Alfa Romeo.
***
The Spy and the Traitor reads easy, but is clearly the product of a huge amount of work. Untangling the threads of espionage operations is notoriously tricky, because it all exists in a shadow realm of misinformation, disinformation, and divided loyalties. It is the classic liar’s dilemma: if a spy tells you he’s lying, is that the truth?
Macintyre has certainly done the legwork, interviewing as many participants as possible, including Gordievsky himself. For all that, he is refreshingly candid about the impossibility of an unassailable objective truth. Indeed, in an afterword to the paperback edition, he discusses the response to his book by the intelligence community, including some of their criticisms.
Pushback is to be expected, and hardly something that worries me. After all, as James Jesus Angleton once said – borrowing from T.S. Eliot – spy-craft is “a wilderness of mirrors.” Up may be down; down may be up; the defector may be a spy; the mole-catcher might be the mole. Given that he had to go through the looking glass, Macintyre seems to have done a decent job, though some gaps still remain.
***
The title to this book is fascinatingly susceptible to different meanings. Most obviously it refers to Gordievsky the spy, and Ames the traitor. Another interpretation is that Gordievsky is both spy and traitor in one. Or perhaps the whole thing can be reversed, and Gordievsky is the traitor, while Ames the spy.
It all depends on perspective, and as Macintyre notes, there are many in the Russian Federation – especially now, as it seeks to rebuild the contours of the USSR – who despise Gordievsky. Undoubtedly, they feel as strongly about Gordievsky as I feel about Ames, and I feel pretty strongly about Ames.
Macintyre is very clear on where he stands, believing that history and morality are on Gordievsky’s side. Spy or traitor, traitor or spy, Gordievsky certainly seems that rarest of persons, willing to risk his life not for cause, country, or cash, but for the principles of humanity.