POTEYEV WAS BORN on March 7, 1952, in the Brest region of Belarus, in what was then the Soviet Union. His father, Nikolai Poteyev, had commanded T-34 tanks with distinction in World War II, earning the title “Hero of the Soviet Union” for his role in battle in the Baltic front in September 1944, but died when Alexander was twenty. His son followed him into the army and in 1975 he joined the KGB, first serving in Minsk and then from 1978 in Moscow, though not yet as a spy. During these years he met and married Marina and they would have a daughter and then a son.
In 1979, Poteyev went on the Advanced Course for Officers (KUOS). The name was misleading. It was better known as “the school for saboteurs.” This was the KGB’s elite paramilitary training for those destined for either irregular combat or stay-behind and sabotage roles in the event of World War III and other conflicts. It came under the wing of Directorate S’s Department 8, which carried out “special operations.” These were unique roles that combined the ability to work undercover for long periods as a spy with high-end military training. Poteyev would soon get his chance to put those skills into action.
On Christmas Eve 1979, Soviet troops were ordered into Afghanistan to quell a growing insurgency and topple a leader insufficiently pliant to Moscow’s orders. Directorate S’s Department 8 had already tried to assassinate the Afghan leader by sending an illegal documented as an Afghan to get a job as a cook and poison his fruit juice. But the Afghan leader was suspicious enough to carefully mix his drinks. So Moscow resorted to an all-out assault on the presidential palace led by Directorate S and GRU special forces (the “illegal” cook had to hide to avoid being shot by his compatriots during the raid). Poteyev was sent early to Afghanistan as one of the Directorate S “Zenit” teams. The invasion set the scene for a brutal struggle as a bloody insurgency by mujahideen fighters gathered strength. This was fueled by weapons and money sent by Islamic states and the CIA (led, in part, by Milton Bearden), who saw it as a chance to give their Soviet enemy a bloody nose. It was a savage and dirty fight—the Soviet Union’s version of Vietnam—from which many young men returned in body bags. Poteyev was on the front lines. One of the only photos of him is as part of Zenit—a young-looking figure in fatigues with a blank expression. One KGB colleague from those days simply remembers Poteyev as someone who liked to drink and who had a good sense of humor.
Poteyev next served in “Cascade,” a new task force formed to fight guerrilla warfare. Like a US special forces team in Afghanistan in later years, their job was to seek intelligence and use it to hunt for the enemy and its agents in the towns and countryside. This included using illegals who could pose as fake mujahideen to lure others into ambushes. Out of Cascade, Yuri Drozdov, the head of Directorate S, would form a new special forces unit for covert action behind enemy lines called Vympel. The intervention in Afghanistan proved disastrous for the Soviet Union, but for Poteyev, it was a stepping-stone. He was awarded the Red Star and other decorations before being selected to attend the Red Banner Institute to be trained as an intelligence officer (at the same time as Bezrukov and Vavilova were being trained as illegals). Poteyev must have been effective as a spy, because in 1995 he was sent on a plum posting to New York. He arrived as a second secretary at the Russian mission to the UN and stayed through 1999. The Russian ambassador to the UN at the time was Sergey Lavrov—later Russia’s long-serving foreign minister.
When he arrived every morning at the mission on 67th Street, Poteyev would take an elevator up to the eighth floor. In the lobby were two steel doors. There were no signs, but one was for the rezidentura—the intelligence station—of the GRU, military intelligence. The other door led to the SVR’s rezidentura, where Poteyev worked. Officers would pull out a small piece of metal and touch the head of a screw in the lower right corner of a brass plate by the door. That would complete an electric circuit—sometimes giving the person a tiny jolt—and the bolt would slide open. Behind the door was a cloakroom. Under the watchful eye of a camera, everyone would have to leave their coats as well as any electronic items in a locker to make sure nothing could be smuggled in or out. Next came another solid steel door with a numeric lock that required a code. Beyond it, the GRU and SVR offices were known as “submarines” since they were tightly enclosed to prevent FBI surveillance. Special teams had been flown from Moscow to create the structure, which sat on top of springs, creating a space from the main building structure to prevent cameras and listening devices being inserted. The walls were several inches thick and coated with wires that vibrated to emit a white noise. There were dedicated electrical and ventilation systems. On the SVR side there was a corridor ninety feet long with offices on either side. These were given over to the different “Lines” with different roles—one carried out technical interception; another, Line X, looked for technological secrets; VKR studied American intelligence; PR sought political contacts and information. Poteyev would walk into an office in the far corner of the floor.
Poteyev was a Line N officer. These are the spies under diplomatic cover whose job is to support the work of Directorate S illegals. Sometimes this can mean doing the legwork to establish a false identity—they were the ones traipsing around graveyards and church registries looking for names of dead children. They would also be in charge of getting hold of documents or visa applications so that Moscow Center can produce convincing forgeries. It could also mean supporting illegals directly. The whole point of illegals is that they do not appear Russian, so direct contact with anyone from the embassy is kept to an absolute minimum. But there might be moments when some kind of indirect contact is required—it could be an emergency signal left somewhere if something is going wrong—that might require a Line N officer checking every week to make sure there is not a chalk mark at a particular place. Or there might be documents or cash to leave in a dead drop for an illegal to pick up. Line N officers might also pass off new documents to an illegal transiting through their country or they might meet an illegal in a third country (often Mexico or somewhere in Latin America for US-based illegals).
There were 60 SVR officers based in New York in the late 1990s. They were running about 150 sources. As well as the mission, there was the Russian Consulate at East 91st Street, close to Central Park. Poteyev would likely have lived in a large, dingy tower on West 255th Street, in Riverdale in the Bronx, that was the residential compound. The rooms were small and smelly, with plenty of cockroaches. There was a small bar with cheap liquor and cigarettes, even a sauna, a swimming pool, and a school so that the Russians were not too tempted by the bright lights and enticements of the city on their doorstep. Surrounded by a chain security fence, the compound had been built on a steep hill. This allowed antennas to be placed that could intercept communications, and on the nineteenth floor, Line VKR—foreign counterintelligence—ran a system called “Post Impulse,” which tracked FBI signals. If they saw several FBI signals in the vicinity of one of their SVR officers they knew they might be under surveillance. In New York, the top mission for the SVR spies was penetrating the US mission to the UN; next was the missions of other permanent members of the Security Council—the United Kingdom, France, and China, followed by Germany and Japan and other NATO countries. Next were New York financial institutions, then the universities like New York University and Columbia, and finally Russian immigrant groups and foreign journalists.
From the day he arrived at the Russian mission to the UN, Poteyev had been closely observed by the FBI. They did this to all Russian officials using observation posts, surveillance teams, and bugs. But the FBI and CIA had a particularly good insight into what was going on at the Russian mission to the UN while Poteyev was there. That was because they already had a spy on the inside. Sergei Tretyakov was technically a first secretary but actually the deputy SVR resident since his arrival in 1995. A rotund, outgoing character, Tretyakov was one of those who looked at the SVR in the mid-1990s and saw only decay. When he visited Yasenevo, he remembered how it had grown grimy in his absence. The bathrooms, once s
potless, now looked more like you would expect in a railway station. People looked unkempt and were drinking and leaving the office early. Jobs had been cut and many had gone off to make money. Disillusioned, he began working for the Americans and would spend the late 1990s providing highly valuable intelligence, including the names of undercover SVR officers across the United States and their agents.
The two Russians would have known each other, but Tretyakov did not introduce Poteyev to the Americans. Keeping agents separate was a vital principle of tradecraft or else the risk would be that one of them—if discovered or turned—could compromise the other. Tretyakov would, though, have been able to tell the Americans all about the officers in the mission, including Poteyev, which may have aided their understanding of him and whether he could be approached. In October 2000, rather than return to Russia, Tretyakov simply disappeared. SVR operations in North America were dealt a huge blow. But the SVR did not know things were even worse than they feared. There was another spy.
Poteyev was watched for some time by the FBI. FBI teams study every Russian diplomat, building up a file on them. What is their work pattern? Does their routine make them look like a real diplomat or might they be a spy? What kinds of things do they do in their spare time? As well as hoping to catch them in the act of espionage (always difficult), the counterspies are looking for “the hook”—the aspect of their life you can cast your line toward and hope it catches so you can reel them in. Sometimes they will be overheard on the phone talking in a way that sounds like high-minded ideological disillusionment but other times it is because they are observed gazing longingly at large plasma screen TVs in shop windows as they walk downtown.
What motivates such people to turn against their country and spy? Occasionally in the Cold War there were genuine ideological turncoats. But money and general disillusionment were more of an issue for Russian spies in the 1990s. They had watched the ideology they had signed up for disappear and their savings evaporate. Some literally became chicken farmers. Meanwhile, they could see others back home cash in in the new world of crony capitalism. Why—after all their service—should they not have some little nest egg to prevent their family from struggling? That was one reason. But the truth is that simple answers rarely suffice. Each case is unique. If you speak to those who target Russians, they say the simple notions of motivation rarely apply. The reality is much harder to unpick. It is sometimes tempting to reduce it all to something like money or grievance or ego. But, one old hand explains, the Russians are complicated. They are all maneuvering in their bureaucracy against each other, sometimes sleeping with each other or their partners, collecting compromising information on each other, and holding grudges for some slight inflicted on them years ago—any of which could lead one of them to suddenly decide to turn. Another former spy has a different take. In post-Soviet Russia it was not the people you expected to turn who did. Rather than unhappy, low-level intelligence officers, it was more senior ones who changed sides. They had got far up the tree but then realized they were not going to go any further since when you reached a certain level, politics and corruption took over and it did not matter how good you were. That was the moment you might be willing to turn.
What was the case with Poteyev? Russian spies would later bitterly attribute Poteyev’s actions to the “unraveling” of the 1990s, when everything was for sale and when security was so lax and no one cared where you got your money or stashed it away. The 1990s were difficult times for Russia’s spies—the old certainties of communism gone, a new, almost alien world back in Russia in which a wild form of capitalism and gangsterism seemed to be flourishing. For old SVR hands, a demoralized service without an ideological compass was vulnerable to its opponents, allowing MI6 and the CIA to have a field day. His former colleagues would claim Poteyev sold them out “banally” for greed, saying the Americans exploited his love of money and alcohol. They would say that he had got fond of life in the United States and its luxuries. There would be talk of shady deals in which Poteyev was involved in money laundering and helping other SVR officers buy homes and move their cash to America. All of this was used by the CIA, the Russians would later say. Much of this was wrong, misinformation, or reflected the bitterness of betrayed colleagues. Here, for the first time, are the outlines of the story.
The recruitment of Poteyev took place in 1999, at the end of his posting. It was not by the CIA but by the FBI’s New York field office. Recruiting Russian intelligence officers inside the United States is the province of the FBI rather than the CIA. In general, the FBI’s job is to catch people breaking the law and the CIA’s job is to break the laws of other countries by stealing their secrets. One side is cops, the other robbers. They have different cultures and relations can be rocky. There was real tension in the late 1990s between the CIA and FBI over counterterrorism, but the relationship in New York on counterintelligence was tighter. New York—with the world of business as well as the UN—was a fertile hunting ground for the bureau’s officers seeking to recruit Russian assets and the FBI’s New York office was big enough to have a critical mass of counterintelligence expertise. “The New York field office is its own world—with its own worldview,” one former FBI counterintelligence officer explains. “Most New York agents believe the sun rises and sets in the New York office,” says another. With so many potential targets in the city, the office had experience and swagger.
The field office is housed at Federal Plaza, a few blocks from the site of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. The counterintelligence team in the late 1990s was housed on the twenty-sixth floor, part of the National Security division, which was headed by the larger-than-life John O’Neill. In 2000, he mislaid a briefcase for a few hours that contained details of counterterrorist and counterespionage cases (perhaps including that of Poteyev). The briefcase incident provided one more excuse for those who did not like his hard-charging style, and he left soon after for a job at the World Trade Center, where he died on September 11, 2001.
The FBI would have seen that Poteyev liked life in America. But that was not a reason to assume he’d be open to spying for the United States. He was pitched by the FBI to see if there was a chance he might turn. This was commonplace. And it had happened with him not just once but again and again. He had declined. But as his posting was coming to an end and he was about to return to Russia, something changed. He decided he was ready. Why? It seems to have been a mix. There was certainly money. Like others in Russia in the 1990s, his pension had been cut drastically. There was also some disillusionment at the way the SVR had acted back home, including on a personal level, failing to support him through some difficult family times, including the death of a relative. But there was also disgruntlement. He wanted to extend his tour in the United States, but his request had been denied by Moscow Center. Poteyev was not quite what is called a “walk-in”—someone who walks in off the street and offers him or herself out of the blue. Rather, it was as his time in New York came to an end that he changed his mind and indicated he was interested. The Russians believe he was recruited in June 1999. US officials will not comment.
It was precisely what had annoyed him—having to go back home—that offered a rich opportunity for the FBI. Tretyakov had defected and stayed in the United States, but the real prize was being able to run an agent-in-place in Moscow who could continue to work his way up the system and deliver secrets. That is what the FBI wanted and the risk Poteyev was willing to take.
To succeed, an intelligence organization makes sure the recruitment and running of an agent is on a need-to-know basis within its own corridors. There is a reason for that. And the Poteyev case was a prime example. Just as the FBI had, in the form of Poteyev, recruited a source inside the SVR, the SVR was at that time still running its own agent inside the FBI who had not been identified. Robert Hanssen was the man who had been dropping off secrets in the park on August 19, 1991, as the Moscow coup took place. A misfit who shared details of his sexual fantasies about his wife o
nline, he began to spy way back in 1979. He had actually stopped in the wake of the coup and the end of the Soviet Union, but in 1999, he resumed contact with the SVR and began to provide more vital intelligence. If word had got around the bureau about the new recruitment, Poteyev may not have lasted long. The counterintelligence spy games of the Cold War had still not yet finished playing out.
As he landed back in Moscow, Poteyev would have known his new secret could destroy his life if it was discovered. He was heading for a double life and walking his own tightrope, one that he knew could end at any moment if he made a slip or—more likely—if someone else betrayed his secret to the SVR. But on his return, he received a dream posting—for him and his new American friends. He was to join the senior ranks of Directorate S. He would eventually become the deputy head of Department 4—the team responsible for running illegals in the United States, Canada, and Latin America. This was one of the most secretive, compartmentalized parts of the entire SVR. Only a tiny group of people was allowed to know the identities of illegals sent abroad, in order to protect them. Only three officers had access to the personal files of illegals operating in the United States. Poteyev was going to be one of them and he was in charge of their day-to-day operational management. This was a stunning success for his handlers—if they could keep him from getting caught.
RUSSIA’S SPIES WERE on the back foot. And at the same time that the United States was scoring a success with one veteran of the Afghan war, MI6 had managed something similar with another. And the fate of the two spies would ultimately be drawn together.
IN MADRID IN the summer of 1996, a rugged first secretary at the Russian Embassy was walking in a park with a businessman from Gibraltar. The first secretary was an officer of the GRU—military intelligence. His name was Sergei Skripal. The businessman was an MI6 officer operating under “natural cover.” The Russian had been spotted by the Spanish as someone who might be interested in money. He was first introduced to a Spaniard. They talked about going into business together, exporting wine to Russia. The Spaniard next introduced Skripal to the businessman, who would offer something more lucrative but also more dangerous. The lure was the promise that together they might be able to go into the oil business in Russia. But as Skripal prepared to return to Moscow at the end of his posting, the MI6 officer showed his hand and revealed what he was really after.
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