Best of Enemies

by Eric Dezenhall

  Jack’s and Gennady’s answers differed. Gennady said, “Nobody wins,” and he invoked the Kris Kristofferson song of the same name, which refers to the folly of placing blame on one side or the other, and that the mutual pain isn’t worth it since nobody wins anyway. It was a song Roy Jacobsen used to play for retired spooks at get-togethers, which often triggered tears that flowed along with the booze. Jack said, “You pound away at each other however you can for as long as you can. You wear the other side down, and one day, one side just doesn’t show up.

  “Ames…” Jack snarled the name. “Ames gutted us. After he did what he did, a lot of the folks at the Agency felt like giving up. Some of them probably did.” Jack said that we will never know how many CIA programs didn’t go forward because the CIA felt so demoralized. “That’s what I mean by one side just doesn’t show up.” Jack growled something about wanting five minutes alone in a room with Ames and Hanssen. He meant it, too.

  Jack caught himself. “Then again, one day the Soviet Union didn’t show up because it didn’t exist.”

  The Boys bickered constantly about the direction of their two countries. Jack barked that the Russians were still Commies. Gennady countered that Russia was a “banditocracy.” He prefers the Soviet Union pre-collapse to what the country has become. Jack said democracy prevailed, but only temporarily, as he saw totalitarianism creeping into the same American culture that championed freedom. No one enjoys America’s freedoms more than Gennady: “In America, they didn’t kidnap me and beat me and throw me in prison,” he shouted with a rare flash of bitterness in his eyes. He had a habit of tapping Eric on the shoulder to show him the photos on his iPhone of firearms he thought Eric ought to come shoot with him. “Bobby [De Niro] likes this kind,” Gennady said. What’s not for Gennady to like about America? Girls. Guns. Movie stars!

  A few weeks later, Jack dropped by Eric’s house. He had something on his mind. It was this notion of Gennady’s that “nobody wins.”

  “We won!” Jack insisted.

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Eric asked.

  “Genya and me. We won. How many people get a friend like Genya? How many men are ordered to destroy each other and end up—” Jack’s voice cracked.

  “I get it,” Eric said, adding, “Do you think you can expand that sentiment to a friendship between America and Russia?”

  “Not yet,” Jack said. “Russia is still pretty Communist if you ask me, and America is headed in that direction faster than I ever imagined it would.” He cited the November 1775 establishment of the United States Marines to fight for the young country’s independence from Britain, and he feared the US had lost any sense of its origins, any appreciation of what freedom means. But when the trajectory of the US began to depress him, he defaulted to his admiration for Gennady and the price he had paid to get here, not to mention the price he had paid for their friendship.

  Despite the danger of the Cold War with its ever-present thrum of nuclear conflict just below the surface—a danger the Boys had embraced—to see them together was to sense their Cold War had had a soul. It was a world of rowdy soldiers, jocks, lotharios, Machiavellis, venal cops, bitter bureaucrats wearing porno moustaches and aviator frames to look like badasses, flying fortresses, and floating Leviathans.

  Today’s spy game is characterized by sterile drones, faceless hackers, and treacherous nebbishes like Edward Snowden—people Jack and Gennady would have mistaken for dental floss. The Boys are dinosaurs, but the joy they exuded in each other’s presence was palpable. They were on the downslope of history—the history experienced by the billions who lived through the Cold War and who still roam the planet, from the Iron Curtain to the collapse of the Berlin Wall. Both men were sentimental, but despite Gennady’s assertion that “nobody wins” and Jack’s fear of creeping totalitarianism in the US, one sensed that both men felt, as individuals and perhaps as the oddest couple the Cold War produced, that they were victors.

  Gennady and Jack had their share of tough talks about capitalism versus communism. Neither ever wavered. Gennady still said of communism that “the idea was good” but was implemented poorly. This exasperated Cowboy because he thought the system was, as President Ronald Reagan said, “an evil empire.”

  When it came to reflections about his own nature, Gennady was predictably Gennady: “If I had to do it all over again, I would have done the same thing. I can’t change my character. Maybe I’d make a few less mistakes, mostly with women.” But the twinkle in his eye suggested he didn’t feel that guilty, as if self-reflection was a disease that weakened one’s emotional immune system. Gennady is still handsome, carefree, immature, charming, irresponsible, insouciant. He scoffs at the notion that he was ever heroic. “But Jack, that’s different. He’s a true American hero.” He described Jack as a staunch anti-Communist, a first-rate CIA officer, and, most important, a Marine to the core. “The American eagle!”

  While recklessness is an authentic aspect of Gennady’s character, there are those in the spy world who believe he has a deeply serious side, that he lives by a strict moral code that isn’t easily deciphered, let alone perceived in him at all. The principals associated with the Hanssen takedown insist that Gennady didn’t know he was helping to nail the traitor and never betrayed the Soviet Union, which is supported by the fact that they were all operating with fragmented information about what Stepanov’s cache really held. Nevertheless, there is an alternative theory to which some in the intelligence community subscribe. This theory is rooted in a spy’s code of honor and the capacity of the human soul—in this case, Gennady’s—for rationalization:

  Imagine being deeply indoctrinated in the belief that your fellow spies in the perpetual war against very real enemies are your true family—perhaps even more than blood family. After all, Russian families may or may not disintegrate, but Russian enemies have been unrelenting for centuries.

  Imagine further that there is no lower form of ghoul than a member of your spy fraternity who gets his brethren killed. A craven double agent—an American traitor, no less—who murders your friends from the safety of a cubicle, out of pure greed, and who wouldn’t hesitate to get you killed through the bloodless act of dropping an unsigned note into an envelope and leaving it under a rock in a suburban park.

  Now consider that the bureaucracy for whom you toiled for decades not only does nothing to avenge the deaths of your friends but, in fact, orchestrated their executions. Yes, they may have been traitors and deserved punishment, but not execution, especially on the word of a known dissembler like Hanssen. Hanssen lied about Gennady and Jack. What lies did he tell about Motorin and Martynov in order to gild his lily? Everybody uses double agents, but nobody trusts them. Traitors like Ames and Hanssen are to the espionage world what “rats” are to the mafia: vermin undeserving of breathing the same air you do. Indeed, gangland rats have been known to get whacked on principle by rival families without formal sanction from mafia brass. Said one US spy to the authors, “We’re in the business of getting strategic intelligence, not getting each other’s spies killed.”

  This mindset would support the following theory, which is held by more than a few sources close to the Gennady affair: after Motorin, Martynov, and other KGB assets were killed because of Hanssen’s mendacity, and Hanssen made the false report that Gennady had been “turned” in the late 1980s by the CIA, which led to his first imprisonment, and the KGB rewarded such a monster, Gennady the Russian Cowboy decided to take matters into his own hands and blow up Hanssen himself.

  Alas, it’s just spook speculation, but it would be irresponsible to shrug off the conjecture of some spies that Gennady Vasilenko played a long shot and brought down Robert Hanssen to avenge what Hanssen, and most assuredly Sasha Zhomov, did to his friends. His brothers. Said the philosophical assassin Anton Chigurh in Cormac McCarthy’s No Country for Old Men to a target facing his wrath: “If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?” If Gennady’s loyalty brought him so much suffering,
and Ames’s and Hanssen’s treachery brought them riches from the KGB, of what use has been his own fidelity?

  If this hypothetical scenario is what occurred, then Gennady’s code of honor as a spy was upheld, and the same man who was unfaithful to his wife and family was faithful to his KGB spy brothers, flawed though they be, to degrees that changed history.

  To celebrate Gennady’s seventy-sixth birthday, there was a Musketeers reunion—Dion, Gennady, Jack, Mad Dog—in December 2016 in Virginia. It was the last time they would all see each other, as once again, the happy ending was a tease. Another bittersweet dose of real life was waiting around the corner.

  The last roundup: a final reunion of the Four Musketeers, December 12, 2016: (l. to r.) Dion Rankin, Genya Vasilenko, Jack Platt, John Denton.

  On Christmas Day 2016, Jack got food caught in his throat at dinner. The blockage was cleared, but he still complained of discomfort within his neck. A medical checkup revealed cancer, which likely explained his weight loss during the last year of his life and his difficulty swallowing. The disease moved fast. On his deathbed, Jack told Roy Jacobsen, “You take care of that son of a bitch,” referring to Gennady.

  The family’s obituary for Cowboy read:

  John Cheney Platt III (“Jack”), aged 80, died unexpectedly on January 4, 2017, of an advanced form of esophageal cancer, which had presented itself with no symptoms other than weight loss. He passed peacefully and painlessly in his sleep with loving family by his side… He led an amazing life, full of intrigue, mystery, and adventure, which he embraced and lived to the fullest… He was a hero among the Cold War Warriors and a consummate patriot for his beloved country. He was a natural leader, a mentor to many, and did not suffer fools (or bosses) lightly!

  A “Celebration of Life” for Jack was held on Friday, February 3, 2017, at 2:00 p.m. at Falcon’s Landing Retirement Community in Potomac Falls, Virginia. In Jack’s honor, donations were made to the US Marine Corps Memorial Association. More than 450 people were in attendance, including his extended family of FBI and CIA officers, among them the operatives who ran the legendary mole hunts: Mike Rochford, Sandy Grimes, and Robert Hanssen’s longtime FBI superior, David Major.

  No one had ever seen a send-off for a spy like this one. (“There’s no one manning the store at HQ. They’re all here,” one CIA official said.) The eulogies were powerful in form and content. Some called Jack “the best CIA officer ever, an icon.” Pressed to elaborate, one CIA executive politely declined. But he gave a look that implied that there were many heroic Jack exploits that no one would ever know about.

  When his turn came, Rochford read a letter from the assistant director of the FBI Counterintelligence Division:

  [Jack’s] distinguished career in [the] CIA and his lengthy service to the FBI and the US Intelligence community is cherished and will never be forgotten.

  In a thinly veiled reference to Cowboy’s secret part in the Hanssen roll-up:

  Jack played a key role in the successful resolution of several serious espionage cases and the recruitment of human sources that contributed significantly to the foreign counterintelligence mission of the FBI.

  The letter continues:

  He was a true professional in every sense of the word and was still assisting the FBI as Christmas 2016 was approaching.

  Regarding Jack’s IOC training:

  The FBI will forever be in debt for such professional training…

  Jack had the nickname “Cowboy” for a reason. He was daring, aggressive, fearless, and relentless in his military service with the Marines and his intelligence and counterintelligence operations with the CIA and the FBI. He always stood up for what he believed and never wavered from the mission that became his life’s work. However, Jack will always be remembered more for his humanity: his love for his family, friends, and country, and his friendly, unpretentious, and honest approach to his colleagues. Jack’s stories and anecdotes are legendary and whenever his family and friends come together, I trust they will be told and retold in his memory.

  A moving slide show was played, called “Cowboy,” to Jack’s favorite song, “American Pie.” Jen Jacobsen, daughter of HTG cofounder Roy Jacobsen, sang her appropriately customized version of “Nobody Does It Better” while looking at Gennady, the spy Jack had loved, at the front table. The Russian wept.

  Robert De Niro gave a short and loving tribute. He had appeared on The View just two hours earlier in New York, then raced to a private plane to get to the Virginia event in time to honor his friend. Afterward, Gennady and De Niro snuck away and got lost in tequila. Four months later, a more intimate final celebration of Cowboy’s life was held at the Old Brogue on Saturday, June 17, in the Snuggery Room. About seventy-five attended. Dion Rankin recalled how Jack would crush out his cigarette on his boot heel, leaving ash on the carpet of Paul Redmond’s CIA office. Polly’s daughters, Antonia and Sashy Bogdanovich, spoke, as did Paige, Michelle, Diana, Leigh, and grandson Cody. Gennady openly stated that his relationship with Jack had landed him in the gulag and had gotten him freed. Then, using a phrase he appropriated a lifetime ago from Cowboy: “Shit happens.” When the party broke up, Gennady grabbed his son Ilya, who made a rare appearance, and, eyes welling up, kissed him hard. No words were spoken.

  In June 2011, the Moscow District Military Court found Aleksandr Poteyev, the man who had sold out the Illegals, guilty of high treason and desertion and sentenced him to twenty-five years in prison in a trial that, like Gennady’s, was closed to the public. His wife was called as a witness. One of the other witnesses who testified against Poteyev was Anna Chapman. She told the tribunal that she had become suspicious of him after an undercover FBI agent contacted her in New York using a secret code word that only Poteyev would have known. At the time, Poteyev had been stationed in Moscow overseeing the Illegals operation. In addition to treason, the military court found Poteyev guilty of desertion. He was sentenced in absentia to twenty-five years in prison and stripped of his medals, military rank, and pension. Poteyev was not present at his own trial because he had fled Russia shortly before the Illegals were arrested in June 2010, relocating in the US, where he was given a new identity. According to one unverified Russian news service, Poteyev passed away in July 2016.

  Aleksandr Zaporozhsky and Anatoly Stepanov are also living with new identities somewhere in the US. Of the group of ex-KGB agents that flipped since the Ames case, only Gennady Vasilenko, who was never a traitor to his homeland, lives under his real name, not far from the Platt family home. Until Jack’s sudden passing in early 2017, the duo saw each other almost every day.

  Aldrich “Rick” Ames’s communications are tightly monitored at the Federal Correctional Institution in Indiana, where he is serving a life sentence. Robert Hanssen negotiated a plea bargain that enabled him to escape the death penalty in exchange for cooperating with authorities. On May 10, 2002, he was sentenced to fifteen consecutive sentences of life without the possibility of parole. In his federal supermax prison in Colorado, he is in solitary confinement for twenty-three hours a day. Edward Lee Howard died on July 12, 2002, at his Russian dacha, reportedly from a broken neck after a fall. Ronald Pelton was tried and convicted of espionage in 1986 and sentenced to three concurrent life sentences and a one-hundred-dollar fine. Under sentencing rules in place at the time, Pelton was presumptively entitled to release on parole after thirty years in custody. After serving out his term at the Federal Correctional Institution, Allenwood, a medium-security facility in Pennsylvania, he was released on November 24, 2015.

  In June 2016, Mikhail Fradkov, the SVR chief who negotiated Gennady’s swap with the CIA’s Panetta in 2010, and who ran a think tank in Moscow after leaving the SVR, suggested a cyber hack of the US election to President Vladimir Putin. According to the US intelligence community, the Russian hack was implemented, and it is being investigated as of this writing, affecting every move the nascent Trump administration makes (assuming said administration still exists when this book is published
). Incredibly, Russia is dominating the US news on a scale rivaling twentieth-century Cold War coverage. If the US won the Cold War with the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russians are displaying an impressive capacity to rise from the ashes. In the absence of “burying” the US, as Khrushchev vowed, Putin is succeeding, at the very least, in fomenting political chaos in our dysfunctional republic. As both Cowboy and Gennady often said, a country that has had nearly a millennium of war has a lot of resilience. And patience. Softly, softly, catchee monkey.

  If Cowboy was the patriotic hero who played an unsung role in bringing down one of the deadliest traitors in modern US history, Gennady is a hero of the human spirit, a flesh-and-blood spark that somehow manages to float through the air regardless of the climate. His loved ones got burned, but perhaps the notion of a pain-free existence is a uniquely American fantasy.

  As of this writing, Cowboy’s ashes are with the Platt family, but Gennady is making plans to have a portion of them interred in a Northern Virginia cemetery—in the long shadow of the CIA—beneath a modest headstone paid for by the Shoffler Brunch crew. Gennady has made clear his wish to be buried beside Jack someday.

  Gennady keeps Jack’s cowboy hat on a shelf in his home garage in the Virginia countryside, a modest hike to the banks of the Shenandoah River. One day, the spring after Jack died, Gennady awoke to unfamiliar sounds coming from the garage. His heart skipped. One last Sasha trick? He walked in and found that a healthy-looking bird had overturned the hat and made a nest for her family inside the crown. As a chick warbled along the brim, Gennady sighed with relief and savored this dividend of freedom. The ex-KGB officer, whose temperament seesawed between casual indifference and deep Russian sentimentality, then became drawn toward the call of another creature echoing in the valley outside. When Gennady opened his garage door and stepped into the morning sun, a lone eagle glided above the gentle slope that runs westward downhill to his gun range and onto the Shenandoah.