Circle of Treason

by Sandra V. Grimes

  Whether inside or outside of the world of espionage, seemingly insignificant events may later have profound impact. The following is such a story.

  During Polyakov’s home leave in 1968 Sandy was asked to inventory the contents of a large bank of five-drawer safes in her branch. Dust covered the files, which contained only non-record copies of official documents and therefore should have been destroyed years earlier. However, one folder caught her attention. Wedged among the inconsequential material in the bottom drawer of one safe was an official DO operational file (a 201) on a Soviet official named Nikolay Chernov. It contained only a few documents, including a visa request for temporary travel to New York in the 1960s and a reference to sensitive-source information identifying Chernov as a GRU officer. Who was this man and why was his seemingly forgotten 201 in a branch that did not retain such records and obviously had not looked at the file for years? Perplexed, but a new employee recently schooled in the need-to-know principle, Sandy simply took note of the Soviet’s name, finished her task, and handed the pages of her inventory to the deputy branch chief.

  One morning four years later, in 1972, an employee of Jeanne’s in the division’s Biographics Branch appeared in Sandy’s office holding the file of a Nikolay Chernov and asking for a copy of the sensitive-source reporting referenced in the file. Chernov had requested a visa for a short trip to the West, including a stop in New York City.

  Sandy immediately recognized the name as that of the subject of the mysterious 201 she had inventoried years before. This time she had the courage to tell her boss about the strange story of Chernov and his official file, which someone must have returned to the directorate’s main files after her inventory. Later that day her chief related news shocking not only to her but also to him and a number of others in their chain of command. Chernov, code-named NICKNACK by the Bureau and later PDCLIP by the CIA, was a GRU technical officer who had volunteered to the FBI in the early 1960s and whose cooperation had been known only to a few former senior SE Division officers, obviously someone in the old branch that followed GRU cases, and, of course, Angleton.

  The division immediately phoned the FBI to ensure they were aware of Chernov’s planned travel, scheduled for the following week. They were not. A copy of the identical visa request had not yet made its way through their bureaucracy. Thankfully, the CIA had given the FBI sufficient time to plan and attempt to recontact Chernov, with whom they had not been in touch for about ten years. We were proud we could assist and they were appreciative of the help.

  Several years passed before SE Division learned that the FBI had a successful exchange with Chernov and just how important that exchange had been. During a brief encounter with the FBI in the New York area Chernov turned over documentary material containing thousands of leads, known to the CIA and FBI as the MORINE leads, to heretofore unknown GRU agents abroad. The FBI, in turn, quickly and properly forwarded the material to the CIA through established channels at that time—directly to Angleton and his counterintelligence staff.

  Unconscionably, Angleton ensured that for three years Chernov’s gold mine of information remained buried and uninvestigated in the staff’s files, because he was believed to be a Soviet-controlled source and part of the Monster Plot. The voluminous reporting was discovered by an individual working for George Kalaris, Angleton’s replacement, after Angleton’s 1975 departure.

  The volume of the material was so great that Kalaris sought the assistance of SE Division’s Counterintelligence Group in the research and dissemination of the reporting to intelligence services worldwide, a project still being carried out in the early 1980s. The information included but was not limited to the Serge Fabiew GRU spy ring that had been operating in France since 1963, and the former head of the Swiss National Air Defense forces, Brigadier Jean-Louis Jeanmaire, who became a GRU agent in 1961.6

  In the early 1990s, some twenty years after his last contact with the FBI, Chernov was arrested in Moscow. In the more permissive post–Cold War atmosphere, he was sentenced to eight years but amnestied after less than a year. He was known to Ames and, presumably, Hanssen. One or both of them no doubt fingered him to the KGB. However, because this was a long dormant case, and Chernov had left the GRU many years earlier, the authorities delayed arresting him until they no longer faced a source-sensitivity problem.

  In 1974 during his first tour abroad Leonid Georgiyevich Poleshchuk,7 a young KGB political intelligence officer assigned to Kathmandu, Nepal, became a CIA asset. He was encrypted CKRUN at the time, with a later change to GTWEIGH. To some degree the circumstances of his recruitment mirrored his impulsive personality. A CIA case officer with whom he was in contact had developed him almost to the point of recruitment, but had to leave Nepal before he could make the formal offer. Subsequently, Poleshchuk volunteered his services to his CIA friend’s replacement. In a strange twist of fate it was Poleshchuk’s boss, KGB Resident Seliverstov, who deserves the credit for pushing the junior officer over the edge and into the camp of the Main Enemy. He insisted that Poleshchuk pay for a bottle of whisky the latter intended to use with one of his developmental sources. This was the last straw for the rash Poleshchuk, who saw the resident as a tyrant—a habitual abuser of the system who left his subordinates to fend for themselves. Poleshchuk abruptly left the residency and contacted his acquaintance at the U.S. embassy. He later commented that but for a bottle of booze he might not have sought the American’s counsel and assistance.

  We later learned that Poleshchuk’s motivation apparently went far beyond anger at a domineering boss, a view reportedly also held by a number of Seliverstov’s subordinates over the years. In November 1973 Poleshchuk’s father passed away after a long, painful struggle. Poleshchuk wanted to return home to attend the funeral. The KGB denied his request. The following month his only child, eleven-year-old Andrei, became ill, requiring hospitalization until early 1974. Poleshchuk again asked permission to leave Nepal. Once more the answer was no. It could easily be argued that the KGB itself deserves a great deal of the credit for Poleshchuk’s decision to seek out the Americans, an action that he took within a year of his father’s death and his son’s illness.

  Sandy was supporting the nascent Poleshchuk operation at headquarters when in early December 1974 Ben Pepper, chief of the Operations Branch in the division’s Counterintelligence Group, popped into her office and asked if she would like to spend Christmas in Nepal. Local CIA Chief John B, who was Poleshchuk’s new case officer, had requested headquarters’ assistance. He wanted someone who knew the KGB, could set up case files, refine the guidance on requirements, author cables, and provide other support as required. Thrilled at the prospect of her first overseas assignment and with the blessing of her family, one week later she was on her way to Nepal.

  Three days later Sandy arrived in Nepal anxious to meet John B, a man she had never seen and with whom she had no contact instructions. But how hard could it be to identify an American official from those greeting the daily Air Nepal flight from New Delhi? This was the end of the world, after all. Unfortunately, it was more difficult than expected and almost resulted in an operational disaster before she had been on the ground five minutes. Upon deplaning Sandy immediately saw a well-dressed Caucasian man in the mostly Nepalese crowd, who obviously had to be John B. She uttered a faint hello, but before she could identify herself by name the stranger began shouting greetings in Russian to a group behind her. Briefly wondering how she could mistake a Russian for an American diplomat, she quickly extricated herself from the Soviet contingent and bolted for the terminal building. There the elusive CIA chief suddenly appeared, introduced himself, and explained that they had to leave the airport immediately. He mumbled that he must avoid an acquaintance he had just seen. The mystery man turned out to be KGB Resident Seliverstov who was instrumental in our recruitment of Poleshchuk and who was none other than the Soviet gentleman Sandy had earlier approached. As luck would have it, they did not escape the KGB chief; he accosted John near his
parked car and bluntly asked the identity of his visitor. Thinking on the fly, John introduced Sandy as a guest of the U.S. ambassador’s wife. This appeared to satisfy Seliverstov and they all went their separate ways. What a way to start Christmas in Nepal.

  For the Kathmandu officers involved with Poleshchuk and his various antics, the next month was a whirlwind of activity. This included meeting preparations, debriefings, initial planning for internal communications, and refinement of an exfiltration plan should Poleshchuk decide to defect rather than return to Moscow. The latter possibility was a daily concern. Poleshchuk was prone to act before he considered the consequences. It was well within the realm of possibility that he would get drunk, drive his KGB operational vehicle to John B’s house, and say “let’s go, I’ve just punched my resident in the nose.” The office had spent considerable time and effort planning for such an event, taking into account the fishbowl-operating environment of Kathmandu and the limited available options even in a nonemergency situation. That plan was soon to be tested as part of a surprise birthday party John B’s officers had planned for him, fitting his reputation as a legendary prankster.

  Late one afternoon the pregnant wife of the deputy chief notified John that she had an inebriated Poleshchuk in her living room demanding to be taken to the United States. The chief flew into action, initiating each step of the exfiltration when he suddenly realized that there were flaws in the original plan and he would be forced to improvise. An hour later he appeared at his deputy’s home to collect what he assumed was an even more distraught and anxious Poleshchuk. To John’s officers’ delight and his own anger, he was greeted with cheers of Happy Birthday. After a tirade of expletives, he soon calmed down when it was pointed out that, while he had been duped, the weaknesses of a flawed operational plan had been exposed and could be corrected.

  Fortunately for all involved in the case, the revised exfiltration plan was never implemented for “the wild one,” as Poleshchuk was affectionately dubbed. Rather, he left Kathmandu in 1975 with diamonds as payment for his services, an internal communications plan, and a promise to resume contact in the Soviet Union. For ten years there was no word from Poleshchuk until early 1985, when Sandy’s and his paths again crossed.

  One morning Sandy, then chief of SE External Operations for Africa, received a cable from Lagos describing a walk-in who said, “I come from the land of the tall mountains.” The walk-in requested that this message be sent to Washington and promised they would know who he was. Sandy immediately recognized that it was Poleshchuk, the young KGB political intelligence officer whose case she had supported in Kathmandu in 1974. What were the odds that eleven years later they would be on the opposite ends of the same cable? Even more incredibly, Jeanne in Libreville received a copy of the cable and, like Sandy, recognized the case. As it happened, the CIA chief from Lagos was vacationing in Libreville to enjoy the beach and some French cuisine. His deputy thought he should be advised of the walk-in.

  Headquarters immediately informed Lagos that they did indeed have a new source, provided them with the history of the case, and advised them to hold on for the ride of their life. This asset would try everyone’s patience and the operation would require careful, detailed planning to ensure his safety.

  After the first sit-down meeting with Poleshchuk it was clear that he was a changed man. Thankfully for all, headquarters’ initial warnings were wrong and history had not repeated itself. Erased from Poleshchuk’s personality were his earlier brashness, impulsiveness, immaturity, and self-centeredness. In its place his new handlers found a soft-spoken, reflective, cautious individual whose drinking had moderated and who would never consider a precipitous operational act that might compromise himself or his family. The “wild one” had metamorphosed into an ideal agent. Additionally, he was no longer a political intelligence case officer but had switched to the counterintelligence line of the KGB, a specialty that would allow him fairly wide access to information on KGB penetrations of and operations against members of foreign intelligence services, particularly upon his reassignment to Moscow from Nigeria.

  In late May 1985 a discussion took place at headquarters that would have a profound effect on the future of the Poleshchuk case. It involved his request for the $20,000 he was owed, his desire to take the money with him on his upcoming Moscow vacation, and his concern about smuggling the money past the KGB border control. Sandy and several others argued that the situation was a perfect opportunity to convince Poleshchuk of our ability to communicate securely inside the Soviet Union during his eventual permanent reassignment there, rather than sit back and wait another five or ten years before he was reassigned in the West.

  The argument was straightforward. Just pass him the money via a dead drop that contained no spy paraphernalia and no secret messages. In a worst-case scenario, if he were caught with the money, the KGB would suspect criminal activity, but they would have no proof of espionage. There would be nothing to connect Poleshchuk to American intelligence assuming, of course, that the designated Moscow Station officer did not place the drop until he or she was surveillance free.

  Rick Ames, as chief of the Soviet Branch of the Division’s CI Group, had an advisory role in operational decisions involving division sources and developmental cases outside the Soviet Union. For the first time in Sandy’s experience in the Africa Branch, Rick not only exercised his role on one of her cases, but did so forcefully. He was adamant in his disagreement on the passage of funds in Moscow and repeatedly argued that the potential risk of compromise to Poleshchuk was too great. Division chief Gerber sided with Sandy, and Poleshchuk agreed to retrieve his money via a Moscow dead drop.

  In July 1985 Poleshchuk and his family departed Lagos for their vacation with an anticipated return to Nigeria in September. Poleshchuk failed to appear for his first scheduled recontact in late September. He was also a no-show for number two. Worry set in and on 2 October Milt Bearden, then deputy chief of SE Division, called Sandy to his office and showed her an excerpt of a cable from an unidentified field station. The reporting was obviously from a sensitive source and it was a DO officer’s worst nightmare. Poleshchuk had been arrested. It would be Sandy’s job to inform his field case officers.

  How do you convey the sense of loss and the fear that we individually or collectively may have made the mistake or mistakes that cost this man his life? After much thought, anguish, and inability to say anything else, the message was simple and pointed. “There is no easy way to say this. GTWEIGH has been arrested.” Everyone involved in the case from Lagos to Moscow to Langley remembered the day they learned of the tragedy. As we assumed at the time and learned later, the unmentionable consequences became a trial, a conviction on 12 June 1986, and a bullet to the head on 30 July 1986 for the thoughtful, reasoned man who by the time of our contact in Lagos had truly come to understand the risks on his path of treason.

  What had gone wrong? The analysis began the next day. After a review of all aspects of the operation we concluded that the Moscow Station officer had been under KGB surveillance when he put the money down. Thus, the KGB was able to establish the link between Poleshchuk and the CIA. Ames had been right; the risk was too great. Nine years would pass before Sandy, the Moscow Station officer, Poleshchuk’s Lagos case officers, Gerber, and others could publicly unload their burden of guilt for their agent’s compromise. Poleshchuk’s death was the direct result of Ames’ treason. Early in his treasonous activities he informed the KGB about Poleshchuk’s relationship with the CIA. Long before the Moscow Station officer loaded the dead drop, the KGB knew for whom it was intended, where it was located, and approximately when it would be retrieved.

  General Rem Sergeyevich Krasilnikov, who directed KGB operations against CIA personnel and agents in Moscow from 1979 to 1992 while serving as chief of the American Department of the Second (Counterintelligence) Chief Directorate of the KGB, discusses the compromise of Poleshchuk in a recent book. Krasilnikov assigns initial responsibility for the loss of Po
leshchuk to the CIA Moscow Station, which failed to note KGB surveillance and led them right to the spot where he placed a secret container for an unknown individual. On 2 August 1985 a heavy-set man of middle age, who turned out to be Poleshchuk, cleared the dead drop. In a subsequent investigation and trial, the details of Poleshchuk’s treason were revealed. Not surprisingly, Krasilnikov makes no mention of Ames’ role in Poleshchuk’s capture and, to the contrary, calls Ames a “scapegoat” for the failures of Moscow Station.8

  However, Viktor Ivanovich Cherkashin, the senior KGB counterintelligence officer in Washington in 1985 and Ames’ first case officer, contradicts Krasilnikov’s account of the Poleshchuk loss. According to Cherkashin, Ames betrayed Poleshchuk. The KGB’s story of the latter’s unmasking was nothing more than an ornate fabrication by the Second Chief Directorate.9 Ames, of course, freely admits that he betrayed Poleshchuk to the KGB.

  Lieutenant Colonel Vladimir Mikhaylovich Piguzov, a KGB political intelligence officer code-named GTJOGGER, was recruited by the CIA in Indonesia in 1978 through a bizarre chain of events. A CIA case officer had developed a close friendship with Piguzov that subsequently led to a recruitment approach. Piguzov agreed to cooperate with his CIA friend, and headquarters and the field geared up to handle the new source. Then everything fell apart. Amid photographers and the local press, the Soviet ambassador to Indonesia lodged an official protest with the Indonesian government, accusing the United States of attempting to subvert Soviet diplomat Vladimir Piguzov. There was shock and disbelief in our office in Jakarta and at CIA headquarters. How could we have been so wrong about the nature of our officer’s relationship with Piguzov and his commitment to cooperate?