The first approach to a Western writer offering material from KGB archives intended to create this “positive” image was to the mercurial John Costello, a freelance British historian who combined flair for research with a penchant for conspiracy theory.60 In 1991 Costello published a book on the mysterious flight to Britain fifty years previously of Hitler’s deputy Führer, Rudolf Hess, which drew on KGB records selected by the SVR as well as Western sources, and argued (implausibly, in the view of most experts on the period) that the key to the whole affair was a plot by British intelligence.61 Two years later, in collaboration with the SVR consultant (and former FCD officer) Oleg Tsarev, Costello published a somewhat less controversial biography of the inter-war Soviet intelligence officer Aleksandr Orlov which was described on the dustjacket as “The first book from the KGB archives—the KGB secrets the British government doesn’t want you to read.” The book began with tributes to the disgraced former chairman of the KGB, Vladimir Kryuchkov, and the last head of the FCD, Leonid Vladimirovich Shebarshin, for initiating the project. Costello added a note of “personal gratitude” to the SVR “for the ongoing support that they have given to this project which has established a new precedent for openness and objectivity in the study of intelligence history, not only in Russia, but the rest of the world.”62
The Costello-Tsarev combination set the pattern for other collaborations between Russian authors selected or approved by the SVR and Western writers (who have included both well-known historians and a senior retired CIA officer): a project initially sponsored, but later abandoned, by Crown Books in the United States. For each volume in the series, which covers topics from the inter-war period to the early Cold War, the SVR has given the authors exclusive access to copies of previously top secret documents selected by it from KGB archives. All the books published so far have contained interesting and sometimes important new material; several are also impressive for the quality of their historical analysis. Their main weakness, for which the authors cannot be blamed, is that the choice of KGB documents on which they are based has been made not by them but by the SVR.63
The choice is sometimes highly selective. During the 1990s, for example, the SVR has made available to Russian and Western authors four successive tranches from the bulky file of the KGB’s most famous British agent, Kim Philby.64 In order to preserve both Philby’s heroic image and the reputation of Russian foreign intelligence, however, the SVR has been careful not to release the record of Philby’s final weeks as head of the SIS station in the United States (the climax of his career as a Soviet spy), when money and instructions intended for Philby were mislaid, and he fell out with his incompetent controller who was subsequently recalled to Moscow in disgrace. Mitrokhin’s notes on those parts of the Philby file still considered by the SVR unsuitable for public consumption reveal this farcical episode for the first time.65
The SVR has publicly denied even the existence of some of the files which it finds embarrassing. While writing a history of KGB-CIA rivalry in Berlin before the construction of the Wall, based partly on documents selected by the SVR, the Russian and American authors (one of them a former deputy head of the FCD) asked to see the file of the KGB agent Aleksandr Grigoryevich Kopatzky (alias Igor Orlov). The SVR replied that it had no record of any agent of that name. Its only record of “Igor Orlov” was, it claimed, of a visit made by him to the Soviet embassy in Washington in 1965, when he complained of FBI harassment and enquired about asylum in the USSR.66 Though still officially an unperson in the SVR version of Russian intelligence history, Kopatzky was in reality one of the KGB’s most highly rated agents. His supposedly non-existent KGB file, noted by Mitrokhin, reveals that he had no fewer than twenty-three controllers.67
As well as initiating an unprecedented series of collaborative histories for publication in the West, the SVR has produced a number of less sophisticated works for the Russian market. In 1995, to mark the seventy-fifth anniversary of the foundation of the Soviet foreign intelligence service, of which it sees itself as the heir, the SVR published a volume on the careers of seventy-five intelligence officers—all, it appears, sans peur et sans reproche—which differs little from the uncritical hagiographies of the KGB era.68 In 1995 the SVR also began the publication of a multi-volume official history of KGB foreign operations which by 1997 had reached the beginning of the Great Patriotic War.69 Though a mine of mostly reliable factual information, it too presents a selective and sanitized view of Soviet intelligence history. It also preserves, in a mercifully diluted form, some of the traditional conspiracy theories of the KGB. The literary editor of the official history, Lolly Zamoysky, was formerly a senior FCD analyst, well known within the Centre and foreign residencies for his belief in a global Masonic-Zionist plot.70 In 1989 he published a volume grandly entitled Behind the Façade of the Masonic Temple, which blamed the Freemasons for, inter alia, the outbreak of the Cold War.71
The underlying rationale for the SVR’s selection of topics and documents for histories of past operations is to present Soviet foreign intelligence as a dedicated and highly professional service, performing much the same functions as its Western counterparts but, more often than not, winning the contest against them.72 Even under Stalin, foreign intelligence is presented as the victim rather than the perpetrator of the Terror73—despite the fact that during the later 1930s hunting down “enemies of the people” abroad became its main priority.74 Similarly, the SVR seeks to distance the foreign intelligence operations of the FCD during the Cold War from the abuse of human rights by the domestic KGB. In reality, however, the struggle against “ideological subversion” both at home and abroad was carefully coordinated. The KGB took a central role in the suppression of the Hungarian Uprising in 1956, the crushing of the Prague Spring in 1968, the invasion of Afghanistan in 1979, and the pressure on the Polish regime to destroy Solidarity in 1981. Closely linked to the persecution of dissidents within the Soviet Union were the FCD’s PROGRESS operations against dissidents in the rest of the Soviet Bloc and its constant harassment of those who had taken refuge in the West.75 By the mid-1970s the FCD’s war against ideological subversion extended even to operations against Western Communist leaders who were judged to have deviated from Moscow’s rigid Party line.76
On these and many other operations, Mitrokhin’s archive contains much material from KGB files which the SVR is still anxious to keep from public view. Unlike the documents selected for declassification by the SVR, none of which are more recent than the early 1960s, his archive covers almost the whole of the Cold War. Most of it is still highly classified in Moscow. The originals of some of the most important documents noted or transcribed by Mitrokhin may no longer exist. In 1989 most of the huge multi-volume file on the dissident Andrei Sakharov, earlier branded “Public Enemy Number One” by Andropov, was destroyed. Soon afterwards, Kryuchkov announced that all files on other dissidents charged under the infamous Article 70 of the criminal code (anti-Soviet agitation and propaganda) were being shredded.77 In a number of cases, Mitrokhin’s notes on them may now be all that survives.
Vasili Mitrokhin has thus made it possible to extend what John Costello praised in 1993 as the “new precedent for openness and objectivity in the study of intelligence history” set by Kryuchkov and his SVR successors far beyond the limits any of them could have envisaged.
TWO
FROM LENIN’S CHEKA TO STALIN’S OGPU
For most of Mitrokhin’s career in the KGB, the history of its domestic operations was something of an embarrassment even to its own historians. During the late 1930s the KGB (then known as the NKVD) had been the chief instrument of Stalin’s Great Terror, the greatest peacetime persecution in European history. The KGB officers club in the Lubyanka, its Moscow headquarters, lacked even the usual boardroom photographs of past chairmen; most were more suited to a chamber of horrors than to a hall of fame. Three had been shot after being found guilty of horrific crimes (some real, others imaginary): Genrikh Yagoda in 1938, Nikolai Yezhov in 1940
and Lavrenti Beria in 1953. A fourth—Ivan Serov—blew his brains out in 1963. KGB historians in the post-Stalin era tended to take refuge from the blood-stained reality of their Stalinist past and homicidal former chairmen by returning to an earlier, mostly mythical, Leninist golden age of revolutionary purity.
The KGB traced its origins to the foundation on December 20, 1917, six weeks after the Bolshevik Revolution, of the Cheka, the first Soviet security and intelligence agency. Throughout Mitrokhin’s career, KGB officers styled themselves Chekists (Chekisty) and were paid their salaries not on the first but on the twentieth of each month (“Chekists’ Day”) in honor of the Cheka’s birthday. The KGB also adopted the Cheka symbols of the sword and the shield: the shield to defend the revolution, the sword to smite its foes. Outside the Lubyanka, the KGB’s Moscow headquarters, stood a huge statue of the Polish-born head of the Cheka, Feliks Dzerzhinsky, venerated in countless official hagiographies as the selfless, incorruptible “Knight of the Revolution” who slew the dragon of counter-revolution which threatened the young Soviet state. He had been a professional revolutionary for over twenty years before the Revolution, spending eleven of those years in Tsarist prisons, penal servitude or exile. KGB training manuals quoted his description of the Chekist as a man with “a warm heart, a cool head and clean hands.” Like Lenin, he was an incorruptible workaholic, prepared to sacrifice both himself and others in the defense of the Revolution.1 In the headquarters of the KGB First Chief (Foreign Intelligence) Directorate at Yasenevo, the main object of veneration was a large bust of Dzerzhinsky on a marble pedestal constantly surrounded by fresh flowers.
The KGB’s effusive public tributes to its saintly founding father concealed the degree to which Dzerzhinsky derived his intelligence tradecraft from the Cheka’s much smaller Tsarist predecessor, the Okhrana. The Bolsheviks had extensive first-hand experience of the Okhrana’s expertise in the use of penetration agents and agents provocateurs. In July 1913 Lenin had discussed the difficult problem of Okhrana penetration with two of his chief lieutenants, Lev Kamenev and Grigori Zinovyev, and the leader of the Bolshevik deputies in the Duma, Roman Malinovsky. All were agreed that there must be an unidentified Okhrana agent in close contact with the Bolshevik deputies. The agent was in even closer contact than Lenin realized. It was Roman Malinovsky. After Okhrana files later revealed his identity, he was shot in the Kremlin gardens on the first anniversary of the Bolshevik Revolution.2
The Cheka’s success in penetrating its opponents derived in large part from its imitation of the techniques employed by Malinovsky and other Tsarist agents. Dmitri Gavrilovich Yevseyev, the author of two of the Cheka’s earliest operational manuals, Basic Tenets of Intelligence and Brief Instructions for the Cheka on How to Conduct Intelligence, based his writings on detailed study of Okhrana tradecraft. Though the Cheka was “an organ for building the dictatorship of the proletariat,” Yevseyev insisted—like Dzerzhinsky—that it must not hesitate to learn from the experience of “bourgeois” intelligence agencies.3
The Cheka’s early priorities were overwhelmingly domestic. Dzerzhinsky described it as “an organ for the revolutionary settlement of accounts with counterrevolutionaries,” 4 a label increasingly applied to all the Bolsheviks’ opponents and “class enemies.” Within days of its foundation, however, the Cheka had also taken its first tentative steps in foreign intelligence collection. The career of the first agent sent on a mission abroad, Aleksei Frolovich Filippov, was sadly at variance with the heroic image which KGB historians struggled to maintain in their descriptions of the Leninist era. Born in 1870 and trained as a lawyer, Filippov had made a career before the Revolution as a newspaper publisher. At the end of 1917 he was recruited by Dzerzhinsky to go on intelligence assignments to Finland under cover as a journalist and businessman. Before departing on his first mission in January 1918, Filippov gave a written undertaking “on a voluntary basis, without receiving payment, to pass on all the information which I hear in industrial, banking and particularly in conservative [nationalist] circles.”5
On January 4 Lenin publicly recognized the independence of Finland, formerly part of the Tsarist Empire, then immediately set about trying to subvert it. A putsch at the end of the month by Finnish Communists, supported by the Russian military and naval garrison in Helsinki, seized control of the capital and much of southern Finland. The Communists were quickly challenged by a defense corps of Finnish nationalists led by the former Tsarist officer General Karl Mannerheim.6 Filippov’s main Cheka assignment was to report on Mannerheim, his dealings with the Germans, and the mood of the sailors who had supported the putsch. Early in April 1918, however, German forces intervened in Finland, and by the end of the month both the Communist putsch and Filippov’s brief career as the first Soviet foreign agent were at an end.7
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DURING THE CIVIL war, which began in May 1918 and continued for two and a half years, the Bolshevik regime had to fight for its survival against powerful but divided White Russian armies. Behind all the forces arraigned against them, the Bolshevik leaders saw a vast conspiracy orchestrated by Western capitalism. “What we are facing,” declared Lenin in July, “is a systematic, methodical and evidently long-planned military and financial counter-revolutionary campaign against the Soviet Republic, which all the representatives of Anglo-French imperialism have been preparing for months.”8 In reality, though the young Soviet regime had many enemies both at home and abroad, there was no carefully planned, well coordinated imperialist plot to bring it down. The illusion that such a plot existed, however, helped to shape the Cheka’s early operations against its imperialist foes.
In the course of the civil war, the Cheka claimed to have uncovered and defeated a series of major conspiracies by Western governments and their intelligence agencies to overthrow the Bolshevik regime. The first such conspiracy in the summer of 1918 was the “envoys’ plot,” also known as the “Lockhart plot” (after its instigator, Robert Bruce Lockhart, a junior British diplomat). According to a KGB history published in 1979, “One could say without exaggeration that the shattering blow dealt by the Chekists to the conspirators was equivalent to victory in a major military battle.”9 That is what the Cheka had claimed in 1918 and what most of Mitrokhin’s colleagues continued to believe over half a century later. In reality, however, the “envoys’ plot” was mounted not by a coalition of capitalist governments but by a group of politically naive Western diplomats and adventurous secret agents who were left largely to their own devices during the chaotic early months of the Bolshevik regime and became involved in farcically inept attempts to overthrow it. The best-known of the secret agents was Sidney Reilly of the British Secret Intelligence Service (then known as MI1c), whose exploits oscillated between high adventure and low farce, and whose increasing tendency to fantasy later led to his exclusion from SIS. Reilly announced his arrival in Moscow on May 7, 1918 in bizarre but characteristic fashion by marching up to the Kremlin gates, announcing that he was an emissary from the British prime minister, Lloyd George (who had probably never heard of him), and unsuccessfully demanding to see Lenin.
By far the most sophisticated part of the “envoys’ plot” was devised not by the envoys themselves or their secret agents but by the Cheka, possibly at Lenin’s suggestion, as a trap for Western conspirators. In August 1918 the Cheka officer Yan Buikis, posing as an anti-Bolshevik conspirator named Shmidkhen, succeeded in persuading Lockhart, Reilly and the French consul-general that Colonel Eduard Berzin, commander of a Latvian regiment in the Kremlin (in reality a Cheka agent provocateur), was ready to lead an anti-Bolshevik rising. To finance Berzin’s proposed coup, Reilly gave him 1,200,000 roubles which Berzin promptly passed on to the Cheka.10 Reilly’s schemes for the coup varied. At one point he imagined himself leading a detachment of Latvian troops on to the stage of the Bolshoi Theatre during the Congress of Soviets, seizing Lenin, Trotsky and other Bolshevik leaders, and shooting them on the spot.11 However, Reilly was also attracted by an alter
native scheme not to execute Lenin and Trotsky, but instead to remove their trousers, parade them in their underpants through the streets of Moscow, and so “hold them up to ridicule before the world.”12
Reilly’s fantasies however were overtaken by events. On August 30 the head of the Petrograd Cheka, Moisei Solomonovich Uritsky, was assassinated by a former member of the moderate Workers’ Popular Socialist Party, Leonid Kannegiser.13 In an unrelated attack on the same day, Lenin was shot and seriously wounded by the Socialist Revolutionary, Fanya (Dora) Kaplan. “I shot Lenin because I believe him to be a traitor [to Socialism],” Kaplan told her Cheka interrogators.14 In the aftermath of both shootings, Dzerzhinsky decided to wind up the “envoys’ plot,” which the Cheka itself had been largely responsible for orchestrating. On September 2 it was announced that the Cheka had “liquidated… the conspiracy organized by Anglo-French diplomats… to organize the capture of the Council of People’s Commissars and the proclamation of military dictatorship in Moscow; this was to be done by bribing Soviet troops.” Predictably, the statement made no mention of the fact that the plan to bribe Soviet troops and stage a military coup had been devised by the Cheka itself and that the diplomats had been drawn into the conspiracy by agents provocateurs relying on Okhrana tradecraft. On September 5 Dzerzhinsky and Zinovyev, the Petrograd Party boss, issued a further statement declaring that the Anglo-French conspirators had been the “organizers” of the attempt on Lenin’s life and the “real murderers” of Uritsky. Dzerzhinsky did not, however, reveal Reilly’s plan to remove Lenin’s and Trotsky’s trousers. Though happy to publicize, or invent, Western involvement in assassination plots against Lenin, the Cheka dared not disclose a plot to hold him up to ridicule.15
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