Collusion_Secret Meetings, Dirty Money, and How Russia Helped Donald Trump Win

by Luke Harding

  Certainly, it looked bad for Trump’s lieutenants. It was clear that both Paul Manafort and Michael Flynn were now major targets. Mueller’s strategy seemed designed to unnerve them both. The special prosecutor had reportedly targeted Flynn’s son and former chief of staff, Michael Flynn, Jr., with a subpoena. This was a classic bare-knuckle prosecutorial tactic—go after the son to step up pressure on Dad.

  Seemingly, the goal was to get Flynn to cooperate. For Flynn to receive immunity, he would have to provide information that materially advanced the case against people higher up the chain of command. That meant Trump. Of course, Trump might pardon Flynn. But, as constitutional lawyers noted, Trump could not issue a pardon for an improper reason or to frustrate justice.

  Meanwhile, Manafort’s woes piled up. Further subpoenas were issued, covering his lawyer and prominent D.C. lobbying firms with which he had worked on the Ukraine brief. Humiliating details emerged of the FBI’s predawn raid on his home. The agents picked the locks, burst in with weapons drawn, and even patted down Manafort’s bleary-eyed wife, Kathleen, CNN reported. This physical roughness was normally reserved for cases of organized crime or treason.

  Another Mueller target, Carter Page, announced that he would plead the Fifth Amendment. His desire not to self-incriminate was understandable. Were he to testify before Congress, he might say something at odds with records of his private conversations, bugged by the FBI and now in the hands of the U.S. government.

  Trump’s lawmaking achievements, meanwhile, were scant. There was one piece of significant legislation, but one Trump had bitterly opposed. On August 2, 2017, he had been forced to sign into law the new sanctions against Moscow, after a near-unanimous vote in the Senate and House. The act could be revoked only with Congress’s approval. The prospect of a Trump administration lifting sanctions on Russia had disappeared.

  For Vladimir Putin, this was a profound setback. The Kremlin’s campaign to help Trump win the White House had a primary goal. That was to bring about an end to America’s economic embargo. (The secondary aim was to shove a finger in the United States’ preexisting social and ideological wounds. This had succeeded well enough.)

  Putin’s operation was bold, cocky even. It involved cyber hacking, fake Facebook accounts, and classic KGB techniques of deceit and cultivation. But it had backfired, you might argue. Kremlin officials often imagined America to be a mirror copy of Russia. They had a poor understanding of U.S. institutional politics. They failed to appreciate the separation of powers or the constraints on a president—any president.

  Wiser voices inside the Russian administration—fired chief of staff Sergei Ivanov and U.S. ambassador Sergey Kislyak, now recalled to Moscow—had been right. As with Putin’s 2014 invasion of Ukraine, intervening in the 2016 U.S. presidential election had been a tactical triumph and a strategic disaster. The consequences for Russia’s economy were lasting. It remained shut out from cheap Western credit.

  Were it not for Steele’s dossier, Trump would have lifted sanctions and created a new alliance with Russia, Chris Steele believed. As one friend put it: “Chris stole a great strategic victory from right under Putin’s nose.” Steele’s motivations weren’t connected to politics or ego. Rather, it was about uncovering the truth and public service, the friend said. At some point Steele may want to tell his own story.

  It was an open question as to when the dossier would be “proven up,” Steele added to friends. The Kremlin had had a year to cover up all traces of its operation. It had done this successfully. In contrast to D.C., Russian officials didn’t leak; journalists based in Moscow had struggled to find original material. There were quite a few people “still alive and kicking” who knew significant things, but they were not likely to come forward “anytime soon,” Steele thought.

  These people included ex-KGB officers with knowledge of historic plots. There were paper records, too: typically loose-leaf folders with documents arranged in chronological order. Does the Trump file still exist? The chatter in Moscow is that Putin has grown so paranoid that any incriminating material will have been destroyed or hidden in his safe. Certainly, the Soviet-era file on Steele, compiled when he was a junior embassy spy, will now be much enhanced.

  Inside Russia, change looks unlikely. In 2017 Putin’s stint in power (including his spell as prime minister, when he remained in charge) exceeded that of Leonid Brezhnev. There is every sign that Putin intends to continue in office after Russia’s 2018 presidential election. Six more years will take him to 2024. He will probably outlast Trump. Even without Putin, Putinism may survive in a new form.

  Even so, details of Moscow’s Trump project may eventually trickle out. A change of regime, a defector, a loose cannon—all could see well-buried secrets emerge. After the collapse of Soviet communism, Stalin’s spy chief wrote a memoir. The KGB lost control of its foreign intelligence archive detailing secret postwar operations. It ended up in the hands of MI6. It can be read in Cambridge, England.

  For now, the Russian half of the collusion story lies beyond Mueller’s grasp.

  Mueller’s focus is the American half. That is more gettable. And what we know there is bad enough.

  The first indictments came in late October. Two of the names were no surprise—Manafort and Manafort’s associate Rick Gates. When Manafort was Trump’s campaign chairman, Gates served as his deputy. The charges dated from the period between 2006 and 2016, chiefly from when both men worked for Yanukovych in Ukraine.

  Their alleged crimes were stunning. There were twelve counts in all. They included conspiracy against the United States, money laundering, failing to file reports for foreign bank accounts, and not registering as a foreign agent. Plus, making “false, fictitious, and fraudulent” statements. The pair was said to have run a “multi-million dollar lobbying campaign” inside the United States on behalf of the Yanukovych regime. They tried to hide this, the indictment claimed.

  It was known that Manafort was richly rewarded for his activities in Kiev. Even so, the alleged sums discovered by the FBI were dizzying. The bureau said that more than $75 million had flowed through offshore accounts belonging to Manafort. He had set up a series of foreign front companies run by nominees. These in turn controlled numerous bank accounts—in Cyprus, Saint Vincent and the Grenadines, and the Seychelles.

  What had Manafort done with all this cash? The bureau claimed that he had laundered much of it, “more than $18,000,000.” The money had funded an oligarch-like splurge. Manafort bought luxury goods: antique rugs, clothes, artwork, landscaping, housekeeping, interior design, and car payments, including the purchase of a Mercedes and Range Rovers. And the properties in New York. (One of them, the SoHo condo, was rented on Airbnb for “thousands of dollars a week.”)

  In better times, Manafort was arguably the most articulate member of Trump’s campaign team. As news of the indictments broke, Manafort went silent. He and Gates turned themselves over to the FBI and appeared in a federal court in Washington, D.C. They pleaded not guilty to all charges. Manafort was freed on a $10 million bond. He was now under “home confinement,” his fate uncertain ahead of a trial.

  Trump’s response to his ex-aide’s troubles? Minimal—a couple of tweets. It was left to Manafort’s attorney to defend his client. Speaking outside court, Kevin Downing dismissed the charges as ridiculous. He said there was no evidence that Manafort or the Trump campaign had ever colluded with the Russians. As the White House noted, the charges predated Manafort’s work for Trump.

  And yet the sense of foreboding engulfing the Trump administration was real. There was another unexpected development: a third indictment of someone from Trump’s team. This was George Papadopoulos, a young Greek American who lived in London. He had joined the campaign at age twenty-nine in March 2016. An “excellent guy,” as Trump put it later that same month, unveiling Papadopoulos as one of his foreign policy advisers.

  The FBI’s indictment laid out a secret plot. Much of it took place on Steele’s doorstep. The characters
involved seemed to have fallen from the board game Clue: a mysterious “Professor” based in the United Kingdom, a female Russian national, and an “individual” in Moscow with impeccable connections to Russia’s foreign ministry.

  The bureau’s fourteen-page “statement of offence” against Papadopoulos was unsealed the same day Manafort and Gates appeared in court. It set out in calm, logical tones an attempt by Papadopoulos to arrange a high-level meeting between Putin and Trump. Discussions with the Russian connections took place behind the scenes throughout the spring and summer of 2016. Trump’s team was consulted throughout.

  The statement revealed Papadopoulos learned in late April 2016 that the Kremlin possessed “dirt” on Hillary Clinton in the form of “thousands of emails.” At this point, the Democrats had no idea of any hack. The stolen Democratic National Committee emails were made public six weeks later. Seemingly, the time line shed fresh light on why Donald Trump, Jr., was so eager to meet Veselnitskaya. And on Trump’s public appeal to Moscow to locate Hillary’s “missing” 33,000 emails.

  Papadopoulos first met “the Professor” in March 2016, during a trip to Italy. The Professor—identified by The Washington Post and other media outlets as Joseph Mifsud—showed little interest in him. (Mifsud denies he is the Professor or any Russian government connection.) Until, that was, the Professor discovered Papadopoulos’s role in the Trump campaign. In London, the Professor introduced Papadopoulos to a “female Russian national.” Papadopoulos wrongly called her “Putin’s niece” in emails sent back to the campaign.

  What did they discuss? According to the FBI, how to improve U.S.-Russian ties. And, more concretely, arranging a meeting between “us”—the Trump campaign—and the Russian leadership. A week later Papadopoulos flew to Washington, D.C. He was photographed sitting around a table with Trump and the candidate’s national security team. Papadopoulos introduced himself and made a bold offer: using his connections, he could engineer a Trump-Putin meeting.

  Next, Papadopoulos worked with his new friends to make this happen. He sent emails to the Russian woman, who replied in enthusiastic terms. The Professor got in touch from Moscow and introduced Papadopoulos to an influential “individual” with links to Russia’s foreign ministry and its North America desk. Meanwhile, Papadopoulos kept the campaign apprised of his activities and Kremlin contacts. One “campaign supervisor” replied, “Great work.”

  And so it went on. There was a breakfast with the Professor in a London hotel. The Professor had just returned from Moscow, where he met “high-level Russian government officials.” He brought intriguing news: the Russians had obtained valuable “dirt” on Clinton. “They have thousands of [her] emails,” the Professor said. After this conversation, Papadopoulos continued to correspond with Trump campaign officials. Might London work, he wondered, as a venue for a Russia-Trump get-together?

  No one could fault Papadopoulos’s enthusiasm. Throughout May, June, and August 2016, more emails and updates followed, plus notes delivered to the Trump campaign with the unambiguous subject line: “Request from Russia to meet Mr Trump.” Some of these missives reached Manafort and Gates, according to The Washington Post. Papadopoulos was even willing to travel to Moscow himself if the candidate wasn’t available. Despite these endeavors, the journey never happened.

  All of this went to the heart of the FBI’s collusion inquiry. In January 2017, a week after Trump’s inauguration, federal agents interviewed Papadopoulos for the first time. He lied about when he knew of the email hack and his multiple engagements with Moscow and its intermediaries. The agents reinterviewed him in February. A day later, he deleted his Facebook account and changed his cell phone number.

  Papadopoulos was a lousy liar. In July 2017, the FBI arrested him at Dulles International Airport. Seemingly, they had retrieved his wiped data. From this point on, he began cooperating. He met with the government on “numerous occasions,” answered questions, and provided information. In October, he pleaded guilty to lying to the FBI.

  These three indictments were the first. Others would surely follow. Trump’s claim that there had been no collusion sounded increasingly hollow and fake. Now there was evidence of collusion. It was impossible to read the legal documents—with their cold, empirical facts—in any other way.

  Mueller’s investigation was far from over. The agony of Donald J. Trump was just beginning.

  NOTES ON SOURCES

  I spoke to many sources. These conversations took place in a variety of places. In no particular order, the back of a London taxi; a bar in downtown Washington, D.C.; a park bench overlooking the River Thames (yes, touches of John le Carré here); and a participants’ dinner at an East Coast university.

  Other contacts happened in coffee bars (multiple times); pubs (quite a few of those); a restaurant belonging to a celebrity chef (repeat lunches); the New York green room of a major TV network; and a well-known five-star hotel. Plus, an upstairs room that has featured in some of this century’s biggest international news stories.

  Over time, the number of people willing to supply me confidential information grew. I saw a few sources regularly. Others I never met. We swapped messages via mostly encrypted channels. One person got in touch offering useful Soviet-era background. They were in a faraway time zone. Our exchanges were staggered. My Guardian colleagues Stephanie Kirchgaessner and Nick Hopkins were generous in sharing sources.

  After four years living in Moscow and a decade writing about Vladimir Putin’s Kremlin, I have many Russian friends and colleagues. They helped shape this book. So did notes. I keep a score of old reporters’ notepads smuggled out of Moscow. My interviews with Aras Agalarov and Paul Manafort emerged from a forgotten lodging place on top of a cupboard, like treasure from a dusty vault.

  My interlocutors were mostly men—the world of security and intelligence is still overwhelmingly male—and a few women. Overall, they included former senior advisers to the National Security Council, under two U.S. presidents; an ex-head of the CIA and NSA; retired intelligence officers; defectors; historians; law lecturers; ex-diplomats; and a taxi-sized number of emeritus professors. I spoke to a lot of journalists, too.

  It is this last group who have made the greatest contribution to investigating the story of collusion. The Washington Post and The New York Times, as well as other U.S. newspapers and websites, have done some bravura reporting in the face of unceasing hostility from this president. They deserve great credit. Where possible, I have attributed investigation done by others.

  Luke Harding

  November 2017

  Christopher Steele, former British intelligence officer. Steele worked for MI6 in London, Moscow, and Paris before leaving the service and founding his own corporate intelligence firm, Orbis, in 2009. This photo was taken as he returned to work in March 2017 after a period of lying low. Courtesy of AP Images

  The young spy. Steele spent three years in Moscow between April 1990 and April 1993. He had a front-row seat to history. Steele was on duty during the KGB-led coup of August 1991. He walked into town and watched from fifty yards away as Boris Yeltsin climbed onto a tank and denounced the plotters. Courtesy of Anatoly Andronov

  Steele was based at the British embassy in Moscow. He traveled across newly accessible parts of the Soviet Union and became the first foreigner to visit Stalin’s secret bunker away from the front. This photo, taken in early 1991, shows him with newspaper editors in the Tatar city of Kazan. Courtesy of Anatoly Andronov

  Steele’s famous dossier, written in MI6 house style. The dossier runs to thirty-five pages. Steele wrote it between June and December 2016. It was based on information from secret sources and alleges that Trump received intelligence from the Kremlin on rival Hillary Clinton. Moscow had been “cultivating, supporting and assisting TRUMP for at least 5 years.” Courtesy of BuzzFeed via DocumentCloud

  In the summer of 1987, Trump traveled to Moscow for the first time with his wife, Ivana. The photo
shows them in Leningrad. Trump was a guest of the Soviet government and the state travel agency Intourist—a branch of the KGB. His hotel room next to Red Square would have been bugged. Courtesy of Maxim Blokhin/TASS

  General Vladimir Kryuchkov, KGB foreign intelligence chief. In 1984 he circulated a secret note to KGB station chiefs abroad, urging them to do more to recruit Americans. They should exploit personal weakness and use “creative” methods, ­including ­“material incentives.” Courtesy of TASS/TASS/Getty Images

  Trump in Moscow again for the 2013 Miss Universe beauty contest. His host was Aras Agalarov (middle, next to his son, Emin), an Azeri-born property tycoon. The pair discussed building a Trump Tower Moscow. The project never happened but was still being secretly discussed in 2015–16 as Trump campaigned for president. Courtesy of Victor Boyko/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty Images

  Moscow’s glitzy Ritz-Carlton, at the bottom of Tverskaya Street. According to the Steele dossier, Trump watched two prostitutes perform a show in his presidential suite. The FSB spy agency recorded everything, it says. Trump denies this. Courtesy of Alex Shprintsen

  Agalarov’s pop-star son, Emin, sang at Miss Universe and became friendly with Trump. Emin is pictured with his British publicist, Rob Goldstone. In June 2016 Goldstone sent an email to Donald Trump, Jr., offering “incriminating” Russian government material on Hillary. Courtesy of Aaron Davidson/Getty Images Entertainment/Getty Images

  For months, Donald Trump, Jr., denied meeting Russians. Actually, he accepted Goldstone’s email offer, replying with the words: “I love it.” A secret meeting took place in June 2016 at Trump Tower. Details leaked a year later. Courtesy of John Moore/Getty Images News/Getty Images