Art of Betrayal

by Gordon Corera

  They had won. But had their Afghan allies won? No institutions had been built. That had never been the point of the war in Western eyes. And the Soviets might have gone, but their Communist government was still in place and would last until 1992, much longer than many expected. An attempt by the mujahedeen to take Jalalabad in a frontal assault failed dismally. ISI figures like Mohammad Yousaf became bitter and suspicious, believing that the Americans were trying both to sabotage Pakistan’s interests and to spread disunity among the Peshawar seven, though they hardly needed American help for that.53 Without American largesse to keep them on board, old feuds among the Peshawar seven predictably bubbled back up to the surface. Massoud and Hekmatyar squared off for a fight. For all his tactical skill, Massoud lacked the ability to transcend his narrow position. The Americans had lost interest in Afghanistan after 1989 and walked away. Job done. Having been swept up in the superpower conflict like many other parts of the world, Afghanistan was suddenly dropped to earth with a jolt. But, uniquely, the country would have its revenge for being jilted so swiftly.

  Afghanistan fell off the requirement list for MI6 set by the Joint Intelligence Committee in Whitehall once the Soviets had left. In the new budget climate, that meant that even if someone told an MI6 officer something interesting or important about the country the officer would worry that pursuing a lead when there was no requirement would get them into trouble. Relationships atrophied. Just enough was done to keep contact with Massoud on life support. The CIA shut down its Afghan programme in 1992. Massoud was angry that the Americans had simply walked away. In later years when Afghanistan suddenly became important again, relationships would have to be rebuilt, often with money instead of trust. That would lead to the old familiar faces re-emerging, now as warlords, the kaleidoscope of allegiances shaken up only a little.

  The war left a dark legacy not just in Afghanistan but also in Pakistan that would shape the country’s path. There were the millions of Afghan refugees who came to Pakistan and stayed, along with their guns. There was the power of the military in society and of the ISI within the military. The US had turned a blind eye to Pakistan’s acquisition of nuclear weapons during the years of their joint jihad. CIA analysts who had criticised the policy of ignoring the sprawling black-market network in nuclear know-how run by Pakistani scientist A. Q. Khan found their careers suddenly taking a sharp turn south.54 But then as soon as the war in Afghanistan was won, the US decided it did not need Pakistan any more. In 1990 long-deferred sanctions were imposed on Islamabad’s nuclear programme. The Pakistanis were left high and dry. They would never trust the Americans again.

  Pakistan also had to deal with a culture of jihad that had taken deep root in parts of the country. Saudi money, which matched CIA funding, helped build radical madrasas which offered free education for the poor but led to many young people coming out the other end enthused with the notion of jihad. That might be fine when it was jihad against the Soviets. It would become more problematic later. The Saudis had encouraged their own jihadists to head for Afghanistan, where they joined a small army of other volunteers or jihadists from across the Arab world and North Africa. Clustered around two of the Peshawar seven, Haqqani and Abdul Rasul Sayyaf, the 4,000-odd Arabs did not do much fighting. But when the war was over they looked for ways and means to continue their jihad. Some found an outlet in a new front in Kashmir promoted by the ISI. The Pakistani spy service had become adept at training in the techniques most would call terrorism and passed these skills on to a new generation of jihadists eager to fight against India. Other Arab jihadists looked further afield for an enemy.

  Afghanistan would soon become the sanctuary for those who sought to attack the West. When the Communist government in Kabul fell in 1992, Hekmatyar and Massoud battled each other and Kabul was shelled to pieces and consumed in an orgy of rape and murder. The anarchy that resulted opened the way for a new force to emerge backed by Pakistan and the ISI in the form of the Taliban. These Muslim fundamentalists promised order and purity out of chaos and swept to power in Kabul in 1996. At the same time as the Taliban emerged triumphant, the Al Qaeda leader Osama bin Laden flew in on a small plane from Sudan, returning to the country in which he had fought in the 1980s. Training camps drew in recruits from around the world, some run by old mujahedeen commanders from the 1980s with ISI trainers still offering free tuition, others closer to bin Laden specialised in recruiting for operations abroad. The only significant region which did not fall to the Taliban was the Panjshir Valley and the north where Massoud held firm. In Peshawar, one of Massoud’s brothers and closest aides met with his contact from MI6. ‘We were right,’ the British officer told him with a touch of smugness, thinking no doubt more of the arguments with the Americans than the fate of Afghanistan. ‘Hekmatyar failed and Massoud succeeded.’55

  The CIA had largely disengaged from the country. Its main operation was trying to buy back and recover its Stinger missiles. As it became clear that bin Laden was targeting the US, especially after the deadly 1998 attacks on its embassies in Africa, the CIA tried to rebuild its relationship with Massoud to get to bin Laden, hoping to reactivate the contacts it had developed at the end of the 1980s. Massoud was curious but wary. His sanctuary was being squeezed by the Taliban, but he could see little benefit in acting as the proxy for an agency which cared only about getting bin Laden. In the end, he was offered cash but no military assistance.

  One of the reasons for wariness in dealing with Massoud was the new agenda being pursued by both the CIA and MI6. By the 1990s fighting drugs had replaced fighting Soviets, and everyone knew that heroin was coming into Europe from Afghanistan, including from Massoud’s territory. The ‘drugs and thugs’ desk at MI6 which dealt with crime and narcotics knew that Massoud’s people were involved and from 1997 the New Labour government made dealing with narcotics a top priority for MI6.56 This could conflict with counter-terrorism, which was also rising up the agenda. MI6 officers tried to peer across the Afghan hills but saw little. It was taking time to build up sources to find out what was going on. The Pakistanis pressed for recognition of the Taliban, offering help to establish contacts. A few wonder if that might have been worth doing in order to gain some leverage over them to expel bin Laden, but in London a new government was in power which promised an ethical dimension to its foreign policy. Talking to the Taliban would not fit with that.

  The same arguments were in play in Washington, where the CIA and others worried that some figures in the Northern Alliance (the umbrella group Massoud had created in 1996) were directly involved in drugs or human rights abuses. The CIA decided to remain largely neutral between Massoud and the Taliban, on the grounds that supporting Massoud might just perpetuate the civil war.57 The CIA, during the Clinton administration, was going through one of its periodic swings away from aggressive activity and the main fear for officers was once again of being hauled before Congress. The gung-ho days of Bill Casey were a distant memory. Even when the CIA had bin Laden in its sights, it hesitated before pulling the trigger. It had been given the authority to capture but not explicitly to kill. To kill would break the ban on assassination which had once again been emphasised in the 1990s. A major plan to collect more intelligence in Afghanistan began in 1998 using eight separate tribal networks. Five times in the next two years, CIA teams deployed to the Panjshir Valley to meet with warlords including Massoud. The CIA would boast that it had accumulated a hundred sources and sub-sources. But most of these were low level. Officials would later protest that the intelligence was never quite good enough to launch a missile or a snatch operation directed at the Al Qaeda leader. It was either single sourced or else bin Laden was hunting with a group of sheikhs from the United Arab Emirates. Or he was near a mosque – what would the newspaper headlines look like the next morning if they blew it up? Those in the CIA unit tracking bin Laden, like its chief Mike Scheuer, fumed at the failure of their leadership and that of the White House for not taking more risks.58

  On one occasio
n in 1998, MI6 believed it might be able to obtain ‘actionable intelligence’ which could help the CIA capture Osama bin Laden. But given that this might result in his being transferred or rendered to the United States, MI6 decided it had to ask for ministerial approval before passing the intelligence on in case the Al Qaeda leader faced the death penalty or mistreatment. This was approved by a minister ‘provided the CIA gave assurances regarding humane treatment’. In the end, not enough intelligence came through to make it worth while going ahead.59

  It was becoming clearer in 2001 that Massoud and his men were the best option for going after bin Laden. The priority for MI6 was developing intelligence coverage. The first real sources were being established, although no one penetrated the upper tier of the Al Qaeda leadership itself. The problem was not locating bin Laden but getting close to him – that would require an agent of some sort in place who could help either directly by himself passing through security or by facilitating access for a team coming in. As the year progressed, plans were drawn up and slowly worked their way up to the White House for discussion on 4 September 2001. They involved dramatically increasing support for Massoud. Britain and MI6 were involved. ‘The posse was getting ready,’ reckons one British official involved. ‘But it wasn’t ready in time.’

  On 9 September 2001, two Arab journalists who had been waiting to interview Massoud were told they finally had their chance. The queue of those wanting to speak to the Northern Alliance leader was not quite what it had been, but he still liked to use the power of the media. His enemies had decided to exploit this. Their letter of introduction had come from something called the Islamic Observation Centre in London. The two visitors were shown into a large room and did what most TV journalists do and began rearranging the furniture to get the right shot. A coffee table and some chairs were shifted so that the interviewer sat next to Massoud while the cameraman positioned his heavy-duty camera on the tripod. These two were a bit amateurish, thought some of Massoud’s aides. What are the questions, Massoud, ever the experienced interviewee, asked? ‘We want to know why commander Massoud said that Usama bin Laden was a murderer and should be sent from Afghanistan and many more questions,’ the interviewer said. Massoud frowned but told them to continue. The last thing the Lion of the Panjshir ever saw was the red light of the camera going on.60

  Anatoly Golitsyn with his wife Svetlana at Coconut Grove in Los Angeles soon after he defected from the KGB in 1961.

  Stephen de Mowbray joined MI6 in the wake of the Second World War and went on to play a key role in the molehunts within British intelligence.

  Sir Dick White rose first to be director general of the Security Service, MI5, and then chief of the Secret Intelligence Service, MI6.

  James Jesus Angleton was a deeply controversial head of counter-intelligence at the CIA. Many believed he never recovered from the betrayal of his close friend Kim Philby and would later obsess about the threat of Soviet moles.

  Sir Roger Hollis, head of MI5, was investigated for being a possible KGB agent. A report would later conclude he was not working for the Russians, but its contents remain secret. (Getty)

  Sir Maurice Oldfield leaving Buckingham Palace following his investiture. As a chief of MI6 he was widely admired, though the concealment of his homosexuality would cause a scandal after his death. (Corbis)

  David Cornwell, better known as John le Carré, served with military intelligence in Vienna before joining MI5 and MI6, and later making his name as a writer. (Getty)

  Admiralty clerk John Vassall was caught in a ‘compromising situation’ in Moscow and blackmailed over his homosexuality. He would spend years passing British secrets before being caught, partly thanks to leads from Anatoly Golitsyn. (Corbis)

  Greville Wynne arriving back in Britain after being released as part of a ‘spy-exchange’ between Britain and the USSR. (Getty)

  No man’s land in Berlin: the moment in when Greville Wynne was exchanged for Gordon Lonsdale.

  Kim Philby (left) with George Blake (right) in the Soviet Union. The two former MI6 officers had not known each other in Britain when they were both spying for the KGB. They were only briefly friends in Moscow before they fell out, although Blake did introduce Philby to his last wife, Rufina.

  Gordon Lonsdale, whose real name was Konon Molody, worked as an undercover KGB officer, or ‘illegal’, in Britain until he was caught. (Getty)

  Oleg Gordievsky preparing for an orienteering competition at a KGB holiday resort near Moscow in 1971. Gordievsky soon became one of MI6’s most important agents.

  Gordievsky (left) working the diplomatic circuit in Copenhagen and talking to the Danish Defence Minister. He was first approached by MI6 in Denmark although there were initial fears that he might be a double agent.

  Oleg Gordievsky, Mikhail Lyubimov and their wives in Denmark. Gordievsky and fellow KGB officer Lyubimov were close friends until Gordievsky fled Moscow.

  Ahmed Shah Massoud, known as the Lion of the Panjshir for his guerrilla war against the Soviet Union. MI6 built up close relations with him and sent undercover teams to train and support his fighters. (Getty)

  Two future director generals of MI5, Stephen Lander and Eliza Manningham-Buller, shortly after they joined the service. They are pictured on a training course on the roof of a Security Service building on Gower Street.

  Despite the reservations of her father (who had prosecuted George Blake), Eliza Manningham-Buller joined MI5 and worked on the Gordiesvky case and was later the head of the Security Service at the time of the 7 July 2005 attacks.

  Sir Richard Dearlove, Chief of the Secret Service from 1999 to 2004, pictured after giving evidence into the inquest into the death Diana, Princess of Wales, in 2008. Dearlove led MI6 through the aftermath of the 11 September attacks and the Iraq war. (Getty)

  Sir John Scarlett, who earlier in his career ran Gordiersky as an agent, was Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee in the run up to the Iraq War and Chief of MI6 from 2004 to 2009. (Andrew Crowley)

  9

  OUT OF THE SHADOWS

  The latest man to be known by the letter C would occasionally cross the river from MI6’s drab headquarters in Lambeth to wander through the corridors of Whitehall where other government departments were still beavering away. The civil servants Colin McColl met would sometimes be surprised to see him. It was almost as if he was a largely forgotten uncle discovered in the corner at a family get-together. ‘I’d meet people – intelligent, knowledgeable people in Whitehall – they’d see me and they’d say things like “Are you still here?”’ McColl later recalled.1 As it entered the 1990s, the Secret Service appeared a little lost without the comfort blanket of the Cold War. Spying on the Soviet Union had never taken up more than half of its effort, but nevertheless the work of MI6 had been defined in the public mind – and to some extent in its own – by the world of Moscow Rules, Smiley and Karla and doubling, tripling agents.

  In a grand, high-ceilinged room near Downing Street, the Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee had offered a celebratory glass of champagne to toast the end of the Soviet Union in August 1991. And with that, the war was over. McColl, a Sov Bloc veteran whose youthful sense of humour masked a sharp mind, had presided over victory. From his office high up in the building with a view across London, he would tell new recruits that they had joined at a fascinating time in which MI6 could not take its eye off the old threats but also had to look out for new dangers while maintaining Britain’s place in the world. The position of the service in government was also changing, he would explain. But he did not always succeed in reassuring all his staff that the service had a role in the new world. One of his younger officers remembers an encounter with the Chief at a reception in headquarters. McColl turned to him and said, ‘Well, what do you think we should do?’2 The question did not necessarily inspire confidence. With its old adversary seemingly out of action, those on the inside wondered what MI6 would find to do next. Those on the outside wondered whether it was even needed a
ny more. An air of gloomy insecurity hung around the corridors of the British Secret Service.

  The rabbit warren of Century House, with its peeling lino and Formica tables, had a forlorn air and the Treasury, like a lion circling a wounded beast, was on the prowl. There was distressing talk of even merging with ‘the other lot’ at MI5 (who were also looking for work and trying to wrestle responsibility for fighting the IRA away from the Metropolitan Police). The peace dividend, shaped as an axe, fell. The first compulsory redundancies were painfully served and poorly handled within MI6. Overall staff numbers of around 2,000 were to drop by 25 per cent, senior staff numbers by more.3 Stations were closed in Africa and the Far East; more emphasis was placed on inserting officers into countries rather than having them based there permanently. Every piece of turf had to be fought for using every ounce of Smiley-like cunning. The Foreign Office decided to claw back some money from MI6 by estimating how much desk space was used by spies operating out of embassies abroad and then insisting it be paid for. MI6 retaliated by calculating how much work its staff did to maintain their cover as Foreign Office diplomats. This, of course, came to more than the desk space and a truce was called. In perhaps the most telling sign that the service was being dragged out of the past, that creature very much in vogue in the 1990s, the management consultant, was even brought in to sniff around. These consultants were all carefully vetted, but even so their arrival was watched with utter bemusement by many old-timers. The free-booting era of the 1920s, when the Chief could pull an armful of gold coins out of his desk and hand them over to fund an operation, was being replaced by one of audits and value for money. A small attempt at privatisation proved disastrous when a group of long-serving office cleaners were sacked. This was blamed on pressure from the Treasury to outsource their work to a private company but more likely resulted from a failure to realise that, with the Cold War gone, the willingness of people (whether cleaners or the press) to accept the traditional constraints of secrecy was eroding rapidly. To much embarrassment, the cleaners took the spies to the cleaners by winning an employment tribunal and a healthy pay-out (along with plenty of publicity). The insecurity surrounding all the intelligence agencies occasionally manifested itself even within the stately confines of meetings of the Joint Intelligence Committee as representatives of each intelligence agency competed to try and knock out references in reports to the other agencies’ work and put in their own.4