The Spy and the Traitor: The Greatest Espionage Story of the Cold War

Chapter 1 begins before Gordievsky was born and ends with his first post overseas as a KGB agent in 1965. His father, Anton, was swept up in the 1917 Russian Revolution, joining and working for the Communist Party before joining the precursor of the KGB, the People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs, or NKVD, in 1932. His mother, Olga, was a statistician, and his older brother, Vasili, was born in 1932. Anton became involved in Stalin’s purges in the 1930s and then weathered the storm when they turned inward and came for NKVD members themselves. The period of purges was slowing when Oleg was born in 1938, and seven years later, a third child, Marina, was born.

The Gordievskys appeared to be a model Soviet family, but underneath the surface were doubts about the system. As Oleg later realized, Anton was living in fear and possibly felt guilty for his role in the purges. Olga always quietly withheld full approval of the system, as her family had been negatively affected by it. Oleg was a good student and “emerged from school with a silver medal, head of the local Komsomol, a competent, intelligent, athletic, unquestioning, and unremarkable product of the Soviet system” (11). (The Komsomol was the Communist Youth League.) When Oleg was 15, Stalin died, resulting a few years later in a brief period of liberalization under Khrushchev, which Oleg wholly embraced as he entered young adulthood. However, it rocked Anton’s world, as he'd bought into the Stalinist system wholeheartedly.

At 17, Oleg entered Moscow State Institute of International Relations, an elite university. Already fluent in German, he now took up Swedish, as languages were the key to traveling with the KGB (which had replaced the NKVD), something in which he was interested. At the same time, he sometimes secretly listened to the BBC or Voice of America on the radio at night. On the university track team Oleg met Stanislaw (“Standa”) Kaplan from Czechoslovakia, and they became close friends, bonding over a shared desire to see a liberalization of Communism. Another strong influence on Oleg was his older brother, Vasili, who had joined the KGB and was training to work abroad as an “illegal” (nelegal) spy. This meant that he’d be undercover, trained and managed by Directorate S (for “special”), not a known spy under diplomatic cover.

On Vasili’s suggestion, the KGB contacted Oleg and set up an appointment, during which he was interviewed in German. From then on, he was part of the agency. Toward the end of his studies, he was sent to East Germany to be a translator in the embassy for six months. He was told to contact his brother, who was already there, and carry out some small duties, as a kind of test.

Oleg arrived on August 12, 1961, one day before construction began on the Berlin Wall. This was built to staunch the flow of East Berliners escaping to West Berlin—a figure that had reached over 3 million people by then. Oleg watched, spellbound, the next morning as guards blocked the border and bulldozers went to work. This had quite an impression on him because, as he later said, “Only a physical barrier, reinforced by armed guards in their watchtowers, could keep the East Germans in their socialist paradise and stop them fleeing to the West” (15). Still, he fulfilled his mission, which was to sound out a former informant as to whether she was willing to keep working for the KGB. Only later did he realize that it was she who was scrutinizing him for his suitability. At Christmas, he met up with Vasili, and they attended a performance of Bach music, a cultural treat unavailable to them back home.

When Oleg returned to the Soviet Union, he was told to report the following summer for duty at the KGB. Before doing so, he traveled to the Black Sea to join Standa on holiday. His friend confided in him his deepening doubts about the Soviet system—a dangerous admission; Oleg kept quiet. Back in Moscow, Oleg traveled north to the KGB’s training camp, where he learned the secrets of spy-craft, like spotting a tail and the ins and outs of surveillance. After the yearlong training, he swore an oath to the KGB and joined the Communist Party.

His training completed, in August 1963 Oleg was assigned to the Directorate S office in Moscow, where his job would be to process paperwork for the illegals in the field. He was disappointed not to be going abroad but hid his feelings. After two years there, he was bored and eager to find a way to serve abroad. He figured that the best way was to get married, as the KGB rarely sent single men to other countries. Through a friend, he met Yelena Akopian, a young women training to be a German teacher. She also wanted to go abroad, and because they both knew German, Oleg thought they might be posted together in Germany. Before long, they were engaged and, a few months later, married. In 1965, the break Oleg was looking for arrived: a job in Denmark managing the illegals there.

The second chapter covers Gordievsky’s life from 1966 to the early 1970s. He and his wife, Yelena, arrived in Copenhagen in January 1966 “and entered a fairy tale” (24). Copenhagen was a shining, vibrant example of the freedoms and culture available in the democratic West, and Gordievsky was smitten. He marveled at the depth and breadth of the books in libraries, and he attended symphonies offering the works of classical composers unavailable in the Soviet Union. For his job, he was given a Volkswagen Beetle and $700 per month to cultivate contacts.

Gordievsky soon learned that the KGB agents in the station, or rezidentura, were lazy and corrupt, spending their expense money with few results. However, he took the job seriously and set about learning Danish. Working under his mother’s maiden name, “Gornov,” as an alias, “he set about recruiting informants, agents, and clandestine couriers” (26) but had only minor success. He became friendly with a colleague, Mikhail Lyubimov, who arrived shortly after he did. Lyubimov was the head of political intelligence, spoke with a British accent, and liked culture as much as Gordievsky. Older and more experienced, he became a kind of mentor to Gordievsky.

Gordievsky was amazed at the openness and freedom of Danish society. One area in which the Danes stood out was sexual freedom. Gordievsky was inquisitive and one day decided to visit a shop in Copenhagen’s red-light district. There he bought three gay porn magazines out of sheer curiosity, somewhat in disbelief at the range of sexual expression allowed. He took them home to show his wife what an open country they lived in, proudly displaying them on their mantelpiece.

The Danish intelligence service, called Politiets Efterretningstjeneste (PET), routinely monitored the staff of the Soviet embassy, as most were suspected of being spies. During this time, Gordievsky fell under the surveillance of PET, who nicknamed him “Uncle Gormsson” (after a former Danish king). PET had observed Gordievsky at the porn shop in the red-light district. Because agents with sex secrets—in this case, suspected gay tendencies—were considered vulnerable to “blackmail,” PET made a note in his file, to be shared with Western allies. Although he wasn’t gay, his marriage was on the rocks. It had always been one of convenience, and now the couple’s differences were dividing them. Gordievsky wanted children and wished for a more traditional wife; Yelena didn’t want children and asserted her independence and feminist ideas.

In early 1968, Czechoslovakia started exposing cracks in the supposedly monolithic Soviet bloc. Its leaders wanted to liberalize the country, in a movement called the “Prague Spring,” but the Soviet Union didn’t condone it. Gordievsky and Lyubimov both hoped that the reforms would stand. Unknown to Gordievsky, his brother was secretly working to undermine the reforms. The KGB sent Vasili to kidnap Czech reform leaders (which failed) and, later, to slip into the country to undermine the movement through various kinds of sabotage.

That August, Soviet tanks crossed into Prague and crushed the movement, leaving Gordievsky “appalled and disgusted” (33). He used a phone in the lobby of the Danish embassy, which he knew was bugged, to call Yelena and voice his opposition. It was a subtle hint to PET of his sympathies, but they missed it and made no attempt to contact him. However, independently of this, PET tried to set a honeytrap for Gordievsky based on what they thought was his secret gay identity. They arranged for a male agent to meet him at a party. The agent pretended to be drunk and, after some conversation, suggested they leave to go to a bar. Gordievsky demurred.

In 1970, Gordievsky’s work in Denmark ended, and he and his wife left for the Soviet Union, where he returned to work at Directorate S. Everything back home seemed dreary and repressive to him, and he felt stuck professionally. To make matters worse, his revered brother, Vasili, died at only 39 of alcoholism and hepatitis. After more than a year at Directorate S, he was offered a job back in Denmark by Dmitri Yakushin, the KGB officer overseeing the UK and Scandinavian countries. Yakushin was new to the job and was rebuilding his field offices after Britain expelled an unprecedented number of Soviet spies in September 1971. Gordievsky was asked to join the team because he spoke Danish.

He eagerly accepted, taking up the position formerly held by Lyubimov. Despite PET’s suspicions that he was a KBG agent, he received a visa to return, as they hoped to turn him to their side. His old friend Standa Kaplan had defected to Canada from Czechoslovakia after the Soviet takeover and had given the intelligence services Gordievsky’s name during his debriefing. This had been shared among the Western allies, and PET along with MI6 prepared to reach out to Gordievsky upon his return to Denmark.

This chapter begins in the fall of 1972, when Gordievsky and his wife returned to work in Copenhagen, and ends in early 1975, when he was successfully recruited by MI6. After his name was flagged in Standa Kaplan’s file as a potential person of interest, he was given the code name SUNBEAM and his case was referred to the head of MI6 in Copenhagen, Richard Bromhead. Although it took place in Denmark, Gordievsky’s courtship was led by MI6, with only minimal support from PET. Bromhead was told to get to know the Soviet agent and then, “when the moment seemed right, sound him out” (43).

As head of political intelligence—what the Soviets referred to as the “PR Line”—Gordievsky was to seek out anyone who might become a spy or informant. This could be anyone from politicians and diplomats to journalists to businesspeople. On the face of it, he had done well and was growing professionally. Actually, however, he was disillusioned and confused. After two years back in his soulless and corrupt motherland, Denmark had reignited his admiration for the West and its freedom. He started reading works outlawed by the Soviets, including those by George Orwell and Alexander Solzhenitsyn. He heard through the grapevine about the defection of Standa and wondered why his own hint at unhappiness after the Prague Spring hadn’t been followed up on.

In his new role, Gordievsky was often invited to public events and parties. Bromhead first made contact at an art exhibition, where the two chatted innocuously about art. As a next step, Bromhead threw a party and invited Gordievsky with a contingent of Soviet diplomats. PET had arranged for a pretty young badminton player to attend, hoping to connect with Gordievsky over a mutual interest. However, though the two chatted a bit, nothing came of it. MI6 then decided it was time for something a bit more overt. One night in November 1973, Standa Kaplan knocked on Gordievsky’s door after dinner. He claimed to be visiting a Danish girlfriend and said he’d noticed Gordievsky’s name on a list of diplomats so decided to pay him a visit. Gordievsky could tell he was lying and knew he’d been sent by Western intelligence services. The question was which one. When Kaplan spoke of his defection, Gordievsky’s reply was muted. Despite the risk, he agreed to meet his old friend the next day for lunch.

The goal of MI6 was to gauge Gordievsky’s reaction to various topics, such as Kaplan’s new life in the West. Gordievsky knew he was being tested, and when the conversation turned to the events in Czechoslovakia in 1968, he only mentioned being surprised at the Soviet response. It was all very noncommittal, but when the lunch ended, Gordievsky later observed, “I knew that I had given away enough for him to put in a positive report” (48).

Next, Bromhead forged ahead with a plan to contact Gordievsky alone. Surveillance had shown that Gordievsky played badminton early every morning at a sports club. Bromhead staked it out for several days before entering one morning toward the end of Gordievsky’s usual time. They chatted when the game ended, and Gordievsky knew that Bromhead’s presence could only mean that MI6 was trying to recruit him.

Bromhead asked if they could meet sometime to talk, just the two of them, and Gordievsky readily agreed, suggesting a hotel restaurant right across the street from the Soviet embassy. As he left, Bromhead couldn’t help thinking how easy that had been and in fact whether Gordievsky was trying to recruit him—why else would he have picked such a central restaurant frequented by Soviet officials? Actually, Gordievsky was just being careful. At the office, he told his supervisor about Bromhead’s contact and invitation. He wanted it out in the open so that he wouldn’t look suspect; his supervisor told him to engage and see where it led.

Thus began a series of meetings in which Gordievsky ended up on the side of MI6. After a friendly and relaxed lunch, Bromhead asked Gordievsky if he would file a report on their meeting. Gordievsky replied that he would but that he’d make it innocuous—a hint that he was somehow breaking the rules and hiding things from his superiors. After this, MI6 appears to have dropped the ball for no apparent reason, leaving Gordievsky without further contact for eight months. Since Bromhead’s time in Denmark was coming to an end, he decided to follow up on this open case.

This time the two met at a new hotel where no Soviets went. Their conversation was more direct and to the point, and Gordievsky revealed that no one else knew he was there. They agreed to meet again, in private, at a nondescript bar. This was the beginning of Gordievsky’s work for MI6. Bromhead told him he was leaving for another post, so Gordievsky’s case would be transferred to someone else. Later, they met at a safe house where Gordievsky met the new agent, Philip Hawkins. After making the introductions, Bromhead thanked Gordievsky, wished him luck, and bowed out of the case.