IT CERTAINLY seems “just like a spy novel.’’ Eleven deep-cover Russian spies are arrested, and the story has it all — clandestine meetings, secret identities, geopolitical intrigue, invisible ink, hidden messages coded into photographs, and even a beautiful “femme fatale.’’ But to describe it this way is to leave out the strangest parts of the story. It is natural to rush to fit this story into a neat and familiar storyline. We all know the basics of spy stories, and both the United States and Russia seem to cling to old Cold War images of right and wrong. But maybe we call them “spy games’’ for a reason.
For starters, if this were a novel, surely the spies would have actually done something a little more dramatic than just pass along gossip and things they read in the newspapers. In the years the feds followed them, according to what we know so far, almost nothing valuable changed hands. And surely the cat and mouse games that led to their undoing would be more interesting. Maybe a wily counter-espionage agent convincing them to turn double agent? Surely, they wouldn’t just snap them up and haul them into court, especially not just days after a major diplomatic success between the two countries.
Or would they? Here in Moscow, Russia’s passion for conspiracy theories has helped fill the gap. The talk here has been mostly about the timing. Russian President Dmitry Medvedev’s recent trip to the United States was considered a success, and received much positive press. Everyone was talking about iPhones and Twitter, and what it takes to become a tech innovator. The official response to the alleged spy ring has been to call for calm. But the pundits, including many politicians and former spies, all speculate that the American security services are trying to undermine Obama’s efforts at a “reset’’ in relations because they still distrust Russia or just dislike Obama. This is certainly a projection of their own understanding of how the services work when they feel threatened or marginalized by policy decisions.
Indeed, the world of espionage is different here. The word “spy’’ is used only for the bad guys; the good guys are “razvedchiki,’’ a word that translates best as “scout.’’ The overseas intelligence service has always been held in high regard — unlike other tentacles of the sprawling security services, because after all, it is hard to put a good spin on secret policemen.
Overseas operatives were always cunning, intelligent, and charming heroes. And for awhile, Russia was very good at it. In the 1920s and 1930s it assembled the best spy network in history, filled with an international cast of devoted Communists and Soviet citizens who had lived abroad and could blend in with stunning success.
In the Cambridge Five, they penetrated the highest-levels of the British government. In the U.S., agents penetrated Los Alamos to steal atomic secrets. Much of this amazing work was wasted on Stalin, who could dismiss detailed warnings about the Nazi invasion in 1941 as a British provocation.
When the romantic myth of the workers’ state was replaced with the reality of Stalin’s crimes, the Russians couldn’t repeat this kind of success. Unable to recruit idealists, or grow effective penetration agents themselves, for decades they relied on paid traitors like Aldrich Ames and Robert Hanssen.
The new generation of professional spies caught this week are a clumsy tribute to old ideals of spycraft, and proof that a blustering, autonomous security bureaucracy continues to spare no expense as it chugs along on the steam of its Cold War dogmas. It is a world of paranoia and rivalry with the outside world, and the insistence that you can only trust what you steal.
And for us, the truth, which spy novels often try to avoid, is that the greatest danger comes from what you don’t know. Since 2001, we’ve known there is much more to be worried about than some smooth careerists with good networking skills and a vaguely defined, quixotic spy mission.
Christopher Marcisz is a writer and journalist. 
