This compact study contrasts the fictional treatment of espionage with its real life machinations, and manages to be both informative and entertaining in spite of its modest size. The author, a former CIA officer now teaching at Johns Hopkins, focuses particularly on how living a double life affects the players personalities. Each part of the actual spies careerfrom recruitment (or recruiting others) to arrest or retirementis studied in terms of how differing character traits often lead to different sets of decisions in the construction of a shadow self, and how spies re-train their physical and emotional instincts so that their new personalities feel natural. Such alterations are part and parcel of "tradecraft"; CIA traitor Aldrich Ames and the famous Soviet Colonel Oleg Penkovsky may have been deadly, but they were sloppy in keeping their spy personae and actions consistent, while FBI mole Richard Hanssen was exquisitely careful except where one woman was concerned. (Yes, sex is a part of many espionage scenariosthough Hitz suggests that that these arrangements are more complex than any a novelist would dare create.) Hitz then goes on to analyze fictional spies, giving John Le Carres creations high marks, as well as Somerset Maughams Ashenden, based on the authors WWI experience with British intelligence. Hitz also has good things to say about Tom Clancys characters, notably Marko Ramius of Red October. As for the future of spying, Hitz believes that satellite-based snooping will exist alongside "human intelligence," but that even the office technocrats behind the controls will have tics that affect their workand the information they gather.
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The author of this sure-footed little book tells us that he originally intended "to produce yet another 'What's wrong with American intelligence tome' " but was persuaded by his literary agent to do something less boring and more constructive. The result is a lucid overview of 20th-century espionage that says more about the great game as it was played by Americans and their allies and adversaries than just about anything else ever published by someone who knew what he was talking about.
Frederick P. Hitz is a former inspector general of the CIA who now teaches at Princeton. His book grew out of a freshman seminar in which works of spy fiction were compared to actual intelligence operations, but don't be alarmed. It reads less like Espionage 101 than dinner-party talk -- Kipling for starters, le Carré for the leftover indigestible roast beef of Old England, Maugham for the trifle, Conrad for the port. Not surprisingly, Hitz and his students "have concluded that . . . real espionage cases are more bizarre . . . than the fictional accounts."
I wonder how many fans of the genre will believe that. The late Richard Condon, whose entirely implausible, irresistibly believable 1959 novel The Manchurian Candidate is not mentioned by Hitz (though -- disclaimer -- one of mine is), advised thriller writers to eschew research and simply make it up. His point was that most readers just aren't gullible enough to swallow the truth.
Now comes Hitz to tell us that a former CIA director, Robert M. Gates, and a legendary American case officer, Dwight "Dewey" Clarridge, "both acknowledged that they knew of no significant recruitments of Soviet spies during their long careers. The spies were all walk-ins, or volunteers." Volunteering to work for the Americans was no easy matter. Owing to a respect for the Soviet security services that amounted to paranoia, the CIA routinely assumed that every would-be agent might be a provocateur. Oleg Penkovsky and Pyotr Popov, who between them practically emptied Soviet safes of top-secret files, recklessly threw themselves at American and British recruiters for months, if not years, before being allowed by the West to commit treason.
Conversely, the even more destructive American turncoats, Aldrich Ames and the FBI's Robert Hanssen, were welcomed with open arms on first approach to hungry Russian intelligence officers. Interestingly, all four moles seem to have had similar motivations: narcissism, disgust with the system, bitterness that lesser men were promoted while they were ignored -- and, with the exception of Popov, a pure hater, money.
As Orwell assured us, the best books are the ones that tell us what we already know. How much more credible than reality is the set-up, seduction and coercion of the Serbian dupe in Eric Ambler's classic A Coffin for Dimitrios. However, as Hitz explains, the real-life problem of weaving a web of blackmail and fear around an agent is that it almost never works. It's easier (and safer) to make it possible for a person to do what he wants to do than to force him to act against his will, in fear and trembling of both sides.
James Bond notwithstanding, Hitz suggests that the West was finicky about employing sex as a recruitment tool. "By contrast, the Soviet [bloc] used women operatives to entrap Western[ers]," he reports. In fact, it wasn't all girls, girls, girls. Both sides used Lotharios, with marked success, to bed and then handle vulnerable females in sensitive posts. The crackerjack East German spymaster Markus Wolf raised this technique to an art form. Less cynical methods often worked better: Clarridge bound a Polish official to him by providing him with an abortion pill for his pregnant wife. Had her condition been discovered, the couple would have been shipped back to Poland. Instead, the husband became a productive agent.
Some of the most informative passages in The Great Game deal with the problems the United States faced ("confronted" might be too strong a word) in the form of unfriendly members of friendly intelligence services. As a case in point, Hitz offers Anthony Blunt, the "fourth man," along with Kim Philby, Guy Burgess and Donald Maclean, in the ring of class renegades who famously penetrated British intelligence on behalf of the USSR. Hitz cites The Untouchable, a novel by John Banville, to suggest that their prime motive was not high-minded love of mankind and its tender friend, the "socialist" motherland, but hatred of America. "To many of us the American occupation of Europe was not much less of a calamity than a German victory would have been," says the untouchable himself, who is closely based on Blunt.
Plus ça change. . . . Or as Kipling put it in Kim, "When everyone is dead, the Great Game is over. Not before."
Reviewed by Charles McCarry
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