What the inspector’s report did not explain was why nothing was done to stop this trend, even as the anonymous senior US official explained, “Under the old system…visitors were cleared at the front desk by telephone and could do what they wanted. This was the problem.”
Senior department management was aware of this counterintelligence problem and did nothing. It would soon become DS’s embarrassing nightmare before the IC.
In early spring 1999, the counterintelligence concerns were painfully obvious to the joint DS/FBI team that was formed to address the issue. But maybe it wasn’t just the Russians we had to worry about. The new team would immediately initiate a program to monitor physically the arrival and departure of all Russian diplomats and a few select other foreign diplomats who might pose an intelligence threat to the department’s security. That task was easier said than done. How could we accomplish our mission without alerting our Russian and other friends to the surveillance?
Fortunately the HST’s C Street diplomatic entrance was often surrounded by a large press corps, including teams of crews equipped with tripod mounted cameras and boom mikes. Why not disguise the FBI and DS personnel by equipping them with hand-held cameras and video equipment and mingling them among the scores of journalists, tourists, and sightseers? Add to that mix the frequent arrival and departure of foreign diplomats with motorcades and bodyguards, and we had all the covert cover we needed. We just had to decide what cars to park on C Street and what to wear or carry around our necks. As a matter of fact, even we had difficulty sorting out the various players hanging around the diplomatic entrance without a scorecard, so any possible Russian counter-surveillance team would be thoroughly confused.
DS/CI was able to coordinate with our DS Domestic Operations counterparts so that the receptionists assigned to the diplomatic entrance were alerted to our interest in monitoring the arrival and departure of diplomats, particularly Russian ones. We wanted no sudden change in welcoming protocols to alert our friends to our sudden interest in their presence.
Within two weeks of my first meeting with Don, the DS/FBI surveillance team had cobbled together an operational strategy in which we would photograph Russian diplomatic vehicles parked in front of the C Street entrance and then photograph the diplomats themselves as they entered and exited the building. Three days into the joint DS/FBI project, I received a radio message from a young DS special agent who was a member of the team.
“Robert,” he excitedly exclaimed, “we were just notified that a Russian diplomat has shown up unexpectedly at the reception desk, and the diplomat has been telephonically granted unescorted entry to a department office. Somehow he evaded us and entered the HST unnoticed.”
The receptionist alerted us to his presence as planned. However, our surveillance team in bogus press corps mode hadn’t detected his arrival. The team also noted there weren’t any vehicles sporting Russian diplomatic plates in the reserved diplomatic parking spaces in front of the building. Part of the operational plan was to determine the exact make and model of vehicles driven by specific Russian embassy officials. At times, this particular task turned out to be a high-stakes game of three-card Monte. The money card was sometimes elusive, and we weren’t always certain if we were watching a Russian shill or mark.
I hung up the phone and walked over to the desk of SA Steve Jenkins, my senior branch chief, and said, “Let’s take a nice walk outside and get some fresh air.” He looked at me quizzically because he had known me for over twenty years and that was something I simply did not do. While I used the nearby GWU Smith Center gym three days a week for many years, a power walk during the day was not my routine. I quickly explained that we needed to “gear up” and search Twenty-First and Twenty-Third streets between Constitution Avenue and C Street in hopes of locating a “YR”-plated vehicle, which signified a car registered to the Russian embassy, because—as I told him—“we have a live one about.” The look of relief on his face was immediate.
Part of the plan was to observe the interiors of any Russian diplomatic cars for intelligence clues or indicators. Steve and I donned our suit coats to conceal our Sig Sauer pistols and Motorola two-way radios equipped with the ubiquitous plastic wires and earpieces. “We will be around the C Street entrance in about five minutes,” I alerted our surveillance team by radio as we left the building on its Virginia Avenue side. “Keep us updated, please.”
As Steve and I rounded Twenty-Third and C streets, we began to scour the license plates of parked cars, looking for any diplomatic license plate beginning with YR. Nothing suspicious in Washington, DC, about two SAs on a dignitary protection detail taking a walk in the vicinity of the HST. DS or US Secret Service special agents, it did not make any difference; our cover would hold.
It was a mild morning, and I was delighted by the fact that I could take advantage of the surveillance team’s call for a rare trip out of the office. We walked along with the National Academy of Sciences building to our right, looking for vehicles of interest. Suddenly a voice boomed in my earpiece: “Robert, don’t look around or act suspiciously because the Russian target is right behind you!”
DS/CI special agent Thomas Haycraft, a member of that morning’s team, had spotted the Russian diplomat exiting the HST and, while discreetly following him, saw us ambling along a block ahead. There was no questioning the importance of his instructions, so I did my best tourist imitation by looking to the right and pointing to the Albert Einstein statue on the academy grounds. My finger-pointing must have been a lucky stroke of genius because a few seconds later Steve and I were overtaken by a middle-aged man wearing a sports coat and white shirt sans tie who paid us no attention. He quickly entered a car, bearing YR diplomatic plates, parked about thirty yards ahead of us. Before we could walk past the car, the Russian diplomat pulled out of the parking space and sped away, denying us any opportunity to peek inside the vehicle.
We all enjoyed a good laugh over the incident when the team regrouped in the DS/CI conference room that afternoon to go over the day’s events. In some respects, we felt like the characters out of the Spy vs. Spy cartoons in Mad magazine. Perhaps that description was apropos since the comic strip was created by Antonio Prohias, a Cuban national who fled to the United States in 1960 only days before Fidel Castro took control of the Cuban free press.
Regardless of the accuracy of the characterization, everything went well since we did not get burned right out of the box.
The perplexing question was why the Russian diplomat came unannounced to the department and stayed only ten to fifteen minutes. Regrettably the Russian was allowed entry to the building before a member of the team could follow him inside. We were not disposed to interview the department employee authorizing his admittance to the building. Had we done so, word of our interest in the diplomat’s activities would have spread throughout the building within hours and ended any chance of determining exactly what the SVR was up to. It was a calculated risk but a risk we decided to take.
Given manpower and time constraints, the joint FBI/DS surveillance team could be deployed only three times—for two-week periods—in the ensuing months. But it was clear to senior DS and FBI counterintelligence officials that the sudden influx of Russian IOs and diplomats entering the building was unusual. Complicating our efforts to ascertain the real purpose of these visits was the fact that it was virtually impossible to follow the Russians once inside the building without giving ourselves away.
We had already decided not to brief the department’s Russia desk officers about our operation, fearing our suspicions would be inadvertently leaked or our inquiry would be terminated by Black Dragons who would find our activity manifestly undiplomatic.
One intriguing incident occurred when the team filmed a known SVR intelligence officer under diplomatic cover entering the diplomatic entrance followed some forty minutes later by a bona fide Russian diplomat. We subsequently learned they had attended different official functions, yet they were photographed leaving togethe
r and entering the same Russian diplomatic car parked in the department’s parking lot reserved for foreign diplomats. Entering a diplomatic car together under the shadow of the HST appeared to be a terrible gaffe in their intelligence tradecraft. On second thought, it suggested to us the total disdain that the SVR held for the department’s security program. Photographs of Russian diplomats carrying briefcases or large bulging envelopes were endlessly analyzed for any hint of espionage, without resolution. We continued plodding along, going nowhere fast. But other activities turned out to be even more disconcerting.
Early one morning the team observed a Russian diplomat entering the diplomatic entrance lobby and walking over to a table on which an internal State Department telephone was located. To his immediate left and right beyond the security barriers were located two of the State Department’s memorial plaques. Unveiled in 1933 by Secretary of State Henry Stimson in the Old Executive Office Building located next to the White House, the original plaque held sixty-five names and honored those members of the State Department’s family who were killed in the line of duty or under heroic or inspirational circumstances. Starting with William Palfrey—lost at sea in 1780—and ending with Ambassador Chris Stevens and his three colleagues, who were killed in the attack directed against our Special Mission Compound in Benghazi, Libya, on September 12, 2012, the plaques now list 244 names. While Washington pundits like to poke fun at our “Daiquiri Diplomats,” many of the men and women serving our diplomatic mission overseas have paid the highest price in service of their country. I don’t think our Russian diplomat noticed or cared.
Shortly thereafter, a second Russian diplomat entered the lobby and presented himself to the receptionist, asking that he call a certain number to obtain telephonic access. Not needing to check the number as it was a five-digit department line, the receptionist dialed the number. On the first ring, the first diplomat picked up the telephone on the lobby table and authorized his accomplice entry. As this was so unexpected, the team was unable to have an agent follow the Russian diplomat inside the building. The Russian stationed in the lobby, well-known to the FBI as an SVR IO, spoke fluent American English and wouldn’t have aroused any suspicions. He calmly walked out of the building after concluding his job. If nothing else, the SVR knew how to exploit vulnerabilities—both the human and technical varieties. In any event, we’d been hoisted by our own petard once again. It was frustrating to watch and not be able to do anything about it.
Another time, members of the joint team were in the lobby reviewing a number of activities when one of the FBI agents spotted an Aeroflot (Russian Airlines) official and long-suspected SVR IO walking unescorted behind the first floor security barrier. An immediate review of the receptionist’s log failed to disclose any entry approval or preadmittance authorization for the individual. Despite our best efforts, we were unable to determine how the Aeroflot official obtained access to the building and where he was headed, if anywhere in particular. The cloak-and-dagger stuff had gotten downright embarrassing!
But then, as suddenly as it started, the number and frequency of visits by Russian diplomats and suspected IOs to the HST, both announced and spontaneous, diminished significantly. While we confirmed that the Russian presence clearly represented a potential counterintelligence issue, neither the FBI nor DS was able to determine with any certainty what the SVR might be doing inside the building. Regardless, I believed that the Black Dragons needed to be alerted to our findings even as inconclusive as they were. The joint team’s conclusions regarding the HST’s security weakness and a possible SVR operation inside were presented to Peter Bergin, the director of the Diplomatic Security Service, who immediately recognized the significance of our findings. I had replaced Peter as a security officer at USLO in Beijing in 1975 and we had maintained an excellent professional relationship.
At the conclusion of my presentation, Peter directed me to obtain permission from the FBI to use its photos and analytical documents in a briefing that I should be prepared to provide to senior State Department management. On May 20, 1998, with the FBI’s photographs, documents, and blessings in hand, I accompanied DS deputy assistant secretary Wayne Rychak to the seventh floor to join a meeting chaired by undersecretary of state for political affairs and former US ambassador to Moscow Thomas Pickering. The meeting was arranged in record time, undersecretaries having full schedules and my message having nothing to do with interesting foreign policy matters, only boring physical security concerns.
Quickly laying out spreadsheets containing target names, times of arrivals and departures, and incriminating black and white photographs, I concluded the briefing by saying, “Both we and the FBI are convinced that the SVR is up to no good, but so far we have failed to uncover the specific reasons why these Russians visitied HST so frequently.”
Undersecretary Pickering and his staff stared at me in silence. Following a very long forty-five seconds, Pickering turned to Rychak and said, “Have your technical security staff reset the finger-coded magnetic locks installed on internal office doors so that the release time is reduced from five to three seconds.”
Rychak replied immediately, “Yes, sir, starting today, Mr. Pickering.” It seemed that in Pickering’s mind, this security “enhancement” would discourage any Russian diplomats from “piggybacking” behind a State Department employee, thus gaining access to restricted areas or SCIFs inside the HST. Poof—the Russian presence inside the State Department was now mitigated. Undersecretary Pickering, the third most senior official in the State Department, evidenced little interest in our operation, asking a few questions and glancing at the photographs and documents that I had presented. Speeding the lockup time on doors was the solution to uncontrolled SVR officers inside the building. Rychak similarly seemed unconcerned by the joint FBI/DS counterintelligence team’s findings. My enthusiasm for the job was quickly heading south.
As we prepared to leave, one of Pickering’s staffers asked a question about another counterintelligence concern that I included in my briefing. Completely by happenstance, the DS/FBI team had identified an Israeli diplomat who had a habit of leaving his sponsoring office in the department and heading unescorted to the HST ground floor cafeteria. With a cup of coffee in hand, the Israeli diplomat would wave over and engage in supposedly spontaneous conversations with various department employees. The department employees didn’t seem the least bit concerned to have an unescorted Israeli diplomat hanging out at his home away from home.
I advised Ambassador Pickering, “DS/CI cannot find a single contact report from department officers about any US–Israeli HST cafeteria talks.”
“And why do you think that is?” one of Pickering’s advisors shot back.
“Well, I think it is clear that these discussions have not been reported by the employees because they simply do not believe the Israeli diplomat poses a security threat despite the fact that he is probably on intelligence gathering missions.” All department employees receive an initial employment and periodic security briefings about these exact sorts of unexpected encounters, both here and at our embassies overseas, and their responsibilities to submit written reports to DS. I was asked to name the Israeli diplomat, and after I did, two of the staffers started to laugh.
One said, “Yeah, that’s Benny, all right.” Another staffer explained, “Everybody knows Benny quite well.”
I stared in silence as they continued to talk. The same staffer said, “I am not surprised at all to hear that Benny is conducting his debriefings in the heart of the State Department. He is a ballsy guy, all right.”
Maybe it was a laughing matter to them, but I simply could not believe the apparent lack of concern by senior department officers for the Israeli intelligence gathering activity occurring inside the HST. Had I missed the punch line? Was it just me? Then again, maybe in their minds, there just wasn’t anything worth stealing from naive department officers in the cafeteria.
Years later, in 2005, Benny—better known by his real name, Nao
r Gilon—was the political counselor assigned to the Israeli embassy and implicated in a twenty-six-page FBI indictment for receiving US classified documents from Pentagon Iranian analyst Lawrence Franklin, who was indicted for espionage in having passed classified information to lobbyists Steven J. Rosen and Keith Weissman, members of the American Israel Public Affairs Committee (AIPAC). AIPAC is the most potent pro-Israeli lobby in the United States, rivaling only the National Rifle Association and the AARP in asserting its political will on Congress. Classified information obtained at the Pentagon by Franklin was shared with Rosen and Weissman, who allegedly passed selected portions along to certain journalists and the Israeli government. Even after the indictment, Gilon continued to attend official meetings at the State Department and Pentagon.
As an accredited diplomat, Gilon could not be arrested by the FBI or tried by the DOJ for any suspected violations of federal or state law unless his diplomatic immunity was specifically waived by his government—something no country would do for its coveted intelligence collectors. All diplomats carry one “get out of jail free” card wherever they go and whatever they do, or so the Vienna Convention guarantees.
In October 2005, following a guilty plea in which Franklin acknowledged meeting at least eight times with Naor Gilon as well as with AIPAC lobbyists, federal judge T. S. Ellis sentenced him to twelve and a half years in prison for passing classified information to unauthorized persons. Due to his cooperation with the government, his sentence was later reduced to probation. In 2009, the Department of Justice dropped the charges against Rosen and Weissman for conspiring to violate the provisions of the 1917 Espionage Act, believing it could not prevail in a criminal proceeding against them and desiring to avoid “the inevitable disclosure of classified information that would occur.”
State Department Counterintelligence: Leaks, Spies, and Lies Page 28
