Spy: The Inside Story of How the FBI's Robert Hanssen Betrayed America

by David Wise

  Cacheris, meanwhile, had hammered out an agreement with the lead prosecutor, Randy I. Bellows, an assistant U.S. attorney in Alexandria, to postpone Hanssen’s indictment for two months, a move that gave the defense early access to the government’s voluminous evidence.

  On April 18, Bellows and Cacheris met to discuss for the first time the possibility of a deal. The government wanted Hanssen to admit his spying in return for a sentence of life in prison. The prosecutor warned that the death penalty was still on the table. Cacheris listened, but made no commitment.

  A month later, on May 14, they met again. The question of whether to seek the death penalty had still not been settled by the Justice Department, Bellows said. He asked for more time. Cacheris, playing hardball, refused and broke off the talks. The government then said it would go ahead and issue a detailed indictment of Hanssen, which it did two days later.

  Within the administration, officials were divided about whether to seek the death penalty for Hanssen. Ashcroft and Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld were reported to favor it; Freeh and CIA director George Tenet were opposed.

  The debate was a classic argument about the merits of law enforcement versus intelligence. The CIA and the bureau were much more interested in getting Hanssen to cooperate as part of a plea bargain than in seeing him pay the ultimate penalty for his crimes. If Hanssen was executed, the intelligence agencies would never learn the full extent of what had been compromised.

  That fact was Cacheris’s strongest card, but he had others. The government’s espionage case against Hanssen was powerful, because it had the incriminating file from Moscow. Moreover, the former KGB officer who provided the documents was portrayed as willing to testify at a trial if absolutely necessary. But the prosecutors, as Cacheris knew, were anxious to prevent that from happening; the FBI wanted to keep the source’s identity secret if it could.

  Beyond preserving the secrecy surrounding the operation to acquire the KGB file, the intelligence agencies were loath to have the secrets that Hanssen had betrayed broadcast to the world in a trial. The Classified Information Procedures Act of 1980 (CIPA) was passed to avoid “graymail” by defendants who might hope to avoid prosecution by threatening to reveal in court the very secrets they had betrayed to another country. But judges have the discretion to require that secrets be disclosed in a trial, so the law is not airtight.

  Cacheris’s partner, Preston Burton, a former assistant U.S. attorney, said that the government would have had difficulty prosecuting Hanssen without revealing the secrets he had passed. “Normally the government would seek to keep as many things as possible out of the trial under CIPA,” Burton said, “but in a capital case the government would have had to produce much more evidence, including information about the source of the KGB/SVR file.”

  The government, in short, has a dual motive in often pressing for a plea bargain in spy cases. In addition to learning from the spy exactly what damage has been done, it hopes to avoid the exposure of the secrets that the spy had passed. There is an odd mind-set at work here. The secrets have long since been given to the country that paid for them, often, as in this case, the Soviet Union or Russia. Yet the American people are kept in the dark. The intelligence agencies are horrified at the thought of the public learning secrets that are already known to the adversaries from whom the secrets were primarily designed to be concealed. The counterargument by intelligence officials is that other countries might benefit from the disclosures of the stolen secrets.

  If the evidence against Hanssen was compelling, the government’s toying with the death penalty was on much shakier ground. In 1994, Congress restored the death penalty for espionage provided certain criteria were met. For example, the penalty might apply if a spy revealed to a foreign power information that resulted in the death of an intelligence agent, or data about a wide variety of other defense secrets.*

  But Cacheris was prepared to argue that none of the secrets Hanssen passed after 1991 qualified for the death penalty. And the Constitution prohibits ex post facto laws that punish a person for acts that were not crimes at the time they were committed. Hanssen, in other words, could not be executed for secrets he revealed to the Russians prior to 1994.

  “We had a strong ex post facto argument,” Cacheris said. Even aside from that, in negotiations with the federal prosecutors Cacheris contended it was impossible to prove that his client was responsible for the deaths of the two KGB officers he betrayed. “We argued that you can’t blame Hanssen for the deaths of Martynov and Motorin because Ames had already given them up months earlier.

  “We also argued the government had a statute of limitations problem. Plus, there is a legal principle of duplicity—you cannot charge two crimes in a single count of an indictment. We argued that because of the long time span, and the fact that Hanssen had stopped spying at various intervals, the government could not charge that there was a single conspiracy, as they did. And somewhere in the middle of all this, the Soviet Union collapsed and now we are dealing with something called Russia.”

  On May 31, Hanssen pleaded not guilty in a two-minute appearance under heavy security at the federal courthouse in Alexandria. Judge Claude M. Hilton set a trial date for October 29.

  But this was all part of the legal maneuvering being played out. Cacheris was not really willing to gamble on a trial. “You never know what a jury will do,” he said. “And juries in Virginia can be particularly harsh. There are a lot of military people in northern Virginia. Virginia jurors are conservative, they are sophisticated, and they might find what he gave the Russians highly offensive.”

  Early in June, Cacheris telephoned Bellows and suggested they meet privately to see whether the talks about a plea bargain might be reopened. By that time, Ashcroft was no longer trumpeting the death penalty, and Bellows had more room to negotiate. The deal was struck; Hanssen would plead guilty and promise to cooperate by revealing everything he had done.

  Cacheris had saved Robert Hanssen from the death penalty. The compromise gave both sides what they wanted. But there was one crucial condition that would first have to be met. Before the plea bargain could be finalized, the government wanted to hear what Hanssen was prepared to reveal. The prosecutors would not sign the agreement unless the former FBI man demonstrated that he was truly willing to cooperate.

  The test, which is known as a “proffer,” took place in a windowless room in the basement of the federal courthouse. There were two such meetings, and Hanssen was given a type of limited immunity from prosecution for what he revealed. In a proffer of this kind, with an immunity agreement, the government cannot directly use against the defendant the information that is offered. But Preston Burton was worried about a double cross by the government.

  “Our concern was, first, that the government could say he was not truthful, and then the deal could blow up and he would be back facing trial. In addition, we were well aware of reports of hostility by federal officials toward Hanssen and skepticism about his credibility. We were concerned that those people would sabotage the proffer by using it to obtain the full account of his activities and then falsely claiming he was being untruthful, thus depriving us of our main bargaining chip—the government’s need to debrief Hanssen in detail to fully assess the damage he had caused.”

  On June 21, Cacheris and John C. Hundley, the firm’s other partner, arrived for the meeting. As the lawyers for the government and for the defense chatted and milled about, federal marshals brought in Hanssen, wearing a green jumpsuit with the word “prisoner” on the back. They removed the manacles from his hands. The two sides took their places at a long, polished table in the underground room. Doug Gregory and the other FBI case agent, Stefan Pluta, sat across from Hanssen and the defense team. The Justice Department was represented by Randy Bellows and John Dion, the chief of the internal security section.

  Doug Gregory did most of the questioning. Burton, delayed by a court appearance that morning, arrived late and immediately realized that Hanssen was n
ot performing well. “I did not think he was being untruthful, but he seemed to hesitate and not be well focused on the events that the government was asking about.”

  Five hours later, the proffer session ended. Cacheris and his partners were dismayed; Hanssen might be blowing the deal. He would have one more chance to redeem himself, at another meeting set for a week later.

  “I spent two days getting Bob ready for the next session,” Burton recalled, “force-feeding him with every piece of paper we had, including the affidavit and the discovery materials we had received from the government. The second proffer session on June 28 went much better. In the first forty-five minutes, the clouds lifted. I could tell that the government side felt that he was now giving them the information they expected.” After seven hours of questioning, it was clear that the deal would go through.

  The court had agreed in advance that the plea bargain would be binding. Under federal rules, a judge does not have to accept a plea bargain worked out by the prosecution and the defense, but once the court accepts the arrangement, it becomes final.

  In working out the details of the plea, the defense lawyers said that Hanssen was anxious to have access to a computer in prison. But the government, aware of Hanssen’s technical skills, wanted to prohibit him from using a computer, even one with no modem that would allow him to dial out.

  “Do you think this guy is the professor on Gilligan ’s Island?” Preston Burton asked. “Do you think he’s going to make a radio out of a coconut?”

  The defense lawyers eventually convinced the prosecutors to let the prison authorities decide how much computer access Hanssen could have. Hanssen was pleased; at least he might have a chance to get back to a keyboard, if not into cyberspace.

  On July 6, Hanssen, looking gaunt in his green prison uniform, stood before Judge Hilton again and pleaded guilty to fifteen counts of espionage, attempted espionage, and conspiracy. Six counts were dropped by the government.

  The deputy attorney general, Larry Thompson, told the court that “the interest of the United States would be best served” by allowing the government to assess the damage wrought by Hanssen, “an objective we could not achieve if we sought and obtained the death penalty against him.”

  During the debate over whether to seek capital punishment for Hanssen, CIA director George Tenet wrote to Ashcroft explaining how important it was to interrogate rather than execute the former FBI man. As Hanssen entered his guilty plea, Ashcroft, in a statement, said the decision to forgo the death penalty was based “on the strong recommendation of the intelligence community.”

  Under the agreement, Hanssen would be sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. He would forfeit the $1.4 million paid or set aside for him by the Russians, and he could not benefit from any book, film, or future publicity. And he was to be debriefed for six months about his spying. “We expect him to be candid with us and truthful with us and completely open about his espionage activities,” said Ken Melson, the U.S. Attorney for the Eastern District of Virginia.

  The formal sentencing of Hanssen was not to take place until after the debriefings were concluded and the prosecutors were satisfied. The government still held a club over his head. Should it decide Hanssen was not being frank, it could cancel the plea agreement, put him on trial, and seek the death penalty.

  Under the bargain, and a 1996 law encouraging the families of spies to cooperate with the government, Bonnie Hanssen would receive a portion of her husband’s pension, or about $40,000 a year, the same as a survivor benefit, assuming, Melson said, that she “continues to be fully cooperative.” Bonnie was also allowed to keep the house and their three cars.

  Soon after Hanssen’s guilty plea, the twice-weekly debriefings began, in the same windowless room in the basement of the federal courthouse. Doug Gregory led the FBI team, and Paul Redmond, the former CIA counterintelligence specialist who led the damage assessment, was there along with other CIA officials.

  But the September 11 attacks on America, combined with the deadly anthrax letters mailed to political and media figures, created new priorities for the FBI. The debriefings were interrupted for a time. In addition, various other government investigators wanted to talk to Hanssen. As a result, the debriefings, originally expected to be completed in January, stretched into the spring. A new sentencing date was set for May 10.

  It was in the midst of the initial plea bargain talks, in mid-May 2001, that Bonnie Hanssen learned that her husband had allowed his best friend to watch them having sex, both live and later on closed-circuit television. She had reacted with shock and anger.

  Her remark was buzzing around in the family, and for good reason. What Bonnie had told her sister Jeanne Beglis was brief and unforgettable:

  “My husband is a traitor and a pervert.”

  *Cacheris’s letter cited the United States Attorney’s Manual, which is clear on the subject: “The death penalty may not be sought, and no attorney for the Government may threaten to seek it, solely for the purpose of obtaining a more desirable negotiating position.” USAM 9–10.100.

  *The list of secrets that, if passed to a foreign power, could bring the death penalty for espionage includes data about nuclear weapons, military spacecraft or satellites, early warning systems, war plans, codes or communications intelligence, major weapons systems, or any “major element of defense strategy.”

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  The Mind of Robert Hanssen

  Robert Philip Hanssen was a walking paradox—a zealous anti-Communist who spied for Moscow, a pious Catholic and ultrareligious member of Opus Dei who secretly televised his wife having sex and schemed to drug her so another man could father her child, a counterspy who was himself a spy.

  He led at least six lives: special agent of the FBI, devoted family man, Russian spy, devout Catholic, obsessed pornographer, and fantasy James Bond who took a stripper to Hong Kong and could, at least in his imagination, come up out of the Potomac shooting.

  He fit into no known previous category of spies. He was not motivated entirely by money, and certainly not by ideology. James Woolsey, the former director of the CIA, conceded he was baffled by Hanssen.

  “If you look at a hundred or so cases of Americans who spied for Russia, you don’t have many ideological motives, as in the case of Philby or the Rosenbergs. You do have a few people who spy for ethnic or religious reasons—Larry Wu-Tai Chin, Pollard—but they are very small in number. Almost all are white guys. They break into two groups. Flaky young types, as in The Falcon and the Snowman, smoke a little grass, and hey, let’s steal some secrets.* The other is the classic Aldrich Ames, the middle-aged guy in midlife crisis. Benedict Arnold was the same as Ames, both with new wives and a midlife crisis. This guy [Hanssen] is outside any of those patterns. He is not ethnic, not ideological, not a young guy who’s flaky, and doesn’t appear to be in a midlife crisis, despite the stripper. Everything is bottled up inside. It is truly odd.”

  Because Hanssen’s character was so contradictory and complex, the extraordinary story of his more than two decades of espionage cannot be understood fully without exploring his motives and trying to fathom Hanssen himself. What drove him into such a dark place?

  Dr. David L. Charney, the psychiatrist whom Plato Cacheris engaged to evaluate Hanssen, visited the spy in the Alexandria jail more than thirty times over many months. They met privately in a small, vaultlike room with white cinder-block walls and a camera, but no guards or other persons present.* Hanssen spoke freely to Dr. Charney about his childhood, his family, his FBI career, his spying, his religion, and his motives for betraying his country. As a result, Charney probably learned more about the experiences and influences that formed Hanssen, and his motives to spy, than anyone else in the world.

  Normally, because of doctor-patient privilege, Charney could not discuss his conclusions or what Hanssen had confided to him. But Hanssen authorized Charney to speak to the author. He did so in a letter to his attorney, Plato Cacheris, with a copy to Charney, relea
sing the psychiatrist to discuss his findings.†

  David Charney, who had previously spent time with Earl Pitts, the second convicted spy in the FBI’s history, is a soft-spoken New Yorker whose psychiatric practice is based in Alexandria. He has in the past been a consultant to the CIA. At the time he evaluated Hanssen, he was also working on a paper on the psychology of spies that he hoped would help the government to better protect itself against them.

  Charney identified several factors that led Hanssen to become a spy for Moscow. Many of these were raised by Hanssen himself in his often-weekly meetings with the psychiatrist.

  But Charney had a word of caution. “People are complicated beings and motivations are multidetermined and evolve over time,” he said. “Motives may get altered in memory, depending on rationalizations that people bring in explaining themselves to themselves.”

  Having said that, Charney affirmed that Hanssen himself pointed to “financial pressure” as one of the reasons he first crossed the line into espionage. To understand the motivation for espionage, Charney said, it is crucial to look at the six months leading up to when a spy first crosses that line. Nor can money be discounted as a continuing motive. For someone on the salary of a midlevel federal employee, the $600,000 that the Russians paid to Hanssen with the promise of another $800,000 is not inconsequential. Hanssen remodeled his house in Virginia at a cost of $70,000, sent six kids to private school, four to college, all of them to the orthodontist. He collected an armory of guns, all sorts of computers and related gadgetry, and spent some $80,000 on the stripper, including a sapphire-and-diamond necklace, the trip to Hong Kong, and a Mercedes, albeit used.

  It would be simplistic, however, to say that Hanssen only spied for money. If it was only money, as Ed Curran and others have pointed out, Hanssen could have demanded millions for what he gave, because the secrets he passed to Moscow were not only of enormous value to the Russians but compromised U.S. intelligence-collection programs that cost hundreds of millions of dollars. Yet he never negotiated for more money, airily informing the KGB early on that he really had no need for more than $100,000.