“With her sultry looks and
alluring long red hair, Anna Chapman seemed to typify the image of the female
Russian spy - or at least the one imagined by every James Bond fan” panted the Daily Express last autumn. Indeed in
this country (and more specifically in this country’s right wing press) Ms
Chapman has become a familiar figure—the public face of Russian espionage.
This, of course, is rather
unfortunate. Ms Chapman may very well be “the perfect image of the female
Russian spy”, but she is also a caricature. Her willingness to pose for the
camera (and the demand for the resulting snaps) tells us an awful lot about our
own society, but little about modern Russia.
Edward Lucas, journalist and former Moscow bureau chief for the Economist, is very much alive to this
danger, and in Deception he argues
that we, the ‘West’, dismiss Russian espionage at our peril.
His thesis can be summarised as
follows: spying did not die with the Soviet Union. Indeed the modern Kremlin,
characterised as it as by the close links between the state, the security
services and organised crime, may well place an even greater emphasis on intelligence
gathering than it did during the Cold War. As a consequence, ‘western'
nations--particularly the former Soviet states-- have to better protect
themselves against Russian operatives.
This, of course, is an
extremely hawkish analysis. Lucas castigates the Russian ruling class and the
‘neo-feudal’ system that they have imposed. By devoting his first chapter to
the harrowing and tragic tale of Sergei Magnitsky, he sets the tone for what is
searing critique of Putin’s Russia.
But in truth, while a lively
read, Deception comes on rather
strong. Lucas’ central argument is not just that Russia constitutes a clear and
present threat, but that Russian espionage is a particularly deadly menace.
Unfortunately, for both the author and his readers, the workings of the
security services are uniquely difficult acts to document, and thus even a
journalist of Lucas’ undoubted expertise struggles to construct a truly
compelling case.
As such the book’s credibility
rests upon just two examples: the long-term project of which Ms Chapman was a
part, and the story of Hector Simm — a Russian agent who rose to the top of
Estonia’s national security establishment. Both case studies are excellently
researched and presented with some style—but the shortcomings to this approach
are obvious.
However, the strangest element
of Deception is its turn towards
history. This occurs right at the heart of the book and takes the reader
somewhat by surprise. Although rather hurried (nearly a century’s worth of
action is crammed into less than a hundred pages), Lucas’ diversion into the
long and troubling record of the Western security services in Eastern Europe reads
well enough. And yet, and this is a key point, these historical chapters fail
to advance his central argument which is rooted very much in the present.
Deception is, therefore, a
rather curious read. It is at once excellently researched, fluently written,
fascinating and entirely unconvincing. While I have as many qualms about
Putin’s Russia as anyone else, I simply don’t buy Lucas’ line that Russian
espionage represents a clear, particularly dangerous threat to national
security. Or to put it differently: I don’t accept that Russian espionage is
any more dangerous, any more threatening, than that of the Chinese.
I am unsure as to why exactly
the book fails to convince. Perhaps it is because Lucas fails to stick tightly to his
script, or because his supporting examples are few and far apart. Perhaps it is
just because the Cold War now feels very far away. Whatever is the case, I do
know that for all its merits Deception tries just too hard, and that, I’m
afraid, isn’t an endearing quality.
