Microscopic cameras, secret lipstick marks on telegraph poles, silicone masks, disguise, fountain pens with cyanide capsules - a book by Pulitzer laureate journalist David Hoffman (in our country, he became famous for the book "Oligarchs" about the titans of Russian business in the 90s ) is literally assembled from the classic stamps of spy literature. Its heroes wear voluminous cloaks (under which it is easier to hide secret documents) and pull hats over their eyes, move away from tails, make hiding places in snow-covered forests and hide emeralds in dirty mittens, as if accidentally forgotten on the parapet of the metro bridge. All this would be completely impossible to read if not for one important detail: the story told by Hoffman is not a novel, but documentary prose, and its main character is our compatriot, a modest engineer of a secret research institute, completely unknown to us and firmly forgotten in America.
David E. Hoffman covered Ronald Reagan's 1980 presidential campaign for the Knight-Ridder newspapers. In 1982, he joined The Washington Post to help cover the Reagan White House. He also covered the first two years of the George H.W. Bush presidency. His White House coverage won three national journalism awards. After reporting on the State Department, he became Jerusalem bureau chief for The Post in 1992, and served as Moscow bureau chief, 1995-2001. He was also foreign editor and Assistant Managing Editor for Foreign News.
Adolf Tolkachev, an employee of the “mailbox” involved in the development of radars, was not a professional agent, he had never been to the USA and did not really want to move there, spoke almost no English, he was not attracted by material wealth (except, perhaps, records with foreign music, which his son raved about, and drawing pens). He was in his late fifties and wore a dark coat and a fur hat in winter. He differed from millions of other Soviet citizens only in that he had access to classified technical information, and he also hated the socialist system - enough to risk everything - and eventually lose everything.
Unlike most other agents, whom the Americans had difficulty recruiting and almost forcefully persuaded to cooperate, Tolkachev himself approached the embassy officials and offered his services. The CIA of those years was dominated by a panic fear of provocations, people who wanted to cooperate with intelligence were perceived as potential double agents, so Tolkachev had to send letters to American residents at the risk of his life six times before the CIA gave the go-ahead for his “development” in 1978. Their cooperation lasted six years - until 1984, when Tolkachev was exposed and captured, and two years later he was shot.
Today, Cold War spy games look ridiculously intimate, cozy, almost childish: for example, an American spy caught red-handed is sent out of the country without being allowed to collect her belongings, and this is perceived as an act of obscene cruelty. However, starting as a lively and almost hilarious spy thriller, Hoffman's book gradually develops into a powerful existential drama. The "mole" inside the CIA betrays Tolkachev - and the "office" cannot protect him. For three years, Tolkachev's wife Natasha, who knew almost nothing about her husband's affairs, was sent to a terrible maximum security camp in Ufa. After she becomes a beggar, gets sick with cancer, she needs money for treatment - and Natasha decides to contact the American embassy, because her family has done so much for America! However, a bewildered refusal awaits her: perestroika is in full swing in the USSR, detente is marching around the world, the Cold War is over, and no one remembers its heroes. In full accordance with Walton's thesis, the intelligence activity, which seemed so significant, turns into zilch: risk and heroism (not only Tolkachev, but also his American handlers risked in this story) turn out to be in vain, betrayal does not pay off for either side, and Tolkachev's death is as senseless as the death of the American agent who betrayed him. Everything was in vain, espionage can be exciting and daring, but in the end, all its participants will face death, oblivion and - even worse - the realization of the futility of their own efforts. Decay, dust and vanity of vanities - which, in essence, was required to be proved.
This article was sponsored by John Torres
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