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Say what you want about accused FBI superspy Robert Hanssen: The espionage game
hasn't produced a character this elegantly aloof since Roger Moore gave up his
eyebrow-crunching 007 role. "One might propose that I am either insanely
brave or quite insane," the silver-tongued double agent wrote to his Russian handlers
last year, in a characteristic tone of resigned self-possession. "I'd answer neither.
I'd say, insanely loyal. Take your pick. There is insanity in all the answers." Even more
impressive than his verbal skill, however, is the clarity with which Hanssen, a.k.a. "B,"
"Ramon Garcia," "Jim Baker," and "G. Robertson," understands
bureaucracy and office politics.
"I hate uncertainty," he writes. "So far I have judged
the edge correctly." He certainly did. Hanssen's 16-year correspondence with his
alleged handlers shows how intimately he understood risk management, listened
to silences, and judged the levels of competence of his co-workers. From March, 1986:
I can not provide documentary substantiating evidence without arousing suspicion
at this time.
From later in the same year:
I wanted to determine if there was any cause for concern over security. I have
only seen one item which has given me pause. When the FBI was first given
access to Victor Petrovich Gundarev, they asked...if Gundarev knew Victor
Cherkashin. I thought this unusual. I had seen no report indicating that Victor
Cherkashin was handling an important agent, and here-to-fore he was looked
at with the usual lethargy awarded Line Chiefs. The question came to mind,
are they somehow able to monitor funds, ie, to know that Cherkashin received
a large amount of money for an agent?
In 1988:
Because of my work, I had to synchronize explanations and flights while not
leaving a pattern of absence and travel that could later be correlated with
communication times.
In June, 2000, after an apparent promise that he would be handsomely paid:
[W]e do both know that money is not really 'put away for you' except in some
vague accounting sense. Never patronize me at this level.
And finally,
on February 18, as he realized the jig was up:
Since communicating last, and one wonders if because of it, I have been promoted to a higher do-nothing senior executive job outside of regular access to information within the
counterintelligence program. It is as if I am being isolated. Furthermore, I believe I have detected repeated bursting radio signal emanations from my vehicle ... Something has aroused the sleeping tiger. Perhaps you know better than I.
The FBI's affidavit in support of Hanssen's arrest, still
available from MSNBC,
is the most entertaining read in some time. But it leaves open the enigma of why the
conservative father of six decided to sell the US out to the Russkies. Early possible
explanations include a latent taste for adventure and a fascination with
Kim Philby — the latter appears likely, given the way Hanssen's epistolary style seems to mimic the good-humored
reserve of the legendary MI-6 turncoat's My Silent War. More confusing is
Hanssen's involvement with
Opus Dei, the
staunchly anti-Communist Catholic shadow society whose members include FBI
director Louis Freeh, Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia, and just possibly,
Dion. The spy's involvement with these
red-fighting agents of Rome might lead wary observers to suspect the
shadowy hand of the Blessed Virgin Mary,
in Hanssen's tale. ( Newsweek, which decorates its nine-reporter
cover story
on Hanssen with a moody wintertime photo of an Our Lady of Grace statue,
appears to nurse similar suspicions). So far, however, the evidence is circumstantial:
Opus Dei founder Monsignor Josemaria, a Francoist who believed the BVM had a direct hand
in establishing his organization,
met with Fatima seer Lucia Santos in 1945, and his
organization has been a
backer of such heroes
of anti-bolshevism as Augusto Pinochet and Alberto Fujimori. Which would appear to make Hanssen a true oddball: A member whose devotion to
a commie-bashing organization was matched only by his zeal for selling our best
secrets to Ivan. And the plot thickens with a Newsweek-reported incident that occured
while Hanssen and a fellow agent were listening to NPR — certainly, by the standards
of Opus Dei, or for that matter the FBI, savoring the counterculture-McGovernik
stylings of Daniel Schorr and Nina Totenberg must be on a level with kowtowing to
Chairman Mao.
"That's where people make a mistake, in thinking Opus Dei is so far to the right,"
says Dianne DiNicola, executive director of Opus Dei Awareness Network,
which tracks some of group's
oddball behavior. "The truth
is, they are whatever they need to be in any situation." Would any such situation entail
spying for the Russians? "Opus Dei is so controlling of its members that I don't
see how he could have separated his Opus Dei activities from his spying," DiNicola
tells us.
As always, Suck remains agnostic on such matters. But our investigation into
Hanssen's choice of aliases led us to another potential source of information:
the artist Ramon Garcia,
whose paintings are inspired by an alien abduction he suffered in 1990. Could
Hanssen's selection of this nom d'espion be a mere coincidence?
Unfortunately, our attempts to contact Garcia have been fruitless, and we
can only hope foul play is not involved. Meanwhile, we look forward to hearing
new and zany details in the saga of Bob Hanssen, a consummate professional who clearly deserved
better than he's going to get.
It may not be the stupidest mail-borne meme out there —
Mahir still holds
that particular title — but "ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US" is easily the
most inscrutable. Birthed from a decade-old, badly translated Japanese
video game, the phrase washed over the Internet last week like only badly
translated phrases from decade-old Japanese video games can. For roughly
the first six hours of its existence, there might have been some gamer cred
in knowing what the hell was going on, but after that, Lord, being ignorant
was cooler. That's what the Internet does — compresses what might have been an amusing
(and happily confined) community trifle into the cultural equivalent of a
weekend-long heroin bender. "ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US" can claim its
own FAQ,
domain, video, endlessly
modified
graphics,
store (after store after store), and, of course, backlash. The only thing
the meme needs now, to be officially certified as so five minutes
ago, is to become the subject of a Hit & Run.
If you think you
can't get anything for free
anymore, Hou Wu Ding
has some Microsoft products to sell you. The 35-year-old Mountain View, CA
resident has pled not guilty to charges that he sold counterfeit and "re-marked"
parts and software at trade shows around the Golden State.
Ding, a.k.a. "Chester," allegedly
had a tidy business
selling MS programs, chips and other components for cash
(which he then stuffed into a fanny pack),
raking in about $3.1 million over two years. Despite Ding's sub-Hanssen efforts
to stash his profits in various bank accounts, trade show vendors have taken to
giving him the boot. Meanwhile, Sacramento County sheriffs latched
onto Ding after buying five counterfeit units of Office 98 — no word on whether
the fakes proved less bloated and buggy than the real thing. (Between Ding's
bust and some favorable moves in Microsoft's effort to appeal Judge Thomas Penfield Jackson's breakup decision, it appeared briefly that things were looking up for Redmond — until
an angry Jehovah
interrupted a Chairman Bill speech with a miraculously timed earthquake.) Things
look pretty grim for Hou Wu Ding right now, but what with the
palmed goodies,
shiny
freebies, and
culture of swag that surrounds all trade shows, it's hard not to see Chester's efforts to turn
a dishonest buck as an act of just and righteous leveling.
Forgetting how the United States sends its buttinski peace envoys scurrying
around the world with mediation plans every time there's a hint of trouble,
President Bush the Second on Tuesday
dismissed the request
of Colombian President Andres Pastrana to help out in his next round of
discussions with that country's left-wing rebels. Although American
gunships now
duke it out with the FARC and Pastrana was elected largely on the promise of
negotiating an end to the civil war, the issue is apparently not promising enough or
sufficiently related to America's "shrategic inshrishts" to warrant lifting a finger.
Which, though it may be strange policy, probably isn't such a bad thing. Given how
spectacularly our other peacemaking efforts have turned out, we wouldn't be surprised if people
in the land of Coca are relieved that this form of American aid won't be forthcoming.
"How can the Indian IT industry flourish when all that knowledge workers want
to do is get on the next plane to San Jose?" asks a
story in the current issue of Silicon India. We would suggest showing them
any recent business section from the Mercury News — which ought to be enough
to scare anybody out of love with the stateside tech industry. But we can never really be
sure things aren't even worse somewhere else, and so we decided to blow our last
hatful of rupees sending one Suckster to reconnoiter the Indian tech industry, and possibly
find us a place to relocate when it all goes belly up. From Bangalore to Hyderabad, and
points in between, the whole tale unravels tomorrow, and we urge all readers to tune in. |
