The Return of the Spies

It looks like a plot from an old Graham Greene novel — almost like something taken from the satire Our Man in Havana. But the point is that this is real: a network of spies who, while working for the Russians, tried to infiltrate the circles of U.S. power.

These are people, who in the old style of the much-vaunted covert KGB agents, wrote messages in invisible ink and received clandestine money hidden in bags, which they traded in the midst of crowds.

In total, the FBI detained 11 people who were concealing their status, living as if they were typical American families, in places such as Yonkers, Boston or Virginia. An additional fact stands out: One of the detainees, it was initially reported, was born in Uruguay, although this was later placed in doubt.

This last detail in itself does not mean much, but it is a reminder of the importance of Uruguay to Russian spies during the peak years of the Cold War. During this time, the Russian espionage organization KGB was very active. Furthermore, it was able to count on local Communist Party members, who were prepared to confidently engage in frequently violent acts.

Thus, when the movie “The Iron Curtain” premiered in 1948, they tried to block the show, attacking the Trocadero Cinema. And even though a communist deputy was accused of participating, the event was watered down. On the other hand, the KGB maintained its own network of undercover agents. Many pretended to carry out duties as efficient functionaries, acting within the traditional parties, or else their front was of being mere traders, for example, of art pieces and antiques.

The following is clearly reported in Raul Vallarino’s book, Nombre Clave: Patria (Codename: Fatherland), about a spy who secured legal status in the country by marrying none other than the famous (anticommunist) writer and pianist, Felisberto Hernandez.

At this point, I think it is worth remembering an episode that has never before been revealed: Once upon a time, these KGB gentlemen joined a Uruguayan who was in Paris. The year was 1952. They gave him caviar, tried to befriend him, assured him one day that they were offering him the opportunity to become a KGB agent and that interest in such recruitment had been expressed personally by no other than the fearsome Lavrenti Beria.

The Uruguayan firmly rejected the “invitation.” But the worst was that he did not take them seriously. He returned to Uruguay believing that in this way he would distance himself from the characters. Soon after returning to Montevideo, a diplomat from the Soviet embassy appeared, to reiterate the invitation.

The Uruguayan threw him out in a rage, and the KGB man assured him that terrible things would happen to him. And so they did. The Uruguayan, intimidated, stopped all his activities. During the last years of his life, withdrawn in his retreat, he read a lot, particularly John le Carré novels.

I have no doubt that had he been alive, he would be reading the news coming from the United States with interest, regarding this new second or third-generation flourish of Russian spies.